A/N: I regret to say that this phic is coming to a close. It will be a very anticlimactic close, so you have initiative to try to convince me to write more. And FWI, they're back in the normal universe now. Oh, and visit my homepage. Look at the link on my profile.
Lady Assassin Moonbeam-romance, you ask? Hmm…maybe.
O.o
"What do you mean, he's not here?"
"Seriously, he's not here! He just ran off, claiming a crazy lady with a sword was after him!"
"You've seen my sword collection, Christine! You're my sister! You should've known the 'crazy lady with a sword' was me!"
"Sorry," said Christine meekly. "If it's any help, he went that way," she pointed down a corridor.
"Thanks," said Kathleen. "Here, hold this for a minute." She handed Christine her sword. "You hold these." She handed her shoes, which she had just removed via ripping the ribbons off, to Raoul. "I'll take this." She took her sword back from Christine. "And off I go!" She took off down the aforementioned corridor, barefoot save for her tights.
"What do I do with these?" Raoul asked.
O.o
Kathleen caught up with Erik in a fork in the labyrinth when her tights slipped on a puddle. She went flying toward him, completely off balance. She had to fling her arms around his neck—nearly running him through in the process—to keep from falling and running herself through. "Hi, Erik," she gasped, far too busy trying to extricate herself from the iron hand Erik had grabbed her sword-wielding arm with to be creepy.
Erik turned and regarded her, still not letting loose his grip on her arm. That sword looked awfully sharp. She looked much the worse for wear than she had when she first arrived in his lair. Her hair was obviously knotted incredibly, and a misjudged flailing action with her sword had made a large chunk of hair on the left side of her face a goodtwo-thirds of a metreshorter than the rest. Her shoes were gone, leaving only trailing ribbons somehow still clinging to torn tights. Her dress sported an interesting slit horizontally across her stomach where she had clearly tried to cut her corset off, without success, as well as many other rips and tears. Add all this to the small puddle of water that was dripping off of her and gathering on the already damp floors.
Kathleen stared back at him evenly.
Completely unexpectedly, she pulled a dagger out of one of her sleeves—the one that wasn't torn off to above the elbow—and poked Erik with the pommel end. It was enough of a distraction for her to get her arm free, plant a kiss on his lips, and run off along the right fork.
Erik blinked, stared after her for a moment, and then start off himself along the right fork. He had reached the first of many mind-bogglingly complicated turns, spirals, and dead ends when he heard a stream of curses rend the air. Clearly Christine's sister possesses less of Christine's innate innocence and modesty than I first thought, he remarked to himself, before tuning in to see what on earth she was screaming obscenities about.
"—stupid wall, it took three hours to get this blade sharp! I bet your mother was a—" Erik had gotten the general gist of her rage. Clearly the wall had done something to her sword. Apparently the wall had a mother, also, who had done some very unlikely things with assorted members of the animal kingdom. He followed the sound of her voice—not a hard task—and came upon her screaming at one of hundreds of dead ends, the hilt of her sword in her hand, the blade on the floor, and a large scratch visible on the wall.
O.o
SOME WEEKS LATER
Kathleen was wearing new clothes, a blazing red bodice with an emerald green skirt embroidered with gold and a raven black cloak with silver embroidery and a navy blue lining. She was kneeling on the floor with a threaded needle, trying to fix some of the gaping holes in her favorite black dress. She brushed the short portion of her hair out of her face again, and glared death by decapitation, burning, hanging, and anything else she could think of at the remains of her sword on the mantelpiece. In her rush of hatred at what had once been her most prized possession, the thread had dropped off the needle again, so she had to rethread it again, decapitating her fingers again. At least it's not a white dress, or it'd be maroon by now, she thought. "What are you looking at?" she demanded of a figure in the doorway.
"Oh, nothing," said Erik innocently.
"Look, just because you're an expert sewing…person, because you've had to mend your own clothes for the past fifty million years-"
"I'm not that old."
"-doesn't mean that everyone else is, or that you have to laugh at people making an honest effort at the stupid pastime!"
"Yes, dear," said Erik, pretending to be meek. They both knew their lines well. They had been having this particular argument for quite a while now.
Well, at least Erik makes sure his wife is properly outfitted, Kathleen thought, looking down at her rich garmets.
O.o
A/N: It's the end! But you can make me write a sequel. Simply review!