happilyeverbeginning | So stay away from me / the beast is ugly (scrooge x magica)

She quietly read the contract three times. As far as she was concerned, there was nothing there to worry over. In order to restore her body, she'd agree to almost anything, even if begrudgingly.

With a sigh, she pulled her head back. "I find it agreeable. As for the blood... cut where you find it easiest. Witches don't die so easily, and any scars left behind can be cured once I have my body back to normal."

"It'd be easiest to take it from your finger," Scrooge said flatly. "However, I doubt you want me seeing those."

"If I could show you an easier place, I would have done so!" She snapped - for such a clever man, he really was thick!

"Obviously you have to use my head or neck."

"Let's see what we can get out of your cheek. The last thing either of us would want is me cutting your jugular by accident."

With that, he moved closer to her, picking up the knife and carefully cupping her head in his free hand.

"On three. One...two..."

And before he could get to three, he drew the blade across her cheek. She wouldn't have time to tense up and make it hurt worse.

She bit her tongue to keep from making any pathetic sounds. It hurt like the dickens, but often pain was necessary for success. Th blood dripped from her cheek and fell onto the paper - she moved her arm, brushing her sleeve in the mess enough to make a vague S shape.

The letters in the contract glowed an ocean blue, and the same color flashed in her eyes - but it ended within seconds.

"... The contract is sealed."

Scrooge reached into his pocket to pull out his handkerchief and held it up to her cut cheek. "Here. Keep pressure on it until the blood stops."

"I can't." She sighed. "My arms are useless. Just let it bleed... we must get to work right away."

Just trying to make that squiggle had been difficult. It'd become more and more clear she was almost helpless - she couldn't touch anything, hold anything.

Scrooge scooted closer and, without stopping to ask her, took cupped her chin in his hand as he pressed the handkerchief to her cheek. He'd taken no pleasure in harming her, after all.

Perhaps that was another reason he'd never used the full force of his abilities to get ahead in life: He was ruthless...up to a point.

"H-Hey!" What did he think he was doing?! She couldn't really push him off.

"I said to leave it, we need to get to work!"

"Hold still," he snapped. "I won't be able to concentrate if you're bleeding all over the place. It'll only take a minute or two for it to stop."

"I gave you an order!" She kept trying to move away, but his grip and her own deformed body allowed her to do little more than wiggle. She had no choice but to submit, grumbling all the while.

He waited for a full two minutes before he pulled the handkerchief away. There was blood on it, but at least the cut had stopped oozing blood.

"There."

He pocketed the bloody handkerchief.

"Now, what book did you want me to start with?"

Anther huff, sitting up straight and turning away from him. She already had plenty of servants to take care of her - she didn't need another pitying face.

"Top shelf on that wall." She indicated with a tilt of her head which direction she went. "And when it's finished, the one after that. Every shelf from left to right, top to bottom."

Scrooge nodded and limped his way over to the ladder. He had plenty of practice carrying books up and down ladders, but he didn't go as fast as she might have liked by virtue of his bad leg. Him trying to rush, falling, and breaking his neck would do neither of them any good.

The climb down the ladder was slower than going up, and he was very careful to put all his weight on his bad leg for as brief a time as possible, pausing between each step to make sure he was secure before going to the next rung.

Finally, he returned and sat down on a pillow, opening the book up and beginning to read. Even though it was in Latin, he read it as easily as if it had been translated into English, translating on the fly in his head and only taking a few extra minutes when the passage was particularly awkward due to trying to obscure some form of magical truth. As awkward as those passages were, he didn't dare try to do a more fluid translation. After all, there might be something in the phrasing that made no sense to him but would to a witch.

There was no snapping at him to hurry up, no bark that he was taking forever. Perhaps there was more sympathy in her than she cared to admit.

As he read, she closed her eyes, listening to the words. She made no sound, save for the occasional inhale and exhale of air. There was relief that he didn't ask any bothersome questions, or try to change the phrasing that would be more pleasing to the ear. Occasionally there would be some movement under her eyelids, a sign that she was trying to put things together or apart in her head.

Hours passed like this - and then, after several books had been finished, there was a knocking on the library door.

"Noon, mistress." said Clara. It was time for lunch.

Either sympathy or enlightened self-interest: He was no good to her as a corpse.

By the time Clara appeared, his voice was sounding a bit rough. He desperately needed to give his voice a break, and he was in desperate need of water. However, he didn't get up from his position, simply pausing in reading until Magica decided whether or not he was to continue.

Magica sighed, trying to align her back - sitting up like this for a while was straining - not to mention "something else" was killer on her shoulders. "Go. You have an hour, then you'll return and resume."

He mutely nodded his head, not wanting to use his voice more than absolutely necessary. He slid a ribbon between the pages to mark his place. Grabbing his cane, he got up and moved to follow Clara, moving at a shuffle rather than a normal walk due to stiff legs.

He offered the maid a small smile of gratitude, hoping it got across what he wanted to say.

Clara guided Scrooge to the dining room - unused in a long time, it seemed - where another meal awaited him.

"You can go anywhere you'd like, if you finish your meal early. So long as you don't enter any closed doors."

Scrooge cleared his throat and told her hoarsely, "I appreciate that. Will anyone else be joining me?"

The thought of sitting in the large dining room alone unsettled him.

She shook her head. "She... doesn't really encourage us to mingle."

Scrooge frowned in disappointment but sighed.

"Perhaps I could take my meals in my rooms then?"

If he was going to be isolated, at least he'd like to not have to stare at the empty chairs.

She nodded. "You may. I'll bring them there from now on."

"Thank you."

He sat down to his meal and offered her another smile as he saw the pot of tea, catching a hint of honey. The meal itself was more of the same as far as food went: fancy French stuff that would hardly feed a bird.

"May I ask what you all get for meals?"

"The same as you," she gestured to the plate. "And it used to be what the mistress ate... before." When her body was normal.

She glanced around, keeping her voice low. "I think it's what she assumes people of high class and wealth eat... and that we'd all like it too." An act of stupid kindness, perhaps.

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