Once upon a time...

[timefather]

[ For the residents of Märchenstraße, and all the land surrounding it, the eighth of December was a day to look forward to. Looking at it from an outside perspective, strangers and travelers could easily assume it to be a holiday. At the very least, a day for a festival, if a modest one. A day that shopkeeps spent all morning preparing for, that all manner of creatures spent days traveling to the city to witness. They'd heard the talk that passed around, the rumors from those still left. But would it work? No one knew for sure, no matter how confident the stories seemed to be. But hope was very quickly becoming all they had left.

They had decorated the whole town. Streamers, banners, wreathes and garland made of autumn flowers, plus whatever the Fairy Godmother had cooked up. Oh, she was just giddy. No skepticism could be spoken around her, not if you wanted to escape the wrath of her wand! Rumor had it that she had caught wind of a few piglets squealing about the likelihood that their magic would fail, and that they were subsequently transformed into the band of musicians who could be found performing in the park.

Well, at least the music was festive.

Of course, the decorations weren't for the newcomers alone. Autumn was coming to a close in just a few weeks, and Old Man Winter would take the reigns like he did every year, and their weather would turn cold and harsh. The chill was already there, cool and biting when the wind picked up speed. Lady Autumn was much preferred to the citizens of the city with her gentle nature, even if she failed to show up, finishing her work in the orchards instead. That was what they liked about her.

It was mid-morning when Father Time was found outside of his tower, checking one of the numerous pocket watches he kept on his person. "Unnecessary, but comfortable," he called them, and closed the watch again. It was twelve o'clock in the afternoon, and where empty space had been just seconds before, now they were. Sitting on benches, lying in flower patches, scattered about the city and outside of the gates in peaceful slumber. They would awaken to the bells of the clock tower. Some, to many friendly and relieved faces all around them, some to grateful ones carrying gifts of food and clothing and magic, and some to fearful, cautious faces. Regardless of how the town treated them, they would awaken to a celebration of their arrival, and choices to be made, and the books. Each and every one. ]

Comments

[perfectionisms]

[ Franziska would love nothing more but have a chance to read the book that was given to her and deny everything in this place because it's illogical and fictional and foolish. But a very nosy vine of roses follows her wherever she walks, crawling in front of her feet on occasion. Franziska has no idea what's making this plant move, or where its roots are planted, but that's not her biggest problem about it.

It's roses are in different colors! It's tacky! ]

Foolish flora foolishly following me around! At least set your flowers in proper order!

[under_the_wire]

[He can well understand that sentiment and the irritation behind it. Imagine his joy when he washed his hands only to have roses fall from them instead of drops of water. Now his sleeves are full of the things because he's not sure if they're enchanted or not and he doesn't want to leave them lying around.]

I have more, if you'd like to swap them out.

[He'd started the day in full polite mode, smiling and bowing as usual, but the polite has run out. All he has left is cranky.]

[perfectionisms]

More?! You think the foolish solution to this foolish predicament is to add more foolish flowers?!

[ Franziska can't comprehend sarcasm at the moment. Not that she usually can, but today it's worse. ]

Is this your fault? Are all these flowers [ including hers ] your doing?

[under_the_wire]

[He shakes his sleeves and all the roses he's accumulated thus far fall out.]

No, these are. This happens when I wash my hands. When I comb my hair, jewels fall out of it. Apparently, something is supposed to happen when I laugh and cry, too, but no one has succeeded in making me do either so far. It's all the fault of these books, as far as I've been able to determine.

[He takes out his book and shows her the writing.]

I have no idea who or what "Biancabella" is, but it's connected somehow. What does your book say?

[perfectionisms]

[ She frowns at that added mess. ]

Why? Do these books contain a strange fertilizer that's making all the plants go crazy? Because if it does [ which it could. Franziska takes this as a logical enmgh explanation. ] then we might have had different varieties. Mine says "The Thirteenth Fairy" in simple English. Biancabella sounds like Italian for "White Beauty". That's all I know about that name.

[under_the_wire]

[Finally, some useful information. This is the second book he's come across with the name of some sort of magical creature on it and the first time anyone has had any sort of clue as to the name on his own book. "White Beauty" still doesn't mean a great deal to him, but with all the fuss about his hair, at least there's some sort of connection. "White" he certainly provide, but beauty? Maybe if you really like freckles.]

There's some sort of enchantment, either on the books or on us, that ties us to these names somehow. All of the people here call us by them and they seem to expect us to provide something based on it.

[perfectionisms]

[ Just when she taught she was talking to someone sane, he starts talking about enchantments. What is wrong with this world. ]

It's not an enchantment. There has to be a logical explanation to all of this. I am not and have never been a fairy. Those creatures exist only in fairy tales and foolishly fanciful tales of foolish whimsy. This is real life.

[under_the_wire]

I admit that I've never seen proof that fairies exist, either, but I have seen someone whose book labeled them a djinn and that is something I have seen much of, so there is at least some basis in reality.

[His reality is just a little different from hers.]

[perfectionisms]

Genies? Hah! [ What a cold and bitter laugh that was. ] Poppycock.

I suppose we better find this man, rub his lamp and wish for us to get out of here.

[under_the_wire]

Somehow I have my doubts about that. Is that how dji-- er, genies work in the stories you've read?

[That may be how it works in the story connected to Mogget's book. He'll have to pass that on if he ever crosses paths with him again.]

[perfectionisms]

They reside in lamps and rings, they grant three wishes each. Without an object to trap them in, they can wreck havoc throughout the land.

They're also foolish figments of fiction, so we never had to worry about them.

[under_the_wire]

I see. That's very interesting. I can see how someone who knows very little about them could come to those conclusions and write a story like that. [He rolls his eyes.] I can even think of someone whose stories might have helped that along a little.

[He mulls that over for a few seconds before proceeding.]

So there is nothing magical where you come from?

[perfectionisms]

All magic is trickery and fiction. [ shaking her head at his foolishness. ] Anyone past the age of seven can tell you that.

[themortalson]

[Perhaps one thing to talk to animals, but that woman was nuts. Was there a character who generated plants and spoke to them? Nah, he was just yelling at them. 'Foolish flora foolishly following'.]

... Idiot.

[perfectionisms]

[ She hears that. She has no idea who he's calling an idiot, except it definitely can't be her. She's perfect. ]

Yes, some idiot is making mismatched flowers chase me. Is it you? Are you that idiot?

[themortalson]

[... What?]

Yeah, it was me. I mean, why not curse a stranger so multicolored roses follow them everywhere?

[Did she notice how that sounded? A hare pops out of his pocket] Want a lion instead?

[perfectionisms]

[ Was that sarcasm? It's more convenient to take it as a confession. Because someone's to blame for this foolish mess. ]

Why not? I don't know the foolish thoughts of foolish fools such as yorself. Maybe you get some sick pleasure out of chasing ladies with flowers and stuffing your pockets with small animals.

[themortalson]

[... Really, what? This is some bullshit.]

I'm not getting in an argument with you, princess. And since you're mad about the flowers being different shades, we're done. [He doesn't have to explain a rabbit was tired. He proceeds to stalking past, hands going to slip his pocket, but the hare squeezes.] Sorry...

[perfectionisms]

Hold it!

[ She has nothing against being called princess, and she doesn't care what he thinks of her but... ]

At least take that poor rabbit out of your pocket, you animal pervert.

[themortalson]

[He does stop, but he doesn't turn around, his head merely turning towards his shoulder.]

What the hell did you call me? [Seriously? Under the surface, there is a spark of anger.]

[perfectionisms]

[ Without batting an eyelash. ]

Animal pervert.

[themortalson]

[That's what he thought.]

If I bothered explaining why that was wrong, I'd be on your level of insanity. [Still, he takes the rabbit out of his pocket despite complaint and sets it on the fox. Both animals seem confusions, but he can only roll his eyes.]

[perfectionisms]

[ She takes the hare by the ears and takes it with her to place it away from the fox because she doesn't want to see it eaten, thank you very much. Not unless it's prepared by a butcher and cooked by a chef. ]

[themortalson]

[That gets perhaps the worst response he's heard all day. Each animal in his company balks and the rabbit kicks madly. She can't hear it, but they're all pretty much yelling like pre-schoolers all attempting to taddle tail at once with one kid crying. Shinjiro immediately approaches.]

What the hell are you doing?!

[perfectionisms]

I'm not going to watch you feed your animals to each other!

[ She does not turn to face him, but that one, annoying little rose vine does slither and stand behind her like a serpent guarding its home. ]