Well here's a story essentially out of nowhere. Also, if Kamala11 or any other username by the same person, such as Indistinct Conversations, I believe, reads this, just know that I finally did it...and took your advice on its creation. So thank you for all of your help, and sorry I acted like a cocksure jerk at the time.
I harboured the idea for this fiction for some time, but she's to thank for it being on the list of ideas I have actually acted upon to write about. Indeed, this one is dedicated to her, cheers.
This chapter is written in the style of a "Songfic", something I haven't tried before. Not much to say, but I hope you all enjoy. It's not a theme that will continue in later chapters, mind you.
The song is "Non ti Scordar mai di me", specifically as sung by Giusi Ferreri. I hugely recommend looking it up, on YouTube or whatever the case may be. I do not speak much Italian, for the record, only pigeon Italian from school. If you want the translation to the lyrics, feel free to look it up, but no knowledge of Italian is really needed, especially if you're listening to the song in the background anyway.
Well, enjoy!
Non ti Scordar Mai Di Me
Bare, pink-furred hands covered the flame of a match as it flared, keeping it burning as it was delicately guided to set alight to two, red candles. As they burned, a soft aroma arose, guiding over the table with such delicacy, on the edge of smell for any human, but clear to the hedgehog as she gently blew out the fire travelling over the match in her hand.
Jasmine. Sweet, tender Jasmine.
The pink hedgehog put away the matches in a nearby drawer, wiping her uncharacteristically ungloved hands on her dress to dispel the nervous sweat forming, praying that no mark was left. The dress was long, and red, blending well with her fur colour, and of a much more elegant make than her normal skirt. The fortunate lack of any rumble or dampness from her clearing her hands didn't do anything to dispel her nervousness, biting a lipstick-tinted lip softly.
Will she like it? I hope she likes Jasmine. She likes red too, right? Please let her like red...
The hedgehog looked up at the clock on the wall, ticking away softly, each second feeling like an hour.
7:59pm. It hadn't even been a minute since she last checked it...
Forcing herself to slow her breathing, Amy walked around the table she had set up, pulling the corners of the red, silken tablecloth on the small dinner table, making absolutely certain every corner was perfect and equal, that each dinner plate was perfectly aligned with the chair, each piece of cutlery straight and in the proper order. She replaced the candles so their sell wafted out further, the vase of flowers so it didn't intrude upon the view between the two seats. Maybe she should move the vase away entirely off the table? No, flowers were good on a table for dinner, right? Oh dear, do the wine glasses go to the upper left or the upper right of the plate? Which side do the bread plates go on? Damn, damn, damn!
She held back from biting her nails, just praying that it was all acceptable for...for a date. The thought made her heart beat that much faster, a blush darkening her impeccably clean cheeks. She glanced at the front door. She said 8pm, right? She did, she did. Okay. What time is it? Amy glanced at the clock on the wall again.
8:01pm.
Amy glanced around, paranoid that she left something untidy, something out of place or ugly in the room, frantically re-arranging things. Surely the other would be here any second...
Se fossi qui con me questa sera,
Sarei felice e tu lo sai...
Amy's head shot up. No! The kettle! Surely it should be kept hot, what if they want a cup of tea before dinner? Or after, she can't leave them waiting, surely. Amy almost tripped on her high heels as she made her way to the kitchen, switching on the kettle to start boiling, while also bringing out packets of sugar and a miniature milk jug, opening the fridge to look through the different types of milk. Which one do they like? Full Cream? Low Fat? Soy? She bit her lip again, trying to remember desperately if indeed she ever knew...
Starebbe meglio anche la luna,
ora piu' piccola che mai...
Full cream. Yes. There was that time in the cafe...
Amy filled the milk jug, her trembling hands causing a slight spillage. She put the milk aside, gasping in horror as she looked for the closest cloth. She couldn't be seen as clumsy! She can't make any mistakes, they'll be here any minute...
Farei anche a meno della nostalgia
Che da lontano
Torna per portarmi via
Del nostro amore solo una scia
Che il tempo poi cancellerà
E nulla sopravviverà...
Cleaning up the spill, she forced her breath to return to normal speed, deciding to leave the sugar, teabags, coffee, kettle, milk and cups all there. They look alright on the bench there, right? At least she's prepared. The salad's still kept cool, but not cold? Okay, yes...The soup? Yes, it's kept warm in there. What about the main meal? Sardines Escalivada. Amy was surprised when she had heard of the other's view of a "perfect dinner", and she had to admit, though she had but sampled the meal she had so carefully prepared, despite its simplicity...it looked good. She had giggled then, but now she desperately hoped she had made it right...please let her have made it right...
Non ti scordar mai di me,
di ogni mia abitudine,
in fondo siamo stati insieme
e non è un piccolo particolare.
Amy gasped again. What time was it? What if they had been waiting outside? She ran again, more careful with her shoes, looking at the clock as she rushed to open the front door.
8:04pm.
Non ti scordar mai di me,
della più incantevole fiaba
che abbia mai scritto,
un lieto fine era previsto e assai gradito...
No, no-one there...She's late. She must have been...delayed by something, yeah. Maybe G.U.N had called her in for an emergency assignment? She would have rung, right? Amy closed the door, fearful of having the house too cold for the date, picking up her mobile that she left on a desk behind another vase, hidden unless searched for. No, it was on, with full battery...and no missed calls.
It's only 4 minutes, though. Not a big problem, right? No need to panic. She glanced at the clock again. Perversely, had time sped up after slowing for so long?
8:06pm.
Okay, 6 minutes...
Forse è anche stata un pò colpa mia
Credere fosse per l'eternità.
A volte tutto un pò si consuma,
senza preavviso, se ne va...
8:12pm.
The candles were starting to go down...at an alarming rate. Weren't they supposed to last for two hours? Maybe it's just really hot in here, should I turn down the heating? No, she hates anything resembling cold, despite the conditions where she works...
Why is she taking so long? Maybe I should call her... Please, please be alright...
Non ti scordar mai di me,
di ogni mia abitudine,
in fondo siamo stati insieme
e non è un piccolo particolare.
8:20pm.
"No, Rouge hasn't been sent on any missions from any G.U.N base, classified or not, I assure you. If she is not answering her mobile perhaps she has lost it or does not have it with her. You know as I do, Ms Rose, that she is perfectly capable of taking care of herself. Goodbye."
Click...
Non ti scordar mai di me,
della più incantevole fiaba
che abbia mai scritto,
un lieto fine era previsto e assai gradito...
8:36pm.
The soup's gone cold... Microwaving it just...loses the flavour.
She's still not answering her cellphone.
Non ti scordar…
Non ti scordar…
8:38pm.
I worked hard on that soup...I suppose I'll put it on the table anyway. She'll turn up. Rouge will turn up.
She's always so precise with her timing.
Non ti scordar mai di me,
di ogni mia abitudine,
in fondo siamo stati insieme
e non è un piccolo particolare.
8:54pm.
I...suppose I'll just have the soup. She'll come in time for the main course. She's fine...she's always been fine on her own. If I go look for her, she'll just arrive here while I'm gone...
Non ti scordar mai di me,
della più incantevole fiaba
che abbia mai scritto,
un lieto fine era previsto e assai gradito.
10:16pm.
The candles burnt out. The rest of the meal either too warm. Or too cold. The soup for two gone entirely. The Kettle cold again. Now, in a ruffled dress, and tear stained face, Amy Rose looked into the Sardines Escalivada. Both Plates of it.
She grabbed a handful from each, dumping both unceremoniously onto her own plate, bringing it to the table before grabbing a piece of the sardine in her fingers.
It's not like anyone else is there to care.
As final Author's Notes: regardless of whether this is normally the sort of thing you read or not, I hope you did enjoy reading it. All criticism is welcome, and reviews are vastly appreciated. I try to reply to every review, too.