fellas im straight up not having a good time im in the middle of a lil meltdown over how much time i’ve spent sewing roses on my skirt before realizing they were anuses (or ani like cacti? 🤔)
As always, for all parts, refer to the masterpost.
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“It’s foolproof,” the prince is fitting on a tricorne hat.
“It’s fool-something,” Brad mutters.
“It’s genius,” The prince is putting his hands on his hips and turning about in the mirror.
“It’s an enormous complication to security,” Brad is leaning against the wall in the Prince’s quarters.
“You’re just mad because you didn’t think of it first,” The prince is trying on a spare pair of reading glasses he nicked from his father’s office and checks his reflection again. He blinks a few times at how much clearer his own image is. Shit, he may actually need a prescription.
“I didn’t think of it because it’s an enormous complication to security,” Brad frowns.
“But I pull it off, right?” The prince steps out from behind the peacock-printed folding screen in full servant’s livery. He’s not wrong. The servant’s livery has fully activated the some-guyification of the prince. This is literally just some guy. It’s a perfect hide-in-plain-sight disguise. I mean he still looks good because goddamn if the king and queen don’t have amazing taste when it comes to their servants’ livery, but this brightly colored fancy lil outfit with perfectly tailored piping and fancy white gloves is enough to heavily distract from the prince’s face. And of course there’s the hat. The king and queen allow for the servants to have a little fun with their hats, decorate them with a feather or maybe a little sprig of flowers or maybe a cute brooch. They say it’s a ‘fun’ thing but also it’s this whole thing where they feel really rude going ‘You there, boy!’ and it’s hard to tell who’s who from far away with the uniforms so the hat flair doubles as visual shorthand for who’s who. The prince has opted for a hawk feather he found on one of his rides and he thinks this is really cool. It’s only kinda cool. But still he really looks like a servant. Brad honestly wonders why the prince’s jumpy, antisocial ass didn’t try something like this sooner.
“You pull it off,” Brad concedes, “But I’m not entirely sure what you mean to accomplish by doing it.”
“Easy!” The prince throws his hands up, “I finally figured it out! All the staff talked about how she was helping them all night at the ball, right? That’s one of the reasons why she showed up so late and well after the master of ceremonies finished announcing everyone!”
“Uh huh…” Brad says slowly.
“So if I’m a servant, and she treats me like shit, I’ll know it’s not her!”
“And what if all the shoe candidates treat you perfectly pleasantly?”
“Well it’s more than that, she goes out of her way to help people! She.. she grabs lemons from the garden! She sews… flowers in buttons!”
“Which reminds me, Danvers asked if you were going to give his jacket back, because he really does like it—”
“It’s evidence, Brad! He’ll get it back when we get to the bottom of this!”
“And you think coming along to every house along with me, will help you do that.”
“I know I’m going to know her when I see her, I—I—I can feel it.”
“And because you don’t trust the shoe.”
“PEOPLE HAVE SIMILAR FOOT SIZES AND THE SHOE DOES NOT OBEY THE LAWS OF PHYSICS. ”
“We’ve only had the laws of physics… like… what, 100 years? 200 years?”
“Longer. I mean, Newton cribbed a lot of it from Ibn Al-Haytham so…”
“You really do read too much. Anyway, what I’m saying is, maybe there’s another rule we haven’t thought of, yet.”
“And it chooses to manifest itself in a shoe?”
Brad makes an ‘I dunno sound.’ Brad is veering dangerously close to accidentally creating a new early theory of entropy before his brain manages to go, Wait the prince is tagging along for all of this and now I have to recalculate every house-casing for threats to the prince when he is not immediately recognizable as the prince. Do we leave a body-double at the palace? Goddammit I only have a couple hours to re-tool this entire fucking process.
The prince is looking at himself in the mirror again. He takes in a short huffing breath. “I think it’s definitely going to work.”
And for the most part it does.
Like, don’t get me wrong, a lot of it is still tedious as hell, but thankfully, a lot of ladies have been taken out of the running already, not by any previous shoe-related process of elimination from the Prince’s own investigations, but because, true to his word, the king matchmade the hell out of that ball in the Prince’s absence, and a lot of the attendants at the ball had already been paired off in perfectly respectable courtships. So the list is actually significantly reduced already thanks to the king’s efforts.
Still, plenty of the potential shoe-wearers don’t notice the prince any more than they notice their own furniture when they’re chatting up Brad and Gabe the valet. Sure, on a family scale, there are plenty of attempts at buttering up Gabe and Brad with tea and biscuits and fancy pickles and cold cuts, but thankfully Gabe is probably the biggest hard-ass in this story and is terrifyingly good at polite expediency, so the prince is just kind of watching Brad and Gabe speed-run through all these parents and their pretty daughters going, “Oh good sirs, welcome to our humble abode, won’t you have some terrine?” (a disturbing number of respectable families have been convinced that terrines and aspics are very fashionable and they’ll be the only ones cool and modern and cultured enough to offer it to the palace representatives—they are not.) But honestly… the prince is right. He can pretty much feel right off the bat, before the shoe is even tried on, if this isn’t the house—if that isn’t the girl.
They still try on the shoe, because obviously it’s a whole thing, and there’s this whole process about the whole thing. They measure the foot and take down the foot’s measurements on a fancy little table for future reference and research onto the properties of The Shoe that Defies All Measurement and Fitting (The prince thinks he’ll make a graph later… maybe a bell curve?? Mostly they just end up accidentally inventing those shoe-size carpets you see at shoe stores), but then the shoe doesn’t fit, and well… to be honest the reactions to the shoe not fitting turn out to be the most interesting parts of the whole thing.
“I’m having an allergic reaction. Foot’s just… swollen right up. This isn’t my usual foot size.”
“I’m really dehydrated. That’s why it’s clanking around like that. Let me get a couple of glasses of water and try again.”
“Mother? Would you have one of the maids get the lard tub?”
“Look! Behind you!” (Cue furious grunting of continuing to attempt to shove the shoe on when everyone turns around)
“Um… more cold cuts?”
“Oh thank god, this means I can join that convent.” (Cue a scandalized gasp and a furious splutter of “Amelia!” from a mother.)
And the thing is, you’d think your brain would end up glazing over all these house calls, especially when you’re looking for The Love Of Your Life. You’d think like… you’d get sick of it, get sick of people, but it turns out, when the Prince isn’t put at the epicenter of a weird ritualized glam-fest of girls competing for a chance to hop on his dick for status, when they aren’t even recognizing him as the prince, he’s actually seeing people in the context of their own homes. Like, sure, it’s definitely very appearances-minded from every family involved because they’re presenting their homes to representatives of the palace, but you pick up on vibes, you pick up on dynamics. It’s like Kitchen Nightmares: Bourgeoisie Household Edition. But also you see families that are trying to secure their futures, and girls who just want to do right by them.
There’s this one house, right? Beautiful estate—it’s on a hill all laced with vineyards and during the carriage ride there the prince is glancing at Gabe and he can tell Gabe is like, “God I hope this is the girl” partially out of exhaustion from this whole ordeal, partially because… yeah it’s a really nice estate and you wouldn’t mind sitting out on the veranda with a nice glass of chilled rosé. God Gabe wants a nice glass of chilled rosé right now. This house probably has the best snack spread yet with fancy toasted spiced nuts and sharp cheeses and olives and this really great flatbread stuff?? And the wine, holy shit, like… these families have been shoving forward black tea and lemonade and super sugary brandy to them all day, but now there’s a nice perfectly balanced white wine in these cute stemless glasses? And they’re even offering them to the prince, who, as far as they know, is a footman! Like after a day of all these families being really weird and desperate and stilted, the environment is just low-key and hospitable enough for both Brad and Gabe to be like, ‘God let this be Mystery Girl.’ And there’s this very wonderful family with loads of kids that are showing them around the estate with a very pretty eldest daughter, with bright green-brown eyes and big curly brown hair and a wide mouth that lends itself to charming expressions. And like… the prince is kind of thrown through a loop because the way this girl acts around her siblings… maybe it’s mystery girl? She’s kind of a mom, kind of an asshole when the mom can’t be, and all-around this peacemaker dealing with a messy but lovable family. Of course she wouldn’t talk about her family because family can be messy, right? Maybe all his thoughts of danger and peril and abuse for Mystery Girl sprang from him being so fucking removed from everything. Maybe he has no fucking good judgement of anything.
But then they try on the shoe.
And the shoe doesn’t fit.
And the girl’s mouth hitches and she’s just like, “…all right,” a little stiffly.
And you feel this collective crestfallen exhale from her parents and all her siblings. Like her next sister is only 11 and the sister after that is 8 so it’s like… yeah… all their hopes were resting on the eldest.
“You… you can take some of the flatbread with you, if you like, sirs,” the mother pipes up.
“I’m sorry,” the girl cuts in, “For… for wasting your time.”
“It’s fine,” the prince suddenly steps forward from his spot next to the door.
The girl instinctively springs to her feet and curtsies. “Your highness,” she says with a bow of her head.
The prince freezes. The girl’s whole family freezes. Brad freezes. Gabe is taking down notes, I don’t know what the fuck he’s writing down.
“…you knew?” The prince says slowly.
The girl looks at her family and draws herself up straight. “May we have the room?”
The parents very quickly herd all of the siblings out of the room. The prince gives an ‘It’s okay’ wave of his hand to Brad and Gabe and they back out as well. Not too far so they can’t spring into action if anything funny happens, but enough for a bit of discretion.
“I was three feet in front of you. Did… other girls not recognize you?” the girl asks.
“I’m pretty sure they’ve either got amazing poker faces or you’re the first.”
The girl gives an amused ‘Hmph’ and eases up where she’s standing a little. “I think… I should also apologize. I mean, yes I wanted to marry you, but I didn’t really care about… well… you… or my qualifications as queen, mostly I just wanted to…” the girl draws a breath through her teeth, “There was a drought a few years back and it threw our wine’s taste off and we had to raise our prices to cover the water cost. We lost a lot of customers and a lot of favor with the noble families that would usually be our patrons. Our wine’s better now, if anything, the acidity of the grapes that survived the drought lent to a better complexity of flavor with the new grapes, but… It turns out… a reputation is not as easily rebuilt as a vineyard is regrown.”
“You were trying to protect the people you love,” the prince shrugs.
The girl pushes her brown curls back from her face and looks down. “Big feet… great for crushing grapes…fitting into slippers.. not so much.”
“Mm,” the prince takes off his tricorn hat and itches at the back of his head, “You could… try it on again?”
“What?” The girl tilts her head.
“The slipper it’s like… it’s not a normal shoe. I’ve had glassmakers all over the country look at it. We’re mostly doing the foot-measurement thing to see if there’s any pattern, but like… so far? On a data-scale? Foot size is completely irrelevant. Maybe you just need to… try again?”
“It’s not me,” the girl clasps her hands in front of herself, that wide mouth quirking off to one side.
“How do you know?”
“Because I was looking at you the moment you saw her. The girl at the hors d’oeuvres table, right?”
“Do you remember what she looked like?” The prince asks on reflex, his voice denser and more desperate than he really means to sound but holy shit, a flicker of hope?
“No,” the girl replies and the prince’s shoulders sink, “I'm sorry. I really wish I could. But I saw her a while before, in the powder room. Another one of the girls was crying, some drama with her cousin or something, and.. and this girl, the girl you’re looking for, she was… holding her hands and fixing her hair, and helping dab away the smudges in her makeup, and she was saying, ‘It’s okay, you’re so pretty and brave. And this is going to be a wonderful night, I promise you, I promise you. Even if everything seems horrible now, you’re in this beautiful place. And you’re going to dance and laugh and you don’t have to let everything that hurt you take this night away.’ Just… I don’t think I would have remembered it, if not for this distinct feeling I got, that the girl who fits this slipper knew hurt more deeply than the girl crying right then would ever know.”
“I got that feeling too,” the prince says vacantly, “I mean—I wasn’t in the powder room—”
“I know, your highness.” The girl shrugs, she exhales. “I wish you all the luck in finding her.” She huffs a little. “If I may speak freely?”
“You may,” the prince replies.
“My family has this one super old story—something about a gold ball and a pond or something? But—when she’d finish the story, my grandma would tell me this: sometimes… a situation is well out of our understanding, and if that’s the case, we have to remember that appearances aren’t everything, that you have to trust your heart and your gut, and you should keep an eye out for the people who care for others at their lowest moments. Even if everyone else thinks they’re gross.”
“Like rats…?” The prince says absently.
“Rats?” The girl shudders hard. And that shudder tells the prince, ‘Nope. Definitely not mystery girl.’ “With their freaky little… clawed people-hands? Eugh. No. I was thinking… more like frogs?”
“Frogs have people hands,” the prince says vaguely.
“Frogs’ hands are webbed with four fingers. There’s a difference,” the girl rolls her eyes.
“Your highness?” Gabe sticks his head in the doorway, “I don’t mean to rush you, but…”
“Oh—” The prince glances back at the girl, “Er—thank you again for your hospitality.” He bows.
She curtsies in turn. “I hope you find her, your highness.”
“Thank you,” the prince replies.
“And once you find her.. if you need wine for the wedding…” the girl gestures vaguely and the prince snorts.
“We’ll be in touch,” he says, before stepping out with Brad and Gabe.
—-
“I’ll be honest, your highness, I’d really hoped it was her,” Gabe mutters, still taking notes in the carriage as the family waves them off.
“Brad? The palace provides wine for the castle guards, right?” The prince glances over at Brad.
“Mm-hmm,” Brad is munching on some flatbread. I mean the lady of the house said they could take some.
“And… I wouldn’t say they’re picky, are they?” The Prince tilts his head.
“You could cut it with pig piss and they wouldn’t notice,” Brad shrugs.
“Brad!” Gabe barks.
“I mean… no, your highness.”
“Let’s… order a few casks from this vineyard to have on tap at the palace?” The prince suggests, "And a few more casks for free access to the public at the harvest festival this year."
“A wise decision, your highness,” Gabe says, taking notes, “And a bold bit of proactivity, if I do say so myself.”
“It’s not that bold, I mean it’s good wine, we all tasted it,” the Prince mutters.
“He means it’s the most you’ve done in like, five years,” Brad says, still chewing on flatbread, “Aside from the glassmaker thing, I guess.”
“BRAD,” Gabe says, exasperated.
The prince just leans his head against the glass of the carriage window. “So how many more houses today?” He asks.
“Two more and then back to the palace to recap?” Gabe suggests.
The prince draws in a long tired breath. “Yeah. Okay. Let’s do this,” he says.
He keeps thinking of mystery girl while he’s seeing these families, but it’s not 100% this doomed yearning he’s been going through like in the previous days of his investigation—Mystery Girl would help these people. She’d make friends with girls like this. He keeps thinking of what she said when they were dancing. “I don’t like that, that’s fucked up!” And like… it’s really something to see these carefully laid out social dynamics actively poking and prodding these people into this weird ass situation. Like he has such a love-hate relationship with the shoe at this point, but he’s weirdly thankful for it, because it just seems to… disrupt every human preconception and every social construct it comes in contact with. It brings out a weird and authentic side of people, just as much as it refuses to fit, the crazy royalty-high stakes of the situation bring out this realization that people have so much different stuff going on.
That used to be so exhausting for him. Figuring out what’s going on with people, keeping it all lined up, helping where he can. It’s still exhausting, but the exhaustion doesn’t hit quite the same. He hits the mattress that night and he dreams… not of mystery girl… not quite. He’s chasing this ideal of a person but crashing into how people are over and over again. So this person he sees in his dream, he’s not sure it’s mystery girl, but it doesn’t matter if it’s mystery girl. It’s a bitter, complicated, stupid, selfish, awkward person, and he decides, in that moment, that he is going to do everything in his power to make sure they can live their best life.
Because he’s the goddamn prince. And that’s his fucking job. And dream or not, that's what Mystery Girl would do.
And just a few feet away from his pillow, that damn glass slipper is glittering on a pedestal in the moonlight.
Scooby Doo idea: Daphne Blake as the weird rich kid whose parents signed her up for a shit-ton of rich-kid extracurriculars like polo, fencing, and all of this other shit so they wouldn’t have to deal with her/bolster her college resume. She puts a lot of effort into actually being good at all these extra-curriculars bc she’s competing with all of her ~super successful and talented~ sisters for attention and ends up athletic as hell and socially stunted and like…really aggressive and competitive and never quite satisfied with anything she’s doing. The only other ‘High Society’ kid who can put up with her is Norville “Shaggy” Rogers —an anxious stoner with freaky strict parents whose only friend prior to Daphne was his equally anxious rescue dog—Daphne’s been beating up Shaggy’s bullies for years. Then there’s student council dweeb Fred Jones who’s always been groomed to be this ‘leader’ by his parents and is always pressured to go to these youth leadership things and stuff and yeah he’s pretty good at directing group projects, but really Fred’s kind of shy and more interested in engineering, forensics and maybe criminal justice and he’s been friends with this chick Velma Dinkley in engineering club who’s brilliant but she’s also tactless, awkward and very bitterly sarcastic to cover up for the fact that her book smarts far outweigh her social skills.
So then there’s this mystery downtown and all five of them show up and there’s a mutual, “Oh hey it’s you: The weird kid from my school. What are you doing here?” and everyone goes around. Fred’s like, “Oh I knew the owners of this place and they said they might have to close down because of this ghost and I told Velma about it and Velma thinks we can get to the bottom of this.” And Shaggy’s like, “Scoob and I didn’t want to be home right now and we honestly didn’t know about the ghost but hey Daphne’s here so we feel safe enough to hang out and maybe Scoob can sniff out some clues or something.” And then everyone turns and looks at Daphne and Daphne’s just like, “I want to fight a fucking ghost.”
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