A/N: No, it's not a joke. No, there are no funnies. This is my God-awful
attempt at a story where I cannot be flamed telling me it's a Mary Sue, as
the title states this fact. All of you here want to know what one author
who tends to write bitchy girls with PMS can do when handed a Mary Sue. I'm
promising, not pretty.
Cosette dipped the asparagus leaf in the sauce, and nibbled at it. Her mother played with her food.
"Nichole, what is it now?" Cosette's father demanded tersely. Cosette sent him a nervous look; they had declared a truce today, hadn't they?
"Nothing, Henri," her mother *eventually* replied, in a voice designed to let Henri know that something *was* wrong.
"What is it?" he sighed.
"Well it's typical that you choose asparagus as the appetiser, duck a l'orange as the main course, and crème brulee last. I have to watch my figure you know, you'd be the first to complain," her mother whinged. An ex model, she resented Cosette's intrusion on her free existence.
"I'm sorry," he began sarcastically, "that your obsession with your figure overrides your daughter's birthday. Perhaps your lover is waiting, and you want an excuse to escape?"
"For the last time Henri," Nicole sniped, "Chad is my tennis instructor, not my lover. However, on the subject of adultery, how is Susan, anyway?"
"Susan is none of your business," he blustered, as Cosette gazed at them both in desperation. Her seventeenth was supposed to be magical, fairytale like, perfect. Instead, her picture perfect family were backstabbing each other over the first course.
Picture perfect. The perfect word to describe Cosette Bellavue-Delacourte. She was beautiful; model looks from a mother who despised fat on her size 6 figure, and a mass of long, shiny blue-black hair that coursed down her back. Her huge, blue-green eyes were from her father, with her delicate bone structure a perfect setting. She had the matched set of beautiful parents, top lawyer father, and a homemaker for a mother, who could have starred in a Victoria's Secrets catalogue. She lived in a huge white mansion, in Beverly Hills, and went to a top-notch school, where her artistic side was carefully nurtured.
In reality, she lived in constant fear that her parents would get drunk one night, and spill the beans on the fights, the accusations, and the general melodrama of day-to-day life. Cosette's companions hated her, but kept a façade of nobility around her, while bitching behind her back. Her talent for music was from a time when her father had the hours to teach her the piano, and her belief as a child she could heal their relationship had kept it going. She was a graceful athlete, and of course had the best instructors money could buy, but she was lonely for a different side of life.
The bitching had turned into full out war.
"I'm not paying for your breasts to be hiked up by your ears again, so you can dance off to your lover!" her father bellowed.
"And when you can't get it up because I resemble someone your own age, what then?" her mother replied cattily.
"Both of you stop it!" Cosette screamed, and as they took no notice, fled from the room, tears blinding her vision.
*$*$*$*$*$*$*$*$*$*$*$*$*$*$*$*$*$*$*$*$*$*
As she flung herself onto the huge canopied bed, Cosette cried until she thought her heart would break. How could they, the one-day of the year that resembled the perfect life people believe she had?
She cried herself to sleep, with the sounds of broken crockery ringing in her ears.
*$*$*$*$*$*$*$*$*$*$*$*$*$*$*$*$*$*$*$*$*$*
As she awoke, Cosette noticed the temperature had dropped, dramatically. She got up, and wandered downstairs, to survey the wreckage of 'the perfect birthday'. She cried anew when she saw it. Cosette's birthday cake, with the castle in the sky created for her by her one ally here, Martha the cook, had been spattered with bits of broken china. Carefully, she picked them out with her nails, and then, her hands shaking, lit the candles, and sang the familiar melody in a broken voice.
'Happy birthday to me, Happy birthday to me, Happy birthday dear Cosette, Happy birthday to me."
Drying her tears, she imagined a crowd of friends, all applauding as she blew out the candles in a single breath. Her parents would be smiling happily, their arms around each other. And someone special, whose face was hidden in the shadows, would blow her a kiss, as she made her wish.
I wish, I wish I could go somewhere, I was wanted. Where someone truly wanted me.
Tired again, Cosette dumbly turned out the lights, and went up to bed.
*$*$*$*$*$*$*$*$*$*$*$*$*$*$*$*$*$*$*$*$*$*$*$*$*$*
When she awoke, it was bright, and green. She was still dressed for the night, but her own flannel nightshirt had been exchanged for a long cotton gown in pure white. She lay in the shade of a huge gnarled old oak, where sunlight slanted in between the branches. She sat up suddenly, someone was watching her.
"Suilad, stranger," a deep, yet gentle voice greeted her. A tall, blonde man, his hair falling to his waist moved into her vision. He extended a hand.
"Suilad," she repeated, taking it. Once standing, she was looking straight into the face of the handsome young man, whose eyes smiled at her, as she nervously gazed back. Then she noticed.
"Who, who are you?" she gasped, her eyes fixed on the stranger's ears, that were pointed, with thin braids tucked behind them.
"I am Legolas, my lady, Prince of Mirkwood," he said, bowing slightly. "Might I have the pleasure of the name of one who slumbers under my favourite tree?"
"I am Cosette," she replied, but her eyes were confused. "How did I get here? The last thing I remember is.." her eyes filled with tears, she remembered the fight of the night before.
"Do not cry, my lady. I can help, if you would but let me," he told her, leading her to where a horse waited patiently.
"He's, he's not bridled!" she exclaimed.
"The horses of the Elves of Mirkwood are never bridled, Lady. We consider it a boon to be carried by them; hence we do not burden them with trappings unnatural to them. If it is their wish to carry us, then they will," he smiled, delighted by the girl's curiosity with the animal. She held up a palm, and the horse lowered its muzzle to smell her.
"Gently done, my lady," he told her, and felt pleasure ripple through him, when she smiled. She was enchanting, he had no idea why she was on their lands, she had not recognised him as elf, or Prince, and so she was a stranger. And it seemed she did not know how she came to be here. As his gaze rested upon her again, he averted his eyes.
"My lady, you are in your night rail!" he protested, and took off his cloak. "Come, I will take you before my father, he will know what to do for you."
Cosette accepted the cloak from the handsome man dazedly, and then her mind focused for a moment.
"You're, you're a prince!" she exclaimed.
He chuckled, his laugh singing like water.
"I believe I did say that my lady, but I am usually known by Legolas here. I would be honoured to be addressed as such by you." Cosette smiled for second, and then picked up the thread of what she had wished to say.
"Yes, but if you are a prince, your father is a king!"
"Once again correct, my lady," he teased her softly. "My father is King Thranduiel of Mirkwood."
"Can he help me?" she wondered. "Get back, I mean,' she explained to Legolas. "It's not that this isn't lovely, it's just," she saw he understood. "It's not home."
"Of course, my lady. I am sure he will be able to aid you," Legolas said, lifting her onto the horse, and seating himself behind her.
"Thank you," she sighed, and leant against him. She had no idea where she was, or with who, but it was a brief respite from the bitter life she led, and although she would attempt to return, she would enjoy the attentions of Legolas, courtly as they were.
*$*$*$*$*$*$*$*$*$*$*$*$*$*$*$*$*$*$*$*$*$
A/N: If you're still here, and want to flame, why bother? You are obviously bored, if you intend to read an obvious Mary Sue. Go on, indulge yourself. Flames will be used to start, (how original) fires.
Cosette dipped the asparagus leaf in the sauce, and nibbled at it. Her mother played with her food.
"Nichole, what is it now?" Cosette's father demanded tersely. Cosette sent him a nervous look; they had declared a truce today, hadn't they?
"Nothing, Henri," her mother *eventually* replied, in a voice designed to let Henri know that something *was* wrong.
"What is it?" he sighed.
"Well it's typical that you choose asparagus as the appetiser, duck a l'orange as the main course, and crème brulee last. I have to watch my figure you know, you'd be the first to complain," her mother whinged. An ex model, she resented Cosette's intrusion on her free existence.
"I'm sorry," he began sarcastically, "that your obsession with your figure overrides your daughter's birthday. Perhaps your lover is waiting, and you want an excuse to escape?"
"For the last time Henri," Nicole sniped, "Chad is my tennis instructor, not my lover. However, on the subject of adultery, how is Susan, anyway?"
"Susan is none of your business," he blustered, as Cosette gazed at them both in desperation. Her seventeenth was supposed to be magical, fairytale like, perfect. Instead, her picture perfect family were backstabbing each other over the first course.
Picture perfect. The perfect word to describe Cosette Bellavue-Delacourte. She was beautiful; model looks from a mother who despised fat on her size 6 figure, and a mass of long, shiny blue-black hair that coursed down her back. Her huge, blue-green eyes were from her father, with her delicate bone structure a perfect setting. She had the matched set of beautiful parents, top lawyer father, and a homemaker for a mother, who could have starred in a Victoria's Secrets catalogue. She lived in a huge white mansion, in Beverly Hills, and went to a top-notch school, where her artistic side was carefully nurtured.
In reality, she lived in constant fear that her parents would get drunk one night, and spill the beans on the fights, the accusations, and the general melodrama of day-to-day life. Cosette's companions hated her, but kept a façade of nobility around her, while bitching behind her back. Her talent for music was from a time when her father had the hours to teach her the piano, and her belief as a child she could heal their relationship had kept it going. She was a graceful athlete, and of course had the best instructors money could buy, but she was lonely for a different side of life.
The bitching had turned into full out war.
"I'm not paying for your breasts to be hiked up by your ears again, so you can dance off to your lover!" her father bellowed.
"And when you can't get it up because I resemble someone your own age, what then?" her mother replied cattily.
"Both of you stop it!" Cosette screamed, and as they took no notice, fled from the room, tears blinding her vision.
*$*$*$*$*$*$*$*$*$*$*$*$*$*$*$*$*$*$*$*$*$*
As she flung herself onto the huge canopied bed, Cosette cried until she thought her heart would break. How could they, the one-day of the year that resembled the perfect life people believe she had?
She cried herself to sleep, with the sounds of broken crockery ringing in her ears.
*$*$*$*$*$*$*$*$*$*$*$*$*$*$*$*$*$*$*$*$*$*
As she awoke, Cosette noticed the temperature had dropped, dramatically. She got up, and wandered downstairs, to survey the wreckage of 'the perfect birthday'. She cried anew when she saw it. Cosette's birthday cake, with the castle in the sky created for her by her one ally here, Martha the cook, had been spattered with bits of broken china. Carefully, she picked them out with her nails, and then, her hands shaking, lit the candles, and sang the familiar melody in a broken voice.
'Happy birthday to me, Happy birthday to me, Happy birthday dear Cosette, Happy birthday to me."
Drying her tears, she imagined a crowd of friends, all applauding as she blew out the candles in a single breath. Her parents would be smiling happily, their arms around each other. And someone special, whose face was hidden in the shadows, would blow her a kiss, as she made her wish.
I wish, I wish I could go somewhere, I was wanted. Where someone truly wanted me.
Tired again, Cosette dumbly turned out the lights, and went up to bed.
*$*$*$*$*$*$*$*$*$*$*$*$*$*$*$*$*$*$*$*$*$*$*$*$*$*
When she awoke, it was bright, and green. She was still dressed for the night, but her own flannel nightshirt had been exchanged for a long cotton gown in pure white. She lay in the shade of a huge gnarled old oak, where sunlight slanted in between the branches. She sat up suddenly, someone was watching her.
"Suilad, stranger," a deep, yet gentle voice greeted her. A tall, blonde man, his hair falling to his waist moved into her vision. He extended a hand.
"Suilad," she repeated, taking it. Once standing, she was looking straight into the face of the handsome young man, whose eyes smiled at her, as she nervously gazed back. Then she noticed.
"Who, who are you?" she gasped, her eyes fixed on the stranger's ears, that were pointed, with thin braids tucked behind them.
"I am Legolas, my lady, Prince of Mirkwood," he said, bowing slightly. "Might I have the pleasure of the name of one who slumbers under my favourite tree?"
"I am Cosette," she replied, but her eyes were confused. "How did I get here? The last thing I remember is.." her eyes filled with tears, she remembered the fight of the night before.
"Do not cry, my lady. I can help, if you would but let me," he told her, leading her to where a horse waited patiently.
"He's, he's not bridled!" she exclaimed.
"The horses of the Elves of Mirkwood are never bridled, Lady. We consider it a boon to be carried by them; hence we do not burden them with trappings unnatural to them. If it is their wish to carry us, then they will," he smiled, delighted by the girl's curiosity with the animal. She held up a palm, and the horse lowered its muzzle to smell her.
"Gently done, my lady," he told her, and felt pleasure ripple through him, when she smiled. She was enchanting, he had no idea why she was on their lands, she had not recognised him as elf, or Prince, and so she was a stranger. And it seemed she did not know how she came to be here. As his gaze rested upon her again, he averted his eyes.
"My lady, you are in your night rail!" he protested, and took off his cloak. "Come, I will take you before my father, he will know what to do for you."
Cosette accepted the cloak from the handsome man dazedly, and then her mind focused for a moment.
"You're, you're a prince!" she exclaimed.
He chuckled, his laugh singing like water.
"I believe I did say that my lady, but I am usually known by Legolas here. I would be honoured to be addressed as such by you." Cosette smiled for second, and then picked up the thread of what she had wished to say.
"Yes, but if you are a prince, your father is a king!"
"Once again correct, my lady," he teased her softly. "My father is King Thranduiel of Mirkwood."
"Can he help me?" she wondered. "Get back, I mean,' she explained to Legolas. "It's not that this isn't lovely, it's just," she saw he understood. "It's not home."
"Of course, my lady. I am sure he will be able to aid you," Legolas said, lifting her onto the horse, and seating himself behind her.
"Thank you," she sighed, and leant against him. She had no idea where she was, or with who, but it was a brief respite from the bitter life she led, and although she would attempt to return, she would enjoy the attentions of Legolas, courtly as they were.
*$*$*$*$*$*$*$*$*$*$*$*$*$*$*$*$*$*$*$*$*$
A/N: If you're still here, and want to flame, why bother? You are obviously bored, if you intend to read an obvious Mary Sue. Go on, indulge yourself. Flames will be used to start, (how original) fires.