Author's Notes: Thank you again to all those who have reviewed. I am very unspeakably grateful. This chapter's a little odd... and the story's loosing some of it's buoyancy. It's still funny, I believe, but the host of rather eccentric characters are making themselves enemies of the humour. All I could do is to make fun of them. Thus, without further ado: Chapter Three.
~Jetso, the Red Red Sky Tail.
Three: Where it Lies in the Hands of Coincidence
As we all know, in most fairy tale kingdoms, common knowledge isn't really as common as it should be and the Fates seem to delight in breaking Murphy's Law at every given opportunity. Pyrai, sadly, isn't any fairy tale kingdom. In Pyrai, it seems to be the duty of the Fates to ensure Murphy's Law is followed to the syllable, all ten syllables of it: "Everything that can go wrong, will go wrong." In fact, it could be considered a ritual of Pyrai's hardworking Fates to repeat to themselves those ten sacred syllables. There are moments in which they worked completely and mind-bogglingly overtime, that they created more time so that they could go on working for longer.
The only thing the Pyraian Fates love more than Murphy's Law was Murphy's Second Law. They made it their motto and had it carved onto their weaving looms and etched onto their tools. All two clauses, thirteen words, seventeen syllables of it : "Everything that can go wrong, will go wrong in the worse possible way."
With that in mind, one can better understand how Daniel, horrified at the dramatic entrance of her winged godparents, fled the royal ballroom and raced down the long newly-waxed corridors to the library, slipping about three times en route and loosing both of her very uncomfortable, very pink shoes. What pandemonium she left in the royal ballroom was simply impossible for one observer to fully see all that happened.
Firstly, the Queen fainted. Her royal attendants tried to awake her with smelling salts, but she was quite stubborn about staying in a semi-comatose state. The King was still locked in his study, attending to "important matters of state." He refused to come out and appointed the company representative to take charge.
Secondly, the three fairies were quite huffy about their dramatic entrance being spoilt and it took the blessings coordinator a full twelve and a half minutes to calm them.
"Well, we are the fairies of..." the blond fairy paused and whipped out a script from nowhere. "... da da.... da.... there I am... Well, we three kings have come from afar to bless this child whose star shines above this humble stable..."
All in the audience looked about them, expecting to see a brilliant star and perhaps a few horses. The pink-apparelled fairy nudged her and winked hard.
"Why are you winking at me," said the blond fairy indignantly.
The pink-apparelled fairy glared and tapped the script with her glitter-trailing wand.
The blond fairy flipped through the script. There was a rapid rustling of paper and an "oooh" of realisation. She smiled sheepishly to her audience. "Sorry about that. Wrong script. Our Christmas play, you know, I play the lead king. I do look stunning don't I? It's my first speaking part, ever... save the time I played on of Cinderella's birds in the Easter pantomime. Pantomimes are so..." The pink-apparelled fairy gave her another savage nudge. "Well... we are the fairies of dinner, authors and fame. We have come to see the not-so-little Princess Daniel of Pyrai..."
The pink-apparelled fairy cleared her throat, waved her wand (leaving more than just a sprinkling of glitter on the clean ballroom floor, much to the dismay of the royal steward) and took over. "I mean that we three fairies have come again..."
"I know we don't look much like the ones who came sixteen years ago, but that's really just the years... We came with a gift of joy."
The pink-apparelled fairy twirled her wand, getting glitter all over her hair, dress and the progressively messier ballroom floor. "Dratted wand," she cursed underbreath before producing, with a slight of hand, a gift-wrapped box (pink dragons with a green ribbon).
The blessings coordinator retrieved his spoon from under the tables (he had dropped it during the commotion) and proceeded to try killing himself. "Faory of Winter, not Dinner. Autumn, not Authors. Rain, not Fame... never trust 'hearing-impaired' scribes. Never, ever trust 'hearing impaired' scribes..."
"Don't commit self-annihilation..." squealed the pig, waddling up to him.
"Pal..."
The pig looked confused (or as confused as a pig could ever look). "Could you be more precise in your oral communication?"
"Ah..."
"Do you mean he who speaks projects his voice, he who places crass, unfastidious words into my oral cavity? The part-time ventriloquist and full-time domestic swine liquidator?" The pig nodded with understanding. "He is currently unavailable."
"What?" The blessings coordinator dropped his spoon in surprise.
"The flora tradesperson, vertically-advantaged female with most of the local angiosperms (I believe you uneducated homo sapiens call them 'flowering plants') in her hair, pursued him (romantically, may I add) him out of here, I am led to believe."
"Eh..."
"Homo sapiens... I was merely trying to vocalise my observations. He was chased out of here by the florist."
"Ih..."
"You do comprehend that? Is it necessary for me to speak in single syllable words for you to perceive me? Is your lexicon that limited?"
"Oh..."
"Is it your objective to progress through all the vowels of the spoken tongue?"
"Uh..."
The pig shook his pink head and trotted of, muttering rude comments about the "mental capacity" of "homo sapiens" and in one very long breath talk about "finally being able to verbalise my mental whimsies and serious-minded mentations and no one to fully comprehend them..."
The Princes were all very stunned, but chalked it up to strange curses and even stranger fairies. The younger generation of the little folk had been getting increasingly insistant on going against tradition. These Princes, who wish claim "modern" as another of there Princely traits, have gladly accepted this slightly unconventional style.
The blessings coordinator was stopped killing himself by the royal seamstress. She also confiscated his spoon, in case he tried anything rash again. She then sent him to bed with hot chocolate and a teddy bear to sooth his nearves. Her husband, the company representative, was a little irked by it as it went against not only company standard procedure, but his family traditions since his mother was fond of stuffed pigs. The blessings coordinator, however, seemed to have developed a phobia against them and the company representative was snubbed by a triumphant "I told you so!" from his wife.
The royal seamstress accepted the green-ribboned pink-papered box from the fairies with as much grace as she could muster under the scrutiny of the entire ballroom. The company representative gave a very pretty, meaningless and repetitive speech, gorged with jargon, about how grateful the royal family was and how very sorry they all were. He placed special emphasis on how horrible the curse was and how incredibly malevolent and devious the fairy who had placed the curse (he carefully left her unnamed) in not informing them of the full capacity of the curse.
After such a stirring speech made by the company representative (which would later become the most quoted speech in Pyrian history), the curse of Princess Daniel became a proper noun in Pyrian history and gained a capital letter. The dark days of the Curse were forever remembered with a sort of secret wistfulness. All the princesses to come would secretly envy Daniel for her extensive and creative Curse while they were stuck with sleeping for a thousand years or eating poisoned apples. She, though unnamed, also won the "Most Evil Fairy Award." All evil fairies to come would remember the caster of the Curse with jealousy as they spoke of "Those Good Old Days" and it became their ambitions to surpass this nameless fairy in malevolence.
Whilst the havoc in the ballroom sorted itself out (or compicated itself, depending on your perspective), Daniel was safe (or so she thought) in her lair behind the bookcases. She was also far more comfortable in her dyed leather armour (her mother had objected to mail, but not boiled leather. This was more because of her not knowing, though) and dark clothes. Dark clothes are also far better for hiding, making her feel more easily ellusive and unseen than the flasy ballgown. She had also tore off her mask, headdress, shoes and the heavier bits of jewellery. The heavy bits were never expensive, anyway, lacking in design, style, workmanship and value (no decent craftsman would waste good jewels on such projects).
Daniel shuddered in her little niche, trying to concentrate on 100,001 Defensive Maneuvers, 100,001 Offensive Maneuvers,500,005 Variations and 700,008 Details on Everything In-Between (her favorite book). The author of 100,001 Defensive Maneuvers, 100,001 Offensive Maneuvers,500,005 Variations and 700,008 Details on Everything In-Between might have been a little fanatical about counting, but he was also a very able master of weapons. She fingered her knife nervously; the thought of being prepared wasn't able to sooth her paranoia
She finally slammed her book (it was more of a tome) shut after Offensive Maneuver Nr. 3403. She did this quietly, since she didn't want the watching spies/assassins/murderers/pirates/scoundrels/scallywags/knaves/thieves/outlaws/terrorists/smugglers/treasonists/rapists/kidnappers/blackmailers/paparazzi to hear her. She checked on her hidden weapons. She was readjusting the strap on her extra quiver of arrows (hidden under the desk), when she realised she had forgotten Defensive Maneuver Nr. 53034, so she opened it again.
Daniel continued flipping distractedly until someone entered the royal library and she moved to her elevated perch atop a bookshelf.
That someone wasn't particularly quiet about it. In fact, he had stormed in flinging open the doors with a practiced flair and had slammed them shut again in the face of his long-suffering train of followers. Neither was he very subtle in dress or movement. "Nondescript" and "understatement" clearly wasn't on his mind, or rather, on his tailor's mind (since no self respecting blue-blooded dandy would ever dress himself without his tailor's opinion). He wore a purple doublet with lime green hose. On his feet were embroidered shoes and his hands were daintily gloved. The entire ensemble was finished with a forest-green cravat and a gilded walkingstick. One can only marvel at the man's fashion sense. The only thing more surprising was that he somehow looked incredibly good in it, impeccably so. He wasn't just dishevelled, he was artistically dishevelled.
"Please!" begged his manservant (possibly his valet). "The King expects you to..."
The newcomer tore off his forest-green cravat and began violently plucking at his buttons (in an almost theatrically graceful manner). "I can't stand this a moment longer. I just can't.... Help me with these buttons, Liz I'm no man to fiddle with them."
Liz did as he was told as he murmered inaudibly about Laguria, Kings and duty.
"I have heard it a thousand times, Liz. From you, from my father, but why? I see no direct relationship between me getting married and the good of the kingdom. Is he going to mew me up to produce heirs?" The newcomer did a series of seeping arm movements. "Those buttons. Stop, Liz. I'll just rip it off. I'm expected to wear it again anyway."
The Prince (for he could only be a Prince with that clothing and manner) did so and threw the doublet aside. He struck a thougtful pose and said, "Liz, don't you wish you weren't born into..."
"You could wish, but it isn't so, my Prince. I have often wished my parents didn't name me Elizabeth in that naming maddness, but they did and there's nothing I could do. It's your duty to the throne to get married and have children."
For a fleeting moment, the Prince looked pacified, but then his expression shifted. "Leave, Liz. Just leave!" he bellowed.
The manservent fled, shutting the doors carefully behind him and thankful the royal library was soundproof (some of the architectural achievements of the royal library was detailed on a sign just outside).
Libraries were supposed to be very tranquil places of study and reflection, but this common rule obviously didn't apply to the Prince as he let out a frustrated roar. He then sat on a chair, brooding, scrutinising the room with moody eyes.
Daniel, who had been watching, was fascinated by the strange conversation between the two men and this strange moody Prince. She vaguely remembered exchanging a few polite meaningless words with him in the royal ballroom. He had made over half a dozen attempts to talk to her, despite the increasingly blatant warnings about the curse. He only spoke a handful of trite poetic phrases (such as "Oh! Earth-treading star!" and "Farewell! Fair cruelty!"), which he did in a lazy drawl. Yet here was another side to his character: a seething restlessness, a negligent moodiness.
The Prince fingered his walking stick. Slowly, he gave the handle a curious twist and drew a thin blade from it.
Daniel stiffened. Without further thought, she pulled a long pin from her hair and sent if flying.
The Prince dropped the thin hook-handled blade and pulled out the pin which had thudded into the armrest of the chair. He made a few imaginary cuts above his wrist, imagining the pain.
Daniel leapt from her bookshelf.
"Quiet," growled the Prince. "I'm trying to kill myself artistically. Do you think a cut like this would look more dramatic?"
She drew her twin swords from beneath the long table.
The Prince didn't even look up. "Don't bother. I'll do a better job than you. I've a history of pain."
She moved into Defensive Stance Nr. 232 (she had considered Nr. 234 which was more suited to the situation, but couldn't quite remember it.)
"Of course, it would be nice to know who wants to kill the Prince Moon River of Laguria and how much they paid." He looked up and gave a bored "oh."
Daniel crouched into Offensive Stance Nr. 3450.
"It's you. I will stain your floor artistically. It would be an improvement. So would death be to my life."
