Suites Me
By Kay
Disclaimer: I don't own EW or The Nutcracker, though I do own several of the item in question. Just so you know, they don't crack nuts very well. And by nuts, I mean things like pecans and walnuts. Just so we're clear.
Author's Notes: Oh god. See, for my holiday EW story this year, I decided to incorporate an old favorite childhood thing. Yes, the Nutcracker. Yes, this version is twisted and different. Yes, my attempts at smashing EW and Nutcracker together absolutely suck. Yes, it's extremely OOC. Yes, the title's a horrible pun and I plan to shoot myself for it.
Do I care? Happy Holidays, fandom. I love you all madly. ^_^
SLASH -- official pairings, eventual Galahad/David and Christopher/Jalil
Go read Duck-K's holiday piece. It's much funnier. Has Jalil. *heart*
Merry Christmas, Miss Mi-chan! I love you dearly!
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Chapter One: A Gift and Multiple Hallucinations
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
The holidays had never exactly been David Levin's favorite time of the year.
It had nothing to do with the actual day, of course. It was more the combination of too much bad eggnog and annoying relatives from down south, like his Uncle Bernard and his balloon of a wife, Marmalade. (The fact that she had a name after a jam never raised David's low opinion of her; she laughed like a donkey and called him "Davie.") Not to mention, his mom always found every opportunity to kiss her newest boyfriend. Which was just disgusting- it was his mother, after all. Besides, holidays meant gift wrapping, which meant an absolutely obscene amount of the two-way sticking tape. It was the stuff of nightmares when you had some get in your hair. The last time that'd happened, David spent three hours in his bathroom trying to rip the viciously sticking stuff out.
The whole thing was his idea of Hell. Without the half-dead psychotic, though sometimes his Grandmother Jeanie seemed to fit that category pretty well.
This was one of the reasons he loved Everworld so much, besides the whole heroic general with the cool sword thing. They didn't, or at least he'd believed, celebrate Christmas.
Of course, Karma had never particularly liked David. In fact, more often than not, it enjoyed kicking him in the nuts and running away, giggling like a maniac as his life dissolved around him. Again.
Christmas time had hit Daggermouth in a flurry of happy festivity, much to David's slight dismay. He was not exactly sure why dwarves would celebrate Christmas, much less the rest of Everworld, especially considering (as Jalil kept insisting to anyone who would listen) that the holiday was Christian-based, and most of the cultures they'd encountered remained pagan-worshipping blasphemers. Or whatever.
Apparently, though, even pig-sacrificing polytheists liked the idea of free gifts. And elaborate dinners. And about eighty-three pounds of mistletoe hung in every single doorway of the castle.
At least Aunt Marmalade wasn't around.
"- it's absolutely ridiculous, the concept of Christmas revolves around Jesus Christ being born and all that crap. Why would Everworld know about it? Have you seen any Mormon bible-toting fanatics here? Any Jacobs being swallowed by whales? No. No, we've just seen myths and just about everything ever condemned by the modern Church. So what's up with this Christmas thing?"
Across from the dinner table, Christopher rolled his eyes. Breaking a supper roll in half, he asked (with a due amount of sarcasm), "Gee, Jalil? I don't know! But, golly, I'd sure love to. Why don't you go ask some of the big, hulking dwarves over there? Yeah, the ones with the huge-ass axes. 'Cause that'd be swell."
Jalil scowled at him. "Oh shut up, Hitchcock. It's a valid question."
David was about to add that he was wondering, too, even at the cost of Christopher's taunting. (The mocking voice had actually grown with the season, encouraged by all the good jokes one could make about holly berries and candy canes.) Just as he was opening his mouth, however, Jalil began talking again.
"Actually, if you must know, I've already inquired about the festivities. To King Baldwin, in fact, when we were looking over the mine production rates for this month. He says it's just been a long-standing tradition for as long as he can remember." The young scientist paused. "Well, there have been changes, of course."
David snorted in amusement. "Like the chains instead of tinsel? And the creepy amount of gold-colored decorations?"
"Martha Stewart would have loved it," Christopher commented.
They all laughed.
"Well, I can't say I'm complaining," the blonde continued after a moment, taking a quick and satisfied sip of wine. "Good food, good drinks, happy revelry all around? It's almost like being with a mild set of Vikings. You know, only shorter. Still hairy, though."
"I could do without Christmas," David admitted, his fingers winding around the glass of tea he'd procured earlier. "It's never been my favorite time of the year, you know? Too much work. Nothing really exciting happens- it's all routine."
"General? I hate to break it to you, but even Napoleon enjoyed a nice break every so often," Christopher said with a serious face.
"Like the entire time he was exiled," Jalil added.
"And all those scandalous escapes in the countryside."
"Sea trips on pretty boats."
"I think that was when he went to war, Christopher…"
"Well, the point is," the blonde interjected hastily, "that even the big guys took a little time off in December to celebrate… whatever the hell they celebrated. And you should take the opportunity to do the same."
David stared at them both. Christopher tried for a sincere and earnest grin, which only managed to look semi-sheepish and utterly disarming, anyway. He had a piece of sparkly silver stuff in his hair, most likely from the low-hanging decorations over the archways. Jalil was no better- he looked pretty much the same as always, but even the strict and logical teenager had a rare, carefree grin on his face. And both of them were in suspiciously good moods with each other… for once.
"You've both been corrupted," he decided glumly. He leaned back in his chair and took a deep gulp of hot tea. "Totally corrupted."
"Yeah, but we're happily corrupted."
"And despite the irrationality of it all, at least Christmas in Everworld means a distinct lack of attempts to kill us," Jalil added positively. "At least, as long as we stay in the castle."
"Which isn't hard to do. Drinks! Look at the women! The drinks! The decorations! The drinks!"
"Yes, we got that, Christopher. Drinks. Fine. Now shut up."
"Shutting up." A pause. "Okay, I lied. Have you heard about the contest to see which dwarf can eat the most moldy fruitcake? It's tonight at Baldwin's joint. Wanna go watch?"
"And see short, hairy men throw disgusting amounts of food up right in the King's throne room? You're a savage, Hitchcock."
"It's like HBO. Only with realistic effects."
David shook his head slowly. He couldn't take much more of this; seeing Christopher and Jalil banter with each other so easily made him kind of dizzy with shock. He picked up his glass of tea, shoving his plate of half-eaten holiday food aside, and stormed off towards the exit (avoiding the low-hanging sparkly stuff, too).
"Hey! Contest starts when the sun sets, dude! Come by if you have time!" Christopher called just as the door slammed behind him. David shuddered and started to run off for the safety of his bedroom.
God, maybe Aunt Marmalade was better than this. The fact that Jalil had been humming something suspiciously like Merry Christmas to You by Nat King Cole was completely destroying his brain. That just did it. Drastic times made for drastic measures, lines previously uncrossed.
The next person to wish him a happy holiday was getting skewed on Galahad's sword.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Thankfully, no one was skewed on the way to his chambers.
Four hours later, David was putting the finishing touches on a very lengthy letter to Merlin- ever since the wizard had found out that Jalil was a non-believer in most magic, he'd been making smart remarks like, 'Oh, look, a magical healing plant that cures the sick!' or 'Here, let me get that high-shelved book for you by using my uber-nifty levitation magic!' every time the scientist was nearby. It was driving the dark-skinned teenager up the wall, instead of in the strategic mood David needed him in for battle planning. It became especially annoying when he tried to ask Merlin to knock it off. The old man had just brushed him off, saying something about seniority and three-hundred years of idiot young heroes trying to tell him what to do.
So, a letter it was. Hopefully the barmy old goat would actually read it.
"There," David announced in contentment, singing his name at the bottom and rolling the sheet of parchment up. "That should get his attention."
He put the letter away… and started staring at the wall.
'Oh man. There's absolutely nothing else for me to do.'
The sun was about to set. There was no way he'd join Christopher and Jalil down in the throne room, if they actually decided to go. (Jalil seemed really put off by the idea of fruitcake and short men in chain mail for his Christmas entertainment. Then again, they'd had to drag him down from the library just to realize it was now "the season to be jolly" and stuff.)
Thankfully, even as he was wondering whether he should alphabetize his maps or not, there was a knock at the door.
"Hello?" he asked, peering out into the hallway.
Which was empty.
Frowning, David opened the door wider and peered down each end of the hallway. Which was absolutely empty. There wasn't a sound to be heard beyond the wind slightly murmuring between the crooks and crannies of the granite stones. It was probably a joke, he decided in irritation, some idiot who wanted to pull a stupid one on the general. Which meant it was probably Christopher. He moved to shut the door.
But that's when he saw it.
"It" was much smaller than the magnitude of the word implies. All it really was, actually, was a small oblong box wrapped in brown paper and twine. There was no card; nothing except the box and a crudely done ribbon. Glancing down the corridor again, David carefully picked the mysterious box up, glanced around again, and shut the door to his room.
A minute later, sitting on his bed with a perplexed face, David Levin realized that it was possibly the oddest- and strangely, therefore, best- gift he'd ever gotten in his life.
'A wooden knight?'
And it really was, a wooden Nutcracker no bigger than his forearm, only instead of the usual red and blue soldier garb, it was a knight. Carved out of pine and painted in soft, muted colors. The gray armor was light and fitting, the limbs stiff, and both arms reaching out slightly, as though trying to grab something. In one hand was a knight's tiny sword, straight and blunt, held at ready as though waiting for some unforeseen enemy just beyond the shadows. The craftsmanship was actually very meticulous; even the armor held a coat of arms that seemed almost fascinatingly familiar- David could have sworn he'd seen it before.
But it wasn't the symbol that made his breath catch.
'Galahad.'
It looked like Galahad.
Dark black hair fell around a sculpted face, kind and strong gray-blue eyes gazing back at him steadily. The color of the iris was the same stormy hue that had often glanced at him during their stay with the Knights of the Round Table, gentle like steel, brave and light-hearted at the same time. He remembered those eyes. And the soft smile the knight had always worn, now perfectly mimicked on a wooden toy held limply in his hands, gazing up, back at him, like he was the answer to the world.
David blinked down at it.
It seemed surreal. Seeing that face again. Their time with Galahad had been brief, but immeasurable when they realized how much they took with them of his life. How his brief moments of hospitality and courage had stayed deep within them. April had been affected. David would never admit it, but he had been, too. The sword he now carried held a constant reminder of the majesty Galahad had been to a world so fraught with danger and peril- he had been light to the dark, hero to the wounded. A man above all men. The Perfect Knight.
Even holding his sword, David had always felt unworthy.
Of course, the sword had become almost part of him. He'd done a lot with it. Fought lots of foes, aided many people in survival. With the instrument of Galahad, he'd been able to get closer to his dream of being just as wonderful as the knight had been. After time, and the many times his sword had rejected others (often with searing burns and a great deal of girly screaming), David had begun to think of it as his own, even as he never forgot who bestowed it upon him.
And now this: a Knightly Nutcracker.
His lips twitched. He laughed.
There was just something about it.
"So," David said solemnly to the wooden man, "I guess whoever left you decided I needed a knight in shining armor to model myself after, eh? I'll have you know that I'm a good swordsmen. At least… better."
The toy stared back at him.
'You're such an idiot, talking to an inanimate object,' David told himself, feeling his cheeks flush darkly. Still… it looked so real, for some reason. Like it was listening to him. That didn't happen a lot- not many people listened to David, not at first.
"I guess I'll call you Galahad," he finally said, studying the gift. "I mean, it seems a little insulting to name a toy after someone so great, but at least it's with the best intentions. Besides, you look exactly like him. I doubt it was an accident."
The toy stared back at him. Again.
"Oh shut up. I have better things to do than ramble to a miniature defender of justice, I'll have you know."
He stood up, looking around the room. His eyes lit upon his desk, heaping with a few unfinished pieces of business, and he crossed over with the toy. Sitting behind the desk, David carefully sat Galahad the Knightly Nutcracker next to his ink bottles and quills, turning the knight so that it looked straight at him while he worked.
This done, he gave it a small smile, and began to write.
The toy stared at him, that tiny wooden smile on its face, until he'd fallen asleep over his papers.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
The clock chimed thirteen.
This struck David as particularly ominous, not because the chimes equaled thirteen altogether, but because he didn't have a grandfather clock in his room.
As the last chime faded away, the young general gave a small groan and lifted his head from the desk. His left cheek was throbbing from the wooden surface; worse yet, he could tell that he had ink marks on his face from sleeping on the letter he was finishing to some Roman district to the east. As he blinked blurrily in the dark room, David ran a hand through his tousled mahogany hair, struggling to adjust to the sudden blackness surrounding him.
'What time is it…?'
'Well, thirteen at night, duh,' his inner voice responded dryly. 'Didn't you hear the creepy clock?'
'… I don't have a clock.'
'Exactly.'
David jerked his head all the way up, now very, very worried. It was dark- too dark. He could barely see his hand in front of his face, much less the rest of his room. He fumbled for the lantern that was supposed to be on his desk, and breathed a huge sigh of relief when he found it.
He turned the knob and the flame started to flicker.
And David just stared.
'Oh god. I'm dreaming. That has to be it. Just dreaming, or hallucinating, maybe I did go to that contest and ended up getting drunk…'
The wooden knight was gone. But more importantly, his room had decided to grow in proportion overnight. David knew that he'd been asking for a slightly larger space, but this was ridiculous- the furniture was gigantic, with the exception of his suddenly tiny-in-comparison desk. The bed was reaching to his shoulders, for chris'sake!
Taking deep breaths, David turned around to slowly take in the rest of the room. It was the same all around- dark and foreboding, a dresser about three times as tall as he was, and a large amount of dust on the floor that he'd never realized existed. Honestly, the dwarf servants sucked at cleaning.
Taking the time to make a disgusted face at the huge dust bunnies under his bed, David drew Galahad's sword out, trying to be ready for anything.
The shadows were moving funny.
No, he realized uncertainly, there was something making them move funny. Little quick dashes of speed kept whatever was out there out of his sight, but he could hear the soft pattering of many feet surrounding him. Which was almost impossibly creepy. Every now and then, the shadows would twist, and a sharp little sound would echo behind the titanic form of his chairs.
"Hey… look, whatever the hell you are, come out! You… cowards," David shouted, finishing lamely. 'It's just a dream. A creepy, weird dream that proves you should never sleep on your desk again. You shouldn't be talking to hallucinations, David. Or dreams. Or whatever.'
There was a sound. He gripped the sword tighter, whirling around desperately.
"Who's there!? Show yourself!"
"It's phrases like that which are followed by a frightening amount of high-pitched screaming and running away," an oddly familiar voice complained. Someone stepped from behind a huge chair leg and glared at him. "Foolish human. Not so high and might now that you're our size, are you?"
David dropped the sword.
And gaped.
"S-S-S-Senna?!"
'It's not a dream, it's a nightmare!' his subconscious screeched at him. He had to agree with the part of his mind that wasn't numb with shock. Which was predictable, as Senna Wales was supposed to be rather dead. Really dead, actually. Which she obviously wasn't now.
And when she came back, she'd obviously picked up a few accessories.
"Senna? Senna…?" the blonde girl echoed, raising an eyebrow. "Surely you know who I am?"
"Y-y-you have a tail!"
She rolled her eyes.
"And- and huge rat ears!" shrieked David in a slightly unmanly fashion.
She frowned slightly, tugging at one of the round, gray furry attachments. "Huge? Are you saying I'm fat?"
"Y-you have claws!"
"All the better to kill your pathetic human body and rip out your organs with, my dear. Oops… sorry, wrong story."
David stared at the semi-girl, semi-rat person. She had a tail, indeed, which was flicking impatiently on the floor behind her, as her mouse ears twitched with frustration. Her zinc-colored eyes remained the same cold story; she would have looked human if not for the rodent-resembling features. Stranger still, she didn't… seem to remember him…
"Senna?" he asked weakly.
"That's the Rat Queen to you," Senna said flatly. "Boys? Get him. Bring him to me… alive, though." She smiled a truly vicious smile, revealing sharp rows of teeth that looked extremely unpleasant. "He's almost pretty for a human, don't you think?"
David paled considerably- and was forced to ignore the threat to his manliness- as about thirty-five rat people stepped out from the shadows.
"Oh… fuck."
His hands fumbled down for Galahad's sword- there were too many, he'd never stop them all- his calloused fingers closed around the hilt- they were upon him almost, squeaking and laughing in odd, shrill pitches- and christ, it was a dream, it had to be a dream- and the Rat Queen was cackling somewhere by the chair, watching with her sharp teeth, gray eyes sparkling with malice-
"Stay away!" he gasped breathlessly, feeling the tiny claws rip at his clothing and face. A scratch on his left ear; long cut on his forehead. Burning pain in his knee. "Get back!"
He slashed out with Galahad's sword.
Burst of red. Screech of pain. One set of claws falling away.
But even as he stabbed out desperately, crying out every so often from a sudden lucky shot that caught his skin, David could barely see through the mass of gray fur and tails. The sword was ripped from his grasp. Less mice, but not enough, he was buried alive beneath them, pushing back at the ripping claws, terrified-
'A dream shouldn't hurt like this!'
And then, a voice.
"Back away, filthy rodents! Leave him!"
The hissing heightened and claws left him alone. David blinked hazily, hearing a few screams of pain from the rat-people. Soon the crowd had left him and he was staring at the ceiling that towered so high above him, sprawled over the floorboards, unmoving, but alive.
The mice had faded back to the shadows for a moment.
A face appeared above him, but it was more worried and amused than he'd ever seen it before. And then the familiar, comforting voice, "Are you alright?"
"Who…?" David forced out, his voice rasping slightly. But there was no doubting those gray-blue eyes.
The knight smiled gently. "You seem to be in need of aid, fair General. I hope you will forgive me for interrupting your victory- it seems unfair to let you handle all of the scum. If you don't mind terribly…?"
"No," David replied dumbly. "Go right ahead."
"Many thanks, friend. Please lay still, I will attend to your wounds shortly, as soon as I have settled business with our foes." The man disappeared with one last smile, but only after carefully running a perfect hand over David's hair, smoothing it from disarray. "Fear not; my sword remains yours, for you have brought it great honor."
The young man blinked up at the ceiling again, hearing the sudden sound of a blade slicing into flesh. A rat-person squealed. Feeling as though his entire world had been ripped up by its roots, David struggled to sit up. His entire body seemed to be burning- which was no wonder. Cuts and slices covered most of his form, the crimson blood leaking through the shreds of his clothing in an almost worrying amount. However, David could tell absently that most of the wounds were superficial, and instead he concentrated on making his eyes focus.
When they did, he watched in awe.
He'd seen Galahad fight. They all had. But at the time, they'd been under attack, and any chance to admire the knight's style had been lost. But now David could see every move, every graceful sweep of the blade, the light footwork- even in a hallucination, which he quickly reminded himself, the knight fought perfectly.
Soon there were no mice left. None except Senna.
"Rat Queen," Galahad said distastefully. He stepped towards her, still garbed in his lithe armor and chain mail, though the helmet did not exist. His stormy eyes narrowed at her. His sword was covered in dusky blood. "Your turn has come. Will you not fight me?"
"For the mortal?" Senna asked mockingly. She sent a scathing, amused glance towards David's crumbled form, which watched them with wide eyes. "To the victor goes the little brave warrior?"
Galahad's face was stony. "I fight for no prize greater than doing what is right. Stand forth, wretch, and claim your death."
"I think not. The little warrior's not that cute."
David suddenly changed his mind- he fervently hoped that Galahad lopped her head off. Even if it was a hallucination.
"Here I come," Galahad announced, and he charged at her.
The next few seconds were a little confusing, at least to David, who was still sprawled halfway on a really dusty floor.
"Take that!" Senna cried, judo-flipping the knight over her shoulder. He landed with a wheeze of air, his sword spiraling away from him under the dresser. The Rat Queen turned and took on a martial arts pose.
"Bring it on again," she purred. "I know karate, too. And kendo."
"Fancy moves will not save you!" Galahad sputtered, getting to his feet with only a little difficulty. He charged again.
"Hiiii-YAH!"
Thud.
"Urgh."
"You know," David called hesitantly to the fallen knight, "She's pretty good at that."
"I noticed."
"Crouching Tiger, Hidden SMACK DOWN!"
Thud.
"Arabian Kick to the Groin!"
"URGH."
"Secret Ninja Whoosh-Whoosh Punch!"
Smack.
Thud.
Bang.
Finally, the Rat Queen stood victoriously over Galahad's body, sprawled on the floor in exhaustion and bruised in more ways than any male could possibly imagine. She smirked down at him, idly picking up his own sword and holding it to his throat.
"So, now the great Galahad lays at my feet… helpless," Senna murmured. Her eyes were alight with a powerful, delighted fire. "To do with as I please."
"Oh, no you don't," David growled under his breath- the bad fighting techniques had been bad enough, but now she was talking molestation. Figuring that even hallucinations could be hurt, he looked around for a weapon. Any weapon.
The Rat Queen slowly bent to give him the finishing blow that would send him into unconsciousness.
His hand found… his shoe.
His remaining piece of clothing from the real world, a ratty set of tennis shoes with half-eaten laces, shoes steadily growing smaller, and he wrenched one from his foot, and took a breath and aimed the Nike sneaker like never before-
WHACK.
- and hit Senna square on the side of her head.
The Rat Queen blinked. She turned. Looked at him. Blinked. And then fell over, the sword slipping from her grasp as she hit the floor, unconscious and defeated.
David grinned in triumph. He looked towards Galahad, who was starting to sit up, and their eyes met- dark brown locking onto radiant gray-blue- and they both grinned.
And then, as David started to stand, the room swayed.
It spun.
And everything went black.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Right. So. Yeah.
Sorry it's so weird near the end. ^^;; Those who have read the Nutcracker may understand it all a lot better. Heh.
Next Part: Galahad and David find themselves in his world, we meet more familiar people, and Jalil's WHAT?!
Happy Holidays! ^___^ Sorry it's so late. I've been so busy lately that it's sickening. Merry Christmas to all! To Miss Duck-K! To my lovely Miss Mi-chan! To La-chan! To the EW fandom I love so much!
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