The Princesses (Princess Tutu, Rue/Ahiru)
- Title: The Princesses
- Princess Tutu - Rue/Ahiru
- Author: Genuine Replica
- Recipient: PoliAna
- Rating: G
- Warnings: None
- Summary: Prompt: Princess Tutu, Rue/Ahiru: Stories always pair the princess with a prince, even when the other princess of her dreams is dancing alone not ten steps away.
Ahiru is carrying most of the conversation. She finishes, "--Because we're friends! Right, Rue-chan?"
Rue finds her cheeks going red. Of all the confusing-- "Nnngh," she says, which isn't really an answer either way.
***
Once upon a time there were two princesses who were both the protagonist.
This is, of course, a false possibility. That is not how stories work: the prince is the hero; the princess is another protagonist. Any second princess must be a foil for the first; they must rotate around each other, each pulling the prince in different directions. In the end, the princess who is most convincing is the winner -- and that is the hero-princess, of course, the smiling beauty.
The other, by necessity, is the villain from the start.
***
"Rue-chan, Rue-chan!" Ahiru sing-songs. It isn't a particularly pretty sound, Rue finds. Ahiru's voice is ugly. It croaks, it scratches, it waddles along with a contented lack of concern for how other people notice how she sounds. But it's heartfelt.
Rue finds herself hard-pressed not to admire the heartfelt. It's hard not to be drawn to someone's heart, their interests and inner beauty and secret glories. But, she reminds herself with an almost domineering firmness, that's not for her. That sort of allure is a lie -- it's useless, and it'll only drive a wedge between her and the prince.
(Unfair, she thinks helplessly. Unfair; the prince would never mind enough for a wedge to be driven between them from any side but her own. That is part of why he is a heartless prince: he doesn't mind, he isn't jealous, he lets other people drift through his life and pass on without really even touching them. She doesn't want to be included in that drift. She's never wanted to. She'd rather drive fingers into the space where his heart had been and hold onto it like she were a climber and he were a cliff.
Everything else is the long deep drop.)
Ahiru leans right into her face. "Ruuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuue-chan," she demands.
Rue takes a graceful, surprised hop back. "--Yes?" she says.
"Ice, ice!"
"What?"
"Your favourite kind of ice cream," Ahiru says. She grabs Rue's hand. The spot where they join is warm and Rue desperately tries to find a way out of it without appearing cold. Ahiru points with her free hand. "Look, see? There's someone selling ice cream! Let's get some!"
Ice cream, ice cream, the call of the vendor comes to her in a high trilling song. Chocolate, Vanilla, Strawberry. Pain, Suffering, Longing. The salt taste of tears, fallen from the eyes of maidens, frozen in their loss. Get your ice cream, get your ice cream, ice cream, ice cream--
It is better to be cold. Rue yanks her hand out of Ahiru's, and slaps it away for good measure.
"Rue-chan?" Ahiru's eyes are wide.
Rue makes herself turn away. "I don't like ice cream," she says.
"Oh," Ahiru says.
***
What the hero-princess is, the villain-princess must be the opposite of. If the hero is caring, the villain must be selfish. If the hero is self-sacrificing, the villain must be greedy. If the hero has a beautiful dream of the future, with or without her own continued presence, the villain must dream of bleakness, with herself at the centre.
***
Sometimes when she can't really help it she can remember the heat of Ahiru's hips under her hands. Her fingers twitch. To say hips, of course, she thinks sarcastically, is hardly touching on the point. In ballet, few develop curves at all; Ahiru is flatter than most, a skinny boy. She's a plain girl. She'd never be a prima donna. Besides, she's so clumsy that she'll probably never take pointe.
But-- Rue tilts her head back, stares at the ceiling. Her lips are pursed at the edges. But there's a joy in her dancing that many people don't get. Rue knows how hard it is -- it's hard because it's hard work, it's a lot of patterns that must be memorized, must be right every time or you are telling the wrong story. Or you are telling an ugly story.
And it is painful. She's broken toes herself; that's the cost of soaring gracefully. It is hard, to keep on expressing joy in the face of loss. Of course she would continue dancing; it's what she does, dancing. Of course it's worth it. But it's work. It's certainly work. It's something she loves, and dancing with Mytho is something she could do forever.
But joy? In clumsiness and poor grasp of where your hands should be, your feet should be? Joy when the path ahead is full of broken bones and a body pushed to its limit and past, joy in the bleeding?
It's a rare talent, she thinks, which may make Ahiru a brilliant dancer even through her incompetence.
The raven's blood burns inside her veins. She shivers. She feels cold; she feels lonely.
She'll find Mytho, she thinks; he makes her feel better. There is nothing else so vast and empty. Together they are the best pas de deux.
It would be impossible, she thinks, for anything to exist that could fill them both. And if only one of them could be filled... she'd rather die, she thinks, and she throws on her shoes in a hurry, practically stomps to the door, a stunning break of grace.
***
It is rare for them to be friends. In the case that they are, it must always be so that one may shine more than the other, perhaps through a sacrifice that will reform one. They must never be in balance.
To do so will break the story and bring it through to the realm of reality.
***
It's cold; there is ice over everything. (Wasn't it warm yesterday? Rue thinks. Strange. She lets it go at that). Their breath frosts in the air.
"Rue-chan, look," Ahiru says. She spins a bit on the ice, arms out. "Uwaaaah!"
"What are you doing?" Rue frowns at her.
Ahiru flaps her arms. "It's like dancing, see?"
"...That's not like dancing at all," Rue says.
Ahiru pouts her lips out sulkily. "Then you try!" she says.
"I could do better any time." She says it with scorn. But once she's said it, she has to be committed to it. She ties her pointe shoes, walks out with care. And up -- it hurts, but she is, as always, perfectly balanced.
Wide-eyed, Ahiru says, "I don't think that's normal for on ice, Rue-chan, we could get skates--"
Rue catches her around the hips, and spins.
On the ice, her boots spin; Ahiru yelps, and tries to find her balance, forcibly puts her arms up a moment later. Rue walks around her, delicate chopstick movements of her legs. Together, they weave, dance, spin, leap--
Ahiru hits the ice. "Ow!"
"Ah," Rue says. The moment is shattered. She kneels down, carefully. The ice seems to hurt her kneecaps. "Are you all right?"
"Eheheh," Ahiru says. She rubs her rear. "I'm okay, I guess..."
"Stupid," Rue says. She takes Ahiru's hands and tries to pull her up.
The ice disagrees; Rue lands on top of her. Their lips touch. It's warm.
***
Many times, victory over the villain is demonstrated with the winning kiss between the hero-princess and the prince.
***
Rue jerks back.
Ahiru touches her lips. "Ah," she says.
She seems surprised.
- Princess Tutu - Rue/Ahiru
- Author: Genuine Replica
- Recipient: PoliAna
- Rating: G
- Warnings: None
- Summary: Prompt: Princess Tutu, Rue/Ahiru: Stories always pair the princess with a prince, even when the other princess of her dreams is dancing alone not ten steps away.
Ahiru is carrying most of the conversation. She finishes, "--Because we're friends! Right, Rue-chan?"
Rue finds her cheeks going red. Of all the confusing-- "Nnngh," she says, which isn't really an answer either way.
***
Once upon a time there were two princesses who were both the protagonist.
This is, of course, a false possibility. That is not how stories work: the prince is the hero; the princess is another protagonist. Any second princess must be a foil for the first; they must rotate around each other, each pulling the prince in different directions. In the end, the princess who is most convincing is the winner -- and that is the hero-princess, of course, the smiling beauty.
The other, by necessity, is the villain from the start.
***
"Rue-chan, Rue-chan!" Ahiru sing-songs. It isn't a particularly pretty sound, Rue finds. Ahiru's voice is ugly. It croaks, it scratches, it waddles along with a contented lack of concern for how other people notice how she sounds. But it's heartfelt.
Rue finds herself hard-pressed not to admire the heartfelt. It's hard not to be drawn to someone's heart, their interests and inner beauty and secret glories. But, she reminds herself with an almost domineering firmness, that's not for her. That sort of allure is a lie -- it's useless, and it'll only drive a wedge between her and the prince.
(Unfair, she thinks helplessly. Unfair; the prince would never mind enough for a wedge to be driven between them from any side but her own. That is part of why he is a heartless prince: he doesn't mind, he isn't jealous, he lets other people drift through his life and pass on without really even touching them. She doesn't want to be included in that drift. She's never wanted to. She'd rather drive fingers into the space where his heart had been and hold onto it like she were a climber and he were a cliff.
Everything else is the long deep drop.)
Ahiru leans right into her face. "Ruuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuue-chan," she demands.
Rue takes a graceful, surprised hop back. "--Yes?" she says.
"Ice, ice!"
"What?"
"Your favourite kind of ice cream," Ahiru says. She grabs Rue's hand. The spot where they join is warm and Rue desperately tries to find a way out of it without appearing cold. Ahiru points with her free hand. "Look, see? There's someone selling ice cream! Let's get some!"
Ice cream, ice cream, the call of the vendor comes to her in a high trilling song. Chocolate, Vanilla, Strawberry. Pain, Suffering, Longing. The salt taste of tears, fallen from the eyes of maidens, frozen in their loss. Get your ice cream, get your ice cream, ice cream, ice cream--
It is better to be cold. Rue yanks her hand out of Ahiru's, and slaps it away for good measure.
"Rue-chan?" Ahiru's eyes are wide.
Rue makes herself turn away. "I don't like ice cream," she says.
"Oh," Ahiru says.
***
What the hero-princess is, the villain-princess must be the opposite of. If the hero is caring, the villain must be selfish. If the hero is self-sacrificing, the villain must be greedy. If the hero has a beautiful dream of the future, with or without her own continued presence, the villain must dream of bleakness, with herself at the centre.
***
Sometimes when she can't really help it she can remember the heat of Ahiru's hips under her hands. Her fingers twitch. To say hips, of course, she thinks sarcastically, is hardly touching on the point. In ballet, few develop curves at all; Ahiru is flatter than most, a skinny boy. She's a plain girl. She'd never be a prima donna. Besides, she's so clumsy that she'll probably never take pointe.
But-- Rue tilts her head back, stares at the ceiling. Her lips are pursed at the edges. But there's a joy in her dancing that many people don't get. Rue knows how hard it is -- it's hard because it's hard work, it's a lot of patterns that must be memorized, must be right every time or you are telling the wrong story. Or you are telling an ugly story.
And it is painful. She's broken toes herself; that's the cost of soaring gracefully. It is hard, to keep on expressing joy in the face of loss. Of course she would continue dancing; it's what she does, dancing. Of course it's worth it. But it's work. It's certainly work. It's something she loves, and dancing with Mytho is something she could do forever.
But joy? In clumsiness and poor grasp of where your hands should be, your feet should be? Joy when the path ahead is full of broken bones and a body pushed to its limit and past, joy in the bleeding?
It's a rare talent, she thinks, which may make Ahiru a brilliant dancer even through her incompetence.
The raven's blood burns inside her veins. She shivers. She feels cold; she feels lonely.
She'll find Mytho, she thinks; he makes her feel better. There is nothing else so vast and empty. Together they are the best pas de deux.
It would be impossible, she thinks, for anything to exist that could fill them both. And if only one of them could be filled... she'd rather die, she thinks, and she throws on her shoes in a hurry, practically stomps to the door, a stunning break of grace.
***
It is rare for them to be friends. In the case that they are, it must always be so that one may shine more than the other, perhaps through a sacrifice that will reform one. They must never be in balance.
To do so will break the story and bring it through to the realm of reality.
***
It's cold; there is ice over everything. (Wasn't it warm yesterday? Rue thinks. Strange. She lets it go at that). Their breath frosts in the air.
"Rue-chan, look," Ahiru says. She spins a bit on the ice, arms out. "Uwaaaah!"
"What are you doing?" Rue frowns at her.
Ahiru flaps her arms. "It's like dancing, see?"
"...That's not like dancing at all," Rue says.
Ahiru pouts her lips out sulkily. "Then you try!" she says.
"I could do better any time." She says it with scorn. But once she's said it, she has to be committed to it. She ties her pointe shoes, walks out with care. And up -- it hurts, but she is, as always, perfectly balanced.
Wide-eyed, Ahiru says, "I don't think that's normal for on ice, Rue-chan, we could get skates--"
Rue catches her around the hips, and spins.
On the ice, her boots spin; Ahiru yelps, and tries to find her balance, forcibly puts her arms up a moment later. Rue walks around her, delicate chopstick movements of her legs. Together, they weave, dance, spin, leap--
Ahiru hits the ice. "Ow!"
"Ah," Rue says. The moment is shattered. She kneels down, carefully. The ice seems to hurt her kneecaps. "Are you all right?"
"Eheheh," Ahiru says. She rubs her rear. "I'm okay, I guess..."
"Stupid," Rue says. She takes Ahiru's hands and tries to pull her up.
The ice disagrees; Rue lands on top of her. Their lips touch. It's warm.
***
Many times, victory over the villain is demonstrated with the winning kiss between the hero-princess and the prince.
***
Rue jerks back.
Ahiru touches her lips. "Ah," she says.
She seems surprised.