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This is a weird little fic that's been running in my brain for...about three years, actually. Ever since I got the Corporeal Players Guide and the GMG, after my character on an IN MUSH got recruited as a Soldier of Creation. It's...fairly light-hearted, and a little silly, much like the character who's in the middle. Not B&S canon, and not quite real canon, either.
There are things they never tell you about being a Soldier of God.
One, the phone calls and the surprise visits at odd hours of the night. That never bothered Harriet much, because she kept pretty odd hours, herself. They also never warned you about the problems with keeping secrets, and that did bother her, if only because sometimes you just wanted to be able to snap off an 'I'm fine' to a query, without having an Elohite tell you how you were really feeling, and why. Harriet had found that angels tended to have issues with mental personal space. She could deal.
But they also never tell you that you might end up on your knees in a warehouse, with demons growling their twisted language on the catwalk above you, and your hand clamped firmly around the mouth of a currently-amnesiac Archangel to keep him from singing 'Walking on Sunshine'. In Swahili. Somehow, those sorts of things just never came up in the briefing.
Okay, so there hadn't ever really been a briefing.
***
The knock on the door came as she was in the middle of her current project. The entire living room of her apartment was cleared out, with a tarp on the floor, and all the pillows and such shoved to the edges of the walls. She was on a stool, in front of a hunk of marble as large as a refrigerator. Several chunks had already been carefully carved off, and it was starting to look more shaped...although at the moment the shape itself was debatable. A Sondheim musical was playing in the background, and Harriet was singing along behind her dust mask as she worked. So she didn't hear the knocking until it became a pounding.
"Come on in, it's unlocked, you know?" she shouted, not looking up from her work, although she did kick a sock at the stereo, in a vain attempt to turn down the volume a bit. The door creaked open, and there were footsteps behind her, heading into the kitchen. That was enough to get her attention; although she didn't technically mind people using her stuff, it was only polite to ask first. "Hey, if you want something to snack on, I can..." she turned her head towards the visitor and swiped the dust from her safety glasses. "Um. Who are you?" Hearing the muffled sound of her own voice, she reached up and tugged the dust mask down, as well.
The man in her kitchen, sleepy-eyed, smiling, and handsome in a grunge sort of way, raised a package of coffee beans. "Good beans. Where's your grinder, Miss Davis?" He didn't wait for an answer, but turned to go rummaging through likely looking cabinets. Harriet set her chisel aside, and tucked her hammer in her belt before hopping off the stool and heading for him, frowning.
"Excuse me, but who are you? And that's my coffee, you know?" After a moment, she added, because it always paid to be polite, "The grinder's in the second cabinet to your left. Not the one with the red handle, use the steel one."
"Thanks," her visitor replied with a smile in her direction. She watched as he set up the coffee, her arms crossing over her chest, and her toe starting to tap on the tile of the kitchen floor. "Now, doesn't that smell good?"
"Yes, but..."
"Shall we sit down while it brews?" He put a hand on her shoulder and gently drew her over to the table, pulling out a chair for her with his free hand. "How are things going with you, Miss Davis? Well, I hope?"
Harriet sat down in the offered chair. On one hand, she was pretty sure this was illegal, and possibly dangerous. Okay, probably dangerous. On the other...she'd always had a problem being rude when other people were being polite. So she settled for raising her chin, and eyeing the man sternly. "Things are going reasonably okay." Her voice became schoolmarmish. "Although I seem to have an intruder in my apartment who is making me coffee, which at least has novelty value, although I'm not quite certain that I approve. Have we met, you know?"
The man took the chair across from her, laughing, not unkindly, as he sat down. "Yes, Miss Davis. We have. On two occassions. Once here, once elsewhere." He propped his chin up on his fist and gave her a winsome smile. "I'm feeling a bit better since the last time. Actually, I was hoping I could borrow you for a few hours, if you're not entirely busy. Arethas and Hachilah appear to be out of town?"
"Er, yes...they're..." Harriet's eyes widened. "...Lord Eli?"
Eli's eyes widened to match hers. "They are? Oh, my. There's three of me running around? Well, I hope I'm having a good time." He winked, then grinned, the sheer playfulness of it drawing an answering smile from herself. "Knowing those two, I probably am. So," his voice dropped into a more serious register, "might I avail myself of your services for the afternoon?"
"Of course, sir," Harriet said, promptly. "Just, um, let me," she reaches up and swiped at the smudges of stone dust on her cheeks, hair and clothing, "um, clean up. Can I take a shower? Er, what do I need to wear...where are we going? I'm not really good with the fighting, you know, so I hope it isn't going to involve anything like that." She bounced up from her seat, nervously. What did you wear when in the company of an Archangel, exactly? Were you graded on color coordination and style, or were religious items required? She hoped not, she'd been an atheist before being recruited, and she'd still not really gotten the hang of church.
Eli watched, his eyes wrinking at the corners in gentle amusement. "No time for a shower, I fear, and you look fine as you are. Bring a pen and a pad, please, but weapons are not required." His voice was kind as he continued, "If I'd needed that, I would have waited for Arethas. Relax, Miss Davis."
Harriet blushed faintly, but just bobbed her head before grabbing a pen and a pad off of her cluttered kitchen counter. Despite his words, she paused for a moment to wet a paper towel and run it hastily over the most dusty spots of her face and hands. In the shiny reflection of the small mirror beside the sink, she grimaced at her face, still looking rather rumpled and goggly. Reminded, she took off the goggles and the dust mask, and set them on the countertop. "I'm ready, then, sir."
"Good. Here, have a cup of coffee," Eli said, handing her an aromatic brew in a mug that she was fairly certain didn't come from her kitchen. She took it, and glanced over at the coffee maker...it stood empty, gleaming, and didn't seem to have even been turned on. Another look at the Archangel, who just beamed at her and sipped his own cup.
It didn't surprise her when she took a sip to find it exactly the way she liked it. She opened her mouth to thank Eli, and stopped. He was staring off past her left shoulder, his brown eyes (Had they been blue before? She thought so.) blank, almost dead. After a moment, she cleared her throat. "...sir? Are you okay?" He turned towards her, his expression bewildered and without any recognition at all. Harriet took a quick step forward, one hand coming out and touching his sleeve. "Hey, is something wrong?"
As soon as the words were out, the life flooded back into his face, and he reached down to take her hand, raising it to his lips and brushing them across the back of her fingers. "Ship shape and Bristol fashion, Miss Davis. I was merely thinking. Shall we be off?"
Harriet blinked, and nodded, drowning whatever questions threatened to bubble up in her throat with another sip of the coffee. As he turned to leave, she close behind, she thought about leaving a note for anyone who might come by, but then realized that, really, what could she say? 'Errands' didn't exactly cover it, and 'Kidnapped by Archangel' was probably a little too dramatic. Besides, she was with an Archangel.
What could go wrong, really?
There are things they never tell you about being a Soldier of God.
One, the phone calls and the surprise visits at odd hours of the night. That never bothered Harriet much, because she kept pretty odd hours, herself. They also never warned you about the problems with keeping secrets, and that did bother her, if only because sometimes you just wanted to be able to snap off an 'I'm fine' to a query, without having an Elohite tell you how you were really feeling, and why. Harriet had found that angels tended to have issues with mental personal space. She could deal.
But they also never tell you that you might end up on your knees in a warehouse, with demons growling their twisted language on the catwalk above you, and your hand clamped firmly around the mouth of a currently-amnesiac Archangel to keep him from singing 'Walking on Sunshine'. In Swahili. Somehow, those sorts of things just never came up in the briefing.
Okay, so there hadn't ever really been a briefing.
***
The knock on the door came as she was in the middle of her current project. The entire living room of her apartment was cleared out, with a tarp on the floor, and all the pillows and such shoved to the edges of the walls. She was on a stool, in front of a hunk of marble as large as a refrigerator. Several chunks had already been carefully carved off, and it was starting to look more shaped...although at the moment the shape itself was debatable. A Sondheim musical was playing in the background, and Harriet was singing along behind her dust mask as she worked. So she didn't hear the knocking until it became a pounding.
"Come on in, it's unlocked, you know?" she shouted, not looking up from her work, although she did kick a sock at the stereo, in a vain attempt to turn down the volume a bit. The door creaked open, and there were footsteps behind her, heading into the kitchen. That was enough to get her attention; although she didn't technically mind people using her stuff, it was only polite to ask first. "Hey, if you want something to snack on, I can..." she turned her head towards the visitor and swiped the dust from her safety glasses. "Um. Who are you?" Hearing the muffled sound of her own voice, she reached up and tugged the dust mask down, as well.
The man in her kitchen, sleepy-eyed, smiling, and handsome in a grunge sort of way, raised a package of coffee beans. "Good beans. Where's your grinder, Miss Davis?" He didn't wait for an answer, but turned to go rummaging through likely looking cabinets. Harriet set her chisel aside, and tucked her hammer in her belt before hopping off the stool and heading for him, frowning.
"Excuse me, but who are you? And that's my coffee, you know?" After a moment, she added, because it always paid to be polite, "The grinder's in the second cabinet to your left. Not the one with the red handle, use the steel one."
"Thanks," her visitor replied with a smile in her direction. She watched as he set up the coffee, her arms crossing over her chest, and her toe starting to tap on the tile of the kitchen floor. "Now, doesn't that smell good?"
"Yes, but..."
"Shall we sit down while it brews?" He put a hand on her shoulder and gently drew her over to the table, pulling out a chair for her with his free hand. "How are things going with you, Miss Davis? Well, I hope?"
Harriet sat down in the offered chair. On one hand, she was pretty sure this was illegal, and possibly dangerous. Okay, probably dangerous. On the other...she'd always had a problem being rude when other people were being polite. So she settled for raising her chin, and eyeing the man sternly. "Things are going reasonably okay." Her voice became schoolmarmish. "Although I seem to have an intruder in my apartment who is making me coffee, which at least has novelty value, although I'm not quite certain that I approve. Have we met, you know?"
The man took the chair across from her, laughing, not unkindly, as he sat down. "Yes, Miss Davis. We have. On two occassions. Once here, once elsewhere." He propped his chin up on his fist and gave her a winsome smile. "I'm feeling a bit better since the last time. Actually, I was hoping I could borrow you for a few hours, if you're not entirely busy. Arethas and Hachilah appear to be out of town?"
"Er, yes...they're..." Harriet's eyes widened. "...Lord Eli?"
Eli's eyes widened to match hers. "They are? Oh, my. There's three of me running around? Well, I hope I'm having a good time." He winked, then grinned, the sheer playfulness of it drawing an answering smile from herself. "Knowing those two, I probably am. So," his voice dropped into a more serious register, "might I avail myself of your services for the afternoon?"
"Of course, sir," Harriet said, promptly. "Just, um, let me," she reaches up and swiped at the smudges of stone dust on her cheeks, hair and clothing, "um, clean up. Can I take a shower? Er, what do I need to wear...where are we going? I'm not really good with the fighting, you know, so I hope it isn't going to involve anything like that." She bounced up from her seat, nervously. What did you wear when in the company of an Archangel, exactly? Were you graded on color coordination and style, or were religious items required? She hoped not, she'd been an atheist before being recruited, and she'd still not really gotten the hang of church.
Eli watched, his eyes wrinking at the corners in gentle amusement. "No time for a shower, I fear, and you look fine as you are. Bring a pen and a pad, please, but weapons are not required." His voice was kind as he continued, "If I'd needed that, I would have waited for Arethas. Relax, Miss Davis."
Harriet blushed faintly, but just bobbed her head before grabbing a pen and a pad off of her cluttered kitchen counter. Despite his words, she paused for a moment to wet a paper towel and run it hastily over the most dusty spots of her face and hands. In the shiny reflection of the small mirror beside the sink, she grimaced at her face, still looking rather rumpled and goggly. Reminded, she took off the goggles and the dust mask, and set them on the countertop. "I'm ready, then, sir."
"Good. Here, have a cup of coffee," Eli said, handing her an aromatic brew in a mug that she was fairly certain didn't come from her kitchen. She took it, and glanced over at the coffee maker...it stood empty, gleaming, and didn't seem to have even been turned on. Another look at the Archangel, who just beamed at her and sipped his own cup.
It didn't surprise her when she took a sip to find it exactly the way she liked it. She opened her mouth to thank Eli, and stopped. He was staring off past her left shoulder, his brown eyes (Had they been blue before? She thought so.) blank, almost dead. After a moment, she cleared her throat. "...sir? Are you okay?" He turned towards her, his expression bewildered and without any recognition at all. Harriet took a quick step forward, one hand coming out and touching his sleeve. "Hey, is something wrong?"
As soon as the words were out, the life flooded back into his face, and he reached down to take her hand, raising it to his lips and brushing them across the back of her fingers. "Ship shape and Bristol fashion, Miss Davis. I was merely thinking. Shall we be off?"
Harriet blinked, and nodded, drowning whatever questions threatened to bubble up in her throat with another sip of the coffee. As he turned to leave, she close behind, she thought about leaving a note for anyone who might come by, but then realized that, really, what could she say? 'Errands' didn't exactly cover it, and 'Kidnapped by Archangel' was probably a little too dramatic. Besides, she was with an Archangel.
What could go wrong, really?
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From:
OMG HARRIET!!!! :D
I should say something clever and cool here, but all I can do is wibble! *_* HARRIET! ELI! HARRIET!!!!!
*wibbles again*
...I need an Arethas icon...
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Re: OMG HARRIET!!!! :D
Arethas-as-KITTEN OF DOOM!
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Re: OMG HARRIET!!!! :D
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Re: OMG HARRIET!!!! :D
(I wish I still had the talking-kitten log. It was adorable.)
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Re: OMG HARRIET!!!! :D
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Re: OMG HARRIET!!!! :D
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Re: OMG HARRIET!!!! :D
http://www.pvv.org/~solas/innomine/brass/trimma/08080enter_kaiser.txt
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Re: OMG HARRIET!!!! :D
Kaiser was so adorable. :D
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no subject
I really must have some character of mine think that and then do some kind of Just In Cast preparations. Someday. Somehow.
*grin*
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Are you planning on more?
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And yes, I am. :) It's difficult for me to write fic about characters I've played, because they've got a lot of interaction history with other PCs and I don't feel comfortable about including characters that were played by other people, but I think I've managed to work around it, in this case.
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It just skeeves me, although I love reading fanfic about other people's characters. :D