A/N: A short little something I wrote over at LJ and decided to post here.
Warning(s): … oddity.
N.B: No roses were harmed in the writing of this fic.
By Any Other Name (Would Smell As Sweet)
By Naranne
It was terribly boring being a flower at times, the rose decided.
Oh, indeed, one could suppose that being able to converse would be enough to pass the time. As it were, conversation with the same lot of flowers over and over again grew rather dull after a while, even adding in the random passers-by who offered titbits of chat here and there. However, with the intelligence given to such flowers to allow them the ability to speak, there came certain … other things.
And as it so happened, it was not conversation this particular thorny, red rose was interested in.
So it was that the blossom in question grew quite frustrated with the particular need which it had suddenly stumbled upon (so to speak), for, as a flower, one reproduces in a method which requires no physical contact from plant to plant. Whether such endeavours were even possible had not yet crossed its little mind, but the rose had firmly decided that it would get what it wanted, and as such, had sucked extra nutrients from the soil to bolster its brilliant red sheen, pushed itself forward so that it could survey any possible targets—partners, willing partners, of course—walking past, and forced the leaves with which it so very much liked to gesture extravagantly to their greatest length so that they were veritable tendrils.
And then it lurked at the edge of the path, and awaited its future victi—lover. Lover.
It would be subtle, at first, the flower decided. Alluring, seductive, irresistible. They would come to it. There would be no need for coercion. After all, who could resist its perfectly formed, round, glowing, centre; its shining, silky, lustrous petals; its enchanting scent; its long, sinuous, stem? The rose simply could not fathom a creature able to turn away—it would be relatively easy, it decided, to get what it wanted. It did not foresee any complications.
However, it was some time before the first unfortunate soul strolled past, and the rose had almost given up hope. Yet when a figure meandered its way toward the frustrated, bored, blossom, it perked itself up, shook itself, and posed in what it thought was a positively gorgeous manner (not that it needed any assistance being gorgeous, mind you—at least, if you were to ask the flower's own opinion on the matter).
Luck seemed to be with the desperate bloom, for a breeze billowed from behind it, its scent flowing outward, reaching the sensitive nose of the figure approaching. A nose twitched, and a voice reached it: "Oh, the flowers smell lovely this year…"
The rose grinned malevolently. It was working. Just a little closer, pet…
However, when McTwisp came into view, the rose blanched. Ugh. Fur. No matter – anyone would do, for surely, even the stodgy rabbit was sure to fall under its spell! No-one – nothing – could resist. "If you'd only come a little closer, darling," the rose purred, "you can do more than just get a mere whiff of what I have to offer."
McTwisp froze, eyes locked on the flower in disbelief. "Excuse me?"
The blossom sent a highly exaggerated, suggestive wink the rabbit's way. Just to be on the safe side, it decided, it should make its intentions perfectly clear. "You heard me, sugar."
On second thought, perhaps the sultry tone was overkill, for McTwisp bolted without so much as a word of farewell. The rose glared at his retreating back, and muttered under its breath, "Stupid fat rabbit…"
It did not occur to the sexually frustrated bloom that its admirable intentions of subtlety had been thrown right out the window with that spectacular display.
By the end of the week, the rose was growing more and more agitated. Its carefully planned attempts at seduction had all gone awry, with one particularly memorable case which had left the flower simply speechless: Thackery, notorious for bouts of lunacy, had surpassed even his own records – skipping down the path erratically, waving a soup spoon above his head, the rose had sworn it had heard him singing at the top of his lungs, "They're taking the Tweedles to Marmoreal, they're taking the Tweedles to Marmoreal-real-real-real-real… they're taking the Tweedles to—" and on and on it had gone, until the Hare was out of sight, leaving the plant to collect its jaw off the ground. All thoughts of unlawful seduction had been eradicated from its mind.
Although, when Thackery was the only being to use the winding path for the better part of that week, the rose began to consider whether an attempt might have been worth it, regardless. Surely, something was better than nothing…? After a moment's thought, however, it came to the conclusion that no, nothing was better than… whatever act of lunacy that had been.
Despite that, at week's end, the plant's luck appeared to have changed, and it determinedly replaced the petulant scowl for a look of what it hoped was alluring beauty, for wandering down the path towards it, was a perfectly seductive piece in her own right. It was no other than the Queen's Champion, a peaceful smile adorning her slightly parted lips, long, luscious curls hanging loose, and had the plant in question not been so far from sanity at that point in time, perhaps it would have considered the wisdom of its hastily hatched devious plan.
However, throwing caution to the wind, the rose stretched itself out so that she might notice it – an illusion of innocence was, after all, the best way to lure them in – and took to swaying prettily from side to side, keeping its thorny tendrils coiled and prepared to strike, hidden mostly from view. The opportune moment arrived when the youngest Kingsleigh leant down to allow herself to more fully sample the scents on offer, and the rose, after waiting in forced celibacy for a long, exhausting week of foiled seduction attempts, could wait no longer.
In a flash, the spiky plant had lashed out, gripping the Champion's wrists in its tendrils, paying no heed to how its thorns pricked her skin, or the cry of surprise as she fell forward, knees landing in the dirt. The rose cackled, small, beady eyes coming alight with lust and malice. Why, from this angle, if it stretched just so… really, it wasn't its fault, her dress was terribly immodest! It was really doing nothing wrong; nothing, at all. It grinned. "Hello, sweetling. Care to have some fun?"
Alice spluttered indignantly. "What did you say?"
Somehow, the rose found her outrage amusing and if it were to be honest, somewhat enthralling and… enticing. It groaned. Alice gaped. It dimly registered in the back of the rose's clouded mind that should she choose to, the girl could easily end the scenario right at that instant, for she was far larger than the flower.
However, just as the rose leaned in for the kill, there was an alarmed, angry shout from their left, and both Alice and the plant whipped their heads around to the source. Marching toward them, anger incredibly, incredibly evident, was the sole survivor of the Hightopp clan. The rose suddenly felt torn between its desire and its self-survival instincts, which were currently screaming at it to let go of her wrists now, now, now…
"Get yer hands off my Alice ye slurvish lurking inconsiderate unworthylittlefrumious—"
Yes, now was definitely the time for a hasty retreat. Cursing the Hatter with every thing the little plant had – frumious? – it shrunk back toward the earth, tendrils whipping away from the creamy, smooth, porcelain skin it had only just begun to sample, a sulky expression fixing itself on the rose's face, its colouring dimming to a petulant shade.
As the pair stalked briskly away from it, Tarrant's arm kept protectively around Alice's shoulders, the rose cried out in frustration, slamming its tendrils on the unforgiving soil. "Leave, now! And never come back!"
Suggested listening: They're Taking the Hobbits to Isengard – Erwin Beekveld
A/N: –bow– Feedback is always welcome. (:
Until next time,
Naranne x