|Princess Tutu drabble and icons
||[Jun. 22nd, 2007|03:20 pm]
For Our Friend Alys
X-posted to my writing journal.
Reason: This is a gift fic for Alys (alys_wonder). Do I need any other excuse to mess around with someone else's fictional characters?
Fandom: Princess Tutu
Coupling: Fakir/Ahiru. =X
Warnings: I don't think this really warrants any. I maybe wrong.
Disclaimer: Princess Tutu belongs to the
deranged mind of Ikuko Itoh, and I'm just going to borrow a couple of the characters for a bit. I don't think they should mind, considering they've already been toyed with so much. Do you think they'll mind? It is for a gift drabble, after all.
Pas De Deux
It is a shame writing lacks the grace of dance. Can you tell a story with the same feel and elegance of pas de deux? Can you, can you? Will you tell me?
Once upon a time there was a useless knight obsessed with protecting his prince, and a...duck. The knight's entire life and reason revolved around the prince, even as he attempted to make the prince's life revolve around him. The duck wanted to be human and return the prince his heart, and thought nothing but of doing this for the prince.
Once upon a time there was a story, and in this story all Fakir and Ahiru cared about was Mythos; however, that story is over.
Somewhere along the way things became less and less about Mythos the longer they spent time together. Somewhere along the way all Fakir thought about was Ahiru, and Ahiru kept thinking of Fakir. Now with Mythos and Rue off living their happy story, we are left with a knight turned writer and a...well, duck. We find them once again, a couple of years down the road, still a writing knight and a duck.
Fakir's green eyes wandered from the page in front of him to watch Ahiru as she ducked her yellow head into the water again, and they kept leaving the page. Once again he had stumbled on a lack of words, the main threat to the frail existence of writing -- writer's block. Was that really it, though? He observed the duck again, and Fakir considered that possibility and all others, his mind wandering yet again.
Perhaps it was something else.
"I'm going in for the day," Fakir abruptly told Ahiru and rose from his chair by the lake.
Ahiru's head shot up as she gave out a, "Quack?" a surprised and sorrowful note that conveyed her shock he was retiring so early. Was she not invited to follow? Did he wish to be alone this evening?
In quiet understanding, Fakir gave Ahiru a mere upturn of his lips and added, "You can come if you like. Or you can stay and swim a bit longer. It's up to you." With that, he started to walk away, and Ahiru looked back at the water -- sparkling so invitingly under the sun's warm rays -- and once more at Fakir's retreating back.
Well, if he was going to be that way about it, fine. She wanted to swim a bit longer, maybe even much longer. So how about that?
Defiantly, Ahiru stuck her yellow tail feathers up and swam further on the lake. Sometime when she reached the other side, though, Ahiru realized a huge loneliness had welled up inside of her. Feeling the weight of it, her eyes were lured back towards Charon's house, where she knew Fakir was. It was so simple, after all. But why, she had to ask, why when he was gone did she feel so sad and empty sometimes?
Clearly, there was nothing to be done about it. Ahiru at once started swimming back to the shore.
Inside, Fakir, seated at the table, stared at the wall for a while, lost in his own thoughts. There was a story, wasn't there? Of two lovers cursed by a wizard so that they could never touch or be together again. She a hawk during the day, and he a wolf at night. There was only a brief moment at sunrise and sunset they were both human, but before their finger tips could touch, one would change.
That wasn't this story, though. Fakir was always human, and Ahiru was always a duck.
Fakir closed his eyes in frustration at it, until his mind went blank. What did it matter if she was a duck? Did she always have to be a duck? What if it was just one day? If she wanted it as well.... It was her decision once they reached that point, but until then Fakir would write.
The words formed in black ink snaking on the paper in the wake of Fakir's duck-feather quill:
Ahiru waded to the end of the lake and stepped out. Long red hair returned, in its ridiculous duck-like tufts crowning her head. As gracefully as she could manage -- which means she probably stubbed her toe along the way and tripped over a log -- Ahiru made her way to the house
What story he would have given the rest of the world is never to be known, for his writing stopped there; his hands were entwined in red hair.
Even it was for only a day, they would always have the memories, for ever after.
- End -
EDIT: Putting in icons. ♥
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Of course, if you don't use them, believe me, I will. 8D