Straight On 'Til Future Fortune (Part 4)zelda_queenJuly 17 2014, 02:44:22 UTC
The fortune teller took a seat on the opposite side of the desk, where she took out a fancy porcelain bowl and a little silver spoon. She scooped out a spoonful of the white powdery contents and spread it across the table. As the powder sprinkled like snow, she closed her eyes and muttered strange words over and over.
"It is done," she said, when the spoon was empty. "We may begin."
"What do you see?" asked Peter. He wasn't interested, not really, but it at least would be fun to know what there was. Perhaps the pirates would return or the Indians would be planning another surprise attack. Those were always fun.
The fortune teller looked at the powder, finely coating her desk, and carefully began tracing patterns in it with her fingers. "I can only tell you what may be, Peter," she said. "Nothing is set in stone and there is no fate that can't be changed with a good, stern talking-to."
"So what may be? Wendy's coming back next spring, isn't she?"
"You will see her, yes," said the fortune teller. "You will go to her house that spring and another and another. She will speak to you of matters you do not yet understand, but you will grow to know what she means. Oh, you will pretend you do not. You are such an obstinate child, I do not even need magic to see that. But deep in your heart you will know the meaning of her words and long for the things she talks of. It will eat away at your mind until you decide to do it."
"Do what?" asked Peter, a sense of dread growing in his mind.
"Leave Neverland and grow up, of course."
Peter jumped to his feet. "Never!" he cried.
"Obstinate child," said the fortune teller again. She did not howl or snarl as Hook did, but something about the stern look in her eyes made Peter sit back down. "You will do it because you so badly want the toys of adulthood that Wendy tells you about. You will change your name and start a respectable life for yourself in England. You will have a job and friends and learn what a proper man does and does not talk about. That would include magic and Neverland of course, and after denying those things for long enough, you will forget all about them."
"I never would! I don't forget anything!"
"Tell me," said the fortune teller, "How is dear Tinkerbelle?"
Peter's brow furrowed at the nonsensical question. "Who?"
"Indeed." She turned her attention back to the desk. "You and Wendy will marry and be quite happy. You will quickly grow to love one another as adults do. You will go to work, go home, and start over the next day. Wendy will go by her full name and live passionately, throwing herself into social reforms that she feels are worth her time. You will have a daughter named Jane and... ah yes, I see a son as well. A son named after his uncle -"
"NO!" shouted Peter. He threw himself forward and slammed his hands onto the desk, not caring in the slightest that the white powder was sent flying all over the floor. "No! No! No!"
He stormed from the tent knocking the chair in his wake and terrifying the Lost Boys as he stormed across the beach. They surrounded him and were bold enough to ask for details, but he only told them that there was no fortune teller, there were no fortunes, they heard nothing. The Boys would forget, of course they would, Peter was Father and what Father said was always true.
Peter could not focus for the rest of the day. He paced like a caged animal thinking how dare she, how dare she, how could she even think of saying such things? He pounded his fists against his head, the same thought running through his mind and guiding him.
I won't grow up. I WON'T!
When night came, Peter flew from Neverland. There was a nursery in London he needed to see.
The only witness to his departure was the fortune teller's tent, its door flapping slightly in the ocean breeze.
The fortune teller took a seat on the opposite side of the desk, where she took out a fancy porcelain bowl and a little silver spoon. She scooped out a spoonful of the white powdery contents and spread it across the table. As the powder sprinkled like snow, she closed her eyes and muttered strange words over and over.
"It is done," she said, when the spoon was empty. "We may begin."
"What do you see?" asked Peter. He wasn't interested, not really, but it at least would be fun to know what there was. Perhaps the pirates would return or the Indians would be planning another surprise attack. Those were always fun.
The fortune teller looked at the powder, finely coating her desk, and carefully began tracing patterns in it with her fingers. "I can only tell you what may be, Peter," she said. "Nothing is set in stone and there is no fate that can't be changed with a good, stern talking-to."
"So what may be? Wendy's coming back next spring, isn't she?"
"You will see her, yes," said the fortune teller. "You will go to her house that spring and another and another. She will speak to you of matters you do not yet understand, but you will grow to know what she means. Oh, you will pretend you do not. You are such an obstinate child, I do not even need magic to see that. But deep in your heart you will know the meaning of her words and long for the things she talks of. It will eat away at your mind until you decide to do it."
"Do what?" asked Peter, a sense of dread growing in his mind.
"Leave Neverland and grow up, of course."
Peter jumped to his feet. "Never!" he cried.
"Obstinate child," said the fortune teller again. She did not howl or snarl as Hook did, but something about the stern look in her eyes made Peter sit back down. "You will do it because you so badly want the toys of adulthood that Wendy tells you about. You will change your name and start a respectable life for yourself in England. You will have a job and friends and learn what a proper man does and does not talk about. That would include magic and Neverland of course, and after denying those things for long enough, you will forget all about them."
"I never would! I don't forget anything!"
"Tell me," said the fortune teller, "How is dear Tinkerbelle?"
Peter's brow furrowed at the nonsensical question. "Who?"
"Indeed." She turned her attention back to the desk. "You and Wendy will marry and be quite happy. You will quickly grow to love one another as adults do. You will go to work, go home, and start over the next day. Wendy will go by her full name and live passionately, throwing herself into social reforms that she feels are worth her time. You will have a daughter named Jane and... ah yes, I see a son as well. A son named after his uncle -"
"NO!" shouted Peter. He threw himself forward and slammed his hands onto the desk, not caring in the slightest that the white powder was sent flying all over the floor. "No! No! No!"
He stormed from the tent knocking the chair in his wake and terrifying the Lost Boys as he stormed across the beach. They surrounded him and were bold enough to ask for details, but he only told them that there was no fortune teller, there were no fortunes, they heard nothing. The Boys would forget, of course they would, Peter was Father and what Father said was always true.
Peter could not focus for the rest of the day. He paced like a caged animal thinking how dare she, how dare she, how could she even think of saying such things? He pounded his fists against his head, the same thought running through his mind and guiding him.
I won't grow up. I WON'T!
When night came, Peter flew from Neverland. There was a nursery in London he needed to see.
The only witness to his departure was the fortune teller's tent, its door flapping slightly in the ocean breeze.
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