City of Darkness, Monday Night
Jun. 22nd, 2007 07:36 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dark_slippy_thingMore steps.
Save-The-World Quests would be much nicer without steps.
But there Valentine was standing at the foot of the steps to the Black Palace, staring up at the dark building that loomed in front of him.
It was night. But then, it was always night here, wasn't it? And here he was, stalling, staring up the staircase and trying to talk himself into actually doing this.
Helena was obviously the princess. The posters made that clear enough. The Dark Queen wanted her back, and was willing to tear the world apart (and offer a shiny reward) in exchange for the girl. The girl who, of course, was entirely off her chair and would probably be better off just going home.
It had all made perfect sense to Valentine right up until Helena had thanked him. That had made him pause for a moment, and now, as he stared up at the intimidating building, he had to take a moment to push that part out entirely. He wouldn't be able to do this if he kept thinking this way. He'd just tell the queen where Helena was, then he'd go back to that dome when she was good and brought back home, and he'd use the MirrorMask to return to Fandom. Provided, of course, that the insane sphinx-feeding nitwit at the Mask Shop at least had been telling the truth when she said that the mask would give people what they wanted.
That was it, then. It was settled.
He took a deep breath and started to climb the steps.
These quests would be so much better, if not for all the steps.
~~~
That hadn't been so difficult, really. "She's in the dome in the woods. That way. Nice hat, may I?"
It was so very easy, actually. It came with the promise of jewels and safety and a way back to Fandom and out of this nasty place, and all he had to do was wait until he knew that Helena had been caught and brought back to her mum. The skies would clear up, fish would squish about freely in joy, and all would be well again.
Right? Of course, right.
He heard his name in the other room- the throne room, and he sidled backward through the doorway to investigate, then turned around to see that Helena had, indeed, been brought back. And she was looking at him. Eyes like a child that had just been smacked, he thought momentarily, actually somewhat proud that he was starting to be able to piece together hideous maskless expression. The eyes of a child, or perhaps of an unwilling prisoner.
...
He'd feel less nasty about himself if he just thought of them as weepy child eyes.
"Valentine?" The girl stared at him in disbelief, and he attempted to shrug it off.
"Well, we were already here. She'd put up the posters-- reward paid? Nothing personal." He was doing an admirable job keeping himself from slouching, really. "It's just supply and demand."
"You pathetic creep."
Oh yes, how dare he take her home to mother again!
"Rocks and logs can bite like dogs," he retorted, "but words will never hurt me!"
"You useless, cake-hogging, cowardly, treacherous--"
"I did not hog that cake!"
"I'm sorry, Mr. Valentine," the Queen interrupted smoothly, "but I have to hurry you along. I need to spend some serious 'quality time' with my little girl. Thank you for popping by." If Valentine had noticed the little finger-quotation marks that the Queen had made when saying 'quality time,' he did a good job hiding it. That wasn't suspicious at all. It was a motherly thing, right? Some in-joke that he'd never really comprehend and it was probably brilliant in all actuality. Right?
"Um. Right." He looked over his shoulder nervously, then back at the Queen. "I believe somebody said something about jewels? As many as I can carry...?"
The posters better not have lied to him. All this effort and all this guilt and no payout, that would have been sorry, indeed.
"If you must," the queen said, flicking her hand. And all at once, hundreds of blood-red little stones started to skitter up the walkway toward him. Of course this couldn't be done by conventional means. That would only make sense. Was a bag too much to hope for?
He bent over and scooped as many as he could up in his hands, jamming them into his pockets to take up space alongside juggling balls and mostly-used pencils. Jewels were jewels. Oh, there was still room in his hat! It was a rather nice hat, really.
"So, um. No hard feelings?" He stood and hesitated. Helena had her back turned on him, now. Probably not a good sign, really.
"Just go," the Queen insisted. He backed up a little. Perhaps the reason he had begun to babble was because he really didn't feel right leaving Helena here after all.
But the jewels were good. And he had the key. There wasn't anything to be guilty over, here. Things were going well, for a change.
"Right, I'm on my way out." A half-step backward. "Nothing more to say. Off to get the, um. Right. Well. Have a nice--"
"Throw him out," the Queen commanded her guards.
Bugger, no time for weepy farewells in this place, was there?
Valentine backed up a few more steps, then turned and ran.
~~~
Valentine had his jewels. Valentine had his freedom. Valentine had a stretch of shady roadway before him and a plan. Valentine also had a broad expanse of Helena-faced wanted posters staring blankly at him, pretty frocks and all.
He paused to study one. The MirrorMask would wait for him, after all, and he had been gone long enough, a pause to inspect the poster wouldn't hurt that any more, really. Grabbing it off of the wall, he stared at it quietly.
And then he ripped and tore and folded at it until it looked more like a flower.
Perhaps he was slightly more artistic than he let on. He'd have to make a torn-paper flower for Na--
He stared at the little flower for a moment, stopping that train of thought right there, and he let go of the flower, watching it scatter into hundreds of tiny pieces and dance away in the wind.
He was starting to fail at the whole 'not hating himself' thing.
~~~
There it was. The dome. And there, inside, just like before, was the pillar of keyholes. Hundreds of them. Maybe thousands. And all he had to do was find the right one.
He pulled the key from his pocket and tried the first hole.
He'd be here all night, at this rate, wouldn't he?
The key didn't turn. He pulled a pencil from his pocket, and drew an 'x' on the painted white wood next to the keyhole.
Oh yes, he'd be there for some time.
~~~
Hours had passed. He'd crossed out hundreds of keyholes, and still, none had so much as wiggled. There was no MirrorMask in sight, and he had hundreds more holes to try before the night was through.
He tried another and took a deep breath. Maybe this was all stupid, after all. There were other ways to get back to Fandom. But with all of this 'MirrorMask' this and 'Charm' that, how could he not want to satiate his demanding curiosity?
The key turned. There was a soft click.
Valentine grinned broadly and took a half step backward.
"Presenting... the MirrorMask," he said to nobody in particular. This was his moment of truth. This was his Holy Grail.
He pulled out the drawer, and reached inside to pull out a box-- long and flat, perfectly sized for a mask -- and he pried off the lid.
No mask.
No mask... but there was a letter!
"To my mother," he read aloud, "Even if it is not she who finds this..."
He frowned faintly. Had Helena written this, then?
He kept reading. He read the words that the Princess had written about the MirrorMask. He read about how the princess was going to run away to join 'real life.'
"But you can't run away from home without destroying somebody's world..." He stared at the paper in disbelief. "Stupid, stupid! Stupid! STUPID!" All at once, he sat on the floor, drawing in a deep breath.
The things that Helena had said about the city looking like her drawings... this being her dream, the girl on the other side of the window...
He reached to his face and pulled off his mask, staring at it for a moment. It was scowling at him, and he was left grinning back. He pulled that face off, too, and stared at the masks in his hands.
"Well, now what?" Not that the masks would answer him. But this seemed about as good as any other option he had at the moment.
"It can't be that bad," he attempted in a chipper tone, waving the grinning face about some.
"The princess got the MirrorMask thingie. She got out. All that stuff Helena was saying about windows was true," he countered pointedly.
"Did you doubt her?" The scowling mask that was really him had a good point. A point that kind of stung, really.
"Yes. No." He didn't much like that question. "I don't-- maybe."
"So what idiot thing are you going to do now?" He didn't much care for the grumpy mask.
"It's not what he'll do," the grinning mask that was him piped in, "It's where he'll go! Up, out! He's rich, he's devastatingly attractive. He's got style..."
"I wouldn't know about that," he said, about as modestly as one possibly can when protesting to oneself. "But I do have to get out."
Classes to catch. Promises to keep.
"Come on," the smiling face urged almost teasingly. "You don't believe all that stuff about the world being destroyed?"
"Well..." Valentine mused on that for a moment. "When you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, however unlikely, must be--"
"A fish," he intoned as the grumpy face. "Must be a fish. I never trusted those fish. They're always smiling."
"No." He sighed. This was stupid. Joking his way out wasn't going to get anyone anywhere. "Must be the truth."
The masks fell to the floor and he looked downward.
The familiar red binding of what was left of the Really Useful Book caught his eye.
~~~
Once again, Valentine was staring upward from the bottom of that monstrous set of stairs. He didn't like it here. But this had to be done.
If maybe he could will his way up them again.
Maybe he'd just stand here and feel rotten for a few moments longer. That might--
A ball rolled down the steps and hit him in the foot, and he picked it up, stared at it for a moment, then looked up to see Helena coming down the stairs to get it.
... What the hell had the Queen done to her? This was his fault? This is what he turned her over to?
"Um, right." He worked on mustering the courage to apologize. He hated apologies. This would have to be handled.... carefully. "I suppose that an 'oops and I promise not to do it again' isn't actually going to cut the mustard..." She was just staring at him. It was sickening. There wasn't anything in her eyes at all but blackness. "Helena?" Was she even in there...? "I really am s... I'm... If I were to say sor..."
Bloody hell.
"... say something apologetic, it would reflect my feelings in this matter... accurately." He passed the ball back and forth between his hands quietly. "And you were right and I was... not as right as you were. About everything. The MirrorMask. The windows. The world ending. The whole bit." There was a pause as he sighed heavily. "And you probably hate me. I mean... I'd hate me, too."
There was nothing on her face. Nothing. It was as though he was talking to a board. Her expression was more empty than any incomplete maskless face he had ever seen.
"Look, whatever she's done to you," he tapped his forehead with a free finger, "I know you're still in there."
Still nothing.
Maybe she didn't want this almost-apology. Maybe he had blown it entirely. Or maybe, even worse, there really was nothing left.
The juggler sighed and tossed the ball at her-- at what was once his friend and was now some mechanical doll of a princess.
And she caught it, and looked at it a moment.
And then she threw it back.
...
So he returned the ball and threw her some of his own glowing ones. And, just as any juggler would, she caught them, and returned them. And there, with this blank-faced princess, Valentine stood and juggled in disbelief. He was beside himself. He hated himself, but he was beside himself. And, so wrapped up in this fact, his hand missed and a ball rolled away.
"Butterfingers," Helena Campbell said with a smile.
Valentine could only stare.
(NFI, NFB, not my script, dudes. Gaiman and McKean are a million shades of awesome and all I claim is the three hours I just spent typing and chucking in subtext. I'm SO almost done. Homg.)
Save-The-World Quests would be much nicer without steps.
But there Valentine was standing at the foot of the steps to the Black Palace, staring up at the dark building that loomed in front of him.
It was night. But then, it was always night here, wasn't it? And here he was, stalling, staring up the staircase and trying to talk himself into actually doing this.
Helena was obviously the princess. The posters made that clear enough. The Dark Queen wanted her back, and was willing to tear the world apart (and offer a shiny reward) in exchange for the girl. The girl who, of course, was entirely off her chair and would probably be better off just going home.
It had all made perfect sense to Valentine right up until Helena had thanked him. That had made him pause for a moment, and now, as he stared up at the intimidating building, he had to take a moment to push that part out entirely. He wouldn't be able to do this if he kept thinking this way. He'd just tell the queen where Helena was, then he'd go back to that dome when she was good and brought back home, and he'd use the MirrorMask to return to Fandom. Provided, of course, that the insane sphinx-feeding nitwit at the Mask Shop at least had been telling the truth when she said that the mask would give people what they wanted.
That was it, then. It was settled.
He took a deep breath and started to climb the steps.
These quests would be so much better, if not for all the steps.
~~~
That hadn't been so difficult, really. "She's in the dome in the woods. That way. Nice hat, may I?"
It was so very easy, actually. It came with the promise of jewels and safety and a way back to Fandom and out of this nasty place, and all he had to do was wait until he knew that Helena had been caught and brought back to her mum. The skies would clear up, fish would squish about freely in joy, and all would be well again.
Right? Of course, right.
He heard his name in the other room- the throne room, and he sidled backward through the doorway to investigate, then turned around to see that Helena had, indeed, been brought back. And she was looking at him. Eyes like a child that had just been smacked, he thought momentarily, actually somewhat proud that he was starting to be able to piece together hideous maskless expression. The eyes of a child, or perhaps of an unwilling prisoner.
...
He'd feel less nasty about himself if he just thought of them as weepy child eyes.
"Valentine?" The girl stared at him in disbelief, and he attempted to shrug it off.
"Well, we were already here. She'd put up the posters-- reward paid? Nothing personal." He was doing an admirable job keeping himself from slouching, really. "It's just supply and demand."
"You pathetic creep."
Oh yes, how dare he take her home to mother again!
"Rocks and logs can bite like dogs," he retorted, "but words will never hurt me!"
"You useless, cake-hogging, cowardly, treacherous--"
"I did not hog that cake!"
"I'm sorry, Mr. Valentine," the Queen interrupted smoothly, "but I have to hurry you along. I need to spend some serious 'quality time' with my little girl. Thank you for popping by." If Valentine had noticed the little finger-quotation marks that the Queen had made when saying 'quality time,' he did a good job hiding it. That wasn't suspicious at all. It was a motherly thing, right? Some in-joke that he'd never really comprehend and it was probably brilliant in all actuality. Right?
"Um. Right." He looked over his shoulder nervously, then back at the Queen. "I believe somebody said something about jewels? As many as I can carry...?"
The posters better not have lied to him. All this effort and all this guilt and no payout, that would have been sorry, indeed.
"If you must," the queen said, flicking her hand. And all at once, hundreds of blood-red little stones started to skitter up the walkway toward him. Of course this couldn't be done by conventional means. That would only make sense. Was a bag too much to hope for?
He bent over and scooped as many as he could up in his hands, jamming them into his pockets to take up space alongside juggling balls and mostly-used pencils. Jewels were jewels. Oh, there was still room in his hat! It was a rather nice hat, really.
"So, um. No hard feelings?" He stood and hesitated. Helena had her back turned on him, now. Probably not a good sign, really.
"Just go," the Queen insisted. He backed up a little. Perhaps the reason he had begun to babble was because he really didn't feel right leaving Helena here after all.
But the jewels were good. And he had the key. There wasn't anything to be guilty over, here. Things were going well, for a change.
"Right, I'm on my way out." A half-step backward. "Nothing more to say. Off to get the, um. Right. Well. Have a nice--"
"Throw him out," the Queen commanded her guards.
Bugger, no time for weepy farewells in this place, was there?
Valentine backed up a few more steps, then turned and ran.
~~~
Valentine had his jewels. Valentine had his freedom. Valentine had a stretch of shady roadway before him and a plan. Valentine also had a broad expanse of Helena-faced wanted posters staring blankly at him, pretty frocks and all.
He paused to study one. The MirrorMask would wait for him, after all, and he had been gone long enough, a pause to inspect the poster wouldn't hurt that any more, really. Grabbing it off of the wall, he stared at it quietly.
And then he ripped and tore and folded at it until it looked more like a flower.
Perhaps he was slightly more artistic than he let on. He'd have to make a torn-paper flower for Na--
He stared at the little flower for a moment, stopping that train of thought right there, and he let go of the flower, watching it scatter into hundreds of tiny pieces and dance away in the wind.
He was starting to fail at the whole 'not hating himself' thing.
~~~
There it was. The dome. And there, inside, just like before, was the pillar of keyholes. Hundreds of them. Maybe thousands. And all he had to do was find the right one.
He pulled the key from his pocket and tried the first hole.
He'd be here all night, at this rate, wouldn't he?
The key didn't turn. He pulled a pencil from his pocket, and drew an 'x' on the painted white wood next to the keyhole.
Oh yes, he'd be there for some time.
~~~
Hours had passed. He'd crossed out hundreds of keyholes, and still, none had so much as wiggled. There was no MirrorMask in sight, and he had hundreds more holes to try before the night was through.
He tried another and took a deep breath. Maybe this was all stupid, after all. There were other ways to get back to Fandom. But with all of this 'MirrorMask' this and 'Charm' that, how could he not want to satiate his demanding curiosity?
The key turned. There was a soft click.
Valentine grinned broadly and took a half step backward.
"Presenting... the MirrorMask," he said to nobody in particular. This was his moment of truth. This was his Holy Grail.
He pulled out the drawer, and reached inside to pull out a box-- long and flat, perfectly sized for a mask -- and he pried off the lid.
No mask.
No mask... but there was a letter!
"To my mother," he read aloud, "Even if it is not she who finds this..."
He frowned faintly. Had Helena written this, then?
He kept reading. He read the words that the Princess had written about the MirrorMask. He read about how the princess was going to run away to join 'real life.'
"But you can't run away from home without destroying somebody's world..." He stared at the paper in disbelief. "Stupid, stupid! Stupid! STUPID!" All at once, he sat on the floor, drawing in a deep breath.
The things that Helena had said about the city looking like her drawings... this being her dream, the girl on the other side of the window...
He reached to his face and pulled off his mask, staring at it for a moment. It was scowling at him, and he was left grinning back. He pulled that face off, too, and stared at the masks in his hands.
"Well, now what?" Not that the masks would answer him. But this seemed about as good as any other option he had at the moment.
"It can't be that bad," he attempted in a chipper tone, waving the grinning face about some.
"The princess got the MirrorMask thingie. She got out. All that stuff Helena was saying about windows was true," he countered pointedly.
"Did you doubt her?" The scowling mask that was really him had a good point. A point that kind of stung, really.
"Yes. No." He didn't much like that question. "I don't-- maybe."
"So what idiot thing are you going to do now?" He didn't much care for the grumpy mask.
"It's not what he'll do," the grinning mask that was him piped in, "It's where he'll go! Up, out! He's rich, he's devastatingly attractive. He's got style..."
"I wouldn't know about that," he said, about as modestly as one possibly can when protesting to oneself. "But I do have to get out."
Classes to catch. Promises to keep.
"Come on," the smiling face urged almost teasingly. "You don't believe all that stuff about the world being destroyed?"
"Well..." Valentine mused on that for a moment. "When you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, however unlikely, must be--"
"A fish," he intoned as the grumpy face. "Must be a fish. I never trusted those fish. They're always smiling."
"No." He sighed. This was stupid. Joking his way out wasn't going to get anyone anywhere. "Must be the truth."
The masks fell to the floor and he looked downward.
The familiar red binding of what was left of the Really Useful Book caught his eye.
~~~
Once again, Valentine was staring upward from the bottom of that monstrous set of stairs. He didn't like it here. But this had to be done.
If maybe he could will his way up them again.
Maybe he'd just stand here and feel rotten for a few moments longer. That might--
A ball rolled down the steps and hit him in the foot, and he picked it up, stared at it for a moment, then looked up to see Helena coming down the stairs to get it.
... What the hell had the Queen done to her? This was his fault? This is what he turned her over to?
"Um, right." He worked on mustering the courage to apologize. He hated apologies. This would have to be handled.... carefully. "I suppose that an 'oops and I promise not to do it again' isn't actually going to cut the mustard..." She was just staring at him. It was sickening. There wasn't anything in her eyes at all but blackness. "Helena?" Was she even in there...? "I really am s... I'm... If I were to say sor..."
Bloody hell.
"... say something apologetic, it would reflect my feelings in this matter... accurately." He passed the ball back and forth between his hands quietly. "And you were right and I was... not as right as you were. About everything. The MirrorMask. The windows. The world ending. The whole bit." There was a pause as he sighed heavily. "And you probably hate me. I mean... I'd hate me, too."
There was nothing on her face. Nothing. It was as though he was talking to a board. Her expression was more empty than any incomplete maskless face he had ever seen.
"Look, whatever she's done to you," he tapped his forehead with a free finger, "I know you're still in there."
Still nothing.
Maybe she didn't want this almost-apology. Maybe he had blown it entirely. Or maybe, even worse, there really was nothing left.
The juggler sighed and tossed the ball at her-- at what was once his friend and was now some mechanical doll of a princess.
And she caught it, and looked at it a moment.
And then she threw it back.
...
So he returned the ball and threw her some of his own glowing ones. And, just as any juggler would, she caught them, and returned them. And there, with this blank-faced princess, Valentine stood and juggled in disbelief. He was beside himself. He hated himself, but he was beside himself. And, so wrapped up in this fact, his hand missed and a ball rolled away.
"Butterfingers," Helena Campbell said with a smile.
Valentine could only stare.
(NFI, NFB, not my script, dudes. Gaiman and McKean are a million shades of awesome and all I claim is the three hours I just spent typing and chucking in subtext. I'm SO almost done. Homg.)
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2007-06-23 02:10 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-06-23 02:39 am (UTC)