How many of you would get it if I said this fic contains Romance, Adventure, and MAD SCIENCE! For those of you who are clue less, that is the beginning of the Girl Genius radio shows and also how I would like to introduce my own steampunk fic. The reason I chose to write this is simple. It's what I know best. I have spent my whole life researching about old Vicky's time. Almost all of my free time is spent at the library reading old issues of Punch and other newspapers/magazines from back then. So just as a warning, this fic is going to be written with slang, political references, social reference and anything else from the Victorian age. I tried to put foot notes to stuff their might be questions about but since I'm oblivious to the real words and have no idea what a regular person knows and doesn't know just ask me in the reviews if there is anything that confuses you. For those of you who would like to do research of your own the website Dictionary of Victorian London contains articles and passages everywhere from the newspapers, old medical journals, handbooks for servants, traveling guides, and even segments from Dickens. Just in case your curious.
Disclaimer: I may not own the world of Junjou Romantica but the world of steampunk is free for every one to enter. I also don't own Girl Genius, that's would be Phil and Kaya Follio.
The warmth of my life blood pooled around me as rain pelted like bullets of ice against my pale face. I was too tired to move though. The freezing paving stones pressed against my cheeks as I lay on my back, staring blankly at the dark alleys around me. I knew I should move, but the pain in my stomach from where the knife had slashed across it made it all seemed useless. My whole life; I had struggled so hard, fought so long, gained my freedom only to lose it here, lying torn and broken, my blood adding to the trash and grime of the streets of London's east end. I closed my eyes and waited for the inevitable.
They say your life flashes before your eyes before you die. I guess I am soon destined to enter into the pits of hell then, because flashes of memories began to play behind my closed lids. It reminded me of picture shows I'd seen at one of the new theatres that had started popping up all over London. I couldn't help but smile bitterly at the pattern clearly shown through the sequence of images. Over and over again I experienced it; the presence of my guardian angel.
He was an entity that had always been in my life. I tried to replay the first of my memories as vividly as I could but I couldn't recall much. I remembered just the pounding of horse's hooves as they thundered towards me, dragging the broken axle of the hansom* behind them. I remembered the terror that had seized me, forcing me to shut my eyes tightly. I don't know if I had screamed or not, just the paralyzing terror that overtook me. I don't even remember where I was at the time. I was probably shopping near Piccadilly with my father or some other similar event.
What I do remember though is a great flapping sound, and the gentle sensation of hands grabbing my sides. I remembered the feel of wind rushing by be at a great speed. When next I had opened my eyes I was sitting on my bottom on the worn paving stones of the sidewalk, too dazed by the quick succession of events to stand. Everyone I had told this to later had said I was imagining things, or that I was a liar. As far as my father was concerned I had never actually left his side.
That had been when I was four.
When I next met my angel, I was six. Coming from a wealthy family puts one in the position of being a very convenient hostage in the making. Even at that tender age, I had already experienced four attempted kidnappings and three attempts on my life. This had been the fourth kidnapping, and should have been the finale. I had been five days without food or water. My mouth had been dry and my body beaten. So I had decided to close my eyes. I must have fallen somewhere between the realms of both sleep and awake because I remembered experiencing a surreal sort of reality in which I had been lifted up by those well remembered gentle hands. Even my mother had never held me as carefully or as tenderly as my elusive hero had done then.
I couldn't recall much, but the glimpse I had caught of blazing emerald eyes will forever be engraved in my brain. The next thing I knew I was lying, battered and bruised but still alive on the stairs leading to my family's mansion, the servants flocked around me and my father standing over my head, a puzzled expression painted onto his usually stoic features.
The memories began to move faster now as if someone had dramatically sped up the film. There were flashes of my getting lost at the circus on my seventh birthday and a glimpse of a mysterious hand pointing me towards my governess. Another memory was of my losing my footing on the balcony of the third floor only to land light as a feather on the gravel driveway at age eight. The year after, my parents had separated and I had been sent to boarding school. My angel had followed me even then, when it seemed the whole world had chosen to forget I existed.
It wasn't just my life that my angel had saved though. When I was fifteen, my fellow classmates had found my collection of notebooks which I had worked tirelessly to fill cover to cover with the stories that swarmed inside my head. They had been tossed onto the fireplace and the leader of the gang of bullies had been but an inch away from the first page, a lit match held in his cruel hands when all the lamps had suddenly been blown out. The next thing I knew, all the other boys had been knocked unconscious and the notebooks had been laid in a neat pile before my feet.
I am unsure when I first started calling him my angel. Hell, I didn't even know if it was a 'he'. I had created so many different faces for him in my head, most of them of men with large frames and strong arms. They're not quite my type, but I was trying to be realistic. I just, couldn't imagine the wings. He must have wings. How else would he be able to save me so many different times in so many different ways? How else would you explain the quiet sound of fluttering that marked the beginnings of each of his appearances in my life? Always, ever since I was six, I have been looking for those green eyes, hoping to catch just one more glimpse.
The rain was falling harder now, but its chill had done nothing to numb the pain shooting from my stomach into the rest of my body with each laborious rise and fall of my chest. I opened my eyes again and gaze dazedly at the muck coating the cobblestones of the alley. I wondered where my angel was now. For some reason they never came when I could see them, but only when I was blinded, whether it be by lack of candles or the overwhelming press of a crowd. Part of me hoped that they would appear now, in full view, and all the mystery would finally be solved, but I knew that wouldn't happen. My ears picked up nothing but the scampering of rats and the wailing cries of a mad woman from a few blocks away. It was midnight in London and I was dying.
Try as I might I was unable to pick up the fluttering noise that would always herald the coming of my savior. But I did not give up hope. My angel would always come. He had always been there. Even when I had been abandoned by my father and shunned by my brother, he had always saved me in my time of need. It had been a comfort during the long days of loneliness when my only companion had been my fountain pen and the notebook in my lap. He had always been there. All I had to do was close my eyes…
+.+.+.+.+.+.+
When next I opened them, it was to the sight of a cheap hotel room, one of the four pence a night kind occupied by harlots and widows accompanied by their eight plus children. The mattress under me smelled like mold, sex and cheap alcohol. It was thin and bumpy, the bed frame poking through, jutting into my back in an uncomfortable manner. There were no lamps in the room, but a fire burned brightly in the hearth sending out a pleasant warmth that spread its fingers to the filthiest most cobwebbed infested corners. Or at least that's what I thought it was doing. Chills wracked my body bringing to light the fact that I was shirtless atop the mattress, not a blanket in sight. I opened my mouth to call for help only to realize my tongue was swollen and my throat parched from want of water. The roar of the fire drowned out all other noises in the room. Suddenly a quick flash of green caught my attention. I wiped my head towards it. And that's when I saw him. The owner of the emerald eyes.
"Oh, you're awake." The creature advanced towards me as he spoke. I would have called him human but the great brass wings on his back that glinted in the fire light prevented me from doing so. I watched in wonder as he knelt next to my bed, his hand coming up to brush away the hair from my cheek. He was small, petite even. Compared to my own 175 cm frame, he was nothing more than a boy dressed in an oversized dirty white shirt and a ragged waistcoat lacking in its buttons. Chocolate colored locks messily framed elfin features which were currently wrinkling in worry. His large bottle green eyes gazed at me in similar concern. My gaze settled on small rosebud pink lips, moving as they parted to form his next sentence. "Are you cold?" I could only nod weakly in reply.
"You're sweating." His ivory skin seemed to glow with an almost halo effect in the fire light as his face drew near, his brow furrowing in concentration as he inspected my feverish state. Despite his words of worry he drew away, away from my view of the room. Immediately, I missed the sight of him and was about to call out, despite the sandpaper quality of my mouth, when he suddenly appeared again, this time his slender arms filled with heavy woolen blankets.
Carefully he arranged them over me, smoothing out the wrinkles and tucking in the corners. The chills did not diminish though. His frown deepened as he again looked at my face. "Are you thirsty?" I nodded, still too much in shock at the turn of events to do much else.
Seeing my nod he leaned over towards some unknown object on the floor and as he did so his shirt rode up and I caught a glimpse of the creamy flesh** that lay beneath. My desire to reach forward and lift up his shirt to reveal more was quickly quelled by the view I got of his wings as they protudded from two slits ripped into the back of his waistcoat.
They shone and sparkled, the firelight dancing over gears and pulleys all of which were attached to a frame that seemed almost to grow right out of the skin of his back, or at least that's what it looked like from the view I got through the rips. Coming from a wealthy family, I knew quality craftsmanship when I saw it, and I knew that was what was being presented before me right now.
Each gear fitted perfectly with the others, the chains used to manipulate the great translucent feathers moved seamlessly together through the work of tightly wound springs and countless notches, each placed exactly where they needed to be, nothing out of sync or added on. They were the mechanical wings of a god, stripped of all decorating in order to promote efficiency, but were all the more elegant and noble for it. Without the ornament and embellishment that decorated all other mechanical works I had seen before they seemed to stand above all the other brass wonders of our age in a class all on their own. I could do nothing but gazed at them wide eyed in awe.
Finally he turned back around, a chipped mug held firmly in his petite hands. He came over and held the lip of the mug to my parched mouth. "Drink." Immediately the cup tipped forward and I was gulping down great mouthfuls of water. I tried not to think where he had managed to get it in the middle of the slums of London and hoped desperately that he had at least boiled it first.
So instead I concentrated on the fact that I was finally seeing my angel. For the first time in my life he had willingly shown himself to me. He was beyond anything that I had expected. He was so small and so fragile looking. And his eyes, so innocent. Yet despite all this, I recognized beyond a doubt the feel of his hands and the glow of his eyes.
Before me, knelt my guardian, my savior. I couldn't help asking myself though, why was he here now. What had changed that had made him at last reveal his form to my eager eyes. As soon as the cup was drawn away, I couldn't help but voice the question that played on the tip of my tongue.
"Who are you?" He smiled sadly as if he had been dreading my asking but at the same time knowing he had to answer.
"It was a long time ago when we first met. Do you remember?" I looked at him puzzled. These were not the words I had expected to come out of his mouth.
"Yes, it was with the runaway carriage and-" He shook his head, stopping me from continuing my sentence.
"No, before that. I think you had just turned four at the time. Do you remember a time when you had decided to wander into the woods outside your mansion during one of your father's Christmas balls? It was during the winter. There was snow on the ground." This time it was my turn to shake my head. "You really don't remember."
It hadn't been a question yet his face grew even sadder when I did nothing to deny his statement. "Well, I guessed you were very young at the time. No one really expects you to remember anything from back then." He stopped, his voice trailing off as his eyes gazed into the distance, seeing something I could only guess at.
"It was Christmas, a night of festivities and merrymaking and I was dying, having crash landed in the woods around your mansion. I was so tired. So cold. All my efforts had gone into escaping and when I had done so, I had found nothing with which to go on." Escaping? From where? Who? I longed to hear more, but he had stopped, presumably caught up in the memory. Finally, I realized that he wasn't going to continue without some prompting. The clearing of my throat sounded louder in the room than I intended, but it got his attention which was what I wanted. The return to reality brought with it a blush which spread across his cheeks, creating an almost irresistibly adorable image. Suddenly I was aware of an almost aching need to throw my arms around him and draw him to my naked chest. I chose instead though, to stay motionless on the bed. I wanted to hear the rest of the story.
"That was when you came. You had found me, half frozen, and buried beneath the newly fallen snow. You had been so expressive back then. Everything is so important when you are four years old. You began to scream at me to get up and move. You were crying even." He chuckled and the smile he directed at me next was one of tender affections. I wondered at the genuineness of the look. Never had I seen an expression with so much truth behind it, open for everyone to see. "You were crying for me. It was really endearing actually. You were crying because you thought I was going to die. Before you, only one other person had cared about my life, and they were my family. It's required or something I guess. You were a total stranger though, and yet you shed tears over me. And do you know what you did next?" I shook my head,
"You ordered me in the name of the Usami family not to move before running off, back to your mansion. I was so shocked, that I actually did what you told me, and much to my surprise you appeared again with a great jug of hot chocolate. Just for me." He was smiling so widely now. Like a small boy on Christmas morning. I stared at him with wide lavender eyes. His smile fell.
"Do you not believe me? It must b-be w-weird right. A total stranger telling you some story you don't even r-remember." Now it was my turn to grin, this time at the silliness of his question.
"No, I believe you. It's just, is that the reason you've saved me so many times? Because I gave you a cup of hot chocolate?" He waved his hands in front of him in a frantic manner, intent on denying my sentence. He stopped suddenly and turned his head away, presumably to hide the blush that had once more crept onto his cheeks.
"You saved my life. I thought it only proper that I saved yours. And well," He turned his head suddenly and looked at me, a fierce light in his eyes, as if challenging me to deny his words. "I like saving your life. I liked it. That's all! Nothing more!" His whole face was a fiery cherry red now.
"But why have I never seen your face? Why are you showing yourself to me now?" He immediately looked down, his shoulders slumped and his eyes hiding behind his thick fringe. I can't remember ever meeting someone so expressive. Someone who didn't hide all their feelings behind a mask of propriety. I could go on watching him forever.
"Your father. He…um…he well…scares me. If he knew what I was doing, he could have prevented it." I furrowed my brow in understanding and displeasure. It made perfect sense. My father wanted me out of his sight and out of his mind, yet at the same time the man faced the dilemma that I too was of the Usami blood and thus all who approach me must go through a thorough background check or risk being killed on the spot. The fact that the boy before me feared my father stopping him from going near me just told me that there was something in his past he was hiding. I looked back at my angel in puzzlement.
"If my father was in the way, then how did you get so close?" Instantly the light was back in his eyes and he was looking at me in excitement.
"I took a job in your household. I've worked in your kitchens, and in the gardens, and the stables and the cleaning staff. You have so many hundreds of servants that it's really easy to sneak in without anyone noticing you. You never noticed me! I mean, I was the one who changed the coals in your fireplace every night while you were in boarding school!" He looked so happy about this I couldn't help but laugh. The action though sent a sudden lihtning shock of pain through my abdomen and chest. My breath escaped through my teeth in a hiss as I flinched violently, which only ended up making it worst.
"Oh god! Usagi-san! Are you alright! I mean don't move! You'll only make it worst!" I cracked open one of eyes at the sound of the name he seemed to be using in place of my own. The bizarre nature of it made me forget my discomfort for a brief second.
"Usagi-san?"
"Oh, I'm sorry, I mean Usami-sama."
"No, no, no, I like Usagi-san. It's just, why did you call me that in the first place?" Really it was too easy to make him blush. I fear I was making a game out of it just to distract myself as I lay on the bed in pain.
"Well, um…that's the name you told me when I first asked you. I mean you were only four so a slip of the tongue like that is understandable but…well...it was all I knew you as for quite a few years." I wanted to laugh at this but stopped myself for fear of the further hurt it would cause. I was growing tired now; sleep weighing down on my eyelids, making it almost impossible to concentrate. And I was still so cold.
"You're really cute."
"Eh!" Another blush appeared; this one spreading all the way down to his neck and disappearing beneath the collar of his shirt. "I can't be cute! I'm too old to be cute!"
"How old are you?"
"F-forty six." Somehow his reply didn't surprise me. I must be really out of it.
"You're still cute. But I'm afraid we still haven't been properly introduced."
"Oh, I'm sorry. I'm Takahashi Misaki."
"It's very nice to finally meet you Misaki."
"It's very nice to meet you too Usagi-san." My lids stayed open just long enough for me to return the wide smile that had stretched itself across his face. And then my world turned black as I slipped once again into unconsciousness.
* Hansom: A horse drawn cab invented in the 1830's by a Mr. Hansom. It was a great renovation to its predecessors due to the fact that the driver road in the back and the wheels had a rubber outside.
** I know that technically shirts went down to your knees or at the least mid-thigh, but let's let Usagisan have his fun.
So, questions? Comments? Fell like ragging me out for the crappy job I did? Sadly since it looks like it will be a long time before a device is invented that allows me to read minds, you're going to have to review to let me know.
-Cheery o'