True Love and High Adventure
Or, a story of two worlds, mysteriously entwined...
A Voyage
His ticket had been purchased that very day, and the ship heading from Florin to the Americas would be departing tomorrow, but Wesley's mind was not occupied at all by these meaningless facts.
Wedged into the bottom bunk of a boarding house in Florin harbor, he broke the seal on a letter, and unfolded it, orange brows drawn down in concentration.
There were quite a lot of hearts. And also a great deal of bunnies. Complicated diagrams involving many arrows and pink markers conveyed the general idea of her message.
Wherever she was, Buttercup was thinking of him.
The Courtship
"She delivers milk in the mornings," Count Rugen said.
Humperdinck frowned, and shifted his bulk slightly. "And you say she ain't that bad looking?"
"Well, she's not completely hopeless, unlike Nemu, here," replied the Count, jerking his chin to indicate the small woman with her hands folded behind him, a perfect picture of solemnity. She blinked once, and did not respond. "I myself would not say no to a DNA sample or so. With the proper adjustments, and upgrades, she could increase her productivity by as much as thirty-seven percent."
"….A milkmaid," said Humperdinck. "Well, shit. What do you think?" he asked, looking over his shoulder.
A very pink head popped out from behind his head. "Heeeey, we could buy a cow! And then we could take it places and I could ride it and it would be amazing!"
Count Rugen sniffed.
Humperdinck shrugged, "All right, we'll get a cow."
Buttercup was standing on the footbridge, concentrating on the water below, when she heard the ringing of small bells, and the Prince's shadow fell over her. Her face said that she was rather unimpressed.
"Listen," said Humperdinck, who had his sword balanced on his shoulder, jogging up and down as he spoke. "I need to get married in a couple of weeks, and you're good enough, I suppose, and Yachiru here wants a cow."
The pink-haired little girl beamed and waved from behind his head.
She didn't even look up, "I will not marry you."
"'No' isn't really an option at this point." The sword bounced meaningfully.
It was a look of bored scorn she gave him, "Kill me then."
"It won't be that bad, trust me. It's either dying, or marrying me, and for both of 'em you get a real good party and, fuck, I don't know, a big cake or something, but you only get a piece if you aren't dead, right?"
Buttercup blinked, then raised her head haughtily. "I suppose I do not need to tell you that I shall never love you?"
Humperdinck snorted, "Hate to burst your bubble, but I ain't about to either."
"Very well. I shall have to ask my Brother."
The Pirate Lord
Wesley still stinging from a rap on his head that came from the folded fan in the pirate's possession. He glowered to no effect.
The annoying clack-clack of his ridiculous shoes on deck followed the Dread Pirate Roberts as he walked away. "Cheer up, Wesley!" called the pirate cheerfully. "I may or may not kill you in the morning!"
Trying fruitlessly to quash his rage, Wesley found himself confronted by the watery-eyed, pleading look the cabin girl was sending up at him.
She gulped. "…w-would you like me to show you to the kitchen?"
The Sicilian
Dusk was closing when Buttercup crested the hill. She was perhaps half an hour from the castle, and her daily ride was three quarters done. Suddenly she reined in Horse, for standing in the dimness beyond was the strangest trio she had ever seen.
The two men in the back remained still. One, light-skinned, probably Irish with that hair (although where he'd gotten the tattoos, she'd no idea, perhaps it was fashion in Ireland), slouched against a tree. He was as scruffy and slender as the blade attached to his hip. The other, dark, wearing a heinous, button-up t-shirt, perhaps a Turk, was easily the biggest man she'd ever seen. They were both very fearsome looking.
But not nearly as fearsome as the one in front.
"Got a minute, ma'am?" he drawled, stepping forward.
Buttercup halted. "Speak," she demanded.
"It's silly as hell, ma'am, but we're all a little lost here, and we were wondering how a body could find the next town over and get a bite to eat, see? Last we heard, there was a village real close by."
"You were misinformed," said Buttercup. "Now clear the path."
The man sidled closer, and reached up one slim-fingered hand to take Horse's bridle. "'fraid I can't do that, ma'am."
That smile.
Man from Arabella
"-and the next thing I know, the bastard refuses to pay anything for the sword, spouts off a lot of nonsense about it not having the features he'd been promised, and BAM! He shoots a lot of poison in every direction and disappears!" said Inigo Montoya.
"Then what happened?" asked the man in black.
"Well, my dad was pissed, for one, and he sent me to find the creepy bastard and get his money back. He even gave me the sword to do it with!" he said proudly, holding it up into the sunlight.
"Does it have a name?"
"Dunno. Thought Zabimaru sounded pretty cool."
Two Down
Fezzik came to slowly, and would have gotten up, but the grass was soft, and the sunshine was pleasant, and he supposed he ought to take a moment to reflect on his first defeat in years.
Mostly people just tried to hit him. And he'd stand there and let them, because he wasn't supposed to hit them back, after all, and sooner or later they'd get tired, and he'd give them a little shove, and there, the match was won.
The man in black, however, had had some fresh ideas. And a really, really big sword.
The buzz of insects around him was soothing. The coin around his neck glittered as he held it up in the sunlight.
How had he fought the champion of Sandiki…?The Machine
Wesley strained against the straps that held him and tried not to yelp as the Count applied a very small, very cold suction cup to a very personal place. He was so angry that he could barely see.
"When I get out here, I am going to liquify you," he snarled, his face flushing an ugly red, clashing horribly with his hair.
"Please," sniffed the Count. "I achieved that months ago. An interesting, if lengthy procedure." His movements were brisk and efficient, and he finally ended up near Wesley's feet.
"Now," he said smoothly. "I want you to know that while you are tiresome, terribly naïve, and ultimately flawed, the data that I have collected from our short time together has been extremely instructive. I may even clone you!"
Wesley frothed, and jerked at the straps.
The Count's eyes narrowed, and his long nails skittered on the table top. "You see, this is exactly the sort of behavior that I've warned you about. It helps nothing in the academic sense."
"Nemu," he barked. "one year!"
He didn't have much time, and he knew it, so he furiously threw himself against his restraints. It didn't work.
There was a whirring noise, the universe seemed to breathe in, and then everything shattered.
The Zoo of Death
They entered the fourth level without too much trouble (aside from the tussle with the Arabian Garstini, which, Inigo admitted, would have given anyone a run for their money, and it wasn't Fezzik's fault that it was hard to punch something that was squeezing you to death.).
The door shut behind them, and wouldn't open.
"Fuck," said Inigo in a general sort of way.
There was a rustling sound from the rafters. Both of the men looked up at once.
"King bats," rumbled Fezzik.
"Fuck," said Inigo.
The Miracle Man
Valerie prodded the corpse on the table experimentally. Her eyes narrowed, and she folded her hands within her robes. "Sir," she said curtly. "This man isn't dead."
Miracle Max's eyebrows disappeared into his hat. "He's not?"
"He's not?" Fezzik and Inigo said together. ("See, I told you we didn't drag him all the fucking way out here for shits and giggles," hissed Inigo.)
Valerie drew in breath, and seemed about to elaborate, when she was drawn up into a whirlwind embrace. "See, I told you my little Valerie was the smartest, cleverest, most beautiful witch in the land! There's nothing that her beauty cannot cure! Give her a minute or two and with one kiss from her lovely lips, she shall restore this man to ow OW OW. Valerie darling! I'm merely paying you a compliment by telling this two fine men what a divine creature-"
Breathing loudly, Valerie adjusted her glasses and ignored the limping, unshaven miracle man behind her. "As I said," she addressed the duo. "He is merely mostly dead. He may very well recover."
Miracle Max beamed, "My Valerie is so radiant when she's diagnosing."
"Sir," she said pointedly, her eyes twin slits of disapproval.
"So, what do we need to do?" asked Fezzik uneasily. He wasn't sure of the distinction between all dead and mostly dead. He was pretty sure that most people with 'dead' in front of their name had inherited a fairly permanent condition.
Max bustled forward importantly, a wine jug in one hand, and a set of fireplace bellows in the other. "Relax!" he said jubilantly. "I have a holocaust cloak!"
The Ceremony
The Priest was old, he had been rudely deprived of his nap, and he was none-too-clear as to whom he was marrying in the first place.
Plus, the large man with the eye patch frightened him a great deal. The bride was not too terribly intimidating, but she was glaring with a dire intensity at the both of them that made him praise God for his life of celibacy.
"Can we get going here?" rumbled Humperdinck.
"Humpy, you're so black!" said Yachiru. "You should wear a tuxedo all the time!"
Her basket had still been half full of flowers when she'd reached the end of the aisle, so she'd resorted to throwing the whole thing in the air. It had briefly rained rose petals.
Buttercup blew one mulishly off of her shoulder. She was starting to wonder what all the screaming coming from the gate was about.
The Priest cleared his throat, then nervously began. "Mawidge…"
The Chase
Count Rugen backed against the wall. Nemu was nowhere to be seen. He was all out of poison. And that bleeding, ranting, wreck of a creature was still stumbling towards him.
It drew in a rattling breath, clutching its stomach, then stood up tall. "My name is Inigo Montoya," it said laboriously, its hair a red curtain around its face. "And you owe four hundred and seventeen dollars plus TAX!"
"Stop saying that!" shouted the Count.
Gently
The sound of Humperdinck's sword rasping out of its sheath was like a splash of icy water. "To the death," he grinned with his tombstone smile.
"Nah," smiled Wesley lazily from the bed. "To the pain."
Buttercup froze, and the life drained from her face like wine from a broken glass.
The grin stretched wider. "You promise?"
The End
There have been five great awkward moments since the birth of the Roman Empire, when Julius Caesar had one too many ox bladders at dinner and wondered how he could slip away to the vomitorium without anyone noticing, which was an event that sent a wave of awkwardness across the entirety of civilization.
Although the rating of awkward moments has had its own uncomfortable shares of disagreement, the formula of duration to decibel level, parties involved to setting, and sexual tension to number of strange vegetables lying around was generally accepted. But on any system, there are five that everyone agrees are the most awkward.
This one left them all behind.
"Well," said Buttercup.
"So," said Wesley.
They stood in silence some more. Inigo tried not to bleed to death on Fezzik. The moonlit night was very beautiful.
"….Well," said Buttercup.
"…Yeah," said Wesley.
He scratched the back of his head.
"Oh gag me," wheezed Inigo.
AND THEY ALL LIVED HAPPILY EVER AFTER.