Title: The Power of Art
Summary: A beautiful fairytale dream. One spell that can weave it into reality. But the problem is… all dreams end, no matter how much we don't want to wake up. SxS AU
Disclaimer: I own nothing except for the world geography homework waiting to the left of my elbow.
Enjoy and please review afterwards!
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Chapter One: Footprints on Marble
King Syaoran stared blankly at the pile of untouched reports on his desk. But to him, it was junk that only worsened his already deteriorating mood.
Laziness, useless complacency, cold indifference, bored to tears whatever, plagued him night and day. Symptoms included unreasonable jibes at random servants and maids, switching girlfriends every few weeks and the most alarming one of all
Holding a nation-wide talent competition. Winner gets money and bragging rights that they impressed the cold, sardonic King who only displayed some sign of positive emotion when he beat his cousin in an argument.
The word "talent" is being used loosely in this context. By literally being the most powerful man in the country, he considered himself the sole accurate judge of "talent". How did he define this talent?
tal·ent [tal'-uhnt noun
The ability to manipulate the King's innermost feelings to produce the evidence of overwhelming approval towards a carefully thought-over performance that had been practiced to perfection after buckets of sweat, blood, and tears.
In other words, make him smile.
If you manage to lift the corners of his lips, then you pass the round. If he looks up, then you better think of a dazzling Part II to your act. If he continues flipping through the endless pile of boring statistics on his desk, then it's time to hike up your skirts and skedaddle as fast as you can.
To say that this whole thing was humiliating would be an understatement. Degrading to women all over the world would be slightly more accurate. So it's seems reasonable that the only thing the common folk talked, thought, and dreamed about was this competition, right?
All in all this talent search began a couple of weeks ago, and apparently, it was the biggest thing since the invention of bubble gum. Cosmetics and clothing stores were having the best time of their lives as desperate teenage girls cleaned out their stock rooms. It was a stampede of greed, lust, and plain old dumb all rolled into one.
Because after over two hundred people were rejected the first week, it became apparent that this man wasn't easily satisfied. Nor did he seem to have the manners to disguise said unsatisfaction. Many of the above hundreds had run home bawling their eyes out about how the king didn't even spare a glance at them.
Point is, most of the females who entered the competition were downright bimbos. Even though some of them looked and dressed fairly decently, none of them seemed to have that little thing called "intelligence". The first thing they would do when their name was announced was giggle. And giggle uncontrollably they did once they saw how drop-dead their judge was.
So to put it lightly, everyone was pretty surprised when on the third week, a new type of participant entered the room. Their eyes ogled at her, amazed at her simple attire, awed at her undeniable beauty. Her eyes sparkled like diamonds as she gazed elegantly at the king, shocking him with her captivating charm.
Maybe there's another contestant later on down the line like that, but it certainly wasn't her.
Number one thousand and something was an ugly old hag.
She or he was covered from head to foot with a dark red old-fashioned cloak. Not even the cool, vintage type either. It hid her face completely from any curious spectators, but a few strands of gray hair peeped out from the opening in the front.
Her back was hunched over as she shuffled towards the judges. If it weren't for her strange style of mobile transportation, nobody would have noticed that she wasn't wearing shoes. But since she did drag her feet across the marble floors of the royal palace, everyone cringed to the sound of the dreadful sounds that her, probably fungus infected, feet made.
Then once in a while, a scratch could be heard. Apparently, her toenails weren't trimmed to perfection either. The process continued for a minute or so as the audience stared flabbergasted in silence at the intruder. What was an old woman doing at a beauty contest?
"..."
"What the fuck!" the king was the first person to come to his senses.
She obediently froze.
He ran a hand through his messy chestnut hair frustratedly. "Eriol, you take care of it." Watching contestants try to dance was more exhausting than he thought, and after more than fifty that morning he definitely was not in the mood for this.
"Eriol", or the king's cousin and closest advisor on both personal and political matters (he refused to use the word "friend", much to Eriol's amusement), coughed politely and glanced towards the hag's direction. He alone seemed to be unaffected by the incident.
"Excuse me, miss, but have you gotten lost?" His parents had evidently drilled the whole "politeness and gallantry" trait into his head pretty well. Trust Eriol to never forget manners even in the most awkward moment since they caught Syaoran and his new girlfriend in his bedroom...both "his" referring to Eriol.
"No."
It was a good explanation. One word. Concise, but specific. Right to the point. Unfortunately, the King didn't feel the same way. Well, at least after hearing that croaking noise coming from her mouth, it's safe to say that her voice matched her appearances.
"Woman, I'm giving you 5 seconds to tell me why you're here. If not…" the King glowered dangerously at here. "I've been known for my sadistic punishments of disrespect." He smirked at the thought. "One…"
The hag calmly fiddled with the sides of her cloak.
"Two…"
Flicked off one of the many specks of dust.
"Three…"
She looked around the room, completely ignoring the stares around her.
"Four…"
Admired the marble floor.
"Fi—"
"I have talent."
If this story was turned into an anime, everyone would have sweatdrops or fall down. But since it isn't, King Syaoran did the next best thing.
He blinked.
Seeing that conciseness wasn't appreciated here, she tried again.
"I'm entering the competition."
"…"
"You're kidding, right?" The words escaped from his lips before he could stop himself. Eriol shot him a disapproving look at this un-kingly statement.
Surprisingly, she just brushed off the insult and continued. "I have 5 talents, one for each round of the competition."
The King suddenly grasped her meaning, "But the 5th round is the final one! H-how do you know you'll make it?" He sputtered disbelievingly.
The cloak's opening turned to his direction. He had a feeling that she was smirking at him.
"Oh I will, don't you worry. Your majesty." She drawled out the last word mockingly. Syaoran sucked in his breath, the nerve of that hag! He narrowed his eyes.
Ever since he was young, people praised him for how well his glared worked. It could intimidate the servants, his teachers, the commoners, the cooks, the maids, the dukes, the bishops, the generals… Basically everybody except for his mother and Eriol. Queen Yelan herself never showed emotion, especially fear.. And Eriol… well he had his own creepy smile to counter it. So Syaoran was mildly surprised that it didn't work this time.
Why mildy? Because there was something so much more shocking than his famous glare-of-doom not working.
"Glare at me all you want. I have a pretty mean stare, too, you know."
Sakura lifted her chin up defiantly and let the gray hairs splay around her wrinkled, dry, complexion. As she met the light in a very dramatic and theatrical manner, everyone let out an equally dramatic and theatrical gasp.
Her cheekbones seemed to be nonexistent, thereby causing her skin to pretty much sag and droop everywhere. Though her skin was incredibly fair and probably had once been quite attractive, it only made her reddish brown freckles stand out even more. Her nose practically cried out for plastic surgery. And her lips? Chap-stick was invented for a reason, you know.
But that wasn't the reason why they all gasped. No. She did have a pretty intense stare. So brutal, so threatening, so cruelly captivating…. That Syaoran was struck by the most dazzling pair of emerald eyes he had ever seen.
Who knew that all you needed to win this competition was a good pair of color contacts? Eriol smiled.
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Random babbling: Ok, first new edited chapter is finally up. As I was reading this (the old version) the first thing that came to my mind was: wtf? I can't believe anyone even read this crap. Honestly. But I suppose it's good that I can criticize my own writing, all the more easier for my to improve it I suppose. Hopefully it's a little better now. I tried not to change the essential plot as best as I could but just a few things in the language and stuff to make it flow a bit smoother.
Review! It's the only payment us fanfic authors can hope to receive after slaving for hours on old laptops.