fairy tales

For Karen Lynn (@R_Typewriter) who prompted: The Little Mermaid/Gyrocopter.

One thing these prompts have taught me about myself is that I write long. I’m always pushing the upper edge of what is technically flashfiction!

Another Adventure

“You’re sure about this?” asked Marina. She shifted in the tub Justin had carried up the hill. Her elbow clanged against tin, her tail slapped a wave of seawater over its rim. “This… whatever it’s called again.”

“Gyrocopter.” Justin didn’t look up from where he was fiddling with pedals and gears and other parts whose names Marina didn’t know and whose purpose she couldn’t fathom.

“It doesn’t look entirely safe.” Marina felt bad about complaining, not after she had promised. But she hadn’t realized until her first up-close look just how homemade the contraption looked. After all, Justin had made it following a diagram in a book, using parts scrounged from all over the palace…

Justin walked over and said, “Marina. I have tested this out. Taken it on solo flights. With weights. It can safely carry up to five hundred pounds. I don’t take your life lightly, you know.”

There was a smudge on his face and grease on his hands. His eyes were very blue and his teeth very white in his grin. “So stop worrying!”

“All right,” said Marina, smiling back.

Warmth spread inside her.

**

The smile didn’t last long.

“Isn’t this great?” Justin yelled over his shoulder, above the roar of the motor. “You can see the whole countryside spread like a quilt from up here.”

The gyrocopter dipped. Marina’s arms tightened around Justin’s waist. The wind howled, whipped her hair, and tried to steal the leather jacket and woolen blankets Justin had given her.

She had laughed when he’d been concerned about keeping her warm.

Now she understood.

“You all right, Marina?” He craned to look back at her.

“I’m fine! You focus on flying this thing,” she shouted back, shamelessly fibbing. She had promised and she wouldn’t let him down.

But she buried her face in his shoulder, inhaling his scent of sweat and grease and leather. He was as solid as a rock and hot like the sun. She heard the beat of his heart, the flow of his blood in his veins, the swish of air in his lungs.

He felt so alive, and in that moment, so was she.

**

“There’s the town!” Justin’s voice echoed in his chest. Marina peeked over her shoulder, just as the gyrocopter descended lower. She bit back a squeak in time.

A pastiche of tiled roofs in all colors. Grey streets winding through them like eels. Rigid things sticking up that must be trees.

For all of her life, she had seen this place only as a smear of colors upon a hillside. Now she was actually looking down on it. Excitement bubbled in her stomach, easing the knot of tension.

People rushed about in a flurry of color. For years before she met Justin, Marina had thought clothing to be some kind of natural plumage. There were humans rooted like anemones, staring straight up or ducking into buildings like crabs hiding in shells. Others made high-pitched sounds that rang in Marina’s ears… oh.

Justin gave a whoop and cheer as he flew low over town. A man shook his fist at them.

“Um, Justin? Maybe we shouldn’t be—?”

Justin leaned forward, so suddenly Marina almost lost her grip on him. A woman in red stood in the street, pale face tilted up, eyes and mouth rounded.

“BEATRICE!” Justin roared down. “MERMAIDS DO FLY! NOW WILL YOU MARRY ME?”

**

“So she wouldn’t have you after all,” said Marina the next day. She sat on a flat-topped rock not far from shore, her tail in the water where it belonged, thankyouverymuch.

Justin lay on his back, arm over his eyes, shielding them from the sun’s glare. “It was worth a try.” He didn’t sound too crushed. “But she’s not the type to say yes to a prince, just because he asks.”

Not when there are four unmarried males between said prince and the throne, thought Marina. She’d lurked under piers and heard the gossip from fishermen and fish-wives. But she didn’t say it out loud.

Justin rolled onto his side and propped his head on his arm. “What about you and Salty Fish?”

“Solitapherius,” corrected Marina. Her whole body thrummed when she said his name.

“Whatever. Have you worked up the nerve to talk to him yet?”

“Justin.” Marina combed the tangles from her hair with her fingers. It gave her an excuse to hide her face. “He’s the First Prince of the biggest mer-state I know, and I’m only the second hundredth hatchling of a minor king.” A king who had yet to acknowledge her existence. Marina had hung on the fringes of the court all her life, surviving on scraps, keeping her head down, keeping out of politics.

“So what? Your parentage doesn’t determine your worth, Marina.”

Surprised, she looked at him as if seeing him for the first time. He was a prince, yes, but also a scholar, explorer, and inventor. While his relatives tried to gain his temperamental grandfather’s favor, Justin went his own way and did his own thing.

She’d always thought success came easily to him. But yesterday she’d seen him fail. And yet, here he was today, another adventure in his eyes.

I don’t have to be afraid, she realized. I can fail… and it’ll be fine.

“Marina?”

She laughed, threw back her hair, threw him a dazzling smile. “I’ll talk to him! At the ball tonight, even! Thank you, Justin!”

She slipped into the sea’s welcoming embrace, waved farewell. He shouted Good luck! as she dove into the waters.

Yesterday, a mermaid had flown. Today, that same mermaid could introduce herself to a mer-prince. And tomorrow… Marina grinned.

Who knew what she would do tomorrow?

And now for something more light-hearted. This is for Intisar who requested: Puss in Boots/Pinecones.

A Sackful of Treasure

When Puss finally made it to the Valley of Jewels, he discovered that it was sadly misnamed. It would be far more accurate to call it a ravine, for it was a narrow cut between the shoulders of pine-tree-caped mountains.

It was also full of poisonous snakes, each capable of swallowing Puss whole and aggressive about defending the sparkling gemstones that lay strewn about their territory.

Puss looked thoughtfully down at the newly renamed Ravine of Jewels and Poisonous Snakes, an empty sack over his shoulder. He thought that his thick leather boots could withstand snake bites, provided the snakes confined themselves to his ankles.

He didn’t think that was very likely.

There was another adventurer already in the ravine, a muscular sort who leapt with indefatigable energy and nimbleness among the snakes. Puss watched admiringly as the man scooped up a sapphire as big as his fist, thrust it into his sack, and decapitated the snake who hissingly protested the theft. Two other snakes, sneakily slithering up behind him, were similarly dispatched.

The man’s sack bulged with his findings. He seized one last gemstone, a diamond with star fire at its heart, then bounded for the ravine wall as the irate snakes gathered for a final strike. He swarmed up the side with the snakes in pursuit, grabbed a waiting rope, and hauled himself up an overhang. A determined reptile attached itself to his ankle. He beat it off with the flat of his sword.

Puss looked around. Something sparkled nearby. Strolling up to it, he beheld a ruby hidden in the brown carpet of last year’s pine needles.

An idea occurred to him.

As the adventurer trotted up the path, Puss made a great show of pouncing on the ruby. He picked it up, made a disgusted face and a disappointed noise, then hurled the ruby into the ravine. It flashed red as it fell back among the snakes.

The adventurer stopped and stared.

Puss scrabbled among the needles and came up with pawfuls of pinecones. These he stuffed gleefully into his sack.

“Wh-why?” stuttered the adventurer. “Why did you do that?”

“Hmm?” said Puss, still looking down.

“A ruby!” The adventurer windmilled his arms in agitation. “And you… you… just threw it away.”

“Pshaw! Who needs rubies? It’s these pinecones that are the real treasure.” Puss picked up another one, examined its rough brown surface, and placed it in his bag.

“What do you mean?”

“There are hundreds of ruby and diamond and emerald mines. But this is the only place in the world where Vitalis Coniferous grows.” Puss waved a paw at the pine trees.

“The what?”

“These pine trees. Life Trees, they’re called.” Puss held up a pinecone. “And these are used in the making of the Elixir of Life. The ultimate cure.”

The other’s eyed widened. “I’ve—heard of it,” he breathed. “Not even kings can afford it. An Emperor might.”

Puss beckoned the man closer. The adventurer bent down, till they were mouth to ear. “Drink enough of it, they say,” Puss whispered, “and you might even gain… immortality.”

The adventurer straightened. His face hardened with resolution. He slung the sack off his shoulder and dumped its glittering contents at Puss’ feet. Then he went on a mad hunt, hurling pinecones into his sack, showering the cat with old needles and dirt.

Puss shrugged. He went back to work, slower now.

When the adventurer left, his sack stuffed with pinecones, Puss sauntered over to the carelessly-left gemstones. Whistling softly, he shook the pinecones out of his own bag and replaced them with jewels.

Then he left the misnamed Valley, thinking he’d better start for home. Now. And fast.

This one is for DKoren, who prompted: Red Riding Hood/boxes

To Grandma’s House

“Hey there, pretty lady.” The voice was baritone, a low rumble designed to vibrate through a woman’s body and make her curl her toes with pleasure.

Red sighed, her concentration broken. So much for the invisibility cloak. She peered around the stack of boxes she carried.

Over six feet of gen-gineered masculinity stood on the cracked pavement, blocking her path. Amber eyes and pointed canines revealed in his leer screamed Wolf! Muscle shirt, showing off a ripped body and muscular hairy arms; artfully torn jeans; high-end sneakers.

And that grin. Meant to dazzle someone into losing their senses.

“Need help, gorgeous?” the wolf said.

A frisson of desire shot through her, followed by a flash of irritation. Red shifted and the boxes grew heavy. Pheromones, of course. Well, if you can’t fight ’em…

“All right, then.” Red deposited the boxes in the wolf’s arms. “I’ve been hauling Grandma’s junk from her storage unit to her house all morning, anyway.”

His eyes widened as he glanced at his load. He gave a whistle. “Wow. She has some nice stuff!”

The lacquered boxes were of a wood you couldn’t find anymore and inlaid with mother-of-peal. There were three of them in varying sizes: dark chocolate, cognac red, and honeyed gold. Red had spent hours as a child tracing the whorls of grain. She’d considered them her favorite of Grandma’s treasures—until she’d had to carry them for blocks in the high heels and tight skirt her job required.

“Oh, yeah,” Red said flippantly, draping the now-useless cloak over her arm and, incidentally, showing off her curvesand long legs. “She’s into antiques: Chinese vases, African masks, and all that.”

“Oh yeah?” said the wolf. As they walked side by side, Red glanced at him from under her lashes. Greed and lust?

She noted the minimalist watch he wore on his wrist, a slim band of steel-grey with a sliver of a dial. Live metal. Able to scan in a dozen different ways across fifty yards and through just about anything: concrete, earth, clothing. No wonder the cloak hadn’t worked.

“These are a collector’s dream.” The wolf carried the boxes with a gentle reverence that Grandma would approve of. “And you say she has more?”

Oh, I’ll just bet you know several collectors. But Red obliged him with descriptions of Grandma’s other treasures as she led him past abandoned storefronts, an expanse of graffiti-ed warehouse wall, and down a narrow alley filled with rubbish. Red squeezed past a rust-eaten refrigerator and a pile of mildewed shower curtains to the hidden opening at the back.

The wolf followed close behind, panting, his breath hot on the back of her neck. She smiled.

He blinked in surprise as they came into a quiet cul-de-sac. Three Queen Anne-style houses sat in vast, overgrown lots in a state of gentle decay. The road leading into the cul-de-sac was cut off by a screen of oaks, undergrowth, and vines. Grandma was in an anti-technology mood these days, which sounded romantic, but meant a lot of hauling and walking for Red.

Her heels clicked up the brick-paved path to the middle house. She climbed the wooden steps to the covered porch. The wolf sprang up them, but he was sweating profusely. The muscles in his arms twitched and his veins stood out along his skin.

Red was impressed, but she didn’t show it. She opened the screen door and applied the knocker vigorously.

“So… heavy…” panted the wolf, nearly bent double.

“Try putting them down,” suggested Red.

He tried, but couldn’t. He flung back his head in alarm, showing the whites of his eyes.

“Do you know why you can’t?” Red asked conversationally, hand on her hip. “The boxes are made of sympathetic wood.”

The wolf’s lips peeled back from his teeth, revealing too much gum. He hadn’t the breath to talk, but he understood all right. He knew collectors, after all.

“You’ve been walking along for half-an-hour, lusting and coveting and filling the boxes with your dark thoughts. Now they’re weighted down and you can’t let go.”

The door grated open, and Red turned to the woman who stood at the threshold. “Hello, Grandma. I brought someone.”

The wolf whimpered, hunching down. If it weren’t for the boxes, he’d be on his belly on the splintery boards.

Grandma’s eyes gleamed orange as a hunter’s moon. Silvery fur covered her face and body. When she smiled, she showed teeth as sharp as knife points. “Well, well,” she said, her voice deep as night, her breath warm as blood. “Come right in, then.”

Behind her, the house stretched dark and open as a maw. The wolf cast Red a beseeching look as he stumbled past Grandma, who followed him inside.

Red put a foot in the doorway, hesitated. With a shake of her head, she backed away, let the screen door bang shut.

I’ll be late for work, she told herself as she hurried down the steps. She clapped her hands over her ears and sped for the alley.

She almost made it before the screaming began.