29 January 2006

I knew it. As soon as I say that I won't be writing fanfics, I go ahead and do another one. sigh I should have seen this, but I didn't. Written whilst listening to Fix You by Coldplay. I absolutely adore Coldplay.

Read No Rest for the wicked at-

w w w . f o r t h e w i c k e d . n e t

Remember to remove the spaces. Oh, yes, disclaimer. Haven't done one of those in a while...

Disclaimer: I, sadly, do not own No Rest for the Wicked, not even Collete's fan, that -the comic AND the fan- belongs to Andrael, an Icarus Falls production. I do not own Fix You by Coldplay,

"Why do you always wear gloves, Master Perrault?"

Perrault cocked an eyebrow at her, obviously interested as to why she decided at this moment to ask such a strange question. November gazed back at him evenly, her arms wrapped around her legs. The fire crackled merrily, creating dancing shadows on Perrault's well-concealed face. After a long moment november sighed and closed her eyes, willing to let it drop, when, suddenly, he spoke.

"I wear them..." he repeated slowly.

November looked at him expectantly, urging him silently with her half-closed eyes.

He was staring remarkably hard into the fire, as if imiagining that, somehow, it would answer her question for him.

"I wear them," he began again, "to keep myself from harming others."

November's eyes grew wide with shock. Perrault... hurt somebody? It didn't even seem possible. She shuddered when she heard the desperate cry of a wolf and moved closer to the fire and to Perrault, closer to safety.

She licked her chapped lips. "Who?"

Perrault seemed to have a dazed, lost look, so different from his usual confidence. "My master."

It was growing more and more bizzare, but, still, November couldn't quite bring herself to believe that Perrault had ever hurt anyone.

"Why?" she demanded. "Why did you hurt him?"

That strange, far-off look was still there, like as if he was drowning and had accepted that fate. "He startled me. He was yelling and moved to strike me, but I struck first. It was a miracle that it healed so that not even a pockmark appeared."

November breathed a sigh of relief. "But that was purely self-defense. He provoked you."

When he turned to look at her at first she thought that hiseyes had gone dead, but then she saw that it was a deep, profound guilt; guilt that he would never be able to get rid of. He opened his mouth to speak, but stopped. He tried again, and he succeded. His next words froze her:

"But I could have killed him."

Until now November hadn't realised how close she was sitting to him. She pushed her brown hair off of her shoulders, the firelight bringing out the red sheen in it. She looked at him, at his miserable expression, and, on impulse, took his hand and removed the white gloves. He sat there, watching her remove the glove with only a flicker of emotion. She ran her slender fingers down his palm and touched his fingertips. These hands were not the hands of someone hostile. November curled his fingers toward his palm, unfurling them gently. She smiled and hooked her fingers around his.

"No," she finally said.

"What?" he said.

"No," she firmly repeated. "I do not believe that you would have killed him. You may have hurt him, but you care too much for him to kill him."

For the first time since the beginning of this depressing talk his eyes cleared, regaining their usual spark. He smiled at her thankfully.

"Thank you... November."

"You're welcome, Perrault."

If I have misspelled anything, I apologise completely. My spellchecker is acting... funny. And my computer is too old for me to be able to download a new one -and that includes those cheap freebies. Sorry, but I'm too stupid to update my dear, old Apple.