(Ha, told you!)Title: Sunday Morning Wake-UpWord Count: 431Rating: GAuthor notes: Okay, so, I tend to develop scenes in my head within the first few minutes of waking up, because I am freakish like that. Usually, when I recall them a few hours later, they make me cringe. But this - well, I woke up next to Jean that morning, hee, so I think that changed things. Yay! And it's such a ridiculously pretty picture for such a quick sketchy scene - lol, see, Jean calls it "notes" below, and it hasn't changed but for a tiny bit of re-phrasing. - Oh, and as for the sleeping arrangements, hem; it's another theory of mine which I ought to write out properly, because I do know how it started.Artist notes: I started sketching this one only minutes after I'd read Lavinia's notes for the following scene. This took place while she was in the next room, brushing her teeth. Original sketch done in pencil, then scanned in and painted in Photoshop.
Integra had changed in many ways since her father died; apart from her almost constant seriousness, she didn’t for a second shirk any of her most urgent, dangerous, or unpleasant responsibilities. There were, however, some lighter areas which Walter was secretly glad to see she still protested against. It was, nevertheless, still his duty to push her through them.
Walter didn’t bother knocking on her bedroom door as he entered at 8:30 Sunday morning; he knew exactly how he would find her, still resolutely nested in bed amidst her blankets and pillows. He was almost used now to the hellhound lying on top of the covers at her side.
“Sir Integra, the service begins in an hour, and you really must get up now if you are to look at all decent, not to mention if you would like any breakfast beforehand.”
The only response this elicited was a tightening of the covers around her. He wasn’t sure if she was actually awake yet; that might just have been a subconscious reaction to his voice and the day.
Ignoring the hellhound, Walter sat down on the edge of the bed, placing a hand lightly on her shoulder. “It’s time to get up, Sir Integra.”
She shifted more definitely this time, though the movement was more downward than upward. Her face was just visible beneath her hair and pressed against the pillow, but he could see her eyes screwed shut. “Nooo. I don’t want to.”
The sound and protest was so purely childish he almost smiled, but Walter kept his voice firm. “It’s the Sunday service, Sir Integra, you must attend.”
“No, Walter, I really don’t think so –“
By years of experience he knew that repeated words wouldn’t get him any farther than where he was now. With an inward sigh, he began to pull the blankets down and take her by the upper arm, but suddenly Alucard snarled and lunged forward at him, snapping his teeth.
Integra immediately sat up, hitting the dog across the snout with brutal force. Alucard yipped – certainly more out of surprise than actual pain – pulling back to stare at her with his ears flat and a most wounded expression.
Blonde hair mussed outrageously, Integra glared at him. “Did I tell you to do that? Don’t you ever snap at Walter. Now get off.” She pushed at him with her knees, and he mopingly jumped off the bed to slink away.
Oh! I really, really love this story and the bonus fanart. It's soft and tender, realistic too. I adored Walter-Integral bonding as father and daughter figures (plus pet!card!).
Awww, thanks! I'm so glad you liked it and that I really got my themes across.
This is pretty on so many levels. I love it.
*beams* Thanks, Erin.
This is such a nice little ficlet both in its realism and its sentiment. Well done.
That's a very nice compliment, thank you!