AN: this isn't as funny as I wanted, but I hope you like it anyway. I'm just going to forewarn you now that I'm in the last two weeks of my semester, so the next chapter might not be up until the end of the week.

As always, thank you for reading and reviewing!

FL 6

Chapter 4- Rapunzel vs. the Thugs

Fear makes strangers of people who would be friends.
Shirley MacLane

Please don't get the wrong impression. When I say that "too bad I was wrong about that", I mean in my Flynn mind, I was sad that my plan didn't work. But in my Eugene mind- the one that Rapunzel brought out- I was glad that she did what she did. No, I won't tell you what she did right now. You'll just have to listen to the story. That's how these things work, you know.

Now back to our story: I walked briskly along, and Blondie trudged along behind me, in complete silence. Well, mostly complete silence. Blondie tried to start a conversation, but my replies were pretty brief. So it went about like this:

Blondie: So, Flynn. Lovely weather we're having.

Me: Oh, yeah. Right. Actually, the weather wasn't really anything special for June, but hey. I guess any weather is nice when you haven't been outside in your entire life.

Long pause.

Blondie: So, Flynn, what kind of food does this place have?

That was a good question. I didn't really know what kind of food the Snuggly Duckling had. I was always too busy drinking flip or trying not to get beat up to notice what the menu was. Besides that, I highly doubted that the food would be good anyway. It wasn't exactly the classiest of joints, if you know what I mean. I was unsure of what to tell her, but I finally said: The kind that…you eat. Perfectly ambiguous. She glanced at me sideways, and then she grew silent once more.

Another long pause. Blondie: So, Flynn, what was that head thing called?

I guess "that head thing" was her way of saying the tiara. Me: That head thing? (chuckle) You don't get out much, do you, Blondie?

Blondie: What gives you that impression?

Was she being sarcastic? Maybe I'd underestimated her cleverness. And spunkiness. Me: I have no idea. Anyway, it's called a tiara, or a crown. But don't mention it again.

Blondie: And why not?

I was really going to tell her that I had stolen it and that's why I had to hide in her tower. Right. Me (giving me a stern look): Just don't, okay? And no more questions.

After that, she seemed to give up, and silence descended- an almost heavy silence. Obviously she wasn't happy that I wasn't chatting with her. Well, I didn't mean to be….necessarily short with her, but she didn't need to know my life's story. Or my thieving ways. So, there really wasn't much for us to talk about. Unless we talked about her, that is, and I doubted that she wanted to talk about her life either. From what I could tell, it wasn't because she was cagey per se (that more aptly described me), because she didn't seem like that kind of person. Quite the opposite, actually. Except the whole tying me up thing, her years in the tower had made her rather…guileless, innocent, trusting, and unpretentious (or, in other words, everything that I was not). So I didn't think she wasn't open because she didn't want to share, but rather that something or someone (her mother?) told her that she shouldn't share….like something bad would happen to her if she did. Besides, I doubted that she didn't trust me, because she said she did. According to her, I was somebody who could be trusted. That assumption was vastly amusing to me-because what I had ever done to deserve that? If anything, my actions showed that I was anything but.

I darted a glance at her while she plodded along behind me. Her eyes expressed deep thought, and her forehead wrinkled in….not concentration, maybe absorption. Yes, she was completely absorbed in whatever she was contemplating. I wondered briefly what she was thinking about. I wondered briefly if she was thinking about me. Don't be an idiot. She's probably thinking about those fool lanterns. Her eyes gazed directly at me, and I shot her a look, trying to mask the fact that I had been practically studying her. "Almost there, Blondie."

Her eyes flashed briefly with annoyance, but she soon smothered it. "Rapunzel," she corrected politely.

"Right," I said, even though I was likely going to keep calling her Blondie. It made her….more impersonal to call her that, and part of the wall that I was trying to keep up between me and her. In reality, though, I was starting to think that Rapunzel suited her just as much as Blondie did. She was certainly as pretty as a flower with those beautiful big green eyes and her long blond hair- hair that almost shone that the sun. Hmmm. Maybe her mother hadn't been that crazy to name her that after all. Silence descended between us once more, and by the sigh I heard behind me, she was starting to grow tired of it. Lucky for her, we reached the crossroad that led to the Snuggly Duckling. I looked pleasantly at her, as if I was excited to see it. "Now I know it's around here somewhere."

She smiled faintly, but her eyes were still thoughtful. I glanced around for the Snuggly Duckling and beamed again when I found it. "Ah, there it is," I said, pleased. "The Snuggly Duckling." I carefully watched her expression as she looked at it, and imagined what it would be like to see it for the first time- and what adjectives I would use to describe it. Let's see: run-down, dilapidated, building practically squashed by a tree, where you were supposed to eat. Hmm. I'd really want to eat there, wouldn't you?

Not. And, by the expression on her face, she didn't either. Apprehension clearly manifested itself on her face and she immediately stopped walking. Obviously she knew enough to know that places to eat weren't supposed to look like that. Well, she was right, but I wasn't going to be the one to tell her. "Oh, don't worry," I assured her. "It's a very quaint place, perfect for you. Don't want you getting scared and giving up on this whole endeavor, now do we?" Ha. That last sentence was funny- because that was the whole point of my bringing her here.

Her posture relaxed slightly. "Well," she said thoughtfully. "I do like duckling."

I doubted that, even if the Snuggly Duckling had duckling, it would be very good. "Yay!" I said with mock excitement.

XXXXXXXXX

As we grew closer to the Snuggly Duckling, Blondie's nose wrinkled as she smelled the oh-so-pleasant stench of the restaurant (slight exaggeration, I know- because it reeked of sweat and it wasn't a restaurant in any stretch of the imagination). Her steps faltered again, and I knew that desperate times called for desperate measures. So I gently placed one hand on her waist to guide her into the Snuggly Duckling, and pushed the door open with the other. "Garcon!" I called. "Your finest table, please!"

Actually, there was no such thing as a "finest" table, because all of them were on the verge of falling apart. And at every single table were large, intimating, and angry men, who were also very fond of any kind of weapons. They glared at both of us, as if we had interrupted something very important- maybe their daily scowling contest or fight over who was the toughest. Blondie's breath immediately inhaled as she saw the restaurant, and her eyes started to widen in something very, very akin to fear. Excellent. Well, finally I was right about something about her- this place terrified her, just like I thought it would. Actually, this place sometimes would terrify me too, because the thugs, ruffians, and Vikings were pretty intimidating. And they weren't too fond of me so I wasn't planning on being here long (because honestly I didn't like this place any more than I thought Blondie would. The Red Dragon was way better and most of the people there weren't as fond of axes- or knives). I didn't want Blondie to get hurt either, which you can choose to believe or not. But having her harmed wasn't part of my plan. My intent was let her see the men, get her good and scared, and then leave immediately and take her back to her tower.

By the look on her face, she was good and scared already. Her eyes were twice their normal size (which meant that they were pretty much ginormous), her posture defensive, and she immediately thrust her frying pan (what had she called it? Hefty?) out in front of her, as if it could protect her from them. I have to tell you that it wasn't likely that her frying pan would help her at all in this instance. For a second, she seemed like she believed it would, but then I noticed her feet (her very cute feet, though they were bare. Odd. Hadn't she ever heard of shoes?) twitch and it was obvious she was about to bolt. Smart girl.

Too bad I was smarter in this case. Before she could run out the door, I put my hands on her shoulders and practically shoved her further into the restaurant. "You smell that? Take a deep breath through the nose." I told her. "Really let that seep in. What are you getting? Because to me, that's part man-smell, and the other part is really bad man-smell. I don't know why, but overall it just smells like the color brown. Your thoughts?" She didn't say anything, but I could feel the tension in her shoulders. Something jerked on her head, and she turned around, swinging her frying pan at whoever it was. She didn't pay much attention to what she was doing, and missed hitting me by a hair. One of the thugs had taken some of her hair in his hands, and stared at it like he had never seen anything like it before (which was actually fairly likely. I sure hadn't)."That's a lot of hair," he muttered.

I couldn't resist a sarcastic reply. "She's growing it out", I told the man, wryly. Blondie, apparently not fond of the thug touching her hair, immediately scooped up the rest of her hair in her hands, and held her frying pan out even further in front of her. She stumbled around in a fearful stupor, bumping into random thugs along her way. Most of them weren't too happy about it, and one of them seemed to growl at her.

Now, the most polite thing to do would be to walk over to her, and get her out of there. That would have been the gentlemanly thing to do. However, and I'm sorry to say, I wasn't much of a gentlemen then, and I didn't even go close to her. Instead, I looked at the thug that had touched her hair. Interesting. He seemed to have red in his mustache, and I bellowed out a description to her."Is that blood in your mustache?" I said to him. "Goldie, look at all the blood in his mustache! Good sir, that's a lot of blood!"

I glanced over at her again, curious to see what her reaction would be. Her face drained of all color, and she looked almost sick with fear. For a moment, I felt a twinge of guilt for scaring her so badly, but I immediately suppressed it. Giving in to some sort of sentimentality would get me nowhere. In fact, it would probably get me a place that I didn't want to go. So, instead of saying something reassuring, I commented on her appearance instead. "Hey, you don't look so good, Blondie." Only a minor understatement, but I figured that telling her that she was portraying an excellent impression of a marble statue wouldn't be very kind, and likely wouldn't make her very happy. Though it would please me immensely since there was nothing I liked better than a triumphant laugh at my own wit. I strolled over to her, and started to walk her over to the door. "Maybe we should get you home, call it a day."

She followed along with me, but I couldn't help but notice the slightest of hesitations in her steps. Frankly, I found that unbelievable. Didn't she want to leave? A corner of my brain yelled that she knew exactly what I was trying to do, but I instantly debunked it as impossible. How could she possibly know? It was too unbelievable, even for someone as strange as her. So I continued. "You'd probably be better off after all. This is a five start joint, and if you can't handle this, well, maybe you'd be better off in your tower." An annoying twinge of guilt hit me because I was totally lying to her. If you asked me then, I don't think I could have told you why it bothered me so much. After all, I had practically made a career out of lying- and it usually didn't matter who I was lying to or what I was lying about. But with Blondie, I don't know. Something was remarkably different about doing it to her. Maybe it was because I was so obviously deceiving her and she was so innocent. Deceiving her was like deceiving a child who didn't know anything. So it just seemed wrong. Besides, the Snuggly Duckling was not even close to being a five-star joint. In fact, it was so far from being a five-star joint, it could be called a negative five-star joint. And she knew it.

Nevertheless, I still pushed her toward the door. It was about time to get out of here. However, we hadn't reached the door before it was slammed in our faces by one of the thugs, a piece of paper peeking from underneath his fist."Is this you?" he said to me. I tried to read the poster from around his very large fingers, but from what I could tell it was my wanted poster. Hmmm. I wondered if they had either drawn my nose right this time, or hired a new poster drawer. I carefully moved one of his fingers so I could see my nose. I almost groaned. Ugh, this time it was even worse- in fact, my nose had been drawn three inches too long. Well, the drawer clearly wasn't stupid (even if he seemed incapable of drawing my proper likeness) which could only mean that he drew my nose that badly to completely annoy me. And from this poster, it was obvious that he enjoyed, almost relished the task. How very rude of him."Oh, now they're just being mean", I muttered under my breath.

Soon another huge and bulking thug walked over to us, with a hook instead of a hand, and immediately grabbed me by my collar. "Oh, it's him all right," he said with a gloating laugh, shoving his hook underneath my chin. "Greno, go find some guards. That reward's going to buy me a new hook."

I was about to tell him that there was absolutely nothing wrong with his old one, considering it easily accomplished it's purpose when another burly thug grabbed me. "I could use the money," he said. Not to be outdone, another one seized me away from him. Hey, what is this? Pass the parcel or something? I am a person you know, and I resent being tossed around like a ball. "What about me? I'm broke!" he complained. That seemed to be some kind of signal (hey, free for all! One wanted thief, come and get it!) because the rest of the thugs and ruffians decided they wanted to play "tug of war" (or maybe that should be "tug of Rider"? ) with my person. I don't think it's necessary to tell you that having at least twenty thugs pulling your arms and legs in completely opposite directions is not a pleasant experience- especially when you might end up tied up by guards by the end of it. I tried to convince them with my persuasive powers to stop, but it didn't do much good. My "Hey, we can work this out" did absolutely nothing. So did my repeated pleas of "please". Well, I guess my mother was wrong when she told me that it was the magic word because it had no effect on them whatsoever (maybe their mothers hadn't taught them any manners). Too bad. Remarkably, though, that was the only thing she had ever been wrong about so I wasn't going to be too hard on her.

While this jolly game of Rip-A-Rider was occurring, Blondie was bravely fighting them with her frying pan. For some insane reason, she actually wanted them to stop beating me up. Which I found unbelievable. Why would she want to be nice to me when I was so not nice to her? Nevertheless, she was yelling at them to stop. "Hey! Leave him alone! Give me back my guide! Ruffians!" I didn't actually know what she did after that, but one second I was about to get punched in the nose (Of course I begged him not to. My nose was, as you must know, one of my best features and I didn't want anything to happen to it) by Hook Thug and the next he was hit in the head. So he stopped in shock.

I was pretty shocked too-I was shocked that my nose was still intact on my face. I had heard the crack and I had assumed that it was my nose breaking. That would have been a sad day. It wasn't my nose breaking though. Somehow Blondie had used the chandelier to get their attention. Okay, that shocked me too. Who would have guessed that she could be so bold? "Put him down!" she ordered, very loudly. It was actually amazing how loud such a small person as her could be. Hook Viking immediately glared at her. Uh-oh. Be careful, Blondie. You don't want to get on the wrong side of their axe.

She seemed to know that she needed to say something, though. "Okay," she began. "I don't know where I am and I need him to take me to see the lanterns because I've been dreaming about them my entire life. Find your humanity! Haven't any of you ever had a dream?"

Hmmm. Nice try, Blondie, but I doubt that appealing to some sort of dream would do anything to these thugs. Too bad, because I would have really liked to get out of here without any more hassle. I wish I was wrong, because she actually spoke very charismatically, but Hook Thug immediately brought out his axe. Obviously, her speech meant nothing to him. Or, in fact, to the other thug who decided to shove me on a hook on the wall. Maybe to get me out of the way? Hook Thug started to stump toward her with his axe, and I must admit I grew worried about her. I didn't want to see her hurt- and I would probably never be able to forgive myself if she was. After all, I did have some shred (albeit a very small shred) of a conscience and it would have been my fault because I brought her here.

Hook Thug cornered her beside a barrel, and I hoped that he wasn't about to hit her with his axe. Her eyes widened, and she looked even more scared than she had previously. Hook Thug opened his mouth to speak, and I was praying it wouldn't be something like "any final words". If you gave me a guess, that probably would be what he was going to say.

However, if you had given me a thousand guesses, I doubt I would have guessed what he really did say: "I had a dream once." My mouth dropped open. Seriously? Had Hook Thug admitted he had a dream? I wouldn't even admit that I had one, and I was no thug.

Blondie seemed just surprised. "Um, what?" she asked.

"I had a dream once about being a concert pianist," he told her. Then, as if, encouraged by Hook Viking, all of the other Vikings started to tell their dreams to her as well and she listened attentively and sympathetically: Tor wanted to be a florist. Gruther did interior design. Ulf liked mime. Attila made cupcakes. Bruiser knit. Killer sewed. Fang did puppet shows. Vladimir collected ceramic unicorns.

While their "sharing" went on, I "hung" out on my hook with one skeptical and scornful eyebrow raised. This was unbelievable. I hoped they wouldn't ask me what my dream was. I had no intention of joining this little smultz fest. Unfortunately, their sights finally settled on me. "Hey, what about you?" Hook Thug asked.

"I'm sorry," I said with my most sarcastic voice. "Me?"

Another finally took me off the hook. "What's your dream?" he said.

Ha. Don't you wish you knew. I immediately crossed my arms self-righteously across my chest. "No, no. Sorry boys. I don't share." No chance I would tell them. However, they immediately shoved their swords in my face. Suddenly, sharing seemed very appealing. Swords, in case you're curious, are very effective to get people to do what you want. It made me almost want to get one.

Later, that is, because now I had to tell all these thugs what my dream was. "I've got dreams like all of you, no really!" I said. "Just much less…you know, touchy feely! Most of my dreams happen somewhere warm and sunny, on an island that I own. There I would be tanned, and rested, and utterly alone…and… surrounded by enormous piles of money!" I beamed at them once I finished, hoping that would let me off. Thankfully, it did, and Blondie started talking about her lanterns again. While she did, I hoped that we could get out of her before the guards came. I guessed that they might have forgotten about it, but I sure hadn't. I was about to go get her when the door slammed open again by Greno, who bore the worst news I had heard all day.