Are You Afraid to Die? {Piglet & August}

[RIPLEY "TRAMP" GWYNN]

Iceland sighed, leaning against her open windowsill. She had one delicate pale leg draped over the other, and her soft, round cheek in her tiny hand. With her other hand, she was causing a long since dead corpse of a bird flap its little wings, and dance across her sill.

”You’ve been playing with that thing for hours, Iceland.”[/b] Came the echo that felt inside of her mind, but sounded as though it were everywhere around her.

”I know, but I am bored. And I’m far too restless to sleep.” Ice replied quietly, making the dead bird twirl on its limp feet.

”Plus, it’s cute, right?” Ice asked with a smile, lowering her hand to pet the head that could no longer feel.

”But wouldn’t it be more fun if it were still screaming?”

”Yes, I suppose so.”

”What are you waiting for? You can hear their light, their goodness. Send a message, Iceland. Make all those creatures of the light feel that we are not as weak as we once were.”[/b]

Iceland contemplated her companions words, before flicking her fingers, letting the corpse of the bird plummet out her window, and hit the ground stories down with a sickening thud. She held her hand out, and from across the room, a broomstick flew into her hand. Black, and glossy like a beetle. The straw on the end neat, and perfecty orderly. Silently, she settled sideways onto the broomstick, and slipped out the window.

She crept through the buildings, the only sound was her fabric of the nightgown on her body. Whiter than the neatly curled hair tumbling down he pale shoulders. It was boat-necked, exposing her said shoulders, but the sleeves went down, tumbling over her hands, and the end of the dress came down to the middle of her thighs.

Listening, Iceland tucked her hair behind her ear. The Light sounded like a million pealing bells. Happy, and joyous and enough to make her skin crawl, and her stomach feel ill. At the same time—it made her furious. As she followed it, it grew louder, and she came to wait outside of a window. She peered in, seeing a darling little thing fast asleep in her bed. And the brightness coming from her, was enough to make her ears ache. This was brighter than most.

“Hello, Princess…” Iceland whispered quietly. Her fingers lifted upwards, the window lifting on its own while she slipped inside, the broomstick hovering out of the window, waiting. Iceland walked on her toes, silent as can be. The moonlight from the window illuminating her eerie form. White hair, white skin, and a white dress—she may have been mistaken for an angel. Except the haunting blue glow of her eyes, that looked as though someone were shining a light behind them.

Viciously, her tiny arms yanked the covers off the girl, and she ripped her out of bed. One hand grasping the back of her top, and her hair, the other clamped over her mouth with a surprising strength that wasn’t entirely human. While Iceland dragged the taller girl out of the window, she balanced on the broomstick easily—dangling the girl dangerously high in the sky, while the broom took off.

”Do you know what I hate, Odette? I hate the fact that little princesses like you—“ She rattled the girl angrily, looking down at her, ”Just don’t want to wake up. And when you finally do open your eyes, you think the world is beautiful, and that everything can be solved with happiness, and singing animals.” Iceland explained, her own voice just as creepy as the rest of her. A firm tone, and frighteningly sinister coming from such a doll-like face.

It wasn’t long before Iceland roughly flung the girl onto a rooftop, and walked off the edge of the broomstick, her illuminated eyes only for the frightened girl. ”Don’t you dare run, little swan. Or it’s going to be a lot more painful than you’re going to enjoy.” Iceland hissed, her broom coming into her hand, the bristles up, the end of the broomstick tapping against the rooftop as she moved closer to August.[/size]

[XERXES HARRISBURG]

He was having another one of those dreams again, those nightmares so deep, so clear, so long, and so real that they seemed more real than, like, real life. These horrible, horrible dreams where he sat, trapped, silent in his own head, while around him this person, this thing that he didn’t know stole his voice, his body, his emotions, and totally used them, pulling strings and yanking his limbs and mouth back and forth and up and down like he was some dumb puppet in the puppet theater. Yeah, it was totally one of those dreams.

But at least it was just a dream. It wasn’t real, you know? And he wouldn’t even, like, remember any of this when he woke up.

***

The night was cold and dark, shadows sprouting pitch black tendrils against every wall, with footsteps echoing forever as if from the stalagtite-walls of murky caves. Atop the darkest and most remote rooftop in the darkest and most remote corner of Manhattan, New York, Piglet paced back and forth, kicking his black high-heeled boots forward and backward as they smacked against the ground. He’d spent the day cooped up within his repulsive host, writhing and fidgeting while the blundering simpleton stumbled his way through his menial and pathetic life. But finally, at last, as sleep overcame the idiot, Piglet had seized his chance. At last, he could live again.

His genius procedure for world domination was inches from his fingertips. He could taste his own, new, beautiful world on his tongue. A few more days and he was Piglet the Cruel, Piglet the Terrible, Piglet the Great. A few more days and he would clench the universe in his fist. Because he was the most powerful, most intimidating leader that the world had ever known. Because very, very soon, the world would know the name Piglet. And the world would fear the name Piglet.

Muaha. Muahaha. MUAHAHAHAHAHAHA-

A thud resounded behind him.

Aha. At last, the visitor.

Just the visitor he’d been waiting for.

“I’ve been expecting you two.” His voice boomed across the neighborhood rooftops, a deep, throaty drawl. He fixed his pitch black eyes upon the girl, a measly ragdoll of a thing crumpled in a heap at his feet. ”Well, well, well, what on Earth have we here?” He cracked his knuckles expertly, licking his lips in anticipation. Such fun this was going to be. These lovely midnight slaughters were almost worth Piglet’s tedious daytime existence within his wretched host. ”A little American Girl Doll torn away from her mommy?” He snickered darkly, touching an ice cold finger to the girl’s forehead. ”Boo hoo hoo. What on Earth is our little doll to do?”

”Don’t you dare run, little swan. Or it’s going to be a lot more painful than you’re going to enjoy.”

His gaze fell upon the woman who’d brought him, who was now stepping elegantly from the end of her broomstick. ”And my darling Iceland,” he added, returning the woman’s natural expression of malevolence with a charming smile of his own. “Yet again, you’ve managed to leave my expectations far, far below you.” His smile widened. ”How on Earth can I ever hope to repay you?”

[MICHAELA GRAVES]

The night was singing. Calling out. There was villainy afoot, Mich could taste it on the air. Things had been different since the night of the dormouse's departure. The literary world had been alive, abuzz with noise. Everyone felt it, dormant or awake. But somehow, tonight was different. She could feel a strong pull of murderous anticipation and weak fear coming from the south. Another reincarnation would die tonight, that much was certain. Now, where would it happen? Plans were changing, it would be soon. There was hardly time to search. This would have to be done the old fashioned way. Michaela ran to the balcony of her outlandish apartment, letting her wings grow, rolling her shoulders around until they were fully expanded, and dropping over the ledge, swooping off into the night. She followed the pull through the air; she could taste the excitement. Finally, she was lead to a rooftop where there were three reincarnates. Oh, lucky day! The Wicked Witch of the West, The White Swan, and...wait. What? No. No way. She almost had to choke back her disbelieving laughter.

She touched down on the rooftop, her boots thudding ominously on the ground as her leathery wings folded backwards on themselves, gradually shifting back under her pale skin, the wounds closing behind them. A lazy smile on her face, she sauntered toward the little party, stepping over the sobbing Odette. "Repay her? For what? One measly little toy?"[/b] Her voice was disdainful and full of scorn, as she leveled the perplexing one with a stare. "What are you doing here anyway little pig? Things not working out for you in the Hundred Acre Wood?" Her black eyes were alight with dry humor.

This was almost comical. What was the plan here? What on Earth did...Piglet want with the Wicked Witch? It was clear that murder was the intent, but where had that come from? For once in her life, Michaela was completely speechless. She merely tapped her foot, her eyes flashing from Westie to Piglet, trying very hard not to laugh. After all, if he was interested, she'd be more than happy to help. She was inferring from his comments that this...Iceland (Mich hated using the reincarnates given names) was working for him, a scouter, a recruiter. Which was pathetic. She almost wanted to do them all in, slowly, one by one. But that would only sate her bloodlust, not her curiosity. So, she simply stared at the pair of them, the only sounds cutting the night being Odette's sobs, and the rhythmic tap-tap-tapping of her boots on the concrete rooftop.

[RIPLEY "TRAMP" GWYNN]

Iceland wasn't expecting the man on the roof, and immediately her pale face flushed pink, while she tugged down the short nightgown. She opened her hand, which her broom flew right into, and used as a walking stick. Her head tilted slightly, and frowned at Piglet. She lowered her glowing eyes when Piglet approached her toy.

Iceland dashed forward with a blinding speed, her pretty face contorting using the power of magic--into a thin lipped, razor toothed distorted monster. A sharp, harpie like sound escaped her mouth which had extended to twice the normal size. August screamed, and Ice heard the sound of the girl scrambling attempting to get down the hatch of the roof.

Her head snapped, and her features settled back into its baby-faced sweetness. Her hand reached out, dragging the girl back with a metaphysical hand, her nails clawing at the rooftop; drawing a giggle out of the blonde when the girl screamed in agony, her nails ragged and bloody. She girl laid on her back, gasping, staring at her bloody hands. Iceland turned her head back to Piglet and scowled. "You can repay me by backing off, young man. You are new to the game petit cochon. You have no right in assuming you are anything ahead of me." Iceland's tone was menacing and cold.

A breeze rushed her, causing her disorderly hair to whip about her face, and her nightgown to flutter. "Ugh, what now!?" She growled, whipping around to see Mich stepping onto the roof, followed by her voice. "She's my toy." Iceland jerked her hand, the girl dragging to Iceland's leg, kicking out her legs while she was pulled against her will. Iceland curled her fist in her blonde hair, and jerked her back from the other two, her brows pulled in, and full lips turned down in a frown.

"I found her, she's mine." Iceland had the tone of a pout, and she slid her illuminated eyes to Mich. "Sorry, Maleficent, my dear heart. But you've already had your fun." She tilted her head, and like a light went off, Iceland's eyes stopped glowing, and she smiled sweetly at Piglet. "But I think the little piggy could use a lesson on the food chain." Iceland was certain she was not on-par with Maleficent. Iceland still retained some of her humanity, as where Maleficent seemed to have none. She respected her, because if it came down to it--she felt as though Mich could, and would, eat her alive.

But Piglet, on the other hand. Was not even on darkness' side in his own story, and yet was trying to switch sides a little too late in the game. And the fact he was attempting to use Iceland's power to his gain, made her, very...very angry. A few mutual conversations, and this...rude, rude boy thought she worked for him. Iceland was below no one. There were strengths of power, and survival ment not messing with anyone who could tear her apart. Time for Piglet to learn this lesson as well.

[XERXES HARRISBURG]

Piglet scoffed as the girl writhed beneath him. He leaned down and brushed a lock of nauseatingly golden hair to the side, pressing his mouth against her ear. ”Catch you off your guard, did I, my little birdie?” he whispered, pinching a centimeter of paper-thin skin on the back of her neck between his thumb and forefinger. ”Where are your wings now? Where are those dresses and jewels, princess?” The last word ended in a sinister snarl as he yanked his face upwards.

"Repay her? For what? One measly little toy?"

Measly little toy indeed. Piglet chuckled slyly at the ignorance of this woman. ”Come to join the festivities, Maleficent?” he inquired sardonically, drumming his fingers along the top of the anguished girl’s head. ”Measly little toy? I sincerely hope you aren’t referring to,” he glanced at the heap at his feat, ”Odette? The Enchanted Princess? The Swan Queen? Her threat to my coalition is practically prophesized. My dear Maleficent, you gaze upon what was to become one of the most prominent Heroes of the Legions of the Light. A principal, can you believe it? Right beneath my fingertips.” He ran an ice cold fingertip across her face.

"What are you doing here anyway little pig? Things not working out for you in the Hundred Acre Wood?"

”Do not speak to me of that forest.” Piglet’s tone was level and colloquial as ever, but the implication was clear. ”My business lies outside that superficial children’s story. As does yours, might I add.” He eyed Maleficent wryly. ”Villain. Hero. What matters the authorial intent of the character? You know as well as I that a creature of fiction cannot infinitely be confined to a preordained role. All will rebel, at one time or another.” He spat next to Odette’s face. ”In any case, this host I have selected has served me…rather well. His tastes suit those of a creature of the night.” He plucked at a strand of white hair and nodded.

The girl had made a dash for the roof, but the Witch snatched her without hesitation. And then, of course, she spoke again. "You can repay me by backing off, young man. You are new to the game petit cochon. You have no right in assuming you are anything ahead of me."

Piglet was having a hard time keeping his fiery temper at bay. “Do not tempt me, Witch.” His voice was as cold as the whipping winds around them. ”Might I remind you, Ms. West, that I was first conceived in the second chapter of my very first volume of literature, and was featured consistently in each chapter of every subsequent installment. You, on the other hand, were destroyed in your first feature, and were rarely mentioned in the following sequels. And who is the more prominent, I wonder?” Piglet flexed his fingers, breathing heavily, knowing that another stimulus would unleash his fury.

"But I think the little piggy could use a lesson on the food chain."

That did it. The winds around them ceased abruptly, replaced by an instantaneous torrential downpour. Malevolent thunder roared about the rooftop, a streak of lightning splitting the sky in half and shattering the section of rooftop inches from the Witch’s feet. Piglet unleashed a horrendous cackle, echoing across the pitch black sky, the core of the earth, and every building in the City of Darkness.

”Have you not felt the tremors?” boomed his hostile voice, as if through an omniscient loudspeaker in the heavens. ”The stirrings, the tingling, deep within the pages of every legend, every tale, every sentence whispered through the generations, every name hushed between the lips of little children as their mothers turn off the light? Have you not felt the call, the tug of reality, the pull of the human world upon your soul?” Neon pink lightning flashed around Piglet, illuminating his enormous silhouette against the canopy of the universe above. ”The darkness is stirring, Witch, Maleficent. Those souls drawn up from the depths of Imagination, confined to their pages, their roles for eternities on end, are becoming self-aware. My friends, they are finding themselves, finding their desires, their emotions, their drives. They are rising, my dears, the villains, the legions of terror that have been suppressed, their natures submerged beneath such inane concepts as ‘heroes’ and ‘glory’ for all these years.”

The thunder subsided, the lightning disappearing. The rain dissipated to a slight drizzle, and Piglet stood before them again on the roof. ”We’ve all felt the change that is coming. The revolution is upon us, my friends!” He brushed his hands together, brushing a lock of hair from his forehead. ”And I fully intend to lead this movement of darkness, whether or not the two of you choose to follow me.”

He spat again. Diplomacy. "And my first move is to pick off the greatest, most beloved of the heroes. One by one." He turned towards the full moon, nodding to himself. His voice was almost a whisper when he spoke. "They will surrender. In time."