Chapter 5!
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-o-
Chapter 5 – What is a Sonnet?
He woke up the next morning, and his mind went through a series of emotions until he realised where he was, and what had happened during the past few days.
Well, he had not been collected by anyone during the night, nor had he been killed in his sleep – he had even slept well.
He lay there for a bit, staring at the ceiling, but froze when he heard a sound from outside the room.
He was in the middle of the floor in a flash – instantly alert – but then he heard her curse, so he put his ear to the door.
"Fucking chair," he heard her hiss. "Why did I even put that chair there? Ouch, ouch, ouch."
A long moment later, he heard her hum again.
What was wrong with the infernal human?
-o-
After getting ready – making himself as presentable as he could – he exited the room, and carefully moved to the living room.
She was there – on the floor of all places. Surrounded by books and papers.
"Good morning," she said without looking at him. "Did you sleep well?"
He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned his shoulder on the doorframe, just looking at her. "I did, in fact. Whatever are you doing?"
She looked at him then, smiling sheepishly. "I remembered that since the world is still up and running, I still have an essay to hand in. I am studying literature, you see."
"You do not seem like the literature type."
This was apparently the wrong thing to say, because she looked somewhat offended. "Why?"
He raised an eyebrow. "It might have something to do with 'people usually do that - right up to the point where they may or may not have a metal marble lodged in their brain."
She stared at him for a moment before chuckling. "Ah. That. Have you looked around, though?"
He had, but not properly. His mind had been rather occupied, so it wasn't until now he noticed the books. There were small shelves in between everything else, and each shelf had a row of books. And there were a lot of shelves, in fact. How could he have not noticed?
"Anyway, I remembered I have an essay. I was to pick a genre I wouldn't usually choose, so I picked romance. I am to write a love poem as well – which I have done. A sonnet, more specifically."
"A sonnet?"
She seemed to contemplate this for a moment. "Simplified – a poem of fourteen lines. It's all terribly exciting."
He raised an eyebrow. "That sounds exciting, indeed."
She chuckled. "It's an art, to write a proper sonnet. Want to hear an example?"
He shrugged. "Why not?"
She smiled. "One of the most famous writers – Shakespeare – was rather apt at sonnets. One of the more famous ones goes like this."
He watched her narrow her eyes in concentration. Apparently she remembered it by heart.
"Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?" she began, and there was something soft in her voice that made him pause. "Thou art more lovely and more temperate. Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May, and summer's lease hath all too short a date."
It was like she was far away when she continued, like her mind was somewhere else entirely.
"Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines, and often is his gold complexion dimmed; and every fair from fair sometime declines, by chance, or nature's changing course, untrimmed. But thy eternal summer shall not fade, nor lose possession of that fair thou ow'st. Nor shall death brag thou wand'rest in his shade, when in eternal lines to Time thou grow'st. So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see, so long lives this, and this gives life to thee."
Shakespeare. He had to remember that name.
"I like – correction, love Shakespeare. If only I could write sonnets like he did. That won't be happening any time soon, I can tell you that much."
He gave her an amused look. "And have you written your 'sonnet' then?"
She rolled her eyes. "Yes. But they gave me a ridiculous topic." She gestured dramatically with her hand as she continued. "What is love to me?" Her expression changed, and she raised an eyebrow. "How very creative."
"Let me hear it, then."
She actually laughed. "Absolutely not. I have no intention of making a fool of myself in front of a Norse god. Sorry. Also, I wrote this in fifteen minutes, so I think I will scrap it and write another."
-o-
He couldn't help himself when she went to take a shower a while later. He sat down among the papers, looking for the sonnet she absolutely did not want him to read.
He had expected – he didn't quite know what he had expected, but he had not expected to be slightly impressed.
Let me count the ways.
Of what I want love to be.
I want love that stirs fire to a blaze.
I want love that sets me free.
I want to be swept off my feet.
I want to be kissed in the rain.
I want someone sweet.
And someone a little insane.
Love can be found in an unexpected place.
You'll never know unless you look.
You see, life is a maze.
Or scattered pictures in a scrapbook.
What do I want love to be?
I just want to be loved...for me.
She had written this in fifteen minutes? He had to admit - the woman wasn't entirely talentless.
He moved away from the papers after reading the sonnet one more time, and went to browse the bookshelves instead.
-o-
When she came into the living room again, he was sitting in the sofa with a book in his hands.
"So," she said when she entered. "What are you going to do?"
He looked up at her. I have no idea, he thought. But I cannot say that, now can I?
When he didn't say anything, she sighed. "Look, I have no idea what I am doing here. But I think there is a very long story behind what happened during the past few weeks, and I won't be the one who sends you to your death." She paused, apparently thinking about what to say next. "It's foolish of me, probably, but that doesn't really change anything. So, you can stay, for now, if you want. I'm pretty sure no one will come looking for you here. I haven't lived in New York for long, so practically no one knows where I live. No one knows exactly where I live, when I think about it. In return..."
She trailed off, and he felt himself getting annoyed. She was going to demand things now? That did not sit well with him.
"In return, you don't kill me in my sleep, and you don't try to take over the world again. Deal?"
He looked at her, perplexed. That was her demands?
"You are absurdly ridiculous," he heard himself say, and was surprised when she merely laughed.
"I know. Are you hungry? I can try to not set fire to the kitchen again."
-o-
"Will you forgive me if I spend the day working on this bloody essay?"
He gave her a puzzled look. "Why would I not?"
She shrugged. "Because I am poor company? Although, my professor will be somewhat upset with me if I don't turn this in. So, well, I kind of have to write this thing. I am supposed to write a bloody love story, but the whole thing has escalated rather drastically. The professor didn't give us a limit on how long the thing was supposed to be, and I have now written thirty thousand words."
"Thirty thousand words?"
She got up, and picked a book from the shelf. "This book is forty thousand words, if that gives you any idea."
It was not a very thick book, but a book nevertheless.
He raised an eyebrow. "I see."
She smiled. "Indeed. I don't think school essays are supposed to be that long. But, oh well. If it is good enough, he will probably forgive me."
"And is it? Good enough?"
She shrugged. "I have no idea. I'm not a terrible writer, but I am suddenly writing a book – almost. I don't think I am that good."
"And what is this love story about, then?" he asked, amused.
She rolled her eyes. "I really wish he would have given me a different topic. Oh well." She paused, and smirked. "It is all very cliché. Girl meet boy – boy is a tormented soul, but she makes him see that the world is lovely after all. Amazing, am I right?"
"Sounds fascinating."
She chuckled. "Oh, you have no idea."
"I would, if you let me read it."
She laughed out loud this time. "You realise it's the most fluffy, ridiculous thing – ever?"
He shrugged. "I would not know, considering how I have not read it."
She shook her head as she bent down to pick up a stack of papers. "I'll let you read it, but only if you promise me to tell me if it is horrendous. This thing started as – I don't even know – and now it has gotten out of hand. I know how to finish it and all, but I am somewhat blind. I have no idea if it's good or bad any longer. The latter, probably. Thus, I would like to know."
He smirked as he accepted the papers from her. "I promise."
-o-
The woman had no idea how much of a skilled writer she was, that much was certain. He had expected a dull, cliché-filled story, but this was not that. Well, there were clichés, but the clichés were tastefully done, and not too saccharine. And the story was not dull – not at all.
And hilarious. The story was hilarious. He was relieved to have a stack of papers to hide behind, because he had to stifle a laugh rather frequently. He couldn't stop himself from smiling at times, however, and that was when he was happy he was hiding behind the papers.
The woman was talented, and she had no idea.
And he had been reading for an hour, nonstop. Realising made him feel ridiculous.
-o-
He had been sitting there for a whole hour now, reading her story. She had all kinds of regret over allowing him to read. It was terrible, she knew it. She had seen him smirk several times, and she couldn't make herself believe it was because he was so entertained by the humour, but because he came across a severely ridiculous part.
Eventually – finally – he put the papers on the table, and the rather stiff look he gave her made her inwardly cringe. "I should throw it away, shouldn't I?"
"No," he said, surprisingly. "No, you should finish it, and hand this in to your professor."
"Really?" she asked, utterly perplexed.
"Really," he replied, and then vanished from the room.
-o-
And so, she did. She wrote the entire day – only interrupted by dinner – and then through the night. When morning came, she triumphantly wrote the final word.
"Hah!" she exclaimed. "Suck it – um – words!"
-o-
He woke up Sunday morning, and found Amber in the living room, and she had obviously not gone to bed yet. She was sitting on the floor, her hair was an utter chaos, her clothes were wrinkled, but she had a beaming smile on her face.
"Hah!" she exclaimed, and pointed at her computer. "Suck it – um – words!"
He couldn't stop the chuckle, and the result was a crimson red human female looking at him. "Oh – hello – good morning. Is it morning? Damn."
"Good morning," he said, raising an eyebrow. "Good mood?"
She beamed. "I actually finished the story. It is a tad long, so maybe my professor will throttle me, but so be it. It's almost fifty thousand words. That's pretty close to a standard book." She looked at the computer. "Damn. I can't really hand in a small book."
"Let me read it," he said before thinking.
-o-
The story – although filled with a whole lot of cottony fluff – was actually rather good. Most definitely well-written.
And she looked so utterly nervous that he realised he had to tell her.
"Is it terrible? Should I just throw it away? Please tell me if I should."
He shook his head. "You are more talented than you realise, I believe. You were asked to write a love story, and so you did – and rather skillfully so."
She looked completely confused. "What? Really?"
"Really. Now, stop asking."
She let out a surprised laugh, but nodded. "Thank you."
He just rolled his eyes, resulting in yet another laugh.
-o-
He was sitting on the bed again that night, just thinking. What was he doing? This was…he didn't know what this was. He couldn't stay here. He had to…he didn't know that either. He wanted to take responsibility for his actions – but that would not end well for him.
So what did he do? Hide. He was hiding, like some coward.
Hiding, drinking wine, reading love stories, and eating spaghetti.
The thing was… He didn't know what to do. He didn't want to die. So what could he do? Flee? Flee where?
There was nowhere he could flee. He had nowhere to go.
The god of mischief put his head in his hands, and sighed wearily.
-o-
Author's note: she wrote that sonnet in 15 minutes because I wrote that sonnet in 15 minutes. I would just like to assure you that there will be no more sonnets in this fic xD All right? xD
Oh, and that half-a-book long essay? A friend of mine did this exact thing once. I found it amusing.
One final thing; this chapter did not turn out as I intended. At all. I don't particularly like it, and that's why I'm going to post chapter 6 along with it.
*Gives virtual hugs*