Disclaimer: Don't own Tutu...
Vignette Twelve:
Autor arrived back at the dorms just in time to watch his homicidal room mate crawl through the open window and haphazardly make his way to collapse on the bed. He laid flat on his back clutching the side where Karon had hit him.
"Moron's heart... didn't help enough..." He heard the sadist mutter, more to himself than to Autor.
Not knowing quite what to do Autor walked over to the disabled Rave, keeping just out of arms reach of the bitter bird boy. Asking what was wrong was stupid and pointless, he'd seen exactly what had happened, knew that Hoffnung most likely had a broken rib or ribs and probably some internal bleeding as well. Instead he asked: "Is there anything I can do to help?"
Slowly, experimentally, he opened one heavy eyelid to look at Autor. He regarded the boy in silence before finally answering. "No... I need your pen more..." and shut his eye once more.
It didn't occur to Autor until the ebony Prince was fast asleep that he had been considering stealing his heart!
"I need your pen more..." He may be just a pawn, but as long as he was useful to Hoffnung, this pawn still had his life.
He laid awake, for the first time since his arrival from out of the story, Autor was afraid to sleep in the same room as Hoffnung. The Raven needed him but he also wouldn't hesitate to rip his heart from it's still beating chest if that was more useful to him than Autor himself. He HAD to remain useful to Hoffnung, as a matter of survival.
That meant going along with the crazy double agent idea. He had agreed, albeit in-cinsearly, to spy for the homicidal teen because it would bring him closer to Rue. Closer to his goal, the one thing he seemed to want since the world had ceased to dance to Drosslemyer's tune. He didn't exactly want to spy on Fakir though. The other boy was a tad brutish and wouldn't hesitate to pound his face in at the revelation of a betrayal. Though, given the choice, he'd rather get a beating from Fakir than louse his humanity to Hoffnung.
Autor rolled over and tried to push all thought from his mind. 'When had it all gotten so complicated?'
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'The Book Men...' thought Fakir. 'What could they possibly want with me now?'
Memories of the robed vigilante librarians tacked his minds eye. Once again they were there, hovering just behind him while he was trying to commune with the oak tree. They were pulling him by his arms while his legs kicked franticly to escape. He was drug to a grave, Drosslemyer's grave. They forced him to his knees, placed his hands in a vise, the ax was raised and then...
He sat bolt up right in bed. He didn't know quite when it was that he'd fallen asleep, but the sky through the window was now a soft pinkish color not un-like Ahiru's hair. 'Ahiru...' He smiled and wiped the cold sweat from his brow. Ahiru had saved him that day. Swooping down upon them and knocking the Book Men back with her sheer au inspiring presence. He would be fine so long as he had Ahiru.
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"Ne, Rue-chan?" Rue and Ahiru had set off from the dorms together and Ahiru had not shut-up since. "What was it like being Kraehe again? Did you like it? Was it fun? It's nice being the hero, huh?"
Rue remained politely silent.
"I first became Princess Tutu because I wanted to see Mytho smile. But I bet you get to see that all the time!" She smiled her goofy grin, the one that it seemed only Ahiru could pull off. "Mytho has such a pretty smile. I remember when he smiled for you at the Fire Festival, he looked so gentle and affectionate. I should have know back then that it was you he was in love with..." An awkward laugh.
Rue gave an apologetic smile but still remained quiet and pensive.
"You're worried about Hoff-chan, aren't you, Rue-chan?"
No response.
"I'm sure he'll be fine." Undiluted optimism. "He is a Raven after all. I know it looked like Karon-san hit him really hard but he shouldn't be that bad. I'm sure he's got some super cool really really fast healing powers! He'll be right there in the Advanced Class with you like nothing happened!" She gave Rue her most encouraging smile ever.
"Thank you, Ahiru."
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"You sure you're not coming?" Autor asked as he pinned the amber broach to his cravat (that's the tie like thingy in their uniforms).
Hoffnung stood facing the window, arms crossed over his chest with strait almost rigid posture and his back to Autor, he to be the epitome of wicked Princelyness. "It will give my mother something to worry about other than my father."
"I'd think you'd want to cause her less worry, not more." He shrugged the light blue blazer/jacket on over his shoulders. "I sure as heck don't like to see her worried or sad. But then again I guess my opinion doesn't matter, does it?"
"You will tail Fakir today." He never turned from the window and his tone was quiet but commanding. "Keep him away from Princess Tutu."
"Why?" He blinked at Hoffnungs unexpressive back.
"My agenda is my own!" The Ebony Prince snapped. "Just keep him away from her for the day. All I need is a day and her trusting nature and good faith will do the rest. And Autor..." for this he finally turned to face him, pivoting on his left foot. There must still have been pain running the length of his right side. "... meet me at the clock tower tonight to discus how to take care of that pesky writer for good."
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Ahiru was so proud of herself for not being late to class. It seemed that walking with Rue (whom was always on time) really was a good way to keep her from being late and there for keep her out of detention. She smiled brightly as she entered the room, she had arrived before the teacher. In her oblivious cheer she failed to notice a classmate in her path and trod over his foot.
"Wah! Femio-san, I'm sorry!" The pink princess exclaimed at the sensation of another's foot beneath hers. "I was spacing out there and didn't see you. You're not hurt are you? You are hurt aren't you?"
Femio gazed at her with blank empty eyes. "No." He said in an usually quiet voice for him.
"Eh? Femio-san, are you alright?" This wasn't the loud braggart she was used to. Shouldn't her be saying something like: "Oh! For such a pure maiden to be stolen from her revery by my wicked toe! Why it is to much for me to bear!" Or something equally ridiculous. But today Femio was... quiet! Apathetic almost. She didn't know what to make of this new, more subdued false Prince. She didn't have time to make up her mind, however, because Madam Cat entered at that moment.
"Okay, everyone, settle down." She clapped her paws together. "If you don't I shall have my ex-husband marry you!"
Silence settled.
"Today you shall be having your biweekly exam to test your improvement and skills in the art that is ballet. "She smiled a cheshire cat grim. "I don't think I need to tell you what will happen if you do poorly."
The class lined up against the wall to watch as each in turn gave their performance. Ahiru, beginning with both the hiragana character "ah" and the english letter "a" was to be the first to be tested. She stood nervously and crossed to the center of the room where the teacher waited.
"I noticed you were on time today, Miss Ahiru." Madam Cat commented. "Good work, show me your dancing has improved along with your timing and I'll promote you to the normal class."
"H-hai."
She stretched, more for show than to loosen her muscles, she needed to think of a suitable dance to satisfy her expectant teacher. The first to come to mind was the solo pas de deux that had won back Mytho's heart from Kraehe, but that didn't seem right. Aside from the fact that a solo pas de deux would NOT impress Madam Cat, it just didn't feel right using that dance, a dance that had saved the Prince, to advance in school. It cheapened it somehow. She settled on the pas she had danced as a duck during the final fight with the original Raven.
Ahiru circled her hands above her head and lowered her palm to indicate the class as a whole. Mass mutterings started among them. "She wants us to dance with her?" "This is supposed to be a solo." "She can't have help." And other such whispers. Madam Cat narrowed her eyes at the motion.
Ahiru ignored all of this. She placed on foot in-front of the other, toes out, heels to the side. She raised herself on to her toes, not pointe, just her toes and began to slowly lower and raise her arms, mimicking the flapping of birds wings. The hum of students conversation died down as they all paused to watch her dance. True that it lacked the grace of Princess Tutu, but you could be sure that some pies of the Prima Dona was shining through.
Pivoting on one foot to spin her pirouette, she saw him out of the corner of her eye. Out side the window, not wearing his school uniform but his black tights and feathered tunic, Mytho's face crowned by Rue's hair: Hoffnung. Her solo pas finished she stood and stared back at him. He was just standing there. What was he waiting for.
"A good performance, Miss Ahiru." The teacher was saying. "You may advance to the Apprentice class."
"Uh... Ah, thank you, Madam Cat." She bowed awkwardly. "May I please be excused?"
The Cat teacher was taken aback by her sudden and urgent request. "Well, you've completed your test and that's all I had planed for today. I see no reason why I should make you stay..."
"Thank you." She was out of the room before anyone had registered that she'd spoken.
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Hoffnung grinned when he saw her rush out of class. The prey was coming to him of it's own accord. All he had to do was make sure his trap was perfectly set and flawlessly executed. He heard the door to the main building open and saw her step out. Now to lead her away from prying eyes and pesky writers.
All Ahiru saw when she exited the building was an empty courtyard. Where was Hoffnung? He seemed so content to just stand and watch her a moment a go. A sound of rustling leaves to her right made her turn. There, vanishing behind the foliage, was the divo's black feathered behind.
She followed him through the trees and brush until he finally stopped at the gazebo behind the school. Here he turned to face her, pivoting on his left foot to spare the right.
"Princess Tutu..." His eyes looked so desperate, so sad. He looked so much like Mytho...
Hoffnung suppressed a grin when he saw her eyes soften. She was playing right into his hands. His first attempt to seduce her had failed and failed miserably. True, it was more the Writer's fault than any fault of his own. But there was no point in taking needless risks. He had been to aggressive the first time. But not this time. This time he needed to be submissive, subtle.
"Hoff-chan, what's wrong?" Asked the naive princess.
And she was making it so easy for him, too. He wrapped his arm around his mid-section, his hand resting on the ribs that Karon had broken the previous night. "It hurts so much!" He tried to make his eyes water, but his tear ducts didn't work so he gave up on it.
She rushed to the wicked Prince's side to provide whatever help she could. "Is there anything I can?"
Gosh, did she always have to be so obnoxiously sweet all the time? Would it kill her to be just a little less selfless every now and then? True, her kind nature was what he was counting on to trap her but it was still irritating to be near such bright inner light. "There's nothing you can do. There's nothing anyone can do!" He made a show of pushing her away. "I'm beyond help! A lost cause..."
"That not true!" She balled her hands into fists. "That's not true at all, Hoff-chan! Rue-chan... Rue-chan loves you very much! She's worried about you. She wants to help you but she doesn't know how. And I want to help you to! But... but you need to help us too. You need to help us help you! Please, Hoff-chan, release Mytho from where ever it is that you're keeping him."
The little witch! She was playing him too. And to make it worse, she didn't even realize that she was doing it! "If you really wanted to help me, you would just give me that shard you wear. Only my father's complete heart can help me, Princess Tutu!" He hadn't meant to shout, he hadn't even meant to raise his voice. Why... why did it effect him so, whenever anyone mentioned his father? It was always Mytho! Mytho was such a strong and brave Prince. Mytho was a kind and noble Prince. Mytho was a fair and just King. Feh. Mytho was an irresponsible and cruel father!
"Hoff-chan..." Her eyes looked so sad. No... not 'sad'. It wasn't sadness that was overflowing from her eyes to wash over him and fuel his furry. It was pity. How dare she! How dare she pity him. Him! The Prince of the Ravens! He had to leave. He couldn't stay close to her. She always threatened to brake his carefully constructed barriers of control.
"I have to go." He turned to leave. "I still want that shard, Princess, and I will take it from you some day."
"I don't believe that." Was the last thing he heard her say before vanishing in a swirl of mist and feathers.
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Fakir stood in the street as drivers shouted profanities at him and pedestrians stared as they passed. He didn't notice. He was preoccupied with the scar on his hand. The scar he had received from himself, from trying to stop Drosslemyer from manipulating his immature power, from trying to save Ahiru from the Lake of Sorrow.
"You're going to get hit if you stand here, you know." The smug voice of Autor sounded from behind. Fakir felt a hand on his back shove him out of the street and onto the side walk. "What are you doing here, anyway?" He regarded the door to the old used book shop that was the Book Men's headquarters. "Planning to join, or just doing research? Or have you got a death wish now that your living with a hormonal pregnant woman caught in the middle of a love triangle?"
Death wish...?
He was dragged to a grave, Drosslemyer's grave. His hands placed in a vise, the ax raised...
He turned his mind's eye away from the memories. "No. I'm just here for business."
"Suit your self." Autor shrugged. "If it were me I wouldn't go in there ever again. Not after what they tried to do to us."
"Us?" Fakir scoffed but then remembered how Autor had cast regard for his own life aside as he had grappled with one of the Book Men trying to keep the crazed librarian from chopping his hands in mid-sentance. "Yeah. I don't really want to see them much either, but they may know why the story has started again. They may know who wrote it and why."
Autor fidgeted uncomfortably.
"I'll go with you." He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "With my superior intelligence you'll need me far more that letter opener in your pocket."
Fakir shrugged. "Do as you please."
The two entered the book shop together, Fakir slightly ahead of Autor. The small room was dimly lit by a single candle on a desk to the far wall. It was at that desk that sat the leader of the Book Men, the one whom had dragged an ax and his own crow tainted body to Autor's house to try and sever Fakir's writing hands.
"My invitation was for Fakir only." The Book Man looked up from the volume he was pouring over. "No entourage was necessary."
Autor bit the inside of his cheek. "Yeah, well, Fakir didn't feel to happy having to come here alone, considering your past history, that is." He bit out defensively.
The man snapped shut the book and lifted it from the desk. "He may stay." He informed the two, though he was only looking at Fakir. "But he waits here. Fakir, come with me."
He lead the pony tailed author through a door to the right and down a hall lined with books to the point that you'd wonder if it were actually made from them. At the end of the hall he opened a door to one of the private reading rooms and indicated for Fakir to enter. His heart jumped and sank simultaneously when he recognized the room. The same one he'd stood in and had had Edel turn the page for him. Edel had turned the page he had been afraid to turn... because after it was the death of the night.
He spun around, expecting to have to dodge a swing of the ax or another weapon from the Book Man but he merely blinked in confusion at Fakir's sudden movement. He, apparently, didn't realize the significance of this room for Fakir. He walked passed the boy to pull a thick book from the shelf, this he extended to Fakir.
"Recognize this?" Asked he.
"The Prince and the Raven." Fakir supplied. "That story is over. I finished it."
"That you did." He nodded his balding head. "And here's your ending right here." He flipped through the pages, stopping just before they ran out and showed them to Fakir. "Don't ask me how they got in this book. I don't know. Stories have lives of their own and lost bits have ways of finding their way home." He closed the book and replaced it on the shelf. "I just wanted to make sure you remembered, unlike everyone else in this town."
"Is that all?" His eye narrowed suspiciously beneath a curtain of dark bangs.
"No..." Here the old man seemed unsure. "I wanted to see if you knew anything about this." He passed Fakir the book he'd been reading before he and Autor had entered the shop.
Fakir started at the sight of the cover. Like the original 'Prince and the Raven' there was a picture of a sword, crow and monster Raven. But unlike the 'Prince and the Raven' which had the crown over the sword and the monster Raven encircling them menacingly, this book featured the crown poised atop the Raven's brow with the sword threatening to strike and the title was 'The Prince of the Ravens'. But what was the most worrisome to Fakir was the the author's name was his own.
"This is..." He was at a loss for words.
"This is your story, is it not?"
"This is impossible." He flipped the book open to the first page and read. 'The initial shock of seeing the Prince's nurse dead on the floor had faded quickly to be replaced by a cold sense of practicality... body had to disappear... No one could know the crown prince was a Raven!' "I wrote this but... but I never showed it to anyone. How could it have gotten published? And this..." He leafed through the rest of the book. "Blank. All blank. The story isn't even finished! How could it have been published?"
"I told you before, didn't I?" The Book Man placed a hand on the boy's shoulder. "Stories have a life of their own. They seek out Writers, people with the gift, to give them birth. But that doesn't mean that all stories are set in stone. You proved that with the 'Prince and the Rave'. So, knowing this, what do you plan to do with the 'Prince of the Ravens'?"
"I'll finish it." He said with a great deal more conviction than the Book Man had anticipated. "I'll give it a happy ending, just like with the first story. After all... if I don't then the story will just continue to control this town just like before, right?"
The Book Man nodded. "One more thing, Fakir." He took the book from his hand and flipped to the last page that had writing on it. "Can you explain this?"
'A pillar of strength and a shoulder for support as a true knight should be.' Fakir's heart sank again. The Book Man, this stranger had read what he'd written, all of what he'd written, even the stuff about Ahiru. He felt his face burning.
"It is my understanding that you had taken the role of the knight before you learned of your abilities." He seemed not to care for Fakir's frivolous affections. "You are walking a very sharp edge with that one. Authors CAN NOT become characters in their own stories. To do so would be to forfeit all control. If that happened... the story would spiral down into tragedy. And Fakir..." He pulled an ax seemingly from the darkness itself. "...I will NOT let that happen!" He lowered the ax. "THis is a warning. Be mindful of what you're writing."
Fakir nodded and left.
Autor looked so relieved when he returned, but the expression quickly vanished behind the glare of light reflecting from his glasses.
Fin... for now...
Thanx to:
Mirsa: Yes, I always thought the Princess Kraehe costume was a little risk-et.
Fish Head The 3rd and Co.: Thank you for your critique. Feed back is always welcome as is your intense energy.
James Birdsong: Always a pleasure.
Abi-chan-jishinibaka: I love your energy. All your revs are so 'loud' they really stand out in my mind.
Inufanfictionfan151: Really? I think he's cool BECAUSE he eats hearts... even if he is an OC...