Who: The Queen of Hearts herself, and one unlucky attendant. When: Saturday morning. Where: The Hearts Castle What: THERE ARE DUCKS IN THE DUCK POND. GET THEM OUT. Rating/Warnings: The Queen is a raving lunatic, for the most part. But other than implied threats, nothing, really.
The Queen's Rose Garden was the most elaborate, most red, and possibly most uninhabited place in the vicinity of her castle. Uninhabited- to a point where birds were occasionally shot down upon trying to enter by one of her trained archers, red, heart-tipped arrows spearing straight through their little chests and knocking the little bastards out of the sky. The birdbath, and the little pond were pristine crystal, not marred by little bird feet or the shuffling of wings.
She wouldn't have it any other way.
Today was a day for reflection, the number 200 hanging heavy over everything, the whole world weighed down with roses, and artfully decaying chess pieces. She'd planned every minute detail, every statue, every rose, was hand-picked and then placed by one of her many cowering servants. She lorded over each tiny little ribbon, a heavy iron scepter in her hand ready to knock down anyone who wouldn't do what she said and what she wanted. She took no suggestions, had no budget, and disregarded even the most basic notion of realism, because this was her celebration, and she'd cut every single head from every set of shoulders in the kingdom if she had to to get exactly what she wanted.
But today, was a day just for her. The celebrations would be coming later tonight, and she'd micromanaged every detail of that as well, down to what color the candles burning on her dinner table would be. Red, of course, but a very distinct shade of deep rose that played off of the creamy dusk-red that coated each and every perfect napkin. The amount of control she had thrilled her quite terribly. It wasn't any more control than she was accustomed to, but the notion of the celebrations to come, and the memory of her sound victory, left her more burningly passionate about her domination than she'd been in a while.
She took a moment to herself that particular morning, still in what she considered her undergarments, a long nightgown that still managed to cling to her figure in soft, white curves, with a pouf of lace against her neck and wrists. It was a garment that any peasant would be lucky to be able to touch, let alone actually wear. The red ribbon dancing throughout, circling the most perfect little heart cutout right below her neck was the finest silk, and the brightest shade of red, and the whole thing was hers. Her hair tied up in loose red tendrils, her eyes sparkling blue as they gazed out into her little Rose Garden.
Not a single thing could mar this moment for her. She reveled in the feeling of expensive fabrics against her skin, lovingly admired herself and everything she'd ever done, and found her Garden just as peaceful and regal as-
Quack.
Quack? She got up, and walked to the little balcony overlooking the garden. She must have been hearing things. She braved the outdoors in her nightie, and folded her arms as that noise resonated again.
It wasn't really a Quack. It was more of a wenk. Or a honk.
But it was in her garden. The sound of splashing water made it entirely too evident, and her face turned a shade of red that would have brought jealousy to the roses themselves. Ducks in her perfect crystal pond. Ducks on her perfect emerald grass. Ducks rustling up her roses.
Ducks.
Ducks.
She immediately stormed back inside, white nightdress catching the wind of her movements, nails plucking irritated holes into expensive lace cuffs. The first attendant she saw was the first victim of her instantaneous anger. She grasped the significantly taller, much heavier male by the collar, and all but pulled him to the ground, her bony hands cold against the scruff of his beard. He looked at her for a moment, realizing how small everything about her actually was. A woman in her nightie, and then she had him groveling on the ground and her chin high above him, the heaving of her chest threatening, as if she were some wild animal about to devour him.
"KNEEL." She barked her first command, and he did so, bowing to one knee as he'd been instructed. She relinquished her grip, and brought her arms back into her own space, close to her sides though her fingers crawled to hurt him again.
"Yes, my Queen. How may I serve you?" he offered, his head bowed. Her features had been so lovely- for a second, but now she was practically snarling at him. He stared at the ground, waiting for her next words, which were bound to either be his death- or some kind of sadistic task, both of which came in spades around the castle.
"There are ducks in my duck pond and I want them out."
She grit her teeth, practically hissing each word out as if it was meant to bite him. Ducks in the duck pond. Right. It took a moment for him to comprehend- but that moment was much too long for the impatient Queen, who immediately, loudly, spat for him to get moving, her face lit with red and her finger pointing accusingly towards the door which he was supposed to start heading towards.
"Go!" she spat. "And if you set one foot in that garden yourself, I'll have your head taken off and served to me on a platter."
The attendant made it some distance down the hallway from her, scuttling just as fast as his form would carry him, before she called after him again. Her voice was like that of a screeching hawk, piercing his ears no matter how far he'd gotten. The urge to cringe was so strong, but she was still watching him, so he fought it all back until she was quite finished.
"I didn't tell you you could stand!" her voice rang down the hallway. He knew better than to question her, and instead, dropped to his knees again and began the awkward shuffle to get to the door, one knee in front of the other.