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winterrose527 · 3 years

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Jon and Robb trying to get a drunk Sansa and Myrcella home

K I didn't write this today, but wrote it like years ago and never posted it I don't think? Maybe I did, but nevertheless, enjoy!

***

“This doesn’t make any sense,” Jon said for the seventeenth time since they’d gotten into the taxi. “What did she say exactly?”

Robb sighed and tried to recount the conversation. It was a little tricky to follow what Sansa was saying, she’d definitely had too much to drink.

“She said that they got in a fight and that Ella left her,” Robb told him.

“But they don’t fight,” Jon argued vehemently.

Seriously, it was as though someone had told him that the earth, after all this time, was indeed flat. Like somebody told him the sky was actually red. He said it like he needed a damn Vicodin due the prospect of Sansa Stark and Myrcella Baratheon arguing.

In Jon’s defense, it did seem a little strange. The two had been inseparable since boarding school, and to Robb’s knowledge had never actually had an argument. There was that one incident on Ella’s last birthday when they both got really drunk and started arguing about who loved the other more - it got really emotional, a few other people started crying as well. Not him, of course, it was just really smoky in there.

The point was that it really didn’t make any sense. Even if Sansa and Ella did have their first fight as the most iconic non-couple-couple, Ella would never leave Sansa at a bar. Especially when she’d been drinking. But on the off chance something calamitous had actually happened, he wasn’t going to not go.

And if something calamitous hadn’t happened, he and Jon were happy for the excuse to seek them out.

The taxi pulled up in front of the pub Sansa had called from. The girls loved this place because they deemed the bartender swoon worthy and he obviously loved them because he always gave them free drinks.

They walked in and immediately started scanning the bar for his sister and Ella. The place was packed, but Robb just looked for where Daario was stationed and sure enough he saw Sansa’s auburn hair.

He tapped Jon on the chest and pointed and they made their way through. Sansa was facing away from them so he called to her. It really was too loud in here though and she looked like she was hanging on whatever it was that Daario was saying.

When he finally got to her, he was, well, not all that surprised to see Ella Baratheon sitting on the barstool next to her.

“Robb?,” she asked in that moneyed voice of hers.

Her cheeks were a little flushed but that could just be the alcohol. She was wearing a black and gold dress that was fitted through the waist and then flared out, her slender legs covered in black tights. Her hair was up and it revealed that little freckle on her swanlike neck and - fuck.

“Hey El,” he cleared his throat, “Sansa what the hell?”

“You’re a poet and you didn’t even know it but I doooooo,” Sansa giggled. “Quick make something up about Ella’s eyes.”

“Huh?,” he wondered.

“Just a little ditty,” Sansa promised, as though it was nothing really, “Come now, Robbert don’t be stingy with your gifts. I really think that you should - oh hello Jon.”

“H-hey Sansa…,” Jon breathed out.

For fuck’s sake. He was going to need a drink to get through this. He gestured to the bartender who ignored him.

Ella bit her lip to hide her smile, “Hey Daario?”

“Yeah darlin’?,” Daario asked immediately, leaning his forearms on the bar.

“Could we please have two Wight Gold Labels neat whenever you get a chance?,” she asked.

Daario glared at him which Robb felt wasn’t entirely called for and nodded, “Sure thing. And how about another martini, on me?”

Ella blushed and nodded, “Thanks.”

Jon muttered something about that being a terrible business model and Robb fought the urge to grin.

“So,” Ella asked, “Why are you guys here? You hate this place.”

“Sansa,” Robb noted, “Care to field this one?”

Sansa looked over at him and furrowed her brow, “Robb? When did you get here?”

They all turned to look at her in horror. Oh no. He had only seen that vacant look in her eyes once, the night of her college graduation.

“Daario cancel those please!,” Ella called, sliding off her bar stool and she took Sansa’s face gently between her hands. “Sansa, sweetie, did you take some shots without me?”

“I would never!,” Sansa argued vehemently taking Ella’s cheeks in her own, “Where I drinketh you drinketh babygirl. I only had like two tequilas and then some green thing.”

“Did that green thing taste like licorice?,” Jon asked.

Sansa turned and all but fluttered her eyelashes at him, “You’re so smart. Did you know that?,” and then as though she realised she had Ella’s face still in her hands turned back to her and said, “You’re smarter though. And you’re so pretty. You’re the most beautiful girl in the whole wide world, I’m so lucky we’re friends.”

“Trust me, I’m the lucky one,” Ella told her sweetly, “But now we have to go.”

“But Robb and Jon just got here!,” Sansa protested, then turned to look at him with watery eyes, “You came for me.”

Absinthe always made Sansa particularly grateful for everyone in her life. As far as drunks went it was one of the cutest he’d ever seen. And as a devoted big brother, who had had a couple of drinks himself, he was a complete sucker for it.

“Of course I did,” he told her, “I’d always come for you, you know that.”

“Keep it together Robb,” Jon told him.

“What?,” Robb asked then nodded, his cheeks warming, “Right yeah no um… Sansa you called me and told me that you and Ella got in a fight and she left you.”

“I would never do that,” Ella argued.

“But you did! Remember?”

“N-Sansa that was not an argument! I just told you that I liked Mr. Bingley more than Mr. Darcy and then went outside to take a phone call…”

“You were gone for a really long time.”

Ella picked up her phone and showed them all the call. It was with her brother Gendry and it lasted for… 2 minutes and 45 seconds.

“Sansa,” he chuckled.

“Look Robb maybe you just don’t understand the importance that Pride & Prejudice has had for GENERATIONS of women,” she noted.

“Well considering you made me read it I think I do fully understand,” he argued.

“Yeah,” Jon piped up, who had also been bullied into it, “I mean… I’m with you though Sansa. Mr. Darcy all the way.”

“Really?,” Sansa asked excitedly.

Jon nodded, “But um, I’m really just a sucker for Elizabeth…”

Sansa blushed. Jon might not know it but Sansa had always identified with Elizabeth Bennett. Though from the way he was blushing too, maybe he did. Especially considering Jon was exactly as brooding and aloof as Mr. Darcy.

“Sansa,” Ella said gently, “I think we should go.”

Sansa looked back at her, “Okay Jane.”

Ella giggled, “Sansa!”

“But you’re the prettiest girl in the county!,” Sansa cooed at her. “Tell her - tell her she’s the prettiest girl in the whoooooole country.”

“I thought it was county,” Ella protested.

“Dream big, baby!,” Sansa said and Ella giggled. “Robb tell her.”

“Sansa,” he sighed.

“Useless,” Sansa rolled her eyes and then turned to Jon, “You tell her.”

Jon nodded, “Top Two at least, in the whole world.”

“Top Two?,” Sansa raged, “Top TWO!? Take it back.”

“No,” Jon said.

Sansa took Ella’s chin in her hand and tugged it forward, not exactly gently, “Look at her.”

“Ow.”

“She’s the prettiest girl in the world, okay Dovey?,” he asked, both to appease Sansa and because he’d never get another organic opportunity to say it.

Sansa nodded brightly and Ella took the opportunity to ease her off of her bar stool. Unfortunately Sansa was in heels and landed on them wrong and fell directly into the arms of Jon Snow.

“Woooah, there,” Jon said softly, his arm wrapping around Sansa’s waist.

He chuckled lightly at her and brushed some hair out of her face.

“I’m sorry, Jon,” Sansa said sadly.

“You just had a bit too much fun, that’s all. Nothing to apologise for. Did you have a coat?”

“Here you go,” Ella said, handing it to him.

Jon wrapped her coat around her shoulders and Sansa pushed her arms through the sleeves.

“Can you walk?,” he asked her, his hands on her waist keeping her upright.

“If I say yes will you still hold onto me?,” Sansa asked flirtatiously, her hands on his shoulders.

Robb grimaced and looked away. He was alright with it, the two of them, but he wasn’t sure he needed to see it. He looked over at Ella who was pulling on her own coat trying to hide her grin.

“Course I will,” Jon said gruffly and started leading her out.

“You have everything?,” he asked Ella.

She nodded and he gestured for her to walk in front of him. It was a mistake. With Jon leading Sansa out everyone gave them a wide berth, but the bar was crowded and guys kept getting in Ella’s way to hit on her.

Finally he sighed and placed his hand on the small of her back, “Hope you don’t mind, but at this rate it could take hours getting out of here. Prettiest girl in the county and all.”

She looked up at him and chuckled, “I don’t mind.”

Her eyes smiled into his and he felt that warm molasses spread through his veins like he always did when she was nearby.

Sansa had it right when he called her Jane Bennet. On top of being beautiful and blonde, Ella was sweet, the sweetest person he’d ever met, and charming and loyal.

He’d always had a crush on Jane Bennett.

They stepped out into the cool fall air.

“We’ll never get a taxi here,” Ella said, “We should walk around to the Kingsroad.”

“Alright then,” Jon said and swooped Sansa up into his arms.

She giggled and cooed, “Jon Snowwwww what are you doing??”

“There’s no way you were making it to the Kingsroad.”

Sansa wrapped her arms around his neck and leaned her head on his shoulder, “Once more ‘round the park, Chauncy.”

Ella giggled and started leading the way so he fell into step beside her.

“Sorry we ruined your night,” she sighed, “I had no idea Sansa would call you. If you guys just put us in a taxi I’ll get her home and into bed.”

The girls shared a flat in the same cozy little hamlet across town where he and Jon lived. His father had only approved of it due to the proximity to his and Jon’s places, it was dead in between them, three blocks on either side.

“You could never ruin my night, you know that,” he said. At least… he hoped she knew that. “Don’t you?”

She looked up at him and he didn’t think he imagined her blush. But she playfully nudged her arm against his and said, “I know you’re too kind to tell me if we had.”

They walked in silence for a few minutes more. Jon had passed them, and Sansa was stroking his hair as he carried her up to the main street. He couldn’t hear what they were talking about, but he heard their quiet tones and hushed laughter, like everything between them was a wonderful secret.

“So Mr. Bingley, huh?,” he asked Ella.

“Does that surprise you?,” she wondered, “I’m not one much for broods. Except Jon.”

“No it’s just that… he reminds me of Grey Wind,” Robb shrugged, “He’s a dopey labrador.”

“Take that back,” Ella chided, “Grey Wind is not dopey.”

Robb chuckled and nodded in apology.

“And neither is Charles,” Ella went on.

“Charles?,” he teased, “You’re on a first name basis now?”

She giggled his favorite giggle. The surprised one, as though the laughter couldn’t help bubble out of her before she’d allowed it to.

“Oh things are very serious between us,” she joked, “But really I guess I’m just a fool for a fool in lo—ohhoww.”

Out of nowhere Ella had stumbled, and he was nearly bent over completely as he narrowly caught her from smacking onto the road.

“By the gods,” he said, pulling her back up, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Ella nodded and then her face fell, “No.”

He didn’t dare let go, and in truth he had no desire to. “Did you have too much absinthe too?,” he teased, trying to get her to smile.

She shook her head, “No it’s just these damn heels Sansa made me wear.”

He looked down and was surprised she hadn’t fallen earlier. The heels were as slim as needles, which was really sexy but definitely not appropriate for the cobblestone they found themselves on.

“Do you think you sprained it?,” he asked in concern.

“No I don’t think so,” she said holding onto him and trying to put her weight on it, “I think I’ll be okay.”

“Think, hmm?,” he asked, because he still hadn’t gotten her smile. He scooped her up into his arms, “Not good enough.”

She let out a giggle now, “Robb!”

“Those heels are more of a weapon than they are actual footwear,” he reasoned, trying not to think about how good she felt.

“I’m too heavy,” she said stupidly.

“Ha! You’re cute,” he guffawed as he started walking. She really did feel weightless in his arms, the warmth she was transferring to his body was the only confirmation that she was actually there. “I could carry you all the way back to your apartment.”

“You’re good at it, you know,” she told him.

“At what?,” he wondered. It didn’t take a particular set of skills to hold her and walk.

“The whole Knight in Shining Armour thing,” she explained. “It suits you, always has.”

“Well you’re welcome to my services anytime,” he told her then added, “Though you’ve never struck me as the kind of girl that needed saving.”

“Really?,” she grinned, “That’s so sweet. And present reality excluded, I’m not. It’s nice to know though, that if I ever did that well, that maybe -“

“Not maybe,” he told her in a serious tone. Holding her was so intimate, that he immediately understood the soft way Jon and Sansa were speaking. It felt like they were in their own little bubble, and for whatever reason it demanded honesty. “You have to know that.”

She placed her hands on his shoulders, propping herself up and she nodded. She let her forehead fall against his temple, “I do. Promise.”

He tightened his grip on her and fought the urge to nuzzle against her. Her arms went around his neck though and she laid her cheek on his shoulder.

“How’s that ankle?,” he asked her.

“Hmm?,” she asked dreamily, and then giggled, “Oh, oh it’s fine. You can put me down if you want.”

“We shouldn’t risk it,” he said stupidly and he could swear he felt her smile against him.

She wrapped her arms around him tighter and he felt her cold nose against his neck. He rubbed her arm because the coat she was wearing wasn’t nearly warm enough for the evening.

All of a sudden she started giggling, it tickled his neck.

“What’s so funny?,” he wondered.

“Does your mom still do your laundry?,” she asked.

He blushed and argued, “No! No of course not.”

Which was the truth. Except when he went home to Winterfell. But it wasn’t like he asked her to.

“Why do you ask?,” he wondered.

“You smell like the laundry detergent she uses,” she explained.

“Oh! Sorry,” he said.

She lifted her head off of him and smiled, “Don’t be sorry. You smell nice. Like home.”

Her eyes went wide like she couldn’t quite believe she had said that, and he certainly couldn’t believe that she’d said it either.

He didn’t know what to say. A thousand different possibilities raced through his mind. He could tell her that he liked the way she smelled too. Or that he loved that she associated Winterfell with home. He could tell her he wanted to make love to her on a pile of clean laundry. All of it would have been true, but he didn’t say any of it.

Instead he just stared at her, and she stared back.

The air got really thick around them and the edges of his vision took on a kind of shimmery quality and her green eyes were locked on his, her soft pink lips parted in an o of surprise.

He started leaning closer and he was pretty sure that she did too.

“Robby we got a taxi!,” Sansa called delightedly and he and Ella sprung apart as far as they were able considering that he was still holding her.

“We should um go,” he said.

“Yeah…we should,” Ella agreed. Then prompted, “But only one of us can walk right now so…”

“Oh! Oh right,” he nodded and started speed walking over to the taxi.

He deposited her into the backseat next to Sansa and then followed her in.

“Where to?,” the driver asked.

“Winterfell!,” Sansa cried.

“Dovey no,” Robb argued, “It’s the middle of the night and it’s a half hour outside the city…”

“Come on, Robb, they’ll be so happy to see us! Dad will make us pancakes in the morning and we can spend the rest of the weekend out there with the kids,” Sansa pleaded.

Jon turned around from the front seat, “It does sound kind of nice…,” though he was pretty sure Jon would have agreed to anything Sansa wanted in that moment, “And Rickon wanted us to look over that history essay anyway.”

He looked at Ella who very pointedly did not look at him, a small smile threatening her lips.

“Alright,” he sighed, “Let’s go home.”

#fanfiction #modern au #robbcella #jonsa #total fluff

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searchingwardrobes · 4 years

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I Promise to Kiss You (Before You Die) : 1/7

Here it is, my Little Women AU! I love the book, and the 1994 movie version with Winona Ryder is one of my favorite movies. I haven't seen the newest film version yet, and it's all because I'm writing this fic. This one is based on the 1994 film, particularly the scene where Laurie promises a young Amy that he'll kiss her before she dies (that's not in the book, if you're wondering). I'm probably in the minority of people who prefer Laurie with Amy over Jo. I think Jo was right - they would have fought like cats and dogs. They were too much alike. I think the book also develops the relationship between Laurie and Amy better and shows that Amy grows up and matures past her shallowness. Movie versions never have time to show all of that. Anyway, when I read the book I absolutely adored Laurie with Amy. THEN, I was blown away to find the quote below in the book in which Amy calls Laurie her "gallant captain." Obviously, Emma is a lot different personality wise from Amy. The only similarity is that they are both blondes. For that reason, this fic won't completely follow the Little Women plot. Also, this will only show things from Emma's point of view, so the plot threads with the other sisters won't be developed as much as they normally are. Hence, we have a seven chapter MC rather than a thirty-five + chapter MC 😆

Massive thanks to the mods of the @captainswanmoviemarathon for putting this event together! Love to all the other writers in the discord chats, especially for help with the title. Huge shout out to my beta @hookedonapirate - you're the best!

Summary: Emma noticed him first, never forget that, and while all four of the Lucas sisters love Killian Jones, no one loves him the way Emma does, of that she is certain. Killian Jones also made her a promise. Sure, she was only twelve when he made it, but one day he'll realize what it meant. One day, she hopes, he'll get over her sister Ruby and finally notice Emma.

Rated: T

Also on Ao3 , updated every Thursday.

Tagging: @snowbellewells @whimsicallyenchantedrose @kmomof4 @let-it-raines @teamhook @bethacaciakay @xhookswenchx @tiganasummertree @shireness-says @stahlop @scientificapricot @welllpthisishappening @resident-of-storybrooke @thislassishooked @ilovemesomekillianjones @kday426 @ekr032-blog-blog @lfh1226-linda @ultraluckycatnd @nikkiemms @optomisticgirl @profdanglaisstuff @carpedzem @ohmakemeahercules @branlovestowrite @superchocovian @sherlockianwhovian @vvbooklady1256 @hollyethecurious @winterbaby89 @delirious-latenight-laughs @jennjenn615 @snidgetsafan @xsajx

Chapter One: Prologue

“It is so beautiful to be loved as Laurie loves me; he isn’t sentimental, doesn’t say much about it, but I see and feel it in all he says and does, and it makes me so happy and so humble that I don’t seem to be the same girl I was. I never knew how good and generous and tender he was till now, for he lets me read his heart, and I find it full of noble hopes and impulses and purposes, and am so proud to know it’s mine. He says he feels as if he ‘could make a prosperous voyage now with me aboard as mate, and lots of love for ballast.’ I pray he may, and try to be all he believes me, for I love my gallant captain with all my heart and soul and might, and never will desert him while God lets us be together. Oh, Mother, I never knew how much like heaven this world could be when two people love and live for one another!” - Amy about Laurie in Little Women by Louisa May Alcott

If anyone had been out on the streets of Storybrooke, Maine on the windy, snowy Christmas Eve of 1863, they would have found lights ablaze in the most prestigious homes of the small hamlet. Save for one.

The Gold mansion upon the hill was not only lit up like your proverbial Christmas tree, but carriages lined the circular drive as the most powerful men from the surrounding six counties arrived for Robert Gold’s lavish annual bash with their families in tow. They would wine and dine in excess of frivolity for the next twelve days of the season.

The white grecian columns of the Mills Mansion would also sparkle with firelight, though the wealthy matron Regina Mills didn’t gather quite the crowd. Her festivities would be far more sedate and her crowd older. Of course the money was older too and not as dripping with unscrupulous business deals as Gold’s. It would mostly be family as well, though that was nothing to sneeze at, considering Regina Mills’ clan could trace their lineage back to the Mayflower.

The mysterious mansion of Admiral Nemo Jones, retired hero of the United States Navy, wasn’t filled with guests. However, the rooms of the mansion still blazed with light as the generous man allowed his staff to fully celebrate the holiday, complete with Christmas bonuses and lavish gifts. In a way it was also a welcome home party for his nephew, who had been lost and wandering on the other side of the ocean until Nemo had tracked him down.

The only fine family of Storybrooke Maine (though many would say they were once a fine family - past tense) whose home was not ablaze on this festive evening were the Lucases. Some would say it was because Marco Lucas had been gone these past two years fighting (unnecessarily they would also claim) in the War Between the States. Others would say it was because the Lucases had squandered their fortune taking in orphans and vagrants. Others would say it was their involvement in that embarrassing underground railroad that had cost them their fortune and respect. They would all be wrong.

The women gathered around the wavering firelight in the Lucas parlor did miss Marco Lucas terribly, and it was true that money was tight. Yet the reason their house flickered with only the tiniest light was because all they needed was each other.

Paulette Lucas, affectionately called “Granny” by all who knew her, sat knitting in her rocker with a candle flickering on the table beside her. The girls had begged her to take one night off from the task, but there were too many soldiers in need to stop even for a night. She battled a smile as she focused on her task, knowing a letter from her husband was tucked into her apron pocket.

Ruby Lucas, as usual, was standing far too close to the fire. Her long, dark hair fell in waves over her shoulder. She was a striking beauty, and mothers watched her askance at the scandalous way she refused to wear her hair up though she was already sixteen. She was the only one who was a true granddaughter to Mrs. Lucas. Her mother, a scandal herself, had died of consumption in a saloon out west when Ruby was still an infant. Who her father was, no one knew. That probably had more to do with the scandalous looks rather than her hair (though the latter certainly didn’t help).

Mary Margaret Blanchard sat on the other side of the lamplight from Granny, helping with the knitting. Though she was the oldest of the girls, at seventeen, she had been living with Granny the shortest amount of time. Her parents knew the Lucases through the underground railroad, so when Mary Margaret’s mother passed of scarlet fever when she was ten, her father sent her to them. Only less than a year later, her father was arrested for violating the fugitive slave act. While in prison, he contracted scarlet fever and died.

Belle French sat by the hearth with several kittens mewling in her lap. She was engrossed in the book she held in one hand while her other stroked the kittens absently. Some would say she was even more beautiful than Ruby, even at only fourteen, yet her quiet demeanor and delicate nature turned fewer heads. Belle had been the Lucas’ youngest pupil when they still ran their boarding school. She was only seven when it was forced to close, and her father simply never came back for her.

Then, finally, there was Emma Swan - the only one of Granny’s girls who was still a child. Twelve year old Emma sat curled up in her favorite armchair with a sketchpad in her lap. Her drawing pencils were worn down to almost nubs, yet still she scratched away with her tongue poking out of the corner of her mouth. Her blonde hair was a riotous mess, her fingers were smudged with charcoal, and her feet were bare. Not that anyone cared - the Lucas house never stood on ceremony, especially when they were alone. Granny had a difficult time keeping shoes on the child anyway, considering she had spent the first five years of her life without them. She was the child Storybrooke called “the urchin” - mostly in whispers, but sometimes when Emma could hear. Granny had literally found her eating out of the rubbish bin. The benefit of those humble beginnings were that Emma found their current “poverty” hardly trying.

So, dear reader, do not assume that lack of finery equals a lack of happiness. The Lucas women will put aside their knitting, their books, their drawing paper and gather eagerly around Granny’s chair to hear their Papa’s latest letter. They will joyfully sing carols around their out of tune piano. Then they will share hugs and kisses goodnight and head to bed with more love in their hearts than all the other “fine” homes in Storybrooke combined. And across the hedge from their house, in the Jones mansion, a dark haired boy will watch the flickering lights of their candles - counting them: one, two, three, four - as they head up the stairs. He’ll watch them go out one at a time and wonder about the hands that hold them.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Merry Christmas!” Emma yelled the following morning, eliciting a groan from Belle, whom she shared a room with. Emma simply rolled her eyes. It was Belle’s own fault - she had stayed up far too late reading again.

“It’s Christmas!” Emma continued to shout as she banged on doors and then thundered down the stairs. “It’s Christmas!”

Her sisters followed her reluctantly, groaning and complaining all the way. Emma ignored them as she fell to her knees beside the Christmas tree.

“Oh hush now,” Granny admonished, “every single one of you were the same at her age.”

“This one’s from me, Granny,” Emma said as soon as Granny sat in her rocker. She thrust an intricately wrapped package into the woman’s lap, then scooted close. Her sisters looked on fondly as soon as they saw that Emma’s enthusiasm wasn’t a selfish one. Granny peeled back the wrapping carefully, setting aside the ribbon Emma had used to tie it. When the gift was revealed, the woman gasped.

“Emma, sweetheart, this is lovely!” It was a sketch of Granny’s favorite tree in the garden next to the house, and Emma had captured it in all its autumn glory of reds, oranges, and yellows.

“I used the last of my colored pencils to get it just right,” Emma told her proudly.

Granny pressed the gift to her chest as she fought back tears. Oh, how she wished she could have afforded another set of drawing pencils for her dear Emma!

None of the gifts beneath the tree were store bought, yet each one was exclaimed over with joy. Somehow, the ingenuity that had gone into making them made them infinitely more valuable. Soon, the tree had nothing beneath it but ribbons and paper.

“I’ll play us a carol!” Belle announced. She sat before the piano, and they all tried to ignore that one key that was never in tune.

As her sister played, Emma pressed her face to the glass of the parlor window. Her eyes widened to see a boy in Admiral Nemo’s house, playing a piano of his own. Of course, his was an incredibly fine piano that was surely always in tune.

“A boy!” Emma cried out. “There’s a boy next door!”

Belle abruptly stopped playing, and the Lucas sisters scrambled to the window, all talking at once.

“A boy?” Ruby asked, pushing the curtains aside further.

“At Nemo’s?” Mary Margaret asked incredulously.

“How old is he?” Emma asked, frustrated that she’d been pushed aside.

“What does he look like?” Belle asked, trying to see beneath Ruby’s arm. “What a fine piano he has,” she sighed when she was able to get a glance.

“I would hate to live with that scary old man.” Emma wrinkled her nose.

“Poor thing,” Mary Margaret tsked sympathetically.

“You don’t think he’ll come to call?” Belle suddenly gasped, looking nervously at her sisters and then over at Granny.

“You mean call, as in courting?” Ruby laughed.

Mary Margaret laughed, too, “You ninny, he’s rich! He would never come courting the likes of us.”

“Thank goodness,” sighed Belle in relief, looking back out the window. She cocked her head as she studied him, “He’s awfully handsome.”

“Girls!” Granny admonished. “Come away from there before the poor boy catches you gawking at him as if he’s on display. Really, I have taught you some propriety.”

“Do you know him, Granny?” Emma asked as she settled down before the fire to play with the spinning top Papa had carved for them.

“I know of him,” Granny replied, eyes never leaving her knitting. Once again, she refused to put aside the chore. “He’s Admiral Nemo’s nephew. He was living in London, and the Admiral has been beside himself since his brother’s death trying to track the child down.”

“I hear he’s had no upbringing at all,” Mary Margaret told them in a scandalized whisper.

“You’ve heard of him too?” Ruby asked.

“At the Rose’s.” Mary Margaret worked as a governess for the wealthy Rose family. “His mother was an actress and his father a cad who abandoned them both.”

“Where was he?” Emma asked. “Why was it so hard to find him?”

“Living on the streets, they say,” Mary Margaret told her softly, sympathy coloring her eyes. Sympathy that Emma always had and always would despise.

Ruby headed back to the window and peered out with a grin upon her face. “It will be fun to have a boy next door.”

“Well,” Granny spoke with a sigh, “I don’t know what mischief is in that pretty head of yours, Ruby, but we will welcome the boy as warmly as we can.” She set aside her knitting and clapped her hands as if that were that. “Now, let’s go begin preparing our Christmas feast!”

The girls all rushed to follow Granny into the kitchen, but Emma stopped at the window, her hands grasping the curtains. Living on the streets they say. The song that the boy was playing, which could be heard faintly on the wind, ended, and he looked up from his sheet music. His eyes caught Emma’s, and he winked at her. She gasped and shoved the curtains closed.

#cs ff #captain swan movie marathon #csmm #cs little women au

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