A/N: Occasionally I open up prompts on my writing tumblr and this was the product of one such time. The prompt was "Whouffaldi × Roman Holiday AU" and I about cried because I love that movie and definitely rec it to everyone far and wide.
1484 words; basically, it's the movie if it took place in some idealized 1950's Glasgow; may get a proper fleshing-out later, but this is what I've got for the time being, which is very condensed.
Glasgow Holiday
Missy climbed the stairs up to her friend's flat, more curious than confused about his sudden and secretive phone call. He had asked her to bring both her regular camera and a hidden microfilm one—one of the ones that they had engineered to be small enough to fit inside the ornate lighters she inherited years ago already—which was highly suspicious. She hoped that there would be a point to this, considering she was the one who needlessly bothered people and she didn't want him invading her territory. A light knock on the door and she was let in.
"You have to swear to keep this a secret," John whispered. Why was he whispering? They were the only two in the flat. The greying man looked haggard, as though he hadn't gotten a wink of sleep. "This gets out and we lose one of the biggest payouts in a long time. I'm talking exclusive levels of payout."
"Oooh, you've got me interested," she purred lowly, playing along. "Now, what does my old war buddy have for me to ogle through the camera?"
He pointed silently towards his couch, which she now noticed was turned away from them when it usually wasn't. She crept around to see that there was a young woman laying there, curled up in a warm blanket and wearing John's pajamas. Quietly, Missy snapped a photo and returned to the kitchenette by the door, where her friend was attempting to put together coffee in a press.
"Alright, you finally snapped and broke your insanely rigid moral code—what's in it for me?" she wondered. He looked at her with his wild grey-blue eyes, brows arched in such a way she wanted to chew them right off his face like in the old days.
"Princess Clarita Oswalda, up-close and personal; no script, no chaperones, no pretense or schedules… the ultimate interview."
"She know her?" When John gave no answer and continued struggling with the coffee, Missy went back to get a second look at the younger woman. A switch flicked on in her brain and not only did her eyes go wide, but her lips curled into a grin that she only barely contained, almost cackling in glee when she went back to John's side. "You kidnapped the princess?! Everyone's looking for the lass all over Glasgow and it was you who nabbed her?!"
"Melissa, listen, I thought I was only doing a good deed—"
"You've fed me that line before: the Kronosian Rebellion, the 7th Ogron Infantry… here come the drums…?"
"Listen, this is serious," John hissed. "I found her sleeping on the side of the road—nothing happened between the two of us. Obviously she escaped either her guardians or her captors and now she's here and we can use this to our advantage. How many people get a princess to say things off-script?"
"Nothing happened between the two of you yet, but I'll chum along in your little game," she smirked. "Can't claim you did anything to her when there's someone else in the room the entire time, hmm?"
"You're the one she would have to worry about, but the list of quality photographers I'm still on good terms with is running slim."
"We've been upgraded to 'good terms' now? I thought it was 'only if you were the last photographer on Earth' terms."
"You know what I mean." He glared at her and her cat-eyed smile, knowing she was well aware that she was his very last option, laying down the rules silently, as they learned to in the past in the middle of a firefight. "Got a decent change of clothes that'll fit her?"
"I think I can rummage up something. Now at least I know why you wanted the lighter despite not smoking since the Franco near-incident."
"Hurry, please, before she wakes up," he requested. Missy plucked the lighter from her breast pocket, along with a half-used pack of cigarettes, and placed it on the counter before tapping the end of John's nose playfully.
"You, me, and Princess makes three; it's a date."
John shifted uncomfortably in his seat, attempting to figure out what to say. He was sitting on the patio of a café, sharing a table with his old… acquaintance Melissa and Princess Clarita Oswalda. Clara, as she preferred to be called while they were out, had been able to wander away from them while they were playing tour guide. When they found her again she was in a brand-new jacket and her hair was more than a couple inches shorter. She had used money he'd borrowed due to being flat-broke, but it was all going to be worth it due to the exclusive story she'd give once she grew to trust them.
"It's got to be so frustrating, not being allowed to roam free at your age," Missy noted slyly. She and John had agreed to not let on that they know Clara was the missing princess, meaning they had to talk around subjects… something she enjoyed all too much. "I mean, you're what, nearing thirty? It seems like you're nearing being sequestered because of your job."
"It's not as simple as that," Clara said, taking a sip of her drink. The two women weren't exactly getting along, as John had imagined would happen, but it was essential that they behaved for at least one day. "My… employers are somewhat overcautious thanks to the infectious post-war austerity and a dislike of scandal, and I nearly had to run away simply to get some time off."
"That's putting it lightly." Missy took a cigarette and popped it in her mouth, lighting it in the middle of snapping a photo with the hidden camera. "So, what do you think we ought to do today? Water-skiing down the Clyde and Kelvin? Pub-hopping? If you want to get into a brawl, I'd suggest going back to the flat and nicking John's guitar first—electric—gotten him out of a couple scrapes already."
"I'm not done paying it off yet," he growled. John then stood, pulling some crumpled pounds from his pocket and leaving it on the table. "Come on Clara, we have to get going—Missy has an appointment to get to, if I remember correctly."
"Hopefully we can see you later then," the younger woman smiled. The two darted from the café, her clutching onto his elbow as they left Missy fuming in the dust.
"Sorry she kept on questioning you," John apologized. "Melissa tends to get jealous when I'm around a woman who's not her."
"It makes me think the two of you were an item at one point," Clara said.
"Ha, no… she wishes," he scoffed. They kept walking along and turned a corner, where he had a surprise waiting for her: a motorbike. It was a bit roughed up, but he was able to secure its use while she had run off and that was what counted. "Hop on; can't see much of the city by walking everywhere."
"You didn't have a motorbike before."
"That's because you weren't paying attention," he grinned. While he had expected her to sit towards the back of the seat, instead she took her place at the very front, gripping the handlebars in glee.
"I haven't been on one of these in ages," she beamed. "Last time was with my mum before the war."
"What were you then, twelve?" he laughed, getting on the back. John cautiously slipped his arms around her midsection, lacing his fingers together to rest on her stomach in a touch he hoped wouldn't bother his companion. If it did, she didn't show it, and very soon they were zooming off, with him hanging on for dear life.
Never before had John thought Glasgow traffic something tantamount to harrowing, but with Clara driving the little bike, he was absolutely certain that this scoop was going to get him killed before asking even one interview question. A traffic whistle blew and she slammed on the brakes, the momentum of the sudden stop shifting him further up along the bike's seat and up against her back. In an instant he seemed to fit perfectly around her, his arms having automatically let go of her and clench down over her hands on the handlebars. His nose in her hair, he could smell the shampoo Missy had brought to the flat for the visitor, leagues more enticing than it ever would have been on his old mate. He bent forward, his chest against her back, and could feel his heart pounding as he murmured in her ear.
"We're clear to go."
Clara nodded and they were on the move again. Cautiously, John's hands moved off of hers and onto her waist. He never expected a story to get him wrapped up like this, but part of him knew he didn't want the day to end.