Act Two
From Butterflies to Fireworks Amongst Rocks and Amber
Chapter Two: Eighty-Seven Ways to Lose Your Nerves . . . Or Hair
"Bring back what once was mine"
With rapt attention, Lashanie watches Princess Rapunzel sing. She and Varian are each perched on a stool, sitting across from one another, while Lashanie stands next to Varian after gently wrapping the princess's long hair around his head, turban-like so that it covers his wound.
Tales of the legendary sundrop's healing power—the flower that gave the princess her golden hair—are known throughout the kingdom and beyond, just like the stories of said power being latent in those remarkable tresses and how this was the reason why she was kidnapped as an infant. Lashanie has drunk in every tale there was to hear about it, especially after the princess's return, spurred by the hope to maybe—just maybe—come across something that could bring her closer to unraveling the mystery behind her own 'gift.'
It's fascinating and an honor, really, to witness the magic of the sundrop. And the fact that it is through a song the princess heals almost caused Lashanie to squee in delight. Though she would have thought it to be a little more—how to say this?—visually emphasized. By a sparkle or glow, maybe. But perhaps she's just overly equating Princess Rapunzel's magic with her own. And that wouldn't be fair.
"What once was mine"
The princess finishes her song and opens her eyes, directing a warm smile at Varian. "Better?"
He frowns, lifting the tower of her hair off his head to feel for the wound. "Oh, yeah— No !" Catching a glimpse of fresh blood on his glove, Varian squints his eyes shut.
While Princess Rapunzel clutches a thick golden strand, wondering aloud, "Huh. That used to work," Lashanie carefully runs her fingers through Varian's dark hair. "Hold still, Vary; let me see if I can help."
The wound is relatively small and doesn't seem to run very deep. Yet, Lashanie has to bite down her lip to keep herself from sharply sucking in her breath and alarming Varian. Despite being more of a pretty bad scratch, it still looks nasty. However, to at least stop the bleeding shouldn't prove too much of a problem. "This might hurt a little," she warns before gingerly pressing her palm against his injured skin.
Rapunzel and her companion—whose name's Cassandra, as Lashanie learned while helping Varian to the stool and introducing herself to his guests—are watching her with mildly confused miens. They probably expected her to patch him up conventionally.
"What are you doing?" the princess inquires, craning not all too subtly.
Lashanie raises her gaze and replies with hesitance, "I'm—healing him."
While Princess Rapunzel suddenly beams like the morning sun, a flash of recognition reflects in Cassandra's eyes, and she keeps her charge from asking the myriad of questions now written across her face by deducing, "Of course—Lashanie's grace! I knew I'd heard your name before. You're that girl from four years ago."
The princess casts Cassandra a quizzical glance, prompting her to recount how the guard had to investigate a possible fraud that turned out to be a true magical talent on Lashanie's side, short and crisp. "According to rumors, it's a boon from the sun goddess," she says to round her retelling of the events.
Hearing it told from the perspective of someone close to the guard makes it sound so strangely harmless how her family was treated back then that Lashanie can feel her guts cramping. These two days, when her future was filled with fazing unknowns, are still etched on her memory. Almost, she would have lost her parents to the castle dungeon. Yet, she manages to put on a smile. "That's true. Even though I personally doubt my gift to be connected to Soles."
"So you can heal, like my hair—like it used to . . . What do you do to bring out your magic? Do you sing too?" Sheer fascination bubbles through the princess's voice.
And Lashanie can see why; she felt the same learning about the sundrop. To know there's someone who can relate to possessing a power they don't quite understand is consoling in a way. She would love to swap experiences with her, learn what it was like to live with that wondrous hair, and tell Princess Rapunzel all about her own magic (even if she only has little to share). But for a good many reasons, she can't. And so, Lashanie merely shakes her head and explains, "No, Your Highness. I have but to focus on the person I want to heal."
Varian lets out a chuckle. "Birdy sings, though—not to heal but on every other occasion. You should hear her angel-kissed voice when she does."
What? Heat blooms in Lashanie's face. She stares at Varian with wide eyes, whereupon he tilts his head to give her that silly grin. He's just teasing—of course, he is. Way to thank her for healing him! Mentally, she admonishes her heart to stop beating so fast.
" Lashanie's grace —tell me more about it," the princess requests with a curious sparkle in her green eyes.
"I fear I can't do that, Your Highness," Lashanie says.
"Oh—why not?"
But before she can explain, Cassandra chips in, "Because the king has forbidden anyone from talking about it." She and Princess Rapunzel match each other glare for glare.
An exchange whose meaning stays hidden from Lashanie. "That's right; I might have said too much already. I'm sorry," she tells the princess while ruffling Varian's hair to let him know the bleeding is staunched now. And perhaps, just a little, to pay him back for his teasing.
Promptly, she earns herself some protest accentuated with a chuckle. "Hey, stop that!"
Watching them, the princess regains her joyful air. "Aww. You two are very close, huh? Are you a couple?"
Lashanie watches Varian's eyes dilate as his cheeks adopt a deeper shade of red and his mouth slightly opens, the adorable buck teeth showing. And she notices a whimsical glint in Princess Rapunzel's eyes, betraying a penchant for nosiness when it comes to the relationships of others. But who could blame her? After all, that poor woman was locked away from the outside world all her life. Yet, Lashanie also has a hunch it's just as much of a welcome way to change the subject for her.
"What? We—Heh. Well, we are . . ." Varian stammers with an insecure grin.
Funny, that's rather unlike her usually so eloquent Vary. "We're a couple of best friends," Lashanie helps him out and receives a grateful smile in return.
"Best friends; got it," Princess Rapunzel says, hoisting her animal companion, the cute chameleon, with both hands. "My best friend is Pascal. He's always been with me."
At that, Pascal seems to grin, and Lashanie can't help mirroring his expression. "He looks like a clever little guy. Well met, Pascal," she beams.
Next to her, Varian clears his throat discreetly, letting one of the princess's golden strands glide through his hand. "Alright, let's refocus on our research, shall we? After all, we've just acquired some critical data about your hair, Rapunzel. It no longer possesses its legendary healing power." He gathers a big pile of hair and grins into the round, "Progress!" before he pushes up from his seat with renewed enthusiasm. "Now, let's figure out exactly what this hair is made of."
Okay, that's more like him, Lashanie thinks to herself. He might have incurred a concussion, but that could never keep him from resuming his experiments. It would remain a fruitless attempt should she try to stop him; she's long learned that. It doesn't help her not to worry, though. Yes, despite his small frame, he is pretty tough, she knows. It often seems that he hardly needs any rest, and every setback only fuels that fire burning inside him. 'Like a roly-poly toy,' her Papa once half-joked. But what she also knows is that he's prone to a certain level of recklessness, especially with himself.
With the big grin still plastered to his face, Varian marches toward a wooden platform near the center of the room, utterly oblivious to Lashanie's worries, as he carries the pile of hair in his arms to ensure the princess follows him.
When everyone's gathered where he wants them, Varian frees his hands by passing the bundle of hair to Princess Rapunzel so that he can pull a thick tarp off one of his contraptions in the middle of the platform. Doing so, he exposes a metal table. "This machine can analyze any substance for chemical makeup, bitopic composition, and urgu-structural integrity," he explains, wildly gesturing with his hands. Varian nudges the table with his elbow, and giving a clank, it tilts up perpendicular to the floor. At that, an arch at the head end equipped with several tools comes into view. Sharp blades, pointed edges, and odd-looking claws gleam against one another. Varian motions to his chest. "I built it myself."
And Lashanie can only just keep a giggle from escaping her at the pride trickling from his voice. Varian's got that unique talent for presenting even the most daunting construction as an engineering marvel.
But the princess doesn't seem even slightly put off by all the odd-looking gizmos meeting her eye. On the contrary—a huge smile adorns her face. "Nice!"
Varian hops down the platform and lands next to an attached control panel holding several levers and dials. "If I'm right, this should tell us all there is to know about your hair."
A queasy feeling unfurls in the pit of Lashanie's stomach. That machine still lacks a proper test run. Should she tell the princess? But wouldn't that be like backstabbing Vary? Oh, dear . . .
Actually, she should have tested it; after all, Varian built it for her. To help her get to the bottom of her gift. And how he smiled when he told her he'd safely calibrated it to only use her hair for the analysis. Still, the prospect of leaving that machine with a bald head—just when her parents had allowed her to perform in the capital again—made her want to steer clear of it. "Are you sure I can't twist your arm on that?" Varian had asked with his sad half-smile, and she did feel guilty, considering how much effort he's already poured into helping her. Regretfully, none of their research had panned out within the last four years . . . Hence, for a moment, she had considered enduring the torture this would amount to and just wearing a hat until her hair grew back—if only to show Varian she still believed in his skills. But then she spotted a saw blade bigger than her head and no puppy eyes or moue he's armed himself with while begging the following days could coax her into letting him strap her to that table.
Unlike Princess Rapunzel.
Cassandra's skeptical voice, asking, "Raps, are you sure you wanna—Rapunzel?" pulls Lashanie out of her thoughts. She casts her gaze to the table part of the machine and finds the princess already strapped to it, smiling like a child on Wintersonnnenwende, enthusing, "Let's do this!"
The eagerness of Princess Rapunzel somewhat surprises Lashanie. Either she's absolutely fearless or very desperate to find out why her blonde hair has returned. But, if it gets her some answers and Varian can finally test his invention, everyone only profits from this, right?
Still standing by the control panel, Varian begins, "Okay! Rapunzel," and ruffles the back of his hair, as Lashanie's seen him doing so often when he was euphemizing the truth like he's trying right now, saying, "Now, um, this may get a little—"
"Exciting?" Rapunzel asks, voice rich with enthusiasm.
"Um, sure!" A grin breaks into Varian's face. "That's a good word for it!" He grabs two of the levers with both hands and pulls.
The machine whirrs, and the table starts shaking. Still sitting on Princess Rapunzel's shoulder, Pascal gapes with eyes dilated in fear. Lashanie rushes atop the platform and offers him a place on her palms the way she's seen the princess holding him before. For a moment, he considers, beholding her warily. But as the shaking grows stronger, Pascal leaps into her hands. Promptly, she hurries down the platform again, carefully carrying Princess Rapunzel's dearest friend into safety.
Lashanie brings just enough space between them and the table before it starts spinning at a stomach-turning speed, first vertically, then horizontally, and all that while the claw-like arms tug and stretch the princess's hair every which way. In between, they hear Rapunzel let out some cries, "Whaa! Whoa-kay! Whaaa! Whoa!"
Exciting, indeed, Lashanie thinks. The same way falling down a ladder or a flight of stairs is. Eyes wide, she seeks Varian's gaze. But he's completely taken in by the spectacle his invention, in tandem with the princess's magical hair, offers. Obviously, he knew this was going to happen. And yet, he let the princess agree to—whatever this is. But . . . well, yes, it looks uncomfortable—very, very uncomfortable—but except for dizziness and perhaps a slight feeling of nausea, she would be fine and get the answers she seeks, so it should be okay. No? Still, Lashanie silently prays for a busy day at the fields for Varian's dad. If Quirin would walk in on these tests . . . she doesn't even want to imagine.
A bell dings atop a cuckoo clock with a built-in counter where the clock face should be, sitting on a pole by the test subject table. Abruptly the rotating and tugging come to an end. Princess Rapunzel gasps for air, exhausted. Her hair is wildly disheveled, thick strands straying into her face.
"And there we are! Done," Varian announces.
Relief floods the princess's face. "All right. Not super fun, but it's over."
"Ha! Oh, sorry. Yeah, I—I meant done with the first test," Varian says sheepishly, tapping one lever with his index finger, looking to the side. "But, uh, don't worry, only eighty-six more to go!" he adds, flavored with an encouraging gesture.
However, while shifting up the lever rather tentatively this time, he looks almost guilty, his gaze wandering to the side again.
The numbers on the cuckoo clock counter click from eighty-seven to eighty-six, and at that, the lab table immediately slams down into a horizontal position.
A metal arm springs up from the tool arch, and for a moment, Lashanie matches Princess Rapunzel in her expression. Eyes wide, they both stare at a round saw lowering toward the river of golden hair streaming out from the top of the princess's head. It's the same nasty saw that made Lashanie chicken out of testing the machine, and watching it sink its teeth into the long strands causes her heart to thump rapidly inside her chest. She wants to avert her gaze, afraid anything might go terribly wrong, but she can't. What if the hair doesn't cut but gets tangled up in the rotation? And why can't she look away?!
The blade fastens into Rapunzel's tresses—and does nothing. Instead, sparks begin to fly up as the machine unsuccessfully tries to bite through the material in its way by increasing the pressure.
"Amazing!" Varian shouts against the noise of that struggle.
Well, at least Vary is thrilled . . .
Suddenly, the blade abandons the effort to cut the princess's hair. With a clang, it breaks off the metal arm and flies toward Varian.
He ducks just in time.
For a split second, Lashanie's heart stopped beating. Or rather, her entire body ceased to function. Her lungs are the first to return to duty with a gasp that reactivates her heartbeat. Oh goodness .
As Varian straightens up again from behind the control panel, sheer rapture illuminates his face. "You were right—it's absolutely unbreakable !" he rejoices.
Lashanie's legs feel like jelly; she slightly staggers, and Pascal casts her a suspicious glance. Probably, he suspects she could drop him, and for his sake, she tries to force steadiness back into her hands. Her Vary, almost he'd. . . Are there more tests like this ahead? She definitely wouldn't survive this.
The laboratory door banging open wrenches Lashanie out of those concern-flooded thoughts. She beholds a handsome man pointing at Varian. "But I'm betting you're not," he calls (responding to the comment about the princess's hair being unbreakable, Lashanie supposes). "Let her go!" he demands forthwith.
And everyone merely stares at him.
Coincidentally, the table flips Princess Rapunzel upright at this very moment, the claws stretching and twisting her hair again. "Eugene! Hey!" Her lips form a wry smile.
But of course—that man is the princess's boyfriend, the one who found her tower and brought her back home! It's the first time Lashanie sees him in person. The wanted posters don't do him much justice—Oh! The posters! Her gaze darts to Varian. A radiant smile reaching from ear to ear spreads across his face, eyes wide.
Eugene, however, doesn't seem to take notice of anyone but the princess. "Blondie! You're okay!" he says, relieved. "You wanna tell me what's goin' on here?"
Princess Rapunzel peers at Cassandra, masking it ever so poorly that they're keeping secrets. And her only response remains a nervous laugh.
"You know what? I don't care," Eugene declares sourly. "I'm getting you outta there." He jogs toward his girlfriend and climbs the platform.
Now Varian can't restrain himself any longer. "Hey! You're Flynn Rider!" he burst out, still grinning like a Cheshire cat.
Eugene had already been fiddling with the machine, trying to 'free' his love, but now he abruptly crosses his arms over his chest. "No. You don't know what you're talking about. I've never seen you before in my life," he says, and it kind of sounds like something he's rehearsed. Perhaps a habit from his days as a thief, Lashanie ponders, as Eugene adds, "You can't prove anything!"
But his denying can't put Varian off. Letting out a nervous chuckle, he raises his hands to his mouth and claims, "I'm your biggest fan!" Brimming over with excitement, he dashes to a wall at the end of the room and draws back a curtain. "See?". Behind it, a notch Varian's turned into some kind of altar appears, and at its center, Eugene's face adorns a wanted poster. Several items and all the storybooks connected to Flynn Rider one could find for purchase surround it. A satchel and two of those books have been gifts from Lashanie, and seeing them amongst his precious collection fills her with happiness—and a touch of pride.
Eugene seems happy to lay eyes on that proof of Varian's admiration as well. Immediately, his mood brightens, and the frown he's armed himself with morphs into a smile. "Hey, now! Flynn Rider, nice to be met," he says.
"I used to see your wanted posters all the time! You're my hero!" Varian lets him know, excitement still evidently dancing in his voice.
And Eugene starts strutting over to Varian. "Oh, well, 'hero' is a bit much," he replies with a flattered chuckle but fails to sound too sincere about it. He clearly enjoys this praise.
Meanwhile, Varian collects all the Flynn Rider storybooks he could grab on the fly in his arms, heading for Eugene as he explains, "I've read every single book about you!"
Halfway between them, they bump into each other, and Varian's books fall to the floor, except for two—one caught by Varian and another finding its way into Eugene's hands.
"Oh . . . well, you see, that's not actually me ," Eugene tries to clarify. He motions at the book with the red envelope he's caught, looking less self-satisfied now, "I just took the name from the book ."
This is futile, Lashanie knows. She's told Varian the same before, back when he proudly showed her the wanted poster he'd gotten hold of. She even tried to reason by telling him the one wanted by the guards was too young to be the man from the books. But she got nowhere; he ignored her then like he'd ignore Eugene now.
And like she called it, instead of registering what he just heard, Varian grabs a sword-like invention—that has no actual blade but cuts by heat—from the table next to him and flips the book in his hand open. "Hey, hey! Remember the time you dueled that evil knight, blindfolded?"
"No, no, not me," Eugene says.
But Varian doesn't listen. He's frantically waving his 'sword' through the air, dueling an invisible evil knight. It's been a while since Lashanie's last seen him this giddy. He's like one of those wind-up toys that don't come to rest anymore if one overwinds their key. And she can't help the smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.
Eugene, on the other hand, doesn't exactly ooze happiness. He dodges Varian as best he can, finding shelter behind a table. "Do you wanna put that down?" he asks, pointing at the metal-rod-sword-thingamajig.
Okay, maybe he could need some help. Lashanie's just about to come to his aid—perhaps she'd be able to calm Varian down a little—when she grasps hushed words flying back and forth between Princess Rapunzel and Cassandra. Are they considering leaving? It's funny; just a moment ago, she hoped these tests would end sooner rather than later. But Varian really needs a little victory with one of his inventions . . . and so she finds herself approaching the two women, hoping to appease them.
"I beg your pardon for interrupting, Your Highness, but—" Lashanie says softly.
And the princess favors her with an indulgent smile. "Please, why don't you just call me Rapunzel?"
Promptly, Lashanie shakes her head at this suggestion and gives the same answer as before when they had introduced themselves earlier. "I can't accept that. It wouldn't be right." Even though Princess Rapunzel seems friendlier with her citizens than other nobles, she can give no hostage to fortune. She's decided to better retain a respectful distance.
A sigh leaves the princess's lungs. At the same time, some spiked stone press is being dropped and lifted and dropped again and again on her hair.
"Please, Your Highness," Lashanie starts anew. "You see, I just wanted to say that—even though it might not seem like it right now—I think if there's anyone who can help you figure out why—why your magical hair has returned, it's Varian."
At that, Princess Rapunzel's eyes crinkle into crescents. "I see. Thank you, Lashanie."
"Yeah, thank you . . ." Cassandra glares at her from the side, not going to the slightest trouble to hide that Lashanie's interrupted a private conversation and how her presence isn't wanted.
But Lashanie doesn't hold it against her. It must be a lot of pressure to be in charge of the most famous princess in all the seven kingdoms. So she merely nods her understanding and turns back towards Varian and Eugene. Stepping away, she still catches Rapunzel whispering Cassandra's name in a reproachful tone.
"Tell me about how you took on the Earl of Camembert!" Varian demands, still waving his 'sword' around.
And Eugene is still trying to maintain a safe distance. "Also not me. Would someone please explain to me who this child is?"
"I'm Varian!" Cheering out his name, Varian throws his arms open and promptly hits a flask on the table with the tip of his sword. It topples over, and the pink liquid it's holding spills, running into a petri dish. The substance it carries reacts with the liquid, and in the blink of an eye, that reaction blasts a hole into the tabletop. The two halves it's been split into sag down in the middle, and everything still sitting on the table slides to the ground with a series of shatters.
Lashanie bites her bottom lip. There's going to be so much to clean and fix by the end of that day . . .
Into the bargain, Varian suddenly juggles the sword, piping, "Hot, hot, hot!" and lets it slip from his hands. It drives into the wall right where Flynn Rider's wanted poster sits, or to be precise, where Ink-Eugene smiles back from the paper. Under contact with the sword, it combusts and crumbles into cinders.
"Oh, come on!" the real Eugene complains.
Gently nudging Pascal to one hand, Lashanie rests the other on Varian's shoulder. He's staring at his gloves as if he can't believe they let the heat through.
"Are you okay?" she asks. But before Varian can respond, the ground beneath them rumbles angrily, and a tremor causes everyone to sway on their feet while mortar dust flutters down from the ceiling. Lashanie carefully presses little Pascal to her chest, shielding him with her hands. They shouldn't occur so often, and they certainly shouldn't be this bad . . . He said they wouldn't get worse. Oh, this bodes ill.
When the ground reverts to its usual stillness, Eugene asks into the round, "What was that trembling?"
"Trembling? I didn't notice any trembling," Varian fibs, his whole paralanguage giving him away, however.
Oh, Vary's such a poor liar. Though Lashanie wouldn't prefer him to be a good one either, she'd rather he wouldn't stoop to lies at all.
As inconspicuous as possible, she tries to catch Varian's eye. But he's too occupied with quickly changing the subject to notice. "Oh! Yeah! Almost forgot to get the spectrometric press! It's the only way I can read out the results of the test!" Trying to act all nonchalant, he walks ahead, casting a grin over his shoulder, offering, "Flynn Rider! Wanna come with?"
Eugene feigns to consider for a moment before he responds, "Oooh! No."
"Hey! If—if you come, I can show you something really special," Varian coaxes, trying to give his voice an auspicious touch, "But, um, you've got to keep it a secret."
Lashanie has to stifle a laugh. Goodness, if that works—
"You want to tell me a secret?" Eugene's eyebrows perk up. Immediately he starts following Varian and drawls, "Did you hear that, everyone? Varitas—Vari—Var—"
"Varian!" Lashanie and Varian say in unison.
"A complete stranger wants to tell me a secret!"
Varian hurries to the door with Eugene in tow. Oh well . But before they leave, he turns back to Lashanie once more. "You're overseeing the tests until I'm back, Birdy." And with a merry, "No need to worry, Rapunzel—you're in good hands," he passes the threshold without waiting for a term of agreement.
Lashanie feels Cassandra's skeptical glare boring through her.
"And we're to blindly trust you know what to do if this thing malfunctions, I suppose?" Cassandra points at the machine, which incidentally wheezes a concerning noise.
"I—well, I know my way around Vary's inventions a bit," Lashanie says, suppressing the urge to chew her bottom lip. She needs to sound confident! And she deems to have managed pretty well . . . even though Cassandra's expression clearly states she's not convinced.
"I'm sure everything will be fine, Cass," the princess calls from her place on the lab table while being buffeted about once more. She smiles. "I trust Lashanie."
A quiet "Thank you" falls from Lashanie's lips. She can only hope Princess Rapunzel's trust in her doesn't prove misplaced. But what are the odds that something will go wrong now, just when Varian's gone?
Pascal pats Lashanie's hand with his tiny green feet, encouraging.
She forces a smile, silently praying, 'Oh, please, Vary, come back as soon as possible.'
