#og short

[pen-in-hand]

Fun and Games

This was a prompt from @itzqueendiamondsapphire “You have just witnessed the murder of the person currently ruling your country/kingdom. The problem is the murderer is your best friend. What do you do?” and I had wayyyy too much fun writing this. I also had I Just Can’t Wait To Be King from The Lion King stuck in my head while writing this.

What the fuck where they thinking?!

Sheer panic overwhelmed Jamie as they stared at the dead body before them. The saying always went that your best friend is the one that’d help you hide the body but they’d never thought it’d be literal, let alone the body of the King!

Sure, they’d joked a few days ago about how terrible of a leader the king was, and how miserable the people were, and what they’d do if they were the leader, but to have a dead body in the middle of your lounge room with your best friend standing over it with that stupid grin on their face, was a whole nother issue.

Jamie was surprised that the city guards hadn’t come knocking yet.

Somehow, their idiot of a best friend, had managed to not only assassinate the king, but carry his dead body through the palace, out the front door, through the streets, out the city gate, and into Jamie’s tiny hut just outside the city walls, all without raising any alarms. Flabbergasted was an enormous understatement when trying to describe how Jamie was feeling.

How?

How??

Taking a deep breath, Jamie attempted to collect themselves before levelling Jerry with a glare. “So you got the king here, hip hip hooray.” The sarcastic drawl caused Jerry to scoff. “What do you think is going to happen next? Hm? The city guard just turn up at my door, see the King and go ‘oh there he is, glad to know we found him have a nice day’?”

The proud smirk didn’t drop from Jerry’s face. “In my defence-” But Jaime was having none of it.

“In your defence?!?! Nothing you could possibly say, would make any of this okay!”

Still, the amused and satisfied smirk didn’t drop from Jerry’s lips.

“I didn’t kill the king.”

Jaime paused for a split second, trying to process before they lurched back into their panic. “That doesn’t change the fact that you brought him here!”

It was then the facade slipped from Jerry’s face, if only for a split second, as they glanced down at their boots. “Just thought you’d rather hear it from me than the city guard when they come to collect their new monarch.”

Jaime’s panic started to ebb away as suspicion settled in their stomach. “New monarch?”

“When your grandfather was the king’s bastard, and therefore you are the closest relative to the king, congrats on being the next in line for the throne.”

Jaime faintly heard mention of a coronation ceremony before he passed out.

It was all fun and games until your friend turns up with a dead body.

[pen-in-hand]

Tsvete - Original

This is an original short fic that I wrote a few years ago now. Hope you like it.

Slowly, cautiously, an old, wrinkled man, stooped low over his walking cane, approached a bench in the park.

“Ete? My sweet, darling Ete?”

Surprised, the young woman lounging on the bench jerked her head up from where it was buried in her book. Her gaze snapped to the old man, no more than 2 metres away. As their eyes met, she could see tears welling up in his eyes. Slowly, she placed her book beside her and rose, a hand reaching out to the man’s shoulder.

“Sir? Is everything okay?”

As the young woman reached the old man, placing her hand lightly on his shoulder, the man also reached up, cupping her cheek in a wrinkled palm. His face lit up with happiness and love.

“Ete, darling Ete.”

They young ladies concern look faded from her face, instead, shifting into a sad smile. “I’m sorry sir, my name is Addison.”

A blush then covered the man’s face as he quickly withdrew his hand, the bashful smile could only be described as adorable. “I’m terribly sorry my dear, you look near identical to my late wife Tsvete; on the very day that I met her nonetheless.” His eyes glazed over, his mind clearly travelling back.

Unexpectedly, the man’s knees buckled. Reacting quickly, Addison slipped her arm around his shoulders, grasping at him to keep him upright. “How about we sit on the bench, you could tell me about that day.”

As they slowly sat on the park bench, the man gently pat Addison’s hand. “Tsvete Elyse Brandt was the most beautiful young lady I had ever seen. We were in a park, not unlike this one, and my friends and I were playing a rather violent game of tug-of-war if you would believe. A show of strength to impress the young ladies bathing in the sun on an unusually warm winters day. We’d managed to charm quite a few of them, but not darling Tsvete, or Ete as her friends called her, insisting she join them in the sun, instead of curling up amongst the roots of one of the decorative Japanese Maples with a book resting in her lap, a crown of crimson curls cascading around her, almost disappearing into the leaves. I could have sworn she were a dryad.”

As the man continued to weave his tale of the day he met his wife, how he’d been unable to charm her on the first, second, and third time they’d met, Addison slowly closed her eyes, her head, unconsciously, started to drift to the man’s shoulder.

By the time the man, who had said his name was Newton, finished his tale with the vows shared  on their wedding day, the sun had nearly set. The last rays of light warming their backs as Addison sleepily mumbled, “my middle name is Tsvete.” She slowly pulled away from where she had been resting on his shoulder and rubbed her neck. “What a coincidence.”

Newton hummed in agreement, a secret smile on his face as he slowly stood. “I must be off, thank you for your time today, humoring an old man.”

Addison returned his smile politely as she also stood. “It was my pleasure. I better get going too, I’m supposed to be looking after my sister tonight for my parents wedding anniversary.”

“The pleasure was all mine.” Newton replied, taking Addison’s hand and giving it an affectionate squeeze. “You have a nice night now.”

“You too, Sir.”

Just as Newton and Addison were heading their separate ways, the elderly man paused and turned back to the young lady that looked so much like his late wife when they were younger.

“My darling Ete had said that her name had been in the family for generations.” Winking, he continued, “apparently she had a grandmother named Addison Tsvete. It was nice to finally meet her.”

[pen-in-hand]

Pierre Mangello (Original Short Story)

So this is a short story that I wrote so many years ago for school, and have rewritten it since. This is a murder mystery so be warned it’s slightly graphic.

The french translation (please correct me if I’m wrong, I just used google) is “Sir, a man from Scotland Yard is here to see you. It seems urgent.

The sun had disappeared below the horizon, the sky still held a warm glow as the evening chill set in. The lamplighters scurrying up and down their ladders as a man hurried through the nearly empty streets, his coat wrapped tight around him to fend of the cold - it wasn't quite winter yet, but it wasn't far off. The man, in a hurry to get home for tea, took a sharp turn, cutting through Southwark Park. This proved to be a fatal mistake, a man dropping from the treetops in front of him and, without hesitation, stabbed him repeatedly in the chest.

A week later, a man was moving into his new home in Lambeth in preparation for his family. There wasn't too much preparation to do, the previous owner, a grieving widow, wanted nothing to do with its contents, and so all the man simply had to do was redo the wallpaper. Taking a break from the slightly laborious work in his son's new room, he returned downstairs to the kitchen in search of his cigarettes. So caught up in his frustration of the matches that refused to light, he failed to notice the door swing open. Hearing a floorboard creak behind him, he turned around only to be stabbed in the chest repeatedly.

Lazily reclined in his bergère, Pierre Mangenello was perusing the newspaper, stroking his moustache, as his eyes caught the same article that no doubt caught the eyes of the rest of the nation. For someone so intelligent, he doesn't know how he missed it on the front page. The death of Queen Victoria.

Mangenello was startled out of his thoughts by the crashing of his butler as he stumbled through the study door, blushing, fumbling, and nervous.

"Monsieur, un homme de Scotland Yard est là pour vous parler. Il semble urgent."

With a scowl, the seated man gave a sharp nod, and the butler spun, ushering in the chief inspector.

When the chief inspector finally left, Manganello was scurrying around his study, seemingly unable to find whatever it was that he was searching for. This was a most curious case indeed. The first man was stabbed five times; once in each shoulder, one straight through the stomach and then one on either side of the pelvis. The second man was in a similar state, but only with four stab wounds. They both owned the same home, but it seemed unlikely that it was a disgruntled neighbour as the second man hadn't even finished moving in.

It was the third victim that broke the pattern. He was found dead, in the open door of his home on the other side of London, two stab wounds; one in his sternum and one in his stomach.

A pair of newlyweds were out for a romantic late night stroll outside St James' Palace after leaving the Trafalgar Square Theatre, on the way back to their hotel. As they rounded a corner a figure cloaked in black jumped out at them, slicing the husband across his throat before grabbing the wife, shoving her against the wall, held the knife to her throat and demanded one word.

Scream.

As she did, the attacker drove their knife up through her lower jaw, cutting off her scream as the knife was driven through her mouth and was twisted, slicing her spinal cord.

Soaked in the blood of their victims, she positioned the two of them, seated against the wall of the historic palace, and slowly sat between them.

By the time Manganello arrived on the scene, Scotland Yard and the Chief Inspector were covering the bodies of all three of the deceased.

With the death of the assassin, Pierre Manganello felt at peace at last. Justice was brought to his brothers killer.

Case solved.