Actions

Work Header

Rating:
Archive Warning:
Categories:
Fandoms:
Relationships:
Characters:
Additional Tags:
Language:
English
Stats:
Published:
2014-07-03
Updated:
2015-12-24
Words:
4,878
Chapters:
12/?
Comments:
9
Kudos:
34
Bookmarks:
5
Hits:
713

by the way, there's no escape (a Hungarian musical theatre ficlet collection)

Summary:

Assorted ficlets based on Hungarian musical theatre that isn't Rómeó és Júlia. See notes for an index.

Notes:

1. Métella, Gardefeu, and Bobinet battle carnivorous plants (Párizsi élet/La vie parisienne)
2. Józsiás attempts to introduce Bakszén to a new kink (Ördögölő Józsiás)
3. Tiger Brown has an ill-advised attraction to gangsters, including Spats Colombo and Bernardo (Threepenny Opera / Some Like It Hot / West Side Story, in the Hungarian versions all characters played by the same actor)
4. Austrian Der Tod and Hungarian A Halál, kissing in a tree (Elisabeth)
5. A little bit of Luigi Lucheni's thoughts in the afterlife (Elisabeth)
6. Métella and Gardefeu talk about Bobinet...in bed (Párizsi élet/La vie parisienne)
7. Bakszén, Prince of Hell, develops an interest in Sergeant Jonel (Bakszén/Jonel, Ördögölő Józsiás/Menyasszonytánc)
8. Dilló and Rosa discover things in common (Dilló/Rosa, Ördögölő Józsiás/Rómeó és Júlia)
9. Death stalks Maxim de Winter (Death/Maxim, Rebecca/Elisabeth)
10. Gardefeu and Bobinet's first kiss (Gardefeu/Bobinet, Párizsi élet/La vie parisienne)
11. Puck improves on Christmas (Puck, Szentivánéji álom, G)
12. Puck visits ancient Rome (Puck, Szentivánéji álom, G)

Chapter 1: (Métella, Gardefeu, and Bobinet fight carnivorous plants, G)

Summary:

For drcalvin, who asked for "Párizsi élet - Inspired by Atov’s art, how would you write Bobinet, Gardefeu and Metella fighting their way through a forest of giant man-eating plants? The cancan bar is on the other side, you see."

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

"I think we took a wrong turn," said Bobinet, "somewhere back by the river."

"Don’t complain," Gardefeu replied cheerfully, taking Métella’s hand and helping her over a fallen log. She looked utterly charming and serene in cool leafy green despite the humid heat of the jungle, while he and Bobinet were merely sweaty and bug-bitten. He was beginning to suspect her of practicing dark arts. "After all, we brought you on our honeymoon—a true sacrifice for friendship—else you’d be back in Paris, already leg-shackled to dear cousin Juliette—"

Bobinet shuddered, then slapped the back of his neck. “Cursed mosquitos!”

"Poor lambs," said Métella, with a sympathetic pat for each of them, "they’re not biting me at all."

Sometimes Gardefeu rather thought he hated his lovely new bride.

Anyway," continued Bobinet, peevishly, "I only meant that this does not look like a first-rate hotel. It looks like a jungle full of horrible things lurking in the dark to devour us."

"Don’t be ridiculous." Gardefeu tried not to look too closely at the huge, nodding plants clustered around the base of the trees. It was dark, but that was only because the canopy high above was dense with leaves. Jungles were supposed to be dark, and they were still on a path—albeit a rather small one—ergo, they would eventually reach the hotel. Where else would a path lead?

"Do you smell that?" Métella’s hand on his arm was uncomfortably tight, and that, more than Bobinet’s rather usual nerves, unsettled Gardefeu.

There was indeed a smell, like roast meat and cake. As they stood there it grew stronger.

"Why…we must be near the hotel at last," said Gardefeu, less firmly than he would have liked, "nothing to worry about."

But there was something faintly wrong about it all, an undertone of sickly sweet rot, and none of them moved from where they stood.

"I think," said Bobinet, staring fixedly off into the shadows, "that we should retreat to the dock. Very, very slowly."

To be sure, the giant plants did have an ominous air—the large, toothed oval flowers reminded Gardefeu a bit of some tiny flytraps from the New World that he had seen once in the greenhouse at the Jardin des Plantes. But they were only plants, and plants could not possibly hurt them….

Something moved, with a flash of scarlet, and the smell grew stronger.

"Raoul, my love," said Métella, very quietly, "if those giant things are flytraps, what do you suppose they eat? Surely not giant flies."

"What likes roast pork and chocolate cake?" Bobinet’s voice was sharp, bordering on hysteria.

"They’re just plants. Plants can’t move that fast—"

With an audible snap and the sound of panicked squeaks, one of the smaller traps slammed shut on a monkey. After a moment there was a horrible silence.

"What was that you were saying about a retreat, Bobinet?"


Later, in the hotel salon, Bobinet nursed a scotch morosely, not even glancing at the stage, where a trio of third-rate cancan girls performed a lackluster routine. Métella had kept up a cheerfully biting critique, but Bobinet had neither cracked a smile nor reminded them that he had been completely correct about the path. It was most unlike him.

Well, this was the kind of thing Métella was good at, for some particular value of “good” that rarely ended up with someone in jail. Gardefeu nudged her to look at Bobinet and made a helpless face.

"What’s wrong, darling?" She scooted over to sit next to Bobinet, more closely than was proper—but really, what was proper about bringing your best friend on your honeymoon, especially when you knew full well he used to regularly fuck your wife, and probably still wanted to? Gardefeu signaled the waiter for another scotch. No, make that three. "You can unburden yourself to me. Tell Métella what’s bothering you."

"I was just thinking about Juliette," Bobinet said, giving her a sheep-eyed look, if said sheep was rather depressed and already three sheets to the wind on very expensive scotch. "You know, at least the plants would have been quick. That monkey didn’t seem to suffer much. All this—" He waved a hand, encompassing the salon, the cancan dancers, and Gardefeu and Métella. "—well, it’s just delaying the inevitable, isn’t it? You know how my aunt is."

Gardefeu did, intimately. A very…determined…woman, Madame de Quimper-Karadec. He grimaced and downed his scotch, trying not to think about it.

"Is that all?" Métella patted Bobinet’s arm and gave Gardefeu a look that he was pretty sure should worry him. "Well, we’ll just have to create such a scandal that not even the marquise can overlook it."

She smiled, sweet and innocent as a newborn lamb.

After a moment of hesitation, Gardefeu knocked back the scotch he’d ordered for Métella, and pushed the third glass over to Bobinet. He was pretty sure they’d need it.

Notes:

Much later Métella has a flytrap-inspired dress made for her. Both Gardefeu and Bobinet are deeply uncomfortable with how turned on they are.