DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of the original Frankenstein characters. They belong to Mrs. Mary Woolstonecraft Shelley, to whom I'm grateful for spinning such a compelling tale. The OCs, however, are mine.
A bit more interaction. No warnings.
Flames will be used to light the fireplace. It is winter, I could use extra heat.
Updates will be erratic, as I've resumed writing my original fiction project(s). However, I'm quite inspired by this fic, now, and might update more tomorrow.
Enjoy! (And, please, review. I know people are reading this, I've seen the stats. Come on, people, I want to know what you think of it!)
"Sieur, I am not going to go back there if our guest is still indecent. This is final." Marie protested, outraged, banging pots and pans so much to prepare dinner that it would surely contain traces of metal.
Hippolyte could tell that his nakedness, however impressive, was not the only thing that had shocked his housekeeper, but she was putting a brave face on it and focusing on the most understandable concern.
"I'll go check on him, Marie, d'accord? He should be less indecent now, but I'll have to lend him some clothes." he said gently.
"He is not in his right mind, to walk around like that. Ha!" she commented disdainfully and Hippolyte couldn't help but second her opinion, at least to some extent.
The stranger seemed extremely naïve and skittish, as if completely unused to human interactions except violence, however, he didn't seem simple or defective.
His accent was definitely Swiss and he spoke with propriety, at least as far as he could tell, however, he didn't appear to have any sense of decency, and this had already proven a problem.
The stranger was a complete mystery, one that probably hid abysses of violence and cruelty, of which he had been the victim.
Unnamed, probably unloved and abused and most likely tortured, his life must have been a living hell and it was actually surprising that he had not turned to violence, but even when he had been fighting against the peasants, he had not struck to kill, but merely to incapacitate, in order to run away.
Sighing, Hippolyte padded to his room, where the stranger had been housed in those last few days and rummaged in his closet, searching for spare clothes.
He selected a shirt and a pair of trousers, which probably would be a bit short for him, and returned to the sitting room, hoping that he had not run away or destroyed anything.
He didn't think he would, but his behaviour was actually difficult to predict, since he didn't react normally to most forms of interaction.
Hippolyte opened the door quietly, mindful of not startling his guest, and poked his head in as he had done minutes earlier.
The intensity with which the stranger had studied him had been slightly disquieting, as if he had been trying to decipher him, but not malevolent.
Now it was his turn to stare, instead: the stranger was sitting on his chair, which, however big, still looked a bit small for him, the checked plaid wrapped around his waist like an highlander's kilt as he had ordered, and he was completely concentrating on a book, his eyes scanning the words eagerly, his bruise-dark lips slightly parted, oblivious to anything else.
The whole picture was a bit incongruous, but it was quite endearing. Who would have thought that he could read?
"Citoyen." he called softly but he startled nevertheless, almost dropping the book from his hands.
He got to his feet with surprising grace for a man so tall and put the book down looking guilty.
"I am sorry if I presumed to take one of your books, monsieur, but I was only meaning to have a look at it." he said nervously.
Hippolyte chuckled. "Did you like it?" he asked gently.
The stranger's eyes widened, as if such a question was the last thing he had expected. "I quite like Voltaire's idea of religion, monsieur, and the plot is engaging. The character is more sympathetic than Werther." he replied politely.
"Ah, you've been reading the Contes Philosophiques! – Hippolyte exclaimed, quite pleased – That is one of my favourites, actually. And you've read Goethe."
The stranger smiled and despite the scars on his face it was not unsightly. "Yes, monsieur, that was the second book I've ever read. I was wondering if you had seen where my satchel has gone, by the way." he replied.
"Your satchel? – Hippolyte repeated – It must be in my room, somewhere. I'll find it, do not worry." he added and a relieved expression passed on the stranger's face.
"I've managed to calm Marie down, but she insists that she won't bring us food until you are properly clothed. – he added, thrusting the bundle of clothes towards him – Here, wear these."
The stranger picked up the clothes and examined them with attention, then sighed and promptly let the blanket fall.
Hippolyte averted his gaze politely and when he looked back, the stranger was already decent. The white shirt made his skin look even more unhealthily grey, but all in all he seemed a bit more civilised, less like a member of the Manade d'Hellequin, even if the slightly short sleeves left the scars around his wrists starkly visible.
"I hope she was not too offended." the stranger said, shyly.
"She'll be fine, just as long as you don't do it again." Hippolyte replied and went to the door, poking his head out.
"Marie! All clear now. Please, bring the tea." he called and went back into the room.
The stranger stared nervously at him, fidgeting in place.
"Sit down, citoyen. There is no reason to be afraid." he said and the man promptly obeyed, sitting on one of the smaller chairs, which looked diminutive like a child's chair for him.
Hippolyte sat down on his armchair just across the coffee table from him and tried to resume a civilised conversation, hoping to glean some insight on his guest's predicament.
"So, how did you end up in Savoy?" he asked casually.
His attempt at conversation was thwarted by Marie, who arrived with the tray, which she set on the coffee table, and gave the stranger a hard stare, as if challenging him to do anything improper again.
The stranger positively cringed beneath her silent scolding and stared down at his hands, his ragged black hair falling around his face like a curtain.
Marie poured two cups of tea, put the teapot down and walked to the door.
"Dinner will be ready in two hours, captain." she announced curtly and closed the door behind her.
"Do not mind her too much, citoyen. - Hippolyte advised, pouring a little milk in his tea – She will put the accident behind her soon enough." he added, sipping his tea.
The stranger still stared at his hands.
"Come on, have a cup, eat some biscuits. I bet you're hungry." he entreated.
The stranger nodded and picked up a biscuit, nibbling it hesitantly, then his whole face lit up in joy.
"This is very good. – he whispered – It is almost like bread, but much better. I've never had anything quite as tasty as this." he proclaimed with genuine enthusiasm.
It was just a galette, a simple, unassuming biscuit, yet he was almost awestruck by it and that made Hippolyte's heart clench, for some reason.
The stranger munched on his biscuit and picked up another one, making short work of it, then gingerly picked up the cup and sniffed the contents suspiciously.
Hesitantly, he brought the cup to his lips and took the smallest sip. "It's bitter." he commented with a grimace.
Hippolyte chuckled, but was disconcerted that the stranger didn't seem to know what tea was. "Put some sugar in it, or some milk. It will get better." he advised.
The stranger frowned and Hippolyte put down his cup and leaned across the table to pour milk and add sugar to the stranger's cup, while he looked at him with astonishment.
"Try now." he entreated.
The stranger nodded and brought the cup to his lips again, taking another sip. "It is much better indeed." he commented and took a bigger sip.
Hippolyte smiled and took up his cup again, lifting it in a toast to the stranger, but he didn't seem to get the hint.
The stranger drank his tea quite politely and set down the cup, then stared at his hands again.
"Monsieur, I must thank you from the deepest of my heart for the kindness you showed me. – he said, lifting his head to look straight at him – No one had ever talked to me as if I was a real person, or approached me with anything but disgust and violence, yet you took me in your abode and sheltered me, you shared your food with me, a monster. – he said and Hippolyte could see tears gathering in his blue eyes – You showed me that there is still kindness in humanity, but I shall not impose upon you too long. The only thing I beg of you is to give me back my clothes and my satchel, and, if you have anything you could spare, some food for the journey and I will depart, never to darken your threshold again." he concluded.
"Nonsense, citoyen. – Hippolyte replied – You've been shot and it's still winter outside, I cannot in good conscience allow you to resume your journey in these conditions. – he said with finality – And one thing more, citoyen, stop calling yourself a monster. It doesn't matter how many times someone told you the contrary, but you are as human as me. You think, you talk, you breathe, you bleed as a human. I've seen rather more of you than what I'd be comfortable with and there was nothing that was not human in you. You have got scars, big deal, I've got scars too. – he said, lifting his eyepatch and baring the scar where his eye was supposed to be – Maybe you have more of them than average, but it doesn't make you a monster, it makes you just a man who has suffered more than most. When people call you a monster, it is just out of ignorance and prejudice. They are wrong, not you."
The stranger looked at him with awe and those tears started streaming down his face and Hippolyte had the sudden impulse to hug the man, but restrained himself, not quite knowing how he would react.
"Let's make a deal, citoyen. – he said instead – You stay here as a guest until springtime, when the ways are clear again and it is safe to resume your journey, meanwhile you rest and get better. How would you like this?" he asked.
The stranger slid off the chair and fell to his knees, sobbing. This time Hippolyte couldn't help but jump from his chair and kneel beside him, patting his back for comfort.
"What's wrong, citoyen?" he asked softly.
"Nothing is wrong, monsieur. Everything is too good, like a dream. It cannot be real. – the stranger replied between heart-wrenching sobs – It cannot last and I will find myself alone again, as I've always been, as I'll ever be, but worse, because I will have glimpsed how life should be and I cannot bear it. It is too much." he cried.
Hippolyte shook his head and encircled the stranger's broad shoulders with his arms, drawing him close to his own body until the stranger's head rested on his shoulder. He froze completely, but Hippolyte started whispering comforting words to his ear and petting his hair gently, until he relaxed a bit and awkwardly hugged him back.
"I will find whoever did this to you, whoever hurt you and abandoned you without even a name, whoever convinced you that you should be shunned and despised, and I will make them pay, you have my word, citoyen." he said, the last bits of his earliest upbringing, who spoke of comfort and nurturing, and the rest of himself in accord for once.
The stranger lifted his head from Hippolyte's shoulder and stared at him with wide, beautiful blue eyes.
"You are an angel, aren't you?" he asked softly.
Hippolyte shook his head. "No, I'm just a man, as you are. There are no angels or demons or monsters, citoyen. Only humans; bad humans, good humans, intelligent humans, stupid humans, but the point is: nothing is predetermined, your life is yours to mould." he replied.
"I do not want to be alone forever." the stranger said.
"You won't be, you'll see." he replied and stood.
The stranger picked himself up as well and Hippolyte felt short beside him, the top of his head barely reaching his chin.
"Let's sit down again, citoyen, and talk. There is still time until dinner." he said, getting back to his chair and the stranger followed his example.
Hippolyte decided to skirt around the issues of his guest's life and steered the talk towards books, a thing they both loved, apparently.
They talked and talked and talked and Hippolyte was amazed by the depth of his insight and sensitivity, which more than made up for his inexperience.
It seemed as if he had no childhood, no memories, that he had just sprang to life like that, with his scarred skin and his deeply ingrained belief that he deserved only rejection, however, he was anything but simple and thirsted for knowledge, for experience, for interaction and Hippolyte would not deny him.
He suspected he was in for the most interesting months of his life.