Who: Zelda & Midna What: Things get complicated during a Fashion Week event When: Tonight Where: Shmancy Hotel Rating/Warnings: Touches on assassination plots, language Status: Complete!
Fashion Week was as hoity-toity as the announcements and invitations promised. All in the sparkling hotel with floors so shiny you could practically eat off of them, the cocktail party to kick off the festivities was where people went to see and also be seen - there were violinists in a corner, popping champagne corks, tinkling laughter as background noise, and enough fancy suits and dresses and shoes to potentially feed many third-world countries with the profits from sales. Events like these were Midna’s bread and butter when she ran with the rich and famous, but since her fall from grace she’d blended into the shadows - she discovered, now more than ever, that she fit in better there. Coming back out into the old scene was strange, but for Zelda, it was well worth it.
Her dress was a lovely shade of eggplant, one-shouldered; it hugged her silhouette with a flexible sort of fit, and rippled one on side in a sassy kind of way. The choice of outfit also exposed the tribal tattoos on her arms, but was long enough to cover the thigh bands and the ink wrapped around her other leg as well. It felt a little weird being so exposed (ironic, considering she was technically a stripper), but fashion was fashion, after all - and they’d be seeing even weirder on the catwalk later in the week for sure.
“So, don’t let me get in your way or anything,” she said to her plus one, her pretty date, and snagged a flute of champagne from a tray carried by some garçon walking by. Thanks, dude. “If you gotta schmooze and talk about shoes. I can just hang on your arm and look pretty if you want.” Preferably to not embarrass Zelda - no, Midna could handle herself. She wanted things to go well tonight.
There had been a dress worthy of a night like this, tucked away deep inside Zelda’s trunk of altered dresses. Sewing was a skill that served many a purpose; it wasn’t as if she could always afford to buy new things, and most of her wardrobe had been thrifty finds with a couple of her personal alterations to make them fit and look new. Like polishing an old stone back to its luster, in a way. It was a simple cocktail ensemble; vintage with white lace from her cleavage up her neck, primrose yellow hair softly tousled with curls, and a the makeup was mostly all natural tones with hints of smokiness shadowing sapphire eyes.
And those shoes brought it all together, a recommendation from none other than Ms. Cendrillon (soon to be Mrs) herself. Despite the obvious pressure of being around the high class, this particular princess didn’t seem nerve-wracked. Calm, collected, with smooth people skills - the royal diplomat in her would shine tonight. With Midna on one arm, and a glass of bubbly sweet Cristal in the other hand, it was going fairly well.
Zelda was actually excited, and her clutch purse was full of Shoegasm business cards. “I’m aware,” she told the redheaded beauty beside her with a chuckle, squeezing her hand. “Can’t I at least leisurely appreciate the prettiness? I don’t get to have you with me like this often.”
It was actually fun to get dolled up for a date like this, Midna appreciated it - somewhat of an aficionado with hair and makeup herself, she’d enjoyed concocting a dramatic and sophisticated ‘evening’ look, something with a shimmery champagne-colored eye palette that gave the crimson peepers kind of a glint (she didn’t bother to hide them) and also strategically putting in sparkly hair clips to complete the ensemble. But she was also a little nervous, for some reason she couldn’t exactly pin down. Maybe it was because this was her first event ‘in the public eye’ since she’d essentially gone into hiding, and ditched her family to avoid shameful backlash for them, a few years ago. Now, there was no telling who she would run into.
“Appreciate away, at a leisurely pace,” she chuckled, returning the hand squeeze. “Soon you’ll probably be coming to a lot of these, huh? Like when everything gets settled with the company.” Midna would be optimistic about things - it was literally the only aspect of her life where she’d let a little bit of light in, but she believed in this. For Zelda. And she had faith in the newly-dubbed Geek Squad. Even if Impa hadn’t exactly taken the news about their endeavors calmly.
A lot of - what? Zelda was in mid-sip, cheeks full of champagne, and it wasn’t the most graceful moment for her - it sat on her tongue too long, the taste turning sour. She painfully swallowed while cringing, and her fingers did funny motions in the air up until the moment where she could breathe again. “Let’s focus on getting the thing back first,” she choked, carefully wiping the edges of her lips to not smudge the gloss. “I have all the knowledge of running a medieval inspired elven kingdom and not the slightest clue about running a multi-million dollar business across the seas, I’m not entirely sure I’ll know what to do with it.”
Likely, once the dust settled and everything was (hopefully) returned back to the rightful heir, she’d have someone qualified take the reigns on actual operations. Accountants to analyze all the assets, client accounts, figure out where things stood financially and then pick it apart to make sure all the bad apples were weeded out. Being a bit more stable when it came to money would be nice, but she had trouble with the idea of even going back to a lavish sort of lifestyle - like what her childhood had been, before it was bathed in blood. This was supposed to be justice for her father. Justice for Impa. Once that was accomplished, she could actually say she was content.
A couple trays passed with several h’orderves; mini-kabobs, bacon-wrapped shrimp, itty-bitty quiches, other cute tiny finger foods worthy of a Pinterest photoshoot. “Anyway, honestly, you’re more equipped than I am when it comes to networking with these folks - is there anyone you recognize?” Someone famous, someone she used to know? A little voice of paranoia nagged her in the corner of her mind, hoping something of Midna’s past wouldn’t come back with ill intentions and bite them in the ass.
Midna shrugged, busying herself with nabbing some delicious munchies, just a couple quiches, things gathered on a cocktail napkin so she could pick at them. She tended to pick at things rather than eat full-blown meals, but still, put a prime rib dinner in front of her and she’d chow down - the girl liked to eat. “You’ll figure it out, Z. Geek Squad’s with you ‘til the very end,” she promised, and as she was taking a bite of the spinach-and-goat-cheese thing, her roving red eyes took a gander around the room as people mingled, and the crowds shifted, revealing other faces and blocking others.
“Hmmmm...let’s see.” She began going through them all out loud, quietly of course, because the more she let herself focus, the more people she did recognize. “Coke addict, closet lesbian, has a furry fetish - “ Yep, ticking down the line, no big deal, then all of a sudden...
Midna choked on her drink.
He looked more human in this life, obviously. Didn’t resemble a creepy monstrosity from her nightmares, cloaked in dark armor and garb that shielded his features, but she’d still know him anywhere. He was pale, very pale, long face and narrow nose, pursed lips that were thin and seemed to add something disapproving and sinister to his expression.
“Zant,” she coughed, covering her mouth with her hand after she tossed her food into the trash, suddenly losing her appetite, and then knocked back the rest of the champagne in one fell swoop.
And as if on cue, that little voice of paranoia became a full-blown screech in her ears when Midna had said his name. Zant. Out of every single person her ladyfriend knew and could have possibly encountered (among the druggie, the carpet muncher, and Periwinkle the II), it was him.
Zelda didn’t know what Zant looked like, who among the throng of fashion royalties he was, but she quickly sidestepped and blocked Midna from most wandering eyes, bare back to the rest of the world, and followed suit with her example of simply chugging the remainder of her fizzy drink - all while wishing she had something stronger burn down her throat. Both empty flutes were set on a bus boy’s tray in passing. Now to just look like they were still blending in and weren’t on the alert - two casual no-name ladies having a good time. “Last people I saw you sort of look at was the man with a feather boa and a man with a needle nose - is he any of those?”
“Needle nose,” she confirmed, trying not to hyperventilate. But yep, that was Zant - she looked at him, red eyes about boring into his form, and she could see him as he was back in the Twilight Realm. A soulless nobody, a disgruntled madman with a bone to pick with the Light World for the oppression and shunning of his people - and sure, maybe he had a point. Maybe Midna understood why he was so angry, and how he’d gone off the rails thanks to a literal dark exile. But mass genocide and sucking Ganon’s dick to be granted too-powerful magic wasn’t the answer.
She swallowed hard. “He looks like a snake, doesn’t he?” And he did, he had very reptilian, nearly alien-like features. Though it wasn’t as bad as it was in the dreamworld. Fuck... “What are we going to do?” she asked, and she hated how desperate and scared even just his presence made her feel. But Midna didn’t want this to come to blows, not at some classy event Zelda was supposed to be at for her job - and it wasn’t like she had anything to fight Zant with anyway. No skills in that regard, no magic. Just a washed-up B-List celebrity, like usual. Super useless.
One day, she would kill that man. And probably wouldn’t even experience a lick of guilt about it.
Midna’s distress was clear, and it was odd, from someone who battled most things with relentless snark and a toothy sort of grin. It was one thing to hear what he’d done, what sort of effect he had on her, and it was an entirely different one to witness it for herself.
Eerily calm, Zelda coiled an arm around her waist to tuck her close, stormy blues fiercely narrowed. Failed me again, visions. Tsk. “It’s okay,” she whispered to soothe, sparing a brief glance over her shoulder. A close glimpse of the Usurper, the one responsible for an entire kingdom’s despair in another timeline. The Twilight Princess had her own personal Ganondorf strip her from her crown, quite literally in one reality and figuratively in this one. “Let’s take it easy and walk out. No fuss, nothing. I’ll keep his sight block, and he won’t look at you. We’ll get you out.”
The job could wait. Cindy would understand, and now Zelda knew that Shoegasm wasn’t technically her bread and butter - a coverup for more important duties. Wasting no time, a hand splayed against Midna’s lower back to begin stealthily ushering her out, away from sight.
Midna took a breath, resisting the urge to wipe at her eyes (mostly because she didn’t want to ruin the makeup job she had laboriously applied using selfies - hey, it was difficult without a reflection but she did a bang-up job), and all of a sudden, she decided that this was stupid. Having a spine made out of oatmeal was stupid, and walking away was also stupid - she wasn’t going to talk to Zant, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t do a little eavesdropping. Figure out what he’d been up to since he so nicely screwed her over and extorted money from her via blackmail schemes. Parties were good places for loose lips - all the flowing alcohol and carefree attitudes. No, she could do this. She could.
“Wait,” she told Zelda as she stopped walking, when they were near the back of the room, toward the door, in the shadows where most wallflowers would blend in. “Give me two minutes. I want to try something.”
Maybe it wouldn’t work. But it was worth a shot. She’d done it in Hyrule because she couldn’t exist there otherwise, and maybe she could do it here too. People walking by, flurries of motion, a flash of glitter and sequins and movement - and Midna wasn’t there anymore. In a blink she was gone, blended in with the shadows - she used them to bring herself closer (here - in the shadow of a wandering waiter, there - jumping to the next shadow of a wildly gesturing bleach blonde, back to hanging out in the circle of violinists with their instruments) and the more she concentrated, the more she was everywhere. Wherever the shadows moved, she did too - she was one with them.
“Wait, what are you -” Not enough time for an explanation even, and of course it’d be in Midna’s nature to think walking away was stupid. Zelda’s methods were much more passive. She picked and chose her battles wisely, sometimes it was best to walk away and then re-assess the situation in a different environment but clearly, the Princess of Shadows had other ideas.
Ideas that involved some kind of magic, because she was then nowhere to be seen but she had a thought of what happened. “Midna,” she hissed a whisper, though it caught the attention of a passing waiter whose look of judgment made her clear her throat and awkwardly straighten - and then swiped another flute of champagne. Move along, nothing to see here.
Detecting her was close to impossible. Too many people passing, shadows blending in together, lights doing away with some, but the target in question was clear and that’s where Zelda would ease herself towards, sticking to the walls and places where it was feasible to hide if needed. Where Zant was, Midna would be lurking near.
But the angular-faced man with the pronounced nose didn’t seem to be alone - he was joined by someone else; Middle Eastern, handsomely middle-aged and with a cream-colored suit and a gold watch that likely cost thousands. She couldn’t see his face and those enhanced ears of hers couldn’t really pick up any of their conversation. It was too busy, with everyone’s chatting, the music drowning in the background.
“Over ten years,” chuckled the man, humorlessly, and he’d been nursing a dirty vodka martini. “And I’ve not a clue what the little heiress is supposed to even look like. I’d have better luck hunting down the damn caretaker. Doubt time has changed her much, but I’m sure at this age she’s not as spry as she used to be.”
Hitching a ride on a shadow and using them to jump from place to place was not a skill that Midna knew she possessed here, but when there was a will there was a way - and she was ever so damn determined to get to where these juicy tidbits were being relayed. Then she was there, literally hiding in the shadow of the man in the cream-colored suit - perhaps if anyone happened to be particularly observant, they would notice that his own shadow looked a little off, a different sort of silhouette, but no one really noticed these things, did they?
She just willed herself to keep the form. First time shapeshifting, of a sort, and if she blew her cover that was it. Done.
“I don’t think you have to worry.” Zant’s voice was deeper than one might expect, like it had its own black hole echo - he always managed to sound insane and condescending, maybe it was a talent of his. “They’re washed up and useless, even if unfortunately still alive. You’re the one with the connections. The means to continue to keep what is meant to be yours.”
He sipped his gothic concoction, absinthe and gin, how hipster. “People and whatever uses they have are easily bought, after all.”
“Most people who run keep running,” responded the man, almost pitch-black eyes tightening. Tense jaw, a hardened face, he didn’t look all that happy. More like he wanted burn the skin off someone then dip them in acid, but whatever fury that rumbled underneath was kept under a tight lid. It was a social event, after all - one that didn’t exactly meet his interests, but it was something to attend while following a trail of breadcrumbs. “Now they’ve stopped, gotten comfortable, and coincidentally I’ve had some interesting people poke their noses where they don’t belong - and it will stop. If it means I’m the one to make sure Impa’s head is on my mantle and the little princess is buried next to her father to make sure the job’s actually done,” a bitter spat and a sour reference to his failed clean sleep. “Then so be it.”
The rest of the martini was drained, olives included, and he outright shoved the glass into the hands of a waiter walking by. “We’ve got wind of some young boy who thinks that just because he passed his exam, he could dig into whatever he likes. Start there. You know what to offer. If he doesn’t budge, we’ll just handle things as usual. Understood?”
What are they saying?! Zelda didn’t want to look like a stalker but her eyes were barely off the men, nibbling her bottom lip, champagne barely touched. Midna, where -
“Heeeey, beautiful,” slurred a lanky John Doe with hair slicked back so much it looked oily, glasses far too big for his face, a mustache that was barely grown and - oh! The awkward acne that didn’t seem right on someone who she assumed was an adult. Sort of. His bushy brows waggled at Zelda, and he so conveniently blocked her view. “You know what you’d look sexy in? My red corvette. Outside. Me, you - into the sunset, white picket fence, 2.5 babies.”
Patience officially tested, rudeness surfaced and she pushed him to the side. “Wrong set of genitalia. Have a nice night.”
In another flurry of motion, the Twilight Princess literally appeared out of nowhere - from the shadows, more like, but at a party it was nearly impossible to track people in the crowd anyway. Or it was a trick of the light, maybe the champagne was getting to you - whatever excuse one tended to use. But she was there, literally towering over the nerdbomber, behind him and a solid surface he bumped into after he was pushed, and smiling sarcastically.
“Hey, better get back to your mom’s basement before you turn into a pumpkin. Ciao.” Then she took Zelda’s hand and began hot-footing it toward the exit - but casually. No cause for alarm. But making sure their backs were turned away from where Zant and his murder husband (because of course the dipstick had agreed to whatever his ‘superior’ wanted - yes dear, whatever you say dear, understood dear) were conversing. It wasn’t until they were outside the hotel, behind a lamppost, that she felt comfortable enough to speak up - but only before taking a glance around to check for other shadowy figures. Besides her.
She leaned in, whispering by Zelda’s ear, “They know you and Impa are alive. They know who Jonathan is, they’re going to try to pay him off or something. We need to get out of here now.”
Even Zelda didn’t know where the hell she’d come from. Okay, well, the shadows. Obviously. It made sense, it was just odd seeing it in practice for the first time, and she didn’t even have the chance to set down her slender flute. Nope, that drink came out with them. Something told her she’d need it.
And evidently, she did. She really did. That and ten more. Or maybe it’d be better if she invested in the bottles alone. The cheap stuff, J Roget, because Midna’s confession of what she apparently heard barely made a lick of sense. “Wait, wait,” she sighed, closing those bright eyes tight, bridge of her nose pinched. “That was Zant, how does he - ?”
How did he - ?
“Who was that man, with him?”
“That was him, Z.” Midna exhaled through her nose, taking the flute of champagne from Zelda and drinking half of it in about two gulps, leaving the rest for her blonde ladyfriend. “The asshole...the asshole. It had to have been him. The one who is responsible for all this mess. He killed your father. He’s going to try to kill you and Impa again, because he didn’t sound happy you’re alive, and he’s apparently got Zant’s mouth on his dick because the fucker agreed all too easily to go after your lawyer. To try to pay him off first but if that doesn’t work?”
Her voice then became a mimicry of the one belonging to the man in the cream suit - a more feminine version, but she had the accent down pretty good. “‘Then we’ll handle things as usual.’” Of course, they both knew what that meant.
This was what ‘backlash’ meant, didn’t it?
“Cracked mirror reflection,” Midna muttered. “It’s like it was in the dreams. Zant’s power is given to him by that guy. They’re working together.”
Him. Zelda didn’t even know his name, barely caught a glimpse of him, but she wondered if him and Ganondorf - the King of Thieves - were one in the same. The way things mirrored, the parallels, warped reflections, it’d make sense. It’d just be their luck, to have them both here.
Together. In cahoots.
Blood ran colder than ice, mouth went dryer than Death Valley, and if it weren’t for the foundation and strokes of blush on her face she’d look ghostly pale. Because they’d all been in the same goddamn room, several feet of distance, and hadn’t even known it - from the man who blackmailed Midna and blasted her and her family’s reputation to hell, to the man who didn’t have a problem killing everyone in her house as a child - including her, if Impa hadn’t quickly and quietly.
Instead of drinking, the glass was dropped. Shattered into bitty little jagged pieces, and she pressed her back against the lamppost. “But of course,” she deadpanned, tongue poking the inside of her cheek. One might say she looked a tad annoyed. Fashion Week was officially over for her. “We’ll need to tell Impa. Jonathan, too. I know he won’t let them by him out but if he refuses -”
Well, let’s just say those men didn’t seem like the type to take ‘no’ for an answer.
The glittery remnants of what once was the champagne flute were crushed, crunch, under Midna’s heels as she leaned in and hugged Zelda protectively - maybe she couldn’t do shit, besides flit back and forth between the shadows, but she’d protect the person she loved. With her life. And would protect everyone else in their fucked up little familial crew, as best she could.
“Nothing’s going to happen to him,” she said firmly. “Or me, or anyone. Those dipshits don’t know who they’re messing with.” Maybe if she sounded confident enough, she’d begin to believe it herself. “Come on, let’s go home. I’m sure your boss will understand that things got a little complicated.” More than a little, but this was serious - now they all had work to do. Shit was about to get real.
This particular bunch of nerds had skills those murderous bastards wouldn’t expect, and that was their saving grace - the element of surprise, the unusual abilities that’d grant them an advantage. Still, it made Zelda sick. That was her father’s killer. His killer and she didn’t even know, and it was a good thing they were out of that room because she didn’t even know what she’d do.
She exhaled a heavy sigh, nuzzling into her wildfire hair, squeezing her tight. “I love you,” she whispered, taking in her scent. Perfume, champagne. Everything that would ease her. Tonight was a wrench in their plans but they’d figure this out.