Christmas Tidings
Kytha's Fic Challenge: Perrault/November; Key Word: Witching Hour
(Witching Hour Midnight, I've discovered)
No Rest for the Wicked
Author's Note: There was a swift swapping of stories (haha) on the forum of "forthewicked dot net" with several authors giving each other challenges to complete. I'm hoping that I've actually improved a little over the months. Anyway, this place needs more NRftW fanfiction, dangit!
Um. There was supposed to be a warning in this story, but...
P.S. - maybe I'll get going on the HP story...che. Who cares about Harry Potter?
November hurried along the icy lane, her cloak tightly wound around her. Snow drifted along her path, blowing past her hair and urging her silently to go faster, before the horrors of the nighttime made their appearance in the form of racing shadows and unidentifiable things lurking in the dark.
She ignored the seething, innate fear within her and slid her way up to the only lit shop on the street. The door opened before she could knock, and she was ushered inside and given something warm to drink. She wasn't sure what it was, but it was warm and she nigh to freezing, so she drank it without protest. The shopkeeper bustled about in one of the back rooms, while his wife wrestled with a tiny toddler, one of the few children in the town that November had seen.
"Here you go, miss," the shopkeeper said, shoving a hefty package into November's arms. November flinched slightly - there would be a bruise there tomorrow - and said hoarsely, "You have my utmost gratitude, sir. I apologize for keeping you up like this--"
"No fear, miss," the shopkeeper replied, giving her a gap-toothed smile, "I do this a lot 'round this time of year."
"Yes...yes, thank you. In any case, I apologize both for keeping you up and for not staying long. I must be going." November set her cup down and wrapped the bundle up for safe keeping. The toddler, whose smile had the same number of holes in it as his father's, gave her a cheery wave as she left.
The snow was falling in thick, crumbling flakes that stuck to anything that would have them. November's hair became peppered with jewel-like, melting droplets as she once again slipped and slid to the inn she and her companions were staying at. It took some careful navigating to find the room she was looking for; there were presents from secret admirers to the other tenants littering the floor.
November found herself glancing at Red's door. There were two gifts in front of it, one very small, and one very large. The large one, she knew, was a new basket: Red's current one had turned into a dirty grey, and there were little red tufts that the stray straw bits had ripped off of her cloak. The small gift, November did not know what it was. Her own door had two medium-sized ones. But this was not her goal. Just a few more doors and a bruised shin down, there was--
"Good evening, Your Highness. Or is it good morning?"
November flattened herself against the wall, surprised. Standing in the pathetic circle cast by her dying lantern stood Perrault, looking as if he got up at midnight all the time to greet errant girls on secret errands. His expression was one of mild, amused exasperation.
"Couldn't sleep?"
November shook her head marginally. Perrault's large, shining cat-eyes were fixed on her face as if measuring the distance between himself and his prey, and it was making her very nervous.
Then, with a corner of his mouth twitching, he pounced on the package in her hand. "What's this?" he said. "A little late to be doing our Christmas shopping, aren't you?" He nodded in the direction November had come from and added, "Your violent friend's door is that way."
"I know that," November snapped, "I came to put this in front of your door." Huffily, she set it snugly into the tiny corner made by the door frame and turned away, back stiff. There was a silence that seemed to stretch on forever. November was about to leave for good when Perrault spoke up once again.
"May I open it?"
November twisted her head to look at him. Curiosity killed the cat, she thought. "I suppose it's Christmas now," she murmured, "so yes."
His gloved hands carefully picked apart the packaging, their steady movements a counter-measure for November's erratic heartbeat. The damp paper fell away to reveal...
"Boots," Perrault said, voice flat.
"I'd noticed yours were falling apart," November explained. A ringing, expressive silence from him made her bow her head, cheeks pink, pinker, and finally red. "I'm sorry, I can get you--" she started, but Perrault cut her off.
"No, there is no need to apologize, Your Highness," he said smoothly, "as these boots make a highly sensible gift. I shall not touch upon how much of our supply money was spent on this holiday," November resisted the urge to point out the two mysterious gifts at Red's and her own door, "so I'm grateful that you did not decide to waste it on a silly thing like catnip." His eyes flashed slightly on the last word, leaving November with the feeling that Red may have once again silently expressed her contempt for Perrault.
"You're welcome," November whispered, for lack of anything else to say. Perrault gave her a small nod in response and took a fluid step toward his door. There, he paused and remarked, "Do try to get some sleep tonight, Your Highness." Then, he vanished. November sucked in a breath as she felt something soft brush her cheek. Several fat seconds slipped by before she realized that Perrault, in an extraordinary display of uncharacteristic gentleness, had tapped her on the face with his tail before he shut the door.
"Oh," she murmured, touching her cheek. Carefully, she turned and made her way back to her own room, where a hard bed and a night of misery was awaiting her. She opened her door as quietly as possible, to keep from disturbing Red.
"Had a nice night?" Red's reedy voice hissed near her elbow. November, caught for a second time, whirled around and backed into the doorjamb. Red was standing, her head tilted to the side, smiling her grim smile.
"It was a bit cold," November replied.
"Cold?" Red's smile widened. "The beast did not like your present?"
"He called it sensible," November said severely. "In any case, I meant the weather."
Red only laughed condescendingly and started back to her room. Her voice drifted down the hall, an amiable warning, saying, "Remember, little princess, beasts are not sensible things. No doubt he thought you were offering something else when you came by his room during the witching hour."
November flushed at the implication, and shut her door a bit harder than she ordinarily have done. Then, as an afterthought, she locked her door from the inside