[May 15, 2007] [Princess Tutu] I Am Giving You A Warning
Title: I Am Giving You A Warning
Day/Theme: May 15: je te dis vous [I say to you]
Series: Princess Tutu
Character/Pairing: Autor, Johanna (OC)
Rating: G (but a bit dark)
It was a balmy, beautiful spring day as Autor sat down in the living room with his favorite book. He quickly skipped past the portion about the Princess that confessed her love to the Prince-that was boring stuff that was probably just thrown in to please the girls. A satisfied grin appeared on his face when he reached the part he was looking for-the battle of the brave knight and the Raven. Of course, the Knight never even managed a single blow, but he at least tried. And the battle was exciting, at the very least.
Autor was young enough that he barely noticed the battle taking place in his own home between his parents. He knew they had been having some argument or another, but as far as he knew, it didn’t concern him, so he did what he normally did. That is, he ignored it. Both of his parents were strong-willed enough that every now and then they would butt heads, but as long as they eventually resolved things everything would quickly go back to normal and his parents would be as loving (and disgusting) as ever. The seven-year-old had, at this point, learned that the best thing to do would be to stay out of their way and let them figure out things on their own.
He had been getting so involved in his reading that he barely noticed the sound of light footsteps as his mother walked into the room and touched him on the shoulder. He looked up, and his eyes widened at the unusual sight in front of him.
She was wearing black.
His mother was fond of bright colors. Sunny yellow and flaming oranges particularly, sometimes accented with a splash of green or blue. White, sometimes, when she was in the mood for something simple. Never black.
“Autor,” she said grimly, the typical sparkle in her eye strangely missing. “Does that suit you have still fit?”
Autor shrugged, still trying to pull his mind back to reality. “Maybe.”
“Let’s go try it on, alright?”
Autor complied, and when his mother found that it still fit (reasonably enough, the coat sleeves could’ve been longer), she combed his hair neatly and took his hand, telling him that they were going to take a walk.
“In a suit?” the boy said in a doubtful tone.
“Yes Autor, in a suit.”
“That’s silly! Who goes on walks in a suit?”
“People who have an important destination at the end of the walk, that’s who.”
“What’s the im-impo-imperta-where are we going?”
His mother looked down at him and sadly smiled. “I’ll explain it when we get there. Alright?”
“Oooookay. Is Dad coming with us?”
The smile quickly faded as she yanked the front door open. “No.”
“Why not?”
Johanna was silent for a moment as she took her son by the hand and began to take him down the street. “Your father…would rather think about other things.”
Autor wasn’t at all sure what she meant, but decided to stay quiet. His mother was beginning to talk in that certain tone that adults did when they were upset but trying not to show it in front of him.
Along the way, the pair was mostly quiet, the silence infrequently broken by Autor’s questions about something he saw and his mother’s patient but short answers. On the way, she stopped at a flower shop and bought a bouquet of pink tulips.
“Why are you buying those, Mom?” Autor asked as they walked out of the store.
“As a gift.”
“Why?”
“They were a favorite of hers, I think,” his mother said softly, talking as if she was thinking aloud. “Or, at least, they had some growing in their garden.”
“Who?”
“The…people we’re going to see.”
“Are they friends of yours?”
“Not exactly.”
“What do you mean, ‘not exactly’?”
“I’ll explain when we get there, Autor.”
That was the last thing she said as they walked, so Autor had to content himself with that. She was walking slowly, without the usual syncopated rhythm to her steps. She neither hummed nor whistled. Autor knew something was wrong, but he couldn’t understand exactly what it was.
It wasn’t long until they reached their destination-the church at the center of town. Or, rather, the graveyard connected to the church at the center of town.
Johanna brought Autor to the edge of a small crowd of people all dressed in black like his mother and whispered to him to be quiet and watch. At the front of the crowd were two coffins. Nearby, Autor saw a boy about his age with dark, messy hair staring blankly ahead. He didn’t look at the people around him, even when a few of them leaned forward to speak quietly into his ear. At times, he slightly nodded to show he heard. Other times, he didn’t acknowledge the person at all, keeping his eyes pointed straight ahead at the caskets. Autor vaguely thought that sometimes his father looked like that when he was reading-blank, distant, in his own world.
Some people stood in front of the group to talk about the couple in the coffins. Some cried. Others didn’t. Autor didn’t remember much about what was said…just little bits and pieces. The man had one time helped out a family in need by repairing their roof. The woman loved to dance. They loved their children very much. (The dark-haired boy, for the first time during the entire ceremony, turned his head away and looked at the ground when this was said. A grey-haired man placed a hand on his shoulder, and he shrugged it off.)
After everyone was done talking, the coffins were lowered into the ground and a hymn was sung. His mother sang along with the rest, her voice soft and clear. But the normal sparkle in her eye when she sang was still missing.
Autor wasn’t particularly sure if he liked his mother being this way. It was odd.
Soon the ceremony was over, and the people slowly filtered away. It was only when the crowd was greatly diminished that his mother hesitantly walked towards the fresh graves and placed the pink tulips nearby the gravestones.
“Were you…friends of theirs?”
Autor turned. The grey-haired man was there, as grim as his mother was, his eyebrows raised slightly.
“I didn’t know them well,” his mother admitted, nervously plucking away a lose thread on her dress. “But I’m a distant relative of theirs. I’m sorry…I hope I’m not intruding.”
The man shook his head. “No, I’m sorry. I just wasn’t sure who you were. Thank you for coming.”
Johanna nodded, silent for a moment, and looking at Autor with a look he couldn’t quite understand. “…How’s their son?”
“Fakir?” The man glanced over at the boy that was silently sitting nearby, still staring blankly at nothing in particular. “He’s…slightly in shock still, I’m afraid. Understandably, considering…what he had to witness.”
“What’s going to happen to him?”
“I will care for him. I was a close friend of his father…although I’m not family, but…”
“No, no, please don’t worry. I’m not going to take him away. It’s good that he’ll be going with someone he knows well.” Autor’s mother sighed softly, stealing another glance at the boy. “But if…there’s anything I can do to help…please stop by the watchmaker’s shop near the fountain and ask for Johanna. I’d be happy to do anything I can.”
“Thank you, Johanna. I greatly appreciate it.”
She nodded in response, then took Autor’s hand. “We should be going now…thank you.”
Before he was pulled away from his mother, Autor took one last look at the boy. To his surprise, he looked up and returned Autor’s gaze, his green eyes eerily blank. Autor couldn’t understand the boy’s look, no matter how hard he tried. Was he under some sort of spell?
A tug on his arm compelled Autor to begin to walk away, but his eyes stayed on the boy, squinting as his vision began to blur. He watched him until he was too far away to do so.
After a little more walking, Autor’s mother took him to a nearby park and gently told him to sit on a bench. She took a seat next to him, gently stroking a loose hair off of his forehead. “Autor…I hope I didn’t scare you with this.”
“I’m not scared,” the boy replied, kicking his legs a little as he sat. He was confused, perhaps. Slightly unnerved by the look in the boy’s eyes. But not scared.
“Good.” His mother paused for a moment, pressing her lips together and studying the pattern of light caused by the gaps in a nearby tree’s shadow. “Autor…do you understand what that was?”
“It was a funeral,” the boy said simply. He had read about them in books.
“That’s right. That man and that woman…do you know what happened to them?”
“They died. But I don’t know why.”
“They died protecting someone very important to them.”
“Like the Knight in the story?”
She paused again. “Yes, Autor…just like the Knight. And…Autor…you know they’re not coming back, right?”
“I know. Once you’re dead, you’re dead.”
If Johanna was bothered by the nonchalant way her son was reacting to the discussion, she hid it well. “Yes…that’s right.” She ran her fingers along the metal armrest of the bench before turning and gently placing a hand under the boy’s chin, turning his face until she could look into his eyes. “Autor…there’s something very important I’m about to say to you…so listen very closely. Okay?”
Autor nodded vigorously.
“Good…
Autor, there is magic in this world. It exists.”
“Like in the fairytales?” Autor asked, his eyes wide.
“Yes, dear. Like in the fairytales. But…although magic can do a lot of good...it’s very, very dangerous. All power is. If you misuse it…even if you’re trying to help people…bad things can happen. People…people may even die.”
Autor frowned. The hand underneath his chin was slightly shaking. “So how do you know when is the right time to use it?”
“…At this age…it’s best not to use it at all. When you’re older…that will be something you’ll have to figure out for yourself.”
“B-But-“
“I’m sorry Autor. That’s all I can tell you. But…if you ever get in a situation where you have to know, ask your father or me, alright? We’ll help you make the right choice.”
“I will, Mom.”
She smiled softly, bending down and gently planting a kiss on his forehead. “Good, Autor. …I love you.”
The next day, Autor woke up and walked out to see his father searching for something. His mother. She was gone.
The dark-haired boy didn’t cross his mind again, until nearly ten years later, when he was leaning against a piano and looking into the green eyes of a boy his age. The feeling of those green eyes staring at him felt eerily familiar.
When a red-headed girl rudely burst into the room, he straightened, and echoed the words he knew someone had once said to him, a long, long time ago.
“If you use it improperly, there will be hell to pay. People…may even die.”
Day/Theme: May 15: je te dis vous [I say to you]
Series: Princess Tutu
Character/Pairing: Autor, Johanna (OC)
Rating: G (but a bit dark)
It was a balmy, beautiful spring day as Autor sat down in the living room with his favorite book. He quickly skipped past the portion about the Princess that confessed her love to the Prince-that was boring stuff that was probably just thrown in to please the girls. A satisfied grin appeared on his face when he reached the part he was looking for-the battle of the brave knight and the Raven. Of course, the Knight never even managed a single blow, but he at least tried. And the battle was exciting, at the very least.
Autor was young enough that he barely noticed the battle taking place in his own home between his parents. He knew they had been having some argument or another, but as far as he knew, it didn’t concern him, so he did what he normally did. That is, he ignored it. Both of his parents were strong-willed enough that every now and then they would butt heads, but as long as they eventually resolved things everything would quickly go back to normal and his parents would be as loving (and disgusting) as ever. The seven-year-old had, at this point, learned that the best thing to do would be to stay out of their way and let them figure out things on their own.
He had been getting so involved in his reading that he barely noticed the sound of light footsteps as his mother walked into the room and touched him on the shoulder. He looked up, and his eyes widened at the unusual sight in front of him.
She was wearing black.
His mother was fond of bright colors. Sunny yellow and flaming oranges particularly, sometimes accented with a splash of green or blue. White, sometimes, when she was in the mood for something simple. Never black.
“Autor,” she said grimly, the typical sparkle in her eye strangely missing. “Does that suit you have still fit?”
Autor shrugged, still trying to pull his mind back to reality. “Maybe.”
“Let’s go try it on, alright?”
Autor complied, and when his mother found that it still fit (reasonably enough, the coat sleeves could’ve been longer), she combed his hair neatly and took his hand, telling him that they were going to take a walk.
“In a suit?” the boy said in a doubtful tone.
“Yes Autor, in a suit.”
“That’s silly! Who goes on walks in a suit?”
“People who have an important destination at the end of the walk, that’s who.”
“What’s the im-impo-imperta-where are we going?”
His mother looked down at him and sadly smiled. “I’ll explain it when we get there. Alright?”
“Oooookay. Is Dad coming with us?”
The smile quickly faded as she yanked the front door open. “No.”
“Why not?”
Johanna was silent for a moment as she took her son by the hand and began to take him down the street. “Your father…would rather think about other things.”
Autor wasn’t at all sure what she meant, but decided to stay quiet. His mother was beginning to talk in that certain tone that adults did when they were upset but trying not to show it in front of him.
Along the way, the pair was mostly quiet, the silence infrequently broken by Autor’s questions about something he saw and his mother’s patient but short answers. On the way, she stopped at a flower shop and bought a bouquet of pink tulips.
“Why are you buying those, Mom?” Autor asked as they walked out of the store.
“As a gift.”
“Why?”
“They were a favorite of hers, I think,” his mother said softly, talking as if she was thinking aloud. “Or, at least, they had some growing in their garden.”
“Who?”
“The…people we’re going to see.”
“Are they friends of yours?”
“Not exactly.”
“What do you mean, ‘not exactly’?”
“I’ll explain when we get there, Autor.”
That was the last thing she said as they walked, so Autor had to content himself with that. She was walking slowly, without the usual syncopated rhythm to her steps. She neither hummed nor whistled. Autor knew something was wrong, but he couldn’t understand exactly what it was.
It wasn’t long until they reached their destination-the church at the center of town. Or, rather, the graveyard connected to the church at the center of town.
Johanna brought Autor to the edge of a small crowd of people all dressed in black like his mother and whispered to him to be quiet and watch. At the front of the crowd were two coffins. Nearby, Autor saw a boy about his age with dark, messy hair staring blankly ahead. He didn’t look at the people around him, even when a few of them leaned forward to speak quietly into his ear. At times, he slightly nodded to show he heard. Other times, he didn’t acknowledge the person at all, keeping his eyes pointed straight ahead at the caskets. Autor vaguely thought that sometimes his father looked like that when he was reading-blank, distant, in his own world.
Some people stood in front of the group to talk about the couple in the coffins. Some cried. Others didn’t. Autor didn’t remember much about what was said…just little bits and pieces. The man had one time helped out a family in need by repairing their roof. The woman loved to dance. They loved their children very much. (The dark-haired boy, for the first time during the entire ceremony, turned his head away and looked at the ground when this was said. A grey-haired man placed a hand on his shoulder, and he shrugged it off.)
After everyone was done talking, the coffins were lowered into the ground and a hymn was sung. His mother sang along with the rest, her voice soft and clear. But the normal sparkle in her eye when she sang was still missing.
Autor wasn’t particularly sure if he liked his mother being this way. It was odd.
Soon the ceremony was over, and the people slowly filtered away. It was only when the crowd was greatly diminished that his mother hesitantly walked towards the fresh graves and placed the pink tulips nearby the gravestones.
“Were you…friends of theirs?”
Autor turned. The grey-haired man was there, as grim as his mother was, his eyebrows raised slightly.
“I didn’t know them well,” his mother admitted, nervously plucking away a lose thread on her dress. “But I’m a distant relative of theirs. I’m sorry…I hope I’m not intruding.”
The man shook his head. “No, I’m sorry. I just wasn’t sure who you were. Thank you for coming.”
Johanna nodded, silent for a moment, and looking at Autor with a look he couldn’t quite understand. “…How’s their son?”
“Fakir?” The man glanced over at the boy that was silently sitting nearby, still staring blankly at nothing in particular. “He’s…slightly in shock still, I’m afraid. Understandably, considering…what he had to witness.”
“What’s going to happen to him?”
“I will care for him. I was a close friend of his father…although I’m not family, but…”
“No, no, please don’t worry. I’m not going to take him away. It’s good that he’ll be going with someone he knows well.” Autor’s mother sighed softly, stealing another glance at the boy. “But if…there’s anything I can do to help…please stop by the watchmaker’s shop near the fountain and ask for Johanna. I’d be happy to do anything I can.”
“Thank you, Johanna. I greatly appreciate it.”
She nodded in response, then took Autor’s hand. “We should be going now…thank you.”
Before he was pulled away from his mother, Autor took one last look at the boy. To his surprise, he looked up and returned Autor’s gaze, his green eyes eerily blank. Autor couldn’t understand the boy’s look, no matter how hard he tried. Was he under some sort of spell?
A tug on his arm compelled Autor to begin to walk away, but his eyes stayed on the boy, squinting as his vision began to blur. He watched him until he was too far away to do so.
After a little more walking, Autor’s mother took him to a nearby park and gently told him to sit on a bench. She took a seat next to him, gently stroking a loose hair off of his forehead. “Autor…I hope I didn’t scare you with this.”
“I’m not scared,” the boy replied, kicking his legs a little as he sat. He was confused, perhaps. Slightly unnerved by the look in the boy’s eyes. But not scared.
“Good.” His mother paused for a moment, pressing her lips together and studying the pattern of light caused by the gaps in a nearby tree’s shadow. “Autor…do you understand what that was?”
“It was a funeral,” the boy said simply. He had read about them in books.
“That’s right. That man and that woman…do you know what happened to them?”
“They died. But I don’t know why.”
“They died protecting someone very important to them.”
“Like the Knight in the story?”
She paused again. “Yes, Autor…just like the Knight. And…Autor…you know they’re not coming back, right?”
“I know. Once you’re dead, you’re dead.”
If Johanna was bothered by the nonchalant way her son was reacting to the discussion, she hid it well. “Yes…that’s right.” She ran her fingers along the metal armrest of the bench before turning and gently placing a hand under the boy’s chin, turning his face until she could look into his eyes. “Autor…there’s something very important I’m about to say to you…so listen very closely. Okay?”
Autor nodded vigorously.
“Good…
Autor, there is magic in this world. It exists.”
“Like in the fairytales?” Autor asked, his eyes wide.
“Yes, dear. Like in the fairytales. But…although magic can do a lot of good...it’s very, very dangerous. All power is. If you misuse it…even if you’re trying to help people…bad things can happen. People…people may even die.”
Autor frowned. The hand underneath his chin was slightly shaking. “So how do you know when is the right time to use it?”
“…At this age…it’s best not to use it at all. When you’re older…that will be something you’ll have to figure out for yourself.”
“B-But-“
“I’m sorry Autor. That’s all I can tell you. But…if you ever get in a situation where you have to know, ask your father or me, alright? We’ll help you make the right choice.”
“I will, Mom.”
She smiled softly, bending down and gently planting a kiss on his forehead. “Good, Autor. …I love you.”
The next day, Autor woke up and walked out to see his father searching for something. His mother. She was gone.
The dark-haired boy didn’t cross his mind again, until nearly ten years later, when he was leaning against a piano and looking into the green eyes of a boy his age. The feeling of those green eyes staring at him felt eerily familiar.
When a red-headed girl rudely burst into the room, he straightened, and echoed the words he knew someone had once said to him, a long, long time ago.
“If you use it improperly, there will be hell to pay. People…may even die.”