a/n: Well, this is a crazy idea. But, hopefully, I'm not the only convinced werewolves, Little Red Riding Hood and Rapunzel go well together in plot broth. Enjoy, guys!
Also, updates will be slow, since I'll also be working on my other ongoing fict, 'People get Ready' (kinda worth a read if you're into Generator Rex and trains).
Till then, please read and review, folks - that's the best way to encourage any author to write more!
"Men with pointy teeth!"
- Lyrics of "Mother Knows Best"
"Oh ! And what a mouthful of sharp white teeth you have!"
"All the better to eat you with!"
And the wolf opened his jaws wide to swallow her.
- ' Little Red Riding Hood', West European variation.
Eugene Fitzherbert reached a finger into his mouth and hooked up his lip, baring his teeth to the mirror. There was no denying it now – they were pointed.
Carefully, he ran his tongue under them, wincing at the sudden unfamiliar burst of pain. Sticking out his tongue to his reflection, he checked for cuts – nothing yet, thanks God, but he had to be careful.
It had been roughly an hour since he woke up with drying blood and (what he could only guess) the remains of a bunny smattered generously over him. His clothes were torn, the curtains had been clawed thoroughly, and more of the china in the room had been knocked over. Also, the hole in the window he'd patched the night before had just gotten bigger. That couldn't be good.
With a considerable amount of effort, and the kind of detached interest he'd practiced for years as a thief, he'd gotten the room spotless for today. What he couldn't salvage had been swept under carpets, behind doors and into the trash collection. He looked over the room – it was missing curtains and a considerable amount of breakable embellishments, but it was, at least, giving the impression a human being was living comfortably in it.
All things considered, he was handling... things... rather well.
He looked grimly back at the mirror – the man inside looked tired beyond belief, his dark brown hair sticking haphazardly everywhere and his face at least ten years older than he remembered it. The whites of his eyes were pinking with bloodshot, stubble had started to collect on his chin, and his eyes were ringed with circles, dark from a week of bad sleep.
"What's... happening to you?" He asked his reflection. The man in the mirror gave no answer, looking back at him tired and confused.
The inside of his mouth still tasted vaguely like iron.
"EUGENE!"
The doors to his room were thrown open. Hyperventilating in his doorway was the princess herself. Right on time. "EUGENE! EUGENE!"
"Aaaaannd – that's my name!" His voice rising several pitches with his mood. He ran a damp towel over his face, just to freshen up. "Give the girl a prize!"
"Oh, you," Rapunzel giggled. The remains of her once-long hair bobbed as she proceeded to jump on his bed. "Where," bounce, "are," bounce, "we going," bounce, "today?"
"I don't know," He watched her jump dangerously close to the ceiling. "Now that you managed to shake off the bodyguards, I guess we can go anywhere you want – your call."
"Me?" She stopped bouncing, landing spread-eagled on his mattress. "Hmmm... Wanna go pick berries for paint? I promised Pascal I'd do his portrait on the ceiling."
He chewed his lip – no romantic picnic for two on a secluded island today, or anything that could potentially lead to kissing. "Mmhm, sure," He tried not to sound disappointed. Waiting an entire week just to traipse the woods was almost a rip-off, even if it was with her.
"EUGENE!"
He blinked. "What?"
"You..." her fingers rose timidly to her lips. "You're bleeding."
"Whu-" checking his lips, he found his sharpened teeth bearing into them. "OH!" He sucked on his lower lip gingerly – definitely no kissing today.
"Are you okay? Because if you aren't it's really no trouble and I could just go myself and I really do enjoy going out by myself because it..." Rapunzel took to mumbling again. On a good day, he wouldn't stop her – rambling quietly was one of her cuter habits.
"No." Today wasn't a good day.
"Rapunzel, I'm fine." With a knee on the bed, he pulled her face close, rubbing his thumb along the side of her face. "I've waited all week to spend a day with you... I don't want to have to wait again. Not for you." Under his thumb, he felt her cheek lift. She was smiling lopsidedly back at him.
"Iiif you say so," She began, before jumping out of his grasp and throwing on one of his old travelling cloaks. "C'mon, we're wasting time! Race you to the forest!"
"You're going to lose again!" Grinning maniacally, he jumped off the bed after her, double-taking halfway out the door. His heart stopped. From the mirror, his pointed teeth were grinning darkly back.
The Sisterhood of the Silver Axe met once a month, under the full moon, unless someone had a chiropractor's appointment. Given the Sisters' collective age, those came pretty often.
When they did meet up, however, they shared whatever magic they found. The sun gave its magic out sparingly, but especially so to those who sought it – a comb that turned even the greyest hairs black again, a harp that put all who heard it to sleep, and as this kingdom's Queen had found, a flower that cured all ills.
"Welcome, Sisters, Meraud, Greta, Noela, Babette. Sisters Leigh, Gothel and Nina are away on personal missions to find the sun's magic. As Sister Gothel has not been present for five meetings, we have reason to believe she may have passed on."
A collective murmur of "Bless her soul," and "The poor woman," circled amongst the Sisters. Given their lifestyle choices, the life expectancies of the Sisters were short. Hence, though Gothel had predated every other member of the Sisterhood, the invention of the printing press and then some, they had all the reasons to expect the worst.
"And, now, this meeting shall begin. I have found, on my travels, a pair of boots that jump seven leagues with every stride."
"Here, here, Sister Merryn," The Sisters clapped automatically.
"And I have found a golden ball that every Princess feels the compulsive need to play with."
"Here, here, Sister Meraud," More clapping
On the racks of the hut that served as their clubhouse, other gifts from the sun were hung proudly: a collar that tamed any wild animal, a porridge pot that boiled up anything its master asked for, and, the very first gift, a silver hunter's axe. The weapon's blade hadn't been cleaned since the day it slit a moonwolf's belly open – freeing the Sisterhood's founder and her grandmother from its stomach – brown-black rivulets of dry blood still stained its silver surface.
Though the younger Sisters had given up wearing the red riding hood, coming to meeting with a travelling cloak instead, the Sisterhood was stringent that every member wore at least some red. The red rule would never change – it was part-uniform, part-homage to the original Red Riding Hood founder.
"And you, Sister Greta?"
"And I have found..." The old woman paused, cleared her throat and leaned in. "...A moonwolf."
The unified gasp that rang around the Sisters brought a smile to the crone's old face, highlighted even more so by the assorted cries of "Kill the monster!" and "Tell us more!".
"He is a young man, I've been watching him. The sun's gift has corrupted him from the inside-out – but it has only been a week since it's begun to show. He is a beast. Sisters, we must stop him before he hurts an innocent soul."
"Names! Sister Greta! We need a name!"
Sister Greta leaned in again, waiting for the tension to mount. The candlelight danced menacingly off her aged, wrinkled face. In a sharp, accusatory voice, she spat:
"Flynn Rider."
a/n: Yes, that second half was filled with fairytale continuity porn. (Lawl! xD) If you read folktales often enough, you should be able to spot all the references in the magic artifacts.