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Drops of Gold and Silver

A Tangled Fanfic

Prompts 241-255

“Animals and Companions”

241. Expressionism

“How do I look, my faithful companion? Is the face of Brock Thunderstrike enough to woo the fair Stalyan?”

The crab clicks from side to side.

Face-that-goes-with-a-shrug. Brock’s-flirty-face-with-a-tiny-moustache. Stalyan’s-face-with-an-ambiguous-expression. Hopeful-face.

Brock sighs.

“Well, you’re right, we can but hope for the best. ...my moustache isn’t that tiny, is it? It still looks good?”

Face-of-a-man-determined-to-bring-his-favourite-crab-some-table-scraps-regardless-of-how-the-evening-turns-out, says Hulk Lightningclaw pointedly.

242. Identical

It’s awkward. The last time they were in any close proximity to the other, they were trying to kill each other on the basis of a threat to the Dark Kingdom. The fact that this was about half an hour ago doesn’t make conversation less uncomfortable.

(At least it helps that they’re thinking the same thing.)

“So. Binturongs?” asks Adira, trying to break the ice.

“...yeah. They came up to visit the Tree,” Hector replies, still firmly tied up. “Some sort of quest, they said,” he adds, pointedly.

“Ah. And might I ask their names?” The binturongs are close by, a little weak, but not doing anything at the moment. (She likes to think it’s because they recognize her as a threat. It’s probably because Hector told them not to—yet. Maybe it’s both.)

“That one is Circe, and that one over there is Circe.”

“...you named them after each other?”

“Well whaddya know, you haven’t been completely corrupted by the Rocks after all,” Hector shoots back.

“You took the Spear of Demanitus out of the Great Tree and let yourself nearly be consumed by an ancient darkness. That was less than an hour ago. Realistically, you are not one to talk at the moment.”

“Hmph.”

“I’m not even going to ask how you can tell them apart.”

“If you can’t tell by now, Sister, you’ll never figure it out.”

But he called her Sister. That’s a more hopeful sign than she’s had all day.

243. Dissociate

Not-trusting Hubert, says Ruddiger, worriedly. False. Pretending-prey. Corrupt.

“Hey. Andrew actually talked to me when I was stuck in that cell. Told stories. Made sure the guards treated me okay. Made me feel like there was a reason to go on.”

Ruddiger’s quiet.

Hurt.

Varian takes a deep breath, in and out.

“You did too, bud. You did too. Just like you always do. I’m just saying, I know he committed treason and hurt people, but so did I. I mean, I hurt you, and you forgave me. I kidnapped the queen for stuff her daughter and husband did, and she forgave me. Maybe this is his redemption, like I’m trying to get mine. Maybe there’s some good in him.”

Good, maybe, the Raccoon persists, but not-all. Not-even-most, Hubert being-bad, using-good bad. Seeing mind, Varian, knowing issues. And why wanting meeting again? Alone? Not-trusting. Not-going-alone, Varian.

“Ruddiger, it’s okay. I’m not in the cell across from him anymore, and if the Captain brings me down from this room and locks the door I can go most places in this castle. I can leave Andrew whenever I want. Besides,” he adds sarcastically, “I’m a big kid now. I think I can handle one harmless man.”

Not-Eugene, Ruddiger replies, pointedly.

“You’re right,” snaps the alchemist. “He’s still here.”

244. Croak

“I’m calling him Hamuel,” says Edmund, proudly. “And he shall be my messenger and companion forevermore.”

Quirin looks down at the tiny chick. It turns a beady eye towards him, looking (like all baby ravens) mildly affronted by his existence and that of the universe in general, and makes a sound like a chipmunk coughing. (Blame Hector making him sit up with little Cressida at night for a month for that piece of information.)

“Um, Your Highness...please don’t take this the wrong way, but maybe let Her Highness name your children.”

Edmund looks mildly affronted. “Hamuel is a grand and noble name, I’ll have you know. Anyway, I did toy with ‘Inigo’ for a while, but he doesn’t look like an Inigo, does he?”

The baby raven cough-chirps again.

“See! He knows his name! He wishes to be known as Hamuel!” says the Prince, proudly.

Quirin could really use a drink about now.

245. Esteemed

A full workout, she and Owl working perfectly in sync, criminal (stand-in) properly dealt with—

“Woah!”

Yeah, that’s right.

“It’s Princess Rapunzel!”

...okay, maybe not.

I mean, she’s clearly happy to see the kids, and it’s good for someone physically denied human contact for most of their life, but...

Showing-up, cheering? asks Owl, nonplussed. Sneezing, medals?

Not helping, buddy.

246. Offering

“I just need you to stay right here, Vigor,” says Demanitus, quietly, from his deathbed. “It will all be over soon.”

Okay, says Vigor, gently patting his Boy’s withered, wrinkled hand. You not-worrying. You getting-better soon. I knowing it. Demanitus Demanitus.

He knows what his Boy is doing, and he doesn’t care one bit. Because Demanitus loves him, and “Demanitus” means Sacrifice, so “Vigor” can mean that too. And this way, they won’t ever be apart for the rest of Vigor’s life. He won’t have to watch his Boy die.

A single tear drips down the man’s cheek as he pushes the button.

247. Umsetztkaulderwelschlottenmitt

“Vun bite of zer tender fruit, unt you shall be able to understand the language of any unt every being on zer planet—but at a terrible, terrible cost! Vizin a period of five seconds, you must correctly say a vurd in zer new language zat someone addresses you in, or else you vill speak zer ozzer language instead of your own—fluently unt forever!”

Eugene pinches the bridge of his nose. “You know what? I’m not, I’m not even surprised at this point. How long does it take to wear off?”

Alfons looks thoughtful. “It’s a bit unclear...according to legend, zer tree’s grower, Borb, spent most of zer rest of her life screaming at seagulls. But zere may be a vay...”

Rapunzel neighs encouragingly. (Maximus has the decency to look embarrassed.)

248. Competition

“Snoozy! You came home!” cries Lance, overjoyed.

The sneezeweasel, happy to at last have found the nice food from back near the cliff-place, shoves him against a tree. Not to eat him, obviously, but to, you know, refrain from eating him, in a symbolic way.

And stops.

There’s a low growl in the air. Barely noticeable, but very much there.

Snoozy looks around at a tiny human with red hair and a dark jacket.

Mine, it says, with a Word that simultaneously awakens something close to genius-level intelligence in the sneezeweasel’s single-thread mind and causes enough utter terror overwhelming every synapse to make her wish it hadn’t.

Snoozy bolts.

249. Déjà-Vu

Cap knows Eugene and Owl don’t have to visit him, now that he’s no longer captain, and is grateful that someone still does.

What he doesn’t expect is for Eugene—and yes, it’s strange to think of the man that way, but he’s earned it—to plop down dramatically in the guest armchair and start massaging his temples.

Owl just looks smug.

“Cap, I’m going to ask you a very, very important question,” says his successor. “How did you put up with me?”

Flynn-Rider trouble? asks Owl, innocently.

“You are not helping.”

Cap, upon getting the full story, laughs harder than he has in months.

250. Inappropriate

It’s not often that Angry actually gets, well, really angry. Properly furious. Mostly it’s a kind of background anger at the world, chronic but low-level.

But where her family is involved...

Currently, through the combination of a well-placed kick and a punch and a clutched tunic, she’s managed to pull one of the village teens down to eye level.

“Make that joke about ‘walking the dog’ one more time. I dare you.”

251. News

Pascal squeals. Maximus faints.

“Is he...gonna be okay?”

He’ll be fine he’ll be fine can I listen? Pleeeease?

Rapunzel chuckles. “Up you come, pal.”

There’s a little Rapunzel in here! says the chameleon in awe, balanced on her stomach.

“Or a little Eugene. Or,” she smiles, “just a little bit of both.”

...regardless!

252. Stubborn

Not-going, says Fidella.

Needing a rider, little one, says Old Romulus. Being a guard? Many riders.

Not-Cassandra, not-rider, declares the young mare.

Old Romulus, in a fit of desperation, looks over to the girl in question. She can’t understand him very well, but she gets the message and goes to comfort her friend.

“Come on, girl, it won’t be that bad...”

Worrying too-weak. Back not-strong. Not-wanting hurt again.

“You won’t be. I promise,” soothes the girl. “And it won’t be for long. Just to get used to other riders. Romulus is right, guards need to all work together and be comfortable working together. And I trust this guy, he’s my friend. And hey, when you get in and I get in, we can keep riding together forever. Just us.”

...fine. Just one, though. And only because you trust him.

“You know, I can just come back later—”

“Get on the horse, Pete.”

253. Repetitive

WHAT ARE YOU DOING writes Olivia on a piece of paper, dragging her graphite nose across the page.

Hugo smiles. The new crystal array is working well, then—basic question-asking skills to complement the communication remix module. And all thanks to a network of glowing rocks about the same size as a fingertip, in a copper-and-invar body seven inches long. The only thing more amazing than his own genius is seeing it in action.

“It’s my alchemist’s code, Liv. Every alchemist knows to keep their notes a secret, so nobody can steal them.”

WHAT IS AN ALCHEMIST’S CODE writes the metal mouse.

“Sometimes it’s just switching up letters, sometimes people use a funny language or secret words. Me, I don’t even write in symbols. Just...well, these. And nobody's smart enough to crack the code but me.”

WHY ARE YOU DRAWING DOTS AND LINES

“That’s my alchemist’s code, Olivia, like I just said. I’m writing about you.”

WHAT ARE YOU WRITING ABOUT

Hugo sighs. “Mild issues with the curiosity array. I might need to reprogram you.”

WHAT MAKES YOU THINK IT ISN’T FUNCTIONING PERFECTLY

“...is it? You tell me.”

HOW SHOULD I KNOW IF YOU’RE THE ONE WHO ADDED IT

He chuckles. “You’re getting cheeky, you know.”

IS THAT A PROBLEM

It shouldn’t be possible for a jumble of gears and ratchets to look contrite and worried, but Olivia manages it all the same.

DID I DO SOMETHING WRONG

Hugo smiles again, and rubs the top of her head. “You're doing just fine, Liv. You're doing just fine.”

DO YOU KNOW THAT'S NOT A PROPER ANSWER

The alchemist rolls his eyes. "No, you didn't do anything wrong, Olivia."

THANK YOU

254. Thin

I had a peacock once, back in those earliest days. Oh, it was wonderful to have a companion who gave me the respect I deserved. But little Pygmalion died so soon afterwards, only forty years later. An accident, I am certain—and yet he seemed so…at peace, when he passed. As though it was a mercy.

I can't imagine how death could be peaceful, or life an agony. But then, I have the Sundrop. Pygmalion sustained himself somehow, and truly I'm not entirely certain how, but the clock wasn't turned back for him. If anything, from his last ramblings, the clock had simply slowed. Every second an hour, like a scrap of butter spread across a loaf of bread. My Pygmalion was strong and proud, but he just wasn't strong enough.

A pity, really. A true companion would have been nice, across these long, long years.

255. Instinct

I would just like to point out that I did not, in fact, have any particular choice in whom to or not to bite, given among other things the frantic nature of my escape and the unsteady hand which I was forced upon from the cramped and cruel shell within which your father imprisoned me—

Brock's staring.

Stalyan scoffs. "You have a crab."

"And you have…a spider?"

"She nearly killed my dad once, I squashed her flat, she survived, and, well, it's been kind of uphill from there."

Furthermore I would like to make quite clear that, regardless of previous affiliations with and natural tendencies employed by Stalyan's father, I have developed a sufficient understanding of the ethical considerations of my own nature and have no particular desire to inflict upon anyone for whom Stalyan bears considerable affection the disastrous consequences of my own unique abilities as a Kai spider, scientific classification viduata formidabilis, a member of the—

"Rapunzel, dear? Now is not the time."

"…why is your spider named Rapunzel?"

Aside from my considerable artistic talent, worthy adversaries deserve recognition, as I am certain you yourself are aware of, Brock, given what appears to be more than a passing similarity to Stalyan's previous romantic attachment, which appears to have been a personal choice from before meeting Stalyan and therefore a symbol of your own respect for the individual in question—

"Because she's about as capable of reading the room and keeping her mouth shut as the human Rapunzel. And is apparently as impossible to squish."

"Wait, wait…Rapunzel as in seventy-foot-long blond hair Rapunzel?"

"You've met her?"

Brock blushes. "She tied me up in it after her boyfriend knocked me out."

Stalyan smirks. "Yep. That sounds like her. And him, for that matter. So…" she leans closer. "You like being tied up?"

I should like to raise for your consideration at this time that as a method of flirting, Stalyan, this is a supremely uninspired tactic, and this is coming from a member of a species where we frequently consume the males alive during courtship—

"One more word and it's back under the swatter."

You cannot kill that which has mastered death, says Rapunzel, smugly.

"And here I thought Hulk was crazy…"

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