The light was low, and I was singing divinely. Mr. Charming was bent over his paperwork, fingers and nose smudged with ink, lovely brow furrowed in concentration. I silently transitioned into a love song of my own making, and he looked up, eyes sparkling.
Suddenly, he threw his papers to the side and I dropped my guitar on the floor, where it landed without harm.
"Gwen, I love you," he whispered, pulling me to him and locking his lips to mine in a kiss that would last for eternity…until he broke away, preparing the words to say again. His lips moved masterly, getting ready for another serving of the expressions that would never be too sweet:
"Baaaa…"
"Urgh." I squinted in the sunlight that was filtering through the bedroom window, thinking automatically that the dream should have carried on a little longer. It was a nice dream, but not quite what had happened the night before. Sheep sat on the edge of my bed, staring up at me hopefully, wearing a dumb smile.
The night had gone well. Very well. Much better than I ever hoped for, anyway, though nothing was quite as good as my developing dream. I was in his office for about an hour and a half, until my fingers became sore and my voice quite hoarse. Mr. Charming was about half way through his papers, head buried deep inside them as though nothing else could disturb him, but I could see the slight wiggle of his fingertips in beat to the music, the rhythm drumming silently in his head as he fought the urge to start singing himself.
I packed my guitar away and just sat for a while, enjoying his silent company. He finally looked up, a bit startled that the music had stopped, even though I had finished about two minutes ago.
"You must be getting tired," he said with a sigh, the startled look in his eyes fading away into a calm mocha-colored confection. "I suppose you can go now."
I stood up and took up my case. "Thanks for letting me play for you. I need an audience every once in a while."
"My pleasure, really." He stood up to show me out, a genuine smile glowing warmly in the dim light. "I get lonely every once in a while. And you sing quite well."
I was starting to blush, but he opened the door and I quietly prayed my thanks for a distraction from the redness in my face.
"Good night, Gwen," he said, leaning against the doorframe as I walked out. "Don't hesitate to call if you have any troubles."
"Thank you, Mr. Charming," I walked out to the porch and jumped down, skipping all the steps, and turned to wave.
"Call me Andrew," he said before closing the door, locking in the dim desk-given light.
Not bad. Not bad at all, especially for a first night.
"Baaaaaa…" Sheep bleated impatiently as it jumped down to my bedside. I stared in disgust at the little tiny strands of wool he had left, and almost without thinking I thrust the wand at the spot, muttering the "pet hair removal" spell.
"I'm getting up," I groaned, swinging my legs over the sides of the bed, the bedcovers had automatically rolled down when I awoke, allowing me easy exit from the mussed tangle.
After dressing and cleaning-by-wand, I wandered around the house restlessly, trying to think of something to do. I picked up my guitar for a while, but got frustrated by a song I was trying to write and put it hastily away. I had no TV, no radio, and no CD player. The only books I had had been shipped and hadn't arrived yet. I sat on the couch, leaning over my bended knees slightly, staring steadily at the misty mirror.
"I never thought I'd say this, but…" I said flatly. "Entertain me."
"Oh, there's no need for me to do that." The mirror seemed hyper a bit, the mask smiling contagiously and bouncing around the frame. "Just take a walk around."
"Why?" I didn't think I needed to ask, really.
"Gwen, think about it. You live in a trailer park. Full of fairy tale creatures. If you're not going to go meet people, at least learn a bit of history."
I frowned, he was right.
So, I pulled my sweatshirt tightly around myself and left the house, winding my way through the trailer park, down little alleyways and hardly-trodden paths, snuck through yards and kicked smooth stones down dirt roads. I passed numerous people that seemed to be faintly familiar: a wolf lounging in a lawn chair, sleeping away a heavy meal; a girl with extremely long hair pushing a twin-stroller, her tired-looking husband at her side; a nervous boy, goose tucked under his arm, tending an overgrown vine that pushed up through the ground, towering high above our heads and further up than I could see, men with "PLANT CONTROL" painted across their backs at his side, looking unhappy and shaking their heads; and a cat walking along, muttering angrily as he kept hiking tiny boots up to his knee joints.
I had steadily worked my way south through the park, but I suddenly realized I had just reached the entrance to the road on which my home was situated. And there it sat, not more than twenty yards away.
"I suppose you're new here," a man wearing tights said, liquor bottle clenched tight in his hand, as he approached me from behind and tipped his feathered hat. "Just a bit or warning, fair madam, that the roads like to change."
"Thank you," I replied. I continued to stare at my house, wondering if I should go back home at this moment or not.
"So that's your house," he said pensively, stroking his stubbly chin. "I'd be careful if I were you, a witch used to live there until she was arrested for evil meddling." He bowed deeply. "Well, madam, I must be off. Have a good day. By the way, the name's Robin. Robin Hood." And he pranced off, the arrows in the quiver at his back shaking, green tights gleaming in the sunlight. I let go a furtive laugh and went back to my deep thinking.
A witch used to live in my trailer? That would explain the mirror. But what she was doing with a pet sheep was a mystery to me.
As it seemed like I had seen most of the park, I returned home and was immediately greeted by the mirrors deep but annoying cheery voice, bursting out loudly as soon as I walked through the door.
"Have a good walk?"
"Who's the witch that used to live here?" I asked, throwing my sweatshirt on the couch and collapsing on top of it.
The mask stopped bouncing in his frame and paused, the mist swirling dramatically around it, narrowing his eyes. "Oh, an evil, evil woman."
I frowned. "Yeah, I kind of figured that when I heard the term "witch". If I know my fairy tales, the good magic-doers are usually called "fairies". Even if they are crazy."
"Of course, she's not all bad." The mask started to bounce again, I wondered if it was sort of off on a reflection-induced sugar high. "She did create me."
"Noooo," I assured him sarcastically. "She wasn't evil at all."
"Do you want to see anything?" he asked, so smooth it seemed like a long-enforced habit.
I was about to say no when I started thinking about it. "Anything?"
"Well, not anything. I can't see into bathrooms, bedrooms, or the distant future."
I was thankful for that, except for the whole not being able to see the future thing. That could have come in handy.
I couldn't really think of anything to say. I was too afraid to spy on Andrew, fearing seeing something I didn't want to see or not being allowed access…that would have been worse. No one else really interested me enough. I settled on asking a question.
"What are the fairies here for?" I asked.
"Oh," the mask sank, looking slightly disappointed. "They lost their money investing in those wands of theirs. They're a bit eccentric, and seem to get things backwards. In their twisted little brains, a curse is a blessing and a blessing is a curse."
"That would explain the flute playing thing," I muttered softly, and the mirror grinned sardonically.
"You sure do talk about him a lot."
"What? What?" I replied angrily. "I don't even know who you're talking about."
The mirror cocked its eyebrow to the side. "Sure."
"I don't."
"Right. You keep saying that."
"I don't."
"Do you want to know his destiny?"
"I thought you said you couldn't see into the distant future," I huffed irritably.
"Ah, so you do know who I'm talking about."
"No."
"Yes." He gave a small chuckle. "It's not a prediction, it's what the fairies have gifted him."
I was suddenly interested, and it must have been obvious, as he went on. It was hard to keep anything from that stupid piece of glass.
"When he and Snow White were children, they were sort of…given the destiny to marry each other."
My face automatically turned red, nails biting the couch cushions. "What?"
"See, I knew you would care."
"That's terrible!" I exclaimed. "Not because of him, or anything, I still don't know who you're talking about, by the way…but shouldn't they marry someone they love?"
"Well," the mirror looked like it would have shrugged if it had shoulders. "She is quite pretty. And she seems quite fond of him. I thought you didn't care."
I slouched down, arms folded stubbornly across my chest.
"You like him, admit it."
"Fine," I finally gave in. "I like him. I barely even know him, but I like him. And I'm jealous. Are you happy now?"
There was a moment of silence, and then the mirror broke it with an interesting question.
"So…what are you going to do about it?"
My first week at the park was spent fretting over what I was going to do, and trying to decided whether I should really do anything or not. I mean, I barely knew the guy, but he was sweet, helpful, intelligent, hot…
But I really had no choice, did I? If someone's destined to marry someone, they're destined to marry someone. I doubted that some girl like me, whose last name is Kink, could really do anything about it. Kink. Charming seemed like such a better alternative.
Ugh! Why was I thinking about that already? Noooo…
"Tell me what to do," I pleaded desperately, my hands grasping the cold metal frame of the mirror. "He's going to be here in ten minutes to invite me to his office. What do I do? What do I say?"
"You forgot to put your wand away, again," he said coolly, peering over my shoulder. "I really advise you against leaving it out."
I shook my head, that's not what I wanted to hear.
"Well," he said flatly. "Think about it this way. The fairies want it one way, but maybe real life wants it another. If it's meant to happen between you two, then it will happen eventually."
A knock came at the door, and I stared at it, wide-eyed. It was Friday, it was time to go play for him. I tried to shake the mirror a bit, but it didn't budge. Dang magical mounting…
"But I'm not worried about eventually," I whispered harshly. "I'm worried about now!"
"Gwen?" Andrew's voice said questioningly from outside the door. "Are you in there? The lights are on…"
"He's early. Just…be yourself," the mirror said a bit too loudly as I dashed to hide my wand away. It had become a habit for whenever Andrew came over; to deliver notices, bills that had been directed to his office…
"But I suck!"
The mirror smiled, much to my displeasure. "Well, it doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure that out." He rolled his eyes. "But some people like suckiness. Just go before you make him break in. The less wand magic you use to fix things, the better."
I huffed angrily and jerked open the door, immediately smiling, hoping he didn't see the redness rising in my face. "Sorry…I was…doing something…"
Andrew shrugged his great shoulders, looking god-like as usual, his wavy chestnut hair reflecting the porchlight like...some...shiny thing. "That's okay. Ready to come over?"
"Urm…ya," I shot a dirty glance back at the mirror, picked up my guitar which I had set readily by the doorway, and flung my coat over my shoulder. "I'm ready."
He chivalrously allowed me to leave the door first, preparing to shut it behind me. But before the flimsy thing closed, it was impossible not to hear the mirror's parting words.
"Good lu-"
"This came for you," Andrew said casually, tapping a large box that sat ominously on his desk while I drew up my chair. "It's sort of heavy."
"Really…" I went over to it and noticed it was open. I managed a peek and saw that my books had finally been delivered. I looked at him hastily. "It's open."
"Well…you know, I have to check boxes to make sure no illegal substances are delivered to the park, otherwise I could be held…"
I stared at him; it was kind of funny seeing him lie. I knew it wasn't the truth, otherwise he would have noticed the hundreds of boxes of wands being delivered to the fairies. From what the mirror had said, it didn't sound like Andrew was too fond of them. Yes…my box had been addressed to his office instead of me, because I wasn't quite sure whether I had been assigned the right trailer yet, but rifling through my stuff…
Though the thought of him looking at my books didn't really bother me at all. Wait. Crap…I had Harry Potter in there…
"I'm sure," I said, trying to look seriously angry and holding back my grin.
"Really," his face was starting to turn red.
I finally burst out laughing and threw a balled up paper from the recycle bin at him. "You creep."
"Hey," he started laughing too and collapsed down in his chair, drawing a peacock quill into his steady fingers. "At least my last name isn't Kink."
"Watch it, Charming," I said half-threateningly, half-hysterically, as I bent double trying to get my guitar out of my case without killing it.
After the giggles had died away, he began to work and I began to play and sing. But I couldn't really concentrate, I was trying to take a mental inventory of every book I had in that box. I had Harry Potter, which might be embarrassing for a twenty-two year old to have at some point. What if he hated the the books? What if he thought I was a conformist? What if I thought I had the mind of a two-year-old? But I liked Harry Potter…
Ah, crap. There was another book in there, one that I had almost left behind in the dorms, called "Sex, Lies, and Leprechauns". If he had looked through my books, he would have definitely not missed that.
I had become so mentally confused that I had started making up random words to the songs I was playing, not paying attention at all. Andrew looked up at me, wearing an amused smile.
"A little distracted?"
I shook my head. "No, no, not at all."
"Okay, then." He went back to work.
I decided worrying about my stash of books would do no good, so I concentrated on my music and made a quite nice remainder of the evening. When I had put my guitar away, Andrew surprised me by immediately standing up and announcing:
"I'll carry the books back for you."
I stared at him, mouth slightly ajar. "O-okay."
I walked unsteadily back to my trailer, feeling almost tipsy, as he walked by my side with the box in his strong arms.
"So…" I began, eager to break the awkward silence. "How's life?"
He paused for a bit, then stuck out his tongue in mock-pensive thought. "Life-like."
"Define life-like," I demanded, staggering a bit. The walk back to my trailer was taking longer than usual. I thought about what Robin Hood said about the roads changing, maybe that would work in my favor a bit tonight.
"I don't know. My life basically deals with collecting rent, keeping what little control I have over those fairies, and perusing very few outer interests." He sighed. "What does life-like mean to you?"
I groaned. "Wishing for things I can't have."
He nodded, and I immediately thought, Well, you have Snow White, don't you? She must be a lot hotter than me…
But he was just so nice…
"So…do you know Snow White?" I shot out suddenly, shocking myself a bit with my daring. I immediately had to make up a lie to cover my randomness. "She dropped by a bit today to welcome me to the neighborhood."
"Snow White?" I detected a hint of bitterness in his voice. Yes! "I'm surprised, she's usually too busy at home taking care of the seven…vertically-challenged human beings that are usually, and in a politically incorrect manner, called dwarves...to visit anyone. I know her, yes, but I don't see her that often."
"She's pretty," I acknowledged, even though I had never even seen her. I was just banking off what the mirror had told me. Andrew just grunted in reply.
My trailer suddenly appeared around the next corner. The streets must have finally sensed my need.
"Thanks for walking me home," I said carefully as he set the box of books down on my porch.
"Welcome," he said a bit sourly. "Night, Gwen."
He was gone before I could say goodnight. It was my fault; I had hit a wrong nerve. I shouldn't have mentioned her, it was obviously a touchy subject for him. Dang it, he was mad at me, and it was all my fault.
No, no, it was the roads fault. If I had gotten home sooner, I wouldn't have had to bring her up to make conversation. They just had to change.
Damn those roads.
I don't own Harry Potter, and yes, "Sex, Lies, and Leprechans" is a real book. Neither do I own that, most fortunately.