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Song II: (All My Friends Are) Heathens
Nighttime, Shipping Warehouse, Copenhagen, Denmark, September 6, 1888
Author's Notes: Yes, there is a reason the name of this song arc comes from a Twenty-One Pilots song. Though I can't listen to it without flipping over to the Halestorm version.
But for now? Hi ho, hi ho, it's off to a Princess we go! One who didn't have a man winning her heart or fighting at her side. At all.
Pretty brave lass, wouldn't you think?
Off in the distance, the sound of a steam engine and a brass whistle could be heard as a train rumbled along its cut-and-fill tracks in the waterfront of Copenhagen as four occupants took shelter in a nearby warehouse in the train yard, the wooden structure made seedy by the salty air of the Øresund and the accompanying Baltic Sea, the wood warped and gray by the salty air. Earlier in the evening, the four persons who occupied the second floor of the warehouse had been in a gala, the social event thrown by the King of Denmark, Christian XI, for the birth and baptism of his grandson, Prince Axel. The four people in the warehouse, three of them Danish men with one of them in the uniform of a Kontreadmiral of the Royal Danish Navy, the other two in dress suits. The three of them surrounded the fourth one, sitting in a wooden chair with wrists bound by rope.
One of the suited men went to the seated figure and backhanded a cheek when a question hadn't been answered to their satisfaction. There was no cry or begging involved.
"This is not how I wanted this evening to go, kvinde." The Danish Kontreadmiral said, his hands in the pockets of his formal dress uniform where he had been spinning about with ladies half his age to the sounds of a small string quartet while enjoying the gala, the forty-year old man looking at the bound individual in the chair, green eyes turning his way as he addressed the captured person. The sight of someone such as they, known to him thanks to his position in the Royal Danish Navy, had him abandon the evenings' festivities and coming up with a impromptu plan to capture the obvious agent provocateur before whatever plan was in play could commence. Thus the two members of the Dansk kreminelle syndikat known as the Syv Dværge who accompanied him to their little excursion in the shipping warehouse in the train yard by the Øresund with their guest.
"I ha'e a pretty good idea how ye wanted t'is e'ening tae go, aul min." The thick, course accented English replied in kind from full lips, a bit of a sassy tone coming from its owner. The guest bound to the chair made little in the way of movement, stared at by three less-than-gentle men, hands bound behind the supporting back of the chair with good naval rope and a sailors' knot. One would have a hard time deciding what to look at upon the bound person; the fineness of the formal attire selected for the gala hosted by a king in honor of his grandson, or the shocking unruly hair the color of burndish sunsets or glowing coals that exploded from the scale, bound up and piled at the top of the crown where it fell back in its natural wild curls. The way the mens' eyes darted to that cloud of fiery hair, one would think that they had never seen a redhead before. "B'lieve me, t'is is better, ya gype."
A couple of Danish thugs and a corrupt Kontreadmiral a little too deep in the exportation business? Hardly a worry for a Highlander.
Especially for Merida MacDonald of Clan DunBroch.
"And who do you think it is that I work for?" The older man asked with a smirk, standing there with a smug look upon his face as he looked at the Scottish expatriate lass bound to a chair with two muscle men beside him. Off to one side, on a re-purposed table, a few instruments gleaned from a tonsilary laid upon the wooden surface, tools meant for extracting of teeth and performing root canals. "Alan Weselton, ja?" That had the elder Danishman chuckling ruefully as he nodded to one of the thugs, who moved closer and pulled out a long knife from one of the sleeves of his suit, grabbing one of the Merida's ears and placing the edge where ear and head connected, both threatening and intimidating her. Well, attempting to. "Does he really believe the Syv Dværge have to go through him to smuggle our cargo out of this Kingdom and into others?"
"I t'ought aul min Claude Frollo was in charge o' th' exportin' bus'ness." The Highlander lass replied, her eyes touching upon the man with a dagger to her ear, ready to cut it off if necessary. "Minsky li'le Frenchie rotter t'at he is." The sharp pressure on her ear went away as the Danish thug smirked at her, his eyes lingering on the opening her corset and dress left for her bosom, pocketing the dagger back up his sleeve as he took a step or two back, the immediate threat over.
"Frollo?" The Kontreadmiral chuckled as he looked to both men to either side of him as he did so gleefully, obviously enjoying the temporary amusement. "A scapegoat, a public face to take the fall when needed." The older Danish man in the Royal Danish Navy uniform took a step forward toward the bound Highlander. "Your incorrect information identifies you well." The man stood right in front of her, Merida's bare toes tucked in under the chair to keep them from being stepped on, as the man had done when they had danced earlier in the evening at the gala. "The berygtede Highlander, working for the Naval Intelligence Directorate and the British War Office, and she turns out to be nothing more than another pretty kvinde." The older man snicked his tongue off the roof of his mouth as he turned away to walk towards the table with the instrumentation on it.
"Aww, ye t'ink ah'm pretty." The DISNEY Agent replied with a little more sass in her tone, the man having no idea that it was she that was doing the interrogating. She already knew of the Frenchie, Claude Frollo, being nothing more than a patsy to the smuggling operations that sent opium throughout the European Continent and beyond. And Alan Weselton was merely a smuggler, nothing more. What she really wanted was a copy of a shipping manifesto that would list the ships and destinations of said cargo. And Kontreadmiral Hans Westergaard was the primary source of that information, being the planner and organizer for the Syv Dværge in Copenhagen. All she needed was for the man to think that he was in control of the situation. Strong. Tall. In charge.
Not like she hadn't faced worse before. There was that joke whispered amongst the others in DISNEY whenever they though she was out of earshot that said she was always loaded for bear.
Always.
"You can tell Weselton that we don't need his services any longer to move the opium." Kontreadmiral Westergaard said as the same thug that had his knife to her ear grabbed her face and forced opened her mouth as the older Danish man picked up a pair of pliers from the table, turning to show the redhead how they operated by opening and closing the jaws several times. "Well… you might have to send it by telegram."
There was a knock on the door to the room that they occupied in.
The three men looked to the wooden portal in concerned surprise as the Kontreadmiral nodded to the other Danish thug, who moved over towards the door to reveal a man in Royal Livery, speaking of his position as a servant for His Royal Majesty, Christian IX. The thug, despite his profession, stepped to one side as Merida saw the liveried servant walk in and approach the older Danish gentleman, a little shock to see that she recognized the newcomer; it was Commander Michael Darling disguised as a Royal Courier.
"Ja?" Kontreadmiral Hans Westergaard asked, looking to the servant of his monarch.
"There is a full broadside of eighteen-pound cannons aimed at this building as we speak." Darling said in clear Good Queen's English, his accent used in full. He wasn't even trying to hide his nationality, merely disguising himself to get close to the man. "If I don't light the signal after delivering a message to her, the frigate will open fire on your carriage before you can whip the reins." The Danish man looked at Michael in stunned shock, looking at the woman bound to the chair, and then back to the false messenger. The two thugs looked equally as perplexed as Westergaard nodded numbly his consent as Darling turned to Merida.
"We need you to report back in." Seriously?
"Are ye bloody kiddin' me? Ah'm workin'!" Merida replied, her tone as course as her accent.
"The Director said you would say that, and wants you to know this takes precedence." The Agent reiterated, never moving forward to free her or even arming himself to protect either one of them. He knew better.
"Ah'm in th' middle o' an interrogation. T'is gype is givin' me e'erythin'!" MacDonald protested while still bound to the chair. The Danishmen were too focused on the conversation and not her hands as Kontreadmiral Westergaard looked at the thugs in confusion at her declaration of her interrogation. "Ye can't joost pull me outta t'is right now."
"Annie is missing, Merida."
The Scottish lass felt a chill in her blood at that proclamation. Whatever retort or defense she was ready to let loose died on her lips.
"Give us a moment t' let th' gent here get his point across." The redhead replied, Michael understanding easily what she had in mind. The disguised man proceeded to leave the room as Merida fixed her green eyes on the Kontreadmiral to let him know he could proceed as he moved forward to her with a pair of pliers.
That would be a mistake; his last.
MacDonald's foot shot forward and kicked Hans Westergaard in his knee, making the man groan as he fell to a kneeling position in front of her, gasping in pain as Merida introduced him to her pretty face by slamming her forehead into the bridge of his nose, dropping him to the floor. The redhead stood up, still bound to the chair as the two Danish thugs of the Syv Dværge rushed her. The Highlander thrusted her foot forward, kicking one in the gut and knocking him back as the other swung at her, the Scottish lass ducking the haymaker as she twisted and struck him with the legs of the chair she was attached to, making the man stumbled forward. She took two steps towards the first thug, rotating and hitting him with the back of the chair as she slammed one of its feet into his toes, making him cry out in pain as she whipped her head back, smashing the back of her head into the brutes' face as she stood up and twirled with her chair, using the legs to hit the man in the back of the knee, tripping him to the ground. She moved to the second thug, who was approaching her, kneeing him in the crotch and then in the face, knocking him flat on his back as Merida jumped up and kicked forward to land with the chair on the Danish man, breaking the seat apart and mostly freeing her. The second thug came at her from behind as she stood up, his arms wrapping around her as her bound hands grabbed his pinkie finger, pulled it back towards the back of his hand and contorting his arm, the Dane screeching in pain as she kicked him in the gut and then in the face, sending him to the floor. Both thugs down, she finished undoing the knot binding her hands with her teeth, unwrapping the rope from around her wrists.
She turned to see Kontraadmiral Hans Westergaard trying to flee the scene.
Merida picked up a chair leg while stepping on one end of the rope while holding the other end with her left hand, stretching up as far as it would go as she put the end of the chair leg in the middle of the length and drew it back, her green eyes narrowing at the fleeing figure as she jerked the cord with her left hand upward while letting go of the chair leg with its splintered end.
The leg impaled the man's back from a distance of thirty paces away, sending him screaming to the floor with a piece of furniture stuck in his back. Seeing all three men down, the Scotswoman nodded in satisfaction as she picked up her heels and walked out of the room, her dress train swishing at her ankles. She hadn't even needed to pull out the shortsword that was strapped to her thigh, she thought with amusement.
MacDonald exited the room to find Agent Michael Darling waiting patiently outside with a knowing smirk on his face, knowing better than to try and help; he would have just gotten in the way. Beside him was a large leather case that looked like a giant letter 'D' with a circular tube with a host of feathered shafts sticking out of one end.
"Nice dress, by the way." Michael commented as Merida picked up the case and the quiver, sliding the tube over her head as she aligned its strap in between her bosom. The comment only had the Highlander snort; she had never been a dress kind of girl. "Parisian?"
"Venetian. Where's Annie?" Merida asked as she walked towards the wooden stairs that would lead to the first floor, Darling right behind her.
"We don't know." The Commander replied, his tone saying he knew what that meant to Merida.
"Is she alive? Was it Grigori Yefimovich?" The Scotswoman asked, her tone concerned. While few knew of the 'truth' of what happened to the Orphan four years prior involving a mystical faith healer who had inserted himself as an 'adviser' to the Tsar, the higher echelons of DISNEY knew to be quite wary of the man known as Rasputin.
"We think she's alive, and it most certainly wasn't the Charlatan." Michael reiterated. "I'll brief you once we get on the ship. But to clue you in, the Director wants you to talk to the walking catastrophe."
"Darling, you know that pretty lil' Frenchie poppinjay likes me about as far as she can throw me." Merida reminded the Agent when they worked together two years prior involving a rather hostile takeover of a certain international company.
"Oh, I get the little light bulb." Darling said with a smile. "You get the walking catastrophe."
Merida stopped dead in her traces as she felt her face go pale and her blood run cold as she turned to look at Michael Darling when she realized just who he was referring to.
"Oh bloody hell." The Highlander said, trying not to imagine having a conversation with a woman cursed by a Goddess.
Author's Notes: Now who could the walking catastrophe be?
DISNEY FACT: Merida of Clan DunBroch is the only Disney Princess who doesn't actually sing. There are two songs ("Touch The Sky" and "Into The Open Air") but neither are 'sung' by Merida's voice actress nor is she seen singing with a singing talent.
MARVEL FACT: Groot is the only Marvel character to officially be in a Disney-labeled movie (Wreck-It Ralph 2).
REAL-LIFE FACT: When Wreck-It Ralph 2 brings all the Disney Princesses in, the studio also brought back all of their original voice talents save for Adriana Caselotti (who voiced Snow White), having passed away in 1997, and Ilene Woods (who voiced Cinderella), who passed away in 2010. That means that the voices of Aurora, Ariel, Belle, Jasmine, Pocahontas, Mulan, Rapunzel, Tiana, Elsa, and Moana were all there, and considering that Mary Costa (who played Aurora) is 88? That's impressive.
Copenhagen occupies a small channel between Denmark and Scandinavia leading to the Baltic Sea, known as the Øresund (pronounced Ur-ree-zhund). This narrow confluence is highly influential since it represents shorelines for Sweden, Norway, Germany, Poland, Lithuania, Latvia, Estonia, and Russia.
Hans Westergaard is, in fact, the antagonist from the movie Frozen, Hans of the Summer Isles. I also mention 'Weselton', who was Duke Weselton, the other antagonist from the same movie.
Claudo Frollo was mentioned as well, the Bishop from The Hunchback of Notre Dame.
The Danish Criminal Organization that I use is named Syv Dværge; this is Danish for 'Seven Dwarves'! ;-)
I bent time; the man born Grigori Yefimovich Rasputin, the infamous faith-healer/charlatan that was rather responsible for the end of Tsar Nicholas II, Tsarina Alexandra, and their children, was with the Royal Family of Russia from about 1906 until his brutal (and multiple-cause) assassination in 1916. To make the Orphan Black, her events (and Rasputin) happened thirty-four years prior. Rasputin was a monk, a faith-healer, and had a very close relationship with the Tsar and his family thanks to Tsarovich Alexi Nikoliovich's hemophilia, whom the family believed that Rasputin performed a miracle saving the boy (and Crown Prince) in 1906 after an internal hemorrhage episode. Rasputin was poisoned twice (once with cyanide in cakes, and later with arsenic in wine), shot, shot again (when they discovered he was alive and was fleeing) and ultimate suffered a gunshot wound to the forehead at close range). His body was tied to stones and dumped in a river to make sure he stayed dead.
Yes, Merida made a make-shift bow and arrow out of a rope and a chairleg and shot someone with it. Impossible, I know. But… funny!
Forward unto the next DISNEY AVENGER.
You're about to meet its greatest warrior.