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31_days2007-05-26 10:47 pm
haleysings.livejournal.com) wrote in 31_days2007-05-26 10:47 pm
[May 27, 2007] [Princess Tutu] Major and Minor Keys
Title: Major and Minor Keys
Day/Theme: May 26: blood and love without the rhetoric
Series: Princess Tutu
Character/Pairing: Johanna (OC), Autor/Pique(Is this my ticket to crack!Hell?)
Rating: G
Autor knew all about love. He had read all about it. He had seen all of the operas. And then a ruby-eyed girl came along and confirmed everything he knew.
The feeling was sudden, like a thunderstorm that quickly covered up a blue sky. When she looked him in the eyes, he felt like he would go blind. His heart raced, his legs felt weak, his cheeks blushed red. And when she not only rejected him, but laughed at him…that was when it felt like a knife had stabbed him through the heart.
That was love, and it was played in a minor key.
There was, of course, the love he had for his parents, as well. Of course (until recently) the love for his mother had been the love for a vague memory, and the love for his father had been…well, as stormy as his love for Rue, if not more.
There were all sorts of colorful turns of phrase he could use to describe them all. Rue was a cruel siren. His mother was a ghostly dream. His father was a pure enigma.
But Pique…Pique was simply…Pique.
She didn’t really fit neatly into a morbid sonnet. And there wasn’t any sort of mythological creature or pixie from a fairytale that accurately described her. When he was around her, he didn’t feel any dramatic pain in his chest, could see no emotional storm clouds, and she was undeniably real. So when his mother had asked him how he felt about Pique, Autor simply shrugged and responded “She’s…Pique.”
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t know. She just sort of…talked to me one day and she’s been following me around ever since. I don’t really know why.”
“And why do you let her?”
“She’s not unpleasant. There’s no reason to not allow her to.”
“So you enjoy her company, then?”
“I suppose you could say that.”
In truth, Autor did, although he wasn’t sure why. She had listened patiently to his explanation of Drosselmeyer and the story-spinning powers, in the same way Rue had—only her reaction at the end had been something along the lines of “What if you can’t change the world?”
“It’s not a matter of whether or not I can. I can. It’s just a matter of when.”
“Yeah, but what if you can’t?”
“…What?”
“If you can’t do that. Then what would you want to do?”
“I don’t…know.”
“What do you like to do?”
”Write. Read. Particularly about Dross—“
“Besides that. What do you like to do?”
“…Well…I play piano.”
“So…if you don’t do what you want to do?”
Autor had frowned a little and crossed his arms. “You don’t believe me, do you?”
“Not all of it, at least,” she had said with a grin.
Oddly enough, that didn’t particularly bother him. It wasn’t that he had given up on the idea (although he was starting to slowly accept the fact that Fakir was a direct descendant, and the chances of him being as good as Fakir were slim). It was more that…well, for one thing, Pique didn’t remember the story, after all, so a lot of the things he tried to say about it went over her head. And the other reason, the main reason…
He didn’t feel like he had to write around her. Or that he had to prove himself at all. Around her, he was not the brilliant scholar, or the descendant of Drosselmeyer, or…anything besides ‘Autor’. And for some reason, around her…that was alright. When she told him she thought he played the piano well, he knew she meant it—because she would always tell him if she thought what he said was nonsense. She was always honest (even when there were times he wished she wasn’t).
That was the reason why it was such a surprise to him when one day Pique suddenly said to him “You know, you’re a good person, Autor.”
There wasn’t really any noticeable change. He could still walk just fine. His throat didn’t feel like it was closing up. There was no stabbing pain in his chest, no moody song floating through the air. Nor did the sun suddenly burst out from behind a cloud to shine on him, and there was no angelic choir to sing Beethoven’s Ode to Joy.
Well, that wasn’t completely true. There was one noticeable change—he couldn’t help but grin. And then he couldn’t stop grinning.
“What’s with that silly look?” his mother had asked when he came back home.
“Nothing.”
“I doubt it’s nothing.”
“She said I was a good person,” he said, still grinning.
“Who? Pique?”
He nodded.
“You love her, don’t you?”
That was an odd question. He even laughed a little. Love her? Pique? No, no, this feeling he felt around her wasn’t love. It didn’t hurt, for one thing. His heart felt fairly normal.
He just enjoyed her company. He felt fine with himself around her. And she…she always made him happy.
She was sort of pretty, maybe…
The feeling he felt about her…it wasn’t like it had been with Rue, but…
“Maybe I do.”
Day/Theme: May 26: blood and love without the rhetoric
Series: Princess Tutu
Character/Pairing: Johanna (OC), Autor/Pique
Rating: G
Autor knew all about love. He had read all about it. He had seen all of the operas. And then a ruby-eyed girl came along and confirmed everything he knew.
The feeling was sudden, like a thunderstorm that quickly covered up a blue sky. When she looked him in the eyes, he felt like he would go blind. His heart raced, his legs felt weak, his cheeks blushed red. And when she not only rejected him, but laughed at him…that was when it felt like a knife had stabbed him through the heart.
That was love, and it was played in a minor key.
There was, of course, the love he had for his parents, as well. Of course (until recently) the love for his mother had been the love for a vague memory, and the love for his father had been…well, as stormy as his love for Rue, if not more.
There were all sorts of colorful turns of phrase he could use to describe them all. Rue was a cruel siren. His mother was a ghostly dream. His father was a pure enigma.
But Pique…Pique was simply…Pique.
She didn’t really fit neatly into a morbid sonnet. And there wasn’t any sort of mythological creature or pixie from a fairytale that accurately described her. When he was around her, he didn’t feel any dramatic pain in his chest, could see no emotional storm clouds, and she was undeniably real. So when his mother had asked him how he felt about Pique, Autor simply shrugged and responded “She’s…Pique.”
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t know. She just sort of…talked to me one day and she’s been following me around ever since. I don’t really know why.”
“And why do you let her?”
“She’s not unpleasant. There’s no reason to not allow her to.”
“So you enjoy her company, then?”
“I suppose you could say that.”
In truth, Autor did, although he wasn’t sure why. She had listened patiently to his explanation of Drosselmeyer and the story-spinning powers, in the same way Rue had—only her reaction at the end had been something along the lines of “What if you can’t change the world?”
“It’s not a matter of whether or not I can. I can. It’s just a matter of when.”
“Yeah, but what if you can’t?”
“…What?”
“If you can’t do that. Then what would you want to do?”
“I don’t…know.”
“What do you like to do?”
”Write. Read. Particularly about Dross—“
“Besides that. What do you like to do?”
“…Well…I play piano.”
“So…if you don’t do what you want to do?”
Autor had frowned a little and crossed his arms. “You don’t believe me, do you?”
“Not all of it, at least,” she had said with a grin.
Oddly enough, that didn’t particularly bother him. It wasn’t that he had given up on the idea (although he was starting to slowly accept the fact that Fakir was a direct descendant, and the chances of him being as good as Fakir were slim). It was more that…well, for one thing, Pique didn’t remember the story, after all, so a lot of the things he tried to say about it went over her head. And the other reason, the main reason…
He didn’t feel like he had to write around her. Or that he had to prove himself at all. Around her, he was not the brilliant scholar, or the descendant of Drosselmeyer, or…anything besides ‘Autor’. And for some reason, around her…that was alright. When she told him she thought he played the piano well, he knew she meant it—because she would always tell him if she thought what he said was nonsense. She was always honest (even when there were times he wished she wasn’t).
That was the reason why it was such a surprise to him when one day Pique suddenly said to him “You know, you’re a good person, Autor.”
There wasn’t really any noticeable change. He could still walk just fine. His throat didn’t feel like it was closing up. There was no stabbing pain in his chest, no moody song floating through the air. Nor did the sun suddenly burst out from behind a cloud to shine on him, and there was no angelic choir to sing Beethoven’s Ode to Joy.
Well, that wasn’t completely true. There was one noticeable change—he couldn’t help but grin. And then he couldn’t stop grinning.
“What’s with that silly look?” his mother had asked when he came back home.
“Nothing.”
“I doubt it’s nothing.”
“She said I was a good person,” he said, still grinning.
“Who? Pique?”
He nodded.
“You love her, don’t you?”
That was an odd question. He even laughed a little. Love her? Pique? No, no, this feeling he felt around her wasn’t love. It didn’t hurt, for one thing. His heart felt fairly normal.
He just enjoyed her company. He felt fine with himself around her. And she…she always made him happy.
She was sort of pretty, maybe…
The feeling he felt about her…it wasn’t like it had been with Rue, but…
“Maybe I do.”