“’Don’t speak Latin in front of the books Derek’,” Derek grumbles to himself, carrying the stack of old books back towards the distribution venue. “What is this? Buffy?”
He places the books gently on the conveyor belt and goes to leave the library. He’s not sure how he’s supposed to get through his medieval lit class without speaking Latin in front of the books. His Latin is terrible and it helps to read it out loud in a French accent because then he can sort of almost figure out what it means without too much effort. But no. Larissa had just about smacked the book out of his hand when he started reading it.
“It’s not like it even says anything,” Derek mutters, picking the book back up from the conveyor belt before it can disappear into the bowels of the library. “It’s not like I’m decoding the frickin’ Voynich.”
He rolls his eyes and opens back to the page he’d been looking at.
“Ad ligandum eos pariter eos coram me,” he reads. Predictably, nothing happens. Because Latin is not some magical language that has any extra power over the physical universe. That would just be stupid.
He puts the book back on the conveyor belt and turns to leave the library. But there’s a man in the way.
He’s tall like Derek, with flame red hair that seems to crackle with actual fire. His eyes burn as well, flickering between red and orange and gold. And so, like, Derek’s seen some shit when he dropped acid with Shitty that one time, but this is something new.
“Um,” is the only thing that comes out of Derek’s mouth before fire guy raises his eyebrow.
“You called?” fire guy asks.
“I – I did?” Derek asks.
Then he realises. He spoke Latin in front of the books.
I’ve been going through my old PiP fics. This is probably my most negelected project, and I don’t know if I shoud get back to it. Every time I look at the beautiful banner @otrascosasseries did for it I think I should expand the story a bit more. What do you guys think? Would you like to see more of this?
Written for Prompts in Panem, dreamscape week, March/April 2015. Day 2: Rats (or Everlark battling with betrayal or illness).
ran through the crowded hallway with Haymitch at her heels.
The older man’s
forehead was covered in sweat, but his eyes sparkled and a happy smile
danced on his lips. She couldn’t remember a time when she’d seen him this happy.
He must have read the questioning look in her eyes. “The boy’s back,” he