WOOING, The

/

SERENADE

/

You could never go wrong with a little serenade!

WHAT YOU NEED

A balcony (Optional)

Instruments (and/or Singing Skills)

A lute suit

A song

A cape

I would know that this works, and to prove that my theories are right, I sent out a young man who inquired for me specifically the other day. He piqued my interest for, of all the people, I'd expect villains the very least to ask about love advices! Nonetheless, mum's the word. He disclosed to me his current predicament through fumbled words, seeming to be quite the romanticist. Fearing the discrimination of his kin, he sought for the only possible person to assist him, somebody who was neither Good nor Bad, who was young enough to grasp and relate to his problems and also old enough to know how to handle them, who was skilled enough to guide him, yet limited in the visual discernment to allow him to do things on his own. That could only be me, love expert extraordinaire. I couldn't just leave him in the dark, could I? Not me. His story sounded…well, it was a peculiar one, indeed. I am determined to see to his succession, and nothing would stand in my way.

Let's put this plan into action!

;;,;;,;;,;;.;;,;;,;;,;;

Hort stood at the front of Room 66, nervous. He adjusted his collar, noticing with mild interest that it's gotten hot. He picked on the loose strings of his suit consciously, in his mind rehearsing his dialogues and chords, in case he was too blinded by flawlessness to remember: …A minor, C minor…

Thinking his hair would appear a mess, he considered licking his palm and sweep his bangs back, and then realized, with a jolt, that his breath must smell horrendous.

Of course, he was prepared: He drew out a bottle of freshener with a sinister-sounding name, and sprayed. All done! Now he's irresistible.

Satisfied with himself, he knocked.

There was shuffling inside.

Muffled alto tones inside, then a singular soprano: He couldn't be wrong now. Days of scouting for where she stayed and he'll be rewarded with girls in their nightwear. Yes. Yes, he regretted nothing. The knob was being turned. Carefully, Hort readied his lute—

—and out came Anadil. "Hort? Why are you here?" She was so shocked it seemed insulting.

Hort, albeit disappointed it wasn't whom he was pandering to, stood his ground. "For the same person I've been professing my love to these past weeks—"

"Whatever you plan to do, not here!" Ani said through gritted teeth. Her rats even peered from their usual place to glare at him. "Anywhere else, you'd be entertainment with the only person annoyed by you being Sophie. Here, there's a significant increase of that toll."

"Not to be rude or anything, but when you opened the door, I was expecting a pretty lady."

"Meanwhile I was right about a wolf knocking."

Hort tried to squeeze into the room past Anadil, except now Hester was blocking the way inside, wearing a hanging black garb that made her look like a raven.

"What do you want, Pipsqueak?"

You know, for a girl with an almost-pleasant-to-hear voice, she does inflect it kind of roughly. Before choice words slipped from his mouth, Hester held up a hand, "Know what? Don't answer that. If it's Sunshine you're looking for, we'll just get her out for you."

"I need to do it inside," pointed out Hort.

"Why."

Seeing Hester's tattoo glowing red, he instantly knew she meant business. "She might not appreciate the benefits this hall offers!"

Ani and Hester looked at each other. "We could live with that."

There was a third voice. It was Dot. "What's Hort doing here?"

"Right now, ignoring you." He cut in between the girls and let himself in the room. "Sophie?"

There was barely any difference between the Girl Dorms and his own: It even resembled his room, from the soot-covered bed sheets to three rodents. Oh, and Anadil's rats, too. The sole dissimilarity was not even around—not anywhere in sight, at least. The bathroom door was, however, shut. There could only be one person taking that long in the bathroom. (Not in the disgusting sense.) In the three-second silence, he heard somebody singing inside.

"See? She's too busy flirting with her own reflection," said Hester, closing the door, smart enough to see how leaving Hort out would just cause more trouble.

"I don't think you're going anywhere with her," Anadil stated, bit her lip, then added, "or anyone else, for that matter."

Moving past the nonbelievers and determined to make his journey count rather than pointless, Hort rapped on the door.

The response was immediate. And brusque.

"Oh, now you wanna go in?"

Pleased to find the door unlocking, Hort's mind went into overdrive: His imagination must be put at ease. Could she be wearing her nightgown? This is so sudden! Excited, he swung his lute to position his fingers as a figure came into view—

—an ear-piercing screech blasted everyone's eardrums.

Sophie slammed the door right in his face. "Just what do you think you're doing here?"

Oh no! He made a bad impression! Scrambling for words while Dot and the others were laughing hysterically, Hort pressed his palms on the door to try reasoning with her.

"I thought a little surprise would help cheer you up!"

"Yeah," cackled Ani. "She sounds real surprised!"

"This is the Ladies' Dorm!"

"D'you think he'd dress like this for bed?" Hester made her way toward the bathroom. She stood beside Hort, looking at the door like she'd do anything to see the look on Sophie's face. Hort could've sworn she could see through solid. "He'll be quick with this, won't you, Bloodbroth?"

"Yes, Sophie!" piped in Hort, not even caring about her unexpected need to help him. "Just one song!"

A groan from inside. "A song?"

"Nine verses of it!" He added, thinking fast, "Five if you talk with me for thirty minutes."

The silence told Hort think that she was debating over which of the two was worse, weighing the approximated agony. The longer it took, the ruder Sophie was on the inaction. Even Hester appeared fazed by her indecisiveness. Perhaps it was because she didn't want Hort being here or, in a less likely but plausible way, her narrow mind was slowly understanding infatuation blossoming into love.

"Hurry up, Ever! I need my spell books inside!"

…cross that last one.

"It's almost curfew, Sugarplum," Dot said from across the room. "Wait any longer and you'd be asleep. You don't want to nap on the toilet'sfloor, do you?"

At last, she spoke. "…Fine. But because he ruined my night make-up, make it three verses. And I'm up until ten minutes."

"Twenty-five." It was a bet with a heavy price, and it slipped from his mouth.

"Are you telling me when I should sleep—"

"Can't you just squeeze him in your schedule?" Ani snarled. She was tucking her rats in their blankets, which were actually hoary handkerchiefs.

"She's right," chirped Dot. "I bet it took even longer for him to get up here."

Silence.

That's a good thing.

"…Is the song written by you?"

Startled she was addressing to him, Hort squeaked in glee, "No."

"Your…mom?"

"No!"

"To be perfectly—"

"For crying out loud!" Without warning, an annoyed Hester rammed the door open, and inside stood the unlikely witch, wincing, make-up indeed uneven.

Hort dropped his lute, breath-taken. He thought he never saw anyone look so lovely in smeared mascara.

Sophie eyed Hester. Then she reached out to tug at her dress. "You know, a little cut here—"

"Get him out of here." She pushed past Sophie to get inside, and Hort automatically went forward to catch her, though gravity played with things a bit, and thus Sophie maintained her balance an inch from Hort's reaching arms.

As his tactic proved needless, Hort bowed, then crossed his chest with a finger. "My dearest! Love brought me thence, who prompts my speech. When in my Master's sight I stand, thy praise to him I oft will tell." There was a pause. Sophie opened her mouth before—"She then was silent! And I thus began: O Lady! By whose influence alone, mankind excels whatever is contained wi—"

"What song is that?"

Hort blinked. "I…I haven't even started yet.

"Why don't you save your breath and start singing, Honey," said Sophie, in a sweet voice.

"One last line—"

"One minute penalty."

"You can't do that!" Hort retorted.

"Yes," she filed her nail. "I can. For every wail, whine, complaint, grumble, whimper or gripe I hear from you, you get a penalty."

Hort dropped his arms in protest. "That's not fair!"

"That makes two minutes. And you should speak for yourself, Horton, I don't remember inviting you to my chambers. At night."

"I asked you! Add that to the list of stuff you accidentally ignored—"

"Three minutes up!" Sophie smirked.

"Okay, whatever you say—"

"Oh, don't forget 'Your Majesty.'"

"What?"

Sophie rolled her eyes as she approached him. His heart skipped a beat.

"Your Majesty. If you're already bothering to call me 'My Dearest,' you might as well call me by the title I so rightfully deserve."

Behind his back, her roommates exchanged looks, as if they shared a private joke.

"Yes, Your Majesty." He bowed once more, and Sophie was already close enough that he could catch her scent: Cucumbers…Hort resurfaced, nostrils still flared from taking in the aroma. Sophie waited, eyeing his face for a few seconds, then said, "Five minutes."

"No! It's—" Panicky, Hort did the math in his head, and exclaimed, "it's barely even four minutes—"

"New rule!" Sophie raised a finger to prove a point. "No sniffing. Ooh, for that angry remark it's six minutes."

"I wonder," Dot said aloud, "what else is perfume for if it isn't smelling?"

"She's got a point, Buttercup."

Haven't they got anything better to do than comment?

No matter how directed at her the flaws they mentioned were, Sophie still dismissed them insignificant. Hort pointed at them. "Do they count?"

"Unfortunately no." Hort let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. "But if you like, we could listen to what they say and waste all the precious time."

"I wasn't—" He caught himself quickly then gritted his teeth. "Understood, Your Majesty."

He searched in her eyes for something to cling to, yet saw something entirely different: A haughty anticipation. Like she was challenging him. Steeling his nerves and setting his ambition, he didn't try to delay, and with one, swift movement started playing the lute.

Music filled the room with a tune so familiar it danced in the recesses of their memories, a player in the game of hide and seek long forgotten…Ears turned to the source, so did hearts, as the melody became closer and closer for them to grasp, remember. For a full thirty seconds, the Tower was quiet, the song echoing its lonely halls like a ghost, haunting the forlorn spirits, awakening a new sense, its harmony abandoned by the changing world, yet arisen.

It was so beautiful, so mellifluous, that it may bring tears to the ones of the blackest of hearts…

Until Hort began singing.

"I can Show yOu the world…shining shimmeringsPlendid—"

"Moment ruined! Definitely ruined!" cried Hester, plugging her ears with tissues.

Sophie's eye was twitching. There was a reason why villains rarely have a single in fairytales. His voice resembled nails scratching a black board—she shuddered and covered her ears.

"Sophie!" Anadil's voice rang out. The rest of whatever she said drowned in Hort's.

"—princess, now,wHen dId you—"

Sophie mouthed "What?" to her.

"I said—"

"—hEart's deSire? I can Open your eyes—"

Sophie must have been looking at her stupidly, for she looked like she was going to slit her own wrists.

She read her lips.

"Make. Him. Stop."

Hopeless, she did crazy gestures. Any feeble attempt to soothe him would be futile.

She swore her eardrums would burst from the atrocity as he hit the chorus: He sang a pitch higher than Aladdin did on this part, but that didn't mean he was consistent. Puberty knocked his voice every edge of a note; it was jagged, high, and beyond unwelcome to sensitive ears.

Make him stop.

Everybody, living or dead, relied on her to cease this torrent of terribleness.

Dot's head was hidden by her pillow; Ani threw bed sheets over herself; Sophie could barely see Hester anymore underneath the stack of tissues. Surely he couldn't have been this bad, right? Wrong!

"Hort—I get it, I get it." She tried to break him off without ever getting near him, though that was as useless as whispering. Nonetheless, the very sound he made bunged his ears, continuing still.

"—Point of view! No one to tell—"

Hort's singing should be illegalized! That would be the very first law she'd make once she'd reign her own kingdom!

"Hort—"By this time she knew it pointless and gave up.

"—say we're only dreaming…"

Hort (at last!) was finished, though left the rest of the song to his instrumental skills, which were fortunately well beyond his singing abilities. His sharp fangs were peeking from his small mouth, curling into a toothy smile.

Sophie clicked her tongue. "It's pretty short for a serenade."

Hester threw her a look that made Sophie think she should take back what she said, although Hort was already discreet, so she shouldn't regret anything. "You know, I've had plenty other hopeless romantics fawn over me…"

And that's when she noticed the dragging sound. At first she thought it was Hort's lute, until it didn't sound quite right: Then, surprisingly, it was Hort himself. He was elongating the "ng" consonant.

"What—what are you doing?"

"Nnnnnnnggggggggg—" Hort's face was turning blue.

"Out with it," she said, eyes squinting.

"Is he asphyxiating himself?"

Dot raised a point. "Nah, he wouldn't unless he's kissed Sophie yet."

Sophie felt a bit of her mascara running down her chin, and as she leaned toward him, she got it.

"You want me to sing?"

Glowing with glee—or suffocation—he nodded, wildly smiling to show that he was in real need of some oxygen.

Sophie wasn't entirely sure this was going the way Hort planned, nor did she want to sing—it would severely damage her throat, consequently her chances of passing tomorrow's talent test, too—although the poor thing seemed like he was looking forward to her singing with him.

Maybe just a little part of the song?

Just as she was about to reach her decision, Hort collapsed to the floor, dazed.

Hester's head popped into view upon hearing the thud. "What the hell did you do to him?"

However, Sophie, still shocked from Hort's sudden loss of consciousness, shrugged. "I didn't do anything!"

"Funny, I vividly remember you saying it was princesses who faint." Anadil's voice was sarcastic.

Dot peered at them from her bed.

"You should do something." If she was worried, she certainly didn't show it.

Looking at the unconscious body of her suitor, Sophie stamped her foot in franticness. "If you've got any ideas, I'm all ears!"

"I don't want that in my room!"

"Well, neither do I—"

"Try CPR!"

"You're saying that I should lock lips with him?" snapped Sophie.

"It's that or we have to deal with his corpse," said Dot firmly.

Sophie refrained from scowling. She kneeled to Hort's side, at all costs avoiding his face.

She was the one who waited too long, but he could've breathed if he wanted to! She didn't want that much demonstration of devotion—not from anyone who wasn't a prince. And ew—was she really going to kiss Hort? Ahem, perform the CPR with him? Honestly, she was supposed to be trained to receive it, not do it on her own. And, while we speak of this, she shouldn't be learning how to strangle pigs or butcher minions—switch the two—or even anything she'd been taught at Evil!

Her eyes accidentally moved to Hort's face, then his lips.

Sophie suppressed the urge to gag. This was not how a fairy tale should end—it was barely even a tale worth telling: Of an ambitious peasant who passed out from singing too long? No wonder Sophie was cast as being the villain: It was her he was singing to! The only question was, was it going to end like Sleeping Beauty, or Beauty and the Beast? Sophie wouldn't know, nonetheless she was willing to bet that it certainly wasn't the first. This could easily have been distinguished as The Princess and the Fr—let's not dwell on this.

Hoping this would all be over, she leaned in close to his face, careful not to breathe through her nose, and placed her hands on his chest…

…then nearly crushed his ribs.

Hort immediately sat upright, wheezing for breath—he almost hit Sophie in his fit had she not moved her head in time.

He was having a hard time to breathe, coughing so hard he might just black out for real this time.

Sophie didn't laugh.

Once he caught his breath, he rasped, "Were you trying to kill me?"

"Excuse me?" Her eyes were glazed with fury at his insolence. "More like saved you, you impertinent maggot!

"I was faking it!"

"Ha!" Sophie stood up triumphantly. "I knew it!"

"Okay, it may have been kinda reckless to just assume you to give me CPR," he said slowly, standing up himself, "But you aren't without fault here! My tongue still aches from that salami you lit on fire."

"Which you ate," pointed out Sophie.

"Seafood never tasted the same thanks to you! And so did everything else!"

"What about me?" said Sophie, taking a dangerous step to him. "You're not exactly a pleasure to look at. Especially at ten P.M. in—Hort, what are you wearing?"

Like it was his cue, his face brightened up. "This!" Hort did a dramatic arm gesture, but failed in throwing off his cape because it stuck around his shoulders. There goes the jam to the sandwich. As he gathered his bearings, he turned to Sophie again. "—is my romantic drive manifested in earthly garments."

Hester folded her arms, turning on her bed to face the other side, like she completely had nothing to do with this anymore. "I don't think your 'romantic drive' suits you."

"And here I thought we'd finally get some sleep," Ani thought aloud.

"I'm determined to make this relationship work, Sophie, no matter what it takes," Hort said lovingly. Annoyance flashed across Sophie's emerald eyes, and if it weren't for the pink dress and the bunny slippers, he would have taken her seriously.

"We don't have a relationship, Hort," she hissed menacingly.

"Yeah, and aren't you, like, disturbed to see Princess Peach with green glue all over her face?" Anadil dipped her finger in Sophie's concoction by the bedside table and showed the substance to her rats. They took one sniff of it and quickly retreated to their little beds.

"I guess love is blind," said Dot.

"Sophie, my dearest! Doubt is merely an obstacle our love can conquer—" Hort leaned in, and then Sophie put her hand between their faces.

"Hort, I don't need this—"

"Is that denial I hear?" murmured Hort, taking Sophie's hand. "It's the first step to love, Milady."

"Or rejection."

The voice was so low and gruff that Hort almost couldn't believe it was Dot, yet he brushed her off. "I appreciate the remark, but if you would be so kind as to not interrupt us—"

Sophie was gesturing madly at him, eyes wide in horror. Her lips were pursed together tight, although he caught words like, "Exmay on the alkingtay!"

"What's that, a spell…?" Hort said, confused. He scratched his lute suit, finding that his cape wasn't stuck anymore.

The look of terror disappeared on Sophie's face when she slapped her forehead, and he turned around.

A ridiculously hairy figure silhouetted black was standing under the door frame, nails curled into sharp dark claws, fangs whiter than the hiding moon. It looked intimidating in its blood-red jacket and stance. The only thing that killed the image was its puffy breeches that looked like its mom knitted it.

The wolf Hort slipped past on his way to Room 66 sneered.

"Nice pajamas, Nerd."

The wolf snatched his cape. Well, at least his belt didn't come off.

Spoke too soon.

His pants fell to the floor the moment his cape was taken away, revealing his scrawny legs and star-patterned boxers.

All the room's occupants squeezed their eyes shut.

Hort face-palmed. "Ravan's two sizes bigger than me."

"All right, that's it." The wolf seized him by the collar and threw him out the door. "You're lucky Beast doesn't work overtime, or else I'd send you to the Doom Room straightaway."

As Hort sat up outside, he heard Sophie unmistakably try to convince the wolf to exempt this. "Can't you just let him off this one time?"

"Back to bed, salad grease," grumbled the wolf.

Sophie looked affronted. "Salad grease? You should take a look at yourself, Wolverine! What you're looking at is the most perfect, flawless—"

The wolf shut the door behind Sophie. They were all outside.

It was locking the door with its long nail. Sophie's eyes bulged.

"You're—you're not locking me out of my room!"

"Look, lady, I've to stay up for five more hours, and if you don't shut up I'll take matters in my own hands." The wolf was curt, grumpy, and exasperated.

Hort abruptly stepped forward. "Nobody talks to Sophie like that!"

"Know what? How about I leave you here till you learn your lesson!" The wolf groaned, covered his ears, and then walked away.

All was left were Sophie and Hort in the hallway.

Hort stared after the wolf in dismay before he turned to Sophie, who was looking at him. She was wearing an expression he couldn't quite percept. He didn't know if it was admiration or gratitude. One thing's for sure, she looked like she was seeing him in a new light. He shifted uncomfortably.

"You're more audacious than I thought." That's what she said.

He should've known she wasn't one to thank somebody easily, except that was closest to a compliment she'd ever give him. Hort smiled at her. "Even if I can't be the prince to a princess, I can be a henchman to a villain."

"Huh," said Sophie, appearing thoughtful. "Be seeing you tomorrow, I guess." She gave him a half-smile and knocked on the door to ask her bunk mates to let her in.

Hort let his lips slip into a grin to offer something in return. "Good night, Prin…Sophie."

With that, he made to leave. As he made his way to the direction of his room, Sophie slammed her fists on the door so hard he stopped on his tracks.

"You have to let me in!" she yelled. A muffled voice from inside, then Sophie said, "Lesson! Can't I learn my lesson in the morning? After I sleep in my bed?"

Sounds of furniture moving, like they were blocking the door from letting their roommate inside. Making sure, Sophie shoved her full weight on the door.

Softly sobbing, Sophie's back slid against the door as she sat on the floor, defeated by the law of physics.

She was thrown something soft in the face. She recognized it as Hort's cape. Sophie, appalled, was about to rip the hideous rag to shreds when Hort sat down next to her.

"Looks like we'll be camping out here, then."

Sophie eyed him, then at the cape she realized was going to be her blanket—and his as well—that was the sole thing to keep her from freezing for the rest of the night.

"You do know you could go back to your room right now," she said slowly.

"Yeah." He shrugged. "But where'd be the fun in that?"

Sophie scoffed, though couldn't help smiling. "Weirdo."

"Only for you," Hort whispered, stretching his arms. Sophie watched him curl into a ball, the single way to be comfortable whilst wearing only his underpants for bottoms. Something that resembled revulsion was almost waning inside her. Almost. She thought he was asleep already when he talked. "I'll leave the second the sun rises."

"Oh, no, I'm done seeing you any kind of naked. You're not leaving until you get your shorts back," said Sophie, rolling her eyes. She turned her back to him.

Seconds passed, and a silence settled over the two.

"Um. Sophie?"

She yawned. "What."

"Can you, uh, sing me to sleep?"

;;,;;,;;,;;.;;,;;,;;,;;

Hort did, in the end, spend the night with his princess. Not in the way he hoped or expected, though at least they were together. In the cold, lonely halls.