Title: In The Library
Fandom: Danny Phantom
Characters: Ghostwriter / Secret Chevalier (OC)
Pairings: Passing Mention of GwxJf / Passing Mention of Timely Intelligence / Passing Mention of nTxJf / Passing Mention of dPxJf / Passing Mention of Psycho Cereal / Passing Mention of Pitch Pearl / Passing Mention of Gray Ghost / Passing Mention of Shallow Sapphire (Sort Of. It's Phantom, Not Danny) / Passing Mention of Veggie Burger / Passing Mention of S(OC)x???
Rating: R
Genre: Humor / Drama
Word Count: 2295
Catch Line: The Creative Writer contended with what the normally lewd fallen one inquired, and came to realize that there was little point in the conversation they were sharing other than to hear why he had fallen so desperately in love with the Half and Half's elder sister…
Summary: One of the few things the Creative Writer took great pride in was his gift of words and ability to write sonnets and works of great importance, and although he had never needed a muse for such epic inspiration, the conversation he shared with the Punished Guardian was beginning to make him question this fact like nothing before. GwxJf
Time Line: A few weeks after the events of "Reality Trip"
Warnings: Language / The Authoress' Obsession On Jasmine "Jazz" Fenton And Pairing Her Up With Dead (Or Half Dead) People / The Authoress' Lingering Obsession On Gray Ghost
Disclaimer: Danny Phantom belongs to the awesomeness that is Butch Hartman, and not to the fangirlishness that is moi. The sick and contrived plot of this story, however… Well, that belongs to me, and not to Butch Hartman. But you already knew that, right?
Notes: Something that is neither violent nor perverted. What a surprise! beams My first attempt at introducing my OC Secret, whom I'm currently developing alongside my DP multichaptered fiction piece 'Between Angels And Ghosts", due this month. Maybe. :D Wrote in an almost conversational type of setting, with me having chosen to utilize the ever popular Ghostwriter. I mean, come on! Who doesn't like Ghostwriter? XD Also, I needed a means to vent out my passion for the whole contrived love square I stuck Jazzy Pants in. :heart:P Coming up next, expect something with our favorite Ghost Boy and his thermos. 333
Coming Up Next: He had been captivated the moment he laid eyes on him, ever changing like the very essence of time itself, all wrapped up in the most wonderful package he had ever seen.
Listening To: "Where Is The Love?" – Black Eyed Peas / "If You're Not The One" – Daniel Bedingfield / "Come What May" – Ewan McGregor And Nicole Kidman / "Harmonia" – Rhythm

------

They had begun this almost ritualistic habit of reading together in near silence quite some time ago, and although both of them had changed significantly in many or more ways than either would care to divulge, this was one of the rare unwavering things that did not.

It was always comforting, despite the passage of time and the changing of beliefs, to have something so primal and so close to home to return to when everything had been said and done, a near conscious testament to the trivial things one would hold on to.

She had been leaning against him slightly, the back of her head resting at an angle on his left shoulder, back nestled with all too much familiarity against the length of his arm. She turned the page of her worn leather book with some hint of interest while he sat partially hunching over the thick wooden table they shared, stacks upon stacks of mismatched books and rolls of parchment strewn about in every direction, his fingers dancing over an increasingly cluttered piece of paper with fervor.

The smaller of the two let out a lengthy sigh, stretching small thin limbs lethargically while maintaining purple eyes on the battered tome balanced precariously on her lap, feet propped up at the edge of her chair and knees bent up to her chest. She turned her head slightly to look up at the face of her companion, glowing green eyes narrowed in concentration while his lips moved soundlessly in time to the furious scribbling of a quill caressing parchment, leaving long flowing lines of curled raven and looping ink.

"Are you," She began, shuffling with the non concern years of intimacy brewed between companions as she tucked her knees beneath her and shifted to face the table, hands coming to rest on the wooden surface, "Composing yet another sonnet?" If her smiles were sounds, the ancient room would have been filled with the chiming of many little bells, and as she pressed forward to catch a closer look at the flowery script blossoming before her very eyes her companion wordlessly slipped the piece of aged paper to the side, avoiding her query altogether.

"It's possible." She raised her eyes to look at him, face still pressed close to the table and her longer raven locks pooling over its surface like trepid puddles of spilled ink. "Really?" She raised herself slowly, unfolding her knees and making the smallest of movements so she could place her hands on his chest instead, taking a handful of gray scarf between her fingers. He calmly raised a finger to push his oval glasses back up from the bridge of his nose, a solitary eyebrow raising in the slightest as he looked down at the small smiling being beside him – Or rather, on him – pausing momentarily to stop writing as he pushed the longer strands of ink black hair obscuring most of her face aside.

His companion made a face, tilting her head to the side and rearranging her hair over her face once more, the fingers laced around his scarf tightening and pulling his emerald gaze down to meet her amethyst one, "And are you writing it for that person then?"

The slight frown caused by his actions was promptly replaced by a wry smile at the writer's reaction, who in turn had looked rather taken aback at her forward assumption and brazen declaration. She ran her free fingers through her hair, turning in her seat so that she now faced away from him, tilting her head back until it made contact with his chest, her small smile widening to reveal small pointed teeth. "I see. It is for that person." A small chuckle made its way past her lips, and while she stretched to wrap her arms loosely around his neck in a nonchalant show of something in between amusement and affection, he had in turn let out a strained sigh, rubbing his thumb and forefinger over the bridge of his nose.

"Like I said, it's a possibility."

"Oh, but it's more than that," She slipped her arms off from where they lay entwined, reaching behind her to pull his wrists and wrap herself in his arms instead. "You've been writing sonnets and poetry and all sorts of sweet nothings for that person ever since you met," She relaxed against the taller ghost, examining the nails on her right hand, "Which, in all sense is pretty ironic, given the circumstance."

He had let out a dignified snort – Or rather, as dignified as a snort could be – And drummed his fingers against her stomach, resting his chin on the top of her head. "Tell me, does this conversation have a point?"

She laughed quietly to herself, a sound that was more pronounced here in the silence of the ancient library they were currently located in, lost amidst the towers of books and scriptures and tomes and all things informative. Nicholai Technus would have loved it here, if not for the lack of Technology. They were still, after all, at the edge of the realm of the Dragon Royalties. It had been Clockwork who told her of this place although she had initially been quite surprised to find someone else there already…

"You aren't the only one." She was a restless one, she was. Maintaining his loose noncommittal grasp around her form she managed to turn in her seat once more without loosing balance, and placed a hand to her heart in a manner she rarely used on anyone else. Seeing these two together, one could mistake them for siblings with their dark hair and pale skin, or lovers for their illicit entanglement. But they were neither, and that was exactly as each wanted it to be.

She trailed the fingers of her other hand over the side of his face, pausing at where his goatee began to grow. "There are two others who seek to posses what you want, and they have already placed themselves far ahead of you in this little game you seem to romanticize so much about." He batted her fingers away, in turn placing on of his own on her forehead, "You only say such things because you have not found anyone for yourself to romanticize about, dearest."

She opened her mouth to respond sharply, but was quite at a loss for a witty retort. The writer smiled himself, pushing at her chin to seal her lips together, smug little grin at his triumph over her with is clever put ups. She frowned at him, resisting the urge to use her hand in a particular gesture she had picked up from watching humans arguing with each other – Which she observed to be most of the time if not all time, bitter actions which in turn served to fuel her growing disdain for all things mortal.

"Bite your tongue," She near snapped at him, wine colored eyes narrowing with something akin to annoyance as she viciously poked at him with her finger. "I will be damned before I find anyone worth feeling so troublesome about, and that is exactly how I want it to stay." Her eyes slowly widened to their usual almond shape, before she leaned slightly forward and whispered against the male specter's ear, "And aren't we talking about you?" She leaned back again, a nefarious smirk replacing her feral frown from just moments before. "Clever clever! Distract the hot tempered girl and avert discussing your own love affairs."

She turned again, leaning back far enough so that she now lay her head upon on his lap, raising a hand to play with the edge of his scarf. "Where were we? Oh yes, now I remember…" He didn't like that look on her face at all, "The one who controls all time and the one who lays all machines into his servitude…" Her smile widened as she ran the tip of her tongue over her teeth, clasping his hand in her own in a palm down fingers interlaced kind of way. She may abhor the touch of everyone else, but he was reserved for a different kind of emotion. "That's right, you have your work cut out for you."

Now it was his turn to narrow green eyes down at her, although she hardly felt compelled to stop talking, "The first one, you know, the one who lives in the clock tower? He watches her… He watches her, sometimes more than he should." She sounded almost… Sympathetic? "He'll run out of excuses soon though. She's growing and so is the one he should be watching, but… What will he say when the time comes to turn away?"

He felt her shrug against his legs, and he brought his free hand up to brush her bangs away. This time, she didn't counter him, instead mulling over the little secrets of emotion she had witnessed for herself. "And the one who loves technology, he does it too." She turned her head to face his midsection, and while she absently began counting the buttons on his trench coat, still she spoke about the topic at hand. "He's tried to take her away before as well, did you know?"

He blinked. "Has he, really?"

She chuckled against him. "Yes, Yes he has. Once, during that troublesome event where what was once half and half became two incomplete wholes… He had hijacked there house – You know him," She looked up at him, amusement clear on her face, "Always grand in his debauchery. He took the house, and her within in. Coincidence? Her brother may not have noticed, but I'm not as unfeeling to the emotions of others that I couldn't tell."

She pulled herself up quite suddenly, grasping at the collar of the writer's coat with both hands. "You should have see the reaction on his face!" She was laughing, and he wondered slightly hw their reading session had progressed to this questionable conversation, "He the ever stoic Master of Time, he was shaking!" She brushed the longer strands of dark air away from the other spirit's bespectacled jade eyes, "And the one in captivity, the one we call not by his name? He had almost noticed, but of course he had no idea what was truly going on." She sank back down onto his lap, and he took on of her wrists in his hand.

"You have some very amusing albeit troublesome competition for the "Great One's" elder sister…"

She stood abruptly, with even more purpose than she had when she bolted from his lap, "And sometimes, when I watch him? I've noticed how his other self, you know," She turned to him, clasping her hands against her chest, grinning deviously. He hated that unfitting expression on her face, "The one who no longer walks with the living? I've seen how he looks at her. How he looks at her when he thinks no one is watching."

She daintily twirled a section of her hair in her fingers, "A shame, really. I rather enjoy seeing him with the one still living. But he loves the Huntress, and the other one, well… He chases the Princess." She nodded, if only to herself, before continuing. "I don't suppose the one he keeps company with notices – No, they're too busy with themselves. Who knew?"

The writer raised an eyebrow, but decided not to press further with the unusual observations his companion carried in herself. She was too damn nosey for her own good sometimes, and her potty little mouth would cause her more trouble that what it was worth. But he enjoyed her company non the less, and he was enjoying it still now, even though he rather she did not pressure him with his feelings like this…

"Oh," She hadn't finished, apparently, "And if he knew how his rival looked at her? He would commit acts of such bloodlust that would make what I did seam like peaches in the punch." She sniggered to herself, thoroughly amused at the fact that it seemed the beautiful red head girl only ever seemed to attract the dead (Or in the rival's case, half dead) to her person. Such was the prize of such a beautiful face and a sharp mind. Indeed.

Her observations though, questionable as they were, proved to be surprisingly pragmatic, as the writer soon found himself empowered and with a renewed desire to out do everyone else who chased after his precious, even if he was terribly outclassed. It was worth it, if she would look his way…

"Well. I see I've given you much to ponder on." She smiled, placing a finger on is chin. "And about what I said earlier. I think there may be someone for me, but…" She locked eyes with the ghost once more, although it didn't last long, "It's difficult. Like predicting the weather." She made for the large double doors of the library, murmuring something about mayors and rain.

She turned towards him just as she reached the front gate. "And Ghostwriter, there's one more thing I need to tell you before I meet with him," He turned, lowering his quill from where it was suspended in midair, and turned to look at her with some curiosity evident on his features.

She smiled a wicked smile, and placed a finger to her temple, "The most irritating word in the English language is 'orange'." She had whisked away before the last syllable had fully escaped her lips, and as she floated freely with some control over the vast expanse of the Ghost Zone, she sniggered as she caught the cry of utter anguish that came from within the library as she opened a lavender tower door.

He always had hated the word 'orange'.

------

I'd like to say I'm pretty amused by how this came out. sigh And I really enjoyed delving into all the cracktastic pairings I insist on coercing Jasmine into, despite the fact that Daniel would never approve on any of them. But that's life, and if I can't have Jazzy Pants, then someone awesome will. XD See you on the flip side peoples, and don't forget to review me:D