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blood_wingedWish me luck for getting to uni tomorrow. I'm hoping I don't end up stuck in school-run traffic while I'm on the way. I don't think I should, but you never know, do you. I know for a fact I'll be in the rush hour jam on the way back so I can only hope I manage to get a seat on the bus, or at least that it's not cold/chucking it down while I'm waiting, because there is nothing worse than being cold, wet, tired and hungry, just wanting to get home and then having to stand up for over an hour while your knees struggle not to buckle.
ANYWAY, I've been working on a little spin-off of At the End of All Things which will cover our dear little Ivan's rediscovery of his past. At the moment I don't know if it's going to get past one chapter, I'm just writing it and seeing how it goes.
***
“I... I did all these things..?” the boy whispered eventually. He sounded ill, his voice rasping in his throat, and when Arthur touched his arm he flinched away violently. One hand reached up to absently rub at his neck, as if he felt the lack of something, and a shadow crossed his features, shoulders hunched and tense. He shook his head in denial, and his fingers trembled as he flicked to the next page and touched the photograph on it.
“Nikolay...” He frowned. The face of the last Tsar was familiar, but only in the way that a passing stranger would be. Ivan looked up at Arthur, confused. He had always known of the gap in his memory, but he had never before been so keenly aware of it. It frightened him, and he did not enjoy the sensation. “Why... why would I do all these... these awful things... to Toris, Feliks, Gilbert... to my friends...” He turned another page, and scanned it. “The Cold War..? I don’t... Why? Why would I..? Alfred!”
“Yeah, yeah, I’m here, kid.” Alfred moved over and sat beside him, glancing across at Arthur before he carefully, tentatively placed one hand on the small Russian’s back. Ivan was blinking back tears, and he closed the book with a snap, pushing it off his lap and staring at it, breathing uneasily.
“I want to know,” Ivan said, clasping his hands over his knees and clenching them fretfully. “I want you to tell me. Tell me why I don’t remember any of this.”
***
I'm hungry =|
Bah.
ANYWAY, I've been working on a little spin-off of At the End of All Things which will cover our dear little Ivan's rediscovery of his past. At the moment I don't know if it's going to get past one chapter, I'm just writing it and seeing how it goes.
***
“I... I did all these things..?” the boy whispered eventually. He sounded ill, his voice rasping in his throat, and when Arthur touched his arm he flinched away violently. One hand reached up to absently rub at his neck, as if he felt the lack of something, and a shadow crossed his features, shoulders hunched and tense. He shook his head in denial, and his fingers trembled as he flicked to the next page and touched the photograph on it.
“Nikolay...” He frowned. The face of the last Tsar was familiar, but only in the way that a passing stranger would be. Ivan looked up at Arthur, confused. He had always known of the gap in his memory, but he had never before been so keenly aware of it. It frightened him, and he did not enjoy the sensation. “Why... why would I do all these... these awful things... to Toris, Feliks, Gilbert... to my friends...” He turned another page, and scanned it. “The Cold War..? I don’t... Why? Why would I..? Alfred!”
“Yeah, yeah, I’m here, kid.” Alfred moved over and sat beside him, glancing across at Arthur before he carefully, tentatively placed one hand on the small Russian’s back. Ivan was blinking back tears, and he closed the book with a snap, pushing it off his lap and staring at it, breathing uneasily.
“I want to know,” Ivan said, clasping his hands over his knees and clenching them fretfully. “I want you to tell me. Tell me why I don’t remember any of this.”
***
I'm hungry =|
Bah.
