AN: Sort drabbles to the original Snow-Heart, because I wanted someone OTHER than me to get it.
I wrote this for many, MANY reasons. The most popular one would be because I like Cornelia Funke, and I especially like her "The Thief Lord."
I wrote this because I felt it was real. (and felt like making fun of the OCness in fanfiction and I'm getting tired of all the Hornet-bashing. I LIKE Hornet.)
The only thing I own is the paragraphs.
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1. Scipio
You'd THINK Venice was a big enough city that meeting someone twice, or by pure coincidence would be a less than likely chance to happen.
To be truthful, Prosper never thought about it much until he caught sight of the dark, familiar figure of the Thief Lord, shuffling rather casually along the cold stones of the city square.
At that moment, there was a series of thoughts that crossed Prosper's mind:
The first (and the most obvious) was to catch his attention. The second was about what he would say. The third would be whether he should catch up before he loses sight of him—because he was barely visible then.
Prosper cursed when he made up his mind a second too late and couldn't find him anywhere, heading towards the direction he had last seen Scipio.
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2. Star Palace
"Let's celebrate" The Thief Lord announced, holding up a glass of grape juice. "To Prosper and Bo."
Prosper never dreamed that he would be living in a movie theatre, much less one in Venice.
Now it was all he could dream of.
As he raised his own glass to the circle of children, he caught sight of Scipio staring at him through the black bird mask.
"Thanks!" Prosper said. It didn't matter if the mask still creeped him out, because the smile Scipio gave him afterwards made up for it.
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3. Swearing
"I can't believe it!" Riccio sobbed his face red with anger and betrayal. "Liar, traitor, bastard!" He punched a wall and even Mosca who tried to comfort him looked taken a-back.
Prosper felt Bo clutch at his jacket, burying his small face against him.
That did it.
"Riccio, you're not the only one upset here!" yelled Prosper, his voice coarse from the lack of use. Riccio stared at the ground, tears spilling out from the corners of his eyes.
"Let's just, forget about it..." Prosper trailed on, aware that everyone was avoiding eye contact with each other, himself included. "Forget about him." He knew they were too upset to argue, but he couldn't help but feel like arguing.
The awkward silence was finally broken by Riccio, dry and determined. "I can't, and I swear—the next time I see him..."
Prosper was hurt, because more than anything—he couldn't forget about him either.
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4. Stealing
"Riccio, are you sure about this?" The brunette whispered, stalking a woman in red, a camera in her hand. It was pretty obvious that she was a tourist who didn't know about the thefts in Venice. From behind, Prosper swore that she looked like Esther Hartlieb and almost cried when she turned and he saw that she was not.
"Yes! For the millionth time!" Riccio whispered back, a smile playing on his lips.
Before Prosper could protest further, Riccio said almost pleadingly, "Think of all the things you can buy, for Bo and Mosca and Hornet. Prosper, please?"
"Okay." He sighed in defeat, "What do I have to do?" Riccio gave him instructions, carefully planned out with all the skills and experience of a master pick-pocket. Before they knew it, they were bolting away from the spot as fast as they possibly could, with a wad of bills in their hands.
"Here!" Riccio handed him half once they were out of sight. Prosper stood stock still, unsure. "Thought of what you'd get yet?" Riccio grinned at him as he took it gingerly.
He could buy new clothes for Bo—at least he deserved that much. Even if he was an orphan, he didn't have to look like one. Mosca's never on time, and he decided to get him a watch, just for the heck of it. Hornet definitely needed a bookmark. And Scipio—
What would Scipio want that he doesn't already have?
Prosper felt like he was stabbed a thousand times over.
"Riccio... I don't want this." He murmured, shoving the money back into Riccio's unprotesting hands.
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5. Snow (sequel to 'Scipio')
"Hi, Prop!" Scipio smiled, surprised, when Prosper finally caught up. It always left him enchanted to know how easily Scipio could say his name.
"Scipio! I thought that was you." He said automatically before turning an interesting shade of red. "I don't mean to intrude, but what are you doing here?" He added quickly, stumbling on his own words, having no idea what he was talking about.
Fortunately, Scipio did. "Nothing." He answered darkly, "It's supposed to snow today."
"Is it?"
Scipio chuckled at the younger boy and replied matter-of-factly, "yes. Don't you trust me?"
Prosper crossed his arms in a way that made him look like Hornet, and even more so when he said, "not anymore, 'Young Master Massimo.'" He hadn't meant to sound so serious, quickly regretting it when he saw the shock spread across Scipio's pale face for a fraction of a second.
He forgot to breath.
"Sorry." He murmured after what seemed like a million years past, suddenly finding his feet VERY interesting in the process of his guilt.
It wasn't until late that evening that the rain froze into small flowery icicles.
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6. Sleep
Hornet selected a rather thick book to read one night.
"You're not going to read THAT to us are you?" Mosca gasped, wide eyed as he watched Hornet flip through the novel, scanning the pages for her favorite parts.
"Why should I?" Hornet snapped the book shut and remarked with a glare, "you—Mosca—fall asleep even when I read a THIN book."
Bo laughed.
"So does Bo!" Mosca pointed out and Bo immediately stopped giggling. He scanned the auditorium, "and Riccio."
"Prosper's the only one who stays awake." Hornet shrugged indifferently.
Bo gave Hornet a toothy smile, "that's because Prop waits for Scip!"
"BO!" Prosper shouted, blushing.
Bo laughed.
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7. Some days
Some days, Prosper had the feeling that Scipio didn't care. That Scipio NEVER cared about the Stella. He knew it wasn't true, but what else could he do, except let his doubts flow into his mind as easily as he thinks?
Days had gone by as quickly as the snow mushed up beneath him. As fast as the white blankets recovered Venice at night, only to be mushed up again in the morning. As fast as Prosper's heartbeat when he spots Scipio—with a girl he's never seen before in his life. Maybe not as fast as Prosper when he runs away and forgets whether the girl was wearing red, black or blue when he tried to remember.
It was only after he found out that the girl was merely asking for directions did Prosper feel like a fool.
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8. Scared
Prosper froze when he saw Scipio descend the long stairway. He hadn't expected him to look so grand.
"What are you doing here?" Scipio half stammered, half declared when he saw Prosper. His face went ghastly pale. It wasn't as if he hadn't been here before... why was Scipio so—freaked out? Prosper said nothing.
It seemed like centuries past before Scipio found the courage to climb down the rest of the stairs towards Prosper.
Finally, seeing that Scipio wasn't about to say anything, Prosper murmured slowly, "I just wanted to know the truth—the others wanted to come too, but..."
"I thought we've already talked about this." Scipio said more firmly than Prosper had ever remembered him sounding.
"It's not enough."
"What do you want?" Scipio's dark eyes seemed to glow at him. His voice subtly gaining volume with every word. No, every syllable... alright, every letter... if not possibly every punctuation.
Prosper mentally fought the urge to look away. "What do YOU want?"
"What do you mean..." It wasn't a question so Prosper didn't answer.
"Why are you still... lying?" Prosper asked in turn.
"Why do you hate me?" Scipio uttered suddenly. When Prosper just stared, he turned away, ashamed for the first time in his life.
Prosper felt as lost as Scipio (at least, Prosper thought Scipio looked lost). He wanted to laugh. Laugh because Scipio thought he hated him. Now that he thought about it, he could see why. But he also felt lost because he couldn't laugh. He would betray his friends if he did... he would lose the whole purpose in coming here.
And he would betray himself.
Prosper had never seen Scipio look so vulnerable.
Scipio had never seen Prosper look so scared.
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9. Sighs
The Ponte dei Sospiri stood out like a painting hanging from a whitewashed wall. On second thought, since when did Venice NOT look like a painting? The bridge was no exception. It just caught Prosper's eye when he crossed the nearest canal, thinking to himself why he'd never noticed it before.
For a moment, he stared at it. He stared at the bridge until he averted his gaze to the view behind it. A shiver ran down his spine.
He thought he heard a sigh.
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10. Secret
"Did you go to Narnia or something?"
"What do you mean?"
"Metaphorically speaking of course—you look out of it."
"I don't feel so well..." He admitted after a long pause.
She considered.
"What's wrong?"
"Nothing."
"Don't be silly."
"I'm not being silly!"
"Then what?"
He heaved a sigh out of tiredness or irritation, or both.
"Not, are you?" She mocked.
"Go away." He retorted.
"You're troubled—"
"No I'm not!"
She hesitated.
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean it."
"What's wrong?" She repeated.
Silence.
"Prosper?"
"I think... I like him."
"Who?"
"..."
"Want to talk about it?"
He wanted to talk about it.
And he did.
"Hornet?"
"Yeah?"
"Thanks."
-
Snow-Heart
Prosper was twelve, not a child but close enough—he WAS still small enough to let his skinny legs dangle over one of those famous bridges in Venice, and that was exactly what he did tonight.
Powder snow drifted down the mystical city, drowning in the dark canal waters below and quickly dissolved away. Snowflakes danced in the air with only the slight breezes to stir them into the silent night—and the way the moonlight lit everything in its reach... The air seemed to sparkle and reminded Prosper of snow globes.
Plastic. Fake.
He wasn't alone though, since it was nearly impossible—even at night—for a place like Venice (being a major tourist attraction), to NOT have any tourists walking around snapping pictures at everything they set eyes on.
Prosper didn't care. He still thought tonight was rather deserted and even suspected that the Venetians weren't obsessing over the snow like the first time, precisely because of that same reason.
No, Prosper wasn't alone, briefly glancing at Scipio standing beside him, all dark and elegant in his long black coat that must've been warm. His even darker eyes were transfixed to the city covering in drops of white bliss. Blinking stars adorned the background and he wondered if Scipio was looking at them, longing to reach out and push them into his pockets. Strictly speaking, it didn't matter what he was looking at because Prosper was glad that whatever it was, the shimmer of snow and stars caught the attention of the Thief Lord...
He was beginning to fear what Scipio might find there if he were to even look at him.
Biting his lower lip to keep himself from trembling (from cold, or from the subtle irritation underneath the flustered nervousness, it didn't matter which one; it could be both for all he knew.) Prosper thought he caught Scipio's eyes through the corners of his own and immediately dropped his gaze.
Still, it wasn't as if Prosper was totally devoted to running away, hiding behind the inner walls of his soul forever. A part of him wanted Scipio to notice him, too. Hold him in his arms and tell him everything will be okay—and it will.
But Prosper knew that this surreal figure before him couldn't get serious about just one person, not yet... not HIM. Vaguely thinking to himself whether it was wrong to be jealous of someone whom he's never even met, not even knowing if that person even exists. He knew it was a one-in-a-million chance that Scipio would return the heart he had stolen from him long before he had even realized it himself. He KNEW, and it hurt. It felt like he had died and was reborn, and died again, all at a rate of which snow fell.
Prosper shivered. it was that moment that he felt his heart was made up of tiny snowflakes, each with a different pattern; shaping themselves together into unspoken words. When—in a spur-of-the-moment—Scipio brushed the snow piling up in front of him absent-mindedly. Most of it melted before reaching the floor.
Much to Prosper's luck, the wind picked up and bits that were meant to fall blew into his face instead. It reminded him of the truth he tried to forget so many times that night... he felt the snow-heart he created melt and shatter away.
Scipio never took his eyes away from the stars; Prosper never took his off of the black, white, silver, and gold. Everything was a blur and what remained of the snow-heart lingered in the reflection of Prosper's blue eyes.