Once upon a time there was a young maiden. When the maiden was born, an oracle warned that if she were to fall in love, she would die. Alarmed by this, her parents locked her away and forbade any man to see her. Raised in this life of loneliness, the maiden took to singing songs of sorrow and heartache. One day, a young knight heard the despairing melodies of the maiden and came to her window. Enchanted by the beautiful, lugubrious maiden, the knight returned every evening in secret. Soon the maiden looked forward to his visits and began falling in love with him. In her desperation to be near him, she flung herself from her tall prison—ultimately falling to her death.

Sunlight flooded the plain room, shining across an unoccupied bed, worn oak floorboards, and hundreds of crumpled pieces of paper stained with black splotches. Slowly the beam crept further into the room, spilling across spilt ink and a well used desk. The brilliant light continued, finally embracing the crumpled figure at the desk. The young man twitched as the radiant warmth invaded his subconscious, forcing him awake from his restless slumber. Drowsily, his olive eyes opened as he began comprehending where he was.

"What time is it…?" Fakir muttered as he slowly sat up. His back and neck screamed, stiff from sleeping in such an awkward position. Trying to alleviate the pain, he stretched. 'I must have fallen asleep writing.' He looked down at the scattered papers in disdain, 'Apparently with little success.' His eyes widened as his mind shot to full alertness upon remembering last night. "Ahiru!" He panicked as he looked through the small pile of papers on his desk. The only legible one had been smeared by his cheek. 'Damn it!'Glancing through the messy scrawl, he cursed himself; he should have known better! Writing at such a late hour, he was bound to lose control of his words! 'Hopefully I didn't do any harm.'

The wooden desk was in disarray: papers littered its surface and dried puddles of ink blemished its long ruined finish—the surrounding floors fared no better. Desperately, Fakir checked each piece of parchment as panic flushed his system. Surely he wasn't foolish enough to further distort reality, even if he was in an unconscious state. At last he found the final rumpled piece; his fingers smoothed the creases as his eyes roved across his writing.

"Once upon a time Ahiru"

A sigh escaped his lips as he stared at the five crossed out words. The thumping in his chest was beginning to quiet as he ran his hand through his bangs. "Don't be so stupid." He stood and collected the marred sheets; he would have to burn them later. Setting them on his desk, Fakir regarded his ink-smudged skin. "I should clean up," he decided aloud. With an ease achieved from years of ballet, Fakir retrieved clean clothing and a towel without making a noise. A soft smile curled his lips as his eyes fell upon Ahiru's room. Softly, he closed the bathroom door, a mute click being the only indication he had.


A warm embrace—cool fingers running through her silken locks. Ahiru sighed contently as she burrowed deeper into the welcoming hold.

Tap. Tap tap.

The dream faded as quickly as it came. Ahiru cracked one eye open in annoyance, wondering who would dare disturb her peace. "Oh!" She sat up fully, a grin illuminating her features. "One moment!" she squealed as she toppled out of bed, her blankets entangling her limbs. She hastily pushed the cotton sheets from her body and stumbled towards the window. "Oh-oh! Uhm!" She stuck her tongue out in concentration as she fumbled with the bag of bird seed. "Forgive me for being so slow!" she apologized as she dipped a brass dish into the sack, "I'm a little out of sorts, you see!" With clumsy fingers, Ahiru opened the window, letting a small bird and the cold air into her room. Immediately after she had placed the dish on the window pane, the bird hopped into it. It was a small, rotund bird with a sort of black mask of feathers and brown wings.

"I don't believe I've seen you before." The bird cocked its head to the side as it listened. "I'm so glad you came!" Ahiru sat down beside the small bowl. Moments later another bird landed coolly on the feed, this one with a red crest and a slightly pink stomach. "Pleasure to meet you!" Ahiru beamed as she watched them eat. Soon the birds had selected their fill and hopped to the edge of the pane. The girl nodded her consent and bade them goodbye, "Bring your friends tomorrow!" It was a small start, but a start nonetheless. Slowly, her mornings where gaining a feeling of normalcy.

She hadn't expected to get some birds coming to her in the winter weather so quickly, so to have two birds—two!—come to her window for seed was exciting. She shivered slightly at the chill, prompting her to ease the two glass panels shut again. The storm had subsided, and the snow had stopped falling. Now the morning sun reflected painfully bright on the snow-covered ground. The birds probably came out of hiding from the blizzard to find food.

Humming, she half skipped to her dresser and started to comb her hair. It was knotted more so than usual since she had gone to bed with wet hair. She made a face as she tugged at a particularly stubborn knot. "Ouch!" Finally, it relented to her pulling.

Satisfied with its smoothness, Ahiru braided the long strands, though her mind was elsewhere. 'Was last night a dream…? It seems so unreal…' When she finished, she puckered her lips and ran her fingers over the tresses, making sure they were neat. Once appeased, she grabbed a yellow shirt and blue skirt. 'Then again, I don't really remember going to bed. Fakir probably tucked me in.' Her face flushed at this thought as she began frantically waving her hands, 'Not that I'd want him to! Oh no, no, no!' The girl buried her face in her hands and sunk to her knees, 'Oh, dear.' She laughed uneasily as she stood up and dusted off her skirt. "Don't be so silly, Ahiru." She reprimanded herself. "There is a lot of laundry to be done since you missed yesterday!" With a resolute nod, she picked up her sleepwear and headed downstairs to begin her daily chores.

"You're finally up, I see." Fakir greeted her when she entered the kitchen, laundry basket firmly in her arms.

Ahiru blinked, as she regarded his figure crouched in front of the large Alsatian stove. Were those pieces of paper he was putting in the fire? "Where's Charon?"

Fakir closed the small door and stood up, "He went to the smithy early. He said he had a large order come in yesterday before the storm." The girl nodded absently as she collected the old cloth from the counter. He looked back at the stove contemplatively. "How are you feeling?

"Fine. I don't even remember how cold I felt." Ahiru assured him. "Did you see the weather, it looks much nicer out now."

Fakir nodded absently before asking, "Would you like to go to the library today?"

She faced him, readjusting her grip. "The library? I thought you didn't like it when I bothered you at work."

He groaned, "Do you want to, or not?"

Ahiru stuck her tongue out at his back before replying, "I do, thank you." She repositioned her grip on the basket. "I just need to wash the laundree—AH!" the duck girl flailed, as she tripped over herself midsentence.

"Ahiru!"

Clothes were strewn across the floor, the wicker basket lay on its side, yet Ahiru didn't experience the usual rush of adrenaline she felt during her clumsy spells. She cracked an eye open, her face turning bright red when she realized why.

"Idiot, be more careful."

The petite girl laughed uneasily as she slipped from his hold. "Ah ha ha, sorry, Fakir! You know me! I'm such a klutz." She would swear she could feel the steam blowing out of her ears—if her face were any warmer, she'd probably catch on fire. Hurriedly, she began flinging the fallen clothing back into the basket.

Fakir sighed and knelt down to help her, "It's easier to keep an eye on you this way." He paused as he tossed one of Ahiru's skirts into the hamper. "You don't have to do the laundry every day, you know. Charon and I used to leave it undone for weeks before we bothered with it."

Ahiru smiled. "But I'm not much good at anything else. I need to help somehow. Besides, there's not much space in that back room, if I didn't do it every day, I wouldn't be able to do all of it at once."

"Just take one da—"

"I didn't do it yesterday, either!"

"—one more day off."

Hesitation dripped from her body as she picked up the last sock. "I… guess."

Fakir took the basket from her and handed her a brötchen simultaneously. "I'll put this in the closet. You eat breakfast and get ready to go."

"Ah—Oh, okay," she unthinkingly bit into the roll. Mindlessly, she nibbled on the crusty bread before Fakir returned.

He looked at her with an arched eyebrow, "Are you ready then?"

Ahiru peered up at him as she nodded, the brötchen sticking out of her mouth.

With a 'humph' he turned around. "Idiot." Ahiru smiled and followed him out the door. Though she didn't see it, there were the beginnings of blush on his cheeks.


The door of the library opened with a slight creak, as per usual. This time, however, a gush of giggles and irritated growls flooded in with the bright sunlight. Autor knew those grunts of annoyance anywhere, 'Fakir.' The giggling, then, could only mean one thing.

"Oh, come on, Fakir!" Ahiru laughed, "You have to admit it was kind of funny."

"I don't find getting covered in the chicken feathers from the butcher's shop particularly funny."

"Aw, come on! You're just angry 'cause it was you instead of me for once." Fakir grunted as she pulled another feather from his hair.

Autor stood, the light catching the lenses of his glasses as he did. "Fakir, I don't believe I need to remind you of the rules here."

Ahiru put a hand to her cheek in embarrassment, an awkward grin stretching her lips, "Sorry, Autor! That was my fault. See, Fakir and I were walking past the butcher shop when someone dropped a bag of the plucked feathers out of the window, spilling right out on to Fakir. It really was quite funny, and you should've seen his face! There were feathers everywhere and a lot of them were sticking to him. I guess a few got on me, but not as many as Fakir, and I tried to help cl—"

"Don't be such a moron," Fakir admonished, though it was clear from the bright blush painting his face, he just wanted her to stop recounting his earlier mishap.

"Actually, I'm somewhat glad to see you," Autor interrupted the exchange, "I'm premiering at a night club tonight and, considering our conversation the other day, was thinking you'd like to come."

Ahiru's mouth fell open slightly in realization that he was addressing her. "M-me? You're inviting me to go?"

With a slight incline of his head, he validated her statement. "Of course. And, I suppose, Fakir is also welcome to come along as well."

Clapping her hands together, she looked up at Fakir, "Oh, how exciting! I've never been to a night club before, Fakir. Let's go!"

Fakir's expression was clearly unamused. "A night club, Ahiru? I don't even think you're old enough to go to one."

Ahiru pouted before turning her attention towards Autor, "I guess the jerk has a point." She made sure to put particular emphasis on the word jerk.

"Oh, that's not the case at all," Autor supplied. "It's a classier joint, not one of ill repute that it appears Fakir frequents."

"Ill repute? Hey!" Fakir interjected before Ahiru cut him off.

"So they don't have an age limit?"

Autor stopped to think at this. "I suppose they do," his eyes seem to appraise her appearance, "I don't think it'd be hard to make you look a little older—plus, I was told I could bring a guest."

Ahiru clapped her hands together and looked at Fakir with shining eyes. She didn't have to say a word for him to hear her pleading whines. He glanced at Autor with a raised eyebrow, not sure if he liked his sudden interest in the girl.

"Ahiru," he began, intending to tell her no, but he stopped short. With a resigned sigh he started again, "Go ahead."

She squealed in delight, jumping up and down in triumph. "Oh thankyouthankyouthankyou! It's going to be so much fun!" She grabbed his bicep, "We can get all dressed up and drink fancy drinks and—"

"I'm not going, though." Fakir interrupted.

"Eh?" She frowned in disappointment, "That's no fun!"

Fakir sighed, "Charon wanted my help in the smithy tonight." He mused momentarily before adding, "I think he's trying to get me to start walking in his footsteps…"

"Oh…" Ahiru bit her lip and looked up at Autor, maybe she shouldn't go. "I… guess if you can't go…"

"Though I'd rather be able to keep an eye on you, you keep insisting you can take care of yourself. It'd be unfair to keep you locked inside simply because I'm busy."

Ahiru grinned flung her arms around him excitedly, "Thank you!" Before he could even think about returning the hug she had already removed herself from his person and was babbling to Autor.

"You said it was a classy place, right? Should I wear a dress? Should I bring something? Does it cost money? What time should I be there—wait, where is it?!"

Autor silenced her easily, amused by her boisterous antics. "It is of the higher class, so I suggest wearing a dress—though, I would suggest maybe wearing your hair in a manner to mature your visage. There's no need to bring anything, and as my guest you'll be getting in for free. I'll pick you up, say around… eight o'clock?"

Fakir regarded Autor distrustfully when Ahiru turned toward him. She seemed to be awaiting his approval. He huffed in annoyance, "I don't see why you're suddenly interested in getting my permission—you never have been before."

This seemed to satisfy her as she turned back toward Autor, "Eight works great!" Her eyes then lit up, "Oh! That rhymed! I'm a poet and I didn't know it!" She laughed heartily.

"No. Stop." Fakir put his hand on her shoulder and started nudging her away. He glanced over his shoulder at Autor. "I take it you're done now?"

Autor nodded wordlessly.

"Good then." Fakir didn't bother dismissing them as he led Ahiru to the section he wanted to browse.

It went considerably more smoothly than Autor had thought it would.


The day had gone by fairly uneventfully. Once Ahiru had gotten bored enough at the library to annoy Fakir into going home—she did feel a tad guilty for it, admittedly—she immediately went about getting the laundry done as she had intended to do when she had woken up that morning. Not long after, Charon returned home and started cooking dinner—the entirety of which Ahiru spent jittering with barely contained excitement. It didn't take long for Charon to ask what had her so up in spirits. She was almost bubbling over as she relayed her evening plans to him, of which he responded to with great intrigue. While she spoke, the older gentleman kept shooting glances at his son. Finally, Ahiru had finished eating and almost knocked her chair down when she excused herself to go take down the laundry. Shortly after she all but tore up the stairs as she went to go get ready.

So Fakir found himself where he was now. Sitting in the living room reading a book he picked up at the library this afternoon while Charon sat across from him sipping on a coffee. It seemed to be long in coming when Charon put his mug down and regarded Fakir heavily. The younger male tried to ignore the stare until his father finally spoke.

"So Ahiru has a date tonight, huh." It was a statement, not a question.

Fakir glanced up from his book, but returned to his reading without saying a word.

Charon nodded his head. "Huh. Well, I suppose it doesn't surprise me a young man would be interested in her."

"It's not a date, Charon. It's just Autor."

"That's the problem with young men these days, they're too timid." He shook his head in disapproval.

"Too tim—it's not a date, Charon."

The blacksmith leaned forward, staring Fakir down. "So this doesn't bother you at all?"

Fakir had to hesitate at that, it did, in fact, bother him. In fact, as soon as he had given her his consent to attend Autor's premier, he immediately regretted it. Honestly, he had only given her his consent because he was trying to get out of the mentality that he was somehow in charge of her. Maybe this wasn't the time to start…

Charon leaned back, taking Fakir's silence as his answer. "It's a damn right shame."

"It's not a date," the younger repeated, less convincingly this time.

"If you'd tell her your feelings s—"

"Whoa, who said anything about feelings?!" Charon stared at him, disbelief clearly written across his face. Fakir ignored this.

Tiredly, Charon picked his mug back up. "Who do you think you're fooling?" Fakir chose not to respond. "It's certainly not doing you any favors. And now she's going on a date with another guy."

"It doesn't matter if he thinks it's a date—which it's not—she's good at nothing if not deterring someone's affections with her ignorance."

The elder's face softened at this, "Fakir…" He stopped at the sound of energetic footsteps tapping down the stairs. Shortly after Ahiru poked her face around the corner.

"Did Autor come yet? I lost track of time…" Ahiru admitted as she bashfully stepped into the room.

She practically glowed. Adorning her slight frame was a simple, white knee-length dress they had bought the day it was decided she would live with them. She had classed it up by tying a silk black ribbon around her middle, which also accentuated the slight curve of her hips. Her legs were covered in a pair of warm black leggings. Taking Autor's advice, she wore her hair half down, pulling the top and some of the side sections into a simple yet attractive, if not a bit clumsy, coiffure. She even was wearing a small amount of make-up—of which Fakir had no idea where she had gotten, but it couldn't have been anywhere else but the seamstress.

A soft blush dusted her cheeks, only serving to enhance her overall appeal. "Does it look bad? I've never really done anything else with my hair before…"

"You look lovely," Charon assured her. He sent a look at Fakir, not that it did much as the poor boy couldn't tear his eyes from her. "Right, Fakir?"

Fakir looked at Charon in surprise before he stammered out, "R-right. Lovely."

Charon rolled his eyes and stood up.

She frowned slightly. "That doesn't sound very convincing, Fakir." She twiddled nervously with the hem of her skirt as Charon shuffled past her, muttering a dismissal. "It doesn't suit me, does it? I never had to dress up before…"

Feeling a bit more comfortable now that his father wasn't breathing down his neck, he stood up, cleared the space between them in a few strides, and took Ahiru's hands in his. She looked up at him, surprised to find him smiling. "You look gorgeous, Ahiru."

Her face flushed when he leaned down slightly, looking into her eyes. Entirely embarrassed, she couldn't help but look down.

"Don't be so insecure, moron, it doesn't suit you."

Ahiru looked back up at him, and was rewarded with a prompt flick to her forehead. "Hey!"

He laughed, "Try not to make a fool of yourself."

She shot him a petulant glare. "And here I thought some nice, young gentleman had come and replaced you!"

"A gentleman? Around you? Hardly."

She screwed her face up at that remark, unsure of how to take it. Her mouth opened to retort, but was stopped by a crisp knock on the door.

Not even waiting to see her reaction, Fakir turned and took long strides toward the door, intent on staring Autor down. Charon, apparently, had beaten him to it.

"Is Ahiru here, sir?" Autor was wearing a black suit and a white tie, which peaked out of his coat, causing Fakir to wonder if he had known what Ahiru would be wearing. He quickly shook the thought from his head, knowing there was no way that would be possible.

Before Charon or Fakir could reply, Ahiru piped up, "Right here, Autor!" She peppily squeezed between her two housemates and out onto the doorstep while pulling on her coat and slinging her scarf around her shoulders. The pianist seemed more than pleased with her appearance.

"You look beautiful, tonight," Autor asserted. She beamed and thanked him.

"When do you plan on having her home?" Charon interjected. He may not have been her father, but he certainly was beginning to feel like it—not to mention he didn't want anything coming between his son and the cheery girl.

"I'll have her back before midnight."

Fakir's eye twitched at this, and Charon was noticeably unimpressed with the time. This did not go unnoticed by Autor who explained, "I would have her back earlier, but the nature of my work prevents me from doing so, I hope you understand."

Charon seemed pacified at this though Fakir stared Autor down. "No funny business."

"Faki-ir!" Ahiru groaned, "Nothing is going to happen! I can take care of myself, remember?"

The writer sighed and gestured with his hand for them to leave. Ahiru grinned and waved goodbye before bouncing away alongside Autor.

"Make sure you stay warm, Ahiru!" Charon called out after them before closing the door.

They turned the corner before any words were exchanged. "I was unaware Charon had taken you in as a ward."

Ahiru looked up in surprise. "Ward?" She thought on this. Was she Charon's ward? "I don't think it's quite like that. I needed a place to stay and Charon was very kind to give me one."

"You're awfully young to be on your own."

"I'm not on my own!" Ahiru asserted as they turned another corner. "I have Fakir and Charon!"

Autor had to laugh at this, she was a little on the clueless side, but it didn't put him off as much as it normally would. Her pluck was actually refreshing compared with the stiff women he often had the displeasure of dealing with.

"They seemed awfully concerned about you for just being their live-in maid."

She smiled toothily at him, "They're just nice people! Though Fakir is a really good friend of mine, so I guess I'm not just their live-in maid. But Charon is really nice and took me in and gave me all of this stuff so I would feel comfortable, so—"

"You're rambling," Autor interjected. He didn't mean for it to come off as an insult, rather as a simple observation.

The girl's cheeks puffed up in indignation. "You're a lot like Fakir, you know."

"Oh, I'm much better than he is," the pianist supplied off-handedly. The corner of her mouth twitched and he decided it would be a good idea to for him to switch the subject before he started the night off on a completely sour note. "You mentioned you loved music before, but you never really told me what kind."

"Any kind, really," Ahiru bubbled. "As long as it conveys emotion. I love dancing, and what is a dance without good music? I mean, even when you dance and no music is playing out loud, you still have that song in your head that you're keeping rhythm to!"

"You dance?" Autor raised an eyebrow at this.

She laughed, "Well, I try, anyway!" She laced her fingers together and stretched her arms out in front of her. "I've always loved ballet, but I'm not very good."

"I would like to see you dance sometime, perhaps I could play for you."

Ahiru dismissed the request immediately with insistent hand gestures. "I think you misunderstand. I'm not really one to try and be humble or something like that. I am very, very bad."

Autor cocked his head at her in disbelief, amazed she would say such things. He recovered rather quickly as he indicated to turn to the left with his hand. "Maybe my piano playing will inspire the grace you claim to lack. I am quite good, you know. Though I'm sure you'll see that here shortly."

The girl smiled to herself. It had been a while since she got to see Autor's usual cocky self shine through, and despite how frustrating it had been in the past, it was strangely comforting to know he hadn't changed so much. "What kind of music do you usually play?"

Autor flashed a smirk, which Ahiru took to mean he had been waiting for her to ask. "I like to combine my two passions, piano and literature. Though I have mastered the popular music, both current and classic, I prefer to play my own compositions.

"Every composition I have made is based off of notable fiction, using theme and general action curves to help convey the story's greater meaning. Though I've composed based on works by various authors, my favorite is Herr Drosselmeyer. I've composed multiple pieces on his unfinished work, Prinz und Rabe, alone." He turned to her, seeming not to notice the color draining from her face. "Have you heard of Herr Drosselmeyer? His works are absolute masterpieces."

Ahiru opened her mouth and closed it a few times, trying desperately to maintain her composure. "Drosselmeyer…" she finally said, "I suppose you could say… I am familiar with him and his, uh, work."

"You know, I am a distant descendant of Drosselmeyer. I haven't quite finished my research showing where I am connected, but the man who helped my father when he was lost as a child has been connected and…"

Good naturedly, the girl nodded, though she could hardly stomach to pay attention to the words he was speaking. How could she have forgotten what a maniac he was for that nut job.

"Oh!" Autor interrupted his own babbling about Drosselmeyer and placed his hand on the small of Ahiru's back, causing her to look up at him in surprise. "This is it."

Ahiru looked to where he gestured with his left hand. A fashionable building framed by a small garden stood at the end of the street. A sign with simple lettering above the door read "Klavier." A gentleman dressed in a sharp, warm looking coat stood at podium by the entryway. With slight pressure from the hand he had on her back, Autor led her to maître d'. The man looked up at them, quickly assessing them from top to bottom. With a curt nod he approved them. Upon entering the building, two men dressed in tuxedos took their coats and gave Autor a ticket before disappearing in a side room.

Autor leaned closer to her as they walked through entrance to the main hall. "Since I'm supplying entertainment tonight and you're my guest, I've secured a table near the piano for you to sit at. I will only be playing the first two hours, so I can join you afterward."

A waiter walked by with a tray of glasses and looked expectantly at them. Autor quickly took a glass and handed it to Ahiru before the waiter continued on. She mindlessly accepted the glass and held the stem between her fingers as she took in the interior of the ritzy club. The floors were carpeted with a deep red and gold design, a beautiful wood and glass bar was across the room. The walls seemed to be made from the same, well-polished wood the tables were made of. From the ceiling hung an enormous chandelier which emitted a soft, glowing light. In the center of it all was an utterly gorgeous grand piano.

"Here," Autor pulled out a chair for her.

"Oh! Uhm, uh… thanks!" Ahiru stuttered out as she sat down. She had never been to somewhere so classy before, she felt rather out of place as she drank in the atmosphere. A moment passed before Autor started to walk away. "Uh, good luck!" Ahiru spurted after him.

Autor looked back at her with a cocky lopsided grin. "Thanks, but I don't need it." He winked at her before turning around and heading off somewhere.

"What the heck was that about…?" Ahiru murmured as she admired the glass ornaments in the chandelier. Thoughtlessly, she bought the glass Autor had given her earlier to her lips and sipped the light rose-colored liquid.

"Eugh!" Ahiru sputtered as she struggled not to spit the bitter liquid out of her mouth. "People drink this?!" Resolutely, she forced herself to swallow before she set the drink down on the table.

Despite reminding herself multiple times not to drink the detestable concoction, somehow mindless boredom would get the better of her and a few more sips would manage to find their way into her mouth. By the time Autor had finally sat down to play, she was almost finished with the glass.

A sharply dressed man announced the entertainment for the night would be starting, introducing Autor by name before gesturing toward the piano respectfully and walking off. A small breadth of a moment passed before the first note rung out.

Faintly, Ahiru wondered if the song he was playing was one of the songs he had written or if he chose to open with one the popular songs he said he had mastered. She was familiar with classical music from her time studying ballet, but had missed a few years' worth of modern music. She smiled as she let herself get carried away by the melody, hardly acknowledging the waiter who poured more liquid in her empty glass.

She couldn't help but admire Autor's skill. She may not know much about music—or as much as she should know—but she could tell he was really passionate in his playing. She watched as he would occasionally close his eyes, his body swaying with the beat.

Another thoughtless sip graced her lips, and Ahiru had to admit one glass in, the taste wasn't so horrible. If she really ruminated on the taste it was kind of fruity… maybe even a bit floral. The song came to an end and another waiter offered her another glass. Ahiru pleasantly accepted, soaking in the first few notes of the next piece. Though she did not know the name of the song, she was very familiar with it as Mr. Cat had often chose the piece for their warmups. She hummed along as she took another sip. Her body felt comfortably warm and the music swam around her head.

With dreamy eyes, Ahiru looked around the room. It wasn't bursting with people, but a little more than half of the tables were full. A boisterous woman in the far corner laughed as she animatedly told a story to the rest of her table, earning more laughs from her companions. Waiters dashed between tables keeping drinks full and delivering food when ordered. Two young gentleman a few tables over bent conspiratorially close together, occasionally shooting looks across the room at a table full of couples. Ahiru giggled happily when she watched as an older couple stood up to join some of the younger amorous couples in swaying to the music. The music Autor had chosen to play was light and jaunty, each song complimenting the previous ones.

Leaning her head on her knuckles, Ahiru took another sip, quietly wishing someone else was there to enjoy the music with her. 'Fakir would like this song, I think.' A new song had started playing, and Ahiru stared intently at her drink while she sloshed it around her glass. The melody had started out light and graceful. It filled Ahiru with familiar feelings she couldn't quite place, but were rather nice. 'How wonderfully pleasant.' Ahiru mused, trailing a finger from her free hand along the rim of her now empty glass.

"Excuse me, Miss."

Ahiru lazily turned her head up towards the voice. A young man, probably a few years older than Fakir, was standing before her. "Hmm?"

He smiled at her and inclined his head slightly. "I couldn't help but notice you were here alone tonight."

'Alone?' Ahiru's mind struggled to work through the haze that had settled upon it. That didn't sound right, she wasn't here alone.

Not letting her confused silence deter him, the man continued, "A gorgeous lady such as yourself shouldn't be alone." He nodded as if agreeing with himself. "I don't suppose you'd like to join me?"

"I'mmmmm noooottttt…" She hadn't intended it, but her words came out almost like a purr, struggling to put together the meaning she wanted to convey.

"I can show you a good time," he persisted, offering her his hand. "We can go dance. I'm pretty good on my feet."

The only thought that she could seem to put together is that she regretted she didn't have anything else to drink. "Ehhh…" She looked around sleepily, seeing if there were any waiters with those pretty bottles nearby.

"I won't take no for an answer."

"You're going to have to." Another voice came from behind her. Ahiru sluggishly looked over her shoulder, enjoying the light feeling that accompanied the movement.

"Otter." Ahiru whispered before giggling.

Autor raised an eyebrow before looking stonily at the man currently propositioning the poppy-haired girl. "It seems you mistook my date for being alone here tonight. I can assure you she'll find my company much more enjoyable than yours. Now move along."

The man seemed to contemplate objecting to his assertion, but clearly gave it a second thought as Ahiru once again attempted to slur out Autor's name while chuckling at each ridiculous result. He sneered in annoyance at the pianist before walking off muttering something intangible under his breath.

"Autorr…" she paused, seemingly pacified with this attempt, "You still playin'."

Autor adjusted his glasses before sitting down in the chair next to her. "I finished my set about ten minutes ago."

Ahiru frowned at him before looking back at the piano. "That's not you."

"Nope."

She nodded, apparently accepting that answer. "Okay."

"How…" he stopped a moment, wondering if he really wanted the answer that would follow his inevitable question. She looked up at him through heavy-lidded lashes as her lips parted ever so slightly. It was quite a bit more seductive than her normal carefree attitude. She was quite striking, despite her apparent inebriation. He sighed and looked at her with a hesitant smile. "How many glasses did you drink?"

"Huh?" She puckered her lips in thought before she began chewing on her bottom lip. "I dun… wow." Her head flopped to the side when she moved her elbow. "Fourrerfive," she slurred out. She held up her hand and tried to manipulate it to show how many times she emptied her glass. After failing to decide what the right number was she gave up, letting her hand fall back to the table. "I dun' know." She grinned widely and closed her eyes, losing herself in the floating sensation engulfing her.

Autor laughed sympathetically as he pushed a stray strand of hair behind her ear. He felt a little guilty for having given her the wine in the first place, but he also didn't think she would drink it.

Her blue eyes opened back up, a dreamy look softening her features. The pink flush splashing her cheeks was endearing.

"You're quite beautiful, you know."

"Yer boooiful." Ahiru shot back at him with a giggle.

He chuckled. Part of him wasn't sure why he was so charmed by her—air-headed ditzes weren't his type at all. But sitting here with her, the soft glow of the chandelier highlighting her curls, the reds of the club contrasting against her brilliant blue eyes, the hazy smile curling her lips, Liszt playing in the background… there was definitely something about her that was simply enamoring.

She grinned when a waiter walked by, tapping her empty glass expectantly. The waiter made to put more in, but was stopped by Autor. "She'll have a water, please." He ignored the angry pout she shot at him. As an afterthought he quickly added, "And can we get a couple brötchen?" The waiter nodded before heading back to place his order.

"I had din—" she stopped mid-word, having forgotten what she was going to say. "Mm, y' hungry?

"I think you should eat some bread before we head back. You'll regret it in the morning if you don't."

"Hummmm," she sang quietly as she nudged the glass around between her hands. "Tha one song. I liked i'."

"You mean that I played?"

"Yeah. Like thi'." She slurred through the melody to the best of her recollection. "Like tha'."

Autor smiled, chuffed that despite her drunkenness, she was able to pick out the one song he played that was his original. "So you noticed it. You know, that was one of the first songs I wrote of my composition. I originally wrote it as a practice as I found the character I based it off of did not resonate with me very well. However, I ended up pretty satisfied with the result and lately the character has become increasingly interesting to me." He paused to thank the waiter and pushed the rolls to Ahiru, encouraging her to eat them both. She dumbly picked one up and nibbled at it.

"You said you were familiar with Herr Drosselmeyer, yes? The song was based on the work I mentioned on the way here—"

Ahiru's eyes widened at the mention of Drosselmeyer, causing her to choke on the bread in her mouth. She spewed a few crumbs onto her hand before trying to force it down with some water.

Autor placed a hand on her back, "You alright?" His voice held more sympathy in it than she had ever thought Autor capable of.

Ahiru nodded, chugging what she could of the water before blinking at him. She honestly had no recollection of what had caused her to choke. "'m fine." She tiredly dropped her head down on the nearest surface.

Autor stiffened at the sudden weight from her head on his shoulder, but found it wasn't unpleasant. At this new proximity he found she smelled rather nice, though he couldn't place the scent.

"Don' tell Fakirrr." She mumbled sleepily.

Autor couldn't help the little smirk that played across his lips. "Tell Fakir what?" That the cute girl Fakir had clearly fallen for was currently snuggled up to him?

"Don' tell him 'bout Droooeesssssll—Drues… Drossss."

That, he hadn't been expecting. His smirk fell. "Drosselmeyer?" It was clear she was starting to fall into nonsensical drunken babbling.

She sighed. "He can' know. Don' wan' him be…" her mutters dropped off into incoherent slurs.

"Ah, shit." He cursed as it dawned on him he still had to get her home, and it wasn't exactly the shortest of walks. "Hey," he nudged her.

"Lemme sleep, Fakir."

"It's Autor," he reminded her, trying not to be too annoyed. He had, after all, given her the drink to begin with and left her unattended. He signaled to a nearby waiter, "Would you satisfy my tab from the pay for my performance." The waiter nodded his understanding, took the dishes in front of them, and left after shooting Autor and his potentially passed out guest a suggestive look.

"Come on." He urged, gently pulling Ahiru up.

"Whoa." She gripped onto Autor as her brain tried to catch up with the sudden waking and movement.

He readjusted her position so she was more naturally posed for walking. "You alright?"

Ahiru nodded into his side. "Yeah…"

Autor would have a hell of a time explaining this to Fakir.


A/N: So, hi. It's been uh… almost seven years now? Wow. I'm absolutely sorry that it has taken so long to get this out. Despite graduating both high school and college in that time, I promise I never forgot about this story. I started a lengthy and inconsistent (time wise) process of rewriting and editing the story back in 2013 and have finally caught up. So, if you're one of my originals, I suggest going back and rereading the previous chapters if you haven't already. There will be twenty-four chapters, all of which have been plotted out. That being said, I can't promise a new updated schedule for publishing chapters, but I promise I'll get this story done. I've worked on it for far too long to give up on it. I tried to put out a nice lengthy chapter to make up for it, hopefully you can forgive me. I hope you enjoyed reading drunk Ahiru as much as I enjoyed writing her. Please don't hesitate to let me know if you see any typos. I did wait a few hours before proofreading, but not as many as I usually make myself… I got a little excited. And, just so you know, by the time you read this, I'll have already started the next chapter. Progress.

Final note, not exactly the most important thing, but the Liszt song that Autor was referencing was Liebestraum.