In this fic, I will attempt to accurately explain both Tancred's unbridled hatred for Zelda and Zelda's inexplicable use of the word 'darling' in Book 3, the latter being entirely unplanned. And xxd o t, here's your humorous ManfredZelda oneshot. My attempt at humor, anyways.
Three things I've discovered from writing this story: 1.) Third person can actually be a very useful plot device. 2.) These alternating scenes are slightly more difficult to transition than I'd expected. And 3.) Asa Pike is quite entertaining to write.
Disclaimer: I do not own Charlie Bone.
"Tanc! Sander!"
Lysander pivots, and there is Gabriel, running to catch up. His long hair flops up and down as he runs, clutching a precarious stack of notebooks and pencils to his skinny chest.
"We're going to be late," Lysander warns as Gabriel slows to a walk when he reaches them.
Tancred throws him an incredulous look. "Since when do you care about being late, Sage?"
"Since last weekend, Torsson! Gabe and I don't want detention again. Unlike you, we don't enjoy the company of Manfred Bloor."
"I don't—"
"Or is it someone else's company you enjoy?" Gabriel queries, looking at Tancred slyly. Tancred turns a rather unattractive shade of magenta and Lysander stifles the laughter that is threatening to erupt. Gabriel's comments around the general public are painfully awkward, but with Tancred and Lysander, he can be wickedly candid.
"You keep your thoughts to yourself, Silk! I told you to shut up about that!" The stormy boy's hair crackles wildly.
"A secret? Why don't I get to know?" Lysander pretends to be offended.
"We'll tell you tonight." Gabriel promises. "It's a good one, that's for sure." A capricious breeze whips Gabriel's cape up and over his head, covering his eyes. "Ah—mmph—stop it, Tanc!" He wriggles out from under his blue cape, smoothing the folds back into place with long fingers.
Lysander smiles wryly. "Did you get the cape, Tanc?"
Tancred refrains from pouting long enough to smirk malevolently and say, "You bet I did! Now Gabe can come home with us and McLain won't be able to come home at all." Mark McLain was a third year who, for the most part, despised all of the endowed children.
"Then how will he get home?" Gabriel looks rather nervous.
"I told you, he won't! C'mon, be a man and stop worrying about it!" Tancred is the epitome of confidence, strutting down the drafty halls with his comrades in tow. The three boys reach the end of the hall, where Manfred Bloor is stationed at the door of the King's Room with an angry scowl on his long face. Gabriel freezes in his tracks.
"See? We're late and—"
Emma Tolly almost floats past, her long blonde hair breezing out behind her. "Hi, Gabe," she says with a smile. She somehow makes her way into the King's Room with naught but a warning glance from Manfred.
"H-hi, Emma," Gabriel stutters, swallowing hard. Tancred elbows him hard in the ribs and he doubles over.
"Ow! Tanc—"
Manfred Bloor cuts them off with a sharp, "You're late. What's your excuse?" He smiles and all three shudder. Manfred is like a cat, toying with his victims before pouncing.
"We were helping Cook clear," Lysander says, sounding almost convincing. Almost.
"Were you? I don't recall it being your week to clear. I'll have to ask about that." Manfred's black eyes gleam with undisguised glee as he sentences them with a triumphant smirk. "Meanwhile, detenti—"
"Manfred!" There is Zelda Dobinski, gesturing towards her boyfriend with a tatty Calculus book. Her green eyes, heavily ringed with thick black eyeliner, flash with superiority. Manfred almost transforms, turning towards Zelda with a genuine smile, and Lysander releases the breath he's been holding with a sigh of relief.
"I'm not going to sit here wasting my time while I could be starting on our Lit essay," Zelda continues. "If you want me to help you with Calculus, you've got to get in here on time." Gabriel stares. No one could get away with ordering Manfred Bloor around—no one, that is, but Zelda Dobinski.
"Aw, Zel, couldn't you just do the homework for me?" Manfred pleads. Zelda allows herself a small, secret smile.
"No," Zelda replies. "And don't ask me to tutor you on the weekends. That's when I'm helping Asa. And he's failing worse than you are, you know that."
"Damn you, Dobinski," Manfred sighs, half-jokingly. Zelda beckons again and he follows her into the King's room, leaving Tancred, Gabriel, and Lysander to scurry in after him. A gust of wind flutters the papers on the long table, causing Zelda to throw Tancred a look of contempt. Tancred glares back, and starts in on his homework in an inexplicable rage.
The room is silent, save for Zelda's low murmur, "So you take the square root of 2 pie n times the quantity of n plus one-half…" as Manfred stares wider in frustration and subconsciously rattles his leg up and down. Zelda places her hand on his leg under the pretense of steadying him, glancing toward him with an impish grin. He leans to whisper in her ear.
"God, you're driving me insane, Zel. Do you even know what you're doing to me right now?" His voice is low, his tone suggestive. She knows exactly what he is insinuating, and decides to entertain it.
Zelda smirks. She turns her head slightly, her mouth only centimeters away from Manfred's ear. He shivers delightfully as her almost soundless words reach him. "Do you even know what I'm going to do to you after we get out of here?" Manfred leans in again, brushing her neck with his lips.
"I can't wait to find out." Zelda turns her attention to the table in front of her, upon which Asa has just slid a folded slip of paper. She opens in with the very tips of her fingers, wrinkling her nose in mock disgust.
Get a room!
Asa's nearly illegible scrawl slips perilously down the paper. Zelda writes back in impeccable cursive.
Why? Is anyone staring? Besides you, I mean.
She folds the note back up and sends it shooting back across the table telekinetically. Asa hurriedly scans the note, suppressing a snort of amusement at Zelda's rather dry jab, and then scribbles something down.
Look at Bone!
Zelda does, and almost laughs at Charlie's unadulterated disgust. She scans the faces in front of her: Tolly, reproving; Sage, amused; and Torsson… glaring? A small frown flickers over her face as she peruses this turn of events. Why was Torsson so obviously furious? From him, she would have expected overt delight, stemming from the lack of action he was almost certainly getting. Sighing, she turns her attention back to Manfred and Calculus, and sets in with abandon.
Time seems to creep by in the King's room that evening, but, after what seems to be days but is in reality less than two hours, Manfred finally glances at his watch for the last time, stands up, and barks, "Alright, clear out!" Lysander, Gabriel, and Tancred bolt for the door, terrified that Manfred will remember the threat of detention.
They make a mad dash for the dormitories, grab books, clothes, and projects, then careen down the rickety staircase and out the big front doors. Gabriel hurriedly dons the stolen green cape, and the boys trot towards the green bus.
"Phew!" Gabriel sighs in relief as they slow to a walk. "That was close. We almost got detention that time."
"You've got to stop forgetting your stuff, Tanc," adds Lysander. "First your tie, then your sculpture, now your notebook… I mean, we're going to be in detention for the rest of our sorry lives at this rate! What'll it be next?"
At this, Tancred stops dead in his tracks. "Oh shit…"
Lysander doesn't hesitate to let out a loud groan. "What is it this time?"
"My history book! We've got the exam Monday, and I don't know anything about the periodic table!" Tancred puts his head in his hands and repeats one phrase, over and over like a mantra: "Oh shit oh shit oh shit…"
"Couldn't you just borrow mine?" Gabriel asks worriedly.
"No, I've got my notes tucked into the back cover and I don't understand the chapter without them…"
"We've got to go back and get them, then. Do we have time?" Gabriel pulls Lysander's arm towards him and twists it to read his watch. "It's 2:41, and the bus leaves at 2:45. Think you can make it?"
"Doubtful. You stay here, okay Gabe? Don't let the bus go without us." Gabriel nods solemnly at Lysander's request. "I'll escort Mr. Delinquent here back to the King's room."
"Thanks, Sander!" Tancred plops his backpack onto the pavement, so as not to hinder his running.
"No time for that, we've got to go!" Lysander sets down his book bag too, grabs Tancred's arm, and breaks into a run. The two boys sprint up the stairs, through the art wing, across the cafeteria, and into the tiny hallway that leads to the King's room. They come to a screeching halt at the closed door, breathless and gasping.
Lysander strains to hear. Something is very peculiar about the sounds coming from the King's room. Moans and gasps and he can swear he hears words— "Mmmm, Manfred…" Tancred, of course, is oblivious.
"What are we doing?" Tancred asks. Lysander is, at the moment, atypically nervous.
"Um, Tanc, do you really need your book? Like really need it?"
"Of course I need my book, you idiot! That's why we're here, remember?" Tancred folds his arms and huffs impatiently. "Let's open the door!"
"All's I'm saying is, there might be someone in there who might not want to see us at this particular moment."
"Speak English, you dolt!"
"I am speaking English. And I'm saying that it's a very, very bad idea to open that door right now."
"What's wrong with you?" Tancred scowls and wrenches open the door. Lysander emits a sort of strangled cry, but it is too late.
There they are, just as he'd known they would be. Zelda is sitting on the table, her knee length skirt hitched up almost to her waist. Manfred is standing, kissing her and—is he feeling her up? A single thought skitters across Lysander's mind: Who'd have thought Manfred's love life was this good... He would have been laughing if not for the eminent death that he and Tancred were almost certainly going to suffer.
Tancred is extremely red in the face, his storm-grey eyes wild. A great gust of wind seems to come from within him, sending the couple reeling and the Red King's portrait crashing off the wall. His green cape flies out behind him and his lemon hair is alive with electricity.
Manfred draws himself to his feet, helping Zelda up. She smoothes her black hair and straightens her skirt. Manfred is glowering angrily, but his expression is nothing to Zelda's ferocious glare. Manfred moves to speak, but Zelda beats him to it.
"What the hell do you two think you're doing?"
Lysander begins, "Tancred forgot his history book, sir, so we came to get it—"
"What are you doing?" Tancred is angry, so angry that a wayward wind flips round the small room again.
"None of your business, Torsson," Manfred shouts.
"You're disgusting!" Tancred retorts, and Lysander cowers, knowing that Tancred has gone way too far. "Do you think anyone wants to see that?"
Zelda's green eyes flash. "You clearly do," she snickers.
"Shut the hell up!" Tancred yells, furious.
Manfred draws himself up, and bellows, "That's it! I've had it with you, Torsson! Detention for both of you for the next three weeks, and you, Torsson, will clear breakfast, lunch, and dinner for the next month!"
At this, Zelda makes an Are-you-really-sure-you-want-to-do-that? face. Lysander scans the situation for some sort of doesn't want to upset Manfred further, but knows that they can't leave Gabriel alone on the art bus.
A bolt of electricity, fueled by Tancred's vengeful anger, misses Manfred by inches. Manfred curses and jumps to grab Tancred. Lysander sees his chance, seizes the history book, grabs Tancred, and breaks into a dead run, dragging his so-called best friend with him. Manfred pursues them at breakneck speed, but there is no sign of Zelda.
They clatter out the door, down the steps, and grab their backpacks without even halting for a breath. The green bus is pulling out, but Lysander and Tancred run after, waving their arms and yelling. The bus door creaks open; the vehicle does not stop as the two boys jump on. The doors slam shut and the bus screeches away from the academy, leaving Manfred screaming and cursing in its wake.
Lysander is fuming. "You absolute idiot!"
Tancred, for once, is silent.
What happened on the art bus, as told by Gabriel
"Hey, Gabe!"
"Oh… h-hi, Emma," Gabriel smiles, brushing a wayward lock of floppy mouse-brown hair out of his eyes. Emma motions for him to sit next to her. He reacts stupidly.
"Whaa- you want me to sit with you?" Gabriel's voice raises higher and higher in pitch, until he ends on a squeak.
"Well, yeah," Emma says, a curious look in her warm blue eyes. Gabriel thinks that they are blue not like pastel day-sky or velvety deep night-sky, but blue like salty seawater, the almost aquamarine hints of it tripping delightfully off the tongue like sand, starfish, and ocean waves, great foamy breakers crashing on the rocks on a sultry summer's day.
"Okay… um, would you mind moving over a bit?" Gabriel feels himself blushing, and lowers his head, hoping his hair will hide his undoubtedly scarlet face. Emma scoots over, leaving ample room for Gabriel on the seat. He perches uneasily on the very edge, staring frantically at anything but Emma and drumming his fingers nervously on his pant leg. Emma laughs awkwardly.
"So, why're you here?" Gabriel turns toward Emma, astonished.
"What?"
"Why are you riding the art bus?" Emma laughs again, a high, tinkley sound like crystal glass wind chimes. Gabriel coughs, feeling stupid (again). Emma has the uncanny ability to make him feel stupid—well, stupider than he usually feels—, and he inwardly curses her for it.
"Tanc is having Sander 'n me over tonight…" Gabriel breaks off when a very angry sounding voice hails him.
"What do you think you're doing in my seat?" Gabriel turns around, and there is Olivia Vertigo, glowing furiously beneath her cropped magenta hair, which is striped all round with glittery silver streaks.
"Oh, um, sorry…"
"Liv!" Emma says reprovingly. "Gabe's just sneaking home with Tanc and Sander, same as you're sneaking home with me." Gabriel flushes red again at the 'Gabe'. Olivia notices, and winks at Gabriel suggestively.
"I was kidding, Em, you know that! So, Silk, joining the realms of us troublemakers? I wouldn't have thought it of you. Where'd you get the cape? You could've just turned it inside out, y'know." Olivia finishes her little speech and plops into the seat behind Emma and Gabriel. "There," she sighs in satisfaction. "Now I'll be able to keep an eye on you two lovebirds."
Emma whacks Olivia not-so-playfully with her sketchpad. Gabriel starts stammering, "Uh, um, well… good idea, you turning the cape over." He grins at his discomfited recovery, and relievingly, so do Emma and Olivia.
The three of them would have kept on grinning (for lack of anything better to do) for ages, if not for a angry-sounding bellow of "Come back here, Torsson!" and the unmistakable clatter of footsteps. "We're heading out," the bus driver announces, and, at that precise moment, all hell breaks loose. The academy doors boom open and—
"Here they come," Gabriel sighs wearily. There are Tancred and Lysander, jogging speedily to the art bus as the engine thrums to life. Coming right after is a clearly agitated Manfred Bloor, cursing like a sailor. Children with blue, green, and purple capes thrust open bus windows and lean out, shouting encouragements:
"Way to go, Sander!"
"Get your arse in here, Torsson!"
"You'll never catch 'em, Bloor!"
Olivia's body is now almost halfway out the bus window, teetering madly toward the sharp-edged pavement. "Hey! Freddy!" Her piercing cry outshines those of all the other children. Manfred looks up hastily, and trips over his own feet, falling flat onto the cement.
The green bus, already in motion, thrusts open her aching doors with a rather uninspiring cloud of dust, allowing Lysander and Tancred entrance to the raucous cries of the children.
"So… what's the story?" Zelda raises her eyebrows. When Manfred refuses to answer, she pretends to study her fingernails.
Manfred growls and paces up and down. "Those goddamn idiots run down and somehow get on the goddamn bus, and it takes off! These… people… have no respect for me! I'm the goddamn headmaster's son!" He ends on a shout.
"You know, if you had managed to make them stay for detention, Torsson would have bothered us all weekend. I think you're having another power complex," Zelda quips. Manfred knows that her words are true, but he won't back down now.
"You know what I think?" Manfred snaps. When Zelda doesn't rise to the bait, he continues, "I think Torsson fancies you."
Zelda gapes. "What on earth would you think that for?"
"When he's done with his homework, I sometimes catch him staring at you. It's like he's undressing you with his eyes or something."
"And you don't do that?" Zelda inquires.
"I'm your boyfriend, Zel!" Manfred scowls and sits on the table beside her.
"So Torsson fancies me. What am I going to do about that?" Manfred shrugs. "If he tries to make a move, you know I'll teach him exactly where his place is!"
Manfred sighs, relinquishing at last. "Ah, Zel…"
Zelda basks in the glory of winning the argument—not that she wasn't certain from the first that she would. "Now, where were we before we were so rudely interrupted?"
A wicked grin makes its way across Manfred's face, and he lowers his head to bite Zelda's neck.
"Yes! It's the weekend!" Tancred leaps in the air, pumping his fist. Lysander leans against the cupboard; Gabriel perches on the marble countertop. Tancred swings open the fridge, grabbing three coca-colas and tossing one to Lysander and one to Gabriel.
"I still don't see why you have to do stuff like that! Why the hell did you mouth off to Manfred like that?" Normally easy-going Lysander is still furious.
Gabriel opens his coke can with a loud pop followed by unearthly bubbling and fizzing. After taking a long swig of his soda, he chances a comment. "Tanc, can I explain to Sander now?"
"Sure, go ahead, Gabe," Tancred mutters, nursing the ruby-red coke can like it is a life preserver.
"Well, Tancred has this major, major crush on Zelda…" Gabriel cuts off nervously, seeing Tancred's warning glance.
Lysander splutters, spitting out a mouthful of coke to Gabriel's great disgust. "WHAT?!"
"Um… yeah," says Tancred, coloring.
"Well, is that all?" A wide grin spreads across Lysander's brown face. "Now I have something amazing to tease you about. But why didn't you tell me?"
"Because you never asked."
"Why do you like her anyway?" Gabriel asks.
"She's sexy, if you haven't noticed!"
"Okay… if you say so. But mate, she's Manfred's. Manfred Bloor's. He's going to murder you if he ever finds out."
"He won't," Tancred says with a confident grin. "He won't, that is, until I've got her for myself."
Lysander raises an eyebrow suspiciously. "And how are you proposing we do that? No, make that you. I'm not involving myself in this. You owe me, not the other way around. We're going to get even more detention when we go back to school Monday."
"Just wait. When I pull this off, Zelda'll see what she's missing," Tancred boasts.
"Whatever you say, mate, whatever you say…" Gabriel deadpans while Lysander laughs surreptitiously.
"Pike! What am I going to do with you?"
"Um… I dunno… flunk me?"
"I can't flunk you, but Mr. Gold sure can! Honestly, if you don't show any effort, I'm going to make sure you never graduate." Zelda throws up her hands in frustration, stalking around the small bedroom energetically.
Asa glances wistfully out the window. It is such a perfect Sunday afternoon. He imagines himself, Manfred, and Zelda walking downtown to the ice-cream shop, maybe taking a walk in the ruins afterward. That's his perfect Sunday, anyways. Zelda's idea of a perfect Sunday was clearly tutoring him in Calculus. No, make that snogging Manfred to within an inch of his life. Asa suspected that she hated this as much, or perhaps more, than he did.
"That's my unlucky privilege, darling," Manfred calls over from the bed, where his lanky form is sprawled, rumpling the bedspread. A loose sheaf of papers is spread out before him—he and Zelda's first draft of what will (someday) be the spring musical. Asa thanks his lucky stars that he was unable to test into their AP English class.
"I wish it were mine—Damn you!" Zelda shrieks. Asa snorts. That past summer, when Zelda discovered Manfred's loathing for the word 'darling', they began a passing-game of it. Once one has been called 'darling', the other must immediately respond with some sort of swear word. Manfred is only able to catch Zelda at certain moments—specifically, when she is in what Asa likes to call a 'mood'.
Manfred grins. "Thanks, Zelda."
"Oh, just you wait…" Zelda seethes. "I'll have you by tomorrow, I swear it!"
Manfred raises an eyebrow. "Is that a bet?"
"Damn right it is!"
"A pound of jellybeans against…"
Zelda licks her lips. She loves jellybeans, especially the fancy gourmet kind, which, conveniently for Manfred, she can't afford to buy. "I'll do your Calculus homework for a week."
Manfred's eyes gleam. "You wouldn't…" Asa accuses.
"I would. Besides, I'm going to win anyways. And if I don't, I can always get out of doing the homework." Zelda sounds extremely sure of herself.
"And how's that?" Asa looks puzzled.
"I have my ways," says Zelda mysteriously, casting a knowing look at Manfred. He tosses up his hands.
"You've got me there, Zel. Alright, shall we call it a deal?" Manfred reaches out his free hand to shake.
"Done," Zelda beams almost eerily, grasps Manfred's hand with a strength disproportional to her skinny frame, and shakes with an air of finality.
"You know what today is, don't you?"
Lysander sighs and pretends to be oblivious. "Let me guess… is it Monday?"
"No! Well, yes, it's Monday, but that's not what I'm talking about."
"What are you talking about, then?"
"Go ahead, ask me again!"
Lysander smiles. He is enjoying this. "Ask you what?"
"Ask me what day it is, you idiot!"
"Okay… What day is it, you idiot?"
"SANDER!!" Tancred's hair crackles in exasperation.
"Just tell me what day it is." Lysander sustains a chuckle, sighing-to-feign weariness.
"It's D-Day."
"D-Day?"
"D as in Demolition. Demolition as in, the Demolition of Manfred and Zelda's relationship as we know it."
"Don't you mean Demolition as in the Demolition of Tancred Torsson as we've known him?"
"Shut it, Sander."
"You know I'm right, Torsson."
Break that morning is cold and clear, prompting the children to wrap their capes tight round themselves and shiver. Autumn, it seems, has decided to show them her more sinister side.
Zelda, however, is reveling in it. She, who is usually wrapped in sweaters and scarves for any temperature below sixty degrees, is at her happiest in the snappy late autumn weather. She wears black mittens and a long red woolen scarf, embroidered with turquoise and silver thread and nicked from the drama room's gypsy costume bin. Manfred, shivering visibly beside her, tugs off her right mitten to clasp her hand, pocketing it before strolling with her in Asa's direction. The three stop under a tree to chat.
"Torsson's in loooove," Asa mocks. Zelda's expression changes to one of disgust and fury.
"He's been following me around all morning! I can't stand it anymore."
"Mmmm… want me to show him what he's up against?" Manfred suggests darkly.
"No. I can take care of myself," Zelda glares.
"I wasn't questioning your capability, merely my penchant to demolish Torsson," Manfred assures her.
"Well, you're in luck. Here he comes now…" Asa snickers, and Zelda moves toward Tancred with a
"Don't follow me, Manfred! I'd like to do this myself, thanks!"
Tancred's eyes run up and down Zelda's body lasciviously. She pretends not to notice, drawing herself up to her full height of five feet, seven inches—only about a centimeter taller than Torsson, she notes.
"What. Do. You. Want," she manages to get out. The fury is blinding, the telekinetic impulse almost undeniable. Times like this, Zelda remembers all those days she was in a temper and lost control, letting her powers take over completely. Right now, she'd like nothing better than to have the tree branch above them fall in some sort of "tragic accident."
"Is there a mirror in your pocket?" Torsson calls out cheerily. Zelda blinks.
"Excuse me—what?"
Tancred is deterred. For the joke to work, she's supposed to respond with why, not what. Still, he overlooks Zelda's slip-up and moves on to the punch line. "Because I see myself in your pants."
Zelda sees red flash before her eyes, but decides not to completely lose it just yet. "Oh, you think you're so clever, don't you, Torsson? Pathetic. One, I'm not wearing pants. It's a skirt, got it? Two, what on earth do you think you're trying to pull?" She glares hotly.
"What do you think, Sander?"
"You're asking me? Okay, well honestly, I think he'll pull his little stunt and she'll incinerate him on spot," Lysander replies in reference to Gabriel's question.
"Was he serious about the 'wind blowing her skirt up' bit?"
"Doubtful. Even Tanc doesn't have that kind of gall."
"Then again, knowing Tanc, it's just the sort of thing he might do," Gabriel worries.
"You're right. We might as well wait and see." The two boys settle under the trunk of an elm to watch the spectacle.
"What's your verdict?" Manfred grinds his teeth. Asa knows that he is on the verge of a mental breakdown that had the potential to be quite messy.
"Um… Zelda all the way," Asa replies nervously. Zelda and Torsson were quite obviously bickering, though Manfred and Asa couldn't quite hear what they were saying.
"Torsson hasn't got a chance," Manfred sneers. "Zelda will beat him to within an inch of his life."
Asa privately hoped that he was right.
"Um, it's just… You're looking really… good today, Dobinski!"
"One more cocky comment and I show you exactly what you're up against." Tancred flinches at Zelda's biting tone.
"You mean… you'll have Manfred and Asa come over here and beat my ass?"
"That's right."
Tancred gulps. Slowly but surely, however, the final portion of his almost failed plan begins to creep into his mind. He grins slyly and releases an enormous wind.
Zelda's uniform skirt flies up in a very singular wind, revealing her thin, pale legs and a flash of black underwear before she yanks the hem down furiously. Manfred roars, "I'll kill you, Torsson!" Asa reacts with surprise, and then struggles to hold Manfred back.
"Remember, she said she didn't want your help…"
"I don't give a fuck what she said!" Asa, however, does not let Manfred go.
"Oh no," Gabriel says. "He didn't, he wouldn't…"
"Oh yes," Lysander replies grimly. "He did. It's a dark day for Tancred Torsson, that's for sure."
Zelda draws herself up, snarling. Tancred is aghast—at what he has just done or her reaction, she doesn't know. Zelda stares calmly at him, enjoying both his expression of pure terror and the absolute control she has over the situation. A whimper comes from deep within the frightened boy.
"W-what are you doing?"
"I'm deliberating between telekinetically or physically beating you up, and I've come to the conclusion the physically will be infinitely more satisfying for me."
Tancred yelps as he is thrown to the ground by invisible hands. "H-hey… I thought you said physically!"
Zelda calmly draws his body up again with a "Sorry, my bad," and proceeds to punch his lights out. Even as Tancred is suffering with the shame of being beaten up by a girl, he marvels at Zelda's strength.
A undeterminable amount of time later, it seems that Zelda has stopped. Tancred lifts his head up blearily from the hard ground. The world is hazy and blurred, veering sharply into focus with a shake of his head. Far away, he can just make out the figure of Zelda, hand-in-hand with Manfred, walking away. The Manfred-figure turns its head and gives him an incredibly nasty look. Tancred shakes his head at the nerve of the figure, and drops his head wearily to the inviting ground once more.
"Tanc?" He can hear Lysander's voice.
"Are you okay?" Gabriel this time.
"Wow, you should've seen that coming." A giggle. Must be Vertigo. Tancred groans and tries his hardest to block out the voices.
"Liv!" That'd be Emma. Are she and Gabe…? Tancred's mind wanders. Another voice calls to him out of the obscurity.
"Tanc?" Sander again.
"What?" This time, he forces himself to reply, a non-committal grunt that isn't a question and doesn't require an answer.
"Don't say I didn't warn you."
"Wow." Manfred smiles at Zelda as they walk back to the academy. A light snow has begun to fall—but they both know that it isn't Torsson's doing.
"Told you, didn't I?"
"Yes," Manfred admits. Zelda is seized with an impulse to kiss him, and so she does. It is heaven, this—the frosty sky above them, the frozen ground underfoot, the snowflakes melting as they touch her cheekbones, Manfred's arms bracing her waist. And most of all his mouth, pressed against hers, hot and dry and lingering, burning her frame to the core. She clutches him to her and kisses him harder; rivaling his fire with her undiluted— concentrated power.
She pulls away regretfully. "Told you I'd win the bet, didn't I, darling?" Her eyebrows are raised but she is begging him not to catch it.
Manfred's mind, however, is still on the kiss. He pulls Zelda close again and trails kisses up her neck to her ear: "What bet?" His voice is sensual and thrills Zelda in two ways.
She pulls away, and Manfred looks rather hurt. "Got you," she taunts, sticking out her tongue.
"Damn it!" Manfred curses, then looks back at Zelda ruefully. "I guess I owe now…"
"You'd better believe you do," Zelda says. She takes his hand. "Run with me?"
She isn't asking for an answer, so he doesn't give one. Instead, he grasps her hand tighter, laughing as they run across the frozen grass together, dazzling, daring, and utterly
home.
How was it? I strongly encourage you to review, even if you absolutely hate it.
Here's # 4.) My spelling and grammar check was definitely wired by someone who knows next-to-nothing about the proper use of the English language.