tangled masquerade one-shot snippet
as requested by @counterpunches, originally prompted by @zombeesknees:
He finds her outside, sitting on the stone ledge of the balcony railing, bare feet twisting nervously against one another. Her hood is down, the mask lowered to hang around her neck; she’s murmuring to Pascal in a low voice—he can’t make out what she’s saying from here.
“Mind if I cut in?” he asks, for the second time that night.
“Not at all!” she says without turning around, gently lifting Pascal off her lap and placing him to the side, next to her shoes. “Hi, Eugene.”
He smiles, removing his mask. “How’d you know it was me?”
She snorts in laughter and gives him a knowing look, and he swears her creepy little frog raises an eyebrow at him. (Do chameleons even have eyebrows?) To her credit, however, she diplomatically allows, “None of the other gentlemen of court would have asked for Pascal’s permission.”
“That’s because the other gentlemen of court are sane,” he mutters under his breath, easily vaulting over the railing to sit next to her. She nudges him with her hip—I heard that—and he rolls his eyes. “Oh, fine. Good sir,” he says, mock-bowing to Pascal, “might I have a moment alone with Her Highness?”
Pascal gives him an appraising look, then—with a shrug—hops off the railing and scurries back into the ballroom, leaving them in peace. Rapunzel laughs, and when Eugene looks back up at her, his expression softens. “Thought we were supposed to wait for midnight,” he says, lifting his chin to indicate her absent mask.
“We are. But I dunno… I guess I wanted to be just Rapunzel for a little while. I was going to come back.”
“Maybe. I guess.” She hugs herself, palms splayed over her arms.
“Hey. It’s okay. It’s a lot to take in.”
She smiles at him in relief, as if she’s grateful that he’d validate her. (He doesn’t think about why, because when he does, he gets mad, and there’s no one to direct that rage at anymore. Just dust and an abandoned tower.) “It’s just that… all of this, this whole week, the festival and the celebrations… it’s all for me.”
He’s very familiar with the look in her eyes—guilt, and building panic—and immediately moves to intercept. “Whoa there. Let’s not get too self-involved there, princess, there’s a lot happening worth celebrating. Like me, for example.”
“I… stole the crown. Without my life of crime, none of this would be happening. So really, all of this is just a party to reinforce my bad habits. ‘I’m a scoundrel, hooray!’” He waves his arms in the air, close-fisted, and she giggles at him.
“I like the sound of that. Scoundrel.”
“It’s a good word. I’m full of them.”
“You’re full of something, alright.”
His jaw drops open, because where did that come from? Someone not-him has been teaching Rapunzel how to sass back, and he’s a little jealous.
