the wings will sting
WHO: Maleficent (malegnificent), Fakir (insourarmor), and Mytho (lovemedangit)
WHERE: Maleficent's Warehouse of Doom/Casa Kenobi
WHEN: Evening, May 29th
WARNINGS: Standard fairy-tale Evil.
SUMMARY: Maleficent wants revenge against the Prince who killed her. It doesn't really go the way she planned.
FORMAT: oh god miles and miles of text
This time, her plan was faultless.
She had, with Diablo's assistance, been tracking the little Princeling's movements. She knew where he lived; she knew when the ineffectual fool who acted as guardian for him and the Knight would be out. She knew how the Prince tensed up at the sight of a raven, and how some dark nights brought him terrible dreams.
And she knew an old, old magic that would suit him perfectly.
The poisons were easy to gather, the vessel all too simple to obtain. Nightshade and rue, blackthorn and spikenard, liquid wormwood masked by the sweetness of apple blossoms and cassia: a day and a night they bubbled in a copper cauldron, seasoned with a crow's blood and a cast-off scale from her dragon's form.
Deep in the witching hour she took a pale apple to the cauldron. Within the hour, the poison was little more than dark stains on the cauldron walls--and a red apple, shining and fragrant, lay at the bottom, glowing gently with magic.
Diablo was more than strong enough to carry it, though she had to wrap it in a white napkin he could clutch in his claws. And he was clever enough to know when the inhabitants of the apartment left the windows open to let in the last few cool breezes of spring.
Maleficent was terribly proud to learn that he was lucky enough to have left the apple among several similarly lovely red fruits on the kitchen table while no one was home.
WHERE: Maleficent's Warehouse of Doom/Casa Kenobi
WHEN: Evening, May 29th
WARNINGS: Standard fairy-tale Evil.
SUMMARY: Maleficent wants revenge against the Prince who killed her. It doesn't really go the way she planned.
FORMAT: oh god miles and miles of text
This time, her plan was faultless.
She had, with Diablo's assistance, been tracking the little Princeling's movements. She knew where he lived; she knew when the ineffectual fool who acted as guardian for him and the Knight would be out. She knew how the Prince tensed up at the sight of a raven, and how some dark nights brought him terrible dreams.
And she knew an old, old magic that would suit him perfectly.
The poisons were easy to gather, the vessel all too simple to obtain. Nightshade and rue, blackthorn and spikenard, liquid wormwood masked by the sweetness of apple blossoms and cassia: a day and a night they bubbled in a copper cauldron, seasoned with a crow's blood and a cast-off scale from her dragon's form.
Deep in the witching hour she took a pale apple to the cauldron. Within the hour, the poison was little more than dark stains on the cauldron walls--and a red apple, shining and fragrant, lay at the bottom, glowing gently with magic.
Diablo was more than strong enough to carry it, though she had to wrap it in a white napkin he could clutch in his claws. And he was clever enough to know when the inhabitants of the apartment left the windows open to let in the last few cool breezes of spring.
Maleficent was terribly proud to learn that he was lucky enough to have left the apple among several similarly lovely red fruits on the kitchen table while no one was home.