Disclaimer: I don't own Fairly Oddparents, but I'm giving Butch Hartman revenue by buying everything with "Fairly Oddparents" on it. Heh, heh.
Chapter Six: To Thine Own Self Be True
(Marseilles, 10:35 a.m. [approx] local time)
Juandissimo was off somewhere; Wanda didn't know or cared where. All she knew was the sun shone merrily and she, clad in her stolen ensemble, strolled the streets. Once again, she was searching for that piece of her she so longed for, that part which would complete her. She ignored the children frolicking because their happiness grated on her nerves. At least she was out of the chateau…
A ball bounced off the back of her head and she cursed. Simpleton- he nearly destroyed her disguise. Oh, he desired his ball back? Certainly, if he could retrieve it from the roof of the highest building in town!
Laughing merrily at his misfortune, Wanda continued to wander. Soon she was on the outskirts of town and an impressive, dilapidated structure loomed before her. Its peeling, previously azure paint and broken windows beckoned. There were answers here, she was sure of it.
Flying through a shattered window, she choked in the dust. The room was bereft of anything save for a cracked porcelain doll on a wooden rocking chair, both covered in cobwebs, and a small green shoebox. Her heart leapt at the sight of it but she was unclear as to why. Could it hold her solution?
Racing to it, Wanda took no notice of the layers of dust and cradled it to her chest. However she couldn't examine it closely, the lighting was too poor. Still, it irked her- why would she clutch it so?
Now that she was beneath a tree by the river, she could examine the box's contents at length. Many, many photographs were inside, all in black and white and turning sepia. Although it was nearly impossible to scrutinize the attractive, male fairy in them, she intuitively knew him to possess green eyes and hair. The question was; how did she know?
But she, too, was in the pictures. The green fairy had his arm looped around hers and they floated, grinning, over a human child, one she surmised to be a godchild. The whole idea was a conundrum, for when had she ever not been with Juandissimo? She could not recall such an event occurring, or, for that matter, a godchild. For the duration of her memory (if her recollections served her correctly), Fairy World had never granted them, much less her and an unknown fairy, a godchild. Curious…
Yet another question sprang to mind. If she and Juandissimo were indeed husband and wife, why was this fairy so close to her? In several pictures, ones in which the godchild was strangely absent; she and he were in rather promiscuous positions. Juandissimo would not have approved of this behavior, she felt, yet her self in the photos looked so happy and carefree. She longed to confer with that past and know why it was false today.
"Who are you?" Wanda whispered and a tear slid down her cheek. Good Lord, she hadn't even realized she was crying until it splattered the picture, but, the picture remained unscathed (some sort of charm?). "Tell me, are you the face I see in my dreams? Are you…Cosmo?"
The wind picked up and she was transported out of the fairy tale land into reality. Juandissimo would not sanction these candid photos; she'd best hide them here, under a tree root. Still, she couldn't resist stealing one shot, one with this fairy (Cosmo?) and his hands on her hips, leaning towards her, his tongue waggling and she beaming back at him. She stuck this into her back pocket as well as directions to find the rest. Somehow, she found it unlikely she would remember them and she was right. She couldn't.
Within five minutes of burying the shoebox, she'd forgotten all about it and thus, the pictures remained safe for the meanwhile. Shaking her head and wondering what on earth she'd been doing for the past half hour (she honestly couldn't recall), Wanda poofed back up to the chateau, utterly befuddled. Well, whatever it was, it couldn't be that important, could it?
Meanwhile, down at a café, keeping guard over the chateau but failing miserably, Anti-Cosmo examined his wife with alarm. She was turning positively pink, even her skin was less blue. His eyes narrowed, he eyed the chateau and wondered just how long the imbalance would occur until something drastic happened. He didn't have long to wait.
(Vicky's basement, 9:35 a.m. PST)
She was awake before he was and observed his softly rising chest. No one could really stay awake for three days straight, particularly not a teenager. Sooner or later, she knew he'd succumb to his drowsiness. Still, he did look adorable.
Her heart was pounding and she was struck by a strong desire to kiss him again. Even if he was asleep, to feel his lips against her own would be so divine…Ugh, why was she thinking this? Why did she suddenly desire him so badly? Why did she have to read all those Danielle Steels?
Okay, getting thoughts in order here. I haven't seen this guy for two years (and he was all green and slimy then) and I've only spent time with him as a human for two days. Why am I so attracted to him?
Well, he is cute, the way that little strand of hair falls over his left eye and the way his leg is sort of propped up at an angle. Then, of course, the way he protected me.
Am I falling for him? But I've only spent two days with him! What's changed? (Aside from his species and my personality). Just because we share telepathy and Cal said that this was the mark of true love…
I want to trust him. He seems like he really loves me and he risked his life (and mine) to prove it. Even if he is a guy, he isn't just a guy.
Stretching luxuriously, Mark yawned and his eyes widened when he realized not only had he shirked his duties and fallen asleep, she was awake and staring at him. A conflict was brewing in her eyes again.
"Sleep well, my dearest Vicky? What were you thinking of?" He grinned and his hand brushed hers. She jumped, startled and at once cursing her anxiety. Goddamit, she wanted this!
Stop acting so stupid! "Nothing, I wasn't thinking of anything…"
(Timmy Turner's dream, Saturday, 10:05 a.m. PST)
It was their second training session. Timmy, try as he might, was unable to lose himself in his brawl. Images of Cal came to mind and he swallowed hard, wondering if Lorenzo's murder and execution of said act was what he was training to do to Cosmo and Wanda. If so, he wanted out.
"Weak!" The Other screamed and easily parlayed a half-hearted blow. The Wanda dummy, as ever, remained bereft of the finishing shot. The Other was portraying Cosmo (supposing he knew how to fight) and grew weary of his reluctance to deliver.
Timmy panted and, for a split second, the dummy became the real deal in his mind. She sobbed and pleaded with him. The sword clattered to the floor and he stood there, immobile, but not for long.
"Inept!" Lorenzo snapped and kicked him in the ribs. Timmy heard something crack as he slid to the floor and this searing pain made it difficult for him to defend himself. The Other had broken at least one if not two ribs.
"I'm sorry!" Timmy whispered and a tear slipped out and spilled onto the floor. Just one tear but more than enough to get him going.
"Pathetic!" Lorenzo snapped and landed another kick that propelled Timmy into the wall.
Now he was certain that something had cracked, in all likelihood his arm, for when Lorenzo had kicked him, Timmy had flung his arm up in desperation. Now he had two broken bones and an enraged Lorenzo to deal with. This, folks, was going to get ugly.
"Get up," The Other snarled and hoisted his protégé up only to smash him against the wall. Timmy gasped and sobbed, powerless to do otherwise. If you had a broken rib and left arm, wouldn't you cry too? Of course, this was not quite how The Other saw things.
"Peon." With that, Lorenzo tore off Timmy shirt and, in the hand not pining him to the wall, bought a knife out. It was so long a butcher would envy it and Timmy gulped, now extremely fearful. Lorenzo couldn't kill him, right? Er, right?
Deftly, Lorenzo slashed the word "weak" on his chest, making sure to do it do deeply it caused him agony, but enough so that The Other (in addition to Timmy) would die. The total incision was about three inches, extending from one side to the opposite. However, The Other wasn't finished.
Spinning him hard and throwing his head into the wall, The Other carved "wuss" into his back and then released him. Timmy slid to the floor, barely conscious. Blood pored down from both sides and Lorenzo suddenly felt light-headed.
He healed the bones and then departed, leaving Timmy to pass out seconds later.
Timmy awoke to Cosmo's terrified whimpers. Clutching his wand to his chest, Cosmo, eyes large and watery, stared at him. He'd turned back into a fairy sometime during the night and couldn't since- Timmy's dreams haunted him.
"Timmy?" Cosmo whispered apprehensively and put a hand on his shoulder.
The boy recoiled as if burned and hugged himself, brushing a few errant tears away. The dream had yet to fade and the throbbing yet to subside. Besides, who said he wanted he wanted Cosmo to help anyway? He'd probably just scream at him how everything was his fault.
"I…I saw your dream," the fairy murmured, slightly hurt by Timmy's reaction. "Is it still there, the marks?"
Timmy hung his head despondently and nodded limply. He looked so pathetic, Cosmo couldn't help but wonder if maybe he needed someone, anyone, to hold him and tell him everything would be all right. It certainly wouldn't do any harm.
"Can I see?" Cosmo asked and pointed his wand at his chest. Timmy flinched, obviously remembering yesterday. Oops, Timmy might've remembered but Cosmo had forgotten.
"I can heal it, I think," He said and Timmy reluctantly undid the button on his pajamas to show him. The wounds were indeed still there and hadn't faded a bit with time. Well, here went nothing.
Whispering to himself, Timmy murmured, "Lor-, The Other liked to run his fingers over it. Especially when he-"
A warm sensation began at the beginning of the gash and it was accompanied by Cosmo flinging his arms around his godson and positively wailing. Both were rather pleasant, although the nape of his neck was growing a tad damp. In no time at all, the wounds dissipated and the flesh healed.
Wrapping his arms around him (and accidentally bending Cosmo's wing), Timmy waited for his godfather to cease blubbering. Okay, while he admitted it did feel nice to have him trust him enough to act as he did, Timmy was clueless as to why he was doing so. He supposed he'd have to wait for the wailing to abate (however long that took).
"Um, why are you crying?" Timmy asked, baffled, and Cosmo had to swivel his head around to answer.
"Because…because, if I can't stand looking at your dreams, how can you stand being in them?!"
Timmy sat still for a moment, reflective. Cosmo was admitting the past few months might have been terrible for someone other than himself? That, by remembering what had happened, it caused him emotional grief? Hmm, rather perceptive of him. It couldn't last.
Cosmo cried for quite some time afterwards, not noticing where Timmy's sleeves were slightly unbuttoned at the wrists, there were deep razor marks.
(The library, Lorenzo DeMedici's creepy Victorian mansion, 11:20 a.m. PST)
Remy Buxaplenty slammed his fist onto the mahogany table in frustration. God, looking for one fairy in the universe was like searching for a needle in the galaxy's biggest haystack. How in the hell was he supposed to locate her when he couldn't even find his own fairy godfather?
Yes, Juandissimo had been M.I.A. since he'd kidnapped Wanda and was deaf to Remy's calls. Personally, he'd love to shove that Wanda woman in a blender- he wanted Juandissimo all to himself. Besides, as far as he could tell, Wanda didn't like him back.
This was not to say he really cared about such matters. All he desired, the only thing he would wish for, was his godfather back. You see, Remy was a bit possessive and a little, perchance, enamored with his fairy. Not enamored as Jorgen might be (considering he was dating the tooth fairy) but enamored as in he fancied him or so he thought.
Living in Lorenzo's house, where such things were encouraged, Remy's dependence and obsession had blossomed into a full-blown crush. As in, Remy had a crush on his fairy godfather. Not that you could really blame him, but, still he was getting a little out of control with it. As in, his contempt for Turner had shifted focus to one less logical, Wanda.
Juandissimo was, if thought about it, the rat in the "cat that ate the rat that lived in the house that Turner built". Basically, Wanda (the cat) had devoured his godfather and, since Wanda was technically Turner's godmother, this all figured into his "Turner must be destroyed" schematic, a plan consuming his days and making him yearn for revenge. Turner had done it, yes, but so had Wanda. Turner was far too stupid to compose an elaborate plan for the original loss, so it had to be her.
At least now he had a motive, like Turner, for tracing her whereabouts. Unlike Turner, who genuinely loved his godmother and only wanted her back for some security, peace of mind, and to grant Cosmo some sanity, Remy wanted her back for another reason. If he found her, he'd eliminate Juandissimo's love for her and thus have him all to himself.
Good minds think alike and while Remy and Juandissimo's thought processes were corrupt to begin with, they were father and son. The ironic thing was both were doomed to fail, one way or another.
(Study, Lorenzo DeMedici's posh Victorian home, 12:45 p.m. PST)
Cold, he was utterly freezing, despite the roaring fire. But, still, the lack of warmth was purely internal. He was cold inside and bored to boot.
I need a little fresh hell to unleash. The frach's out there somewhere, hell knows where, Cosmo's too easy a target right now, the whore's not in this universe, Crocker's been arrested for some minor legal infraction, Remy's doing my work for me, and where the hell does that leave me, the lovely charming villain?
I need a new angle, someone else. Vicky has that loathsome Mark, the warrior prince from Yugopotamia and, as much as I'd relish the thought of his blood pooling at my sneakers, that freak has some powers of his own. Besides, what could I possibly stand to gain from his death? True, Vicky would be miserable again but she was never the aim- Timmy was.
Timmy, the average twelve year old with the silly pink hat who stole my heart and my brutality. Damn you, you mentally unstable preteen whose self-loathing is weakening me as we speak. How could my life become so entwined with yours? How could I have fallen so blindly into this?
Something must be done about it. But what? Every time I even attempt to harm him as I did so nonchalantly in the past, I transform into the whore, unable to inflict any damage upon him or even articulate myself properly. It's pathetic.
I must find some way to transcend this…
The cell phone in Lorenzo's pocket rang and he jumped, startled. Predictably, it was Crocker, pleading for bail since his mother was angry with him and wouldn't fork over the dough. Even though his futile, wretched effort to extricate himself from the jail only served to exasperate him, it did give him an idea. Hmm…
(The gigantic open auditorium of F.U.N., Fairy World, 3:50 p.m. EST)
Whispers broke out among the many fairies, pixies, and other assorted creatures gathered. Rumor had it this meeting, tearing almost every breathing fairy godparent (with the exceptions of Cal, Cosmo, Wanda, and Juandissimo) from their godchild, it concerned Cosmo and Wanda, and, naturally, a wish their godson made two years ago. Since theirs was the first custody hearing in years and not it appeared this was no coincidence, they (particularly the jury presiding over the trial) demanded answers. As for the rest, they merely conjectured and made with wild accusations. None were too pleased to be separated from their godchild, not even for a few minutes.
"QUIET!" Jorgen Von Strangle thundered and the mass quailed in their seats. "Better."
A large projector appeared in front of an enormous screen. Now fairies, those with telepathy, began to murmur amongst themselves. The others just clutched their wands in bewilderment. Why interrupt their activities for some sort of video? Honestly, the idea was absurd.
Oblivious to the telepathic messages buzzing around his head, Jorgen cleared his throat and implied, in no uncertain terms, their full attention was to be directed to the front. Oh, and to shut off all video recorders before the party involved was crammed in a VCR. Thank you and please enjoy the show.
The first thing apparent was Fairy World not only knew about Lorenzo, certain sects had monitored him since his birth. Therefore, the events portrayed were as it happened, not as a summary. Due to this, quite a few lost their meals. After all, the idea of such happenings occurring to any fairy was gruesome.
It culminated in the What-If spell (an extremely difficult spell to master and was executed flawlessly, if Jorgen could begrudgingly admit this much), an excellent indication of what might come if this menace were left alive. The auditorium was dead silent, not even those bonded with their soul mates could utter a word, telepathic or otherwise. Goose pimples arose on their arms and many shivered.
"What, what d'ya want us to do about it?" A voice from within the audience squeaked.
Jorgen smirked. "Stay away from him. Our trained militia will handle him. This anti-fairy cannot defeat the likes of-"
"He already killed a fairy! What would a few more be to him?" The same voice protested and, this time, it was proceeded by a great deal of enraged agreements. Pretty soon, Jorgen had an angry mob on his hands, resplendent with flaming torches and pitchforks. They wanted answers and they wanted them now.
"SILENCE! STOP! CEASE!" Jorgen screamed but to no avail. Everyone, including the Tooth Fairy, was panicking. Still, he was the toughest fairy in the universe, not to mention fairy drill sergeant, and head of Fairy World. This was no butterfly net, this was a serious situation and if he didn't keep his head, who would?
"SHUT UP!" Grabbing twenty trainers, he converted them into one massive grave and slammed it down on the podium. Since all of these he'd grabbed were telepathic, their spouses were forced to quiet due to the ringing in their ears. And, with their halting, the rest gradually hushed as well.
"I understand your concern. And, to the puny fairy that suggested we storm Earth and murder him in his sleep, this is impossible. The only creature who can kill this accidental atrocity is a twelve year old human, Timmy Turner, the one who created him," Jorgen informed them and the projector, previously off, turned itself on to display Timmy.
"He's awfully morose," one godmother noted with a frown. "He looks like he hasn't got a friend in the world. Where's his godmother?"
"Another problem. His fairy godmother has been kidnapped by Juandissimo." (There were swoons and several fainted). "Yes, yes, he is very sexy, but that is not the point!
"ORDER!" Jorgen banged the gravel again and they shut up. "We are not debating his sexiness! Since Wanda's kidnapping, Timmy has no one to believe him as his girlfriend was led out of this realm by her dead fairy.
"Cosmo, the bumbling fairy, has lost all confidence in his godchild and, thus, his godson, because of recent events, has lost all confidence in himself," Jorgen finished and left the rest of his statement unsaid. No need to incite another potential riot.
Once again, whispers began and Jorgen, weary of banging the same fairies about, turned two of them into canaries (which shut them up pretty quickly). They weren't attractive canaries, either. No one wanted to be a hideous canary, so they nominated Frank as their representative.
"Jorgen, sir, the general consensus is that Timmy might be suicidal. What would happen if, God forbid, he killed himself?" Frank queried and threw up a shield for protection.
"If he were to kill himself, there would be mass chaos! The world and all the others now haunted by The Other would tear at the seams, affecting the very fabric of reality. If the human boy does not dispose of The Other properly, his ghost will seek vengeance. Therefore, we must ensure he remains alive and kills The Other correctly, overriding the idiot."
This, unfortunately, was easier said than done.
(A chateau in Marseilles, 11:30 p.m. local time)
Wanda was restless and irritated. Juandissimo, as well, had done his bang up job of screwing her and making her wish she were outside herself. Therefore, while he snored contently, full on himself, she lay awake, thinking of the photos.
Even now, huddled beneath the comforter for warmth she did not feel, she shut her eyes and saw the idea of him on her eyelids (she couldn't remember his image). The idea sent tremors down her spine, a mystery lover? Why had she left him? Where was he now?
He knew where all the parts were, but most of them were his. It's as if he was thinking of someone else (probably himself), I know I was. I almost called Cosmo's name, just to test it out. Then again, there was no real reason to; I was nowhere near as "excited" as Juandissimo.
She rolled over to look at him and grimaced. Ugh, she disdained the mere appearance of him. She had to get out of here.
Grabbing her pants from the heap he'd tossed them upon in his passion and her indifference, she snatched the note from her left pocket and scanned it. She knew she'd have to read it repeatedly to remember, but this wasn't what bothered her. What really pestered her was the slant of moonlight on his smug face.
Stifling the almost overwhelming urge to kick him contemptuously, Wanda settled for searching unsuccessfully for his wand (any new spell, be it transformation or otherwise, still caused her agony). Damn, she should have realized he'd keep it hidden. How was she supposed to ensure he'd remain asleep?
Oh, she'd located it, beneath his pillow. How pompous he acted, but how childish was it to hide your wand beneath your pillow? Hmph, men.
Seizing it at once, she gasped as magic coursed rapidly up and down her body. It was like electricity, except growing exponentially as the wand grew harder and harder to hold. Dropping it as one would a hot potato, she made one gross error- she dropped it on Juandissimo's head.
Before it entirely left her hands, it whispered, Dimmsdale, he is in Dimmsdale. She didn't have to ask who, she knew. This clinched it, she'd go there tomorrow night. However, for now, she had to deal with Juandissimo.
"That is mine!" Juandissimo snapped and snatched the wand off his forehead where a sizeable lump had formed. "You know you cannot have me."
"Why?" Wanda countered. "Afraid of what I might do to you if you were armed? What, can't you fight without magic? Are you that weak?"
Blood thundering in his ears, Juandissimo didn't realize he was aiming his wand until it was pointed at her chest. No, what was he doing? Why would he threaten the woman he loved? Sure, she was being unduly cruel to him, but if he acted compassionate, she'd realize the error of her ways and relent.
"Pathetic," Wanda retorted to his "defense". Concentrating on him and knocking the weapon out of his hands, she ignored the mind-numbing agony and he skidded back a few feet, his wand slipping from his grasp. Perfect- as soon as she could breathe again, she'd have the upper hand.
Her hair, clothes, and eyes dropped another shade. Now her eyes and hair were a murky brown and her shirt, for some odd reason going in the same direction as the aforementioned was. The bun, no longer curly but wavy, tumbled out.
"You are using dark magic, mi amor? Why? Please do not-" He was cut off.
"First of all, I'll do whatever the hell I feel like doing and you're not going to say anything about it because, frankly, I could care less if you dropped dead. Second, I don't have a wand, so how do you propose I do magic without one, huh? Got any brilliant ideas in that dick of yours, because I know that's where your brain is."
Flabbergasted, he stared at her until the testosterone kicked in and he pushed her against the wall. His hands pinned her there as she glared hatefully at him. What a fine husband he made…not!
."Cosmo wouldn't have done this," Wanda snapped, blurting out the first thing that came to mind. Why, at a time like this, did she suddenly remember his name? For a brief second, her attire and appearance shifted to normal.
Juandissimo staggered back, stunned. No, she shouldn't remember her at all. How could she? The spell and concoction had been perfect…
Eyes narrowed, Wanda cast her final spell for the day to render him unconscious. Due to extreme pain and exhaustion, she passed out before she could execute it.
Juandissimo caught her and pried the note from her hand. He read it and scowled. Well, he'd just have to get there before her tomorrow. He didn't know what the coordinates meant but it had to have something to do with Cosmo.
Moreover, as usual, anything to do with Cosmo had to be destroyed.
(The basement, 9:45 p.m. PST)Mark sat upright on the couch, clutching the remote and staring blankly at a black screen. The set was off and the only sounds came from the falling water in the shower where Vicky was. (He knew better than to intrude).
Speaking of her, she'd been jittery all day. When they were within a foot of each other, she'd reach for him and then recoil. He tried talking through telepathy but she was evasive there too. If he didn't know any better, he'd say she liked him but was having a hell of a time expressing it.
And she was pretty damn sure she liked him. Last night, during the kiss, he felt sparks and knew she felt them too. After all, afterwards, even in her sleep, she kept pressing her fingers to her lips and recalling his touch. She knew what she really wanted, in her heart of hearts, but was terrified of men.
The only thing he could really hope for was she would trust him soon. The way she was acting had to be driving her crazy too. She wanted him but was so fearful of what could happen that she wouldn't let it.
"I…" Vicky said softly and he craned his neck to look at her. She was wearing a fluffy bathrobe and his hair was down. At first, he wasn't sure she remembered he was there.
"Yes, my dearest Vicky?" Mark grinned at her. "I am eternally in your service."
She went crimson and dropped her gaze. Beneath the robe, her heart beat madly and her palms were sweaty. There was no way she'd ever be able to say this.
I…enjoyed the kiss and…I really like you. I mean (gasp!) She blurted in telepathy and he bit back a chuckle. Well, this had the propensity to be awkward.
You're terrified of me, aren't you? Mark sent and leapt over the couch to meet her halfway. I would never hurt you.
I don't want to be scared of you. I want you to hold me and- Why am I saying all this stuff? What's wrong with me?
Nothing is wrong with you. You're sending your real feelings and thoughts, things you wouldn't say otherwise. You're just having a little problem with blurting things out. He replied and, testing the waters, drew his arms around her. She leaned her head on his shoulders briefly and then pulled back. No good, again.
Sighing, he released her and threw himself on the couch again. She stood there, cursing herself and darted back into the bathroom to change into her pajamas. Another wonderful development in the Mark/Vicky relationship.
"I'm sorry. I wish I could…" Vicky murmured, changed and flinging herself, frustrated, into bed. "I really do."
So do I."It's all right," Mark said and let out a low whistle. "Good night, my lovely Vicky. Sweet dreams."
"'Night," Vicky murmured. "You too."
"I love you…" Mark whispered and stood to guard her like a sentry. "Sweet dreams, my dearest Vicky."
Turning over, she grabbed his hand and squeezed it. He smiled at her and squeezed it back. Then, for the entire night, he held it, never once letting go.