Disney: "The Tale of Flynn Rider: Act Two"
Author's Notes: Ah, here it is. I was wondering if it would continue or not, but apparently there's a little bit left. I'm not sure how much I'll actually write in this but, I shall see. It's pretty easy and fun when it strikes.
As before, I still do not (nor will I ever) own Flynn Rider; he belongs to Disney.
And now continued in...
Act Two: Wherein I Pounce Upon My (Almost) Perfect Name, Outwit a Band of Thugs in the Forest, and Awaken to my True Calling
The day dawned with promise as I marched toward the kingdom’s bookstores. There were rows of them, all lined up with colorful roofs. Wide windows shone in the sunlight, tempting everyone passing by with rich volumes of adventure and history and science. I had never much gone in for the latter two, though my parents always said there was botany in my blood.
My great-grandfather, on my father’s side, so they claimed, had planted those apple trees, sticking it out with them, the way my mother did with all of us.
As for me, plants didn’t hold much interest for a soon-to-be-dashing fellow like myself. I mean, what good were they after they were plucked or eaten? Nope, it was better to be quick on your feet (and smooth with your words wouldn’t hurt, as I’d come to learn), than waste your time with frilly little green things.
So with determination, I crossed the threshold and buried myself in a pile of new books. They had come from a distant kingdom, who’s named slipped by my ears. But that didn’t matter in a few moments.
Flipping eagerly through a new tale I had found - a real ripping one, full of dazzling excitement and daring feats - I stumbled over the (almost) perfect name: Fynnegan Rider.
I titled my head as I tried it out. It was perhaps a tad too long but it had potential. Besides, the stories were great. He was the best adventurer I had ever read about!
Delighted with my find I strided up to the counter and brought it with what remained of my allowance for the week. (I couldn’t resist the roasted apples the venders were selling on the streets. Stupid apples, haunting my life. I decided at that moment, if I ever got away from this place, I’d make sure I never ate another apple again.)
Burgeoning with pride, I speedily ran home for thick clouds were beginning to cover the fading reds and oranges of the sunset. The clouds spilled out of the east like wool, tangling themselves with the runaway paint of fire. A faint dark blue arch grew darker and darker as the dusk was washed away. Soon what should have been a star-filled, full-moon night turned into a dreary, shadowy walk through the forest.
I bit my lip and hugged the parcel with my new book tighter to my chest. I wasn’t sacred of course; I was too heroic for that, but I did have a twinge of unease, thinking of how terrified my mother would be. She hated it when I stayed out late and had even made me promise to be back before dark.
Well, it wouldn’t have been so bad if the clouds had stayed away. That’s what I tell myself anyway.
Taking a deep breath, I tried whistling as I walked, but I was soon interrupted by the abrupt thunder of horses’ hooves. Startled from my brisk stroll, I dove into a nearby hedge, squirming under the thorny leaves. It was a hawthorn hedge, still covered in white blossoms.
Why I hid rather than wait on the road, remains to this day a fascinating mystery in the twists and turns of my life. Perhaps a deeper instinct inside me knew of the greatness I was destined for and instilled in me a powerful need to stay out of sight. Ahem. But whatever it was that caused me to discreetly hide myself turned out to be one of best strokes of fortune in my life.
Huddling there, my back pinched by the prickly leaves, I saw a dozen or so hooves come to a halt right in front of my eyes. They pawed the ground, driving dust into nose. I slammed my hand over my nose and mouth, stifling my sneeze.
“Why’ar we stoppin’ here, ya brainless maggot?” A voice growled; it sounded like a gorilla and a bear mixed together, gruff and rough, if they could talk of course.
A hoard of boots appeared before me, many of them darker smears in the shadows of the forest.
“We’re stoppin’ here cause we need’t.”
“I say yer goin’ coward. After’t all yer big-man talk, yer turnin’ yella.”
I wasn’t much listening to their conversation; if anything, I was impatient for them to finish and move on their way. I thought I was starting to get a leg cramp.
Suddenly the slicing song of metal sliding out of its sheath caught my attention. It was followed by a choir of the same music; swords, daggers and who knew what manner of blades were being drawn. A few grunts, and then the air was filled by muffled shouts and moaning.
Panicking at how close the skirmish was to me - after all, my daring role models were never ruffians, they were dashing swashbucklers - I scrambled out of the hawthorn hedge. I landed in front of the hooves of a giant stallion. He was the only one who took any notice of me.
He tried to nick my shoulder with his teeth, as if he was mad at me just for being there. Shoving his muzzle away, I crawled under his belly. There was a lot less room than I had suspected in the dark. From his size, he couldn’t have been too old and from his relentless neighing, he wasn’t too happy being here.
Maybe they stole him? But then that thought was followed by another: They’re thieves!
My curiosity got the better of me.
I dashed out from the under the annoying stallion and blindly grabbed at the next horse I came across. Since I barely came up to this one’s middle, I had to grab the stirrups and haul myself up that way. Luckily, the commotion seemed to be coming from further up the road; the whole party seemed to have driven themselves closer to the kingdom.
Ignoring them for the moment, I let my fingers scurry around for any saddlebags. To my surprise and private pleasure, I found one. As swiftly as I could, I untied it and then dropped to the ground. The horse started as I did, prancing away. But I didn’t care. I had done something even more daring than taking on a measly tomcat, no matter how vicious. These were real, flesh and blood, scoundrels. And I had outwitted them all.
My momentary congratulation was shocked back to the present when the growly voice from before snarled, “What'here? Hey!”
Swallowing my yelp, I raced down the road, spinning down the trail that led to my house. The dirt road rose gently, before melding with the grassy avenue that wound up the knoll before settling securely in the familiar glade.
To my relief, I heard no footsteps or hooves. Sighing, I saluted the night sky, interlaced with black, leafy fingers before creeping home.
As I had expected the lamps were up; they hung like yellow fireflies on the sides of the windows. It was a new invention. Little discs of iron were hollowed out and fitted with sheets of glass. Inside was a long candle wick. But the inventive part was the hooks in the back. They were attached to a slender, nearly invisible wire that could be removed or kept on. While on, the hooks dug into any surface, leaving only a slim puncture wound behind. My mother loved them, since they could stay outside as lamps and could stay inside as decorations.
By their tender glow, I sat under the windowsill, eagerly lifting the flap of the saddlebag. I let myself wallow in the moment, savoring the sweet taste of victory. It swelled inside me, a shining, impressive sensation as if I really was a great man already. Not only had I snatched some treasure from cutthroats, but I had escaped as well. I was swift, daring, and triumphant - what could be better than that?
Smiling to myself, I sucked in my feelings of grandeur and ceremoniously turned the bag upside down. Sparkling crystals met my eyes. Adorning a milieu of bracelets, they came in all colors - pink, blue, and yellow. But most of all they were a dazzling white, as clear as ice; they caught the candlelight from above, a thousand little flames burning inside.
As I sat there, gazing at my new treasures I felt something growing inside me, something important. It heaved up like a gush of wind and I was left nodding with confidence.
Yep, I had decided I would be a thief as well, but not a brutish thug like those men I had stolen from. They were as common as houseflies. No, I was going to be a dashing-and charming-thief, quick on his feet and with his tongue, who attempted the most daring feats. No treasure would be beyond my scope. Even a dragon’s.
Now I only needed to practice.
retrace back to Act One
jorney to Act Three
As before, I still do not (nor will I ever) own Flynn Rider; he belongs to Disney.
And now continued in...
Act Two: Wherein I Pounce Upon My (Almost) Perfect Name, Outwit a Band of Thugs in the Forest, and Awaken to my True Calling
The day dawned with promise as I marched toward the kingdom’s bookstores. There were rows of them, all lined up with colorful roofs. Wide windows shone in the sunlight, tempting everyone passing by with rich volumes of adventure and history and science. I had never much gone in for the latter two, though my parents always said there was botany in my blood.
My great-grandfather, on my father’s side, so they claimed, had planted those apple trees, sticking it out with them, the way my mother did with all of us.
As for me, plants didn’t hold much interest for a soon-to-be-dashing fellow like myself. I mean, what good were they after they were plucked or eaten? Nope, it was better to be quick on your feet (and smooth with your words wouldn’t hurt, as I’d come to learn), than waste your time with frilly little green things.
So with determination, I crossed the threshold and buried myself in a pile of new books. They had come from a distant kingdom, who’s named slipped by my ears. But that didn’t matter in a few moments.
Flipping eagerly through a new tale I had found - a real ripping one, full of dazzling excitement and daring feats - I stumbled over the (almost) perfect name: Fynnegan Rider.
I titled my head as I tried it out. It was perhaps a tad too long but it had potential. Besides, the stories were great. He was the best adventurer I had ever read about!
Delighted with my find I strided up to the counter and brought it with what remained of my allowance for the week. (I couldn’t resist the roasted apples the venders were selling on the streets. Stupid apples, haunting my life. I decided at that moment, if I ever got away from this place, I’d make sure I never ate another apple again.)
Burgeoning with pride, I speedily ran home for thick clouds were beginning to cover the fading reds and oranges of the sunset. The clouds spilled out of the east like wool, tangling themselves with the runaway paint of fire. A faint dark blue arch grew darker and darker as the dusk was washed away. Soon what should have been a star-filled, full-moon night turned into a dreary, shadowy walk through the forest.
I bit my lip and hugged the parcel with my new book tighter to my chest. I wasn’t sacred of course; I was too heroic for that, but I did have a twinge of unease, thinking of how terrified my mother would be. She hated it when I stayed out late and had even made me promise to be back before dark.
Well, it wouldn’t have been so bad if the clouds had stayed away. That’s what I tell myself anyway.
Taking a deep breath, I tried whistling as I walked, but I was soon interrupted by the abrupt thunder of horses’ hooves. Startled from my brisk stroll, I dove into a nearby hedge, squirming under the thorny leaves. It was a hawthorn hedge, still covered in white blossoms.
Why I hid rather than wait on the road, remains to this day a fascinating mystery in the twists and turns of my life. Perhaps a deeper instinct inside me knew of the greatness I was destined for and instilled in me a powerful need to stay out of sight. Ahem. But whatever it was that caused me to discreetly hide myself turned out to be one of best strokes of fortune in my life.
Huddling there, my back pinched by the prickly leaves, I saw a dozen or so hooves come to a halt right in front of my eyes. They pawed the ground, driving dust into nose. I slammed my hand over my nose and mouth, stifling my sneeze.
“Why’ar we stoppin’ here, ya brainless maggot?” A voice growled; it sounded like a gorilla and a bear mixed together, gruff and rough, if they could talk of course.
A hoard of boots appeared before me, many of them darker smears in the shadows of the forest.
“We’re stoppin’ here cause we need’t.”
“I say yer goin’ coward. After’t all yer big-man talk, yer turnin’ yella.”
I wasn’t much listening to their conversation; if anything, I was impatient for them to finish and move on their way. I thought I was starting to get a leg cramp.
Suddenly the slicing song of metal sliding out of its sheath caught my attention. It was followed by a choir of the same music; swords, daggers and who knew what manner of blades were being drawn. A few grunts, and then the air was filled by muffled shouts and moaning.
Panicking at how close the skirmish was to me - after all, my daring role models were never ruffians, they were dashing swashbucklers - I scrambled out of the hawthorn hedge. I landed in front of the hooves of a giant stallion. He was the only one who took any notice of me.
He tried to nick my shoulder with his teeth, as if he was mad at me just for being there. Shoving his muzzle away, I crawled under his belly. There was a lot less room than I had suspected in the dark. From his size, he couldn’t have been too old and from his relentless neighing, he wasn’t too happy being here.
Maybe they stole him? But then that thought was followed by another: They’re thieves!
My curiosity got the better of me.
I dashed out from the under the annoying stallion and blindly grabbed at the next horse I came across. Since I barely came up to this one’s middle, I had to grab the stirrups and haul myself up that way. Luckily, the commotion seemed to be coming from further up the road; the whole party seemed to have driven themselves closer to the kingdom.
Ignoring them for the moment, I let my fingers scurry around for any saddlebags. To my surprise and private pleasure, I found one. As swiftly as I could, I untied it and then dropped to the ground. The horse started as I did, prancing away. But I didn’t care. I had done something even more daring than taking on a measly tomcat, no matter how vicious. These were real, flesh and blood, scoundrels. And I had outwitted them all.
My momentary congratulation was shocked back to the present when the growly voice from before snarled, “What'here? Hey!”
Swallowing my yelp, I raced down the road, spinning down the trail that led to my house. The dirt road rose gently, before melding with the grassy avenue that wound up the knoll before settling securely in the familiar glade.
To my relief, I heard no footsteps or hooves. Sighing, I saluted the night sky, interlaced with black, leafy fingers before creeping home.
As I had expected the lamps were up; they hung like yellow fireflies on the sides of the windows. It was a new invention. Little discs of iron were hollowed out and fitted with sheets of glass. Inside was a long candle wick. But the inventive part was the hooks in the back. They were attached to a slender, nearly invisible wire that could be removed or kept on. While on, the hooks dug into any surface, leaving only a slim puncture wound behind. My mother loved them, since they could stay outside as lamps and could stay inside as decorations.
By their tender glow, I sat under the windowsill, eagerly lifting the flap of the saddlebag. I let myself wallow in the moment, savoring the sweet taste of victory. It swelled inside me, a shining, impressive sensation as if I really was a great man already. Not only had I snatched some treasure from cutthroats, but I had escaped as well. I was swift, daring, and triumphant - what could be better than that?
Smiling to myself, I sucked in my feelings of grandeur and ceremoniously turned the bag upside down. Sparkling crystals met my eyes. Adorning a milieu of bracelets, they came in all colors - pink, blue, and yellow. But most of all they were a dazzling white, as clear as ice; they caught the candlelight from above, a thousand little flames burning inside.
As I sat there, gazing at my new treasures I felt something growing inside me, something important. It heaved up like a gush of wind and I was left nodding with confidence.
Yep, I had decided I would be a thief as well, but not a brutish thug like those men I had stolen from. They were as common as houseflies. No, I was going to be a dashing-and charming-thief, quick on his feet and with his tongue, who attempted the most daring feats. No treasure would be beyond my scope. Even a dragon’s.
Now I only needed to practice.
retrace back to Act One
jorney to Act Three