Disclaimer: To those who except their fate: happiness, to those who deny their fate: glory, to those who plagiarize: lawsuits... I do not own Princess Tutu or related characters.
Vignette Two:
Her chest expanded and contracted with the slow steady rhythm of her breathing as the little yellow duck sat on the dock fast asleep. Ahiru had taken to sleeping on the dock recently due to the fact that every time she fell asleep on the water she would end up dunking herself under, wrenching herself from her sleep in a very cold and uncomfortable sort of way. Fakir would glance down at her every now and then searching for inspiration. She deserved a happy ending, she had worked harder than any of them (himself, Mytho, Rue... Altor) and had asked for nothing in return. He had known that she wanted to stay a human girl, but without Mytho's heart shard of Hope that was impossible.
He wasted a few hours on doodling some familiar fairy tale archetypes such as the crown, sword, apple, rose, etr. but gave up when he remembered how expensive ink and paper were. That was one of the problems of living in a real world he'd discovered: things weren't simple. Example: when the town was still controlled by Drosslemyer's story he and Mytho had attended the academy together and that was that. But now he had to worry about tuition, cost of textbooks and Dinning Dollars for meals. Also, ink and paper in a real world are difficult to make and there for also expensive. Karon was a gifted blacksmith but he was still struggling to put Fakir through school and make ends meet for himself.
He sighed and put the writing tablet down on the ground. Ahiru stirred slightly as the movement, he picked her up and held her in his lap. "Sometimes I think I'd rather like to be a duck." He told the groggy yellow feather ball.
His words moved through her ears into her brain like a sloth attempting ballet. She was bolted awake when the meaning was finally processed by her slow firing neurons. "QUAK?" The exclamation was accompanied by a blush.
"Life seems so much simpler for you." He smiled gently. "My story was rejected again, I didn't tell you that. Tripping over a bird sort of caused it to slip my mind."
She looked affronted.
"I'd probably make a better duck than you." He cocked his head to the side and gave her a lopsided grin.
Now she looked angry.
Fakir tried to suppress a snicker beneath his hand. "I'll make myself the Knight of the Ducks! Forget 'Dark Knight', it's all about the Duck Knight!"
Now she was confused.
"Ah, you really are a source of inspiration to me, Ahiru." She blushed as he patted her little yellow head. "I just can't write what I need to yet. It's funny, you know... when I needed to write a story about Mytho all I could do was write about you." Another blush from her. "But now that I'm trying to write about you, all I can due is revise an refine the story I wrote for Mytho. Ain't that just Murphie's Law..."
Ahiru blinked her abnormally large blue eyes, she had completely flunked physics or was it philosophy, and so had no idea what Murphie's Law was. But it must be something pessimistic like -wait! Did he just say he was writing about me? Why would Fakir want to...? Well, he is a dear friend... but to alter the fabric of reality for her? That was taking friendship just a little to far! And she tried to tell him thus:
"QUA, QUAK QUAK QUAK! QUA-AK QUA!" But he just blinked at her in confusion.
He regarded her for a few moments after she'd given up before saying: "Oh yeah! You wouldn't know: Murphie's Law states that anything that can go wrong, will go wrong."
She sighed in defeat. If only they knew telepathy, or she still spoke english(/german/japanese), or he spoke duck. Their lives would each be so much easier.
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"Hurt Mytho?" Altor stood in his dark dorm room talking apparently to himself, or at least what would seem like himself to any other person who happened to barge into the room (no one would, however). He was in-fact talking to a mysterious disembodied voice that also seemed to be disem-sounded as well, that is to say that the words it spoke were finding there way into his brain with out actually passing trough his ears.
You want to, don't you? You want to punish the man that stole the one woman you have ever liked, ever loved.
"Well, yes. But I was going to due that anyway..." He looked at his toes, it seemed strange to be looking down seeing as the voice had no eyes to avert from meeting. "How did you want me to hurt Mytho specifically?"
Well, you could give him a paper cut for starters.Those are nasty... The voice paused, Altor said nothing. Then you could slowly work your way up to the people of his kingdom hating him and on until his own son eats his heart.
"He's got a SON!" Rue bore children? Rue's old...er? Old? Were what he didn't say aloud.
He's got a wife, hasn't he? What do you think newly weds do? Shag. What do you think shagging results in? Children.
"It's been six months sense we defeated Drosslemyer and they went back into the story." Rue... a mom...
Time passes differently in stories. Example: an author could spend two chapters recalling the exploits of a single day and only one day will have passed, or they could just say something like 'and the days turned to weeks, weeks to months, months to years and before they knew it the young prince had become a noble king' or some other nonsense and sixteen years will have passed.
"Rue's sixteen years older than me?"
It was an example.
"Who wrote that? Fakir?"
No one wrote it. The one who ended the story, Fakir you called him, said that the prince could live his he life as he chose. So he did. And now I want him to suffer.
"Why?"
That's strictly 'need to know' and you don't need to know right now.
"Rue's really a mom?"
Yes, a good one to. Well, a better mother than Mytho is a father...
"How do you know all this? Rue got old..."
Once again, strictly NEED TO KNOW! And yes she got a little older that you may remember, but you're an author you can just right something like 'and although the years had weathered away Mytho's beauty and grace, the lady Rue remained untouched by time and as lovely as the day she wed her prince' or some such nonsense.
"If all this is happening with out an author then why do you need me?" Altor crossed his arms in suspicion.
Only an author can take the characters out of the story. In the real world the suffering is so much greater, so much more...REAL!
"So then..." he paused for thought. "If you're in the story right now, how is it that you're speaking with me?"
A small hole still exist in the border between the story and reality in this town, that combined with your latent ability is what is allowing our conversation to transpire.
"Who are you?"
I am the one offering you exactly what you want: the power to control the world and gain the love of the woman of your dreams. That's all you need to know. That is, unless you don't want the power I'm offering...
"No! I want power." His hand clenched into a fist. "Give me the power of stories!"
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Fakir slid passed Karon's forge on his way to the house, he didn't want to disturb his guardian seeing as he had a large order of horse shoes to fill, but he did want to see how the old man was doing. He poked his head around the door frame. Karon was bent over the anvil hammering away at one of the iron shoes. The sound reverberated off the walls in an almost poetic rhythm and Fakir was sure that if Mytho were here or if Ahiru could become Tutu one of them would find a way to dance to it.
He missed Ahiru's dancing, Ahiru's not Tutu's. Princess Tutu was more graceful and elegant but Ahiru just seemed to secrete her true feelings and personality when she danced. He missed that about her, her clumsy way she moved across the practice room floor, the way she always managed to trip over her own feet, all of it.
Karon paused in his hammering to wipe the sweat from his brow. Fakir left before his presents was noticed and continued on into that house that the forge was built off of. He cast the quill, writing tablet and ink well into a corner upon entering his room and flopped down on his straw mattress.
"It's no use." He sighed to himself. "I'm just as useless a writer as I was a knight."
He rolled over on the bed and pulled his hair out of it's trademark pony tail. It cascaded over his neck and shoulders and fell over his eyes like the curtain of a ballet theater.
"A useless knight who couldn't even die properly, a useless writer who can't even help a friend... what's the difference?" He pulled his blanket up to his shoulder and tried furiously to sleep and hope of a better day tomorrow and not lay awake and cure his own inadequacy in his sorrow.
Fin for now...
Thanx To:
Meow, Marry Me - For being the first to comment.
Evil Mytho Rocks! - For your complements.
Drosslemyer - For your insite.
And a Special Thanx To:
rynayetra - For Fav.ing my story and adding it to your Alerts
AnimeM22 - For Fav.ing my story