(Ficlet) The Scottish Play

[black_sluggard]

Title: The Scottish Play
Fandoms: Castle, Gargoyles
Rating: PG
Genre: Romance, Fantasy, Humor
Warnings: Het, genre!crack, AU, crack, crossover, unbetad.
Characters/Pairings: Castle—Martha Rodgers. Gargoyles—What, are you crazy? I'm not going to say it. ;)
Wordcount: 380
Summary: "And some curses are real, like the Scottish play." (2x19, Wrapped Up In Death ) Or, an unusual take on "famously fatherless".
Details: Also, I'm not sure how, but I'm sure this is somehow coffeebuddha's fault...

Manhattan, New York
August, 1968

Martha blamed the wine and her passion about the subject on the way her mouth had been running. Then again, while pleasantly warm she was still more than present, and had been careful to allow her companion the opportunity to change the subject.

So far, however, he seemed more than happy to listen to her chatter on at length about old theater traditions and superstitions.

Though he was tall and cut an imposing figure he wasn't the sort of man that would have normally drawn her attention. It was hard for her to guess just how old he was. His face was weathered, lines deeply etched into the corners of his eyes, his hair and short beard a solid steel-grey. Yet his large, rough hands were still strong, and his overall bearing carried with it an unmistakable aura of vitality. It was his eyes that confused the issue the most, however. They held an overwhelming sense of depth, of gravity despite his otherwise easy humor. And something else she couldn't name... Something magnetic, charming, almost otherworldly.

A man like that, she found herself thinking, could love a lifetime in a single night.

It was a strange thought to have for a stranger, a touch melodramatic even for her. Another thing to be blamed on the wine, perhaps.

Suddenly, her words startled a deep laugh out of him.

"I know it sounds ridiculous," she defended, feeling her cheeks flush hotly, "but I swear it's true. Why, when I was in high school I made the very mistake, not knowing. It was an utter disaster. Our director finally had me leave, run all the way around the theater building counter-clockwise, and knock on the door until someone else allowed me back in."

Smiling inwardly, Martha resolved to change the subject herself, lest the conversation turn tedious. If she didn't, she might just continue talking all night long. Surprisingly, that ending to the evening was looking less and less attractive by the minute.

"I'm sorry I've forgotten, what was your name again?" She asked, shoving aside her embarrassment without shame.

He let out another sharp laugh before he answered with a smile, his Scottish brogue as deep and as rough as he was.

"Perhaps I'd better not say."