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Fic: The More Things Change
Title: The More Things Change
Author: Erin (erinm_4600)
Characters, Pairing: DG and Azkadellia (mention of Ahamo, the Queen, the witch, the Robo-rents and a bunch of random OCs)
Rating: PG
Summary: People may be different, but the job remains the same
Warnings: pre-series and post- *Written for the Fall Picture Challenge 02 challenge at tm_challenge.
Disclaimer: The original characters belong to L. Frank Baum and their respective actors. The current characters belong to Sci-Fi, the movie folks and their respective actors. The rest of 'em are mine.
They never liked parading themselves around for the crowds. Mother always said that it was 'part of the job' and Father always gave them a wide smile and told them to pretend it was a game. They would spend all morning being poked and prodded and told to stand up straight and don't put your hand there and don't rock and be still and don't laugh and blah, blah, blah.
They would have to stand for what seemed like hours and it was excruciating - especially for the younger one, because she just couldn't stand still. She tried, she really did. But she just couldn't do it. Father had taken to see that she was always standing between himself and her sister.
He said she got it from his side of the family, and he always said it with a smile. If his wife was under scrutiny for marrying a Slipper, the girls were under more. They were half-breeds, freaks in the eyes of some. This disturbed the younger one more, for reasons she didn’t understand.
"It's because you're a baby," said her sister. "Some people are just rude."
"But they don't like us," the younger one whined. "Why not?"
"You'll understand when you're older," came the reply. "Stop fidgeting and pay attention," she said, never taking her eyes off the crowd in front of them, letting a small smile slip a moment later when she tapped her shoe against her sister's.
-*-
She was always in trouble in school. When the teachers asked why she couldn't just sit still, she had no answer. When the Principal asked, she had no answer. Once Mom and Popsicle were called, the usual phrases were thrown around: "We'll talk to her... she's just a restless spirit... she gets it from her father..." The last was always spoken by Mom and Popsicle always gave a nod, but never said more.
Once they got home, she would apologize and get even more frustrated. She didn't want to cause a distraction, but she didn't know how to stop. Half the time, she didn't even realize she was doing anything until it was too late. Finally, she would barrel out the back door and disappear into the fields for a while, finally ending up back at the swing.
Sometimes she'd go straight to the swing.
That's when Popsicle suggested she start carrying a notepad and a pencil. It wouldn't help her hold attention, Mom noted, but it would at least keep her still. Assemblies were easy, because she could slump in the chair of the auditorium and doodle away. She took in every word, too. Of course, after the second test was turned in, blank save for the same repeated swirling pattern, the notebook was confiscated.
The teachers got together and decided that she was less of a distraction if she was distracted, and as long as she actually took the tests - she was getting every answer right when asked - they would overlook the doodling. But the second her grades began to slip, that was it. She graduated in the top ten of her class and really had no clue how she did it.
She barely remembered even going to school on a daily basis.
Graduation was the worst. Ever. There were only 450 kids in her graduating class, but it takes a long time to read through 450 names. And three speeches from the trifecta of Valedictorian perfection - which she intentionally blocked out because the sugary goodness of all three of them was enough to give someone a cavity. But she had promised her parents and her teachers she would behave. She'd made it this far, after everything; she could get through this. She had to.
It was part of her job.
-*-
If predisposition was the reason she was chosen over her sister, she was definitely the right choice... morbid as the thought was. There was no way the witch would have survived a minute in her sister’s body. The woman barely moved as it was, and when she did it was with an expert grace.
She had some control over her own body, and she would laugh at the idea of her sister poking the witch, internally, constantly trying to move or looking here and there or rocking. Somehow, she just couldn't picture the witch rocking back and forth on her heels, watching the butterflies in the garden and fighting the urge to chase after them.
When she addressed the Longcoats, she stood straight, barely moved and often didn't even look like she was breathing. She had an eerie calm surrounding her at all times, even when she had control of her body. The witch had one major problem: she was cocky. They both knew, and the witch knew the girl knew, but did nothing.
She had control over the body, after all. And she wasn't going anywhere.
She wasn't always so calm and collected, the witch. The annuals she was in the cave, she would walk around in circles, talking to herself; the picture of neurotic. The enclosed space had made her fairly crazy, but with no one to talk to but the Mo-bats, the madness was internal. So, instead of roaming around the tower like a crazy person, it was when she was sitting still that the madness was at its worst.
All her advisors knew that if she was quiet, she was not "there". Especially when she started talking to herself. It was a long while before even her most-trusted advisors knew she was actually two people. How the news of her possession hadn't spread throughout the land always intrigued the girl. Usually, everyone knew everything.
She used to try and fight the witch, but found it to be more of a hassle than she liked. The witch was mean and always found ways to punish her for the disobedience. Finally, a deal was reached: she would behave and let the witch have free reign - she was tired of fighting, really - and, in return, she would be allowed to see her mother.
Unfortunately, the witch never allowed her control in her mother's presence. It was an odd kind of torture she enjoyed, watching as the girl became more frustrated with each visit. Deciding that if she wasn’t going to be treated fairly, she wasn't going to play fair, the witch threatened to stop the visits. So she played the perfectly polite little princess and dealt, whether she liked it or not.
It was part of her job, after all.
-*-
"Knock it off," DG said to Az as they stood on the balcony of the palace, looking down at the crowds.
"I can't do this," Az stated in a quiet, shaky voice.
"Yes you can," DG replied, still looking straight ahead.
"All they see is the witch. A freak," Az mumbled. Why wouldn't they let her just stay inside, locked away in her room.
"It's part of the job, Az. I don't want to be here either. Stop fidgeting." Next to them, Ahamo let out a chuckle and a smile slipped up the side of his face. It was an odd turn of events to see his rambunctious baby girl the calm, collected one.
It seemed that, the more things changed, they indeed stayed the same.
My thanks! :D
Author: Erin (erinm_4600)
Characters, Pairing: DG and Azkadellia (mention of Ahamo, the Queen, the witch, the Robo-rents and a bunch of random OCs)
Rating: PG
Summary: People may be different, but the job remains the same
Warnings: pre-series and post- *Written for the Fall Picture Challenge 02 challenge at tm_challenge.
Disclaimer: The original characters belong to L. Frank Baum and their respective actors. The current characters belong to Sci-Fi, the movie folks and their respective actors. The rest of 'em are mine.
They never liked parading themselves around for the crowds. Mother always said that it was 'part of the job' and Father always gave them a wide smile and told them to pretend it was a game. They would spend all morning being poked and prodded and told to stand up straight and don't put your hand there and don't rock and be still and don't laugh and blah, blah, blah.
They would have to stand for what seemed like hours and it was excruciating - especially for the younger one, because she just couldn't stand still. She tried, she really did. But she just couldn't do it. Father had taken to see that she was always standing between himself and her sister.
He said she got it from his side of the family, and he always said it with a smile. If his wife was under scrutiny for marrying a Slipper, the girls were under more. They were half-breeds, freaks in the eyes of some. This disturbed the younger one more, for reasons she didn’t understand.
"It's because you're a baby," said her sister. "Some people are just rude."
"But they don't like us," the younger one whined. "Why not?"
"You'll understand when you're older," came the reply. "Stop fidgeting and pay attention," she said, never taking her eyes off the crowd in front of them, letting a small smile slip a moment later when she tapped her shoe against her sister's.
-*-
She was always in trouble in school. When the teachers asked why she couldn't just sit still, she had no answer. When the Principal asked, she had no answer. Once Mom and Popsicle were called, the usual phrases were thrown around: "We'll talk to her... she's just a restless spirit... she gets it from her father..." The last was always spoken by Mom and Popsicle always gave a nod, but never said more.
Once they got home, she would apologize and get even more frustrated. She didn't want to cause a distraction, but she didn't know how to stop. Half the time, she didn't even realize she was doing anything until it was too late. Finally, she would barrel out the back door and disappear into the fields for a while, finally ending up back at the swing.
Sometimes she'd go straight to the swing.
That's when Popsicle suggested she start carrying a notepad and a pencil. It wouldn't help her hold attention, Mom noted, but it would at least keep her still. Assemblies were easy, because she could slump in the chair of the auditorium and doodle away. She took in every word, too. Of course, after the second test was turned in, blank save for the same repeated swirling pattern, the notebook was confiscated.
The teachers got together and decided that she was less of a distraction if she was distracted, and as long as she actually took the tests - she was getting every answer right when asked - they would overlook the doodling. But the second her grades began to slip, that was it. She graduated in the top ten of her class and really had no clue how she did it.
She barely remembered even going to school on a daily basis.
Graduation was the worst. Ever. There were only 450 kids in her graduating class, but it takes a long time to read through 450 names. And three speeches from the trifecta of Valedictorian perfection - which she intentionally blocked out because the sugary goodness of all three of them was enough to give someone a cavity. But she had promised her parents and her teachers she would behave. She'd made it this far, after everything; she could get through this. She had to.
It was part of her job.
-*-
If predisposition was the reason she was chosen over her sister, she was definitely the right choice... morbid as the thought was. There was no way the witch would have survived a minute in her sister’s body. The woman barely moved as it was, and when she did it was with an expert grace.
She had some control over her own body, and she would laugh at the idea of her sister poking the witch, internally, constantly trying to move or looking here and there or rocking. Somehow, she just couldn't picture the witch rocking back and forth on her heels, watching the butterflies in the garden and fighting the urge to chase after them.
When she addressed the Longcoats, she stood straight, barely moved and often didn't even look like she was breathing. She had an eerie calm surrounding her at all times, even when she had control of her body. The witch had one major problem: she was cocky. They both knew, and the witch knew the girl knew, but did nothing.
She had control over the body, after all. And she wasn't going anywhere.
She wasn't always so calm and collected, the witch. The annuals she was in the cave, she would walk around in circles, talking to herself; the picture of neurotic. The enclosed space had made her fairly crazy, but with no one to talk to but the Mo-bats, the madness was internal. So, instead of roaming around the tower like a crazy person, it was when she was sitting still that the madness was at its worst.
All her advisors knew that if she was quiet, she was not "there". Especially when she started talking to herself. It was a long while before even her most-trusted advisors knew she was actually two people. How the news of her possession hadn't spread throughout the land always intrigued the girl. Usually, everyone knew everything.
She used to try and fight the witch, but found it to be more of a hassle than she liked. The witch was mean and always found ways to punish her for the disobedience. Finally, a deal was reached: she would behave and let the witch have free reign - she was tired of fighting, really - and, in return, she would be allowed to see her mother.
Unfortunately, the witch never allowed her control in her mother's presence. It was an odd kind of torture she enjoyed, watching as the girl became more frustrated with each visit. Deciding that if she wasn’t going to be treated fairly, she wasn't going to play fair, the witch threatened to stop the visits. So she played the perfectly polite little princess and dealt, whether she liked it or not.
It was part of her job, after all.
-*-
"Knock it off," DG said to Az as they stood on the balcony of the palace, looking down at the crowds.
"I can't do this," Az stated in a quiet, shaky voice.
"Yes you can," DG replied, still looking straight ahead.
"All they see is the witch. A freak," Az mumbled. Why wouldn't they let her just stay inside, locked away in her room.
"It's part of the job, Az. I don't want to be here either. Stop fidgeting." Next to them, Ahamo let out a chuckle and a smile slipped up the side of his face. It was an odd turn of events to see his rambunctious baby girl the calm, collected one.
It seemed that, the more things changed, they indeed stayed the same.
My thanks! :D