winnie and faust are in a (boredpursuit) wrote in doorslogs, @ 2013-06-24 09:24:00 |
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Entry tags: | door: tales, faust, rose red, snow white |
Who: Rose, Snow and Faust
Where: The rundown Farmhouse
When: Recently!
What: Cleaning the farmhouse
Warnings: none!
The farmhouse was a disaster. The stone walls were mostly in place, but the thatch roof had collapsed and, save one protected corner, the entire place was open to the elements. There was a long-untended field beside the farmhouse, and what remained of a wooden barn stood in the distance. The woods, which had been tamed back when the now-dead family were in residence, were overgrowing and threatening to claim what remained of the farmhouse. And Rose, who arrived before Snow did, just stared and looked upon the scene, trying to decide whether she should just give up and return home.
The cottage in the Witching Wood had been abandoned for a while, but guarding spells had kept it relatively intact over the years. This was a challenge, and Rose wasn't sure if she was insulted, or if she wanted to claim the challenge in order to show the Beast that she didn't need help or protection. If she made something of this place, what wonderful proof that would be of her own resilience.
But none of that changed the fact that the place was dreadful.
Rose's copper hair was tucked back beneath a red bandana, and she wore rose overalls and a white t-shirt beneath, her feet in work boots and nothing of the lady that had lived in the Beast's castle in evidence. She was as Mundane as could be, standing there, if not for the magic that made the air bitter-green around her. The grass swayed toward her feet, and the trees in the nearby wood shook their branches and rustled their leaves. She settled her hands on her hips, and she narrowed her golden eyes. It wasn't cheating if she got help, so long as that help didn't come from the Beast. Right?
“It’s a dump,” Snow declared upon arrival. The way to the Homelands was easier each time and now that she’d encountered several residents, the need for subterfuge and her cloak was left behind at home. Dressed in jeans and a simple blue flannel shirt, a pair of black work boots and a familiar hat in her right hand, she stepped up next to her sister. Her free hand tucked a stray lock of hair back over her ear, the rest pulled into a low ponytail, a frown on her face as she looked over the farmhouse.
“He thought this was a gift?” It was clear how well she thought of that.
"Maybe he was making a statement," Rose said, bow lips turned down in a sulk. She was feeling sorry for herself, standing there, and she needed to decide which way to flounce, but she gave herself one second of feeling terrible. Feeling terrible helped with decisions about flouncing. Flounce forward? Flounce away? "He said it needed work," she added, but this more than needed work. Either way, she realized, standing there, that walking away would be running. Rose didn't run. Well, except for that one time with the merchant, but that wasn't important just then. She wasn't going to be bested by a nightmare of a farmhouse. She'd make the wolf work. It would be good for him to get aching muscles that made him less homicidal. And she might be able to get Draco to agree to come sweat a little. She smiled.
Rose turned, and she looked at her sister. "Imagine how quickly we could fix it if we invite all kinds of people to help," she said, golden eyes twinkle-mischief bright. "Imagine how much the Beast would love them traipsing all over his land." Her smile brightened, and she moved toward the farmhouse, which suddenly had so much more promise.
Snow rolled her eyes at her sister’s teasing, though it was without most of the malice she would have done otherwise. There was some twisted satisfaction to be found in riling the beast, she supposed. “Is there someone else besides Faust and I that you can call?” The list she quickly drummed up was small, and she didn’t know if any would willingly jump at the chance to help clean anything.
Following her sister, she tossed Faust’s hat on to keep her hands free as they walked to the farmhouse. “What shall we tackle first?” She wondered idly if Rose would be using her newfound magic and Snow looked at her hands. Well, the old fashioned way wasn’t bad either.
"Draco, and my new wolf," Rose said, walking into the farmhouse and wandering through the dirt and ruined furniture to check on the hearth. "Robin, and the one that calls himself R.B.," she added, intentionally not mentioning Bigby, not if Faust was going to be in attendance. "We could invite everyone in the door. It could be party," she suggested, mischief in her eyes. She wouldn't go that far, but inviting a handful of people would certainly make the work quicker, especially Draco, with his magic. She would even let him bring Harry, maybe. She was about to suggest they tackle the hearth, since a fire would be important to keep the place warm as the day went on, but Faust's hat made her stop, and she smiled smiled widely.
"My Hat!" Rose cooed, pulling off Snow's hair and summarily plopping it atop her own bandana-covered copper.
“Faust’s hat,” Snow corrected, plucking the hat off her sister’s head. For a moment she was at a loss as to what to do with it, needing her hands free but no where to keep it safe. In the end she settled it back on her head, giving Rose a look before she would try to steal it again. “I said I’d give it to him and you’d just keep it.” She wagged a finger at her to make her point before turning to the hearth, her mind of a similar assessment.
“Hearth, first,” she decided before tossing over her shoulder as she began to work, “and it’s hardly a party if we’re cleaning. No one would go to that party.” A beat passed. “You left the wolf at the cottage? By himself? And who is this R.B?” She had certainly never heard of him and her usual worry over her sister manifested itself the only way she knew how: with a scowl.
"Faust would be disappointed if I didn't try to steal my Hat through unsavory means," Rose said, lunging for the hat again after Snow turned for the hearth. "Don't make me play dirty!" she warned, and the rustle of the nearby forest was loud enough to carry through the stones and uncovered roof. She was all smiles as she reclaimed the hat and resettled it upon her head triumphantly. "The wolf isn't going to do anything to the cottage except sleep in front of the fire and lick his balls, Snow," she said knowingly. "I didn't leave any food inside," she added, because she sometimes thought she was a very, very bright witch. "And I don't know who R.B. is. He's new in the book, but he seemed very interested in the wolf," she said, crouching in front of the hearth and trying to decide if she could get the vines to clean it for her. She glanced up through the chimney, and she decided to risk it.
There was more rustle, and the sound of vines coming closer from outside. Silence, and then more and more, and dirt rained from the chimney. Rose frowned. "I think it's blocked," she said, before glancing over at Snow. She considered telling her sister that Faust had cursed the stupid wolf in the first place, but she held her tongue. After all, she was matchmaking here.
"Rose," she chastised at the description of the wolf, her eyes going skyward as she rest her palm of the stone of the hearth, then clapping her hands to rid herself of the dirt. She leaned down to try and crane her head to look up at what her sister was seeing.
"Can you break through the blockage?" She knocked on the stone that rumbled with the sound of movement of the vines with one hand. The other snatched the hat back, perching it on her head precariously. "What sort of questions was he asking about the wolf?"
The ground suddenly took on the scent of black tea and golden amber, smooth and bitter. “You really should stop calling him wolf.” Faust’s voice sounded behind them, accented by the crunch of footsteps and a white horse snorting outside of the barn. He was dressed for summer and had the kind of squint on his face that suggested he was vulnerable to the great outdoors without his hat. His hat that was on top of Snow’s head, which pleased him to see it there. Faust smiled and didn’t reach for it. “He’s a man now and the sooner we all start treating him as one, the sooner he’ll stop scratching for fleas.” It was similar to the tune of what he pleaded for Quasimodo. Mercy, humanity and all the quirks that most people found tiresome.
“Let me take a look.” He tugged at Rose’s elbow, edging closer to look up the chimney and flipping through the large, worn spellbook in his hand with burnt, torn and stained pages. “I saw you writing to that RB fellow on the journals. He sounds like a slaver.” Faust ran his fingers over a couple lines of ancient script, lifted his other hand and muttered something like a backwards hymn. “Move back a little, please.” Faust began retreating himself as a strong, twisting wind startled his horse with a shrieking neigh, blew past them in a loud fury and shot straight up the chimney to carry the dirt off into the forest, accidentally ripping out some vines in the process.
Rose turned at the first hint of the familiar scent, magic and musk and something entirely Faust. She didn't need to hear his voice to know it was him. "He didn't give me a name," she said, a hint of defensiveness in her voice. "And the white horse is very dramatic, Faust. It's a nice touch," she said, troublesome grin and a happy flush to her cheeks. She noticed the look Faust gave his hat, perched as it was atop Snow's head, and she noticed that he didn't try to reclaim said hat. She sighed, giving the hat up as a lost cause. The things she did for her sister. She hoped Snow appreciated it.
Rose moved when he tugged, but she gave him a thwap as she did. "Don't show off and get bossy," she told him, but there was a smile to the comment, no anger and only the kind of frustration that came with being around someone familiar and well-liked. "He didn't sound like a slaver. He sounded uninformative, which I much prefer to sound cannibalistic or homicidal," she said, though she had no strong opinions about R.B. herself. He was simply someone new, and the woods seemed filled with new someones lately. The witch in her moved back when he cautioned, and she perched on the empty window sill, a safe ways away from the work on the chimney.
When the magic flooded the old Farmhouse, Rose clapped delightedly. She loved the fury and bitter tang it gave to the air. Maybe she shouldn't like it, and maybe she should fear it, but she didn't; she thought it was amazing. "You have to teach me how to do that," she said, glancing toward Snow after she made the suggestion. The glint in her eyes turned from pleasure to mischief, and she scooted back until she could climb out the other side of the window. "I'm going to go look how far the land goes. You two keep working," she suggested, her true motivations very poorly hidden indeed, a copper matchmaker minx eager to leave the couple alone.
Snow was distracted with this talk of R.B. being a slaver and Rose’s complete nonchalance about the prospect, unsure of who to believe since neither her sister nor Faust were particularly paragons of caution and scowling at the backs of both. The expression broke as wind ripped past them, nearly taking off Faust’s hat before Snow pressed it back to her hair, only relinquishing her tight hold on it when the howl died down.
The look Rose tossed her was met and then she quickly looked away, a slight shrug in her shoulders. Magic was fine there in the Homelands and she knew better than to argue with either of them what to do. Instead she surveyed the rest of the building, only turning back when Rose announced she was leaving. “What? Wa—” she started, having an idea of what her sister was trying to do but a second too late, watching her figure retreat out the window.
“Honestly, ‘seeing how far the land goes,’” Snow sighed before turning back to Faust, catching a glimpse of the dusty, dirty farmhouse over his shoulder. “You wouldn’t by chance be able to conjure a broom?” The slightest hint of a smile fluttered away as she remembered one last thing. “Oh, you’ll probably want this,” she said, tugging off his hat and holding it out to him. “I’m sure you will have a better time of keeping it away from Rose.”
Faust gave Rose a look that was about as stern as he could be (which wasn’t very much) and snapped his ancient book shut. It was just like him to enjoy meddling with other people and disapprove of those who did the same to him. Still, he found it amusing as Rose herself tended to be and chuckled once the redhead was out of sight. “I hope I’m not interrupting valuable sister bonding time.” Faust watched her offer the hat back, paused and then accepted it. It took him a moment to adjust the hat on his head until he was happy with it and then smiled down at her. “A broom. Yes.” Faust was like any lazy magician. He never liked cleaning his shop the old fashioned way and making Quasimodo do it felt like slaving the poor man. So, he had his magic do the work for him with the justification that it was good practice. This should have come to no surprise to anyone.
With a pop a broom appeared near the hearth and began sweeping on its own. “I wonder who lived here before. If they abandoned the place or the Beast ate them whole.” Faust mused, popping a couple more brooms as he inspected the farmhouse carefully. It needed more work than some simple sweeping, but Faust enjoyed a good challenge. He put his hands on his hips and looked up at the broken straw roof, trying to figure out how he could magically mend it without so much as breaking a sweat.
“No, no, I think we’ve bonded as much as we could possibly ever.” She and Rose hadn’t completely made amends, she thought, but the understood each other more than they had had in the past few centuries. That was fine enough. “Besides, you’re not the one who crawled out the window to stop whatever bonding that could happen.” She smiled faintly back at Faust as he turned back to her. “You look better than we did with it on,” she declared, giving him a quick once over before realizing she’d done so and turning away to watch his handiwork.
When she’d asked for a broom, however, she wasn’t expecting it to start sweeping on its own. She had just started to walk around him once it appeared before stopping as the broom started to sweep across the room. “All of them? No wonder he’s so big. I suppose any claw marks on the floor would reveal our answer,” she replied idly, a soft hint of a smirk at the corners of her mouth as they easily joked about eating people. Pointing to the brooms that were popping up and sweeping the floor, she tossed him a mock scowl. “I had intended to do that the old fashion way, you know.” She joined him as he looked up to the thatched roof, her scowl a little more true. “We’ll have to pull some of it down and fill anew before putting it back up. Think you can give me a good push?” He was quite tall, after all.
“I’ve had practice wearing it,” Faust smiled, wondering if she had lost that girl he had met in the dream castle or it was more of a careful suppression. He liked the hints she was still buried there under all the ice and liked it even more when it was unexpected. The topic of the Beast nearly vanished his smile, even though he was the one who brought the cursed thing up. Faust had promised to help cure the Beast, though Rose would be doing all the work. It was a glorified chaperoned event and he was sure everyone was aware of it. “I could always ask the next time I see him. Which might be sooner than I’d like. Though, I did leave my fiddle there...” Faust trailed off, watching two of the brooms bump into each other, scurry and then bow as if they were apologizing. Even his magic brooms were polite. He had known witches who made rocks angry or wizards who made teapots forgetful, all reflections of their caster’s personality. These brooms were curious, friendly. Already slowly wandering from their duties of cleaning to investigate Snow or the farmhouse.
“Pull it down.” He repeated after her, making a disapproving noise at the thought of using his hands for anything except leafing through a book. “You don’t know what could be living in that straw, Snow. Mountain cats, birds, giant spiders.” Faust knelt a little anyway, letting her boost up before holding onto her legs and wobbling a little bit. He wasn’t a weak man and Snow wasn’t all the heavy, but this would have been a perfect time to experiment with invisible steps or propulsion magic. “Be careful,” He strained. “Some of those beams look nearly rotted through. They’ll have to be replaced as well, I’m sure. Or we could burn the place down and call it an accident.” He suggested and the brooms gave a collective shudder.
The brooms peered at her – a strange effect as they lacked the eyes – and Snow peered back, watching as they scurried and bowed and ran around the farmhouse. “Do you make your fiddle play itself too?” She couldn’t help the jibe, though it remained goodnatured, and came with a smile. Hearing the incredulity of in his voice made the grin – perhaps it was better to call it a smirk – grace her features immediately, a hint of a laugh that was hidden under his disapproving noise. She supposed she shouldn’t have been shocked that Faust wasn’t into hard labor. He was a magician, convenience at his very finger tips, but still it surprised too quickly to be disguised. “Yes pull it down. With our hands, even.” She raised pale fingers to wave them at him before letting them come down to rest on his shoulders as he hoisted her up.
Her hands gripped the wooden beams tightly once she found it, feeling that strain and wobble in his grip and knowing she had to compensate. Arms over the beams she quickly tried pulling the thatching down and dropping them to the floor with a soft sound. Grasping one nearby panel she pulled it down as well, watching it plummet to the ground with a satisfied smile.
“Almost done,” she declared, just one more portion left and she leaned forward, weight upon the rotted beam, intent fingers reaching for the straw. But true to his observation, the wood buckled under the weight, snapping and breaking. The sudden absence of support and her own shock made her tip through and forward, a sharp sound of surprise escaping her as she fell.
Faust scoffed playfully and then paused, making a noise like he just figured something out. “You know, I never actually got to play that fiddle. We were all kicked out before I had the chance.” He decided, whimsically, that the real benefit of returning to the castle with Rose would be the opportunity to get his fiddle back. If the workshop it was in wasn’t already destroyed. Well, maybe he’d have time to make another. What a nice diversion it would be from the squabbling, complaining and shouting that he was certain the Beast and Rose would do right from the start. He couldn’t help asking himself why he wasn’t just going along with it, he suggested the entire trip. Was running an apothecary so boring?
The brooms below frantically tried to keep up with her, working together in formations. Faust smiled proudly, which made a couple of them a tad too overzealous with the sweeping. And, he almost missed her fall if he hadn’t heard something crack and snap. Faust’s hat tilted back as he looked up, threatening to fall off his head. “Snow!” He yelled, alarmed and without thinking he then shouted some kind of chant and she could feel a cool pressure on her back that had the sensation of floating on top of water. The spell was unpracticed, however and after a moment of hanging in the air, she tumbled again and Faust reached out to catch her, messily falling into one of the piles of ruined straw. Laughing loudly, hat missing, long legs lost in the piles of hay and arms awkwardly wrapped around her.
Snow made a soft sound, something akin to a scoff or a laugh but still smothered between her pursued lips, trying to concentrate on her task at hand. “Do you even know how to play the fiddle?” The tease came out soft, on the tail end of angry hum as she pulled at the stubborn thatching. It seemed there was a spell for just about everything, why not musical talent?
Of course that thought was short lived, as the stone floor came barreling closer to her with her descent. The next moment there was something at her back, a cool sensation that held her up and her heart nearly leap with joy at being saved. And thumped again in horror as the spell dissipated and she fell once more, this time landing atop Faust. A breath exploding from her lungs as they hit the hay, moments ticking past as she tried to get her bearings and found it a futile effort. He was laughing and so was she, an incredulous sound, a happy sound, glad to be alive and confused that she was still alive.
“Ooof,” came her sigh, mingled with her laugh and hint of bruising. She turned her face up from where she half sprawled on Faust’s chest to look up at the hole in the roof and where she’d fallen. “We’re never doing that again.” Sitting up finally, she pulled some stray straw from her hair and looked back at Faust, cheeks flushed and flustered as she surveyed him for any damage. “Are you okay?” His hat was missing and she spied it, discarded atop the straw, and she leaned over him to grab it and return it to its place, perched on his head.
Faust’s smiles were always fearlessly genuine as most self-proclaimed wizards tended to be, but the ruddy blush in her cheeks made him almost want to hide it. He had this sensation before, during the dream, where he appreciated Snow’s moment of brevity so much that he was afraid to ruin it himself. So, his own expression turned almost embarrassed, sternly trying to hide any kind of charm she had over him and failing. He quickly attributed it to the faulty spell. “I don’t know. I think if we tried it once or twice more, I could perfect that spell.” He lightly pulled some straw from her hair and grinned when his tricky hat was placed back on top his head.
“Perfectly fine.” He rubbed the back of his neck and tilted his head back and forth. “Are you okay? I could have sworn I heard you laugh.” Faust gave her an expression like they were sharing gossip. Teasing and overly polite to really drive it home. “I really should start a bartering system. A little gold in exchange for not telling a soul I saw you crack a smile?”
His once or twice more garnered A Look, though without much of its usual ice, tossed over her shoulder and half obscured by the veil of dark hair and hay. It softened only as he pulled the straw from her hair and disappeared completely once she settled the hat back upon his head.
His observation about her laugh, even with its tease, made her lips press into an, almost embarrassed, line. “I think you’re imagining things,” she countered, though the flush in her cheeks chose to stay and belie her words. “Besides,” she said, rolling back up to her knees and moving to stand, “what would need all that gold for?” She tucked her straw free hair over her ear as her other hand reached down to help him up. “With magic you could have all that you would need or want.” A beat. “Not that I have much gold to barter with.” Another pause. “Not that you saw or heard anything that needed to be bribed with.”
It was hard to keep her serious stare when they had been – literally, thank you – rolling in the hay, but if anyone was determined to, it was Snow. She had, after all, quite a reputation to uphold.
Faust didn’t bother holding back another laugh at her cracking serious expression and took her hand. “You’re right, I have no need for gold.” He admitted almost sadly, as if he were caught in some elaborate lie and slowly got to his feet. Faust took a moment to find his balance like a man on stilts (he was after all very tall) and looked down at her. “I suppose I’ll keep guarding your secret for free.” Faust teased, his smile turning into something more appreciative and he turned towards the farmhouse entrance.
“Let’s go find Rose and make her help with the rest.” He waited for Snow to fall in step with him. “The last time I checked, I wasn’t her slave wizard.”