Disclaimer: none of this franchise is owned by me.
Summary: To breathe some life, context, and meaning into the numerous teenage characters possibly inhabiting the Isle of the Lost, these vignettes offer insight into the characters that appear in "let the shadows fall behind you."
Drawn from canon hints and contexts from the movie and books, incorporating author theorizing and/or ignoring other established parts of the canon universe.
Warning: life on the Isle is a life surrounded by villains, and not much about that could be pleasant.
Author's Notes: The Splinters of the Isle Gangs, and what motivates their choices.
Title and content influenced by the song "What's Wrong" by PVRIS.
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what's wrong (never sold my soul)
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"This skin don't feel like home
It's all overgrown but you'll never know..."
"What's Wrong" by PVRIS
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The Splinters
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wine :: Harry Hook
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The night his sister left, he was on his knees cleaning spilled wine just after the moon started sinking back toward the horizon. He'd lost track of time by then, lost the number of swallows their father took and the volume of raging growls. Lost count of how many times he ignored the ache in his shoulder. He must have looked away, embarrassed and angry that she stood between him and their father. And that was it.
When his sister leapt from ship to shore and took off down the docks, he must have been wringing out the cleaning rag. Later, that's what he'd remember: there, blink, rag, blink. Gone.
Uncommon: no. Considered: no. He moves on jerky strings, sometimes bursting out in flailing limbs with too much fire in his veins, other times ruled by the icy grip of apathy that keeps him cruel. Harriet is a thought that can plunge him to the deepest degrees of either emotion, wild with it, unable to predict his own responses.
Uncertainty is familiar.
Most of his words now filter down through his captain before coming out of his mouth. Without her, he wouldn't know reality from his own rampant imaginings. Most of his actions now filter through the reactions of his second mate. Without him, he wouldn't know if he was ruled by fire or ice on any given day. None of this knowledge is upsetting—he doesn't know life any other way, though he can see that others seem not to experience the lightning currents that jerk his limbs like puppet strings.
Most of his whines are strangled before ever tripping off his tongue. Not like anyone else on this rock would care to hear him: none but their crew ever notice that he's left something unsaid, now.
The Isle leaves no room for softness like feelings. There's nothing but the fact that they can choose to matter by force or choose to be forgotten. And, after losing Harriet—'tis better to be full of wrath and venom and reckless, wild glee than to go find her to bring her home.
She left for the land. That's it. Chose to be forgotten.
Just like their father, and their third sibling—each lost in their own ways. The old captain is so deep into bitter wines he forgets that just because the bottles seem endless, doesn't mean he should tempt the volatile seas. Calista Jane is oft found on the arm of a lunatic, Yzma's boy, and he'd hunt them down except—
Everyone chooses. Force or forgetting?
Either way: not him. So at night, he curls up between his chosen crew, his chosen family, the ones he chose with a ceremonial night of sweet wines and burning whiskies, a celebration of their very own ship, ragged and patched as it may be. He makes his choice, too: to keep these ones. Seems like they might choose him, for once. That's enough.
Then fire falls from the sky. He wakes up from what he thought was death, aching limbs and throat burning for some wine, and sees: yes, they chose to keep him.
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found :: Gil Gaston
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One time, he found a rock, and he wanted to keep the rock. It was a new color. A lot of the island is gray and the rock was a new kind of red. Not the blood kind, or the fire kind. It was nice. He wanted to keep it. His brothers did not want him to keep it. So he could not keep it.
A lot of things he wanted to keep would not be. His brothers did not let him keep much. Not the fish that was very large and very shiny. They ate it. He cried when they did not see. Not the stick which was knobby and felt heavy in his hand. They broke it. He cried when they did not see. Not the book. It had torn pages and no cover but it had pictures with the words. They tore it more and threw it in the water. He did not cry that time. There was no point. But he did not like that. And his father did not stop his brothers. He did not like that, either.
His sister might have let him keep the rock and the fish and the stick and the book. She looks scarier than his brothers and his father when he sees her. He never sees her from close up. She is on rooftops a lot. She is around corners and jumps behind market stalls. She uses her hands to speak to her crew and he wishes he knew how to speak like that too. But she does not come near him. She stays away. He does not like that. He does not cry about it a lot, anymore. Just sometimes. Just on the ship if he's lying down late at night and Harry's on one side and Uma's on the other. And if they have just mentioned their own siblings. Then, he might cry. Usually he does not.
His sister might have left but he thinks she also might have found something better. He thinks his brothers and father are not people to stay for. That's why he went to Harry and Uma. They are better.
He knows that on the Isle that better is not actually better. Bad is best. Good is worst. This sometimes makes sense. Sometimes it does not. But Harry and Uma know more than him and they do not yell at him and they do not make him hurt when he messes up. As long as he does what they want he will be doing the best. And when he messes up and they make him fix it, he knows for sure that he is doing his best.
That's why he dragged Harry out of the sudden fire. He found him even when there was a lot of black. And smoke. And fire. And a dragon. He found Uma, too. He found his crew. He found their ship. He found others who were hurt and put Harry with them. But he had also hurt himself to find Harry. Uma made him stay in place, then, and let Dizzy make the pain ease. He even saw his sister watching when Harry was still not waking back up.
He did not feel completely better until Harry woke up. He did not feel completely better until Uma was no longer scowling all day. But being found by his sister was really great, too. He liked to be found, just like the rock and the fish and the stick and the book. He liked it because Harry and Uma and his sister would not let themselves be taken away like those things he had found.
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prison :: Uma, the Sea Witch
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The sea and her mother and the Isle created her prison cell. (A shop, a busted ship, and an insane brother: what treasures she has inherited and fought for!)
Her ship and her crew and her ambitions were the rust and worn hinges. (Her heart beats in two chests, a fact she will never admit and never stop attempting to conceal.)
Dragon's fire and Mal and Auradon broke the walls at their weak points. (There could be room for her blood family in her chosen one, if only Uri would come closer. If only he weren't afraid of something he's Seen—she still knows him well enough to notice that his eyes have been watching a future, not the present. The thought that he stays away because of what he's keeping secret makes her grit her teeth harder.)
Their rebellion will free her completely. (Tear 'em down.)
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minion :: Diego de Vil
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Never a leader, always a follower: Diego's long accepted that he makes a far better minion than a villain. In fact, he'd probably be better off as a bystander, gaping at the atrocities and idiocies of his desperately grasping peers.
This is what gets him into Yzla's good graces within moments of crossing paths in school. She walks past him to the left, eyes darting and assessing, and he wants to know where those sly eyes focus, where that confident strut will lead. And she is just as interested in having a clever follower as backup.
In all their dealings, he's bound to her as minion to master. The power dynamic is evident and he finds that the world makes more sense when he's not cast adrift to make all his own choices. On the Isle, there are few enough of those to go around anyway, and while their peers mimic their parents' patterns thinking that they will become better, he hasn't fooled himself. He's not bright, innovative, or clever like his cousin. He's not as dumb as the Gaston twins, or as crafty as Mad Maddie. He's barely a solitary entity at all.
There's a secret to their dynamic that no one ever notices, because they always assume. It's one that makes him sure he was born in the right place, once he understood it. And it's one he'd never disabuse them of because it works to their advantage.
It's simple: he's never been attracted to anyone. Meeting Yzla, and being hers, doesn't change that. Their connection is a different kind of thread—one of common purpose and certainty. She gets it, when he tells her that if he could feel attraction, she'd be the one. But raging hormones seem to have swept right by without touching him, and she takes that facet of his service without question.
Necessity causes him to head to the Tremaine house on occasion. Taking customers isn't exactly pleasant—he'd prefer anything else, but the Isle does not have many options for the homeless mediocre villains while the big-name gangs strut around. Being Yzla's and hers alone means they need less, but sometimes, they do. So he goes when they need the money. Or, as not everyone pays with coins, supplies. Food. Clothing, too. Everything they need, staying wherever they find a place for the night. The rocky outskirts are best.
His father hasn't been around in a long time. He sees him, occasionally, at the market or from an alleyway. They never pause when they see each other, anymore. What's the point? A minion does not care, and his father's been one almost all his life. In this one aspect, Diego is fulfilling a family legacy of shadowy dealings and skulking.
This is his role, after Auradon has fallen and the Isle becomes a base of operations for rebellion. He watches, and listens, on the rooftop above, crouching in silence, out of sight. And he hears.
He breathes the night air and thinks. Snorts. Shrugs with no one else to witness. Wonders. Dares to consider—
(Could the gangs…?)
He lingers long after an Isle girl and an Auradon king are gone, deciding what report this minion will give to his master.
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bells :: Claudine Frollo
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Books and prayers are her bells. They clamor and cry, ring peals of sweetness and disturbance to her ears, and keep track of her time. There's nothing else that fits correctly in her life but those ragged, ratty covers and the sweetness of whispers on shadowed rooftop.
There is little else in her life that she cares to remember.
(Don't think about Mother's warm, dark skin pressed against her cheek, Mother's dark and twisted smile as she tried to hide her pain. Don't think about Mother saying father took too much she did not want to give. Don't think about Mother apologizing for leaving her behind. Don't think about Mother's dark hair flapping as she flees with blood on her thighs—)
There is little else in her life that makes her feel calm.
(Don't think about Father saying she made Mother leave, not him. Don't think about Father locking the outside doors at night and not having a lock on her bedroom door. Don't think about Father's fearsome anger and twisted lust. Don't think about Father's hands—)
Little else in her life that keeps her sane.
(Don't think about large, watchful eyes that keep her safe on her rooftop. Don't think about reckless laughter and wrathful scorn and gentle hands so delicate at the wrist—)
Little else in her than fragile dreams.
(Don't think about hope or goodness: there is none here. Don't think about love: that's not allowed, either. Don't think about her—)
Books and prayers are her bells. They ring louder than her own sobs, ring softer than her hidden wishes. And they have cracks, just like her.
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crown :: Yzla
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Knowledge that Yzla possesses: her royal crown was stolen; memories of her brother Zevon have always included competition; and their mother Yzma played the long game.
Theories Yzla has: Yzma encouraged violent rivalry because she always knew only one of the twins would inherit their throne; Zevon is the weaker twin, as much for his lack of planning as for his choice to go to Auradon with Yzma; and she was left behind because the long game had ended, surviving only due to her minion's forethought.
Choices Yzla will make: help these petty heroes return to their home; take advantage of the war to enact vengeance on her betraying blood family; and return to Kuzco's kingdom and sweep it out from underneath his feet, minion at her side.
Knowledge Yzla does not yet have (but Uri does):
The war will hinge on a turning point that is someone else's choice. Her minion will be at risk during the conflict.
And Diego matters more to her than revenge.
