inspired by: idk.
rating: t for language.
warning: plot reveals ehurhurhur.
notes: none.
cameos: hermes from hercules; aphrodite from hercules (mentioned in passing); huns and shan yu from mulan (mentioned in passing).
chapter four: liar
There is a quote from a man named Andre Berthiaume that for some reason, I always remember. He said, "We all wear masks, and the time comes when we cannot remove them without removing some of our own skin."
I suppose it's stuck with me, because I understand the concept of masks better than anything. I am Loneliness, and the people I visit all cower behind masks of strength and security and joy.
It's an unpleasant thing, and sometimes I wonder why, because ultimately, you're just lying to yourself. Why do you try to hide me, when I will always lurk just beneath the surface? I am Loneliness, and I never leave humans alone. As long as the human consciousness exists, I will be there.
Don't wear the masks, you liar. Don't pretend to be happy when you're not, you liar. Why are you fantasizing to be anything but yourself? Why are you trying to be happy just to make someone else happy? It's useless, in the end, because you are alone in your life, and ultimately, you will die very much alone.
Hans Öman is twenty-two years old, a member of Ange Noir, and he is dating Anna Queen.
(I can see your faces at this moment. I know how this story will end, you are thinking. How boring, you are thinking.
Well, I am here to tell you that you are wrong. Don't let your preconceptions cloud your judgment. Don't be like all the other fools who underestimated Hans Öman, and don't ridicule me.
I am an excellent storyteller.)
I want to talk about Hans for a minute, because he is a noteworthy fellow. He, for one, is a brilliant actor. He worms his way into Ange Noir quite late, in fact, when he is twenty-one. That was three years ago. Now, at twenty-four, he's somehow impressed the King so much that he's promoted to second-in-command in the space of three years when it usually takes at least five to even have a high-ranking position within a gang.
Hans is a prodigy, his skills of strategy near unparalleled for his age and occupation. And he interests me, because with his level of intelligence, he could be anything he chooses to be, but instead he walks down the path of a criminal.
He's the chick of a cuckoo bird, dropped into a foreign nest to leech off the care of the host mother bird.
(And one day, when he fully emerges from his egg, he will kill off his other hatchlings, and survive as the victor.)
[queen apartment]
"Anna, where are you going?" Elsa asks suspiciously. "It's six o'clock at night."
Anna stands before her, dressed in a short red dress and eleven-centimetre heels. She has let her hair down, and there is a scowl on her face.
"Clubbing," Anna says brusquely.
"You're not eighteen yet," Elsa says blandly.
"I will be in a month," Anna snaps, flicking some hair over her shoulder. "Elsa, I need to go or I'll be late."
Elsa crosses her arms and stands in front of the door. "Anna."
Something dark crosses across Anna's face. It's fleeting, gone the next second, but Elsa sees it. And it scares her.
"Anna, please. I don't like it when you're by yourself at night. And wearing stuff like this. What if you get attacked?" Elsa is almost begging, but Anna's expression doesn't change.
"You always go out at night," Anna says quietly, and her nails dig into the fabric of her clutch. "Always. And you leave me alone in this apartment till almost midnight. Don't be a hypocrite."
Elsa has no argument against that. "Hasn't what happened last night scared you? What if he comes back?"
"He won't," Anna says simply.
"But you're not even eighteen, you're not officially an adult yet. Don't go around doing illegal things–"
Anna barks a laugh, and it's harsh and cold and notAnna, not her sibling, it's unrecognisable. "Open your eyes; I grew up a long time ago, Elsa."
She spits out her sister's name like an insult, and she pushes past Elsa and slams the door on her way out.
Elsa is left alone, and shadows are dancing on her skin, waltzing along to the dull thud of her heart.
She sinks to the ground, but she doesn't cry. Her eyes are dry, but her throat burns with something hot and excruciating. She curls there, leaning against a wall that presses back, white and, under the dull kitchen lights, the apartment seems to close, drawing together as if Anna's departure had pulled the drawstrings around her.
She's fucked up.
Because she knows she's a hypocrite, and she knows she's a terrible sister, she knows that she's left Anna all by herself in this apartment almost every night, leaving her vulnerable to the demons that lurk in the corners and cackle in the darkness. But she's so, so, selfish, so unable to even go near Anna, because she's afraid that she will taint her, so afraid that Anna will look into her eyes and see something broken and ugly and useless inside.
And she can't let Anna see, so she pushes her away and closes herself off. And now Anna is angry, and Elsa knows that it's her fault.
Tonight, it is Elsa who sits at the dinner table, staying past twelve in the morning, waiting for the door to open and for her sister to come home.
Moonlight presses gently into the folds of the pavement, shining through the cracks and illuminating two dark figures that stand in the cool embrace of night right outside of a club. The street is bustling with people, mostly drunk, and their presence goes unnoticed.
"So I hear you and Miss Anna Queen are dating," one says slyly. He taps on his ebony cane, fingers resting on the twin snakes that encircle themselves. "Since when did the almighty Hans decide he was good enough to commit himself?"
"Shut up, Hermes," Hans says, giving him a long-suffering sigh. "It's casual; Anna is fine with it, and I'm fine with it, so shut your mouth."
Hermes gives him a mock shove. "Easy there, Hans. It's not like I'm going to go off and tell the Crowns, you know."
Hans gives him a narrow-eyed glare. "Sometimes, I really don't know where your loyalties lie. You fucking blabber everything to everyone without an regard for us."
"Well, they didn't give me the title of Hermes for nothing," the older man snorts. "It's my job to deliver information. And anyway, I'm careful. I don't reveal things that aren't beneficial to us. Count your lucky stars that Aphrodite hasn't found out yet; your relationship will be all over the news by the time she's done with it."
Both men pause when two giggling girls stumble past. When they're gone, Hans exhales and says irritably, "Why did you call me out here, Hermes, if not to grill me about my love life?"
"Nothing," Hermes trills. Hans doesn't believe him. "Anyway, did you hear of the gun fight in one of our brothels? A couple of girls got hurt. Apparently one of the clients brought it in and got pissed when a girl got rebellious. I think his name was Weselton?"
Hans scoffs. "He's dead."
"Nah, they're not going to kill him," Hermes says carelessly, "at most, he'll lose a hand or something." The man pauses and snickers. "Or maybe his dick."
"The King isn't going to be happy," Hans murmurs. "We're going to have to draw some funds for their medical bills."
"Those girls are lucky we even care," Hermes sniffs. "Any other gang would leave them there to help themselves."
"That's because it'll be a bigger loss replacing them if any of them die from the wounds," Hans says methodically.
There's a figure walking briskly through the club-goers, and she catches Hans' eye as she expertly dodged a drunken man and squeezed past a group of rowdy boys. Her head is pulled down low, chin almost touching her chest, the picture of the timid, scared, and out-of-place girl. But Hans sees the way she effortlessly ducks towards the least hostile of people, the way she seems to pick the dimmest spots to go into, keeping her hidden and low profile.
"Hey, I know her," Hermes says, noticing the direction of Hans' gaze. "Hey, Rapunzel!"
The girl's head jerks up, and Hans notes that her hand twitches into the folds of her black trench coat. However, when she sees who it is, her face relaxes, though her lips remain hard.
"Rover!" Rapunzel says, and Hans almost chokes on his spit.
"Rover?" Hans hisses out through the side of his mouth as Rapunzel comes closer.
Hermes shrugs cheerfully and says, "She's a civilian. Shut up."
"But–Rover?"
"Shut the fuck up."
"Hello," Rapunzel says, and closer up she is actually quite young, perhaps only twenty or so. Her eyes are emerald orbs, and there is a strange fire within them. And suddenly, as he replays everything he's observed about her in the last minute, Hans sees.
"Hi," Hans says, and he makes sure his voice is friendly and whisked with sugar. "I'm Hans."
"Rapunzel," the girl says. She shifts her weight from one foot to the other, seemingly uncomfortable. "Listen, Rover, it's nice to see you and all, but I need to go. It's late."
"Ah," Hermes says with a little smirk of understanding. "Your boyfriend isn't going to be happy."
Balling her fists, Rapunzel becomes defensive. "Shut it, Rover. He's just protective."
"He's abusive," Hermes says plainly. "You have all the signs, Rapunzel. Stop denying it."
"You don't know him like I do," Rapunzel says, and she draws herself to her full height.
"Well, I know that he's the biggest fucking dick I've ever had the displeasure of meeting, and that you deserve way better," Hermes says, shuddering visibly.
Hans clears his throat, and Rapunzel colours, forgetting that he is there. With a huff and a sharp nod, Rapunzel spins on her heel and stalks away.
"You were embarrassing her," Hans mutters.
"I've known her for a few years," Hermes says, and his voice is suddenly very small. "It kind of annoys me to see her being treated so badly."
"It's not like you can talk," Hans says, raising an eyebrow. "She thinks your name is Rover."
"It's not like I can let her call me Hermes," the other snaps.
"But it's not like Rover is your real name anyway," Hans counters, but he's absent-minded, following Rapunzel's retreating figure.
Rapunzel can feel eyes on her.
(She doesn't mean me, though. No one can see me. For all intents and purposes, I am nothing.)
She's hurrying along a narrow street, and she keeps a tight hold on the penknife she keeps in her pocket. It's late, and she's late, and he won't be happy.
Her stomach twinges, warning her to decrease her speed. Rapunzel gulps in breaths of cold air, the muscles in her belly crying out as the wound, not even close to being fully healed, aches again.
Rapunzel curses her unlucky circumstances, but it's not like she's ever been truly lucky. Born into the world with drug-abusing parents, it's a miracle she's escaped her youth physically unscathed, and she left as soon as she turned eighteen, packing up a small bag of clothes and a jar of memories, and she walks out and never looks back.
(But there is a gash deep in her soul, a tear that boils black and bubbles with something like rage and grief and regret. But it's arcane and hidden; no one is allowed to know except her. No one is allowed to see except her, when she buries her face into a smelly pillow and her thoughts wander like dandelion seeds in harsh wind.)
The streets soon give way to known roads and shops. The north sector of Stella Morta is run by the Red Crowns, and it's infamous for its drug-dealers and warehouses at the edge filled with illegal weaponry. Business is excellent, as expected of a city like this.
Rapunzel heads straight to a small, run-down motel at the end of a street. Its neon lights feebly flash out THE SNUGGLY DUCKLING, coughing out red and green and white. It is only two storeys, with too-low ceilings and a balcony that quivers and creaks like old bones. Inside, the carpet is the skin of a wrinkly orange, and the air is alive with dust motes that swirl and churn in tiny tornados.
On the first floor, second door to the right, there's a door that has a chip in the wood, right next to the handle. It stands alone; all other doors are on the left hand side, a solitary opening in the vast stretch of wall that seems to go on and on like a faded blue wave.
With one slender hand, Rapunzel twists the knob and opens it. A breeze sings out, smelling of something cool and salty.
"You're late," a voice rings out.
"I'm sorry," Rapunzel says, and she closes the door behind her.
It's been two days since Anna went clubbing, and yet the atmosphere between the two sisters is still frigid. They could barely manage to stay in the same room as each other before one excused herself to do something else. Elsa doesn't know how to fix it. Logically, of course, she would apologise, but something holds her back, clogs her throat whenever she tries to open her mouth.
Elsa doesn't want to admit it, but deep down, she doesn't want to apologise. Anna doesn't understand, has never understood. Elsa has sacrificed her childhood to give Anna something better. Their parents had died when Anna was nine (almost ten); she misses them, but doesn't remember much of them. Elsa, as eldest, was left to shoulder the burden, to be the head of the household of two.
The pair had never really struggled, though. Gerda (kind, kind, generous Gerda) had been willing to lend them a hand until Elsa turned eighteen. So Anna was free to run around and play games and princesses, while Elsa, at the tender age of thirteen, was busy planning for a future that would come in five short years.
So as a stress reliever, Elsa took to the streets at night, leaving Anna by herself in an house that's too big and too empty and too sterile, but she can't bring herself to go back before at least eight o'clock.
And then That Night happened, and everything was set back. Elsa lost her words, and she was left alone to struggle through the pain. Always alone.
(Anna was free. She was free and happy and blind.)
Elsa took on her first job at fifteen. At seventeen, she had two. On her eighteenth birthday, Elsa and Anna moved out of the house that contained too many memories, and they shuffled into a little apartment in the middle of Stella Morta. Gerda (lovely, lovely, big-hearted Gerda) helped pay half of Elsa's university fees. Even so, it wasn't enough. Halfway through her eighteenth year, Elsa was working three jobs.
And again, Elsa finds that ambling through the nightlife calms her nerves, but this time, she won't return until a certain time.
Ten o'clock, for Elsa, is a barrier.
But with all these things going on, Anna has never noticed, never cared. She spends her days sleeping through classes and partying in the night. And Elsa, who lost her teenage years to hours of scrubbing dishes and scanning overpriced supermarket items and serving grumpy customers, is jealous of Anna's life. And the fact that Anna unknowingly rubs it in her face almost every day has caused a small ball of hard, cold jealousy to form in the pit of her stomach. Because here she is, overworked and exhausted and smelling like grease, while Anna flounces home in the pretty dresses and sparkly heels and fresh makeup.
It's unfair, Elsa wants to scream.
And she's so conflicted, because sometimes she wants to fling her apron into Anna's face and tell her to start lifting her weight. But then, the momentary rage she feels disappears, and she's ashamed that she'd ever thought something like that, because she's doing all this now so Anna could have a better future and not suffer like she did.
Her love for Anna always overpowers that tiny, ugly, envious part of her, so she keeps her mouth shut and works on in silence.
(Her love is overpowering, that is true. But you can't lie and say the jealousy isn't there. It is, and it always will be, a monster with teeth of pain and claws of poison.)
"Anna," Elsa says quietly, suddenly, but the younger girl has already left the room. She sighs.
It's nine-thirty at The Red Lily, and Elsa and Rapunzel have stayed overtime to clean up a particularly messy banquet that had started at six. The roaring patrons had just left, and Elsa and Rapunzel stare at the warzone for a few minutes before they grudgingly move into action.
"Wait, no, I'll do that," Elsa says, and she quickly takes the stack of plates off Rapunzel. "You shouldn't strain yourself or your injury will take longer to heal. And it'll hurt."
Rapunzel laughs, and Elsa isn't sure, but it sounds flat and a little bit sad. "It's fine, Elsa."
The younger girl looks tired today, deep purple hanging from her eyes. Her blonde hair, usually glowing and beautifully braided, is dull and tied up in a harried ponytail. Her frame bends, as if chained balls weigh it down. She's released her top two buttons, and the restaurant's uniform, usually always crisp and neat, droops off of her like clothes on a line.
"Are you alright?" Elsa asks softly.
"Yeah." Rapunzel gives her a smile that does nothing but lift the corners of her mouth.
They work quietly after that, and just as Elsa is wrapping up the tablecloths and taking it to the back, the kitchen door swings open just shy of Elsa's nose, and Shang the head chef pokes his head out. Elsa likes him; Shang is friendly and open, and always gives her free food to take home after her shift.
But now, the Chinese man's eyes are wide, and he completely ignores Elsa as he searches frantically for Rapunzel. It seemed like he was in the middle of changing; his white chef's shirt is unbuttoned to reveal a black wife beater and numerous tattoos underneath. At such a close distance, Elsa finds herself staring at the smooth expanse of muscle on show. But that's not what caught her attention. Her eyes are trained on his left collarbone, because it's unmistakable, and Elsa feels her breath hitch in her throat.
"Red Crown," she whispers. The King of Hearts seems to laugh at her at his place on Shang's skin.
Shang doesn't hear her though. He's shouting at Rapunzel, who's frozen like a block of ice.
"Rapunzel, they're here," Shang snarls. He's a blur, striding over to her and pulling her towards the kitchen in a grip that's impossible to escape. "Cops, Rapunzel! Fucking cops! The Tooth Fairy just called in; they're after you! They've found you, and you gotta run!"
Rapunzel gapes at him for a second longer, and then she springs into action.
"I'll go to the safe house in the west end," Rapunzel says, picking up her bag from under the counter and slinging it over her shoulder. "Tell the higher-ups that, okay?"
Shang nods once, curt and short.
"Give me a call when this dies down," Rapunzel adds. "I hate the west safe house; it smells like sweat and sex."
"Wait," Elsa interrupts, and she's terribly confused and lost and bewildered. "Wait, Rapunzel, what's going on? I don't understand–"
"I'm sorry, Elsa," Rapunzel says, and she's talking quickly but she looks at Elsa directly, and Elsa sees a sliver of remorse in the depths of green. "I'm sorry I had to lie, and that this is how you found out."
There's a sinking feeling in her gut, and Elsa is beginning to stick together the puzzle. She's beginning to realise, but she refuses to entertain the notion that Rapunzel is anything but who she said she was.
Because it can't be. Rapunzel can't be.
Rapunzel's bag drags her shirt partially open. And Elsa sees, for the second time that night, the King of Hearts peeking out from underneath a jutting shoulder blade.
"I'm sorry," Rapunzel repeats, and she knows that Elsa knows.
There's a sweet, perfumed hug, and then Rapunzel vanishes through the back door in a flurry of gold.
Seconds later, police cars pull up at the front.
author's note:
(this a/n is super long and i'm sorry but some explanations are needed for this chapter's contents.)
[tl;dr: rapunzel is an actress who deserves an oscar; my hints suck; loneliness is fucked up; more details; elsa and anna's relationship is a reflection of the movie; elsa is human; jack and elsa won't meet till ch. 6 really sorry.]
well idk what happened there. kidding, i do.
did you even suspect rapunzel wasn't who she said she was? i did hint at some things ever since i first introduced her, which you guys probably didn't pick up and which i will go into detail later on. and shang: he oversaw jack's initiation in ch. 2, and tooth said that a hyena tried to ambush him just as he left the restaurant in ch. 3. the restaurant. the only restaurant here is the red lily… okay i have a feeling my hints were really bad.
loneliness is a narrator who has many different facets to his character. there are some reasons why this is so, which will be revealed later. here, at the beginning, he's quite vindictive, unlike his usual neutral self. also, i apologise for giving loneliness a gender, but it's extremely hard to remain gender-neutral, especially when i need to refer to him. however, if you want to think of loneliness as female or androgynous, feel free to do so.
rover means traveler, an allusion to hermes' role as messenger and god of travels.
elsa is not like the sibling in stories where CHARACTER IS THE PERFECT OLDER SIBLING AND SACRIFICES EVERYTHING FOR YOUNGER SIBLING AND CRIES DRAMATICALLY ALL BY HERSELF IN A BATHROOM UNTIL LOVE INTEREST ENTERS because i find that unrealistic. elsa is her own person, and she's at the age where she wants to do things for herself now, but she still has to take care of anna and she's a bit angry about that. also, anna is also not as clueless as you might believe, so wait for her side of the story before you judge her completely.
i'm sorry that it's taking so long for jack and elsa to actually like meet officially. but idk this story has to be slow (soi'vedecidedtobereallyfuckingslow) and those two probably won't meet until ch. 6 or something.
omfg this a/n was like 500 words long i'm so sorry to the people who actually read it.
but haha rapunzel. you guys were all JACK YOU DICK HOW COULD YOU HURT HER but then this happened.
updated: 27 february 2014