Okay...Before you go awol on me for not having continued my other Princess Tutu fics yet, please hear me out. I'm trying to keep my writing muse active and get it going again. In order to do so, I take the inspiration as it comes. Be patient, alright? I'm trying to work on the second chapter of Running Ink. That's my first priority unless I post more of these little things in the mean time in hopes of getting my muse running. (It's not much, but for the long wait, I'll include a small preview of the next chapter of RI below this fic, so you can get some idea how the next chapter is forming thus far.)
As for this fic itself, I kind of cheated for this theme. This is actually the application I wrote for Fakir in an LJ roleplay that I was hoping to join. But I have so many little unfinished things and small ficlets like this that I thought I might as well post them and stick them to one of the themes, because it IS still fanfiction, even if I wrote it for another purpose. (In that sense, I apologize if the way I try to make it meet a theme doesn't really fit too well. Eheh.) You might also notice things don't seem to flow. It's actually quite difficult to write like normal once you get into RPing, but I hope that doesn't bother anyone too much. I'll do what I can to fix it in the future, if at all possible.
And I know roleplaying has sucked up a lot of my writing and inspiration muses and I apologize for that. I don't plan to give it up but I want to reach the point where I can comfortably work with both fanfiction and roleplay without neglecting one too severely for the other. So again, I beg patience. I really do plan to continue these fics and things, because Princess Tutu is wonderful and inspirational and I love to write for it.
With that said, I hope you enjoy this small ficlet piece.
Disclaimer: Princess Tutu and all of its characters do not belong to me.
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Lovequote #27: "It's not that I want to have you. I want to deserve you."
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Excuses
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Every day in Kinkan Town was quiet and peaceful now. Normal.
And yet a day did not pass that Fakir wasn't uneasy. He could still almost feel a veil of uncertainty in the air, hanging like a heavy morning fog that obscured something just out of sight. He looked up from the half-written page stained with black ink, his sharp green gaze scrutinizing the surrounding trees and lake. Nothing out of the ordinary met his alert gaze, but the strange and inexplicable sensation refused to leave him. 'Nonsense,' he berated himself lightly with a brief shake of his head, the scritch-scratching of his quill against the parchment picking up again from his momentary pause.
Afterall, everything was finally the way it should be - the way it was meant to be. All of the townspeople had returned to their former selves (there was no chance of running into a walking and talking anteater in the streets anymore) and had forgotten any happenings of the story completely. Everyone blissfully went about their daily business as though they'd never been sucked into a dead man's twisted story in the first place. And Fakir was thankful for it. The specific task of writing he had taken upon himself was certainly easier to go about doing when there was no group of cloaked men aiming to cut off your hands.
Not that the young man could say he was particularly comfortable with writing as of yet, anyway. The strange power that had been handed down to him from Drosselmeyer made every word matter, because there was no telling what would and wouldn't come true. Openings and pathways were unexpectedly created through the weaving of words and phrases, forming doorways that unpleasant things could crawl in through if he wasn't paying close attention. Fakir's duck-feathered quill halted once more, the hesitation from that uneasy thought stopping the swerving ink in its tracks and allowing a small puddle of black to form where the tip was firmly pressed in place.
Consequences.
Death.
A small bead of sweat formed and fell from his brow, trailing down his face until it dripped onto the paper below, staining one small spot. His eyebrows suddenly furrowed together, teeth gritting of their own accord. Thiswasn't the time to be second-guessing himself! He was a writer now, not a knight. He couldn't - wouldn't live by fear anymore! That way of life had given that up for good when he cast away his sword and defied the fate that had been given to him.
As a knight, he'd failed. His sword had failed to protect Mytho and Ahiru both. He'd been nothing more than a worthless wannabe knight who was always the one who ended up being protected in the end. ...But what of being a writer? Could he really protect others this way? He certainly hadn'tsucceeded in the role - writing out the ending of Drosselmeyer's tale had been a terrible struggle and had only really succeeded through Ahiru's ability to hope and dance. Even before that, he'd nearly been forced to write the death of--- And he'd been unable to stop the ravens from attacking when---
"GEH!"
A splash of cold liquid startled Fakir out of his brooding thoughts and he grunted irritably, raising a hand to instinctively shield himself from the cool drops of water. He glared down off the side of the dock, the culprit staring back up at him with one yellow wing extended. "You---idiot!" he bit out in an annoyed fashion. "Can't you see that I'm writing? You could have ruined half the parchment with your stupid little spla--" He paused mid-word and blinked, noting the duck's expression was firm and readable to him even without the luxury of speech. Flushing very slightly, he immediately averted his gaze from hers. "I'm not upset, moron. I was just...thinking about something. There was no need to throw water on me for it."
Seemingly placated by his words, Ahiru gave a little quack and went about her business again. Fakir turned his gaze back to her briefly as she swam around the dock, and let out a small sigh as he leaned back in his chair.
If she was content now, why wasn't he? She certainly had the least reason to be happy with the outcome of Drosselmeyer's tale. Ahiru had given her all to save the prince and return his heart - she loved him. However, after the final battle with the Monster Raven, Mytho had unexpectedly chosenRue to be his princess instead. And Ahiru no longer even retained the ability to take human form once she returned the very last piece of the prince's heart (in the form of her pendant, which formerly allowed her to become both a girl and Princess Tutu). She became nothing more than her true self: a mere duck once again. Fakir frowned at that thought, absent-mindedly letting his quill slip from his fingers and onto the stack of parchment below.
"...I'll just turn into a regular old duck again, won't I? I won't be able to study ballet with everyone anymore..."
"Isn't that alright? That's the real you. And even if that does happen, I will always stay by your side."
Another sigh escaped his lips, green eyes trailing after the duck in the water below. What good was the promise and company of a useless knight and struggling writer when everything she could have - should have had with the prince was taken from her? Was she really happy doing nothing but living a duck's simple life now? Even when the one she loved and gave everything for took the hand of the Raven's daughter instead of hers? Didn't she miss dancing? Her friends? Speaking? ...Being a human girl?
'You're just looking for an excuse,' a chiding voice in the back of his mind supplied.
The frown on his face deepened as he mentally shook his head from forming any further questions. He had been the one to tell her that she should accept her true self and the way she was meant to be! What right did he have now to think any differently? It was absurd. These countless days on the dock writing and sharing in her company must have begun to have an effect on his way of thinking. The same way she'd slowly begun to change him after he'd allowed himself to trust her.
She was too goddamn selfless and somehow it inexplicably, irrationally irritated him.
Not that it was even wrong of her to be that way or that any of it was her fault at all. The problem was deeper. The problem was with him. How many times had he considered writing a story for her? Fakir had lost count. And even though he had hastily dismissed any such urge from ever materializing and reaching the paper, he had physically forced himself away from his writing tools more than once to prevent from attempting.
Ridiculous, that's what it was. He could admit to himself that he missed speaking to her, even if they would get into arguments constantly and she would do and say stupid things. It was still amusing at times and even...endearing, somehow. And they'd helped and leaned on each other in their times of need. He could be himself around her and not have to worry about being judged, because she knew the truth and she understood him. Fakir hadn't stopped to realize just how different things would be when she returned to being a duck. He'd grown used to and almost comfortable with her as a girl and then suddenly that strange and awkward companionship he'd become accustomed to was gone.
And sometimes Fakir caught Ahiru staring off into the distance where Kinkan Academy was located, her wide blue gaze almost wistful. His mind had twisted such looks into meaning that she missed her human life, and everything that came with it. And the more he thought about it, the more he was convinced that she deserved to have it for what the story had put her through. So why had she been the one left with nothing when it was over? That couldn't be right. That couldn't be fair.
'Excuses.'
Fakir picked up his fallen quill, pressing the tip down onto a blank area on the parchment.
He would be doing her a favor by writing her story then, wouldn't he? Simply giving her what deserved to be granted for what she'd done and sacrificed?
His hand twitched once and began to move, the ink trailing from the tip and onto the paper with smooth lines.
'...Or is this desire entirely your own?' his own mind mocked him.
The quill jarred sharply against the paper, a large black streak tearing through the delicate page.
He was being selfish.
Fakir nearly toppled his chair over as he abruptly stood, papers and ink falling from his lap and scattering onto the wooden deck, a few stray pages of it floating off into the water. He stubbornly ignored Ahiru's frantic quacking as he briskly turned on heel and stalked off of the deck, heading straight back for home with nothing but a duck-feathered quill in his hand.
Why couldn't he just be happy with the way things were now? Why did things have to get complicated? Why did it matter if he was lonely? Why did he have to care at all?
Fakir knew that he didn't deserve anything and his selfish thoughts only further proved that point. Why couldn't he just accept it like she had?
He was a human boy and she was a duck. That was the way things were meant to be.
And Fakir knew that even though he had the power to, he didn't have the right to change it.
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And that does it for this little theme/piece. I hope you enjoyed it, even though it was mostly Fakir introspection.
As mentioned above, I said I would provide a small bit from the next chapter of Running Ink, right? Well, here's a little piece of what's in store for Chapter 2:
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Rue bit her lip nervously, unwilling to tell the truth. "It doesn't really matter, does it?" she broke out mock-cheerfully. "I'll even give you a raise for any trouble this whole situation has caused. How does that sound?"
"A raise..." Ahiru remarked thoughtfully. She couldn't deny that a little extra income would help a lot.
The fingers on her shoulder tensed. "I can assure you whatever minimal wage you were paid there will be at least doubled here."
"How dare you!" Rue bit out hatefully. "That's the same dirty tactic you used on Mytho!"
"Mytho wanted to leave your company," the green-eyed head of Night Ink supplied with a shrug. "I merely gave him compensation for putting up with you as long as he did."
"Bastard," the female CEO spat, crimson eyes flaring with inner rage.
Ahiru was getting lost between their less-than-civil verbal exchange. What was the point in all the fighting? It was a little hard for her to believe that both of their companies were in such desperate need of cleaning help. How had it turned from being fired by one, interrogated and refused by the other, to what had now escalated into a heated battle over who would get to employ her? What a bizarre day it was turning out to be.
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And that's it for now, folks. I'm not sure how long it's going to take to finish it (since I always tend to write such gigantic chapters), but I'm working on it, so please bear with me, alright? If I can dig up or put any more small things like this together to share in the mean time, I'll try. I'm really sorry about leaving things hanging for over a year.
Any comments and questions are welcome in a review and appreciated, as always.