Chapter Text
There was someone new in the library, and it was the most interesting thing to happen all week.
All month.
All year?
There was someone new in the library, and if George Sand had a single unscheduled moment to think, maybe she could find the time to visit. To say hi. News of his arrival had spread from mouth to mouth, ear to ear across the denizens of the library. During their physical workout times. During their drills. During their short meal breaks of bland, fully nutritious slop which with every bite, Sand was more and more certain her French citizenship would get revoked.
“I heard he’s from Japan,” Gautier’s daughter beamed, fanning herself with her hand in place of a legitimate folding fan. The girl had to make do. “I’ll need to speak with him immediately.”
“If you can find the time,” Sand muttered, slightly amused as they marched side by side, only to get yelled at by one of the guards. This did little but get a snicker out of her. “You’re gonna scare him off, Judith.”
“Am not!”
“GIRLS! SILENCE!” The guard barked once more.
“I would like… to throw a party.” They were going to be late, but luckily Sand was having no problems dragging a very out of it Victor Hugo down the corridor. As they passed by each window, bars of light passed over his features, both eyes glimmering gold in the evening light.
“Victor, if they’ve found out you’ve been smoking again, you’re going to get punished.” This didn’t seem to upset the man too much, as his head fell back, looking up at Sand as his legs dragged out in front of him.
“My sweet Aurore… this will not stand.” He didn’t elaborate, but she knew what he was referring to. “And the day will come when I will throw the welcome party a guest deserves.” He held up a single finger, only for it to trickle back down by his side as Sand continued to drag him through the corridor.
“Yeah… yeah I bet you will.”
It was well into the evening, as she hurried through the main corridor. If she could make it in time, she could enjoy maybe fifteen minutes of freedom, which she would milk every single moment of. She always did.
However, her thoughts were cut short as she ran into someone. Not entirely unusual, but it hadn’t happened in a while. The people of the library knew better, they were far too alert. The other person was knocked to the ground as the sturdy Sand remained. It happened in a split second, but it was enough to trigger something deep within her. Her hand at the hilt of her sword, she drew it from the side of her waist, the steel blade flashing in the evening light before the tip found itself at the throat of that which dared to run into her.
And sitting there, in a uniform similar to her own, was a man she’d never seen before. His black hair glimmered a navy blue in the lamplight, half of it pushed back and the other half falling around his face. And quite the handsome face it was, with his features from the East and his lime-green eyes wide with fear.
Carefully cautiously, she tilted the bottom of his chin up with the tip of her sword to get a better look at those jewel-like eyes, only for the woman he was with to finally step in.
“Mme Sand please stand back!” The Alchemist at his side, Manon, insisted. Sand rolled her eyes as she withdrew her sword, taking a step back. The other woman coughed nervously, before going to help the man up off the ground, dusting off his white jacket with black and gold accents. He said something to her, but Sand couldn’t quite catch what, before the two were properly introduced.
“Mme Sand, this is Monsieur Naoya Shiga, visiting us from the Japanese Library,” she carefully introduced in English, gesturing to the man who gave her a polite bow. So this was the guest? He certainly looked to be a transmigrated author, given the color of his hair and eyes, but otherwise didn’t look all that interesting to her. “And this is Madame George Sand, our most skilled fighter!” The man, Shiga, still looked a little out of it, but Sand was getting impatient. Her precious free time was draining away by the second.
“Enchantée,” she said with a curt nod of her head, before she darted away to enjoy what little time she could get, leaving both Shiga and Manon behind.
Maybe she wouldn’t have gone to say hi. Maybe there were other things she considered more important.
“You’re plotting something, aren’t you?” It was the middle of the night, a couple days later, and Sand found herself not in her own room, but a man’s. Not just any man, though, not even a man who she found herself to love.
“I have to get out of here, Gus.” From under the covers of the nearby bed, a single head emerged, his red, cropped hair a bit of a mess but his beard nicely groomed.
“Are you going to run away again?” Gustave Flaubert asked, his soft voice dripping with sleep. “How many times has it been?”
“Not nearly enough,” she sighed, running her hand through her undercut, more of a whim than anything. “I’m going to die in here, Gus. Don’t you feel the same?”
“My friend,” he yawned, a deep, rumbling tone, “it’s a matter of hard work and discipline.” Discipline, discipline, that was the name of the game. A game Sand no longer wanted to play. Flaubert turned over in bed, facing away from her. “We’re in a war, and Guy is pleased with these arrangements. I can’t say that I’m happy, but it could be worse.” Sand paused, looking at the vaguest shape of her friend’s head through the darkness of the room… before she sighed.
“Then let me spend my final night with you before you never see me again.”
Flaubert looked back at her once more through hazy, half lidded eyes. He didn’t believe her, that this would be it, but he pulled back a corner of his comforter regardless. Wearing little else but men’s pajamas, Sand slipped into bed with him, letting herself finally relax with the warmth of another human being.
“Get some rest, alright?” Flaubert gently asked her. “We can’t both be healthy if you’re the one who’s slacking.” And as she finally let her eyes close…
She put her cold feet on Flaubert’s back.