..."And why are they called Perfectly Normal Beats?"
"Well, I think because otherwise people might think it was a bit odd. I think Old Thrashbarg called them that. He says that they come from where they come from and they go where they go and that it's Bob's will and that's all there is to it."
"Who-"
"Just don't even ask."...
-Douglas Adams,
Every Smo down in Smosville liked Christmas a lot, but the Brinch, who lived north of Smosville, did not... Err, wait! Wrong copyright infringement! Ah, here it is...
Every fairy child in the whimsical, enchanting, and off pink world of Fairyland desperately looks forward to his or her eighth school year... For it is during this school year, the school year during which he or she turns ten, that he or she is assigned a little mortal baby to be fairy bobmother or bobfather to for the next four years. As every fairy is born in the month of January, it had become a custom during the mortals' "Middle Ages" for the Teachers to give each fairy child their bobmothering or bobfathering assignment on the first day of January. Like her peers, Claire had been looking forward to that special day for as long as she could remember.
Claire Nemesis Silverthorne was a mischievous nine year old with blue-violet hair and large grey eyes. Claire's older sister, Angelica Persephone Silverthorne, had become a fairy bobmother three years before and was constantly rattling on about her bobchild. Sushoban, according to Angelica, was the brightest, most pretty mortal boy in existence. Claire's parents, Gaea and Jason Silverthorne, both had highly fulfilling careers as Fairies Who Put Odd Herbs in People's Coffee to Make Them More Kind and Cheerful, but always spoke warmly of their bobmothering and fathering days.
Finally the day had come. Her Teacher, Delicia Glitterleaf, had arrived wearing an especially sparkley gown. She had even made a special basket out of leaves in which she stored seventeen envelopes, each containing the name, picture, age, and address of a mortal child. She had distributed the envelopes and the children ripped them open, each pouring over the picture of a tiny mortal infant.
Three of Claire's classmates had pulled her into a huddle. Coos were made of Yu Flamebark's chubby two month old Audrey Phillips, Julius (a/n: Sorry, I couldn't resist.^_^) Stardance's seven week old Cho Lin, and Aisling Sunsparkle's five month old Paul Marks. Then they had looked over at Claire. She had stood there, looking as disgruntled as an almost ten year old fairy with sparkley pale blue wings and purple tutu could look.
"Is there something unpretty, Claire?" Aisling had asked.
Claire had nodded and showed them her slip of paper. Printed on it was "GRACIE ANDREA GUILDFORD, AGE 13." She took out the photograph. A ragged adolescent girl stood cleaning a fireplace. "Unprettyness," she had whispered.
Noticing that most of the students had gathered around Claire, Delicia Glitterleaf had rushed over to her. One look at the photograph Claire held had confirmed her fear.
"Why did I get someone older than me, Miss Glitterleaf?" Claire had asked.
Delicia had put a hand on Claire's shoulder. "Gracie was assigned to Mirinda Riverleaf, one of the professional bobmothers, when she four, after being a student's bobchild," Delicia had explained, "but Mirinda die and you know we're having a bobmother and father shortage..."
"Mirinda Riverleaf died?"
"Err... Yes... Remember she was run over by a steam shovel?"
"Oh, yeah." There had been pause. "Will you reassign me, please, Miss Glitterleaf?"
But Delicia had refused to. "Cheer up, Claire! A fairy really musn't look so ticked off! It'll be okay! Remember our motto: ÔHappily ever after!'"
Claire had scuffed at this thought, and ran out of the room crying.
"Okay, students, you're dismissed," said Pan Rosepetal. Nearly four years had gone by since Claire had received her bobmother assignment. She was now almost fourteen. "And remember to bring some extra sparkles for tomorrow's lesson. Miss Silverthorne, please remain here. I need to speak with you for a moment after class."
Claire studied her Teacher and then raced over to his desk. Pan Rosepetal was dressed in a pink leotard with black tights and pink slippers. His silver blond hair hung down to his shoulders and his pale pink wings rustled ever so slightly as breeze drifted in through the window. "Yes?"
"Come sit down, Claire," he said, motioning to a chair beside his desk. She obeyed. "Now, as I'm certain you know, the deadline for completing your bobmothering assignment is drawing near. And it is required that you must earn a total of 100 deed points over the course of your four bobmothering years. Currently, most of your classmates have somewhere around 97 deed points. A couple of hugs and a pair of new stockings and they'll be done. You, however," he picked up his glittering star wand and waved it, producing a piece of parchment with names and tally marks, "have forty-two deed points."
Claire fingered her sparkley star wand nervously. "Err..."
"Your only hope," he continued, "is to attempt a 60-point deed." He pulled out a book from his drawer titled
Claire looked disgusted. "A ball?" she sputtered. "Her most Ôprecious' wish is to go to a ball? Isn't that rather pix?"
"Language, Claire!" Pan Rosepetal rebuked sharply. He sighed. The pixies were the fairies' more materialistic counterparts. The word itself was considered "unclean" and to call someone or something "pix" was an enormous insult.
"Sorry."
"Good," he replied. There was a brief pause. "So have we come to an agreement, Miss Silverthorne? You'll grant Miss Guildford's wish? Yes? Well, okay, good... Let's exchange cards then." Each of them, in accordance to the fairy custom, pulled out a deck of cards. Pan shuffled through his cards and gave Claire a card with a picture of sparkling butterflies on it. He glanced down at the card she had him. It a skull on it. He touched it lightly and it cackled. "Argh!" he shouted. "Elf chimes! Claire... just... go..." He sighed again. Why hadn't he just taken that job teaching the three to four year olds? Contribution to society?! Blue bird feathers... If the other young adults were anything like Claire and his other 13 year olds, society had already broken past repair.
"Hey, you! Sunsparkle!"
Aisling Sunsparkle whipped around. Behind her on the iced field of pink and yellow flowers on which she skated across to get home everyday stood Claire Silverthorne, dressed in a snowflake print leotard and pale blue tutu and tights, and wearing silver skates and blue woolen hat. Unprettyness, Aisling thought. "Goodbye, Claire!" she called, desperately hoping Claire would take the hint. "See you tomorrow at school!" Aisling turned back around and skated quickly forward towards her house.
"You're not possibly trying to avoid me, are you, Aisling?"
Aisling turned around again. Claire was still there, less than a yard away now, and staring straight into Aisling's eyes. "Err..."
"I thought not," Claire smiled, a wicked smile that looked terribly out of place on a fairy. "Come on, Sunsparkle, you're going to help me pack for my mission." Claire then proceeded to sing the Mission Impossible Theme Song.
Aisling stared at Claire, her mind throbbing with the sharp realization of how pathetic this would have been if she had not felt as if she was tangled beyond escape in some enormous trap.
"Come on," said Claire.
"I'm sorry, Claire," Aisling tried to say this firmly, but her voice shook, "I'm too busy to come today. Perhaps next time." She allowed herself to meet Claire's eyes. Rainbow hearts. "Okay, okay... I'm coming." They turned, skating towards Claire's house where the sun had already begun to set. Aisling sneaked a glance at her house and turned back to Claire. Why did she always have to be the one with friends who sank to blackmail?
"Magic Wand."
Claire twirled her wand, causing sequins to fly all over the room. A pink sequin hit a vase on Claire's desk and shattered. "Ja!" She grinned. There was a pause. "Genst am..."
Aisling glared at her. "That's all that's on the list, Claire."
"Ach, ja!" Claire replied. "Gut! Danke, Aisling! Tschau!"
"That's it?" sputtered Aisling. "You brought me all the way here so could Ôcheck' to see if you had your wand?"
Claire nodded. "Biss dann, Sunsparkle!"
Aisling let out an enormous sigh and flew out the window.
Claire grinned and raced downstairs. "Auf Wiedersehen, Mutter!" she called as she ran out the door. "Ich bin gegangen Hausaufgaben machen!"
"Gut," her mother called back, "sein gemact mit Tee!"
Claire nodded, making a mental note to inflict great pain the fairy who put the German curse on her family for when they were in their house and refused to tell them the counter curse.
Claire gazed at the enormous estate that rose before her. In the center was a tall house, colored a pale blue. From that stemmed a garden, three acres of sickeningly pastel flowers broken only by the thin stone path. Claire carefully unlatched the knee high gate and headed down the path, point her wand towards her and swishing it. She struggled for air and began to turn blue. Quickly she swished her wand again and returned to normal, and with another swish she was invisible. She began to skip, as fairies often do, in an almost serene fashion. Her feet felt light and airy and soon she was hovering just above the path. She darted up towards the a tall window, sat down on the ledge, and looked through.
She had really chosen the perfect window to look in from. Inside she saw three girls, two of which appeared to be sisters. The other girl she recognized as her bobchild. With a swish of her wand, she could hear every word they were saying.
"Cinderella!" called the youngest girl. "Come help me put on my gown!"
The middle girl, her bobchild, hurried over, carrying a pink dress.
That's odd, thought Claire, I thought my bobchild's name was Gracie. Must be some sort of nickname. She studied her bobchild, who was covered with dirt and cinders. Rather fitting.
"Come on, Schuyler," said the oldest girl, after "Cinderella" had assisted her in putting on a ruffley purple dress, "let's go show Momma how beautiful we look!"
"Okay, Lana!" agreed the youngest girl. They strode out of the room.
The middle girl sat on one of the chairs. "How I wish I could go to the ball!" she moaned and burst into years.
What a melodramatic little brat, Claire thought. Ah well, I guess she'll get her wish.
"Hey, Momma?" asked Claire. They were sitting in their garden which had been enchanted to be warm and sunny, even in the winter. The Silverthornes had been spending a lot of time there, because they had stolen it and therefore it wasn't considered part of Ôtheir' house (the spell caster was such a goody-goody) so they could in speak in French. "Why are mortals so materialistic?"
Her mother smiled knowingly. Claire hated when she did that. "I don't know, Claire," her mother replied, "but most fairies think it's because they can't get all the material things they want. We can and so we've learned to value other things."
Claire pondered this. "I don't think so. Rich mortals can get every material thing they want, but they still want more."
"Not every material thing," Claire's mother corrected, "and besides, there will likely always be people more than they have so they'll want to compete and less than they have, so they'll want to show off. Even if they owned the whole world, there still would always be more to have and more things for other mortals to invent for them."
Claire looked skeptical. "Or perhaps they're just insane."
Claire's mother agreed that this could also be the case.
At last it was the night before the ball. Claire had spent all day practicing her traveling wand swish. She'd known how to do the return home swish since she was five, but her parents had always seemed reluctant to teach her the traveling swish, for some odd reason... But luckily she had blackmailed Julius Stardance into teaching it to her.
Knowing her classmate Yu would be gone most of the day skiing with his family, she had chosen his house as her destination when she practiced. She now stood poised, dressed in a black leotard and tutu with red tights and shoes. She concentrated on the address of her Bobchild as she held up her wand and waved it elaborately. Then everything went pink.
Claire slowly moved her arms and legs, feeling papers oscillate beneath her. She opened her eyes slowly and looked at the wall she was up against. It was covered with posters of fairy dancers. She was in a bedroom. Yu's bedroom... She sighed and shifted over, causing a pile of papers to fall to the ground. She was on a desk and Yu sat behind it, facing forwards towards the wall, staring at her in shock. "Get off my homework, Silverthorne," he managed to say.
She climbed off the desk.
"What are you doing here?"
She studied Yu for a moment. He was in the Travel Club, wasn't he? She grabbed a blank sheet of paper from the desk, scribbled down Gracie's address on it, and handed it to Yu. "Can you get me here?"
There was a pause. "Yeah, I guess so." Yu waved his wand and again everything went pink.
Claire found herself lying on top of papers for the second time that evening. But, no, that wasn't true, she realized, they weren't papers at all. She opened her eyes.
A thin, ragged girl was hovering her. "Are you okay, miss?" she asked. It was Gracie.
Claire bounced up. "Greetings, Gracie!" she said with really a remarkable amount of dignity and self-regard considering she was covered in cinders and ashes. "I am your fairy bobmother!"
Gracie looked puzzled. "Fairy bobmother?"
Claire nodded. "Fairy bobmother! Haven't you read Mostly Harmless?" Gracie hadn't. "Well, there's your problem, then!"
Gracie frowned at her. "You shouldn't be expecting me to read things! I have to, you know, clean and stuff!"
Claire sighed. "Well, anyway, you want to go to that little ball deal, right?"
Gracie smiled serenely. "More than anything!"
"Yeah, yeah. Well, I'm going to provide you with something to wea... Argh! Shining stars, don't look at me like that! I'm not doing this because I like you or anything, it's a school assignment!"
But Gracie was oblivious. She was dancing around the room, singing in her shrill, off pitch voice. Suddenly her face fell. "But, wait, I don't have a gown to wear..." she uttered regretfully.
Claire's face turned intermingling shades of red, blue, and purple. "You unpretty flower petal!" she shouted. "If you had a gown, I wouldn't be here! The palace is a half of a mile away! You could walk! Now stand still so I can turn your... err... dress into a ball gown..."
Gracie stopped dancing. "Fine," she muttered, "you don't have to be so mean about it though..."
Claire waved her wand and Gracie became dressed in a tropical tie-dye bathing suit with neon blue sandals on her feet, a white towel draped over her shoulder, and dark sunglasses perched on her head. "Erm," asked Gracie, "is it supposed to be so little?"
Claire sighed again and waved her wand. This time Gracie became dressed in a white, sequin-covered ball gown. She waved her wand again and there was a knock at the door. Gracie opened it and there stood a tall coachman with an enormous carriage.
"Be back by midnight," warned Claire, "or your gown will turn back into the... err... dress you were wearing."
"Why midnight?" asked Gracie curiously.
"Midnight's a pretty time and it's the start of the next day," Claire explained. "Plus, that's when Fairy King Live comes on!"
Gracie failed to see the connection, but flashed Claire a smile as she flounced out the door.
"Rowan wood!" Claire exclaimed, shaking her head. "How does she expect to dance in that thing?"
Claire skipped happily along Smiling Sunflower Bridge. She stopped for a moment to lean on the rail and look at the sunset. It's rather orange, Claire thought philosophically. Claire liked orange.
Suddenly there was a push from behind her...
"Hello, Fairy Bobmother!" exclaimed Gracie. "I was beginning to think you'd never come!"
Claire shrugged and allowed Gracie to help her up. "Did you know that the whirlpool under Smiling Sunflower Bridge leads to your fireplace?"
The familiar look of confusion crossed Gracie's face. "A whirlpool?"
"Never mind..." She drew out her wand. She had started keeping it in a sheath that hung from tutu. Claire thought it looked terribly pretty, like a sword. "Same thing? Gown? Carriage?..." Gracie nodded and Claire waved her wand. "Be back by midnight, Gracie!"
Gracie blinked. This time she stood dress in a bright yellow rain coat with black boots and a red umbrella. "Why do you always turn my clothes into something else before you turn them into a gown?" Gracie asked, as Claire waved her wand and Gracie became dressed in a shiny silver ball gown.
Claire attempted to roll her eyes in the mortal fashion. She failed. "I don't mean to, you Lily pad!" she rebutted. With another wave of her wand, the carriage and driver were there. Grace walked grandly out the door, skirts shuffling, stumbling briefly over a stone.
"I know you're awake, Claire!"
Claire opened her eyes in shock and stared up at her older sister. "You... Has..."
Angelica nodded, beaming. "The fairy who cast the enchantment died," she explained, "and apparently he left the counter curse in his will!"
Claire grinned. "Oh, that's wonderful!" she cried. "How did he die though?"
Angelica looked solemn. "Ran over by a steam roller..."
"How sad," said Claire.
Angelica paused and then smiled at Claire. "How's your fairy bobmothering going?"
"Err..." responded Claire, desperately trying to alter the course of the conversation, "Err... Err... Say, Angelica, why do you want to be a fairy bobmother when you grow up?"
"Oh!," exclaimed Angelica, her face lighting up, "being a fairy bobmother is the most fulfilling joy a fairy can have, no offense to Momma and Papa, of course. Just having that cute little mortal look up at you with love and adoration in its eyes..."
Claire winced inwardly at the idea of Gracie looking at her with such an expression. "Well, I got to be be going, Angelica," she said loudly, though sensing Angelica still wouldn't hear, "school, you know..."
"...and when you pick out toys just for it..." Angelica smiled, reflecting on her latest bobchild she had been assigned for her career training course. "I wonder if Lila would like another doll..."
Claire smiled triumphantly. She had finally managed a traveling spell all by herself, and, as a wonderful extra bonus, hadn't ended up in Gracie's fireplace.
"Fairy bobmother?"
Claire turned around, saw Gracie, and beamed ever wider. "That's my name, don't wear it out!"
Gracie thought this over with puzzlement. "Fairy bobmother," she asked, "how can you wear out a..."
"Don't worry about it, Gracie," interrupted Claire. "I'm going to transform your... err... dress into a gown now and summon the carriage and driver, okay? Now remember, it's terribly important that you be back by midnight as..."
Gracie nodded, as Claire finished her speech. Claire then waved her wand. This time Grace became dressed in a jogging outfit, complete with ankle warmers and water bottle.
"Dewdrops!" shouted Claire, to no one in particular. "This is no longer funny!" She waved her wand again, this time resulting in Grace being dressed in a gaudy gold ball gown. She waved her wand yet again, and the coach and driver appeared.
"Goodbye, Gracie!" exclaimed Claire, pushing her bobchild out the door. She smiled as she did her return home swish, hoping desperately that the era of her life involving Gracie Guildford was drawing to an end...
"Oh, look!" exclaimed Claire's father over breakfast a few weeks later, pointing to the headline on the front page of the paper, "the prince of mortal France was married! Look here's a picture of his bride... Gracie Andrea Guildford..." The family peered over the picture.
"Wasn't she your bobchild?" Claire's mother asked her.
Claire nodded.
"Oh, Claire!" cried Angelica, leaning over and hugging her. "You must be so proud!"
And so they lived happily...
"Well not really," shrugged Claire, "she was really annoying... I feel bad for the prince..."
Ever..
"Claire!" gasped Angelica. "How can you speak so of your former bobchild?"
After...
"¡Bien, bien, lo siento!" said Claire. She paused. "¡Ay carumba! ¡No la maldición española!"
Or not...
The End
...Old Thrashbarg regarded him gravely. His old gray eyes moved sadly. He held his arms aloft, one still carrying a bobbing pikka bird, the other his staff.
"O Sandwich Maker from Bob!" he pronounced. He paused, furrowed his brow and sighed as he closed his eyes in pious contemplation. "Life," he said, "will be a very great deal less weird without you!"
Arthur was stunned.
"Do you know," he said, "I think that's the nicest thing anybody's ever said to me?"...
-Douglas Adams,