Miyumi
Playing With Fire
A LXG fic
Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot and a few characters.
~*~
Hurry for Britannia,
Never fall men, never die!
For even if death stares you in the face,
Raise your hands,
And fight the fire at hand.
~War cry of Henry Jekyll ~
~*~
"Bam! Bam! You're dead!"
Seven-year-old Henry Jekyll was winning the war against the traitor American soldiers, leading his tin men to victory. They marched and cheered at the sound of the enemy fleeing in terror.
"Hurry for Britain! Hurry for Britannia!" he cried, waving his small flag in the air. The only sounds that could be heard were the booms of his tiny cannons, the snorts of victorious Calvary horses, and the cheers of joyous British troops.
"Retreat bloody traitors! Retreat! Boom! Boom!"
The last of his cannons fired into the distance, echoing across the vacant walls of his bedroom. Silence answered his victory calls. He grabbed his soldiers and lay on the dusty floor, rolling up his sleeves and staring each tin soldier in the eye.
"Now remember men," he said sternly, "We must be ready for the next battle!"
"Aye! Aye!"
Little Henry stumbled to his feet, saluting the inanimate troops with as much vigor as he could manage. His face set like stone, he stared at the wall, pretending he wasn't just in his bedroom, but rather, on the battlefield, with the wind blowing in his face, a squadron of loyal troops at his command, and the cries of victory running through towns.
"All of us are destined for great things, aren't we men?" he said, his face shining with sweat from the summer's heat. But despite this, his eyes shone with happiness, and every bone in his body wanted to jump for joy.
He perched beside a group of foot soldiers, cocking his head to one side. "This is a much warmer place than Mama and Papa's, isn't it?"
His soldiers remained silent.
He sat, crossing his legs and folding his arms against his sweaty face. "Mama and Papa are in beautiful Heaven though, and that surely is a pleasant place."
Henry was right. His Mama and Papa were in heaven, gone from the mortal world and never to return. Instead of living in an empty, cold house all alone in the city, Henry was moved to the countryside, where his older sister Marie lived, with her husband, a Count. Frederick was his name, and he was an overbearing, brooding man ten years old than Marie, and rarely spoke to Henry. Marie chose to dote on her baby brother, giving him a warm bedchamber, a guardian butler, and as many toy soldiers as he deserved.
Though it was a good life, Henry was often left alone. Marie was a Countess, and had to tend to her duties. She tried to steer her husband as far away from Henry as possible, which took much effort on her part. But Marie was a good, motherly figure, and Henry grew up strong, dreaming of commanding a real army someday, not a toy one.
Henry loved the way his sister cuddled him in her arms. She was tall and slender, with beautiful chestnut hair, and sparkling brown eyes, covered in long lashes and a rosy complexion. To Henry, she was the most beautiful person in the world, and he proudly told her so each night, when she tucked him in. Every night she would tell him a new story, about Heaven, lands faraway, even their dead parents. Marie loved him like the son she never had.
Late-afternoon sunshine poured into his room, casting shadows across the freshly laundered bed. Henry's stomach rumbled, and he rubbed it, licking his lips and wondering what was for supper. Picking up his captain, he dashed out of the room, nearly knocking into Marie's chambermaid, who squeaked and dropped the linens she carried. Henry quickly shouted an apology, before racing off towards his sister's room. He wanted to show her his victorious captain, and how he defeated the American Patriots.
"Marie! Marie!" he shouted, sliding around a corner and up a flight of slippery wooden stairs. He nearly fell on an expensive rug from Persia, and almost knocked over an antique vase from France. He slowed down his pace, not wanting Frederick to glare at him when supper came, as he always did.
Frederick had a special scowl for Henry-everyone in the household knew it. Marie tried her best to stop it, but Frederick was an overbearing man, sometimes scaring her into submission. Henry knew Marie feared him, and somehow he knew that the bruises on her body weren't from just anyone.
Henry, not watching where he ran again, went straight into a wall, slamming his face and falling hard on his legs. Pain shot through his little body, as tears welled in his eyes, his face burning painfully from impact. He went on his side, hot tears streaming down.
"Marie!" he cried, struggling to crawl.
"Marie! Sister, please come!" he sobbed, inching slowly towards the bedchamber she shared with Frederick.
The door was open. Soft howls drifted out from inside, and Henry stopped crying, stealthily turning his head into the doorway.
He almost began to scream again.
Sitting upright on her bed was Marie, hugging herself and sobbing uncontrollably. Her skirt had been mussed, and her shirt was shredded, exposing her badly bruised stomach, which was swollen from an attack.
"Marie!" he cried, scrambling over to her. Seeing him, her eyes lit up in fear.
"Henry," she whispered, touching his face feather-light, "Go now, I'll be fine. Go, before-"
"I came back." Frederick slapped an ivory rod against the palm of his hand, his footsteps creaking on the ancient wooden floor. His eyes glittered with malice as he approached a whimpering Marie.
Henry crossed in front of him, wincing as his injured legs burned with pain. "You won't cross, sir. Like the brave soldiers of Britannia, I will protect with my life."
Frederick laughed. "What a stupid boy you took in, Marie." He spat on Henry's shoes, laughing still. "Get out of my way, or you'll be next."
Marie grabbed the tail of Henry's shirt. "Go, Henry, I'll be fine."
Henry yanked his shirt away from her. "No, I will protect you, sister."
Marie closed her eyes, leaning back and slumping against the bedpost. "Go please, Henry." Her body began to shake with wretched sobs, as she turned away.
"Foolish mistake, boy," sneered Frederick, raising the stick high above the little boy's head.
He struck a crushing blow, sending Henry to the ground.
"Little Henry's fallen down." Slap.
"On the ground." Slap.
"Little Henry's fallen down." Slap.
"Punished, for playing with fire."
Frederick, satisfied, dropped the rod and spun on his heel, leaving the two figures crumpled beside each other. Marie opened one eye, taking one look at her baby brother before she began to cry once more.
"Never play with fire, dear Henry," she said softly, reaching down slowly, touching his battered cheek.
"Or the fire will burn you, someday."
~*~
A/N: along the lines of Crumble, I know, but I thought Henry and Mina should be like kindred spirits, of tragic pasts that involved painful experiences. The fire reference was to Henry coming in to Frederick beating Marie. Henry was dabbling in something he shouldn't have seen, and Frederick "punished" him for that. Please review!
Playing With Fire
A LXG fic
Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot and a few characters.
~*~
Hurry for Britannia,
Never fall men, never die!
For even if death stares you in the face,
Raise your hands,
And fight the fire at hand.
~War cry of Henry Jekyll ~
~*~
"Bam! Bam! You're dead!"
Seven-year-old Henry Jekyll was winning the war against the traitor American soldiers, leading his tin men to victory. They marched and cheered at the sound of the enemy fleeing in terror.
"Hurry for Britain! Hurry for Britannia!" he cried, waving his small flag in the air. The only sounds that could be heard were the booms of his tiny cannons, the snorts of victorious Calvary horses, and the cheers of joyous British troops.
"Retreat bloody traitors! Retreat! Boom! Boom!"
The last of his cannons fired into the distance, echoing across the vacant walls of his bedroom. Silence answered his victory calls. He grabbed his soldiers and lay on the dusty floor, rolling up his sleeves and staring each tin soldier in the eye.
"Now remember men," he said sternly, "We must be ready for the next battle!"
"Aye! Aye!"
Little Henry stumbled to his feet, saluting the inanimate troops with as much vigor as he could manage. His face set like stone, he stared at the wall, pretending he wasn't just in his bedroom, but rather, on the battlefield, with the wind blowing in his face, a squadron of loyal troops at his command, and the cries of victory running through towns.
"All of us are destined for great things, aren't we men?" he said, his face shining with sweat from the summer's heat. But despite this, his eyes shone with happiness, and every bone in his body wanted to jump for joy.
He perched beside a group of foot soldiers, cocking his head to one side. "This is a much warmer place than Mama and Papa's, isn't it?"
His soldiers remained silent.
He sat, crossing his legs and folding his arms against his sweaty face. "Mama and Papa are in beautiful Heaven though, and that surely is a pleasant place."
Henry was right. His Mama and Papa were in heaven, gone from the mortal world and never to return. Instead of living in an empty, cold house all alone in the city, Henry was moved to the countryside, where his older sister Marie lived, with her husband, a Count. Frederick was his name, and he was an overbearing, brooding man ten years old than Marie, and rarely spoke to Henry. Marie chose to dote on her baby brother, giving him a warm bedchamber, a guardian butler, and as many toy soldiers as he deserved.
Though it was a good life, Henry was often left alone. Marie was a Countess, and had to tend to her duties. She tried to steer her husband as far away from Henry as possible, which took much effort on her part. But Marie was a good, motherly figure, and Henry grew up strong, dreaming of commanding a real army someday, not a toy one.
Henry loved the way his sister cuddled him in her arms. She was tall and slender, with beautiful chestnut hair, and sparkling brown eyes, covered in long lashes and a rosy complexion. To Henry, she was the most beautiful person in the world, and he proudly told her so each night, when she tucked him in. Every night she would tell him a new story, about Heaven, lands faraway, even their dead parents. Marie loved him like the son she never had.
Late-afternoon sunshine poured into his room, casting shadows across the freshly laundered bed. Henry's stomach rumbled, and he rubbed it, licking his lips and wondering what was for supper. Picking up his captain, he dashed out of the room, nearly knocking into Marie's chambermaid, who squeaked and dropped the linens she carried. Henry quickly shouted an apology, before racing off towards his sister's room. He wanted to show her his victorious captain, and how he defeated the American Patriots.
"Marie! Marie!" he shouted, sliding around a corner and up a flight of slippery wooden stairs. He nearly fell on an expensive rug from Persia, and almost knocked over an antique vase from France. He slowed down his pace, not wanting Frederick to glare at him when supper came, as he always did.
Frederick had a special scowl for Henry-everyone in the household knew it. Marie tried her best to stop it, but Frederick was an overbearing man, sometimes scaring her into submission. Henry knew Marie feared him, and somehow he knew that the bruises on her body weren't from just anyone.
Henry, not watching where he ran again, went straight into a wall, slamming his face and falling hard on his legs. Pain shot through his little body, as tears welled in his eyes, his face burning painfully from impact. He went on his side, hot tears streaming down.
"Marie!" he cried, struggling to crawl.
"Marie! Sister, please come!" he sobbed, inching slowly towards the bedchamber she shared with Frederick.
The door was open. Soft howls drifted out from inside, and Henry stopped crying, stealthily turning his head into the doorway.
He almost began to scream again.
Sitting upright on her bed was Marie, hugging herself and sobbing uncontrollably. Her skirt had been mussed, and her shirt was shredded, exposing her badly bruised stomach, which was swollen from an attack.
"Marie!" he cried, scrambling over to her. Seeing him, her eyes lit up in fear.
"Henry," she whispered, touching his face feather-light, "Go now, I'll be fine. Go, before-"
"I came back." Frederick slapped an ivory rod against the palm of his hand, his footsteps creaking on the ancient wooden floor. His eyes glittered with malice as he approached a whimpering Marie.
Henry crossed in front of him, wincing as his injured legs burned with pain. "You won't cross, sir. Like the brave soldiers of Britannia, I will protect with my life."
Frederick laughed. "What a stupid boy you took in, Marie." He spat on Henry's shoes, laughing still. "Get out of my way, or you'll be next."
Marie grabbed the tail of Henry's shirt. "Go, Henry, I'll be fine."
Henry yanked his shirt away from her. "No, I will protect you, sister."
Marie closed her eyes, leaning back and slumping against the bedpost. "Go please, Henry." Her body began to shake with wretched sobs, as she turned away.
"Foolish mistake, boy," sneered Frederick, raising the stick high above the little boy's head.
He struck a crushing blow, sending Henry to the ground.
"Little Henry's fallen down." Slap.
"On the ground." Slap.
"Little Henry's fallen down." Slap.
"Punished, for playing with fire."
Frederick, satisfied, dropped the rod and spun on his heel, leaving the two figures crumpled beside each other. Marie opened one eye, taking one look at her baby brother before she began to cry once more.
"Never play with fire, dear Henry," she said softly, reaching down slowly, touching his battered cheek.
"Or the fire will burn you, someday."
~*~
A/N: along the lines of Crumble, I know, but I thought Henry and Mina should be like kindred spirits, of tragic pasts that involved painful experiences. The fire reference was to Henry coming in to Frederick beating Marie. Henry was dabbling in something he shouldn't have seen, and Frederick "punished" him for that. Please review!