Take Me to the Stars
Chapter 2- Dawn of a Legend
George, Harry soon found out, was the mechanic of the ship they were currently on. The first time he had asked what the man did, he got a laugh in return.
"This old piece of junk," George fondly said. "I practically built her with my own hands." The old man ran his fingers lightly over the tubes and wires that surrounded them like a cocoon. "I know every nook and cranny of this ship." Harry looked dubiously at a cable that seemed to be hanging half out of its socket, doubt on his mind.
"It doesn't look like much," he commenting, wrinkling his nose. The man harrumphed and crossed his arms, shaking his head at the boy's ignorance.
"Harry, Harry, Harry," he said in disappointment. He had been told the green-eyed boy's name earlier after some cajoling and light teasing. "It's not just a bunch of bolts here in front of us. It's life."
"Life?" Harry asked, curiosity in his tone. "What do you mean? Wait," his eyes popped open. "You don't mean... the ship's alive?" George blinked owlishly for a moment before roaring with laughter. He shook his head, wiping his tears away.
"Oh no, you've got it all wrong. By 'life', I mean how everything works together to make this fly. Otherwise, it would've been long gone and sunk. Heaven forbid if the ship's alive. We'd be haunted then!" He snorted. "It would be funny to see those pussyfoots scream for their mama's if they saw a ghost around here. They'd be scrambling to throw themselves overboard!"
Harry nodded agreeably, even if he didn't understand all of the words, he got the gist of it. Suddenly, the hazel eyes behind white busy brows lit up and George grinned. "Hey!" He pointed a finger at Harry. "Why don't you dress up as a ghost and shake some livers upstairs?"
"Me?" the boy parroted, tilting his head in confusion. "Why me? Can't you?"
"No," the old man pranced on his feet impatiently, making a strange sight. "Can't you see? Some of them already know who I am and what I look like, but they don't know you! It's perfect," he cackled, rubbing his hands together. "This will get them back for throwing that gun into the engine room and banging everything up in there," he muttered to himself. "The bastards are lucky there had been only some light damage this time, or I would've skinned their hides." He swooped onto the unfortunate boy with a grin. "But never mind me, let's get this started."
"Do I get a say in this?" Harry asked, already knowing the answer. He didn't put up much of a might as he was ushered into the cabin.
"Nope!" George exclaimed. Releasing his hand on the boy's back, he rummaged around his drawers, mumbling. "Where's that old makeup case gone? I swear I put it it here somewhere..." The dark-haired boy's eyebrows lifted at the mention of 'makeup' and smirked.
"Why do you have makeup, George?" he drawled, sitting on a chair in the corner. He crossed his arms and legs. "Have you been hoarding it to hide all your wrinkles, old man?" George paused in his search to wag a bony finger, chuckling.
"Now you hold on a minute, you scallywag. I was quite handy with the sword when I was younger." Flexing his arms and posing, he continued. "I've still got some springiness in these old bones yet!" His caterpillar eyebrows waggled in a challenge. Harry laughed, eyes sparkling.
"This is war!" he shouted, grabbing a nearby pillow and pouncing forward. He pelted the other mercilessly with the giant pillow, but wobbled as the size unsettled his balance and paused, waving his arms about. "Woah," he gasped, falling backwards onto the bed sheets.
"That was my mental telepathy," George sniffed, poking his nose into the air. "Be in awe of my powers, young grasshopper." But instead of 'grasshopper', the old man had substituted for a 'grasahoppa', and Harry giggled from his spot, curling up on his previously weapon.
"You're funny," and the man bowed deeply from the waist, winking.
"I serve to please my most gracious and magnificent king." The boy managed to compose himself quickly and sat straight up, adopting a snobbish pose and tone.
"You should do good to remember that, my liege. Do not forget it. Now," he said, outstretching his hand regally. "Show your respect."
"Of course," George responded, taking the hand. He leaned forward as if to kiss it, but pulled on it instead, unsettling Harry from his high perch with a cackle.
"Hey!" the boy protested, tumbling to the ground, but grinned and accepted a hand to be helped up. "Now, about that plan," he mused, cleaning up the mess they had made in the small room. "Are you serious about it?" The man nodded excitedly, shuffling through the mothballs and dust underneath the bed.
"Yes, yes," he exclaimed. "I've got the perfect idea!" Withdrawing a cardboard container, he popped it open and took a black box out, grinning outrageously. "This," he crooned. "Is the key." Harry cautiously opened the plastic cover out before shutting it quickly and paling. He looked a bit queasy and looked at the man, unsure.
"Are you positive this is going to work?"
"Of course."
Harry suddenly got a foreboding feeling and he looked around for an escape route. As if by reading his mind, George stood up and blocked the doorway with a sweet expression on his grizzly face.
"Come on, Harry," he said persuasively with what the boy believed to be an an evil gleam in his eye. "It's not that hard. All you need is a little makeup and..." He leaped forward, intent on grabbing the dark-haired boy. Harry jumped a mile into the air, scrambling for the wall, but didn't have much room anywhere else to go. George's hand was firmly grasped on the others shirt soon and Harry crossed his arms with a pout.
"Your room's too small," he complained. "It's not fair."
George only laughed.
Harry gazed critically at his reflection in the small mirror George held up, turning his head this way and that way, admiring his beautifully decorated face.
"Well," he said, watching his pale lips move to form the words. "I don't know how you did, but it's not as bad as I thought it would be."
"What's that supposed to mean?" the man scowled, knocking against the boy's head lightly with his free hand, careful not to displace the strands. "I am well practiced in disguises." Harry widened his eyes, wiggled his eyebrows, and watched, fascinated with how the colors on his skin shifted.
"What is that supposed to mean?" he asked, and finally leaned away. "Wait, don't tell me." He cast a glanced over the old man. "I'm not sure if I want to know." George smirked, setting the mirror on a desk.
"Wise answer. Now, do you remember what to do?" the man asked, and Harry nodded resignedly, standing up smoothly.
"Yeah, let's get this over with." George patted him on the shoulder and gave a nudge. The boy darkly glared back and the elderly man laughed.
"That's the spirit."
Jetsom and Flotsam were two peas in a pot, alike in every which way. They looked the same way, talked the same way, walked the same way, and even ate the same way. The two were twin brothers, and used this to their advantage every opportunity they could. Pranking, they believed, was the only reasonable faith. However, there was one thing they could never agree on.
"I want to play Kismet!" Flotsam protested to his brother, waving the game cup around. "We played your game yesterday!"
"Yeah? So?" Jetsom shouted, reaching for the cup. "I'm the older brother and I say we play Twenty-and-One!" He held his hand out, not wanting to chase after something he knew he wouldn't be able to catch any time soon.
"I don't care if you're older! It's only by twenty-two minutes!" Flotsam said, not giving the cup up. "It's not fair!" Jetsom growled in frustration and decided to forgo being patient and jumped at his brother's arm.
"Twenty-two minutes is a lot! I don't like playing Twenty-and-One!"
"That's because you always lose!" Flotsam teased with a light grin on his face, but it disappeared with the response.
"Oh yeah? Just like you always lose at Kismet!" The younger brother flushed in embarrassment and anger, jerking his hand and the cup always from the other.
"At least... at least..." he fumbled for something to say in retaliation.
"At least I don't prance around like I'm drunk."
"Yeah!" Flotsam grinned. "That!" Then, he registered what had just happened and both brothers jumped back from the voice, argument forgotten. Both drew out their weapons, Jetsom with a rapier and Flotsam with a broadsword. However, somehow in the process the older brother had knocked his elbow into his younger brother's hand, killing his balance, and both tumbled to the ground. Flotsam glared and kicked at the barrel chair they tripped over.
There was a giggle and they stood up in unison, tensing.
"Who's there?" Jetsom demanded through the darkness. "Whoever you are, come out or we will show no mercy!" A small, white figure stepped out from the shadows and smiled at the two.
"Hello."
They gaped.
"A g-ghost?" The specter smiled calmly and held out its pale hands, showing it was unarmed.
"That wasn't very polite, now was it?" it asked. Jetsom covered for his brother's blunder and introduced himself, still keeping a wary eye forward.
"I'm Jetsom Tang and this," he jabbed a thumb to the side, "is my brother Flotsam Tang. Who are you?"
"Lovely names. You may call me whatever you please," the ghost said breezily, gazing curiously at the objects on the table. "It doesn't matter." It reached to touch the cup, but paused and withdrew its hand.
"What's this?" it asked, pointing at the dice. They had fallen out in the brothers haste to ready their weapons. "I don't think I've ever seem something like it before."
"Really?" Flotsam said, speaking up. "You've never seen a cup and dice before?" The specter shook its head and he rushed to the table and sat down. "Here, I'll show you how to play Twenty-and-One."
"No, I'll teach her how to play Kismet. It's a much better game."
"Kismet is a game that dramatizes everything with its colors." Flotsam retorted, not relenting the cup and die to his older brother. "Twenty-and-One is fair to everyone who plays."
Harry watched the two squabble amongst each other over their referred games and covered his mouth, trying to stifle his giggles. They thought he was a girl? He didn't mind too much though. It was better than being cut into pieces of a shish-kecab. From what he could see, their blades were very much real, and very much sharp. But still, he couldn't blame them. With a light lavender dress and his longer hair, he could easily pass for the fairer of his species.
"Why don't you teach me both?" he suggested, and laughed when faced by two bemused faces. He leaned back on his heels and rocked back and forth with an innocent expression. He waved his hand. "Do go on. Don't let me being here bother you."
The two brothers soon decided two was going to go first with a fast and furious game of rock-paper-scissors and Flotsam sat back, disgruntled, as Jetsom grinned and took the cup from the other.
"So," he said conversationally. "What's your name?" Harry sat down on the last remaining chair carefully, so as to not not mess up his clothes.
"I said you could call me anything," he said, amused. "As long as it isn't too silly."
"How about..." Jetsam started, but was quickly interrupted by his brother.
"Lily." Flotsam said. "She should be called Lily." The older considered this for a moment before shrugging.
"Whatever, I don't care as long as you don't mind," he said, directing this at the dark-haired boy. Harry nodded to show his agreement and Jetsam continued with his game.
"Now in Kismet, all you're supposed to get the most points possible and you win the the game. To get points you're supposed to..."
Harry glanced around, wondering what the ship was like. Last time he had been in the upper decks, he hadn't really stopped to appreciate the scenery, so he regarded this as his first time up there. His eyes widened at the sight of planets and moons and stars all around them and he only just barely managed to stifle a gasp of disbelief. It was beautiful, and he wasn't sure if he would be able to take his eyes off of a cluster of lights, dazzling with all sorts of colors and patterns.
"Hey Lily," a voice broke into his thoughts. "Are you paying attention to what I'm trying to teach you?" the ghost smiled sweetly and nodded.
"Yes Jetsam, I'm paying attention." The young man crossed his arms and gave her a doubting gaze.
"I don't think you are." Harry narrowed his eyes, but still had a pleasant expression.
"Try me," he said challengingly with a teasing glint in his eyes.
"Then," he put the dice down in a formation on the table and looked up, smiling. "What's this?"
"Flush," the boy sing-songed, swinging his feet back and forth. "Try something else." Jetsom obliged and tried again, flipped and switching the faces. "Straight." Harry's eyes darted side to side as he read the numbers. "Two pair same color. Full house. Four of a kind."
"Damn, smart kid," Jetsom murmured. "She hasn't gotten one wrong yet." Flotsam reached over and gave his brother a wallop over the head. The victim hissed and turned around. "What was that for?"
"Language," Flotsam said with a smirk. "Aren't you supposed to be a good role model, older brother?"
"Why you!" Jetsom abandoned the game to tackle his brother. "Come over here into my fist and I'll show you how loving your older brother can be!"
Harry was content to watch the two wrestle and tease each other, but the dark sky around them was lightening and soon the sun would be up. Remembering what George told him, he quietly stood up to slipped away unnoticed. As he was leaving, he was struck with a sudden idea and carefully took the flower headpiece from his hair, a purple lily, and put it gently on his seat. Deed done, he quickly retreated backwards into the shadows before escaping below decks.
Once he was safely on his way back to the heart of the ship, where all the machinery were, he allowed himself a yawn and rubbed his eyes tiredly. It had been an interesting night for him. He padded softly on the conveniently square-tiled ground and knocked on George's cabin door.
"George?" There was no response and Harry pushed the door open. It opened without a sound, having been oiled recently, and gave the boy a chance to see what was inside. He smiled gently. George was sleeping.
The old man was sprawled on on his bed, snoring softly, stomach rising and falling with each breathe. He was still in his work clothes and boots, so it was likely he had fallen asleep waiting for Harry. The dark-haired boy shut the door behind him, muffling the clank of machines and began to tidy up the small room so nobody tripped in the morning, or was it in a few hours?
Harry curled up in his little cot with a content sigh, back into his normal clothes with a normal skin tone. His hair was still stiff from whatever George had put in, but didn't bother him too much as he snuggled against his pillow. In the beginning, the bushy-eyebrow man had insisted on Harry taking the bed, but the boy had quickly shot that idea down. So, he was stuck with a cot, smaller than his bed back at... the Dursleys, but somehow it felt more inviting and comfortable than the bed. Harry just shrugged it off as George behind the one who provided it and not his aunt and uncle.
The boy closed his eyes, tired, and slipped into slumber, unknowing of the chaos his night appearance would make in the next few hours.
This honestly wasn't the best chapter, being shorter than the previous chapter, but on the bright side, things are going to be very interesting on the Walrus in the future. XD
Don't hesitate to drop a word or two in a review. They help! And really, HPTP crossovers need some more lovin'. Anyone want to start a crossover? I submitted this and was curious as to what others were doing in this section and checked, only to find a solitary fanfic. It's sort of lonely.
On the random side, what band made the song "The Great Escape"? I was watching a German trailer for Tangled and then that song came up on the second half (I have no idea how that happened.) And don't get me started on the "neu verfohnt" part... Anyone know what that means?
Love,
Shini
