onepassingnight | .006 These Woods Are Lovely, Dark and Deep

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.006 These Woods Are Lovely, Dark and Deep

Once upon a time, for all good stories start with once upon a time, there was a great forest. It stretched on for days, for countries, for unclaimed fairy tale after unclaimed fairy tale in fact. This was the Great Wood, the Olde Wood, the Place Where All Things Start. This was the forest of all the old tales and it will ever be, until men are legends that dogs tell each other around the fires at night. Everything lives in the depths of these woods and nothing at all. Be careful what you whisper when you go into the dark for even the trees are listening and stories have a way of happening here whether you want them to or not.

Deep in the darkness, in one of the less traveled spots, there lives a wolf. The Wolf, if you will. For he is the Big Bad, the Howler at the Door, the Winter Wolf, the Devourer, the Nightmare That Creeps In Windows, the Child's Warning and, occasionally, the Huffer and Puffer, though he's taken to outsourcing the last one after one particularly embarrassing incident involving a hay allergy. He's the wise talking beast or the prehistoric feral fear. He is, in short, whatever your story needs him to be.

Don't expect him to be particularly pleased or even helpful about it though. He's been doing this job for a while now and he's getting sick of getting yanked out of rolling in dead animals just so that he can trot his fuzzy butt over to make menacing, half-assed attempts at your basket of treats and God help you if he has to dress in old lady drag One More Time!

OOC: so. Here's Cloud to provide all your Big Bad Wolf TM needs. Or frankly, the forest isn't above dragging him in to take over any animal need. There appears to be a shortage of fairy animals going around at the moment, something about better paying jobs in Hollywood. Does your story need a talking bear? Suddenly you've got a snarky wolf as your guide. Your brothers got the mill and all you got was a cat? Well, it's a wolf now and it's not happy about having to wear boots or do all your work for you, you dolt. Need that straw spun into gold by morning? Looks like you're duck out of luck. Wolves can't spin, though he does a very impressive cats cradle if you give him enough yarn and tie the knots for him. Point being, if your fairy tale has an animal of any sort in it, you've now got a very grumpy wolf who can't say 'not interested' the way he'd really rather. And, of course, he's still here for all your big bad wolfish metaphorical needs as well.

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Cloud on Cycle was pretty pleased with the motorcycle actually. Though he was still trying to figure out the details of working it without thumbs or heels. Tseng was right though, a wolf in boots would have looked much stupider than the slightly drunken driving of a wolf on a motorcycle.

Obviously.

At the moment though, Cloud on Cycle was giving it a break and sitting near Tseng's feet with one of those boredly patient looks on his face that said his mind wasn't entirely paying attention. He was paying enough attention however to have his ears flicking backward and his muzzle wrinkling in disgust.

"Mice wiggle on the way down." The power of speech came and went but apparently this particular Story needed him talking. Which indicated they might have to rely on Cloud being a smooth talker. Which meant they were doomed.

"Maybe I can convince him to turn into a pot pie. Then you can help eat him."

"Or we could just shoot him and put his head on a pike over the door. Nobody'd bother us ever again." Tseng suggested, "I'm not that interested in marrying a princess, to be honest."

They tended to whine a lot and need rescuing on a weekly basis, or came with inconvenient curses. They were also usually pretty useless overall.

She doesn't belong here but she has no choice. Her path leads her through these woods and the herbs she gathers, though the milkweed lays in sorry heaps on the forest floor now, give her the ability to ply her trade.

Facing the wolf, her show of fearlessness breaks down so obviously with just a glance at her hands, which are clasped tightly together, empty of their basket, as if she's stopping them from trembling or stopping herself from fidgeting.

"Let me by," she tells him, though the voice that she wants to come out strongly has a barely audible quaver to it and the smell of fear after all. "Let me by to go home with my herbs."

Urk. That look...it's just not fair at all! (Then again, at least he's not trying to bite her in retaliation. Good boy.) Aerith frowns, starting to feel bad, before she kneels to be eye level with him.

"I'm sorry, Mister Wolf--you are a boy wolf, right?" There is a brief thought to duck down and check herself, but for the sake of both parties' dignities, she for once manages to curb a dangerously curious impulse. Even if she twitched a bit first. "But those feathers tell me you've been eating white birds! Were any of them magic?"

Don't lie to her. She imagines magic bird would taste pretty distinctive from chicken.

Cid blinks at the wolf before bursting into loud laughter. Of all the things he was expecting (what with the cacophony of horns and violins and what have you), it was not a wolf who seemed just as irritated as he felt.

"The happy you mean 'what the happy'?" After the words leave his mouth, he stops with his mouth hanging open. What did he just say?

"What the happy?! WHAT THE HAPPY." He starts yelling it, trying to get his voice to work with his mind. "Donkey loving rose smelling son of a golden retriever."

The pure rage that fills Cid's face is a little astounding. His cheeks turn bright red and he rubs his face as if this will help him make more sense out of this.

"I ain't got a clue 'bout what's going on here, fuzz. Just that it's noisy as roses and happily annoying." As he speaks, he's tempted to just give up on trying to curse. "And what donkey is playing all that music?"

The look he shoots her even on a furry face is insulted. Of course he's a boy wolf! Can't she see his broad, masculine wolfy chest and his obviously male wolfy face? He doesn't look at all feminine ~~and putting him in a dress wouldn't prove otherwise!~~ He does hunker down a little at her twitch though. No peeking, flower lady! A sentient wolf's got to have some dignity. Even if he has just been beaten by a broom of all things and happens to still have feathers in his fur. And a pissed off chicken glaring at him from across the yard.

Excuse him while he gives you a look though, Aerith. 'Magic' birds? Humans are funny so he's trying not to judge but - chickens don't strike him as the type to ever pull of magical. Still, she smells good and she has stopped whacking him with the broom. And she's talking to him normally instead of screaming. He doesn't think many people would go nose to nose with a wolf. Testing just how far that goes, he brings his own nose closer to hers, seeing how close she'll let him get before touching. He's pretty sure he hasn't eaten any magical birds lately and suddenly he's glad about it. It seems important to her.

His 'fuff' is surprisingly soft and sends feathers drifting against her cheeks.

Cloud's ears flatten at the laughter and he's ready to go into a sulk, blue eyes already narrowing when the man across from him has his first bout with the children's censors.

The look on his face makes it all worth while and Cloud can't help it if his jaws part so his tongue can loll from the side of his mouth in pleasure. Next to his legs, his tail thumps contentedly. It's always satisfying watching someone else deal with being caught in one of these Stories. Wolf Cloud's got a bit more experience with this kind of thing than grumpy grandpa though and he knows it's going to take both of them to fix this. So he waits until Cid gets done before answering. There's even a little shift in the way he's sitting, almost as if he was cocking a hip, one paw sliding forward just a little in front of the others before he begins to expound.

"We must be trapped in a Story. Probably a Children's Story. The Story wants us to do whatever it is that it needs so that it can finish." A pause. The oboe chooses to honk again. "The music is new."

The Forest wants her gone. His job is to make sure she does, eliminated from its being as quickly and permanently as possible. But - he's not the Forest. And, despite its nebulous desire, he does have a mind and being of his own. At least for now. Almost against his will, the guardian and protector in him responds to her voice. Her fear.

Vulnerable creatures should be protected. The job of the stronger is to protect the weaker.

For some reason, deep in his wolfish chest, the fact that she's afraid makes his heart uncomfortably tight.

He's - supposed to

protect her.

The Forest doesn't like that. He can feel it swelling invisibly around him. His job is, first and foremost, to keep it safe. To keep it untainted. Except -

that's not it.

That's not it at all.

His shaggy head drops, shakes. His job is to protect the ones that are precious to him. The ones that trust him to watch out for them. The ones that depend on him. That's why he guards the forest. Because they live in it and so he keeps the Forest safe for them.

Not for the Forest. For them.

She needs him. She needs him.

His head lifts and his blue eyes focus. And then, very slowly, he leans down and picks up one of her stalks of milkweed between his teeth, moving to her fallen basket to drop it inside.

For a moment, she's too stunned to pick up the rest of the herbs, and too wary to approach the wolf right away. She catches her breath at a safe(r) distance, and eyes him without blinking, as though still trying to figure out the trick.

She knows, in a very small part of her that still exists somehow, that need to protect. What do they put the planet first for, if not the people who live on it? What does she want to be a doctor for, in that deeper heart she so seldom shows, but to be needed and useful and... to never be at a loss when someone important to her is hurt.

Slowly, very slowly, she creeps a step closer, then one more, testing, probing, trying. She doesn't look at the ground, but still only at the wolf-Cloud. She even keeps her eyes on him as she fumbles blindly for some of the milkweed still strewn about.

Cloud liked that idea much better and he tipped his head to the side to give it some thought. The trick would be getting close enough to the ogre to get in a clean shot. It would have to be in the eye. Their skulls were too thick everywhere else. And even then it would probably take the brain a while to realize it was dead. Given how much small furry animals and teenagers outsmarted them, it was safe to say they weren't the most sparkly fairy in the tale. Still, it sounded like a good plan to him and a lot easier than him having to try to figure out how to turn an ogre into a pot pie. The main problem though:

"Do you think the Story will let you get away without a princess?"

Stories could be funny like that.

Rufus did indeed hear the grumbling noises and after a moment, he looked back toward the wolf. "Hello, Wolf. You wouldn't be able to help me find something would you?"

He doubted it, but it didn't hurt to ask. It wasn't like he had any idea where he was going on his own.

That's two looks now, though she understands the differences between them. (Though that first one still leaves her a bit confused. A lady wolf would have plenty of reason to be unhappy too!) She can't persist about the bird though when he's padding forward to her, sending her thoughts on a different path.

Her eyes widen as he comes closer, and there is a brief thought about if he'll eat her. But if he was going to, really she was as good as dinner from the instant he fell in, broom or no. All she can do is trust that he's a kind wolf. She barely moves until his breath hits her cheeks--along with a feather straight to the nose--and then she mostly blinks. "What does that mean--achoo!"

...Hopefully Mister Wolf is a quick dodge.

"Well, she comes to us." Tseng shrugged, "There's no rescuing involved thank Shiva. I can then be a picky bastard and turn them away for not being proper enough or something."

Getting it through the eye with a gun could be a problem, though... maybe a sword or something could work too.

"You've just got to get there before I do is all."

Why wouldn't the writers enjoy mocking Cloud? As far as Reno's concerned, that's a valid and entertaining pastime. She enjoyed the new music that was ruling the scene for a moment or two before remembering the task at hand and frowning at the wolf. She took a step forward, brandishing her staff. "This is kind of a big deal," she said in a patronizing tone. "I'm trying to cure a plague here. So either help me find the herbs, or we're gonna have more than words."

She had to admit, that had sounded good. She was getting the hang of this ~~bullying~~ adventuring gig.

"Well ain't that a big pile of sunshine." There's a moment that his eyes narrow at the word replacement before he continues. "You got any ideas on how to get out of this?"

The violins swell in response to his statement, and he shoots a glare at the trees above them. Where he's decided the violin playing ninjas are hiding. "The music is donkey poo, that's what it is."

About ready to give up on the whole cursing bit, he crosses his arms as he gives the wolf an expectant look. "So, what, we gotta finish the story? I ain't got a clue on how this ends."

Definitely Story. No one else saw a giant wolf in the trees behind them and started a conversation with it. It was the trigger the story needed and Cloud gave up resisting the increasingly persistent pull. Standing up, he shook himself and marched over.

"..."

He could at least cut out the fancy talking.

He has half a second to be happy she doesn't take off running - or hit him again - and then she sneezes. On him.

Entirely affronted, he manages to somehow make a standing leap backward without seeming to actually move his paws at all. It also sets off a round of sneezes in him as well and he ends up pressing his nose between his front paws at the end. His eyes when he looks up at her from the tops of them aren't accusing so much as helpless. He can't get the feathers off his own muzzle without a lot of effort. And they're causing more problems than they're worth. She's got those nice smart fingers though.

His tiny whine and pitiful eyes are hopeful.

Cloud's pretty sure he knows how the story ends. Because stories, something even or especially kid's stories, always end the same way for him. Badly.

It was really ridiculous how much trouble he got in for doing what came naturally to him. Eating.

"I probably need to swallow you whole so you can cut yourself back out with the duck."

He manages it entirely straight faced, which isn't that hard for him even without the wolf version of it. Not that he's for a second going to not chew but the old guy doesn't need to know that. His shoulders hunch, suspiciously like a shrug.

"Or we can find someone else to give the story to. There's got to be a miller's son somewhere around here."

That had the wolf's attention but it was more an annoyed narrowing of eyes than anything else. And Cloud wasn't annoyed at the threat. He was annoyed with -

"That's not how side quests go."

She's not stupid. It's a relief. Cloud knows he doesn't have much time before the Forest decides he's not doing his job fast enough and sends something else to deal with the intrusion. He needs her to trust him, at least a little, before that because now he's determined to get her out of here. Alive. Whoever she is, wherever she's going, for some reason, perhaps because she was lost and vulnerable - and brave enough to have not screamed or burst into tears - he's decided that he'll be her guardian. At least until she's free of the woods. He can't help wanting to protect her and it's because soft things need protecting but it's something deeper inside that he can't explain. She needs to be protected, not because she can't protect herself but because she shouldn't have to.

Careful, with just his front teeth, he picks up her basket and resets it upright on the ground. Then he slowly sits down, tucking his tail around his paws. Waiting.

Being a picky husband sounded like the beginning of another Story to Cloud but one that probably wouldn't involve him. In fact, Stories involving picky princes usually ended up with clever princesses who knew how to cook delicious soup and smuggle small items around on their person like tiny gold spinning wheels. Which sounded, to Cloud at least, someone Tseng might actually enjoy being married to.

Even if the idea of Tseng being married was still a little world lurching inside Cloud's head if he thought of it too hard.

With a head shake to focus himself back on the immediate, he stood up.

"Shouldn't be hard." He was the one with the motorcycle after all. Still, he wasn't going to let Tseng take all the risk. He could at least find a way to make the kill easier. Eyes narrowed in thought in his furry face, he finally gave a quick nod and looked back up at the Turk, a strange wolfish smirk growing on his face. "We're going to need to stop somewhere and get me some pepper first."

She's not stupid, and that means as soon as she's fairly sure the wolf isn't playing some game with her (and that he really did just bring her basket to her, which elicits a disbelieving look for a moment), the girl in the blue cape gives a firm nod of decision and quickly gathers up the remaining herbs, depositing them in the basket for safekeeping. It doesn't take long; they hadn't gone far.

Now... which way to go? In her dream, her mind accepts the forest as the Dark Kingdom forest, which has no natural exit, and she doesn't know the way. Her eyes fall on her one means of finding the way.

"Do you know where the exit is to these woods?" she asks the wolf.

"Side quest? I don't know what you're talking about, Wolf. I do what I want. Rules are for fools. So are you in or are you out?"

The staff was still being brandished. Pointedly.

Tseng didn't actually want to marry anyone, but he was sure he could settle down with someone who could understand some of the more difficult parts of his personality and life. There was a lot to him that people simply didn't ask about and he wasn't sure how he'd ever share it.

"Pepper?" He asked, raising an eyebrow at the wolf.

And with all that hopeful sadness looking up at her she...laughs. Unhelpfully. "Oh you poor brute."

The fingers that reach out after a few more giggles are much more helpful, plucking a feather away carefully and gently. They're moving for a second tickly feather when the clock tower sounds and she jumps and pulls back her arm, her smile melting away. For a few seconds she stares fixedly in the clock tower's direction, remembering what's being missed.

"...That must mean it's started... Mmm..." Anxious eyes turn to the hazel tree, but its branches are still bare. No magical bird coming to help her this time. "...They're having a ball at the palace," she tells Mister Wolf, and then another smile cracks open on her face. This one seems a bit brittle though. "Those must seem pretty silly to a wolf, huh? Everyone dressing up in fancy clothes and heels you can barely walk in, spending so much money and fuss on just one night. Even if you look beautiful..." Her fingers scrunch up in her worn, patched pink dress, streaked with dirt and dust from the day's chores. "It's just one night. Pretty wasteful, huh? I think it's silly too."

But she wants to look beautiful for just one night. She wants to mingle with people and dance and not have anyone stupidly write her off just because her stepmother and sisters already have. Her smile falters for a second, but she grabs back onto it and holds on tight because she's not going to cry in the garden over being put down and left behind once again, she has a perfectly good watering can.

She reaches for the second feather and plucks it away. She looks at it in her fingers, twirls it gently, and then leans forward.

"But you know what, Mister Wolf? I am a very silly girl, and I want to go. So if I help you with these feathers, can you help me?" It comes out in a rush, and her eyes aren't so much hopeful as focused and desperate.

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.006 These Woods Are Lovely, Dark and Deep

this. is a thing of beauty. Or horror. Perfect for a fairy tale.

Oh, totally.

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awwww that tag was so sweet

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I'm sorry, once I thought of it I had to...

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I laughed XD

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;) he can be a big fuzzy teddy - er, wolf when motivated

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