#i let him & i don’t deny the accusation & i leave、run away to a nearby village

[shiftinginferno]

istg the drama/plot i scripted into my fucking GoT DR i recently revived 💀💀💀 idk why i always be scripting the most soul-shattering heartbreaks before the happy era arrives this is the emotionally worst romance plot I’ve ever scripted w an S/O (at least in P&R DR April & Andy only remain married for a week or 2 before he realizes he’s aro & they break up & she realizes she liked me better all along 💀 what I fuckign scripted here is just… idk if I’ll forgive myself once I shift there, cuz I’ll forget what I scripted so…)

Me fully realizing I'm gonna have to actually go through a more than half a year long "will they won't they, mutual pinning" love story before I can date the loml :

[onthepageoftears]

Hold Them Closer ~ Ch.1 [Jaskier x assassin!reader] || Witcher

A/N: It’s here! The second installment to Kill Your Darlings! Chapters will be uploaded every Friday once again, and of course it is highly recommended to read the Kill Your Darlings series first (the link is on the masterlist on my page). 

Your comments and feedback are always encouraged and mean a lot to me!

Summary: The journey has begun.

Warnings: fighting, ~sexual tension~, bickering, fluff

Words: 1,500

Please Don’t Plagiarize My Work!

Sunlight cascaded along the forest floor, little rays of light falling amongst the leaves that littered the ground. Despite the sun shining high in the sky, a nice breeze tugged at the air around you, making you take a deep breath. Everything felt calm. Quiet.

And then you heard a crunch.

You shifted on your feet, not hesitating before swinging your sword towards Jaskier. You couldn’t help but notice the sunlight glint off the sharp edge as you purposefully slowed your movement.

Jaskier huffed, stepping back in time for it to whoosh just past his chest. His eyes sparkled with mischief as he looked back at you, but your face was stone cold.

You swung again.

This time, you didn’t hold back. You jabbed the sword towards Jaskier, making him jump out of the way of your deadly weapon. With quick thinking, Jaskier used the trees around you to his advantage, rolling out of the way and using the tree trunks as a shield. He had just rolled around the side of one tree when you caught each other’s eye.

Jaskier smiled. You quirked a brow. You had to admit, it was clever.

But fleeing wouldn’t always work.

You grunted and lifted your sword so it would come straight down onto Jaskier, but he lifted his own just in time. The loud collision of steel practically made you giddy — sparring was not something you did often, but you really did enjoy it.

Except, Jaskier could be a bit distracting.

Your swords were still crossed when he winked at you. By now, you’d think you had grown accustomed to his advances, yet, there you were, losing your breath with just one of his gestures.

And then he got the upper hand.

He slid his sword out from your own, swinging it with enough force to take your whole head off. But as you lifted your own sword to stop the impact, another sound, other than striking steel, made you frown.

Jaskier’s sword was sunken into the tree just beside you, where Jaskier was now tugging helplessly at its handle.

You let your shoulders drop, eyes narrowing in accusation, “You did that on purpose.”

Jaskier focused on getting his sword out of the tree, “Did what?”

“Missed.”

Jaskier jumped out of the way as you swung your own sword towards him, leaving his own weapon stuck in the bark behind you. He stood with his hands up, chest heaving, with the tip of your sword under his throat. With barely any effort, you reached behind yourself, and with one tug, the sword was in your grasp.

The two of you stared at each other a moment before you gave up, dropping your sword from his neck and holding his sword out towards him with a sigh.

“Your offense needs to be quick, sharp movements. Fast, so I don’t know what’s coming.” As soon as he took his sword back, you pushed past him so he didn’t see the scowl on your face, “And you need to stop hesitating."

By then, Jaskier had run up beside you, walking backward so he could see your face. Or maybe so you could see the smirk that was on his, “Only if you ask nicely.”

Even though his smile was nearly contagious, you forced yourself into a frown, halting in your spot. “This is not a game, Jaskier. You need to know how to defend yourself in case—“

“In case we are in another life impending situation that tests both of our morals and inner demons? Yes, I am well aware.” Now noticing your scowl, Jaskier relented. “We have been practicing nearly non-stop. I’ve been getting better, you said so yourself.”

“Better and good are two very different things.” You sighed, softening your expression so he knew you were serious, “You don’t have to hold back with me. I can take care of myself.”

Jaskier pursed his lips and nodded, placing the tip of his sword into the dirt below. “Fine, fine. But you have to admit I’ve been getting better.”

You rolled your eyes — what was with this man and constantly needing reassurance? “Fine. You’re getting better.”

Jaskier tilted his head, his lips formed into a pout, “Well, now you’re just saying it.”

“Jaskier—“

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding.” His head fell back with a hearty laugh, finally breaking your own face into a smile.

You pushed past him again, this time so he wouldn’t see you smile, “You won’t be kidding when I actually slice my sword into your jugular.”

“You love it.”

Another eye roll and you were back at the pile of weapons that you and Jaskier lugged out to this area for training. It wasn’t far from the village the two of you were staying at, but it was far enough that the trip was a workout on its own. Though sometimes Jaskier would make you take Buttercup along — he would try to convince you it was because she needed the exercise, but really it was because he didn’t want to go through the effort of carrying everything else.

You placed your knives back in their sheaths, feeling the calmness that came over you whenever they were back in their place. Though you had been getting more used to swords yourself, nothing beat the feeling of using your knives.

Leaning against the nearby tree, you crossed your arms over your chest. “Another thing.” Jaskier turned to you, “You need to stop playing around when we train.”

He scoffed, “Oh, come on. You can’t deny that it’s fun. And a little fun never hurt anyone.”

“Except it will. And it has.” Your eyes flicked down to his stomach, where under his undershirt a bandage was still covering his healing wound.

Jaskier paused. “So you do think it’s fun!”

“Not the point.”

“Not your point.” The glare you sent his way made him sigh. “Okay, okay. I will take this more seriously. Students honor.”

You rolled your eyes. “Great. Then watch out.”

“Huh—“ He jumped back just as you swung your sword towards him, catching him off guard. After stumbling for a moment, he caught himself and spun out of the way, using his own sword to push against yours. The two of you locked eyes in challenge, daring the other one to move first.

You didn’t need to wait any longer. You turned yourself around and regained control of your sword, using the momentum of your spin to roll forward and land on the opposite side of Jaskier. He swiveled on his feet, immediately ready for any attack you had coming his way.

You smirked. So he was getting better.

You didn’t let your surprise get the best of you. Instead, you lunged forward, swinging your sword at his legs. Jaskier jumped out of the way, and while you were still recovering from the missed attack, he slammed his sword own on your own.

You blinked in disbelief as your sword fell to the ground below.

Standing up, you tilted your head at Jaskier, eyebrows raised in pleasant surprise.

“Not bad—“ You started, but Jaskier pushed forward, catching you off guard. He pushed you hard into a nearby tree, placing his sword directly under your neck just as your back made contact with the trunk.

“Not bad indeed,” he said, his breaths coming out in heaves as his eyes glossed over your own. The two of you stared at each other, both trying to catch your breath, but neither moving from your compromising position. You hadn’t been this close to Jaskier — well, ever. Now that you were, it was like you never wanted to move.

You couldn’t help the way your eyes involuntary flicked down to his lips, which were slightly parted as he caught his breath. You couldn’t help but let the memory of his lips on your own resurface, though you had tried to repress it many times before.

It seemed that Jaskier felt this too, because he lessened his grip on his sword, his focus being drawn to your lips as well.

Perfect.

Taking advantage of the situation, you grabbed the handle of the sword and pushed it far enough away from your neck before swiftly lifting your knee straight into his groan. As Jaskier’s previously enticed face turned into one of pure pain, he let out a yelp of surprise, dropping his sword and falling to his knees. You unsheathed one of your knives and stepped behind Jaskier, grabbing his shoulder fiercely and sticking your knife along his neck.

Blood. Blood everywhere. Your hands. Your knife. Covered in blood.

You blinked, quickly trying to recover from the memories that resurfaced.

Shaking your head, you released your grip and let him fall to the ground.

Jaskier’s groan brought you back to reality, “Why?”

You made your best effort to hide your grin, “Like I said: you cannot let your guard down. Ever.”

“No fair,” he gasped.

You smirked, reaching a hand out to help him up, “You love it.”

———————————————————————————————————

Let me know your thoughts!

[shirtlesssammy]

1x08: Bugs

Then:

Bbys who have no clue what they’re about to be forced to live through.

Now:

Oasis Plains, Oklahoma

At a new home development site, two Oklahoma Gas and Electric workers chat about the expensive neighborhood.

One worker falls into a sinkhole and breaks his ankle. The other rushes for help. The hole where the man fell is covered in bugs. Willie Scott is quaking. The man lies still crying out for help. By the time his buddy gets back with a rope, it’s too late.

At a bar, Sam waits outside for his brother by the car and reads the paper. Dean’s busy hustling for money. Sam’s got a case! The cold open dude’s death is being reported as human Mad Cow. Dean heard about that on Oprah. Of course you did, my sweet, strong, amazing boy.  Sam is shocked and Dean changes the subject.

For the Many Layers of Dean Winchester Science:

The brothers think there might be more to it than an accelerated case of Mad Cow and head to check it out. They arrive at the Gas company and find the buddy, Travis, right away. They’re posing as the nephews of the vic. They ask a bunch of questions. They’re really awkward and the buddy just goes along with it.

They then head to where the dude died.

Dean asks if they want to flip a coin to see who’ll go down into the hole. Sam doesn’t think it’s a good idea, considering they don’t know what they’re dealing with. Dean’s dealing with trying to prove he’s macho so he says that Sam is scared and that he’ll head down the hole. That brought out Sam’s competitive edge enough and Sam decides to go (and let’s all face facts, Dean is a germaphobe and didn’t want to go down there anyway…)

Later in the car, they discuss the small amount of beetles Sam found. Time to do some research. Dean sees an open house and decides to join. Also, Dean’s weirded out at the thought of growing up in a nice neighborhood. Lol, sure buddy.

They meet the developer of the neighborhood, Larry, and his wife, Joanie. They also meet Lynda, head of sales.

She’s ready to sell them a house! Dean’s tired of defending his heterosexuality and runs off to find Larry.

While talking with Larry, Dean notes jars of bugs. Larry’s son is “inquisitive”, and I don’t appreciate how condescending you sound Larry. Let your son be a bug freak.

Sam continues to get the hard sell from Lynda. As she blathers on, he notices a giant hairy spider getting closer to her. He dismisses her and scoops the hairy guy up and walks it over to Alfie Samandrial Matthew, the inquisitive son. Larry escorts his son away from the party. And Sam was just warming up to the kid, ready to spill all his ‘Dads are the worst’ advice. And whoa, Dean didn’t see how mean their dad was, but Sam said he didn’t treat Dean like that because he “was perfect” but he was all over Sam.

God, these early episodes are gold mines. It’s a pity I so rarely watch them. Anyway, this is just another Dean is the perfect son because he followed orders, while Sam was not because he’s a little rebel.

Dean notes another person died on the site a while ago —killer bee stings. Maybe these bugs are being controlled by someone.

Dean wonders if the boy, Matt, is the cause behind the bugs. They then pull over to an empty house in the neighborhood to hang out for the night. Dean wants to try the steam shower. Boy, you have always loved a good shower.

That night, Lynda is watching the news in her room when a spider scuttles across her face. UGH. She turns off the news and goes to enjoy a nice steam shower. MORE SPIDERS! She screams and apparently runs straight through the glass door. Shards of glass and blood mingle in the shower drain, while Lynda is dead a couple yards away, covered in tiny spiders.

The next morning, Sam alerts Dean to another death. Dean’s busy enjoying his shower.

They roll up just as the body is getting rolled away. And I just love how they’re not even posing as FBI or anything and can just park their car and stroll up to the authorities like it isn’t anything. Larry gives them the news about Lynda.

They sneak into the house to investigate. Spiders! They head off to find Matt, only to watch him wander into the woods after school. They follow and find him collecting bugs. Dean passively accuses him of the bug related shenanigans, but Matt denies any wrong doing. He does feel like something is going on though. There’s something going on with the insects but Larry doesn’t want to listen to his son. And we get another veiled conversation about how the Winchester sons were raised wrong.

They finally reach the place in the woods that Matt wanted to show them. Bugs are congregating, but he doesn’t know why. Dean pokes a stick into a hole full of squishy squashy earthworms and finds a human skull inside. 

Dean and Sam head downtown with a whole box of skulls they found, like ya do. Dean gets to the heart of the case right away, and asks Sam why he told Matt to rejoice in anticipating the moment he could leave for college. “How 'bout tellin' him to respect his old man, how's that for advice?” Oh, Dean bby. Sam lays out his grievances: their dad never respected his achievements when they weren’t related to hunting. Dean tells him that their Dad always cared - he kept an eye on Sam even when he went to Stanford! (I’m sure John Winchester wasn’t at ALL concerned about keeping an eye on his demon-infected son, or anything.) (Boris: I read a really good theory once that it was Dean that was keeping on eye on Sam at Stanford.) Anyway, Dean could have told Sam how much their dad cared if ONLY Sam picked up the phone ever. 

At the local university, Dean and Sam pose as anthropology students. The professor they talk to speculates that the skulls they found are almost 200 years old and probably belong to indigenous people who once lived in the area. The professor is NOT horrified that these two “students” went grave robbing and are now toting around skulls in an old file box. It’s fine!

He refers them to the nearby Euchee tribe. MY GOD please tell me these boys aren’t going to visit tribe members with the skulls of their ancestors. I don’t remember this episode AT ALL but I’m starting to get a horrible feeling. Much has been written about the offensive “Native American curse” plot device in this episode (I realize after pausing and googling for a full hour). So I’m just gonna clutch my hair and tell this episode that it deserves its bad rep. It really, really does.

The Winchesters chat with Joe White Tree, who tells them a story about the pillaging of a Euchee village by American cavalry who tortured, then killed every single person living in it. The dying Chief issued a curse: “no white man would ever tarnish the land again.” 

It’s a six day curse and on the last day, everyone dies. They calculate that the sixth night is…that very night. 

By phone, Sam and Dean try to warn Larry and son about the oncoming curse. Larry isn’t buying it, but Matt’s seeing a lot of unusual bug activity. Dean tells him to fake appendicitis so they can leave town and head to the hospital. Great idea! It can take hours before you’re seen in the ER!

When the Winchesters arrive, Larry, Matt, and Hot Mom Joanie are still home. They argue about leaving, but the shouting fades to horror when a giant swarm of bugs fill the sky. Everyone runs inside, blocking off gaps around doors and windows. The phones are dead because…the smarty bugs chewed through the phone lines. (oooookay) Bugs come in through the fireplace flue, chasing everyone upstairs. 

Me, at this episode: 

In the attic, (Which is like the worst place to hide from bugs are you kidding me? Everybody knows roofs need to breathe) termites eat a hole through the roof. Dean fights off the bugs with his bottomless can of flammable insect repellant and they try to patch up holes. Soon enough, they’re surrounded by bugs. Welp, I sure didn’t expect the series to end like this!

Light shines outside suddenly (like a LIGHT SWITCH turning on) and the bugs flood out of the roof and fly off into the already very bright sunrise. How…majestic? And convenient? And FAST.

A little while later, we meet up with Larry again. The real estate development is “on hold while the government investigates those bones you found.” There is SO MUCH to unpack here, but we skip right over ALL of that to arrive at the familial emotional resolution. Larry’s happy because he’s closer with his family now. Matt throws away his bug collection. “They kinda weird me out now.” Oh, Matt. You used to be so cool. 

Across the street, Sam and Dean stare at the reconnected son and his father in a not-at-all creepy or intrusive manner and experience emotions.

Sam tells Dean that he wants to find their dad so he can apologize. Dean responds with “Well, don't worry, we'll find him. And then you'll apologize. And then within five minutes, you guys will be at each other's throats.” Very accurate!

UGH There are Quotes All Over Me!

Hustling pool? Credit card scams? It's not the most honest thing in the world, Dean

I'd take our family over normal any day

Who can say no to a steam shower?

“Question is, why bugs? And why now?” “That’s two questions”

You don't break a curse. You get out of its way

Want to read more? Check out our Recap Archive! 

[killervibe]

Written in Your Heart

A Killervibe & Frost/Ronnie Princess and the Pauper AU!

Summary: Once upon a time, in a village high on the mountaintop, two identical baby girls were born. One, into royalty and was named Princess Caitlin. The other, to a poor family working under a harsh dressmaker. They named her Frosteline. With lives so different, it wasn’t surprising that the Princess and the Pauper never met. But fate decreed they would.

Chapter One

~.~ 

Long ago, and far away, in a central village high on a mountaintop, something amazing happened. At the very same moment, two identical baby girls were born. One, a baby Princess. The King and Queen were overjoyed, for they had been longing for a child all their lives. Princess Caitlin would have only the finest. The second baby girl was named Frosteline. Her parents loved her every bit as much as the King and Queen loved Princess Caitlin. But they worried, fighting to make ends meet under the employment of a compassionless dressmaker.

 Many years passed and the Princess learned her royal duties, while Frosteline worked long and hard as a seamstress for the spiteful Miss Amunet. Frosteline's parents were long gone, resting in the cemetery under the grass. They had died in the same accident that took the life of King Thomas when Princess Caitlin and Frosteline were only twelve.

 With lives so different, it wasn’t surprising that the Princess and the Pauper never met. But fate decreed they would.

It all started at the Royal Mine, when the miners informed the Queen the gold had run out. The widowed Queen was shocked. The Kingdom would now surely go bankrupt. People would starve, find no work and will perish under these conditions. How was she going to take care of them with no more resources? If only she could call on her trusted advisor Hunter Zolomon, but he was away on a long journey to Star Kingdom. She needed to do something quickly to save the kingdom before they’d turn against the monarchy, or worse, each other.

 But what?

 And then it struck her. Nearby lived a rich young King who was seeking a wife.

 ~.~

 “Damn it,” Frosteline groaned, nursing her bleeding thumb at her hundredth prick of the day. “I just want a day to myself!”

 “I hear you, sister,” Ralph, her only friend chimed in from his own stitching across the room. After hours upon hours of labour in the dreary basement of Miss Amunet’s Dress Emporium, it often felt as though Ralph were the only other person on the planet. “You think the woman would hire more help.”

 “Hire more help?” Frosteline repeated incredulously. “We’re only here because we’re indentured servants, Ralph. Nobody in their right minds would willingly work here.”

 “Yeah, well. Nobody but our dear old dead parents, right?” Ralph stood up, cracking his back from lack of exercise. He walked across the room to inspect Frosteline’s injury. “Let me look at it. You’re bleeding.”

 Frosteline waved him off. “I’ll be fine.” She closed her eyes and hummed her mother’s old nursery rhyme as the cut stitched itself back together.

 Ralph didn’t like how her eyes glowed when she used her power. He made a noise of consternation, returning to his pile of fabric. “You’re lucky that Miss Amunet hasn’t yet accused you of witchcraft.”

 Frosteline froze over the wedding gown she had just crocheted. “Don’t call it that. I told you—I was born like this.”

 “It’s where you got your name, right, yes, I heard the story before. I just worry about your safety, Frost. Don’t think I don’t know you do magic shows in the village at noon.”

 “I make some snow for extra change. So what? The people like it.”

 Footsteps went thundering down the stairs. The two ran back to their workstations.

 “It’s not the people I’m scared of,” Ralph muttered under his breath.

 “I’m hearing whispers. What is this? A gossip club?”

 “I would’ve said a debtor’s prison,” Frosteline replied automatically. Ralph gaped at her from across the room. She too realized her mistake. She tended to talk before she used her brain. It was something she needed to work on.

 “Keep laughing, my lovely!” Amunet surveyed their work. She beamed, at the finished gown on Frosteline’s desk, showing all her teeth. “You’ll be working for me for another thirty-seven years!”

 “But I already paid off more than half!”

 Amunet hummed, undisturbed. “Oh, but haven’t you heard? The kingdom is going into a recession. So I’ve decided to remember....What was it again?" She drummed her fingertips against her face, pretending to ponder, then clapped her hands suddenly. " oh yes! There’s an interest, isn’t there? Your parents should’ve thought of that before they borrowed so much.”

 “They did it to feed her!” Ralph snapped. Amunet glared as he shrunk back in his wooden seat.  

  “Their mistake.”  She took the finished wedding gown and stuffed it in a box without so much of another word.

 Ralph mimed sticking a finger down his throat. Frosteline’s mouth twisted in disgust. She hated her too.

 ~.~

 Cisco turned the page of his leather-bound book. “That concludes your lesson in chemistry. Not that you needed it.”  

 The princess gave a reluctant sigh, looking up at him through her long eyelashes. “Already?”

 “Afraid so, Your Highness. Any questions?”

 All too well he knew Princess Caitlin mastered the subject. Still, the question posed became his favourite part of their scheduled time together, when the role of tutor and student bled into two best friends enjoying each other’s company.

 “Yes,” she said, poking at his tunic. “Do you believe it possible to discover more elements that would expand the periodic table?”

 ”Absolutely!” He nodded enthusiastically. “But not more likely than reaching the heavens, Caitlin.”

 The princess scooted her chair closer, leaning into her best friend’s side. Her cat, Bart, scratched his head against her leg. “You mean...” she lowered her voice before glancing aside, wary of her maidservants’ eavesdropping. “Extrapolating from the theories of Galileo and travelling to space?”

 Cisco grinned at her. “Precisely.” He laughed at her scandalized gasp. “Calm down, I’m jesting—”

  “Cisco! That’s not funny!”   

 Ah, his heart stuttered in his chest. He’d never tire of hearing his name from her lips. She placed her hand over his arm and urged him to share his latest study.

 A knock on the door interrupted their moment, and Caitlin immediately removed her touch, leaning away.

 Harrison Wells, or Harry, as the royal family has grown accustomed to calling him, marched in with a long list and adjusted his spectacles. “We’re late! Late, late, late!”

 “Good morning Harry,” Caitlin greeted, hiding her dismay. Cisco rolled his eyes. It wasn’t that they disliked him. He was always to the point with his messages, and delivered them rather gruffly, but not unkind. Their annoyance had more to do with the fact every time Harry came to interrupt Caitlin’s lesson with Cisco, it meant the tutor had to go.  

 “Yes, yes. Good day, Your Highness,” he nodded at Cisco. “Greetings Ramon. Enough with the pleasantries. It is now time for your royal fitting, Princess. The gown just arrived this morning.”

 Princess Caitlin’s joy soured immediately, but she did not let her emotions show. “Yes, of course.”  

 “—It must last twenty, maximum twenty-two minutes, and then you have to rush, and I mean rush to your horticultural society tea. Then—”

 Caitlin tuned Harry out as Cisco shot her an apologetic smile.

 He packed his books hastily, “I best be on my leave.”

 “Oh no, Cisco. Please stay.”

 He hesitated, fiddling with the strap of his worn satchel, but could not ever deny the Princess anything. He nodded, watching as two maidservants ushered Caitlin behind the dresser to make alterations for her gown. “Maybe a few minutes more.”

 When she stepped out in silks and white tulle, his eyes lingered only on her face.

 She turned around on the step stool where the seamstresses fussed over the ribbons and bows when he called her name.

 “Yes?”

 “You’ll make a lovely bride.” His fingers twisted deep in the leather of the strap across his chest. Caitlin felt tears well up in her eyes, so many complicated words stuck in her throat. She could only manage to nod as Cisco suddenly left.

 She couldn’t blame him for not wanting to stay, she thought, as she watched him through her window. He was smelling the roses to record in his field journal in her palace gardens. As if he could sense her, he lifted his eyes from the flower he had to his nose up to her wing of the palace. The corners of his mouth tugged into a gentle smile as his hair blew in the breeze. Cisco waved at Caitlin. Her fingertips pressed against the glass as her heart sighed.

 Harry came back with a large box, clearing his throat. Her mother, the Queen, strolled behind. “Look, another engagement gift!”

 The Princess didn’t reply. The Queen bit her lip as she caught her daughter watch the tutor make his way out the royal gates and into the village. “You know it is vital you marry King Ronald. It’s the only way to take care of the kingdom.”

 Caitlin didn’t reply for some time, drawing strength from within and distanced herself from the window. She shot Harry and her mother a shaky grin and exhaled. “I know, and I will. It’s my duty.”

 ~.~

 In the deep dark caves of the Royal Mine, Hunter Zolomon celebrated his homecoming. 

 “It’s great to see you back boss,” Eddie Slick told him, wiping the grime off his forehead. “But you’re...early.” His accomplice, Sterling Brooks, popped out of their cart holding up a small black nugget. 

 Hunter snatched it out of Sterling’s hand. “What idiot put this here!?” 

 Sterling grinned as Eddie smacked his forehead from second-hand embarrassment. “Uh. Me?” 

 “We’re stealing gold. This is coal.” He knocked the worthless rock against Sterling’s skull as if in an attempt to knock some wit into it. He turned to Eddie. “Where’s the rest?” 

 Eddie pointed to a bag in the dirt. “That’s the last of ‘em.” He watched eagerly as his boss inspected the bag of gold. “So, what’s our cut?” 

 Hunter laughed. “You think you’re getting any of this?” 

 Eddie frowned. “While you were off frolicking in Star Kingdom, we were here doing all your dirty work. You told us we’d get paid.” 

 Hunter glared. It was not frolicking. For over ten years Hunter had to play lapdog to the King and Queen as the royal advisor. Forced to do this, demanded to do that. It was hard, tedious work that never went appreciated. Nor should it be. The work given to him was insulting. Hunter Zolomon was not born to serve people or follow orders like cattle. No. Every minute spent under the directives of the Queen made his blood curdle ever since his plan ten years ago went awry and he only managed to kill a third of the Royal Family he needed out of his way to ascend the throne.

 “And you will.” He leaned against the cart and rattled it along the tracks, urging Sterling to climb out and pay attention. “When I become King.” 

 “Right, right,” said Sterling, but he was clearly lost. “And how exactly is that related to us getting all this gold again?” 

  “Because,” Hunter said through gritted teeth, regretting his hasty choice of picking two desperate miners to do work for him. He’d fire Sterling if he could, but he knew too much now and was simply not worth the effort to kill. “Now I have all the wealth in the kingdom and the Queen will have no choice but to wed her only daughter to me. How could she refuse?”  

 “Easily! Princess Caitlin treats you so coldly!” Sterling blurted. “She’d never agree to that.” 

 “Who said the nitwit had any agency to make that decision?” he shot back. “She has to follow her mother’s orders. And who’s her mother’s advisor? Me.” 

 Eddie and Sterling shared a look. 

 Hunter narrowed his eyes. “What?” 

 Eddie looked anywhere but his boss’ steely gaze. “It’s just that….The Queen had decided to marry off Princess Caitlin to the King of Dulcinea.” 

 In a fit of rage, Hunter knocked the cart over with Sterling in it. “She what?!” 

 “Yeah…” Eddie said, wringing his hands. “You were gone a long time. She didn’t know what to do.” 

 “I guess the gig’s up, huh boss?” said Sterling, crawling from the rocks.

 “Hardly.” Hunter yanked the bag of gold from Eddie’s arms. He needed to visit the Queen immediately to fix this. “And if you ruin this for me neither of you will be making it out of this mine alive.” 

 ~.~

 “Cisco!” Caitlin lit up as her favourite person walked into her bedroom. “Perfect timing." She lifted up her latest discovery from her walk behind the palace kitchens. "I classified this as iron pyrite. Pretty, but not considered valuable. Commonly known as ‘fool’s gold, as you taught me last Spring, isn’t that correct?”

 Cisco smiled. “Very good, Your Highness.”

 Caitlin frowned, brushing her hair back behind her ear. “Your Highness?  Why the sudden formality.” He only ever called her that in the presence of other palace workers. She looked around to see if they had company, but they were all alone. “It’s just me.”

 “Your mother sent me. Apparently, the Ambassador has arrived with a gift for you.”

 Caitlin felt lightheaded. The iron pyrite fell to the floor. “The Ambassador? He’s here already?”

 Cisco nodded and went to grab her tiara from the pillow next to her bed. He placed it carefully upon her head, smoothing down the stray curls around it. “There,” he said. “No fool’s gold here.”

 “No,” the Princess agreed faintly, distracted by the warmth of her tutor’s brown eyes. He looped her hand around his arm and escorted her to the throne room.

 ~.~

 The Ambassador was a lot younger than the Queen, Harry or The Advisor thought. Tall, dark and handsome, with a dashing smile, he bent low at the waist upon the royals’ arrival and introduced himself with his gift. His travelling companion was an old fellow with crow’s feet and stood several steps away.

 “On behalf of King Ronald, I present to you this engagement gift.”

 The Queen took it graciously, promising the Princess would love it. She glanced at the grandfather clock mounted by the wall. Surely the tutor would’ve brought the Princess in already. 

 "Harry," she said. "Didn't I send the tutor to go tell the Princess about the Ambassador?"

 "You did, Your Highness," Harry confirmed. He adjusted his spectacles and looked down at his parchments. "I don't see them taking much more time, but the schedule of the Princess is already packed enough, we better not delay." 

 "No," said the Advisor, agreeing with the Messenger even though he couldn't stand him either. "We better not." 

 The travelling companion cleared his throat. “May I enquire, your Excellency, if you’ve set a date for the wedding?”

 The Queen paused to mull it over. “Will two weeks from today do?”

 Hunter nearly fell out of his chair but recovered quickly. “Two weeks! Fast and diligent, what a wonderful decision, Your Majesty.”

 “Excellent!” said the companion, sharing a glance with the Ambassador. He nudged his shoulder when the Ambassador didn't say anything. “Excellent, isn't it, Ambassador Stein?”

 The Ambassador’s eyes widened as if he had just remembered his position. “I will…uh. I’ll send for King Ronald right away so that he may meet his new bride.” His gaze drifted to the portrait of Caitlin mounted next to the windowpane.

 "I apologize for my daughter's absence," The Queen said. "If you stay for tea, I'm sure she'll be here shortly."

 The Queen gestured at Harry to escort them to the tea rooms. "Come, Hunter. There's much we have to discuss." 

  ~.~

 Like clockwork, Frosteline slipped out the front door at noon. It was when Miss Amunet took her lunch break in the tea shop across the village, which meant she had a whole hour to herself to sneak out. Ralph followed closely behind. 

 “What Ralph?” 

 “You forgot your cape,” he said, waving the old blue thing in the doorway. It was the nicest piece of clothing she owned. Probably because she barely ever got to leave the Dress Emporium, so it never had the chance to soil. 

 “Thank you, mother,” she grumbled under her breath but accepted it as Ralph put it over her shoulders. She snapped her fingers at Iridescence to get her to come, the cat Ralph had found in the street a few months ago. They’ve been hiding her from Miss Amunet for a while. 

 “Be safe out there,” he called out. “And don’t do that scary voice thing in front of any children!” 

 Frosteline rolled her eyes. 

~.~

“Cisco.” Caitlin's hand tightened on his elbow. “I can’t go in.” Her eyes darted down the long corridor and her heart pounded up in her ears. “I’m not ready,” she panicked. “I can’t go in.”

 Cisco was about to reassure the princess that it’ll be alright, but one look at her was all he needed to realize how Caitlin was spiralling. 

 “Okay,” he soothed, running his hands up and down the sleeves of her gown. “It’s okay, my sweet. You’re here. I’m with you. You’re— shaking?”

 “This is all too fast! Five days ago I was being told I’d get married and now the Ambassador is here? Cisco, I can’t—”

 ”Then we won’t. We won’t go.” Her breath hitched, and he could tell her tight corset could not possibly be helping. Three halls down was the old library with a balcony window. It used to belong to the King. They’d sometimes study there when they needed a peaceful moment alone. Perhaps, she needed some fresh air. 

 Cisco brought her to the balcony, sitting against the ledge as the Princess paced, pressing her palms over her eyes. 

 “I do everything!” she wailed. “Everything for my mother and the memory of my father. Everything for Hunter and Harry but this…” she let out a weak huff, sliding her hands into her hair and digging her fingers into the combs of her tiara. 

  “I know.”

  Cisco, I’m scared, she almost said. But somehow she felt he already knew. Instead, she sucked in a deep breath and wiped the stray tear from her flushed cheek. She kicked off her shoes, padding barefoot until she sank to the floor in her pink dress, looking out the balcony. She turned to Cisco, who had been watching her with careful concern. 

 “What do you think King Ronald will be like?” 

 It took a while for him to say anything. “I’m sure he’ll be…suitable.”

 “I know I have to marry him, but sometimes I wish…Well.” Caitlin clasped her hands together behind her back and sighed.

 She thought about her panic in the palace hall. My sweet, he’d called her. Did Cisco really mean that? Caitlin’s heart picked up speed. It wasn’t the first time he’d slipped and given her an affectionate name either. She’d always chalked it up to his joyous personality, or that maybe he considered her as a sister, but what with the way he’d been talking to her lately, she wondered if there was something...more. 

 Cisco’s brown riding boots swung leisurely as he waited for her to say something. When she didn’t, he continued to awkwardly carry on the conversation. “I heard he’s a lover of flatbread and cheese!”

 Caitlin wrinkled her nose. “What’s that?”

 “A type of food, I’m sure.” Cisco looked out, following Caitlin’s wistful gaze out at the kids playing in the garden. 

 Reality settled back into Caitlin’s bones. The little treasure chest in her heart full of her love for Cisco would have to lock away. There was no use, wondering. Cisco’s pay for her tutoring barely covered his own expenses. The Princess had to look out for the entire kingdom. 

 “I know it’s selfish, but it feels like the beginning of the end of my life,” she admitted in a whisper.

 “Caitlin….” Cisco slid down from his seat on the ledge, kneeling in front of her. 

 “Hmm?” 

 He offered her his hand. She took it without hesitation. 

 “You’re going to need your cape.”

[ayearofpike]

Strange Girl

Simon Pulse, 2015 413 pages, 19 chapters + epilogue ISBN 978-1-4814-5058-4 LOC: PZ7.P626St 2015 OCLC: 936552329 Released November 17, 2015 (per B&N)

There’s a new girl in school, and something about her is unbelievably interesting to Fred Allen. Maybe it’s the way she carries herself. Maybe it’s the way she refers to herself as merely a vessel for conveying the knowledge she seems to have about our greater nature. Maybe it’s the remarkable power she commands, the way that happiness and healing ride in her wake everywhere she goes. Or maybe it’s her sweet ass. Whatever it is, she seems to connect with Fred just as quickly, elevating him to a greater happiness than he’s ever known. Of course, as with any powerful girl that people don’t understand, this happiness is fated to flee just as quickly when she pushes herself beyond what her body can handle.

Or, shorter: It’s Sati. It’s Sati set in high school with teenagers. It’s Sateen.

Part of the reason I took on this project is that I felt like my own writing was stagnating. Time was I couldn’t sit down without pumping out a thousand words of my own universe, my own characters and plots and desires and ideas. But at a certain point, I started to try to focus on bettering and refining one of my main tales, one I’d revisited off and on since sixth grade ... and I just burned out. I realized that I simply could not rework this story again, that it wasn’t ever going to be what I wanted or do what I wanted, or at least not in this fifth attempt in ten years. I couldn’t keep talking about the same thing again.

This might be indicative of why I’ve had a hard time pushing through as A Year (And A Half Now, Almost) Of Pike has approached its end point. There’s no denying that the man is a killer storyteller, and that some of his ideas and worlds were stunning and even revolutionary within the genre. But thirty years is a long time to stay in the game, especially when you’re pumping out more than three books a year for the main part of your popularity. It’s admirable that he was able to keep that up for so long without resorting to the James Patterson model of hiring someone else to write the books that have his name in large type across the top. But then, when you’ve only got one brain working on all these extensive ideas and under these onerous deadlines, you’re invariably going to start to repeat yourself. 

Almost everything Pike wrote after the start of Spooksville (I can’t even be charitable and say after his car accident) has repeated or revisited some major theme from an earlier work (mostly his own; I see you, Black Knight). And as I’ve pushed through and read every single one of his published works, I’ve started to feel that same fatigue that I had when trying to rewrite and repair something I’d spent so much time on of my own. See, this is why I can never actually be an academic despite being a composition teacher: so much of studying English is finding your niche and continuing to write about the same topic for your entire career, and I don’t think I could ever devote that much of my professional life to writing about the same thing. I just got tired of my ill-researched writing about the complete works of my favorite childhood author, for fuck’s sake. 

Still, if any book was due a revamp, Sati fits that mold. It was his first adult novel, it kinda got buried to all except his most devoted fans, and maybe it would be timely to publish a book about kindness and introspection and acceptance just as the muckrakingest American election in recent history was getting underway. But most of all, it’s still a relevant look at how we act and what we think about when we consider faith and religion and God. Considering how audiences and the book market have so drastically changed in the last thirty years, it totally makes sense that Pike might want to revisit the concept for a new generation. And honestly, I’m a victim of my own age and literacy here — nobody else who might be interested in this YA book in 2015 is reading its spiritual predecessor from 1988.

I’m mostly going to blast through the summary, because it’s been more than three weeks since I finished the book and I don’t actually want to reread it to remember specifics. Fred is a high-school musician living in Elder, South Dakota, and just like any other teenager in a small town is dreaming of escape. His parents own a hardware store and just barely maintain a rocky marriage, though all we know about that is what Fred specifically tells us. His best friend Janet, the presumptive valedictorian, has her own messy home life, but they always have each other’s backs, which is why Janet pushes Fred toward the new girl.

This is Aja, a beautiful Brazilian who relocated to South Dakota for some reason three months ago but didn’t start school until today. The teacher in the class they share is unreasonably mean to her for apparently no reason, but it doesn’t put Fred off buying her lunch and trying to learn more about her. He’s unsuccessful, largely, but she does learn about him and his band and their work before she takes off. They’re doing a gig at a nearby Air Force bar on the weekend, and everyone knows Fred is the real talent and pressures him to perform a little more of his original and quieter work at the show. This here is Fred’s difficulty: he wants it, he has the talent and the drive, but he second-guesses how much people actually want to hear his voice.

Aja gets kicked out of the class they share when she’s accused of cheating on her entrance exam (what?), so Fred doesn’t see her again until after their gig. The crowd is getting raucous and angry, and the drummer doesn’t take well to that, so the evening is just starting to devolve into a brawl when Aja stands on a table and tells everyone to calm the fuck down. She also helps out one of the servicemen, who has taken a whiskey bottle to the head but now isn’t even bleeding. Weird, right? 

A local reporter sure thinks so. She posts a video of the event, with a suggestion that maybe Aja is more than she appears to be. Can she heal people? The folks at their next gig have the same question, surrounding her and generally pestering until Fred manages to pull her away. They drop her off at home, the biggest house in town, and Fred finally asks her out, sort of, by responding to her question about his unhappiness by saying she should stop accepting dates with other dudes. Like, possessive much already? But on his way to work the next day, he sees the teacher in the cemetery, near her son’s grave, and decides to talk to her about Aja. This opens a floodgate: the teacher blames herself for her son running outside and getting hit by a car, and apparently Aja knew more than she should have, which was why the teacher was so salty with her before. So what else does this girl know?

Fred goes to pick Aja up for their first official date, and ends up talking to her guardian, where he finally learns more about her past. It seems that Aja was a feral child living near a village in the Amazon, and she had a reputation as a magical healer and talent. The guardian was compelled to the village for some reason, and appointed herself the caretaker of the girl, and only uprooted them to South Dakota because Aja said they needed to go there. The guardian only has a vague idea why, but she’s pretty sure it’s related to Fred.

They go back to his house, because his parents are out, and he plays her a song almost off the top of his head that she’s inspired. Before they can start gettin’ freaky, Fred’s phone rings, and apparently his hot-headed drummer has gotten into it with some drug dealers and cops in a nearby town and is in critical condition in the hospital. So Fred and Aja go there, but when he calls the guardian’s valet (or whatever this dude is; it’s kinda muddy) to tell her what’s up, he gets pissed and freaked out and orders Fred to make Aja leave the hospital. Only he can’t find her. And when he does, she’s all dizzy, and passes out on the ride home, and when he drops her off the valet screams at him and slams the door in his face.

But the drummer wakes up, and when Fred goes to see him, he hears a story of two beings visiting him, and his realization that this was the end, only he wasn’t ready to go because it would cause too much pain. This is the only real mention of the subplot that the band’s bass player is gay and in love with the drummer, and even though the drummer is straight (I mean, I guess he could be bi, Pike doesn’t really go into details, but the point is they don’t end up together) he cares too much about his friend to just kick the bucket. So the smaller of the beings picked up on that and touched him, and then he woke up. 

There’s also a reporter there trying to talk to Fred and his best friend about the miracle that Aja performed, and they do their best to brush her off only she isn’t giving up. In fact, she’s using a YouTube channel to promote the idea that Aja is a goddess or something, with a video of the way she ended the bar brawl and testimony from a nurse in the hospital that she touched the drummer not long before he arose from life-threatening injuries. Fred agrees to meet with the reporter and actually gets more information than he gives up: namely, Aja has been curing and healing people since her days in Brazil and that she spoke with all of the villagers about her decision to leave for the US, saying there was an important reason to do so.

Before he can confront Aja and her handlers about it, her guardian dies. The valet says she’s written a letter to Fred, but he can’t seem to find it. So while we wait, let’s go on a date! Only someone in the restaurant recognizes Aja and insists she heal her daughter. And this is where we find Aja’s limitations: she can’t help this girl; her fate is to live for a short time. 

In blasting through the summary I might be glossing over Aja’s description of her connection to the cosmos and how her powers and abilities work. A lot of it ties back to the same things Pike loves to revisit when thinking about metaphysics: the oneness of Buddhist nirvana, letting go of desires and selfishness to connect to the unity of humanity, and being able to tap into superhuman powers once you’re linked. Aja calls the overarching all the “Big Person,” and her abilities come from what the Big Person tells her is necessary. She can act out of her own human desires, respond to the Little Person, but when she does it takes a toll on her health, which is what happened with the drummer. But how does someone so young get tapped into a consciousness so vast and lose her childish selfishness? We’ll get there.

Anyway, Fred goes to a band rehearsal the next day and is stopped on the way by a family who has another sick kid in the hospital, desperate for him to put them in touch with Aja. He doesn’t want to do it, knowing what he knows, but his friends accuse him of being overprotective. The best friend compares a lot of what Aja has said she does with practices she’s learned through yoga and meditation, to draw an explicit line for those in the audience who haven’t just read 94 other Pike books and didn’t look more deeply into Eastern religion because of it. And then Fred’s phone rings, and it’s the family, and they already talked to Aja and their daughter is feeling better so he doesn’t have to put himself out. What? The kid was in the hospital in another state. Aja explains that she’s not actually the vessel: the Big Person does the work, and all she’s doing is making it aware and asking the question of “can we?” 

The will reading for Aja’s guardian comes up, and in addition to splitting her (holy crap immense) wealth between Aja and the valet, she has also left instructions with her lawyer that Fred should get an audition with a record label in LA. The laywer also has the letter, which basically says that Fred can’t protect Aja from the infirm and ill, and he shouldn’t try. I guess this lady would know, right, having taken care of the girl for something like ten years. But word is getting out, more and more people are asking Aja for help, national reporters are starting to show up, Fred has a weird encounter with a spooky fortune teller in a graveyard, and he can’t help but be concerned. So he helps the valet hire a private security firm to keep these people away from Aja, which (when they follow her to school on Monday) prompts an emergency community meeting about the disruption of education by these horrible rumors.

As it turns out, this is actually a racist move by the principal, who has a reputation as an evangelical Christian and has unfairly targeted minorities (especially our drummer, who is Mexican) for years. He’s trying to get a lynch mob together without exactly saying as much. Only too bad for him a lot of people in the community (the more open-minded ones, the ones who have actually spoken to her) already support Aja, because of their own first-hand experience with her help. But enough people are screaming about Jesus that they’re just about ready to light up torches and drive Aja out of town. Until she reveals the racist principal’s big secret: he had a child with a black woman, and could never reconcile his love for them with his love for pointy white hoods or whatever, and then the kid died and he has always regretted it. And Aja holds his hands, and talks to him, and suddenly here comes the creepy fortune teller who it turns out was the mother of Racist Principal’s child, and they embrace and apologize and forgive, and the meeting is suddenly over.

Somewhere in all the Aja hullaballoo, the best friend took off to New York to live with her mother. She won’t answer Fred’s calls, she won’t respond to texts, and Aja (the last one to see her before she left) insists that she can’t be the one to reveal her confidences. So Fred goes to see her dad and try to get more info. Now this isn’t the first time Best Friend has left with the mom: the first was right after they got divorced, only she moved back a year later without any explanation. And the divorce was just as sudden and explanation-free, only the dad just accepted it. And Fred realizes, while he’s standing there in the living room and picking up hints from the dad and looking at old pictures where both women look uncomfortable: he’s a sexual predator. He touched his daughter inappropriately, because his wife and her mother was somehow loveless (leading to the girl coming back the first time) and so he partook of some fucked-up urges. Only the girl has never been able to accept that it wasn’t her fault, and in talking to Aja and exploring herself is she just getting there. So of course she needs to not LIVE with the motherfucker while she’s coming to grips.

Fortunately for Fred so he doesn’t stab a bitch, the trip to LA is nigh. Aja goes with him, and he plays his demos live, finishing with the new song he’s still writing for her. Of course that’s the song they want, and they hustle him into a recording session with an engineer to lay down a single. On the way back, Best Friend calls and asks if she can stay with him and his parents long enough to graduate high school with her friends, and as their flights land within a couple hours of each other in Sioux Falls, they plan to drive home together. Fred and Aja get there first, and he has to intimidate the dad away from the airport before his friend gets there. Only that can’t work for the whole state: he’s waiting for them to drive out of the parking lot, and attempts to run them off the road to take back his little girl.

Did I mention that it’s winter in South Dakota? The interstate is a sheet of ice, and these assholes are playing chicken at 100 mph. Of course they wreck the cars, and the kids get off with minor bumps and bruises. The dad isn’t so lucky:  his car has overturned and trapped him inside. Now the best friend is upset with him, but she’s not a sociopath and he’s still her dad, so they work to pry him out of the car before it explodes. But the way he’s bleeding and choking, he’s probably going to die anyway, so she wants Aja to heal him. And this is Fred’s great test of faith: do I argue against this and risk losing my best friend, or do I go along and risk losing my girlfriend? He finally agrees to let her listen to the Big Person.

Of course Aja collapses immediately upon laying hands on the molester. But by the time emergency response gets to the accident, he’s feeling better and Aja is fading fast. She can now finally tell Fred about her childhood, her past, which she has long avoided. It turns out that her dad was a drug dealer who stole from his bosses, and as punishment they sent three strongarms to kill the whole family. Only when they murdered Aja’s mother, her soul fled her body, leaving a gap for connection to the Big Person. The female enforcer sensed this and took the kid and ran ... and this female enforcer ended up being Racist Principal’s baby momma. No, I don’t know how it works, get your own globe. 

But now she’s given her all to Molester Dad and is on her way out. Still, her reason for coming to South Dakota was a good one: love. She knew that Fred needed her, and she knew that he would benefit from the connection she might provide to the Big Person. And even though her time was fated to be short, she feels happy that she completed her mission of love, and trusts that Fred will continue to spread the message. One last kiss, and she’s gone.

They end up at a hospital, and of course they want to do an autopsy on Aja to see why she died so suddenly and unexpectedly. The valet is firmly against it, and manages to get custody of the body and take it home, where he and Fred say one last goodbye before he lights the shit on fire. It’s a good thing she already filled out a will, that gave all her money to Fred, and that the lawyer has a copy of it!

There’s a long-ass epilogue that talks about what happened to everyone. The best friend has kids of her own and almost never talks to her dad, the two other band members founded a holistic medicine company in San Francisco and got married but to other people, and Fred himself was never able to leverage his meeting and audition into his own performing career but now writes hit songs for other people. But I guess none of them are about Aja, because now he had to write a book about it? And it’s done! The end!

See what I mean? This shit has been done before, almost beat for beat, and by the SAME AUTHOR. Now I’m not averse to reading a book again (cf. this whole goddamn project), but at least I’m going into the book knowing it is what it is. I’m not expecting to see something that is labeled a new work that actually retells a previous story that I literally just read. Maybe James Patterson can get away with that, but I don’t read his books either. 

At any rate, this post is finally done. I have this monkey off my back, and maybe now I can reflect and give some closure on the whole project. But I’ll save that for another post.

[thebradburyproject]

Week 1 - “The Red Fiddle”

Curiosity is a dangerous word, but such a pretty one. So very inviting. Always tempting. And believe me, I know what I’m talking about when it comes to temptation. Seen it more than most folks, that’s for sure. Not only seen it, though, but heard it, and that’s where the danger truly lies, as anyone who’s ever listened to a really good song can tell you. Musicians are something else. They’ve got some magic on their fingers, that drives even the most sane person to do some foolishness they’d never dream of otherwise. But I’m not talking about some random guy, here, about Jack-nobody and his guitar. No. The musician I’m describing is much, much more than that. And the things he could do...

You see, one day, this man showed up at the bar, and no one could take their eyes off him. And then he took this bright red fiddle, and made everyone forget that we hadn’t had good crops or good business for months, forget how tired everyone felt from fixing the roofs after the latest wind, forget everything bad. We danced, and drank, and laughed for who knows how long - a song? An hour? A week? - and then we clapped, and cheered, and asked him his name.

“You can call me Hale”.

And his voice was as pretty as him, almost as pretty as that of the fiddle. I caught myself smiling along with him, and so did everyone else, as we welcomed Hale into our hearts. At the end of the night, he took one of the girls by the hand - a lovely twenty-something, all giggles and curves -, whispered into her ear, bowed to the room, and they left together, to collective delight.

Next morning, the town was back to normal. Hale and the girl, however, were nowhere to be seen. Two days went by, than three. I worked my shifts at the same bar, and tended to my tiny land and half a dozen animals. As I finally had some extra milk and could make cheese, on the sixth day I wrapped one in cloth, and made my way to the girl’s house - her family usually bought my products, and I wanted news as much as anyone. They were all very polite, of course, while I was there. No, there were no news. Yes, she was still gone, and they believed she’d ran away with that handsome musician. Yes, they wanted cheese, thank you, Helen, you’re always so good to bring it personally. Yes, they’d be sure to stop by if there were any news, of course. Thanks again. Good bye.

One week after the disappearance, as I worked my shift, Hale showed up again, by himself, and again everyone was taken by him. The scene repeated itself: he’d let us admire him for a bit, than get his beautiful red fiddle, and proceed to play for some unknown time, taking all our minds away from anything that wasn’t him, his beauty, his music and the happiness he brought us. This time, as dawn was drawing near, it was the seamstress’ middle son that he took away with him - in his twenties, just like the first time, and just as lovely. Once again, everyone cheered the lad for his luck.

And, once again, day after day we waited, but no one came back during the whole week. The boy’s father stopped by the bar to ask for news of the fiddler every day, eyes tearstained and swollen, but we knew nothing. The family of the girl who had gone before was now desperate, not knowing what had happened to their daughter. The entire town united to try and help them, to hang posters around, to ask relatives in nearby villages, or simply to be kind however possible.

It didn’t matter how gloomy or hopeless, how downstruck we all felt before, the second Hale entered the bar, the only thing in anyone’s mind was him. Even after he left, week after week, taking one by one the youths from town, it was hard for us to think of him as guilty of more than being beautiful, tempting, as the seamstress put it.

***/***/***

I was the first to dare accusing Hale of any wrongdoing. Maybe it was the work at the bar, which meant being present to every single performance. Maybe it was just plain old cynicism. But the day my cousin knocked on my front door, looking tired and drained, asking to stay with me for a while, because their wife was taken, and the emptied house was just too depressing, something inside me snapped.

“Come inside, hon. And of course you can stay here, for as long as you need.”

“Thanks, Helen”.

I hugged them, and felt the whisper more than said it.

“Curse you, Hale, and your magic”.

My cousin looked up at me, eyes huge in surprise, head moving first as if to deny it, but finally settling in a resolute anger, and a nod.

“Yep. Curse you, Hale, and your bloody fiddle”.

***/***/***

After that, it became a saying, a curse to be uttered every so often. “Curse you, Hale, and your bloody fiddle”, or simply “curse your bloody fiddle”. People tried blocking his path to the bar, once, but he talked to each of the guards, laughed, flirted, and, by the time he got to the inside, they were part of his captive audience. Someone attempted hiding outside to follow him, but his song spread through town equally. No earplugs worked either, or cotton, or wax.

Two months had gone by, when the first body was found.

A lad went further than usual into the woods looking for his boyfriend, searching for a clue where people usually stayed clear of. Like most everyone here, all muddied and disturbed, the first place he entered was the bar, trembling like a twig on the wind, and clutching something inside a coat on his arms. The half a dozen patrons rushed over, and so did I, putting warm clothes on his back and trying to pry away whatever it was that made him so weary. In the process of passing between eager helpful hands, however, the bundled coat opened, and its contents fell to the floor, soon followed by the boy himself, dropping to his knees as we all stared in shock at the rotten hand and twisting maggots at our feet, his shoulders shaking uncontrollably with the sobs he’d held all the way there.

It turned out the hand belonged not to the lad’s boyfriend, but to the first girl, her mostly decomposed body still somewhat recognizable. Heavy of heart and soul, we combed the nearby wooded areas, finding the remains of the others, each in a different place, sometimes mostly in one piece, sometimes torn to shreds by wild beasts. My cousin’s wife was found in the center of a clearing, right hand cut off like with all others, belly bitten into by something and discoloured entrails pooled around her, eyes eaten by some bird or another. That day, I took home a couple of bottles from the bar, and we drained them to the last drop.

Meeting Hale after that became an even grimmer experience. Having our will completely drained from us, and falling in love with our murderer for the evening, only to scream and cry in pain, anger and frustration the next day, looking for his victims. After week ten went by, we found a new kind of death from the fiddler’s visits, in the form of the seamstress’ husband, found hanging in his study. Fear was rampant, with relatives, friends and lovers urging anyone in the age group that had been so strongly victimized to simply leave, taking horses and carriages from whomever necessary. And some did. But there were still crops on the fields, and animals that couldn’t be moved. Most of us had just enough to get by in a good year, and this had not been one of those. Some people on their twenties had young kids, or elderly relatives. Hell, I might not have anyone other than my cousin, but with the money I’d saved, the chances here with a maniac were better than starving in a nearby city.

What I did realize, though, between the twelfth and thirteenth weeks with no solution, were two things: the first was that my cousin was probably, objectively speaking, the loveliest prospect victim currently in town. The second, that a very, very small part of me finally managed to think near Hale. Those realizations didn’t come all at once, of course. After the performance was finished at the bar, and Hale left with victim number twelve (her hair curly and full, moving ever so gracefully as she waved), I looked around, smiling and laughing with everyone, still gleeful, and spoted my cousin dancing near the corner, tall and freckled, their movements swift and attuned with the song, their eyes sparkling. And Hale would be crazy not to choose them soon, I tought, and raised my glass.

So I gathered all my savings, packed my only horse with every useful thing that it could take, and sold the younger of my two cows (if there were tears, no one other than her saw them), adding the money to the pile. All that I gave to my cousin, not accepting their protests or words on the contrary. Their house had been rented, their worldly possessions were even less substantial than mine. In the end, I simply held their hands, allowing them to see exactly how worried I was.

“You’re next, Will. I’m sure of it. So, you’re gonna take all that, and just go. Don’t look back, don’t worry about anything other than following the road, and getting to a place where you’re safe, and settled. Then - and only then! - you find someone to send me a message. Ok?”

Tears were now running free as they clutched my hands like a lifeline, trying to keep the words steady.

“But.. But Helen… And you? What will you do?”

I lifted the corner of my mouth, faking a confidence that I didn’t have, saying the words I knew would make Lou go, even if by saying it I was committing to my own demise, regardless of it being, then, nothing but a lie.

“Well, hon, it’s high time someone kills that bastard, don’t you think?”

***/***/***

The thirteenth night came two days after Lou went away. Part of me was scared that Hale wouldn’t show up, that he’d somehow found my cousin on the road and gotten them anyway. Like clockwork, however, there he was, glorious as always, smiling his blinding smile, flirting with the world. For a second, nothing was changed on the routine: he’d come, we’d admire him, than he’d play, and after we’d all party until he chose his victim.

Blame it on the relief, blame it on the sentence uttered as a goodbye but, this time, instead of being paralyzed, in awe and blank of mind, the moment I saw him, the first thing I could think was good, Hale actually came!. So, I did what anyone would do when seeing someone they’re happy to have around, and waved.

The fiddler’s eyes focused on me, and he tilted his head, appraisingly, as he waved back with an even bigger smile. I considered winking, or flirting with him, but thought better of it. If I did so, there was a good chance he’d take me along at the end of the evening and, as brilliant as that seemed, what I was happy was in having him there. So, I should help him feel comfortable there, instead. Maybe he’d even stay for good? That would be the best thing ever.

As a debated within myself, things went back to normal. The red fiddle made its appearance and, while it was played, nothing else mattered. The things I’d been thinking fizzled out of existence, unimportant again. Only a couple of hours after he’d stopped did I start thinking again, serving drinks with the same fixed idea of keeping him there. Part of me was screaming, saying something I couldn’t understand, begging me to keep him where he was. To keep him there, and maybe to take a look at his fiddle…?

Before I could investigate this line of thought, and anything else could come of it, however, he started getting up, holding the hand of my boss’ kid, their pristine white hair always contrasting prettily against the wooden surfaces around. Without thinking, I lifted my hand towards him, as if asking to be taken along as well. He laughed, and everyone else along (me, included; how not to, when it was Hale laughing?).

“Next time, maybe. Today, milady, I’m already spoken for”.

He bowed, and the couple left. As per usual, it took about thirty minutes for the screams of joy to become those of despair, time enough for him to leave the town and disappear as if by magic. This day, I didn’t yell, or curse, or run straight to the woods. Instead, I walked, calmly, slowly, home, and planed Hale’s next visit.

***/***/***

When he showed up for the fourteenth and, I hoped, last time, my head was even clearer than the previous time. As everyone stared, I raised a glass to him, and drank from it, staring into his eyes. He raised an eyebrow as the smile once again grew, blood-red fiddle going to his hands, song filling the air. My objective, today, was not to make him feel at home. I wanted to be taken, to go with Hale. I didn’t want to be left behind again. So, all through the night, I danced with him, and touched his hair, and sat as close as possible. We drank, and flirted, and I sang. Nearing dawn, he put his arm around my waist, and whispered on my ear.

“Well, milady, you’ve done it today. Come with me to where music is born.”

And I took hold of his other hand myself, as we walked to the exit, hearing the chorus behind. The city was silent, but we talked about songs we liked, and about the events of that evening’s party, giggling like teenagers. Somewhere in the back of my mind, the compulsion to take his fiddle away from him was growing again, but I reined in, not wanting to spoil our date.

As we stepped out of the outskirts of town, and into the woods proper, I looked behind, quickly and out of curiosity at the sudden change in the wind, and saw no sign of any buildings or roads: there were nothing there but trees. Grinning, I looked back at him.

“And how did you do that?”

He laughed again, running a hand through my hair.

“Well, my dear, don’t you know by now? It’s magic. But, you have a smart mouth on you, don’t you? Most people don’t ask anything of me.”

More of my head was clear now, enough so that I could actually start remembering that, yes, I definitely needed him not to play that fiddle near me again. Enough that I could, be it a little, remember Lou leaving. Still, Hale was touching me, and his face was so beautiful, that I couldn’t imagine making him mad. I leaned in, slowly, drawing him close all the while, and told him in a whisper:

“There’s a lot of things this smart mouth knows how to do, not only talk. Want me to show you?”

He chuckled, and all the amusement in the universe dripped from his voice as he stepped away - not a lot, just enough for us to stop touching and for him to have better mobility as he reached back.

“God, I wish I could keep you. You’re way too fun for just one use. But my fiddle needs its food, milady, and I’ve only got you here…”

He took the instrument. From close, I could see that the colour wasn’t as lively as before, as if by playing some of the red had been stripped away. With the hand that wasn’t busy with it and the bow, he reached inside an inner coat pocket, drawing a, impossibly long and sharp knife, decorated like a dagger. Everytime he looked into my eyes, the clarity I felt lessened. Hale looked at me again, ant took my right hand in his, placing it on the fiddle.

“Well, no point in dragging things, dear, is there? Hold this. Let’s start.”

Before he could do anything, I wrapped my arms around his waist and kissed him. He went from startled to passionate in an instant, allowing me my small victory. I started tugging at his coat, trying to remove it, and he let me, letting go of the bow, that fell to the ground, forgotten. I made it so that my left hand found naturally the one that had his knife, even as, still clutching the fiddle with the other, I gestured with the instrument for him to remove his shirt. For a second he seemed conflicted, looking at the knife on his hand, but I pressed my body closer to his, drawing a goan from him even as I spoke again.

“I’ll hold it for a second. You don’t want to cut yourself and get blood on those clothes, do you?”

It was enough. He handed me the knife, and pulled the bottom of the shirt up, intending to remove it up his head. All the time with my eyes closed, combined with this brief barrier, though, were what I needed. Finally free from his spell, quicker than I’d ever moved before, I stabbed him with his knife one, two, three, four times. As his arms went limp, and he tried to act, I kept on stabbing, frantic now, even after he fell. Fourteen times I stabbed him, until finally I stopped, breathing hard, as I felt something different from the fear and relief and desperation.

In my mindless state, I kept on holding the fiddle. Now, its bottom rested against the mess that had once been Hale’s chest. I watched as the wood sucked in the blood, renewing its colour once again, feeding on the life force of its former master. And I could feel the power resonating from it, inviting me to play, to take it for me. After all, what did I have to lose? And, if I did, they’d all love me unconditionally. They’d worship me, if so I wanted. All I had to do was touch the bow to the strings, and feed the fiddle when it got hungry. It was so very easy. No more struggling to get by, no more thin months when I had to count my food oh-so-carefully. And I just had to…

In a swift movement, I smashed the fiddle against the ground, hitting it again and again until its voice didn’t talk anymore. Just to be on the safe side, I jumped on it a few more times, and broke the bow in two. Red blood drained from the wood, that became gray and old. I strapped the knife to my waist, using some of his coat as a makeshift sheath. Than, and only than, I turned and started to make my way through the woods, looking for the path home and murmuring under my breath:

“Curse Hale’s bloody fiddle and curse the fiddles bloody tongue.”

[ethereal-wishes]

A Brazen Beauty

A Brazen Beauty A/AN: This was written for an anon which prompted: "Belle gets her face smeared with mud like Bae did in the Dark Castle. Belle comes back from the village, throws her basket aside on the table and rushes past Rumple to the kitchens to clean up. Startled, Rumple follows her, and finds out what's happened. Belle – maid of the Dark One – strolled down the dirt lane towards the market square. She clutched her weaved basket at her side, scanning the crowds. It was a rare day when Rumpelstiltskin sent her to market for fresh straw. As of late he'd become more lenient, allowing her to leave the castle. Today he'd sent her on an errand, though she knew it was more for her benefit than his. He knew she relished the fresh air, enjoyed being among the villagers, instead of being stuck in his musty castle day in and day out. Belle inhaled the crisp air deeply. The snow had thawed but winter's chill still clung in the atmosphere. She pulled her cloak more securely around her shoulders, beaming when she located the correct vender. She absentmindedly allowed her hood to fall around her shoulders, her russet curls glowing auburn under the sunlight. As she was about to approach the straw vender, she heard obnoxious sneering and guffawing behind her. Belle pealed her ears, turning on her heel to see what the fuss was about. Three lanky villagers stood a stone's throw away, pointing and laughing in her direction. Belle furrowed a delicate brow, sauntering towards them. "Can I help you?" A man with a sandy blond beard and dirty hair aimed his toothless grin at her. "'ell if it isn't the monster's whore. Rufus said it might be you, but I couldn't for a second believe a maiden as beautiful as yourself would spread your legs for that foul beast," he jeered. Belle felt her cheeks flame with humiliation. "How dare you make that assumption!" She scowled, her brows pinching together in a tense line. A man with ebony hair tied back, pushed his comrade aside, smirking. "Aye, and what makes you think we shouldn't? You've shacked up with a beast; why else would a monster keep you except for his carnal pleasure?" "He's no monster!" Belle defended, unconcerned about the accusations they'd made towards her. Her reputation be damned, but she wouldn't allow them to talk about her master in such a crude way!In a split second, she balled her petite hand into a fist, drawing it back and punching the dark haired man square in the nose. "Bloody hell! You slut!" he cursed, holding his nose in agony. "If she's proud to be bedding a monster, then let's make her look like one!" The third man behind him shouted. When Belle realized her mistake, she attempted to run away, but the men were more agile. They picked her up – kicking and screaming – and threw her into a pit of mud. The bloke she'd punched in the face pressed her face into the mud. "Go home to your monster, whore!" One of them bit back, spitting on her for good measure. Belle groaned, pulling herself from the mud. Her clothes were ruined, and so was her cloak. She'd found nearby stream, and scrubbed the mud from her face and washed her cloak as thoroughly as she could. She shivered, hanging her head in shame as she she marched back to the Dark Castle. Tears stung at her eyes, but she held them at bay, stalking into the great hall. Rumpelstiltskin was spinning, his eyes transfixed on the wheel. Belle slammed the empty basket on the table near him. He flinched, gazing up at her quizzically. "Belle?" he queried. Belle didn't acknowledge him, rushing past him towards the kitchens. He halted the wheel, opting to follow her. When he entered the kitchen, he noted Belle's meadow hued cloak was slung precariously in a corner, caked with mud. She was bent over a washing trough, scrubbing her face with a washcloth. Rumpelstiltskin swallowed hard, touching her shoulder lightly. She stiffened, jerking away from him. He dismounted beside her, placing his talon against her dirty cheek. He guided her face towards him, his amber irises growing wide with consternation. "Gods, what happened to you, Belle?" he demanded, brushing a stray tear away from her dirt stained cheek. Belle huffed out a dry humorless chuckle. "The villagers did it, said I deserved to look like a monster since I'm sharing one's bed." Rumpelstiltskin stifled back his vexation. Now wasn't the time to storm the village and disembowel the scoundrels. No, there would be time for that later. Right now, Belle, needed his attention. "You're hurt." His gaze was tender as he spied her swollen hand, an ugly purple bruise beginning to form at its base. He gently touched it, a soft red glow emanated from his hand, healing her abrasion. "I refused to go down without a fight," she supplied, her tone defeated. 'However I was defending your honor, too. They kept calling you a monster, and I wasn't going to stand for that." Rumpelstiltskin's heart swelled with emotion at his maid's declaration. "You shouldn't defend my honor, Belle. There's nothing honorable about me, for I am indeed a monster," he replied, shaking his head in dejection. "Well I know there's a man behind the beast. I chip back those layers a little more each day, and the fact you're concerned for my well being proves it." A small smile stretched across her face, relaxing her countenance. Rumpelstiltskin cleared his throat uncouthly. "Very well, I think you should go upstairs and have yourself a proper bath. I'll mend this for you." He picked up her discarded cloak, draping it elegantly over his shoulder. Belle's gaze sharpened. "I need you to promise me you won't go on a murderous rampage because of this. Leave those arrogant fools alone. I don't want you stooping to their level." She grasped his shoulders, sending a wave of heat coiling in his belly. "And who are you to tell me-" "Rumple!" Belle shouted, gaining his attention. "I need you to promise me, those men are fools, but that doesn't mean they deserve to lose their lives. They could be fathers, and no child deserves to grow up fatherless." Her words stunned him; he nodded slowly. "I promise," he rasped, unable to deny her plea. Belle sighed in relief. "Good." She released him, ready to head upstairs when he called for her. "Belle." She turned around, her stomach flipping funnily at the way he enunciated her name. "Yes, Rumple?" "Do yourself a favor and take off the rest of the day and tomorrow, too," he insisted. "Are you sure?" she inquired, flabbergasted. "Yes, enjoy some leisurely activities or whatever it is you like to do," he appealed. "I certainly will, thank you and goodnight, Rumpelstiltskin," she wavered, picking up her skirts and ascending the stairs. Rumpelstiltskin released the breath he was unknowingly holding, admiring her as she disappeared up the winding staircase. He returned to the wheel, gingerly grasping the soiled cloak in his hands. It was ripped and muddied. "Belle deserves a new one," he told himself, contemplating on what color threads he should use. She'd amazed him today. No one had ever defended his honor, ever. His name had been tarnished since his father had abandoned him as a child. He had no hope to recover it, though he'd joined the fighting ranks in the ogres' war, he'd failed. Belle seemed to see past his inadequacies, choosing to discern something which was even invisible to him. She saw a man, not a monster, though he'd never understand why. He was grateful for her ability to see light when there was nothing but darkness. She was truly a treasure he vowed to never take for granted. A/AN: Dearest, Anon, I hope you enjoyed this! It was such a pleasure to write, though I am on a bit of a hiatus, working on my second book. I couldn't resist its pull! :)

[silvermarke-my-words]

Harrow’s Tale

This is Harrow’s main backstory. It doesn’t quite tell everything, but he doesn’t exactly know everything, either.

“Dwimberg. Harrow Dwimberg.” An interesting enough name, to the young man seated in front of the tavern’s fireplace. It wouldn’t draw attention, but it wasn’t so generic as to be boring. Harrow had quickly learned that not having a second name, a family’s name, was an anomaly among most people. Judging from the sneers of the others sat around him, however, the name alone wasn’t enough.

With a groan, one of the smaller men leaned forward, just far enough to light up half of his face. “Harrow, eh? Never heard that one ‘round these parts. Where’d you say you were from again, lad?”

“Lad? Lad? Are you hearing me, son?”

Harrow jumped, spooked out of his reverie when a hand landed on his shoulder. “Oh, sorry, Pa. Thought I heard something, was all.” Harrow rubbed his eyes before brushing his hand through his hair, his mind coming back to the task at hand.

“Well, come on, lad. Make sure you’ve got all your supplies. We’ll be heading out tonight, after all.” His father smiled at him, squeezing his shoulder lightly before heading on towards his own duties. With a sigh, Harrow turned and contemplated the pack he had laid on the ground, filled with almost all of his life’s possessions.

It had only been a day since they had received the news: the Keep had fallen. Harrow could hardly believe the speed with which his clan, his family, had moved. The Keep was several days’ travel away, and already their not inconsiderably large group would be on the move within the next few hours. Still, the chance of finding survivors would drop the longer they took, so it only made sense. This was their way of life that was at stake, after all.

Harrow leaned back, smiling, as he regarded everyone around him. Their eyes were still suspicious, but considerably less so compared to the first impressions. He was a perfectly friendly face, after all, even they couldn’t deny that.

With a dismissive wave of his hand, Harrow answered the man’s question. “An unimportant place up north. Not noticeable enough to put on a map, let alone name.” At their disbelieving eyes, he added, “We’re a very isolated group up there, you must understand. Of course, the people that traveled that far north to found the village stayed there. We’ve never had too many people leave it, either, beautiful as the area is. And believe me, it is beauty. I’m surprised I made it this far, honestly.”

Harrow brought his hands up and behind his head, making himself comfortable as he continued to observe his audience. The man he had responded to leaned back, clearly satisfied with Harrow’s answer while the others regarded him with more interest and less suspicion.

“Fair enough,” the man to his immediate right took his turn to speak. “If this place is as nice as you say it is, why did you leave it, then?”

Harrow ran until his legs were on fire. Then he ran some more. His breath grew heavy, and for once, he was thankful. If he breathed hard and loud enough, maybe he could drown out the screaming from the village, from the home, he was leaving behind. They had just been about to leave when they heard the screeches, too unnatural to be any wild animal. They had never before had need for a watchman of any sort, and with the entire coven gathered together, there had been no chance of them having one now. No one had been prepared for the shadows that poured forth from the setting sun.

Now the sun was rising, and the screaming had died down. He was surprised he made it this far, and he didn’t even know if anyone else had escaped. His running slowed to a walk, his legs were on fire, but he forced himself to keep going. He didn’t know how fast those… those shadows were, but he refused to let them take him. Even if everyone else was gone, he had to keep going. If he was going to live, then he had to keep moving. The sun was high in the sky when he finally collapsed.

“I had to leave.” Harrow smiled as a drink was put in front of him. “I wouldn’t see the world if I didn’t, and, well, I couldn’t have that.”

“Ahhh.” One of the older men now. “Got that wanderlust in ya. Ya ever regret leaving? Miss your family at all?”

At this, Harrow looked down to his knees, somber. How long had it been now? Years, though he tried not to dwell on those events. It was better to look to the future, than to dwell on the past.

“No, I… I don’t regret leaving. If there’s one thing I don’t regret, it’s that.”

“And? What about the family? You saying it ain’t hard, a young man like yourself, traveling the world all alone?”

Late. All of the effort he put forth. The years he had spent building up a network of contacts, all to find the only family he had left, culminated in this day. Word had easily reached his ear of someone who knew about his mother, and his contacts were quick to ascertain both her general looks as well as her plans of travel. He had hoped to reach her destination before she did, both to make himself comfortable and to find out how dangerous this person could be. Instead, he had woken up to find the space next to him on his bed cold and empty, with the sun having already passed the horizon. Now he was running through streets and alleyways. If she was gone by the time he got there… well, he’d just have to pool his resources and find her again. He didn’t have time for patience, though. The sooner he found her, the sooner he could have a family again, something to return to after he finished his revenge.

He slowed to a walk as he neared his destination. Taking a moment to control his breathing, he stepped out into the crowded clearing. If he had arrived earlier, he might have had a chance to observe everyone that approached. As it was, Harrow resigned himself with having to make do. It wouldn’t be the first time that he had to make an approach in less than favorable circumstances.

It was a good few minutes, and Harrow was ready to call it a loss and move the next town; he’d get in contact with his informants and tell them that she got away, that they’d need to keep an eye out for her. Right as he was about to turn away, however, she caught his eye. His friends had outdone themselves, as she matched their description almost perfectly. There was an air of strength in the way she stood and walked, confidence in her interactions with others in the square. And she wasn’t alone, it seemed. Others were nearby, but not close enough to associate with each other. Still, they moved when she did, and it was hard to deny the danger inherent in them.

As he contemplated the best way to approach her, she surprised Harrow by walking up to him, allowing him to appreciate her beauty up close. And she was indeed beauty. It was, of course, in the middle of his musings when she started the conversation.

“Hello, brother.”

“...I’m your… you’re my… ah…” He had a sister. Specifically, the woman, about whom he was currently trying to extinguish the more unsavory thoughts, was his sister.

“Not completely alone, love.” Harrow shrugged nonchalantly, remembering Waverley. “I've made a few friends here and there.”

“Not enough to make them come with you, though?” One of the younger ones this time. “So you’re still alone, aren’t you?”

Harrow smirked, tilting his head at him. “Didn’t realize I was alone. I’ve got you, love, don’t I?”

While the younger man was left mumbling, the larger man stepped up to fill the void of non-conversation. “You’re past and… interests, are all well and good. That doesn’t explain why you’re here.” His suspicion had never went away, evidently. “Why did we find you snooping around the hallways here.”

It had been a hard-fought journey to get where he was. Not an entirely unpleasant one, though, Harrow thought to himself as he remembered his night with the intoxicating Lue. It was all worth it, though, as he stood in front of Moratus, his new teacher. He remembered making his way to Lazio and using Lue’s name to get to Fulmen. He had been turned away at first, Fulmen not even willing to give him the time of day. Moratus had seen his potential, and was willing to give him the abilities and powers needed to enact his revenge. And so there he stood, ready and willing to learn. Months passed under Moratus’s tutelage, and he learned quickly, though he didn’t know if that was thanks to Moratus or his own abilities. Finally, though, he was given his own lead.

“I’m searching for someone. For a friend, that is.” Harrow sat up straighter, taking a drink of his mug before continuing, “It’s a favor that benefits us. He’s been teaching me about the world, and in return I find this person for him. I managed to follow him to this town, but I lost the trail.” With a shrug, Harrow went back to his drink, not willing to say too much more.

“That sounds like assassin work…” Harrow wasn’t sure who had said it, it was whispered so quietly, but the effect on the atmosphere was palpable. The conversations all around the room ceased to a stop as the various patrons turned to look at Harrow’s own talks. Soon whispered accusations could be heard.

“Assassins are dirty work.”

“We don’t like killers here.”

“Which one of us is he gonna off.”

Perhaps it was time to leave. If he did it now, though, a few would doubtless follow his trail. There wasn’t much of a way for him to get out unscathed with these villagers working themselves up as much as they were now.

“He’s not bad. He’s just following someone, he never said he was an assassin.” The young one again. And one of the others got up to stand in front of him. It seemed he had been friendly enough to gain a few defenders. Soon enough, though, between the suspicion and the alcohol, the tension in the room exploded, and shouting soon turned into a brawl. Harrow took advantage of the chaos to slip out of the tavern unnoticed. Wiping himself down, he began making his way out of town. He had been telling the truth, after all. He had lost the trail of the person he was looking for, so there was no point in staying in the town. He had other leads to follow, after all.

He hadn’t gone too far when he found himself roughly pushed towards a wall. Instinctively, he reached for his crossbow, only to have it knocked out of his hand, soon finding himself pressed against the same wall. The smell of alcohol clearly let Harrow know who he was dealing with.

“I’m not, not just gonna let you get away with killing one of our own.” Harrow tried closing his nose, anything to keep as much of the smell of alcohol out as possible. “So ‘m gonna make sure you don’t get the chance to hit your mark.” The sharp sound of a knife reached his ears, and Harrow closed his eyes as the sound of blood filled the air.

Harrow doubled over from the blow to his gut, coughing as he tried to recover.

“First things cleared. We’re working together, but I do not like you, we are not friends, and I hold no sympathy for you.” With a grunt, Harrow tried to stand up straight, looking at the diuris with as much hate as he could muster. “Second, we need to both benefit from this alliance. If you can’t hold your weight, I will leave you to die. Loud talkers come a feather a dozen, and frankly, I don’t care if our boss took an interest in you. If you die, you die, and you get replaced.”

Finally, Harrow leaned on the nearby counter, taking the chance to finally catch his breath. “I don’t suppose you have a name to match that wonderful personality of yours, love?”

Before he could react, he found himself on the floor, though he at least expected a response of some kind this time around, as helpful as it was. “Third, you will not call me ‘love.’” The diuris stood over him, his weapons in hand. “I am Shrannik.”

Harrow grimaced as he wiped the blood off his face. He had planned to take a leisurely stroll out of the town. Now their suspicions would be, in the townspeople’s eyes, confirmed.

“I’m sure there were other ways to solve that.” He frowned, looking down at the dead body with distaste.

“The first could perhaps be not starting a bar brawl.” Shrannik turned away dismissively, wiping the blood off his blades before sheathing them. “I suppose we don’t have much of a chance of getting more info here.”

Harrow waved his hand dismissively as he began walking. “Relax, I’ve got more threads to follow. We should get away from this crime first.”

“We’ll find that Hunter fellow soon enough.”

[shewhowantsmouseears]

Love Like Lava, 9

Notes: As always, big thanks to my amazing editors Drucilla and BlueShifted!

There are certain jokes in here I've wanted to use for ages. Also, I reused a storybit in there.

Summary: As Agalma adjusts to the world of the living, Minnie decides to leave the world of the lazy. A gauntlet is tossed into the ring, and another secret is kept from Mickey.

Much like how Minnie didn't know what to do as a goddess of love and beauty, many mortals weren't sure how to use her. She still got standard offerings, since it would have been inappropriate not to do so, but it was mostly Goofy who left anything with real meaning. He was also unsure of several things – like how to say “thanks, but please never ever EVER do that again” in the language of offerings. After seeing Goofy leave his latest offering, Agalma wanted to do it herself, but she'd yet to earn any money of her own. She kept this in mind as they went to the market, already needing to refill their supplies now that they had two mouths to feed.

It was a warm, busy day in the marketplace, but people still found the time to glance at Goofy and his girl. Many had speculated who she was – a distant cousin? A visiting friend? - yet none wanted to be the first to step up and simply ask. They were so used to the status quo of Goofy being unpopular that they didn't know how to handle evidence to the contrary. However, this would be the day that things would come around, as Goofy was mentally debating the cost of fresh fruit versus dried fruit. As Agalma patiently waited for him to make a decision, she caught the sight of Bouncer Beagle snatching an apple from a farmer's stall and walking away.

“Oh, are those free?” Agalma called after him, visibly startling everyone in the area. She'd yet to master the concept of how loud one's voice should be in public, which was especially difficult since she enjoyed making loud noises. “Can you tell me which ones are free? We're having a hard time shopping!”

Bouncer whipped around, narrowing his eyes at the innocent questions. “Are you bein' smart with me?” he snarled, crushing the apple in his hand. “I don't like when anybody is smart with me!”

Goofy quickly stepped in front of Agalma, meeting Bouncer's angry eyes with his own. “Don't you go pickin' on her just cause she caught you in the act! If you've got the coin, then spend it!”

“Stay out of this, goof,” Bouncer snorted, rolling his shoulders, trying to make himself seem taller than Goofy. He kept glaring at Agalma, who merely blinked back at him in confusion. “You better listen up, babe! You must be new here, 'cause no one messes with the Beagles!”

“Oh, I'm not new,” Agalma chirped, unable to recognize danger as it stared at her. “I've been with Goofy my whole life!”

Bouncer's temper faltered as he was presented with that odd statement. “What...? Now hey! I ain't no dummy, and I've been here my whole life! I'd have seen you before!”

“Oh, well, I wasn't able to go out before. I've mostly stayed in Goofy's bedroom ever since he first started working on me.”

Anyone who had been trying to ignore the escalating “argument” could no longer do so after that! Goofy's cheeks reddened, but he couldn't exactly deny it – it was the truth in its own fashion. “Uhhh. Agalma, you might wanna... reword that a little better, next time someone asks?”

Agalma looked back at him with raised eyebrows. “I should? Then how should I say it?” She cupped her chin in contemplation. “Hmmm...How about, you helped me with my figure? Does that make it better?”

It absolutely didn't, as evidenced by Bouncer's sudden shouting, spitting salvia with ever stutter. “A-A-Are you kiddin' me? I can't get any girl to look my way, but you two... are you really sayin' you two...You let that clumsy dog put his hands all over you?”

“Of course, he's done that for years! He's very good at what he does.”

Goofy slapped a hand over his eyes. “Aw, boy.” Now he could feel everyone's eyes on him, especially some of the village women who were now letting their imaginations run wild. The marketplace felt extra crowded today of all days – including one man who no one even knew was there. “Listen, we just wanted to get some food for the week! Can we pretend none of this ever happened?”

Maybe on another day, Bouncer would have been eager to get this whole mortifying ordeal over with and let things pass so he could go back to Ma. But this would be one of many coming days that would go out of control. Minnie and Daisy weren't the only divine beings that entered the village for their own idea of entertainment. With the lack of war to witness, Pete sometimes came down to the mortal plane to help stir up trouble. Let things peacefully go without any further trouble? Not on his watch! Mortals were much more amusing to watch when they let their emotions get the best of them and cause havoc for even the smallest of reasons.

Pete grinned wickedly as he stood behind Bouncer, invisible to all. While he couldn't possess a person to do exactly what he wanted, he could fan the flames of anger to get something similar. All it required was a single touch – like flicking the back of Bouncer's head with a finger. Just like that, Bouncer's ire was up, and now he suddenly couldn't let this lesser oaf get the best of him, even if it was just by having a pretty mate. “I ain't got that good an imagination, goof! You want me to pay up? Then I'll pay up!” He reached over and snatched the pouch of coins from Goofy's hand. “This should be plenty!”

“H-Hey!” Goofy tried to object, but Agalma was faster – she latched onto Bouncer's arm with her arms and legs.

“Give that back!” Agalma announced, not caring how ridiculous she looked or even what the concept of ridiculous was. “Goofy worked very hard for that money, and it doesn't belong to you.”

“Agalma! Get off him, you might get hurt!” But Goofy didn't know how to pry her off without making things worse.

Bouncer was flabbergasted – what woman in her right mind would do this? “Get off'a me! I ain't afraid to hurt a lady!” He tried to shake her off, but she wouldn't budge.

It wasn't exactly what Pete had wanted, but he supposed it was better than nothing. Now all he had to do to make this a real bloodbath was make the woman even angrier. He rubbed his fingers together, and walked over to poke her in the forehead – and then immediately pulled back. Whenever he touched a person, he could see their entire past, so he could draw up their worst temper tantrums and harshest memories, even if they'd long since forgotten them. But there was something wrong with this woman – there was a gigantic gaping hole in her memories! She was awake in Goofy's room – and that was it. Pete didn't have the power to see the memories of inanimate objects, so he had no idea that she held those as well. Still, how strange, to suddenly be a grown woman with nothing behind it – no childhood, no fights, no feelings before that day? What was she?

As Pete scratched his head in befuddlement, Agalma wouldn't let go, her own anger slightly increased by Pete's touch. “Give it back, give it back, give it back!”

“Agalmaaa!” Goofy pulled on his long ears in whining worry. What would make her stop this reckless behavior? Millicent would never have done anything so foolish! “You're makin' a scene, just let him go!”

Agalma craned her head slightly to respond to Goofy's cry. “Is me making a scene really that much worse than this man stealing money?”

Of course it wasn't – yet that was a shocking revelation to everyone but Pete, who was still fixated on Agalma's emptiness, and Bouncer, who was too mad to care. Maybe she was being humiliating, but was that really hurting anybody, as opposed to theft, which clearly hurt those who were victim to it? “At least I'm doing something!” she added, her weight now beginning to drag Bouncer lower. “How else is he going to know it's wrong if I don't do something?” Just like she learned it was wrong to wear Millicent's necklace – although that lesson had been a bit more painful – Agalma figured it was really no different.

Maybe it was the guilt she was unknowingly slinging, or the idea that this bizarre woman might get hurt, or both – but the farmer who'd been selling the apples finally spoke up. “I – I think you should fork over some cash for what you stole, Beagle! And I don't mean his!”

Bouncer was so rarely opposed that his anger fluctuated between that and confusion. “Huh? You – you tryin' to be smart with me? I'll take you on too!”

“Everyone's smart with you, because you're so dumb!” shouted the local fisherman. “I'm sick of your little brother always grabbing my catch!”

“And tell your Ma to leave my place alone!” yelled the nearby baker. “If she wants a loaf, she can buy it like an honest woman!”

Voices continued to rise up, one by one, years of resentment having built up until this very day. Goofy slowly looked around, wondering if the community had always been this big – the village seemed smaller when no one would talk to him. Millicent had always said just to ignore those who couldn't appreciate him. This was different somehow.

“You guys owe me thousands! It's time you started paying back!”

“You come near my shop again, I'll get my whole family to kick you out!”

“Why don't you beat it, you lousy Beagle!”

Bouncer tried to catch up with every accusation, but even someone as strong and dumb as he was could tell he couldn't take on everyone at once. “I...I... H-Hey! Beagles don't pay for nothin'! You're all gunna regret this!” But first he had to deal with the little lady that started it all. She hadn't let him go, and was even sticking her tongue out at him, a fun expression she learned from passing children. “Why you little...I'll teach you to make a fool out of me!” He raised his fist, intending to make her face as black as her fur.

Goofy had never been in a real fight. He'd been picked on for most of his life and learned to take it in stride. When someone else pushed, he would fall back and let whatever happened, happen. So what if he got hurt? Life would go on. Because of this, he never learned the right way to throw a punch. It could be said that this was beginner's luck in this case – because he perfectly socked Bouncer so hard in the nose that everyone in the marketplace could hear a thunderous CRACK of bone. A hush swept the crowd. Agalma didn't understand the significance of the action, but when Bouncer's body fell over, she did too – which allowed her to snatch the satchel right back. She joyfully held it up in her hands and stood next to Goofy, still oblivious. “Look, we got it back! I think everything's going to be okay now.”

Bouncer laid there for what felt like a long time, but in reality was five seconds. He shakily touched his now bent nose, feeling wet drops of blood underneath it. “You...you brode my node!” His speech was slurred due to his new nostril alignment, and it made more than a few villagers snicker. “You brode my node! YOU BRODE MY NODE!” No one had ever struck him before, not even his vicious mother. As he rose to his feet, there was only one thing he could think of to do, in response to getting hurt for the very first time in his life.

He ran home bawling to his mother. “MAAAAAA! HE BROOOODE MY NOOOOODE!”

That caused the entire village to burst into joyous laughter, as if a great evil had been vanquished. Goofy stared down at his hand which was still closed into a fist. He wasn't entirely sure what had come over him. His eyes found themselves back on Agalma, who was proudly holding out the money he had lost. “You...you could've gotten real hurt, Agalma.”

“Yes, but we got the money back. And money's important, isn't it? You say you always need more of it, so I couldn't let him have it.” Back in her days of immobility, she'd heard him say time and time again how low his finances were, so she certainly wasn't going to let such a necessity get away, even if she still didn't grasp it all. “Does this make you happy, Goofy?” Would that heal his heart, as Aphrodite wanted?

Had she done this to make him happy? Goofy swallowed, feeling sadness crawl up despite the continuous happiness of those around him, villagers clamoring to each other about how they'd never let the Beagles bully them again. “Money's important, sure, Agalma...but life's much more important. I don't ever want you risking your life like that again, all right?”

Agalma tilted her head, pushing the satchel into Goofy's hands. “Will that make you happy?”

“Yes, but – but – that's not – you shouldn't just do things because of me! You should do things because they're what you want to do!”

“But I want to make you happy,” Agalma replied, growing uneasy at the despair in Goofy's tone. The last time he sounded so upset, he'd ripped the necklace off her body, and she touched her neck again, worried something similar would happen. “Did I do something wrong? Goofy, I just want to help you.”

Goofy didn't have the words to explain the agony in his heart – that she shouldn't feel as if she existed solely for him. How would that be any different than a master owning a slave? She deserved to be her own person, with her own wants and desires, and how would she ever learn to do that if she constantly tried to make him happy? Before his mind could reel any further, he was jostled by the farmer shaking his shoulder. “Why, I've been wanting to do that for years! The one time you don't trip up, and it's for the best thing anyone in the village has ever done!”

“Uh, thanks?” He assumed that was a compliment.

“Listen, if you're that hard up for money, what you ought to do is enter the chariot race next month!” The farmer continued shaking Goofy's shoulder back and forth, his sentences smashing into each other with quick excitement. “In the next town over, my cousin, Sir Gyro De Gearloose, he's been looking for someone to enter the race with! I'll send him a message, I'm sure even you can't mess up that badly! Even third place pays!”

This was more than anyone in the village had ever spoken to him in a lifetime, and it was so overwhelming that Goofy didn't know what to say. So Agalma said it for him. “He'll do it!”

Goofy blinked, still being pushed back and forth, feeling as if his brain was being pushed back and forth as well. “I will?”

“You will!” the farmer agreed, finally letting go so he could clap his hands. “Great! He'll probably want to meet you first, and I'll send him your way! Oh, this is grand, just grand! Maybe we should make this day a holiday – Break A Beagle Day!” He laughed hard at his own joke, already leaving Goofy's sight so he could start his letter.

“What a fun day,” Agalma said, hands on her hips. After a brief moment of thought, she looked at Goofy. “I don't know anything about chariot racing.”

“Neither do I,” Goofy said, his shoulders slumping. “I've heard those things can be really dangerous! Agalma, you shouldn't have agreed right away! Millicent never would've put me through anythin' like that!”

“You said I wasn't Millicent. I'm Agalma.”

It was an obvious fact but a true one all the same. Goofy opened and closed his mouth, unable to think of a reply since – well – wasn't he frustrated because he wanted her to have individuality? It'd certainly be a step backwards if he stopped it now. This kind of thinking was far harder than what he was used to, and a headache was growing. “Well...what's done is done, I suppose,” he finally decided, tossing up the satchel in his hand. “If that Gyro fellow does come on by, I'll just tell him no. I make statues, I ain't good at anythin' else.”

“And you're good at breaking noses,” Agalma said with a smile, lightly poking Goofy's own. And for what felt like the first time in days, Goofy found himself smiling back.

“Maybe so.” He held up a fist, but then he shook his head. “I don't like fightin' folks. I'd prefer things go all peaceful-like... but. Well. Some folks just don't wanna be peaceful. Gotta keep that in mind. Not everyone's gunna stop what they're doin' if we just ask 'em. Never heard of a war that ended with a 'pretty please'. Guess this makes you a whole lot smarter than the rest of us.” Maybe he didn't entirely like this individual named Agalma, but at least she was her own person. An odd person, but a good person. “Thank you, Agalma. For gettin' my coins back.”

Finally satisfied, Agalma's smile appeared to stretch for miles. It wasn't the same dainty prettiness that Millicent had, but a gawky, silly grin. “You're welcome! Now let's finally buy some food! All this excitement made me really hungry! It's not a fun feeling.”

“No it ain't, you're right.” With the matter done with, they resumed their shopping trip, hoping the day's ordeals would only last for today. However not everyone was content with how things ended. Pete would have torn out his hair if he had any, and his fur was too short to do so. He wanted a big, bloody brawl, maybe throw in a food fight, and all he got one was one broken nose and a crybaby? A happy ending with a weird woman and everyone getting along?

“Do I have say 'pretty please' to start a war?!” he yelled at the top of his lungs, even knowing full well no one would hear him. “Cowards, all of you are great big cowards! I want a war! I want any war! Just give me a war, you stupid, weak, useless mortals!” He ranted and raved, stomping around much like a toddler when denied their favorite toy. So what if Bouncer was in pain? Who cared about the pain of a mortal, when Pete's entertainment was at stake!

“You prefer racing over fighting?” Pete snarled when he was in front of the farmer, unable to conjure up any anger in the old man due to the mortal being in such a pleasant mood. “Fine! I'll make it the bloodiest, angriest, most violent race you've ever seen!” Was he being ridiculously petty? Yes. Did he care? No. The only reason mortals existed was to be the pawns of the gods, so it should serve that he could do whatever he wanted to them. He'd make this race one for the history books – maybe he could even invite Aphrodite along, so she could coo and fawn at his ability to manipulate mortals.

Come to think of it, she hadn't been around Mount Olympus lately. With such a gorgeous girl leaving so often, an obvious gap had been created. They had all assumed she would return in time, and since she was the goddess of love and beauty, she was probably admiring her reflection in various rivers or...that was the most Pete could come up with. Since he didn't see past her beauty, he couldn't fathom her doing any differently, despite all the various times she'd snapped and barked at him for doing so. Oh well, she was just a woman, they had different moods all the time. Pretty girls meant empty heads – to think otherwise would mean she was out of his league, and Pete wasn't going to welcome that thought.

Before Pete returned to the mountain to plan, he glimpsed at Agalma once more. He contemplated telling the others on Mount Olympus what he learned, but ultimately decided he wouldn't. If his chariot race didn't work out, she'd be Plan B. For now, he didn't want to solve her mysteries. Mysteries meant thinking, and great thinking was not Pete's specialty. Unlike Minnie, who enjoyed learning new things, Pete detested the idea of learning, as to him it meant he wasn't as smart as he knew he was. He was a god, he knew enough.

Had Pete skipped the entire fight, he might have been on Mount Olympus in time to see his point proven – that learning things didn't always lead to a good time.

~*~

Before Agalma and Goofy went to the market that day, Minnie had returned to Mount Olympus on a mission. It felt like ages since she was last in this fluffy paradise, and she didn't want to stay there long, now that she knew all of its sins and sinners. She hid behind thrones and pillars, hoping to avoid everyone's line of sight. Minnie didn't want to be there any longer than she had to be, and she hoped that luck was on her side as she slowly approached the thrones belonging to Zeus and Hera, king and queen of the gods.

Luck was ignoring her today, however, as not only was Hera there, despondently loafing about, but so was Zeus, who was talking about a visit he had to his brother Poseidon. Hera was barely listening, but Zeus didn't care as he just enjoyed the sound of his own voice. Minnie was momentarily in disbelief that such selfish individuals could have created as loving a soul as Mickey's, but speculating on that would do her no good. She was here for the flowers that grew between the thrones, or more specifically, the nectar that dripped from them.

Ambrosia – the immortal elixir that allowed gods and lesser divine beings to recover from all wounds and avoid the hand of death, even if, as Minnie found out, the hand of death was quite pleasant. If it had saved Daisy, perhaps it could cure Mickey's leg – not that Minnie thought Mickey needed fixing. But he clearly hated it, and blamed many of his misfortunes on it, so perhaps if his leg was “normal” he would be happy. Mickey's happiness meant Minnie's happiness. She might even get a kiss or two of gratitude – if he finally awoke to the fact she was slavishly in love with him. Maybe ambrosia cured obliviousness too.

So how was she supposed to snatch one of those flowers without being caught? Minnie mulled over this, sticking out her lower lip in an adorable pout as she hid behind a column. If she understood it right, gods were supposed to come to the ambrosia, not have it brought to them. If she tried to pluck one, they'd ask questions, and she doubted they'd welcome her answer, given how easily Zeus and Hera abandoned their child. Just thinking about that awful story caused Minnie's grief and anger to rise again, glaring fire at the two most powerful gods in existence whose souls she felt were colder than ice. Mickey didn't long for revenge, but she wouldn't mind it, or at least a damned apology -

“Hey babe, long time no see!”

Wow, luck was not only against her, it actively hated her. Minnie didn't have to turn her head to know which one was speaking to her. “Hello, Mortimer,” she whispered, hoping he'd get the clue that she was hiding for a reason.

He didn't. “I've been wondering where your lovely little face has been lately! I tell you, a day without seeing your face is like a day without sunshine! And a day without seeing that behind is like-”

“Can I help you?” Minnie swiftly turned around, hoping she could give him a scrap of attention so he could go away faster. “I'm in the middle of something, so unless you really need me...”

“Of course I really need you! I always really need you.” Mortimer lazily dropped his arm around Minnie's shoulder, wine sloshing in his goblet. In his case, he felt like luck was shining upon him, since he didn't have to share her with anyone else for this brief moment in time. “You know, I've always felt we've had this special connection, you and I. You're a mouse, I'm a mouse. I drink, and people drink up your beauty.” He tried to think of anything else they had in common and came up with nothing. It was good enough. “Everyone's missed you, but I've missed you the most. Now, what is it you're in the middle of, besides my arms?”

Minnie glanced quickly at the flowers before looking back at Mortimer. If there was ever a chance for him to prove to be more than a drunken pervert, this was it, if he could help her grab a flower. Perhaps he could help her sneak to the thrones, since he'd lived here longer than she had. As she carefully thought this over, remembering all the times he'd tried and failed to win her over, something stood out – her first couple of days on Mount Olympus, with all the endless partying over her introduction. Someone had said she was smaller than Hephaestus – and now she could remember who it was. “Mortimer, do you remember what you told me when I first came here?”

“That you were gorgeous, alluring, graceful, dazzling...”

Minnie rolled her eyes as Mortimer went through an entire thesaurus, and she waved her hand to try and speed things up. “Yes, yes, yes, and what else? That I was smaller than Hephaestus?”

“Oh yeah, I did say that, didn't I? Sometimes I'm amazed at my own cleverness. Ha-cha-cha!” He felt he should be rewarded with a big gulp before continuing. “Probably shouldn't have said it, it's a big hush-hush all around these parts. But then I was most likely drunk when I said it. I'm most likely drunk when I say anything. I remember the day that little squirt was born. I always doubted it was Zeus' kid. How could anything from that big guy be so small? And what a name, Hephaestus!”

Those who are inebriated are often unaware of how loud they're speaking, or don't care about their volume, and Mortimer was both. Minnie waved her hands, trying to make him quiet himself. “Mortimer, keep it down!”

“I mean really, Hephaestus? Sounds like a whooping cough!”

“Mortimer, stop saying his name!”

“Stop saying what? Hephaestus?”

Third time's the charm, so it's said. There was only so many times someone could shout the forbidden name before the one who forbade it overheard. Hera suddenly sat up straight, all of the veins popping in her skin, and a screeching, booming voice echoed itself all over the mountain. “WHO DARED SPEAK THAT ABOMINATION'S NAME?!”

The last time Mount Olympus had gotten this quiet was that odd shaking sensation Minnie had all but forgotten about months ago. She only thought of it now as the same silence was quite the memory maker. It was easily put aside as Hera's inferno eyes found the direction from which the name came. It helped that Mortimer and Minnie were pointing fingers at each other. Mortimer liked Minnie, but he was a coward through and through. Minnie had done it on instinct.

Zeus was hardly so appalled, and he stroked his beard as he gazed upon Minnie more lavishly than she cared for. “At ease, Lady Hera! Aphrodite is still a newcomer to our utopia! It is likely she doesn't know about your law. There is no need to frighten such a delicate creature.”

“And I was very drunk,” Mortimer quickly added, speaking so quickly that all the grapes growing on his robe began flying off, hitting other deities in the face. “I was so drunk I didn't know what I was saying! I don't know what I'm saying right now! And I am in fact so drunk that if you tried to punish me I'd probably forget all about the horrendous pain you could inflict on me, so it'd be really pointless!”

Minnie gave him a side eye. “You sound like you've been saving that one.”

“Babe, you need to have one ready when Hera's home.”

“I DON'T CARE HOW LONG SHE'S BEEN HERE OR HOW BEAUTIFUL SHE IS!” Hera screamed, grabbing the arm rests and standing out of her throne. It'd been so long since she'd risen that that in and of itself was a spectacle. There were times were for months all she did was sit and drink, wallowing in self-pity. “That NAME is to never be uttered HERE...I ask for so LITTLE! I suffer so MUCH!” She pointed an accusatory finger at Minnie, causing the far smaller goddess to back up. “No matter how BEAUTIFUL you may be, you have no AUTHORITY higher than I!”

“I don't want authority!” Minnie fired back, even though she was shaking. This terrible excuse for a mother had no right to be making demands. “All I want is- ” And then she saw it.

For ages, Axelia had seemed so familiar yet Minnie could never place a name or face to her. But now that Hera stood up, in all of her flowing robes and supreme glory, Minnie could see who Axelia had been modeled after. Her mouth hung open in shock – had Mickey done so knowingly? Or had it been a subconscious desire to be cared for by the one who loathed him?

As Minnie continued to gape, Zeus straightened up in his seat, lightly pushing on Hera's arm in an attempt to make her sit back down. He was perhaps one of the few individuals who didn't fear Hera's wrath, since he was also one of the few individuals who was more powerful than her. “Jealousy does not become you, dearest wife of mine. Though I have given my love to many, only you will ever have my ring!” That earned him a wad of spit on his foot. “Disappointing, but not surprising.” He shook his head, and gave his attention back towards Minnie. “Now then! What is it that your heart desires, goddess of love and beauty? Namely ask, and it shall be yours!”

Minnie doubted it would be that easy, but if he was going to offer then she'd be a fool not to try. “I'd like to take one of those flowers and bring them to...someone.” Given Hera's reaction, Minnie didn't think saying Mickey's real name again would earn her any favors.

Zeus raised a mighty eyebrow. “Someone? Who is this someone?”

“Yeah, I wanna know too!” Mortimer yanked Minnie in close again, and now she was close enough to smell his inebriated breath. “Don't tell me you're going sweet on someone, when I'm right here!”

“It doesn't MATTER who.” Hera was back in her seat, slouching over. “The laws are CLEAR. Our flowers are to NEVER leave Mount Olympus. If your SOMEONE wants immortality, you'll have to bring them HERE. You don't get to BREAK the rules because you FLUTTER some eyelashes!”

Zeus nodded, picking one of the flowers up in his fingers. “She's right, I'm afraid! Those are the laws of the gods, and none are allowed to break them. It would be as if to break my own will!”

Minnie gave this some short thought. “But aren't you two in charge of all the gods? Can't you change the laws any way you want? Didn't you decide I should live here, even though you didn't know a single thing about me?”

Zeus and Hera said nothing, glancing at each other in quiet surprise. Somehow that minuscule application of logic was sending them reeling. Minnie had to wonder how in the world they survived ruling for so long if they were this foolish about the most trivial matters. As Zeus ran his fingers through his beard, Hera began to straighten her back, a devious smirk showing up on her lips. “You know, APHRODITE, you make a most EXCELLENT point. Your arrival here has CHANGED many things here on Mount Olympus. Almost EVERY day, all of the men here FIGHT over you, causing CHAOS and CALAMITY through our once peaceful DAYS! Maybe YOU should be BANISHED from Mount Olympus!”

If she was intending to threaten or intimidate Minnie, it fell flat. “All right,” Minnie replied with a shrug. Being banished from a place she hated to be in didn't exactly scare her. If she knew she could have been banished from here, she would have made an attempt far earlier.

As usual, Minnie received the opposite of help from the peanut gallery. “You can't do that!” Mortimer wailed, clutching his goblet to his chest as if it was his very heart. “She's the best looking thing that's lived here in centuries! You can't banish her!”

“I must oppose as well!” Gladstone joined in the clamor despite no one asking him to, and a choir of anguished voices looking down on the show served as back up all across the realm. “Why must we be punished? We can't help it that she's so beautiful! We're gods, but we're also men! It's in our very blood! There's not a man alive who wouldn't throw themselves at her!”

Minnie could think of at least three men who she wished wouldn't. “Please banish me now.”

“Stay out of this, Gladstone!” Mortimer snapped, stepping in front of Minnie so he could defend “his” territory. “There wouldn't be any fighting if you would stop trying to take my girl away!”

“Your girl? Don't make me laugh! She clearly prefers me over some buffoon who slurs instead of serenading!”

“I've got a serenade for you – it's called Ode To A Fist!”

“ENOUGH!” Hera barked, stamping her foot on the ground, the sound hard enough to break stone. “Do you SEE what trouble you cause, APHRODITE? You've done NOTHING but bring fights and bloodshed WHEREVER you go!”

“I didn't do anything!” Minnie knew that she'd have an easier time arguing with a brick wall, but if this was her going to be her last day on Mount Olympus, she was going to make it count. “I've told them over and over again I'm not interested! It's not my fault they won't listen! If you two are so high and mighty enough to make laws, aren't you high and mighty enough to make your subjects obey you?” She slapped her hands on her hips, daring Zeus and Hera to defy her words. “If you're in charge, then act like it! If you don't like their behavior, then make them change! Nothing's going to happen if all you do is just sit on your behind and whine all the time!”

Zeus tapped his fingers on his armrest, rumbling deep in his throat. How he detested confrontation – it wasn't fun, and Zeus cared more for fun and pleasure than actually ruling. “I suppose asking you to stop being beautiful is the same as asking the sun to stop shining. But I hardly believe a banishment is necessary!”

Hera was in a glaring contest with Minnie, but when she closed her eyes, Minnie didn't feel as if she'd won. “You are RIGHT, my HUSBAND. Banishment isn't NECESSARY at all. There's a BETTER way to SOLVE this matter once and for ALL. Aphrodite appears to ENJOY sharing her opinion...so it will be her OPINION that will bring back our peaceful DAYS.”

Minnie was young and still learning many things, but she was no fool. There was no way this would end so easily for her. “There is?” she asked skeptically, clearing a bit of cloud from under her in case she needed to make a quick escape. She could always banish herself, after all.

Hera opened her eyes, and raised a single finger. “It is quite SIMPLE. In order to END the fighting and reserve Aphrodite's RIGHTFUL place on Mount Olympus...she must MARRY whichever god she chooses.”

Nope nope nope – but Minnie wasn't able to leap and escape, because Mortimer had grabbed yet again in what he saw as victory. “And she's going to choose me! Let's set a date, babe!”

“The only wedding you're going to is ours, Mortimer!” Gladstone had seized Minnie's other arm, ready to play tug-of-war. “And that's if I feel in a good enough mood to invite you!”

“ABSOLUTELY NOT!” Minnie screamed, pulling her arms hard enough to knock Mortimer and Gladstone's heads together. “I will NOT marry anyone! That's not a solution at all! Just tell them to stop fighting!”

“But this would stop the fighting,” Zeus settled his folded hands in his lap, glad that the matter was “dealt” with. “Just choose a man, surely even you can do that.”

“And WE make the laws, REMEMBER?” Hera sneered, enjoying the anger twisting Minnie's features – although Minnie was still astonishingly adorable even when furious. “And it is a LAW now! You WILL choose a god! And if you DON'T-”

“I refuse! I won't marry someone I won't love!”

At this, Gladstone, Mortimer, and the other contenders all began listing their reasons why she could fall in love with them.

“I'd destroy the stars for you!”

“I can turn guys into dolphins!”

“I can do a handstand!”

Which, amazingly enough, did not earn Minnie's favor.

“As you said, I am your ruler.” Zeus' voice rumbled, annoyed that Minnie was making this more difficult than it had to be. “You have no choice. You must choose a god to marry!”

“I will not!” Minnie stamped her foot down again and again, the ends of her dress beginning to burn up like wood in a fire. The ground began to rumble again, the one that shouldn't have been possible on the mountain. “You can't make me! There is absolutely no way I will ever, ever, EVER marry any of them! There isn't a single god I would ever want to-”

Wait a minute.

Minnie paused in mid-rant, raising an eyebrow as an idea came to her. She slowly began to smooth down her dress, as a calculating smile curled across her lips, and even the ends of her dress suddenly stopped burning, instead poofing up into lace. She calmly pressed her hands together and batted her eyelashes. “Do forgive me, dear Zeus. You know how silly we women can be, just letting our temper run rampant. Let me just ask one itty bitty question. If I did choose a man to eventually marry, does that mean you promise the others can't fight over me anymore?”

“Ah, now you finally see our wisdom!” Zeus laughed before her answered her. “Indeed, all shall be made to accept your decision. I will not have them turn Mount Olympus upside down because they were a sore loser.”

“Just what I wanted to hear,” Minnie chirped pleasantly, swinging her hands together as any demure damsel would. “Because I do believe I've made my choice. I know exactly who I'd like to marry. Someday.”

Gladstone ran a comb through his hair, believing himself to be the winner. Mortimer smoothed down his robes, thinking something similar, and the other gods also began to make themselves more presentable for their supposed victory. “You see, the man I want to marry,” Minnie began, sighing happily and closing her eyes as she pictured him, “is not only a handsome fellow, but also ever so kind, and creative, and smart, and funny, and just about the most perfect man I've ever known. I absolutely adore him, and I feel like I was born to meet him.” Naturally, all the silly men assumed she was describing them, and their grins became wider. “He's positively perfect in every way, and I would be happy just to watch over him for the rest of my life. He's got the most brilliant eyes, and the cutest smile, and-”

“Sometime this CENTURY, Aphrodite,” Hera grumbled, trying to figure out why her plan suddenly made Minnie happier instead of a crying wretch as desired.

“Sorry.” Minnie giggled adorably, swaying her dress around. “His name is...Hephaestus.”

Was it possible to enjoy silence this much?  Silence struck all the powerful deities, until a voice way in the back of the line asked, “Who is Hephaestus?” Minnie treasured it, just as much as she treasured the dropped jaw from Zeus.

Hera shook with the rage of a million betrayed women, teeth turning to sharp fangs as she leapt out of her throne. “YOU DARE MOCK ME?!” Her voice cracked the sky, sending many of the disappointed bachelors running.

“Mock? Never.” This time Minnie refused to back away, holding her ground for her last stand. “You said a god, I picked a god. You never said I had to choose one that was on Mount Olympus. And since I've chosen a god that doesn't live here, that means I don't have to live here either.”

“This is a joke!” Mortimer tried to insist with a nervous laugh. “She's going to make her real choice now. Right, doll?”

Minnie tilted her head back at the gobsmacked would-be grooms, smiling from one big ear to the other. “I do believe Zeus said you weren't going to fight over me once I made a choice. Right?”

Even Zeus appeared to be thrown off, grasping for words before clearing his throat. “Er...Um...I mean, yes, it is as I have decreed! She has made her decision, and that is final. Even if we don't understand it.” A pause. “We need to start putting more thought into our decrees.”

“Well now, I feel much better.” Minnie curtsied once to Zeus before jumping down into the mortal plane. As far as Minnie was concerned, this all worked out perfectly. None of the other gods ever visited Mickey, so there was no chance anyone was going to tell him what had happened. If he was unknown or hated, that wasn't going to change anytime soon. It'd just be a secret to keep from Mickey – well, another one. Surely adding one more wouldn't hurt.

And she would tell him about this odd little agreement. And her real name. She would, eventually, someday, far off in the horizon. She'd probably tell him. Maybe she'd tell him.

That was about the time when Pete returned to the mountain. He was going to huff off to his chambers, but he saw Hera pulling out her own hair, and a crowd of men who were so stunned and motionless one could mistake them for statues.

“...Did I miss somethin'?”