Characters: Prince Septimus, OFC
Prompt: #25- Strangers
Word Count: 422
Summary: A friendly woman is determined to soften Septimus, but she seems to catch him in a bad mood.
Author's Notes: It's random. Based on the movie because I have yet to get my hands on a copy of the book. First Stardust fanfic. Feedback would be very loved! (For fanfic100)
"It's a horrible night, aye?" He was surprised to hear a voice and forced himself to keep his face cool as he looked up. Normally people didn't bother him in inns. Most people knew who he was around here, and it followed logically that most people were afraid of him.
She was different; not just because she had spoken to him- there was something different in her face, something he had never seen in a face before. He struggled to understand it. Then she sat down opposite him and he forgot his confusion. It was replaced by shock that someone had just sat down opposite him without his permission.
"Don't you know who I am?" he asked quietly.
"Of course I do. Is that a problem?"
"Are you mocking me?" he asked, anger flaring.
"No. I'm sitting with you. It's different; I'm being friendly." Her eyes were bright and sparkling, a contrast to his own, which were always so very blank.
"Why?" he asked. After all, he had good right to be suspicious.
"Why not?" She shrugged slender shoulders. Her hair, fair and straight, was damp from the rain, and droplets from it ran out and down her neck, disappearing at the top of her breasts, where her dress began.
He was starting to become irritated with her cryptic answers. "I want a real answer," he told her, "now."
To his surprise, she sighed then, looking disappointed, and moved her chair, so that they were sitting next to each other instead of opposite. Septimus was even more surprised. She was supposed to be terrified of him. "I'm not scared of you," she said, as though reading his mind.
"Perhaps you should be." He grabbed her wrist out of frustration, out of the need to do something to this annoying woman.
She shook her head at him and wriggled her arm a little; he found their fingers entwined now, as though they were holding hands. "That's better," she said.
"Intimacy? Is that what you seek with me?" A grin was crossing his face. "I'm sorry, but-"
"Friendship, you pig-headed man, friendship!" she snapped.
The prickle of humour had gone and he had his knife against her throat. He glared at her, willing her to be afraid, but she was glaring back at him.
"I'm sick of your mood swings, and I've only known you five minutes!"
"What difference does it make to you?" He supposed he should remove the knife; it wasn't doing much good there, but he simply wouldn't know what to do if he took it away.
"I want to be your friend."
A long pause.
"I don't have friends."