Fan Fiction

Continued from yesterday, and concluding today:

  By the time Celia got back to the kitchen, there was a bilingual argument going on.

  “Of course I talk! What? Did you think I was a *pet*?”

  “C'est impossible. Quelle sorte d'une maison de fous est ceci?”

  “It’s your fault! You decided to walk into a circus trailer. Dummkopf.”

  “Oui, mais moi a marché dans un bas de page d'entraóneur animal… qu'ils n'ont pas –

Continued from yesterday:

  He woke in a nest of cushions with a fan ruffling his fur. The grandmother-esque woman - Mrs Nezmith? - sat calmly nearby reading a book.

  “Feeling better?”

  “I’m sorry,” he blurted.

  “Whatever for?” she reached over to soothe his hair into place, brushing an ear and his cheek by co-incidence. “It’s perfectly natural to be nervous, Kurt. New things can be frightening.”

  He sat up, trying

Continued from yesterday:

  Kurt stared off into space. Mama wasn’t Mama. Her hair was wrong. There had been other things, of course, tiny signals that he’d ignored or glossed over in the want to have Mama close.

  He wasn’t really dead.

  No Purgatory.

  No hope of heaven.

  No true escape from Sir.

  No re-uniting with the family he loved.

  Nothing, in fact, but more heartache and fear and the eventual return to chains and Sir’

Continued from yesterday:

  “You didn’t.”

  “I sure as hell *did*,” Celia argued. “I *had* to.”

  “And what if you fell over sick or something?”

  “For God’s sake, Betty…”

  “You’re our chief animal handler. If something happened to you–”

  “It *didn’t* happen, okay? I just carried him from the tent to the goddamn trailer. I’ve done that with

Continued from yesterday:

  Three days passed without a resurgance of the Wagners. Celia knew better than to hope they had gone forever, but she was glad that Demon was back to his show-off self. The poor kid seemed to live from moment to moment, finding joy in whatever small slice he could get.

  “Hey-hey! It’s *Kurt*!”

  _What the–?_ Celia turned, trying to find the unfamilliar speaker. At her heels, on his leash, Demon turned, too.

  There was

Continued from yesterday:

  The money was good. Both he and Dad agreed on that. It paid for a great many luxuries. Unfortunately, it didn’t - or wouldn’t - pay for the take-out containers to go to the trash, nor for the clothes to get washed, nor for the dishes to get cleaned.

  That was his job, now.

  At least Dad didn’t make him wear that fucking collar and chain.

  No, *he* got the beating of a

Continued from yesterday:

  Kurt woke up. There wasn’t straw any more, but a warm blanket. A pillow. A *bed*.

  And he’d lost Mama’s rosary.

  Was it a sign? Was God telling him his prayers were useless? Or was it a test?

  He pulled aside the door that concealed his resting place, looking around. Nobody nearby, but it smelled like someone was cooking.

  “My ass you don’t need looking after, Cee,” someone was

Continued from yesterday:

  Kurt’s head was spinning. The last thing he knew, he’d fallen asleep in the stuffy atmosphere of the tarp. Then, when he woke up, he was staring at Mama. Sort of.

  She *looked* like Mama. Except she wore a scarf. And she spoke so *differently*.

  Kurt was confused.

  Maybe he’d gone to Heaven and wasn’t quite aware, yet. Suffocation was bound to have done something to him. All the angels were

Once upon a time, someone called Quazar made a delicious six-page comic about a little fuzzy elf and a horrible, horrible situation. The remains of said comic (minus first page) can be found in the scraps section of this Deviantart account.

Quazar now prefers Enolianslave and has forgotten the rest of the original story. Meeps.

Anyway, onwards with the ficcage:

Disclaimer: The plotbunny comes from Quazar’s delicious comic… all six pages of it [waaannnnt mooooorrrre!]. Kurt Wagner and any