A/N: Turns out people actually like this piece of trash that I dare to call a horror story. So I'm continuing it. Yes, I'm sure you're all very thrilled.
...
So, not a heck of a lot of action in this chappie. In fact, it's more of an explanatory thing. But the action is coming, young ones. The action is coming. You must be patient.
::evil giggle::
Now...enjoy. And remember, reviews fill my soul with joy and happiness...which gets translated into more horror and death in my stories. The more reviews, the more death. Ya see? :3
Disclaimer: I do not own. No, seriously, I don't. If I did, I wouldn't be on permanent "irritated sarcasm followed by bouts of depraved insanity" mode. I would be free...happy...uncaring...?
...
Nah. I'd still be sarcastic and insane. Even if I did own RotG.
Which I don't, by the way.
(As much as I want to)
Words are funny little things, passed down from age to age, with embellishments added at every turn until the end result is radically different from the actual truth. Such is the fate of almost every story or legend, and one must take all such outlandish tales with a hefty dose of salt.
All except for one.
The bloody tale of Jack Frost and the Snow Angel.
This story is unique, in that it is so horrifying that no such exaggerations were needed. Grisly tales are these, enough to give a seasoned warrior nightmares for a week.
And the most frightening thing about this terrifying tale is that every word is true.
Every hair-raising detail, of pain and bleeding and screams and madness, is true. All of it. Every single word.
Of course, the Guardians weren't to know that. And it would have stayed that way, for many a year, had the Guardian of Hope not made one fatal slip-up.
One single word, that changed things forever.
Yes, words are indeed funny little things.
"Hey, Kangaroo!"
Bunnymund resisted the sudden urge to hit his head on a nearby tree. Was it really too much to ask for one peaceful moment in his own Warren?
"Kangaroo!"
Apparently, yes.
Bunny sighed and went back to painting his egg. Maybe if he didn't say anything, Jack would take the hint and simply leave.
"Kangaroo! I know you're in here! Come on out!"
Hahaha, no.
"Kangaroo?"
Silence.
"Well, if you're going to be difficult, I suppose you must face the consequences!"
Involuntarily, Bunny felt the fur on the back of his neck rising. He knew he was being silly-Jack would never hurt him, after all-but old habits were hard to break, and those words sounded far too sinister for the Pooka's taste. Instinctively, Bunny reached for a boomerang, only to be interrupted by a horrendous din that sounded like it came from the depths of Tartarus itself.
"I've got a lovely bunch of kangaroos, there they are all standing in a row, big ones, small ones, some as big as your head~"
...Note to self. Never, ever, ever ask Jack to sing. Ever. Under any circumstances.
Stifling a groan of agony (his ears were sensitive, after all, and the horrible screeching that was Jack's singing was like some sort of refined torture for the Pooka), the overgrown rabbit hastily dropped his egg and clamped his furry paws over his ears in an attempt to block out the hellish noise.
"Give them a twist, a flick of the wrist, that's what the Groundhog said~"
Nope, still hellish.
Although, Bunnymund mused, it could be worse. He supposed that they were fortunate that Jack was not the bloodthirsty killer that the rest of the spirit world insisted he was, and that his weapons of torture were limited only to his dreadful singing voice, and did not extend to knives and daggers.
To be honest, he was wondering where that particular story came from. Spirits young and old were adamant that Jack Frost may seem like an annoying yet harmless kid, but that at the slightest provocation, he would turn into the bloodthirsty killer known as the Snow Angel. Frightening yet ludicrous tales were told of razor-sharp claws, deadly fangs, and white blank eyes that froze you where you stood. Spirits cowered as they spoke of cruel knives and swords made of ice, of mad laughter as screams of pain ripped through the air. By all accounts, the kid was about as sane as a character from Alice In Wonderland.
Yet here they were, three years into the making of a beautiful friendship (and maybe even a family of sorts) with the frost child, and none of the Guardians were the worse for it.
Well, except for Bunnymund's ears, that was.
Speaking of which…
"I've got a lovely bunch of kangaroos~"
"Alright, ya bloody galah, I'm here! Stop that noise before my ears burst from that screechy voice of yers!"
Almost immediately, the teen was perched in the middle of the tree nearest Bunnymund, his mouth stretched in a mile-wide Cheshire cat grin as he looked down at the Pooka. "The Easter Kangaroo without ears? That would be a funny sight."
"Rack off, ya bloody showpony."
"Nope!"
"Rack off before ya freeze my Warren."
"Why do you always assume the worst of me?"
"Because I know ya, that's why."
The frost teen chuckled. "Now you're just being mean, 'Roo."
Bunnymund raised his left eyebrow one-eighth of an inch, the words slipping from his mouth before he could stop them. "Am I? It seems ta me like I must be a walk in the park compared ta some of the other nature spirits."
Silence.
"...What are you talking about, 'Roo?"
The winter spirit seemed to have undergone a drastic change of mood. His normally cheerful cerulean eyes had now darkened to a vivid Prussian blue, and his expression seemed closed and cut off. His posture was tense and rigid, like a cornered animal's.
It was frightening to see the younger spirit's mood change so abruptly and without warning.
But Bunnymund was never one to walk away from a challenge, and despite the fact that every warning bell in his head was ringing loud and clear, the Pooka continued stubbornly.
"Ya know what I mean, Frostbite. All those idiots that say ya spend yer time killin' people. Surely ya know about those dumb ratbags, dontcha?"
The winter spirit's eyes darkened even more, and his grip on his staff tightened. "I suppose so."
…
"What have they told you?"
"...What do ya mean?"
"You know exactly what I mean, Bunnymund. What. Have. They. Told. You."
Bunnymund jumped slightly as Jack's voice abruptly lowered to a deadly hiss. The winter spirit looked downright murderous as he glared at Bunnymund, and for the first time the Pooka realized that it would be painfully easy for the frost child to hurt him…
Bunnymund looked away.
"Just the usual rumors, mate. Nothin' worth worryin' yerself over. It's not like they're true, anyhow."
There was a tense silence as a sharp gust of wind sliced through the Warren, rustling the leaves of the trees.
"...Did you believe them?"
"Huh?"
"The rumors. Did you believe them?"
"...At first." Still do, a little.
Another silence, as the temperature began to creep steadily lower.
Then, Bunnymund lifted his head to look at Jack, and everything he ever thought he knew about Jack Frost abruptly went out the window.
Aster was stunned into silence, as Jack's hurt-filled blue orbs suddenly turned distant, as his clothes seemed to be slowly bleaching of color, as the teen's teeth sharpened and his fingernails lengthened into claws…
And then he vanished.
And there was nothing left except for a cold gust of wind and an empty tree branch, covered in blue-white frost.
A/N: So...not a lot of action, like I said. But things are moving.
Stuff is tense between the Guardians and Jack, y'know? Bunny is evidently still on his guard (seeing as he reached for his boomerangs as soon as Jack said something ominous), and Jack is delightfully unhinged and unstable, and is going into a little "episode" because Bunny doesn't trust him, and never really has.
Yes, Jack's overreactions to everything is intentional. He's insane, in case you didn't get that from the previous chapter.
So...yeah. Bunny has just caused Jack Frost, one of the most dangerous and unstable spirits in the world, to have a mental breakdown.
...This can't go anywhere good.
...
...Review? (in the interests of more blood and action and horror?)