In which Bel is an annoying little pest and Mammon is immensely angry.
A/N: My English trainee had surprised the class with a witty start to an otherwise boring lesson, and I thought I'd make a short fanfic with my new piece of knowledge. You can guess what she showed us~
Setting: Well, sometimes back. I guess around when Bel was nine.
Disclaimer: MsPringles does not own KHR, she just admires it from afar.
Of Shakespearean English
'The prince is bored.'
'Show the prince some illusions?'
'As if, now get out.'
'Stop that, I'm working here.'
'Oh just stop counting money for a second, it won't kill you.'
'Just get going already.'
'The prince refuses.'
'On count to three.'
'If you are not out by 'three', you are getting horrible nightmares tonight.'
'Mammon is so mean.'
'Alright alright, the prince is leaving.'
Belphegor sighed as he skipped towards the door of Mammon's office, a stubborn look on his face. He had been in nagging Mammon for days, but she either charged him mountains of gold, or otherwise claimed to be too busy counting money. Bel left the little baby alone counting her god forsaken money, and felt rather jealous.
Mammon has time for some old smelly piles of money, but not him.
How dare she insult the prince like that?
A little unhappy prince skipped his way to the balcony on second floor.
Should I go annoy Squ? Nah, he's probably hangover from his drinking last night. Levi is no fun, Luss is out of the question, and the underlings are boring.
Belphegor frowned as he looked up to the sky. What was he to do? He was sure he had read all the books the library had to offer, he wasn't about to miraculously do any chores, though blowing up the kitchen with baking as an excuse could be fun…
'Actually, I'll just go back to Mammon's room.' the prince said to himself as he hopped on his way, 'She's got to take a break for her own good.' He smiled as he thought that, deeming himself an excellent human being for thinking of the wellbeing of common peasants.
Mammon nearly headdesked herself.
'Belphegor, please, I am trying to work here.'
'No you don't, you need a break.'
'Oh get over it Bel, you aren't seeing any illusion tricks, and you MOST DEFINITLY NOOOOooo…'
Mammon nearly screamed as she witnessed Bel accidentally knocked down one huge pile of neatly arranged 100 euro bills. The destruction of five hours of her hard work.
She shot up from her desk, and flew towards Bel. Pressed her nose an inch away from the prince's and hissed: 'You get out of here right this second, and I better see some deposit in my bank account by midnight today. Or else I promise you very unpleasant visions.'
Bel snickered, and went on in a cheerful tone: 'Relax! The money will be there.'
'Good, now leave.' Mammon started floating back to her desk.
Belphegor's grin widened as he saw the floating figure pause in midair, anger shooting out in all directions.
'Bel, I'm not going to repeat myself.'
'The prince will leave as long as Mammon shows something interesting...'
'…or else the prince is going to knock down all these piles…'
'…and maybe even slice up a few notes?'
'Oh that does it thou dawdy earth-vexing coxcomb, bloody cursed nightmares it is!' Mammon shouted.
Belphegor looked at her for a second, then decided to continue. He advanced towards another pile of Mammon's money, and was about to push it down when a humongous tentacle burst out of the ground in front of him and grabbed him by the waist. He was tossed in to the air and lost grip on reality as the arcobaleno baby distorted the world around him.
Mammon was floating a few meters away from him, and Bel decided to fight. He tossed his knives, wires attached. Even if he lost perception, Mammon can't change the direction of the knives. They will hit the wall.
'Too shabby, thou gleeking knotty-pated lout.' Mammon said.
'What's with your English?' Belphegor shouted as the floor disappeared and fabric of a checked pattern began sliding under his foot, causing him to trip.
'Not thy business, thou clouted fly-bitten haggard.' Mammon snapped.
'Just curious.' Bel said as he closed his eyes, trying to concentrate on his surroundings and break through the baby's illusions.
'Thou hast been spoiled rotten, frothy pottle-keep giglet. I ought to teach thee some manners.'
'The prince knows his manners.' Belphegor managed to choke out. As much as he is a genius, he is still a nine year old and lacking a great deal of experience.
'Well, I can teach thee some more, thou are but a puny fool-born measle speaking out of thy league.' Mammon's voice echoed in his brain, softly, and hauntingly. 'Objections?'
Belphegor stumbled, and fell. He was way too entangled in the fictional world.
'Be happy, thou got thy wish, errant earth-vexing codpiece.'
Mammon's voice sent shivers down Belphegor's spine. For one of the few times in his life, he was afraid. He was trapped in a world of horror, and he had no way to break out. There was no exit. And though his threw knife after another, all they ever sliced were false images, after shadows of the mastermind. Nothing was real, Bel knew that, but it didn't comfort his mind one bit. Waves appeared, and he was swept away.
And then everything blurred out.
The next morning Bel woke in cold sweat. He couldn't remember what he was dreaming about, but he was more than certain it was something unpleasant… just like Mammon promised.
He went downstairs for breakfast, stomach grumbling loudly, in an un-princely manner. The headquarters is so eerily quiet, it's as if the group went out on a mass murder trip without telling him.
'They'd better not have,' thought Bel, 'the prince hates to be left out.'
He picked up a faint scent of omelet, and smiled to himself. He hates to admit it, but it really isn't that hard to please the prince. A simple dish of omelet is enough to make him happy. As he proceeded, his mind drifted back to his little encounter with Mammon the previous day, and he sped up his walk a bit, hoping to reach the comfort of the kitchen before being attacked again.
Little did he think Mammon was in the kitchen, waiting patiently.
He stopped by the door, staring at the hooded figure. Hidden eyes pierced the suddenly stiff atmosphere.
'Morning.' Mammon started. 'I made omelets.'
Bel was almost at loss of words.
Mammon had made omelets. She made them herself.
A little smirk appeared on Bel's face.
This is Mammon's way of apologizing.
She would never word it, but this is quite enough.
Bel made his happy way to the omelets, while Mammon sat and drank some strawberry milk. Bel supposed they could just let this go, except…
'So what's with the Shakespearean English?'
Tataa! I did say I won't be writing more fics before new year but I lied!
It's a little headcanon of mine, that's all. Shakespearean English somehow suits Mammon well.
Hope you enjoyed, and please review!