Erin Ptah (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
ptahrrific) wrote2011-01-08 12:28 am
ptahrrific) wrote2011-01-08 12:28 am
Entry tags:
Fake News: Castle Walls, part 2
Title: Castle Walls (2/8)
Rating: PG
Pairings/Characters: Jon/c!Stephen, Olivia, Kristen, Aasif, John Oliver, Jason(/Sam)
Warnings: Referenced background character death
Disclaimer: Two.
For the Report characters: They and their universe are property of Stephen Colbert, the other Report writers, and of course Viacom. Not mine. (Alas.)
And for the real people, the poem:
Please, make no mistake:
these people aren't fake,
but what's said here is no more than fiction.
It only was writ
because we like their wit
and wisecracks, and pull-squints, and diction.
We don't mean to quibble,
but this can't be libel;
it's never implied to be real.
No disrespect's meant;
if you disapprove, then,
the back button's right up there. Deal.
Note: The Castle (always capitalized) is used by residents to refer to Her Majesty's whole city-kingdom, which is weirdly interconnected and runs on some vaguely socialist philosophies that make it all interdependent. It's like the unholy offspring of a college campus and Minas Tirith.
Gratuitous geek jokes abound starting here, a few of which are sidelong puns on "Princess Munn".
Decorative capitals are still from Daily Drop Cap. For the rest of the story, see here.
♢ ♘ ♢ ☯ ♢ ♘ ♢
hen the Princess had been promised the full comfort and protection that the High Queen of Commedia could offer, she had no reason to doubt the woman's word. She still didn't. So if Her Majesty said this was one of her finest knights, fully qualified to act as a royal refugee's personal bodyguard, then it was probably true.
She just hadn't expected him to be so...old.
The lined and greying Sir Stewart made it through the long-winded official introduction with only the barest hints of annoyance, then offered her a deep bow. He also made a fair stab at a traditional greeting, though it came out with a lumpy and mechanical accent, like he had absorbed it from a bargain-bin Learn To Speak Gi Foarese In Two Weeks! jewel: "May the Force be with you, Princess Munn."
"May the wind under your wings carry you where the sun sails and the moon walks," replied the Princess. Judging by the look on his face, that hadn't been in his phrasejewel. "And call me—uh—Olivia. You got anything good to eat in this place? I could use some breakfast, like, yesterday."
Stewart cast an imploring look at one of the handful of people in the Queen's office: a cute brunette, one of the pair who had brought her in. She translated a tactful summary, then with some fast talking had them all out of that stuffy office and strolling through the courtyard of the Castle. Why couldn't someone like that have been Olivia's bodyguard?
"I really appreciate your taking the time, Kristen," said Stewart as they passed the stone pillars of what was either the entrance to a hallowed hall or a really overdone storefront. "I'll have a translation crystal by this afternoon, so we won't keep you for long."
"He says...." began Kristen in Gi Foarese, then stumbled and switched back. "This afternoon? Jon, you realize those things take weeks to make, right?"
"Yeah. I, uh, sort of ordered one a while ago. It was supposed to be for Stephen, but I think Olivia's need is greater, you know, considering."
Considering what? Not that Olivia was about to complain; it was safer if they figured she didn't understand the language, and she was pretty rusty at speaking it anyway. But it sounded like something big and unspoken was hanging in the air between these two.
"Listen, I'm sorry to be talking over you," continued Stewart, as if just remembering that Olivia herself was also between them. "This assignment came on really suddenly, I haven't had any time to prepare...like when you're casually dating a girl and then out of the blue she tells you she's pregnant...that's a really stupid analogy. Kristen, don't translate that. Anyway, I'm sure this must be a lot to take in for you too."
Okay, now I have some doubts, thought Olivia, as Kristen translated an abridged version. "Darn right it's a lot!" she exploded. "Did you see my ride back there? I'm a frakking princess, and they expect me to travel in that dinky little cab, without even a minibar? Carriage ride from he-ell!"
Kristen translated an abridged version of that, too.
♢ ♘ ♢ ☯ ♢ ♘ ♢
tephen all but skipped home from the market that evening, insulated bag under his arm and ruby bracelet jingling gaily at his wrist. The spices available here weren't what he was used to, but he was going to put together his best approximation of traditional Vulpin seven-meat chili, and it was going to blow Jon away.
Or at least, that was the plan, until he stepped into their rooms and found himself bowled over with the smell of something rich and cheesy.
The smell turned out to be coming from a pot on the hearth, which Jon was watching over with stern concentration. "Why are you cooking?" demanded Stephen, keeping his distance from the flames. (Because he didn't want them to warm up the meat, that was all. Not because he was scared or anything.) "If you were going to get hungry early, you should have said something!"
Jon took in his hunched shoulders and the shopping bag in a quick glance. "Aw, Stephen, I'm sorry, I didn't realize you were planning something. I should have warned you. We have company."
"You mean that princess you were telling me about? What, do you think my food isn't good enough for her?"
"Not at all!" exclaimed Jon, eyes once more fixed on the pot. "I just figured, she had a pretty rough trip here and there's no telling how long she'll have to stay at the Castle, so it would be nice to ease her in gently. Make her favorite foods, that sort of thing."
"So not only do we have to put up Her Highness, we have to cater to her royal meal standards, too? What kind of blue-blooded elitist gourmet dish did she demand?"
"Macaroni and cheese."
Stephen deflated. That was about the most un-elitist dish Gi Foarese cuisine had to offer, with the exception of instant ramen.
"One other thing," continued Jon, their connection suddenly tinged with hesitation. "In the interest of easing her in...."
Before he could finish, the guest in question swished into the room. "Is dinner almost ready? It smells fantastic. Oh, hi there! Are you Stephen?"
Stephen had been prepared for her to carry herself like a princess, all regal posture and silken hair pinned back with pearl clasps. What Jon had neglected to mention was that she was young, and slender, and beautiful, and had perfectly straight white teeth and even more perfect ears. And—
"Jon!" demanded Stephen, ignoring the woman's greeting to focus on the flower-shaped silver crystal resting just above the neckline of her pale silk gown. "Is that my translation crystal?"
Jon grimaced. "Olivia, this is Stephen. Stephen, Princess Olivia Munn," he said quickly. "I'm sorry, Stephen, I was trying to tell you. She hasn't had any chance to learn the language, and you've been making so much progress on your own...not to mention, you can always lean on our thing."
Olivia cocked her head. "That didn't come through, Sir Stewart," she said in Gi Foarese; the crystal flared into action, flashing subtitles beside her head that appeared to Stephen as fluent Vulpin. "What's 'your thing'?"
"A very special, very important connection," replied Stephen loftily. "One which Jon can't take away from me and give to you, even if he wanted to."
"Stephen, please—"
Stephen had already turned on his heel. "Not now, Jon! I have to get this meat on ice, before my trip becomes a complete waste."
♢ ♘ ♢ ☯ ♢ ♘ ♢
iven the sulkiness of fifty percent of her new roommates, Olivia was on her guard when they took her to a crowded bar. She was relieved to find herself in the midst of a group that was friendly, accomodating, and bright-eyed with curiosity. Fair enough: she had plenty of questions of her own.
"March 14 is our high holiday," she explained to Aasif, the sharp-faced doctor who had come with Kristen to her rescue a few days before. "It's our day of giving thanks, and eating lots of pie."
"Really!" exclaimed Aasif. He didn't look too shabby in broad daylight, though it was a shame about the beard. "I heard it was cake."
"Nope. That was a lie."
"At the Castle, we usually give thanks on April 20," chimed in Featherwick, a skinny wizard whose name Olivia was almost certain wasn't normal even for Commedians, though she didn't want to make things awkward by asking. "For reasons which..." He trailed off as Sir Stewart cleared his throat warningly, then finished in a rush: "...which are lost to the mists of time. Sad story. Tragic, really."
"I see Jon hasn't made an effort to pick you up any of the local fashions," added Kristen, stirring her cherry-banana yogurt. Before opening the menu at this place, Olivia had never realized just how many combinations of fruit you could put in yogurt. "Maybe I could take you shopping later? Your outfits are gorgeous, it's just, they kind of stand out. Not that you wouldn't stand out no matter what you wore...I mean...um."
"Kristen knows a thing or two about Gi Foarese fashion," said Aasif. His face was perfectly deadpan, but Olivia knew something was up by the way Kristen's face turned an even deeper shade of pink. A knowing look went around the table, shared by everyone but Stephen, who hadn't looked up from his lime-flavored drink all afternoon. Without being able to read Olivia's subtitles, he probably wasn't even following the conversation.
"It's no big deal," mumbled Kristen, trying to toss her hair in a carefree manner even though she was now the exact same hue as her yogurt. "These charming people are talking about a time when...I sort of walked around with a Femme Fatale costume under my clothes."
At the name of the familiar Gi Foarese serialized heroine, Olivia let out a squeal of delight. "Really? Me too!"
Looking shyly up at her with huge winsome doe-eyes, Kristen confessed, "It was only two years ago."
Olivia pointed to herself. "Last year!"
It was Kristen's turn to squeal, and they shared a high-five in defiance of the stares from around the table. Olivia decided to leave out the part where the Cultural Minister had urged her to show more cleavage. That wasn't the important part. The important part was: Femme Fatale.
Her squee was harshed when a newcomer squeezed onto the narrow bench beside her: a man with brown curls, a loud flower-printed tunic, and the unmistakable smell of Bacardi and corn dogs. "Hey, baby. Is it true what they say about Gi Foarese girls?"
While Olivia was trying to work out what to do with that, Stewart leaned forward on the other side of the bench, hands folded on the table and voice deceptively calm. "Afternoon, Jason. 'They' wouldn't happen to refer to your beautiful wife and that child of yours she's carrying, would it?"
"'Course not!" exclaimed Jason. "'They' refers to...uh...a very respectable mainstream news organization, and 'what they say' is...er...Gi Foarese girls participate in an oppressive system of institutionalized bigotry."
"Wow," breathed Kristen. "That's an awful lot of big words for you, Jason. You need to lie down for a while?"
"Nah, I'm all right," said Jason with a sheepish grin. Then he frowned. "Or maybe it said institutionalized bigamy. Those are different, right?"
♢ ♘ ♢ ☯ ♢ ♘ ♢
ou doing okay?" asked Jon that evening, while checking that Olivia's room (originally the guest room, briefly Stephen's room) was warm and comfortable. Stephen himself was lurking in the hall outside, not because he didn't trust Jon or anything, but because he had gone to use the washroom and just happened to pause there. "I hope nothing they said at dinner upset you too much."
"What? No! No, of course not. Your friends seem like nice people. Kinda weird, but nice."
She was still using her native tongue, which happened to be the original language of Femme Fatale and Arachno-Man and Sea Wars and Sea Trek and the Ring saga and that one with the ninja pirates and the one with the sailor knights and, well, basically every fantastic story ever put on paper or set to verse. When Stephen had chastised Jon for only owning the Commedian translation of the Ring saga, Jon had assumed he was hoping for a Vulpin version. It simply hadn't occurred to him that Stephen could understand the original Gi Foarese.
Stephen had decided to wait until Jon figured it out, so he could savor Jon's look of shock and awe at his brilliance. He was still waiting. There was still nobody who appreciated that, compared to an unabridged Ring performance, Olivia's dialogue was as clear to him as the large-print Commedian picture books.
"Listen, I'm no expert on your politics," Jon was saying in a low voice. "But I know you have a big nobility with lots of infighting, which isn't really conducive to getting things done. And women don't necessarily have a whole lot of influence, and even if they did, you're only...what, forty-third in line for the throne?"
Olivia's voice was flat with calculated disinterest. "Probably less than that now."
"Ah. Yes." The words were somber, not dismissive; Stephen only hoped Olivia could hear the difference. "What I'm clumsily trying to say here is, even if we disagree with some of your country's policies, nobody blames that on you."
The princess made a soft noise of derision. "Sir Stewart—Jon—don't even worry about it, okay? Gi Foar will sort itself out. It always does. As long as I'm not getting poison in my drink or a knife in my back along the way, it's all good."
Jon struggled briefly over whether to accept this, but ended up taking her at her word. "All right. Sleep well. Call me if you need anything."
Stephen scuttled off to the washroom before Jon could catch him lurking.
He took his time at the mirror before returning, to give Jon plenty of time to settle into bed, and was creeping back down the hall when a new sound from Olivia's room caught his attention. Too soft to be more conversation with Jon, that was for certain. It could have been...something else...with Jon, but when Stephen reached tentatively out across their bond, all he felt was a serene stillness. Talking to herself, perhaps? Or whispering to some secret listener on a hidden line of communication? Could she have been a spy all along?
Stephen pressed his good ear to the keyhole. Catching a spy in the act seemed like the kind of thing that would make a person's application for citizenship up the queue a few notches. He strained to make out words...
...and realized with a start that the noise came from pillow-muffled sobs.
Flushing with secondhand embarrassment, Stephen bolted the rest of the way down the hall, burrowed under the covers next to Jon, and tried to forget he had noticed anything at all.
Rating: PG
Pairings/Characters: Jon/c!Stephen, Olivia, Kristen, Aasif, John Oliver, Jason(/Sam)
Warnings: Referenced background character death
Disclaimer: Two.
For the Report characters: They and their universe are property of Stephen Colbert, the other Report writers, and of course Viacom. Not mine. (Alas.)
And for the real people, the poem:
Please, make no mistake:
these people aren't fake,
but what's said here is no more than fiction.
It only was writ
because we like their wit
and wisecracks, and pull-squints, and diction.
We don't mean to quibble,
but this can't be libel;
it's never implied to be real.
No disrespect's meant;
if you disapprove, then,
the back button's right up there. Deal.
Note: The Castle (always capitalized) is used by residents to refer to Her Majesty's whole city-kingdom, which is weirdly interconnected and runs on some vaguely socialist philosophies that make it all interdependent. It's like the unholy offspring of a college campus and Minas Tirith.
Gratuitous geek jokes abound starting here, a few of which are sidelong puns on "Princess Munn".
Decorative capitals are still from Daily Drop Cap. For the rest of the story, see here.
hen the Princess had been promised the full comfort and protection that the High Queen of Commedia could offer, she had no reason to doubt the woman's word. She still didn't. So if Her Majesty said this was one of her finest knights, fully qualified to act as a royal refugee's personal bodyguard, then it was probably true.She just hadn't expected him to be so...old.
The lined and greying Sir Stewart made it through the long-winded official introduction with only the barest hints of annoyance, then offered her a deep bow. He also made a fair stab at a traditional greeting, though it came out with a lumpy and mechanical accent, like he had absorbed it from a bargain-bin Learn To Speak Gi Foarese In Two Weeks! jewel: "May the Force be with you, Princess Munn."
"May the wind under your wings carry you where the sun sails and the moon walks," replied the Princess. Judging by the look on his face, that hadn't been in his phrasejewel. "And call me—uh—Olivia. You got anything good to eat in this place? I could use some breakfast, like, yesterday."
Stewart cast an imploring look at one of the handful of people in the Queen's office: a cute brunette, one of the pair who had brought her in. She translated a tactful summary, then with some fast talking had them all out of that stuffy office and strolling through the courtyard of the Castle. Why couldn't someone like that have been Olivia's bodyguard?
"I really appreciate your taking the time, Kristen," said Stewart as they passed the stone pillars of what was either the entrance to a hallowed hall or a really overdone storefront. "I'll have a translation crystal by this afternoon, so we won't keep you for long."
"He says...." began Kristen in Gi Foarese, then stumbled and switched back. "This afternoon? Jon, you realize those things take weeks to make, right?"
"Yeah. I, uh, sort of ordered one a while ago. It was supposed to be for Stephen, but I think Olivia's need is greater, you know, considering."
Considering what? Not that Olivia was about to complain; it was safer if they figured she didn't understand the language, and she was pretty rusty at speaking it anyway. But it sounded like something big and unspoken was hanging in the air between these two.
"Listen, I'm sorry to be talking over you," continued Stewart, as if just remembering that Olivia herself was also between them. "This assignment came on really suddenly, I haven't had any time to prepare...like when you're casually dating a girl and then out of the blue she tells you she's pregnant...that's a really stupid analogy. Kristen, don't translate that. Anyway, I'm sure this must be a lot to take in for you too."
Okay, now I have some doubts, thought Olivia, as Kristen translated an abridged version. "Darn right it's a lot!" she exploded. "Did you see my ride back there? I'm a frakking princess, and they expect me to travel in that dinky little cab, without even a minibar? Carriage ride from he-ell!"
Kristen translated an abridged version of that, too.
tephen all but skipped home from the market that evening, insulated bag under his arm and ruby bracelet jingling gaily at his wrist. The spices available here weren't what he was used to, but he was going to put together his best approximation of traditional Vulpin seven-meat chili, and it was going to blow Jon away.Or at least, that was the plan, until he stepped into their rooms and found himself bowled over with the smell of something rich and cheesy.
The smell turned out to be coming from a pot on the hearth, which Jon was watching over with stern concentration. "Why are you cooking?" demanded Stephen, keeping his distance from the flames. (Because he didn't want them to warm up the meat, that was all. Not because he was scared or anything.) "If you were going to get hungry early, you should have said something!"
Jon took in his hunched shoulders and the shopping bag in a quick glance. "Aw, Stephen, I'm sorry, I didn't realize you were planning something. I should have warned you. We have company."
"You mean that princess you were telling me about? What, do you think my food isn't good enough for her?"
"Not at all!" exclaimed Jon, eyes once more fixed on the pot. "I just figured, she had a pretty rough trip here and there's no telling how long she'll have to stay at the Castle, so it would be nice to ease her in gently. Make her favorite foods, that sort of thing."
"So not only do we have to put up Her Highness, we have to cater to her royal meal standards, too? What kind of blue-blooded elitist gourmet dish did she demand?"
"Macaroni and cheese."
Stephen deflated. That was about the most un-elitist dish Gi Foarese cuisine had to offer, with the exception of instant ramen.
"One other thing," continued Jon, their connection suddenly tinged with hesitation. "In the interest of easing her in...."
Before he could finish, the guest in question swished into the room. "Is dinner almost ready? It smells fantastic. Oh, hi there! Are you Stephen?"
Stephen had been prepared for her to carry herself like a princess, all regal posture and silken hair pinned back with pearl clasps. What Jon had neglected to mention was that she was young, and slender, and beautiful, and had perfectly straight white teeth and even more perfect ears. And—
"Jon!" demanded Stephen, ignoring the woman's greeting to focus on the flower-shaped silver crystal resting just above the neckline of her pale silk gown. "Is that my translation crystal?"
Jon grimaced. "Olivia, this is Stephen. Stephen, Princess Olivia Munn," he said quickly. "I'm sorry, Stephen, I was trying to tell you. She hasn't had any chance to learn the language, and you've been making so much progress on your own...not to mention, you can always lean on our thing."
Olivia cocked her head. "That didn't come through, Sir Stewart," she said in Gi Foarese; the crystal flared into action, flashing subtitles beside her head that appeared to Stephen as fluent Vulpin. "What's 'your thing'?"
"A very special, very important connection," replied Stephen loftily. "One which Jon can't take away from me and give to you, even if he wanted to."
"Stephen, please—"
Stephen had already turned on his heel. "Not now, Jon! I have to get this meat on ice, before my trip becomes a complete waste."
iven the sulkiness of fifty percent of her new roommates, Olivia was on her guard when they took her to a crowded bar. She was relieved to find herself in the midst of a group that was friendly, accomodating, and bright-eyed with curiosity. Fair enough: she had plenty of questions of her own."March 14 is our high holiday," she explained to Aasif, the sharp-faced doctor who had come with Kristen to her rescue a few days before. "It's our day of giving thanks, and eating lots of pie."
"Really!" exclaimed Aasif. He didn't look too shabby in broad daylight, though it was a shame about the beard. "I heard it was cake."
"Nope. That was a lie."
"At the Castle, we usually give thanks on April 20," chimed in Featherwick, a skinny wizard whose name Olivia was almost certain wasn't normal even for Commedians, though she didn't want to make things awkward by asking. "For reasons which..." He trailed off as Sir Stewart cleared his throat warningly, then finished in a rush: "...which are lost to the mists of time. Sad story. Tragic, really."
"I see Jon hasn't made an effort to pick you up any of the local fashions," added Kristen, stirring her cherry-banana yogurt. Before opening the menu at this place, Olivia had never realized just how many combinations of fruit you could put in yogurt. "Maybe I could take you shopping later? Your outfits are gorgeous, it's just, they kind of stand out. Not that you wouldn't stand out no matter what you wore...I mean...um."
"Kristen knows a thing or two about Gi Foarese fashion," said Aasif. His face was perfectly deadpan, but Olivia knew something was up by the way Kristen's face turned an even deeper shade of pink. A knowing look went around the table, shared by everyone but Stephen, who hadn't looked up from his lime-flavored drink all afternoon. Without being able to read Olivia's subtitles, he probably wasn't even following the conversation.
"It's no big deal," mumbled Kristen, trying to toss her hair in a carefree manner even though she was now the exact same hue as her yogurt. "These charming people are talking about a time when...I sort of walked around with a Femme Fatale costume under my clothes."
At the name of the familiar Gi Foarese serialized heroine, Olivia let out a squeal of delight. "Really? Me too!"
Looking shyly up at her with huge winsome doe-eyes, Kristen confessed, "It was only two years ago."
Olivia pointed to herself. "Last year!"
It was Kristen's turn to squeal, and they shared a high-five in defiance of the stares from around the table. Olivia decided to leave out the part where the Cultural Minister had urged her to show more cleavage. That wasn't the important part. The important part was: Femme Fatale.
Her squee was harshed when a newcomer squeezed onto the narrow bench beside her: a man with brown curls, a loud flower-printed tunic, and the unmistakable smell of Bacardi and corn dogs. "Hey, baby. Is it true what they say about Gi Foarese girls?"
While Olivia was trying to work out what to do with that, Stewart leaned forward on the other side of the bench, hands folded on the table and voice deceptively calm. "Afternoon, Jason. 'They' wouldn't happen to refer to your beautiful wife and that child of yours she's carrying, would it?"
"'Course not!" exclaimed Jason. "'They' refers to...uh...a very respectable mainstream news organization, and 'what they say' is...er...Gi Foarese girls participate in an oppressive system of institutionalized bigotry."
"Wow," breathed Kristen. "That's an awful lot of big words for you, Jason. You need to lie down for a while?"
"Nah, I'm all right," said Jason with a sheepish grin. Then he frowned. "Or maybe it said institutionalized bigamy. Those are different, right?"
ou doing okay?" asked Jon that evening, while checking that Olivia's room (originally the guest room, briefly Stephen's room) was warm and comfortable. Stephen himself was lurking in the hall outside, not because he didn't trust Jon or anything, but because he had gone to use the washroom and just happened to pause there. "I hope nothing they said at dinner upset you too much.""What? No! No, of course not. Your friends seem like nice people. Kinda weird, but nice."
She was still using her native tongue, which happened to be the original language of Femme Fatale and Arachno-Man and Sea Wars and Sea Trek and the Ring saga and that one with the ninja pirates and the one with the sailor knights and, well, basically every fantastic story ever put on paper or set to verse. When Stephen had chastised Jon for only owning the Commedian translation of the Ring saga, Jon had assumed he was hoping for a Vulpin version. It simply hadn't occurred to him that Stephen could understand the original Gi Foarese.
Stephen had decided to wait until Jon figured it out, so he could savor Jon's look of shock and awe at his brilliance. He was still waiting. There was still nobody who appreciated that, compared to an unabridged Ring performance, Olivia's dialogue was as clear to him as the large-print Commedian picture books.
"Listen, I'm no expert on your politics," Jon was saying in a low voice. "But I know you have a big nobility with lots of infighting, which isn't really conducive to getting things done. And women don't necessarily have a whole lot of influence, and even if they did, you're only...what, forty-third in line for the throne?"
Olivia's voice was flat with calculated disinterest. "Probably less than that now."
"Ah. Yes." The words were somber, not dismissive; Stephen only hoped Olivia could hear the difference. "What I'm clumsily trying to say here is, even if we disagree with some of your country's policies, nobody blames that on you."
The princess made a soft noise of derision. "Sir Stewart—Jon—don't even worry about it, okay? Gi Foar will sort itself out. It always does. As long as I'm not getting poison in my drink or a knife in my back along the way, it's all good."
Jon struggled briefly over whether to accept this, but ended up taking her at her word. "All right. Sleep well. Call me if you need anything."
Stephen scuttled off to the washroom before Jon could catch him lurking.
He took his time at the mirror before returning, to give Jon plenty of time to settle into bed, and was creeping back down the hall when a new sound from Olivia's room caught his attention. Too soft to be more conversation with Jon, that was for certain. It could have been...something else...with Jon, but when Stephen reached tentatively out across their bond, all he felt was a serene stillness. Talking to herself, perhaps? Or whispering to some secret listener on a hidden line of communication? Could she have been a spy all along?
Stephen pressed his good ear to the keyhole. Catching a spy in the act seemed like the kind of thing that would make a person's application for citizenship up the queue a few notches. He strained to make out words...
...and realized with a start that the noise came from pillow-muffled sobs.
Flushing with secondhand embarrassment, Stephen bolted the rest of the way down the hall, burrowed under the covers next to Jon, and tried to forget he had noticed anything at all.
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Olivia/Kristen is so cute. And I love Olivia thinking Jon is old. That's In Character, tihi! :)
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Olivia/Kristen is all kinds of adorable. And compared to J/S...they're not quite a next-gen pairing, but they're coming close XD
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K/O has, ironically enough, kinda whacked me over the head. The matching costumes alone deserve much love and squee.