A/N: These have been sitting on my computer for awhile now and I thought I might as well share. All these little snippets were born from odd little moments through out the story...I'm sure I thought of more but these are the only ones that I could remember enough of to write down.
Omake, Scene I
Alfred shut the door to his apartment behind him with a sigh and wearily dragged his feet across the plush carpet as he shuffled into the small sitting room. Flopping into one of the armchairs—the overly stuffed one that had become his usual location for an hour or so after he returned to his rooms for the day—he let out a sigh and his cerulean blue eyes roved over the wall that faced him.
It was a rather unremarkable wall, the only thing on it besides the beige paint, was an oaken door that led to a small broom closet. Blinking at the door, knowing exactly what was behind it, Alfred heaved himself to his feet and crossed the space between it and his armchair in two steps, twisting the doorknob and swinging the door open to reveal the vibrant contents.
Unlike the brooms and other cleaning supplies one would typically expect of a broom closet, there was a rack filled with brightly colored costumes—there were courtier's tunics, assassin's cloaks, leather archer's jerkins among other costumes—and above this wide selection of clothing was shelf with a set of wigs stored on it. There was a long blond wig from his Monsieur de Bonnefoy's disguise, a russet brown short curly wig, and even a wig with a black ponytail.
Gazing at his collection of disguises with a proud smile, Alfred grabbed the long blond haired wig and pulled the pale blue frock and matching tunic and breeches from the rack, wasting no time swapping out his musketeer's uniform for the disguise. A handful of minutes later, Alfred was twisting this way and that in front of the mirror mounted on the inside the broom—or disguise—closet's door.
"Yep, I look good," Alfred confirmed with a bright smile.
As soon as he said this a familiar voice said, "Uh, Alfred. What are you doing?" Alfred jumped and turned to see Antonio and Gilbert in the doorway of his apartments, blinking at him. He replied with a sheepish grin and awkwardly rubbed the back of his head. He was regretting giving a spare key to each of them just that afternoon already.
And thus, the first ever cosplay was worn.
Omake, Scene II
Arthur glanced up from his paperwork as Roderich—his doorman—poked his head into the room and said, "Sir, a petitioner is here to speak with you. He's been waiting for three months."
Sighing—he really hated petitioners, all they ever did was whine, complain, and whine some more—Arthur hesitantly nodded and said, "Send him in."
Soon a platinum blond young man had entered the room, a nervous expression on his face as he glanced around the rather impressive study lined with its many volumes before his navy blue gaze settled on Arthur. The Captain blinked his green eyes at the young lad, who had a scroll of parchment clutched in his pale hands, and couldn't help but narrow his eyes at the boy. He seemed awfully familiar for some strange reason. Finally, Arthur spoke and gestured for the petitioner to take a seat, "Please sit down, lad."
The boy did as he was told and after a pause in which the Captain blinked his green eyes at the lad in front him, knowing he had seen the boy before but couldn't quite place when or where it had been, finally asked, "Excuse me for my bluntness, but have I met you before?"
"No, sir, I don't think so," the platinum blond replied, shaking his head although the shakiness of his voice betrayed him.
"Yes, I definitely have," Arthur replied with a nod before mumbling, "No, wait a moment..." Then the Captain gasped in realization. "You're the priest from the wedding at Versailles and my doorman on Roderich's day offs! And you're the messenger boy from the Palace! And the priest with the slur at the wedding!" The platinum blond opened his mouth and closed it again, doing a excellent impression of a fish out of water, but the Captain wasn't nearly finished yet as he narrowed his eyes suspiciously, "Were you the herald at the banquet for my musketeers three months ago too?"
"…Maybe," was the boy's slow response.
"How do you have all these jobs?" Arthur prodded.
"Craig's List?" offered the blond hopefully.
There was a moment of silence before the Captain shrugged and said, "Fair enough. Now what's this petition all about?"
Omake, Scene III
"Ah, yes. Another day, another happy couple together," Ivan sighed contentedly as he leaned back into his usual chair next to his writing table, his hands followed behind his head leisurely. "Or should I say, couples? Plural."
"Why do you say that like you planned it all?" asked Katherine—or Katyusha as Ivan usually called her—warily as she went about her usual task of folding trousers and putting them in their respective drawers.
"Because I did, my dear Katyusha," replied Ivan with a wink. "Every single couple in this story, all my doing."
"And how did you manage that when you haven't been here all the time?" Katyusha asked before adding, "And what do you mean 'story,' it's not like we're in some book."
"I suppose you're right about that last part, Katyusha, we aren't in a book, its more of a play format," Ivan said, a little thoughtfully before adding, "And as for the first part, I only have one thing to say," here he winked mischievously and said, "I'm the magical Russian match-making fairy, da?"
And before anything else could be said, Ivan had somehow managed to whip out a pair of spectacles that appeared to be shaded—sunglasses, if you will—and there was a sudden, "YYYEEEEEEEAAAAAHHHHH!" that echoed through the room. Katyusha decided it was best not to ask.
A/N: And now its time for some shameless self promoting! If you liked this story (not just the omakes, although they were fairly enjoyable) I am posting another story similar to this one entitled The Picture of Arthur Kirkland, and you should go check it out! Now that I'm done embarrassing myself, I hope you enjoyed, laughed a little, and cried a little too, for never was there a tale of (almost) woe than of Madeleine and Alfred.