Layer 1: Meet the Parents
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"One day Shrek's parents hissed things over and decided it was about
time their little darling was out in the world doing his share of
damage. So they kicked him goodbye and Shrek left the black hole in
which he'd been hatched." -- From "Shrek!" by William Steig
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Once upon a time, in the deepest, darkest recesses of a remote
swamp, there stood carved into the remains of an ancient tree a
hovel. And within the dread bowels of that hovel, leaning over a
black boiling cauldron set into a fireplace, stood an ogre. The
beast stirred the unholy broth of unimaginable ingredients as the
flickering flames cast ominous light against its green skin and
tall, broad frame. Every so often it would open a jar and drop in
some other ungodly item into seething concoction ... eye of newt ...
wing of bat ...
"Mushrooms!" Fiona spat in frustration, peering into an empty jar.
"Rats! We're out of slimy back mushrooms!"
Fiona slammed the jar down and shook her head angrily, chiding
herself for not checking to make sure she had all the ingredients
before starting the stew. She dipped a long-handled spoon into the
mixture and started stirring again. Then, suddenly, the ogress was
taken by surprise as two massive arms encircled her from behind and
she felt pressure at the base of one of her trumpet-shaped ears.
"Hello, Apple Strudel," her husband said as he kissed her ear, "I'm
back!"
"Shrek!" Fiona gasped, spinning within the ogre's embrace to stare
up at his broad, green, smiling face. "Good Heavens! You scared the
dickens out of me!"
"Really?" Shrek said, and then sniffed the air twice. "Is THAT what
ye call it?"
Fiona gave her beloved a reproachful look, albeit one not entirely
void of amusement. He chuckled, gave her a quick kiss on the lips,
released her, and then gave her a swift but affectionate swat on her
fanny as he turned towards their wooden dining table, upon which sat
a sack which he had apparently just dropped there on his way to
surprise her. Fiona blithely smacked him on his own bottom with the
spoon she still held in her hand -- one more stain on his worn and
soiled brown plaid pants wouldn't matter much now -- as her husband,
still chuckling, took the few steps across the floor of their simple
and rustic but tidy home. In addition to the brown pants, he was
dressed, as always, in an off-white shirt (in some spots more off-
white than others) and brown alligator leather vest. A brown belt
encircled his shirt just below his waist. Fiona herself, since this
was a stay-at-home housework day, was also wearing one of Shrek's
shirts as a type of housedress, the sleeves pinned up at her elbows
and the shirt tail dangling down to mid-ankle. Designed for Shrek's
large and portly but powerful frame, it hung baggily over Fiona's
Rubenesque figure, but it still felt comfortable, and something
within Fiona liked having something of Shrek so close to her. Over
the shirt she had tied an apron upon which Shrek had some time ago
playfully painted a rendition of the ogress's face, below which
Fiona, with equal playfulness, had added a caption, "Trust me, I'm a
Princess!"
As Shrek reached the table, Fiona swept a lock of reddish auburn
hair that had fallen over her face back into place, cocked an
eyebrow, and said, "Frankly, dear, you really shouldn't surprise me
like that. You KNOW that sometimes I react by instinct."
"Ha!" Shrek guffawed, then reached behind his head and rubbed the
base of his skull. "Tell me about it! Fortunately, I think almost
all the bruises are healed now." Then he turned serious and added,
"But ye know, Fi, ye really should be more attentive. It might
not've been me. There might be ... villagers in the woods."
"Oh, c'mon, Shrek," Fiona laughed, "Haven't I proven to you yet that
I'm MORE than capable of handling a bunch of rowdy villagers?"
"Yeah, well, NORMALLY," Shrek granted, "But if there's enough of
'em, and they take ye by surprise ..." He sighed, and then with
great reluctance added, "Maybe we should take your Dad's offer to
give us a security team."
"What?" Fiona laughed again. "And have a bunch of knights in dark glass
visors wandering around, peering into everything, and talking into
their gauntlets all the time? No thanks! And besides, you'd hate
it even more than me, having strange humans tromping all over your
swamp."
"OUR swamp," Shrek corrected.
"OUR swamp," Fiona conceded with a loving smile.
Shrek smiled back. "Well, I guess you're right," he said. "Still
... maybe I should at least get us a dog or something."
"Dearest, you worry too much," Fiona said affectionately. "Besides,
we already HAVE a dog."
"Oh, please, Fi!" Shrek scoffed. "Ye call THAT thing a DOG?" Here
he gestured to a corner of the room where a doggy bed was laid out
and upon which sat a small fluffy white puppy, a bichon frise, with
a little pink ribbon on her head. She was staring up at Shrek with
more than a little trepidation. "It didn't even bark when I came in
just now!"
"Darling, Puppy hasn't barked at you since ... the day we first got
her," Fiona said haltingly, not wanting to dwell on memories of a
day that had also marked the lowest point in their married life to
date. "But I'm sure that if a STRANGER had tried to come in, she'd
be barking!" Here Fiona leaned over and addressed the little dog
directly in a voice that sounded like she was speaking to a baby.
"Wouldn't you, Pup-py?"
Puppy shifted her eyes from Shrek to Fiona and immediately the dog's
tail began wagging and she started panting enthusiastically. She
barked once to acknowledge Fiona's attention. Fiona stood back up
and smiled at Shrek. "See?" she asked. Puppy then looked from
Fiona back toward Shrek and immediately stopped wagging her tail and
resumed her look of trepidation. A little whine escaped her
throat.
Shrek rolled his eyes. "Whatever," he said, then began unpacking
his sack of several items he had gathered from around the swamp to
stock their pantry.
"You didn't happen to pick up any slimy black mushrooms, did you?"
Fiona asked hopefully.
"Slimy black mushrooms? Nope, sorry, they weren't my 'to do' list,"
Shrek replied as he started sorting the items.
"Rats!" Fiona said.
"Those I got!" Shrek said.
Fiona looked back at the ogre, who was trying to hide a smirk. This
time it was the ogress's turn to roll her eyes.
Shrek looked down at his stock and said, "Hey, I did get some moldy
yellow mushrooms. Will they do?"
Fiona looked back up at the yellowed parchment page of the recipe in
the leather-bound cookbook that she had propped on the log that
served as a mantle above the fireplace. "I don't know," she said
doubtfully, "it specifically says 'slimy black' here."
"Ahhh, trust me, ye won't notice the difference," Shrek said,
picking out the mushrooms.
"Are you sure?" Fiona asked.
"Hey!" Shrek said, handing her the mushrooms, "Who's the culinary
expert in this family, hummm?"
Fiona returned Shrek's self-assured grin with a smirk of her own.
She had to admit that Shrek had, over his years of solitude, taught
himself an impressive array of cooking skills using a ... DIVERSE
variety of sources. She tossed the mushrooms into the stew and
stirred it some more.
"So," Shrek asked, "how long 'til it's ready?
"About another hour," Fiona replied, taking a taste from the spoon.
"Hummm," Shrek said, tapping his cheek in mock contemplation.
"Well, I'm done my chores for the day. What d'ye think we can find
t'do for the next hour?"
"Oh, I don't know," Fiona replied, recognizing the intonation in
Shrek's voice and trying to force innocence into her own. Then she
turned to face him and asked stoically, "Parcheesi?"
Shrek smiled a knowing smile. Fiona couldn't help but feel herself
doing the same. Then her eyes drifted up to Shrek's own trumpet-
shaped ears. She suddenly started giggling, then quickly turned
back toward the fireplace and tried to recompose herself.
Shrek continued to smile, but his face also took on a perplexed
look. "What?" he asked.
Fiona giggled again, waving him off, and stirred the stew.
"Oh, c'mon, Fi, spill it!" Shrek insisted, his smile starting to
fade.
"Well," she said, slowly turning back around to face him and trying
to force herself not to laugh, "it's your ears."
"My EARS?" Shrek asked, confused. "What about 'em?"
"Ummm ..." Fiona tried to find the words and maintain a straight
face, "you ... um ... hold them in a certain way when you get ... in
that mood."
"Wha?" Shrek said, reaching up and feeling his ears. "There's
nothing diff'rent about 'em!"
"Oh, it's very subtle," Fiona said, grinning coyly. "You probably
don't even realize you're doing it. I didn't notice it at first.
It ... uh ... let's just say it came with time and ... experience."
Shrek's broad smile returned and he rested his hands on his hips.
"Oh, really?" he asked, cocking an eyebrow.
"Really, really," she replied, still grinning. She started to
giggle yet again, and bit her bottom lip to suppress it.
"Well!" Shrek laughed, walking over to his large easy chair and
picking up a rolled-up newspaper from the end table beside it.
"Lemme just go visit the necessary, and as soon's I get back we'll
see about ... shall we say ... adding to your experience."
"Oh, Sir Knight!" Fiona sighed, raising the back of her right hand
to her forehead, closing her eyes and leaning her head back in a
fake swoon. "What fair damsel could possibly resist such a romantic
proposal?"
Both of them laughed then, and Shrek headed out the door with his
newspaper. Fiona stared at the door for several seconds after it
closed behind him and then sighed again -- genuinely this time -- as
a contented smile played on her lips. She had to shake her head to
break her reverie, and then turned her attention to the table where
Shrek had laid out the items from his sack. One of the things she
saw there was a pile of onions. She took the onions, all but one,
and put them away. She picked up the one that she had kept out,
sniffed at it, and then took a large bite out of the thick, crunchy
vegetable. "Mmmmm," she moaned to herself, licking the juice from
her lips. "THAT hit the spot!" She held the onion in one hand and
continued munching on it as she put the rest of the items away in
the pantry. She had just finished the task and was licking her
fingers after taking the last bite when there was a loud knock at
the front door.
Fiona uttered a short, surprised shriek at the sound as she spun to
face the door. Puppy immediately jumped up in her bed and started
yapping.
"Quiet, Puppy, quiet!" Fiona said to the animal. "It's okay!"
Puppy obediently stopped yapping, but continued staring suspiciously
at the door while a low growl rumbled in her throat.
"I hope it is, anyway," Fiona muttered to herself as she moved
slowly and cautiously towards the door.
When she reached it, she pulled back a little wooden flap that
covered a knothole, and then she closed one eye and peered out with
the other. When she saw who was on the other side of the door her
breath caught in her throat.
It was Shrek.
But something was wrong.
Something was terribly wrong.
His face was pudgier, with sagging jowls that were now adorned by
white sideburns. The spots on his bald head were darker and wider.
He seemed more slouched, and even his ears drooped somewhat. The
first thought that went through Fiona's mind was that some terrible
magic had been worked on him.
"Oh good Heavens!" Fiona gasped, then threw open the door, leapt
out, and grabbed the ogre's arm. "Shrek! What happened to you?!
You look terrible!"
"Shrek?!" the ogre responded in stunned surprise at the ogress's
sudden appearance and actions. He spoke the name with a brogue, but
it was not quite Shrek's voice. Fiona suddenly noticed that the
clothes he was wearing were not Shrek's clothes, either. The shirt
he wore, although of a similar make and material, was colored beige,
not off-white. The vest, also similar in style to Shrek's, was made
of goatskin. And there was another significant detail that she had
not at first noticed in her panic at his appearance.
He was not alone.
A couple of feet off to his side stood an ogress. She was dressed
in a worn light gray dress with faded toadstool prints. She stood a
couple of inches taller than Fiona and looked to be around fifty
pounds heavier, with skin that was a slightly paler, less healthy
shade of green. Her hair was gray and scraggly and unkempt. Her
face, like the male's, also sported sagging jowls and her trumpet
ears -- like Fiona's own, set a little more open and horizontal than
her male counterpart's -- also drooped ever so slightly. But her
eyes were bright and sharp, and were currently looking Fiona up and
down as if evaluating her. If that were the case it didn't make
Fiona feel very comfortable, for this new ogress's pursed lips and
her posture as she stood there, cross-armed, didn't exactly emanate
approval.
"I'm afraid AGE is what 'happened' to me, m'dear," the male ogre
chuckled. "I'm not Shrek. I'm his father, Groyl. And this -- "
here he gestured to the ogress by his side, "is his mother, Moyre."
Fiona looked in stunned silence for a few seconds from the male over
to the female and back again. Then she noticed Moyre staring at
where Fiona was still holding on to Groyl's arm.
"Oh!" Fiona gasped, releasing the arm as if it were on fire. "I'm
sorry! I ... I ..."
"You're Fi-o-na, I assume," Moyre said with a scratchy voice that
bore a bit of her husband's and son's brogue. She emphasized each
syllable as if reading the name of a strange and unfamiliar dish
which she didn't particularly care to try from a foreign food menu.
Then she gestured to the caption on Fiona's apron. "PRINCESS Fiona,
that is," she added, wrinkling her pug nose as she pronounced the
royal title.
"I am," Fiona confirmed. Her own eyes then followed where Moyre had
been staring at the apron, and she realized her attire. "Oh!" Fiona
gasped. "I'm sorry! We weren't expecting anyone today ..."
"Apparently not," Moyre said, rolling her eyes. "Well, at least
she's not trying t'wear the PANTS in the family. YET."
"Moyre, please!" Groyl chastised his wife. Then he turned back to
Fiona. "I'm sorry, m'dear. It's just that ... well, we didn't hear
of our son's getting married 'til we read in the papers 'bout all
the goings-on at that ball ye had in Far Far Away. We were kinda
... well, let's just say we'd hoped that ..." Groyl frowned at the
look on his daughter-in-law's face. "M'dear, what is it? Ye keep
staring at us like ye'd seen a ghost."
"Oh!" Fiona said again, trying to pull herself back together. "I'm
sorry, but in a sense ... well, you see, Shrek said ... I must have
misunderstood but ... well he told me that you two were ...
deceased."
Fiona's two in-laws looked at each other, sharing an expression that
the princess wasn't sure she understood. Fiona knew she had been
stammering, so to make sure she'd expressed herself plainly, she
added crisply, "Dead!"
"I KNOW what 'deceased' means," Moyre said irritably. "Just 'cause
I'M a REAL ogress doesn't mean I'm STUPID."
"I'm sorry!" Fiona said, embarrassed, "I didn't mean to imply ..."
Then suddenly she felt the rush of a different emotion. "Say," she
said, feeling her blood rising, "what do you mean by 'a REAL og--'"
"So!" Groyl quickly interrupted, looking over the front of the
house. "THIS is Shrek's home."
"Yes," Fiona said, noticing the look of what appeared to be pride in
Groyl's face as he took in his son's handiwork, "this is our home."
Moyre made an odd snorting sound at Fiona's words, then added dryly,
"Yes, dear, I'm sure he couldn't have done it without ye."
Fiona felt her blood rising again, and tried to fight it back down.
"Look," she said to Moyre, trying to maintain her composure, "I'm
sorry if I've said anything to offend you. I really am. But --"
Moyre waved her hand in the air dismissively. "Oh, tut tut." she
said. "My apologies, m'dear. I fear we've gotten off on an awkward
foot. Here..." she held her arms out to Fiona, "... come give us a
hug."
Fiona hesitated. There was something in Moyre's sudden and
obviously forced smile that made her suspicious. But, despite what
Shrek had told her, this apparently WAS her mother-in-law. And so
she slowly stepped forward and into Moyre's embrace.
Fiona remembered being told how some men would use the custom of a
handshake not as a mere greeting but as a method to test the mettle
of the person they were meeting by applying extra pressure to the
gesture. That was how Fiona now felt as Moyre enfolded her in her
arms. The older ogress squeezed tightly, causing Fiona to grunt
softly at the pressure constricting her in the ostensibly friendly
gesture. Fiona, however, wrapped her arms across Moyre's back and
returned the hug with a tight squeeze of her own, and felt some
inner satisfaction when she heard Moyre grunt herself. But then
Moyre squeezed even harder, causing a soft, involuntary gasp as
Fiona felt air being forced from her lungs. Fiona squeezed back,
and again, heard the same little gasp from Moyre.
Before the contest could go any further, however, Groyl interrupted
with some urgency, saying, "Yes, that's all very good, ye two, but I
think it's MY turn t'greet our son's bride properly now."
Moyre and Fiona ended their embrace and stepped away from each
other. Their eyes locked as they did so and it appeared clear to
Fiona that they could read in each other's mind that this had been
something more than a mere greeting. "There now," Moyre said. "All
touchy-feely, just like humans. Ey, dear?"
Had Fiona only been human, she knew she would not have stepped away
from that embrace uninjured. Fiona felt slighted by the comment,
and was trying to think of how to respond without triggering an
argument when she felt Groyl take her hands in his. His grip was
firm, but Fiona didn't sense any hostility as she had with Moyre.
The princess turned to face him, and saw a broad, genuine smile
beaming down at her. Like Shrek -- and Moyre, for that matter -- he
had large brown eyes. She was struck again with the impression that
she was looking at Shrek many years down the road.
"My, our son surely HAS won a beautiful bride," Groyl said, then
leaned down and kissed Fiona gently on the cheek. "Welcome t'the
family."
Fiona blushed. "Thank you," she said. She glanced over at Moyre,
who was watching them with pursed lips.
"Yeah," the older ogress conceded after a moment. "She sure is a
looker." It didn't have the enthusiasm of a sincere compliment.
Fiona sighed in exasperation, and thought she could she could hear
Groyl heave a similar sigh of his own.
"Yes, well, anyway," Fiona said, "would you two like to step into
the house?"
"Why, thank ye," Groyl said, "I think that's a fine idea."
"Then please -- please come it," Fiona said, and moved to hold the
door open for the two ogres to enter. As they did so she looked
longingly across the clearing at the outhouse. She really wished
Shrek would finish with his business so she wouldn't be facing this
alone. She was surprised that he hadn't heard something and come
out already. Then she focused her trumpet ears in that direction,
listened hard, and heard it -- the sound of whistling. As was often
the case, when Shrek felt particularly good about something -- such
as what he was no doubt expecting before dinner -- he would whistle
in the outhouse while he read and ... took care of his primary
outhouse duty. Between concentrating on the whistling and the
reading Shrek had apparently been missing out on overhearing all
this unexpected drama. Blast him. And he'd complained about HER
inattentiveness. If any villagers decided to attack now, they'd
catch him with his pants down in more ways than one.
Fiona, with some reluctance, entered the house after her ogre in-
laws and closed the door behind her.
Puppy was standing in the middle of the floor, looking up at the two
ogres and barking at them.
"What's this?" Groyl asked, smiling down at the bichon fries with
amused curiosity.
"That's our dog," Fiona replied, and then to Puppy she commanded,
"Puppy, quiet!" The little animal immediately ceased its yapping.
"Ye call THAT thing a DOG?" Groyl asked.
"Looks more like a snack," Moyre commented dryly.
"Moyre!" Groyl said, a tone of rebuke in his voice.
"Well, it's not the type of dog ye'd expect an OGRE to keep," she
replied.
"Puppy was a gift," Fiona said by way of explanation. She decided
not to go into detail about how Puppy had been a gift from an evil
Fairy Godmother who had attempted to break her and Shrek apart and
send him packing alone back to his swamp. Fiona feared she could
guess which side Moyre would take. But Puppy couldn't help her
origins any more than Fiona could help hers, although that appeared
to be a concept that her mother-in-law was having problems
accepting. Fiona sighed. Well, Shrek and her own father had not
exactly gotten along during their initial meeting and that infamous
first dinner. But Shrek had, she had come to realize now with time
to reflect more objectively on that terrible day, at least tried.
And so now that the shoe was on the other foot, Fiona owed as much
to him. At least in this case she had home court advantage.
Speaking of which, she realized it was now time to play the hostess.
Heaven knew if she could get THAT right.
Aside from the wooden dinner chairs, the main room only had two
pieces of furniture designed to sit on; Shrek's beloved, alligator-
skin upholstered easy chair and a much more recent addition, a large
padded rocking chair sitting beside it that Fiona used. They had
acquired the newer chair second-hand in a post-hibernation yard sale
from the Three Bears. It was a little worn and had a porridge stain
on one arm, but was very comfortable; to Fiona it felt just right.
"Please, have a seat," she said, gesturing to the two comfortable
chairs. As her in-laws did so she explained, "Shrek should be here
momentarily. He's -- um -- indisposed right now."
"Oh, really, dear," Moyre said, "you don't have t'use such human
euphemisms around us. If our son's taking a dump, just say so!"
"Moyre, please!" Groyl said.
"I'm sorry," Moyre said, although the sincerity of her sorrow was
questionable, "I know Fiona's a ... late bloomer, if that's a way
t'put it ... but I just thought she'd like t'know that ogres like
t'be more direct and forthright than your common human."
At this point Fiona was actually trying to fight down some things
that she would like to say forthrightly. She eventually did say, in
a voice becoming more taught, "Very well Moyre -- do I call you
Moyre?"
"That'll do, Fiona," she replied. "That'll do."
"Very well, Moyre. To put it directly, yes, your son is taking a
dump. He should be back soon. Actually, when he returns, we were
planning to --" -- no, Fiona decided, she wasn't going to be THAT
direct. Instead, she gestured to the simmering cauldron in the
fireplace and concluded, "-- have dinner. I hope you're planning
on joining us. It's Odd Ends Stew."
"That sounds wonderful, dear," Groyl said, then turning to his wife,
"doesn't it, Moyre?"
Before answering it, Moyre looked up at Fiona. "Who cooked it?"
"I did," Fiona answered, a bit of pride in her voice.
Moyre smiled a peculiar little smile. "Oh, yes, then," she replied,
"I wouldn't miss it."
"Yes, well," Fiona said, "Good, then. Uh, can I get either of you
something to drink in the mean time? How about some tea?"
The two ogres shared an odd look.
"What?" Fiona asked as a greater measure of impatience blended in
with her general feeling of anxiety.
"I'm sorry, dear," Groyl said, "but it's been a long trip and --
well, d'ye have something a wee bit more --"
"A wee bit stronger than that hot flavored water that humans think
so much of," Moyre finished for him.
"Oh," Fiona said. "Well, we do have some Ograrian Ale."
"That'd do nicely," Groyl smiled. "If it's not too much trouble."
"No, not at all," Fiona said, and went over to the pantry. A moment
later she returned with three wooden mugs and a large brown glass
jug. She set the mugs on the end table between the chairs, uncorked
the jug with a pop, and then poured its dark brown liquid contents
into them. Then all three ogres picked up their mugs.
"You DRINK, Fiona?" Moyre asked, sounding a bit surprised.
"Occasionally," Fiona said aloud, which she thought would better
impress her mother-in-law than a more precise reply like, 'Almost
never because the last time I tried this I threw up.'
All three ogres were in the midst of drinking from their mugs when
Shrek's voice boomed from outside as he made his way back across the
clearing from the outhouse. "Look out, Princess!" he called, "Your
love machine is on his way, and his engine is revving!"
Fiona and her in-laws all did spit-takes.
"Uhhhh ... excuse me," a deeply blushing Fiona said shyly as she sat
down her mug, wiped off her mouth, and headed toward the door. She
reached it at the same moment Shrek opened it.
Shrek grinned to see Fiona meeting him at the doorway. "Anxious,
are we?" he asked, mischievously raising an eyebrow.
"Uh, honey," Fiona said uneasily, forcing her own grin, "we have
company." She turned toward Groyl and Moyre, who were standing up
from the chairs and looking over at their son, odd looks of
discomfort and anticipation on their faces. "It seems your parents
are here!"
Shrek followed Fiona's gesture, and beheld his parents. The broad
grin that had been adorning his face quickly faded, replaced by a
look of near shock.
"You can imagine that this was quite a surprise to ME," Fiona
continued, forcing a laugh; she had not yet looked back to see her
husband's changed expression, "since I had thought -- although I'm
sure I must be mistaken -- that you told me that they were DEAD."
Fiona spoke the last word through clenched teeth as she at last
turned back and looked up into Shrek's face. His shocked, pale
expression took her by surprise, and her brow knitted in confusion.
After a moment of awkward silence, Shrek looked back down from his
parents to his wife. "I'm sorry, Fi," he said, his voice tinged
with a peculiar mixture of anger and sadness. "But it wasn't as big
a fib as ye might be thinking. 'Cause t'me ..." here he looked back
over at his parents, "... they ARE dead."