Giftee: @shatcey
Pairing: Silvio/Schatze
Event: Spill the Tea
Hosted by: @lorei-writes and @keithsandwich
Prompts: "I prefer honey" and "Blue skies, birds chanting"
It began with a necklace. Not simply any necklace. No, this necklace, this confection of flawless stones in an exquisite setting had been the most expensive piece of jewelry ever to come to auction in Rhodolite. Leaving nothing to chance, Silvio attended the auction in person, prepared to glare down anyone presumptuous enough to even consider purchasing it for their wife (… or their mistress. Silvio recognized that many of the auction’s attendees were renowned for their unfaithfulness).
Glaring turned out to be unnecessary. His presence alone was enough to frighten away any potential competition – in fact, he’d also acquired a new belt chain simply by entering the opening bid. The proprietors of the auction house heaved a sigh once the wealthy prince retired from the floor with his acquisitions. For them, this sale had netted less than their projected profits.
Then, on Schatze’s birthday, he, along with the others (he refused to acknowledge them by name… and in truth some were not even human) gathered to present their tokens of love to Schatze. Her joy was apparent, and the others were all thanked with hugs, kisses, whispered words in their ears. Silvio’s anticipation grew. Surely, she would be impressed by the necklace.
“Oh!” Schatze said after unwrapping the package and opening the velvet jewel box. “It’s lovely. Such beautiful craftsmanship.”
Silvio preened.
Then…
Then…
She patted his cheek.
!
While he stood there fuming, she’d blithely breezed off with one of the others, leaving him uncharacteristically tongue tied.
Later, after he’d retreated to Rhodolite castle to lick his wounded pride in peace and qui-
“What do you want?” The mutt had entered his room… without knocking. He held a tray displaying a glass of rose wine.
“You ordered Emma to bring you a drink.” The mutt glared at him, his free hand twitching like he was restraining himself from punching him. “You called her a wench.”
“What of it? I call every woman a wench. I ain’t heard anyone complain.” In fact, Schatze had liked it. He grabbed the glass off the tray, mostly to prevent the mutt from flinging it in his face.
The mutt just stood there staring at him. In fact, Silvio had a dark suspicion that there was laughter somewhere in that gaze.
“Now what?”
“Let me guess. The necklace was not a successful gift?” Yep, that was amusement in there. Before Silvio could ask how Rio knew that, the mutt continued. “Nokto.”
Enough said. Nokto’s spy network was enviable, and his friendship with Rio was… incomprehensible, but that was their business.
“In fact, Schatze said it was beautiful.” The cheek pat, he’d keep to himself.
“Do you want my advice?”
No. Hell no. Never. “What do ya wanna say?”
“You can afford anything you want, so an expensive necklace doesn’t reflect thought or effort.” The mutt tugged on his earring… an earring that years ago, Silvio had made for him, a long-ago childish act of fraternity. “Emma likes to read, so I have fun picking out books she will like.”
Not particularly helpful as Silvio didn’t think he’d ever seen Schatze sit still long enough to read a letter, let alone a book, but the mention of books did put him in mind of Akatsuki, the owner of the bookstore who was more than just that. Perhaps that man would be the key to finding a more unusual gift.
And that decision is what sent him into the fog.
Literally.
When Silvio came up with the idea of having a dress designed for Schatze, Akatsuki noted that he knew of a wonderful seamstress, one who could create anything Silvio imagined. Designing a dress took effort, did it not?
What Akatsuki had not mentioned that finding said seamstress involved an usual guide who had introduced himself as ‘Sasuke, a moderately awesome ninja’ (whatever the hell that was) followed by a trek through a rainstorm, a fog bank, and a ceiling tunnel into castle in a land that reminded him of Kogyoku, but clearly wasn’t.
Then Sasuke led him to a pretty woman name Mai, and via translation (as this Mai did not speak any of the languages Silvio knew, and Silvio did not speak hers) and a hastily sketched out drawing he’d managed to communicate the nature of his commission. True, Mai’s initial effort had been too plain, and Silvio had insisted she add more decoration. The resulting confection of feathers, fur, embroidery, and sewed on jewels she’d given to him, murmuring something in her language that had caused Sasuke to wince.
“What? What’d she say?” From her tone of voice, Silvio surmised it was none too complimentary.
The ‘ninja’ coughed and after a pause, replied, “Er, she thanked you for your patronage but requested you not tell anyone who made it.”
This was followed by an impassioned conversation between the two foreigners that was not translated, and Silvio had not asked. No matter. He now had his gift, had managed to get back to the correct time and place (he hoped, as Sasuke’s explanation of interdimensional time travel was so full of random five syllable words that Silvio was half convinced the man was joking) with Schatze’s dress wrapped loosely in rice paper.
Then, Silvio’s flight to his room was interrupted mid-gallop by Yves, who gazed in horror at the multicolored feathers poking out from the package. “What, and I shudder to ask… is…? That.”
None of yer damned business had been his mental response, then Silvio thought better of it. Yves was proud and finicky, but it was well known that he was considered the best dresser in the country. It wouldn’t hurt to get another opinion. “It’s for my fiancée.” Silvio emphasized the word fiancée proudly. She had picked him (and… a… few… others). “A dress.”
When Yves simply reached out imperiously, Silvio unwrapped and handed over the dress. “I designed it myself.”
“Clearly.” Yves held the dress out from his body, allowing only his index fingers and thumbs to touch it. “I have simply one suggestion.”
Dramatic pause.
Eventually Silvio gave up and prodded. “Which is..?”
“Burn it. Then salt the earth.” He handed the dress back to Silvio. “I’m aware that Schatze has garis- er, colorful taste, but this is too much… for any woman.”
Hmph.
To prove his point, Yves stopped one of the castle maids. “Would you ever wear this?”
The maid quit on the spot.
Hm, maybe he had added too much embellishments? “This leaves me again without a gift.”
“Have you considered making something with your hands?” Yves looked down at his own smoothly manicured fingernails. “My brothers seem to appreciate it when I bake for them.”
BOOM!!!
And that is how Silvio found himself banned from every kitchen in the capital city. Officially banned. Sariel and Leon issued the proclamation publicly.
Yves, his face smudged with smoke, his pristine clothes in a condition few had ever seen, turned to Silvio, who was holding a pan of what might… charitably… be considered charcoal. “Have you considered poetry?”
He had not. But… he could write reports. Official letters.
How difficult could it be to throw in a rhyme every few words?
Why had no one ever told him there was no rhyme for orange?
Holed up in his guest quarters of Rhodolite castle, Silvio crumpled up another piece of paper. He tossed it behind him where it landed on a mound of previous rejected efforts. Eventually, he ended up face down, asleep, drooling on another unfinished effort, dreaming of giant killer oranges.
“Oh, orange hair like carrots in a stew, I want to give you daisies in a shoe.” In his dream, Schatze was reading his poetry to him.
Wait...
He was awake.
Schatze, who had somehow sneaked into his room, was reading his poetry. Out loud.
Quickly, he sat up and wiped his face.
She uncrumpled another one. “Your locks are a sunset, Your eyes, a sun rise.” As Silvio made a leap for the paper, she laughed. “That was rather a decent beginning. It was accurate at least.” She batted those sun yellow eyes at him.
“Ya really don’t want to be reading those.” He winced when she uncrumpled another paper.
“Oh, I do. I really, truly do.” With a wicked grin, she struck a dramatic pose. “Blue Skies, Birds Chanting, Your face is so enchanting. That I almost feel like ranting.” She paused and seemed to think about that. “Hm. Granting? Oooh. Panting! You do appear to be panting a little.”
“What sum of money would it take for ya t’forget ya ever saw these?” He gathered as many of the poetry attempts as possible, and stuffed them down his pants.
“You don’t know me very well if you believe that would stop me.” She reached for his belt, and then just as he jumped away, she pivoted and grabbed the last poem off the desk. “I prefer honey, Schatze, not the sap of a tree. Your bee stung lips still call to me. Sweeter than sugar, a love there is no cure for… Awww, I like this one. Where was it going?”
“I… don’t remember.” He collapsed back in the chair, hoping that this was still part of the dream with the murderous citrus fruits. “How did ya get in here?”
“Oh, your brother sent for me. He was worried.” She plopped down on his lap, and the papers that were still stuffed in his pants crunched loudly.
“I doubt that.” More likely the mutt was having a laugh at his expense.
“Silvio.” She twined her hands in his hair. “I’m very touched that you went to all of this effort on my behalf.”
He peered into her eyes, searching for the joke, bracing for another cheek pat. “Ya are?”
“All I wanted was for you to try. To do something more than throw money at me.” She kissed him, and he hurried to bring his arms around her waist.
After a long moment during which the only sounds that could be heard was indeed panting… and paper crinkling, he said, “I could… write more of them.”
“Please. Don’t.” And she patted him on the cheek again.