Thank you to all the beautiful souls who praise or give constructive criticism to this story through reviews or PM messages, and thank you to those who favorite and follow this story-and me as an author because of it. I'm glad you all enjoy it so much, and I really enjoy writing it for you, especially since you all seem to tolerate my inconsistent weekly updates.
I'd like to take this Authors note to address two things:
One: The lack of fanfictions and fans for a series called The Clockwork Century, or, possibly better known as the Boneshaker series. It's set in an alternate-American-steampunkian-history where the Civil War didn't end in 1865 (the book is set in 1880). It centers on a character known as Brair Wilks, a single mother just trying to get by after a tragedy hit the small port town of Seattle in the Washington Territory on the American West Coast. The spin on this? The tragedy was caused by her husband, who she hates and regrets marrying for a reason you don't find out until the end of the book (major plot-twist-omgwtf-bestreliefever moment, personally), and what's the tragedy? Zombies. An overused plot point brought into a new light by the brilliant, gorgeous writing of Cherie Priest. Oh my Lord, guys. I'm not kidding. I ate up this series. Granted, it has its little issues like any book series (like inconclusive endings, but they do make you more interested to read the next book) but overall, it's a dark and enjoyable read that mixes humor and history rather well, as well as a good dose of science and subtle comedy that is REALLY enjoyable, providing you catch it.
The books are pretty long, and the beginning of the first two (especially the first) can be sorta slow, but it all pays off in the end. Oh good God, the ends. They're inconclusive but entirely conclusive at the same time. They're unique and beautiful and different. I love them. The characters are unique and the story is as well.
I want to recommend you all go pick these up. What you need to read (in order) is Bonshaker, Dreadnought, and Ganymede. Granted, they all really focus on different characters, but in the end it all ties together and it's really beautiful-especially the last one. It's probably my favorite. There is also a fourth book after those called Fiddlehead, of which I have not read, but it's not exactly necessary in order to enjoy the rest of the series, which leaves itself really open to interpretation at the end.
Please go read this. I don't care if you don't like zombies, I'm not a big fan of them myself, but this is so fascinating and great I just really can't-its wonderful, ok. Gosh darn wonderful. Read it if you can, and then write a fanfiction because the section for it is terribly, terribly lacking (its under Clockwork Century Series).
Ok, now that I've spent way too much time yammering on about that, I'd like to address an anon comment I received recently, to clear up a few things in case anyone else feels the same as them or is equally confused.
The comment:
I will be blunt: I am honestly flabbergasted by the amount of OOC-ness in this series, that I believe you must be taking a serious auteur's license. It's most prominent in Elsa and Anna's characterizations: Elsa is not unsocial by nature, but by choice. And years of isolation has made her cold and poised, and I cannot imagine how she can "suddenly" open up to people, even to her citizens. As for Anna, I just can't see why the sweet, kind hearted girl I see suddenly turn into a slave-driving alpha bitch towards Hans, even if he did try to usurp her and her sister before. At worst, she'd avoid contact with him while keeping a close eye herself. But all in all, I still immensely enjoy your writing. Keep writing, friend.
I thank this anon for being rather polite, instead of screaming at me, and for admitting they still liked the story.
1.-Yeah, I am taking a lot of auteurs license with this. I wanted things to be accurate, but also I've botched some stuff here or there.
2.-I really should probably explain this: I didn't just make Elsa "Suddenly" open up to people. When the story started, it was about April-Mayish time. The events of the movie took place near the end of June, making the time past nearly a year. Since she really easily started ice skating in a big group of people after that, I feel Elsa is pretty easily adaptable, and that the near-year time afterwards would have been plenty of time to open up to her subjects, caring for them dearly and taking the extra time to go and make sure everything going on with them is all good because, well, they're her people, she is their queen, and she gives a damn about them, so she's gonna try and make them happy. Despite this, 13 years of isolation and tendencies just don't disappear, so she still would probably have her episodes, and she'd still be nervous depending on the occasion, as well as in denial. So, honestly, I thought Elsa was reasonably in character.
3.-As for Anna, she's not a slave-driving alpha bitch. At least, that's not quite what I intended for her. Either way, she just really hates Hans, and with good reason. He f*ked with her emotions, manipulated her, lied to her, and left her to die, before trying to kill her sister, who would have been freaking beheaded if she didn't step in. It's shown at the end of the movie that she can be composed and, er, cruel, and a bit violent, for lack of a better word. I though it honestly appropriate that she was less than cordial to Hans for that reason, since her character, especially after the winter, doesn't really call for a hide-and-no-action response.
And I'll also say I admit I was getting the hang of the characters early on and know I'd be more prone to screwing them up then than now. I had no plot for the story and was really just trying out a new fandom. Now, though, I have a storyline I pretty confident with, and plan to continue with, and hope you all enjoy. Without further delay, I'll stop my yammering and let you enjoy the story.
Hans slept hard that night. For the first time in months, he slept in an actual bed. Not a slab of wood in a cell, a ground, or a sagging, stained cot. An actual, real bed, with wonderful covers and a feather mattress. It was comfort he hadn't known in months, and never thought he would know again, and he relished it.
But, it wasn't long before the house began to shake.
Despite his deep sleep, this shaking woke Hans. He lay on his bed with his eyes wide open, blinking, staring at his wall. Across the room, a gaudy vase was slowly jumping on the table, in tune with the shaking-no, more...thumping. Like when a person walked. A very big, very clumsy person. Hans slowly sat, still watching the vase as it scooted closer and closer to the end. Goosebumps popped up on his skin. The hair on his back pricked up in anticipation. When he exhaled, a cloud appeared in front of his face. It was cold. So cold he couldn't feel his feet, which had been sticking out from under the covers. The tips of his fingers were beginning to numb. Slowly, he inhaled, and exhaled again. A churning feeling was in his gut-one of anxiety. Fear.
The vase teetered.
Hans's breathing declined. Shallowed so it only brought in the necessary amount of oxygen to allow him to keep listening. Keep staring at the wide, arched doorway. The light of the moon glimmered in the hall; touching the surface of something. Something white, but shimmered blue on the edges of its crystalline surface.
A toe, blue as if it had frostbite, wrinkled like the skin of an elderly being; one filled with strength and knowledge, appeared in the doorway.
The ice shot out on the ground, slick designs covering the hall and the arched entrance to Hans's room.
The vase fell.
Its crash echoed in the silent house. Hans stopped breathing. So did the creature on the other side of the wall. For a moment, there was such lack of sound that his ears began ringing. But it was only for a moment. Before he could release another cloud, Hans found a scream erupting from his mouth.
The Duke of Weaselton was nestled in a nook of his library, a book larger than him resting in his lap, and a glass of sherry resting on the sill of the large window that was the length of the couch he laid on. It was during his time of relaxation-a time he greatly treasured- that one of his messengers came in. The young lad looked nervous, his hair hanging down in front of one of his eyes as he hovered by the doorway.
"Come in." The Duke said, though his tone was boarding on the line between coolly cordial and aggravation. The young man did enter, stepping over the dark oak floors and stopping on the Indian rug in front of the Duke and bowing, a silver trey in his hand holding a letter. The Duke recognized the writing on it and snatched it away.
"Thank you. Now, please leave." He nodded towards the doorway. The young man wordlessly nodded and exited, nearly jumping out of the room. The Duke shook his head slightly while opening the letter with his thumbnail, mumbling about the young and nervous. When he retrieved and read the short message from his confident in the territory of Arendelle, the Duke smiled. Though his plan to rid of Queen Elsa in order to regain the valuable trade partner through the naivety of her younger sister hadn't been as swift as Miss Serpentine had promised, it did occur. Now was time for the next step of the plan.
The Duke arose from his comfortable reading position without any reluctance, the prospect of regaining Arendelle exciting him. He quickly went down the grand halls of his castle, laden with a plush carpet flooring and tapestries sporting the colors and Crest of Weaselton zipping by him in a blur. The prim man reached the doors of his office quickly and entered, crossing the carpet to his desk. He took out paper and a fountain pen and quickly wrote a response.
Trevor,
Thank you for the swift response. Our next course of action will take effect two days after the Queen returns to Arendelle. Notify me when this occurs. But first, contact Richard. He will know what to do.
-Duke Henry of Weaselton
He'd managed to bolt under the creature before it could harm him, but it seemed to only aid in preventing his demise for a short period of time.
It chased him. Like a rabid dog, derangedly pursuing its next meal. Big, clambering, apelike hands the size of a man's torso smashed into the ground, shaking everything in the close quarters of the house. A body that rose like a mountain from the back, glimmering with snowy white hairs that radiated coolness at such an alarming rate, it left frost on the walls. Finally a face, gruesomely crossed between ape and dog. It was blue as its seemingly frostbitten paws and had a jutting lower jaw that sported grisly, yellowed and crooked teeth with large fangs sticking up and curving back, so sharp looking at them might have cut you. Finally were a set of horns that curled like a ram and eyes. Small, beady eyes, offset by a yellow iris that was then surrounded by black, crinkled skin that suggested they'd been burned by ice.
The very sight of it made Hans wish he was dead. To make matters worse, the ice that spread on the ground when the creature set down its paw froze anything it touched solid-Hans found this out by tossing a side table at the beast, only to have it hit the ground with the tip of one of its three legs and freeze, then and there, like it was sitting in air.
Now Hans was outside the wrecked home, in front of the front door of the house, diagonally placed from the Chiles and a large amount of the lemon trees, the Redwoods behind him. His heart was beating so fast, it felt as if he might faint. His legs and arms shook in fear. Beads of cold sweat were present on his forehead and back, making him shiver more than he already was. It seemed the entire temperature of the island had gone below freezing.
In the doorway appeared the monster. It let out a fearsome howl that seeped into the very marrow of Hans's bones; deep, vibrating, but at the same time possessing an inhuman squeal that made Hans choke on his own breath. It nearly knocked him to his feet. Then, the creature, who couldn't fit through the doorway, backed up. Its hindquarters rose in the air, though you couldn't see the disproportional backside behind the massive shoulders. Hans realized it was going to charge its way through the adobe wall, and knew, soon as that happened, that he was good as gone. It was extremely fast; the only reason he'd made it out of its reach in the first place was that he'd startled it.
He thought quickly. A single glance at the lemon trees, and he knew what to do. Hans dashed over to the trees and leaped up, grabbing two lemons and then perching himself in the low baring, thin, but sturdy branches of the tree. He ripped the lemons apart clumsily as the monster barreled through the doorway, smashing apart the adobe and sending it flying through the air and into the field. It let out another fearsome cry and turned to Hans, smashed nostrils flaring, nicotine yellow eyes bulging in anger. It charged.
Hans was ready, lemons in hand. When the beast was in rang he squeezed, squirting the tart lemon juice into its eyes. It wailed in pain and tossed itself to the side just before hitting Hans, grazing the tree and taking a branch with it. Whimpering like a dog, the beast scratched at its face and rolled onto its back. Howling and scratching. Hans stared for a moment, marveling in his success, before realizing it wouldn't last forever and that if he was going to save his life, he had to do it now.
Again thinking quickly, Hans sped from the tree and into the house, avoiding what was stricken with the ice, which would most surely freeze him as it had the ground, and opened the drawer of a desk on the wall by the door. He retrieved a dagger he was relieved he'd kept there, and then went running back outside. The beast was still maimed, but had begun to regain itself, the whimpering being less and the clawing at its eyes reclining. It still lay on its back, it's head expose. Hans silently dashed towards it, dagger raised. He showed his teeth like a wild animal. He reached the head and raised the dagger. Right in the eye socket, it would go.
But no.
His breath caught in his throat. The adrenaline left him, leaving an again fearful, shivering individual, who held a dagger, posed to kill, above the head of a young woman, who had no idea what was occurring.
But his hand was already falling. The dagger's tip aimed for the killing blow.
He was going to kill the queen.
The realization seized Hans with unfathomable speed. Just before the tip went into the eye of the beast-of the woman in the clothing of a monster, Hans flung the dagger up, grazing the wrinkled cheek of the head, and smashed the blunt end of the sword in the middle of the face.
The whimpers ceased.
The arms and legs dropped to its sides, limp as a ragdoll.
The night was now silent.