August 11 - Watch Me
Title: Watch Me (As I Come Undone)
Author: Vashti (tvashti)
Fandom: Tin Man
Character(s): Oz, Azkadellia
Rating: FR-13/PG
Summary: Someday they'll be a two-man band, right now it's enough to watch the Princess shed her skin.
Length: ~680 words
Disclaimer: Only the words are mine, and that’s probably up for philosophical debate.
Notes: Not at all related to my other Tin Man/BtVS series "Long Way Down" although that was partial inspiration for this story.
Standing a respectful distance away, Oz watched as Princess Azkadellia spread her arms wide and let the stiff breeze blowing off the lake pull at skirt, her skin, her hair. When they had first come to the Summer Palace that was to be her home - and prison - she had worn layers upon layers of clothing, enough to make an Other Side woman from a fabric-happy religious order feel suffocated. That had been over a year ago. Now she refused sleeves and crinolines and perhaps other under-things he didn’t know much about (no sisters...dated girls who wore pants...he only knew about crinolines because the princess had thrown a set at his head (he thought "crinkoliner" would have been a better name)). Someday the Princess would leave her Summer Prison, go into town with her hair fashionably short, wearing the trousers her sister was making popular, and none would be the wiser.
They were going to start a band. She’d sing lead vocals. Oz had told her about it once, when a thunderstorm had left her shaking, drowning in mounds of soft, foldable armor that was no match water, light and sound. The band had become their Thing ever since. The Princess embellished it, weaving a reality of imaginative words around the core that Oz had created. They couldn’t decide on a name, but they had a dozen song titles under their belt already. They didn’t get around to singing much, although Oz played for the Princess often. It soothed her, calming her night terrors and chasing off her portion of the day-mares.
Someday her sentence would be lifted. Someday she would have her own guitar strapped across her back as she wheeled an amp to and from their latest gig. They were a two man band so that meant they had to be their own roadies.
"I am almost certain such a word doesn’t exist in all the OZ," she’d said the first time Oz shared his post-release stories with her.
"Oh, I’m sure it does."
"Would you like to place a wager?"
Oz had shrugged. "I guess we could do that."
They’d played with his cash. The Princess wasn’t allowed any. And Oz had never cared about money in that way. He kept everything in trust. It was going to be a while before anyone remembered to bring them news of the outside, let alone be allowed to wander the streets of the next nearest town. Just the two of them and the queen’s magic roaming incognito, hurting no one and healing their souls. The mind, will and emotions were, after all, a terrible thing to have laid waste.
Sometimes Oz wondered why he’d volunteered for Princess-sitting duty. He knew why he’d joined the Royal Service, more or less; there was something about strong female leadership that had always spoken to him. He wasn’t sure why he’d taken on Princess Azkadellia as a project.
Maybe because, under the mask of competent acceptance, he’d seen the same fear and loss he remembered from his last days in Sunnydale, when he hadn’t even understood the monster he’d become. There were no Tibetan monasteries in the OZ. As far as Oz knew, there were no monasteries at all. It felt right to help her, to share what he’d been taught - especially when it was clear that no one else wanted the job.
A week after Oz witnessed Princess Azkadellia’s love affair with wind, he was only a little surprised to see that she’d cut her hair into a pageboy that barely brushed her jawline. (He was more surprised by how neat it was, in all honesty.) Eyes glittering with an excitement that mostly hid her fear, she approached him. "What do you think?"
"It’s very different for you. Short."
She couldn’t help running a hand through her hair. "It’s never been this short or shorter."
"Hmm." Oz nodded, momentarily studying her in silence. "How do you feel about it?" He almost asked her what she thought about it, but thinking had never been the Princess’ problem.
A wide, honest smile spread across her face. "I feel lighter."
Notes 2: If you knew how long it took me to write this... So tired...
Author: Vashti (tvashti)
Fandom: Tin Man
Character(s): Oz, Azkadellia
Rating: FR-13/PG
Summary: Someday they'll be a two-man band, right now it's enough to watch the Princess shed her skin.
Length: ~680 words
Disclaimer: Only the words are mine, and that’s probably up for philosophical debate.
Notes: Not at all related to my other Tin Man/BtVS series "Long Way Down" although that was partial inspiration for this story.
Standing a respectful distance away, Oz watched as Princess Azkadellia spread her arms wide and let the stiff breeze blowing off the lake pull at skirt, her skin, her hair. When they had first come to the Summer Palace that was to be her home - and prison - she had worn layers upon layers of clothing, enough to make an Other Side woman from a fabric-happy religious order feel suffocated. That had been over a year ago. Now she refused sleeves and crinolines and perhaps other under-things he didn’t know much about (no sisters...dated girls who wore pants...he only knew about crinolines because the princess had thrown a set at his head (he thought "crinkoliner" would have been a better name)). Someday the Princess would leave her Summer Prison, go into town with her hair fashionably short, wearing the trousers her sister was making popular, and none would be the wiser.
They were going to start a band. She’d sing lead vocals. Oz had told her about it once, when a thunderstorm had left her shaking, drowning in mounds of soft, foldable armor that was no match water, light and sound. The band had become their Thing ever since. The Princess embellished it, weaving a reality of imaginative words around the core that Oz had created. They couldn’t decide on a name, but they had a dozen song titles under their belt already. They didn’t get around to singing much, although Oz played for the Princess often. It soothed her, calming her night terrors and chasing off her portion of the day-mares.
Someday her sentence would be lifted. Someday she would have her own guitar strapped across her back as she wheeled an amp to and from their latest gig. They were a two man band so that meant they had to be their own roadies.
"I am almost certain such a word doesn’t exist in all the OZ," she’d said the first time Oz shared his post-release stories with her.
"Oh, I’m sure it does."
"Would you like to place a wager?"
Oz had shrugged. "I guess we could do that."
They’d played with his cash. The Princess wasn’t allowed any. And Oz had never cared about money in that way. He kept everything in trust. It was going to be a while before anyone remembered to bring them news of the outside, let alone be allowed to wander the streets of the next nearest town. Just the two of them and the queen’s magic roaming incognito, hurting no one and healing their souls. The mind, will and emotions were, after all, a terrible thing to have laid waste.
Sometimes Oz wondered why he’d volunteered for Princess-sitting duty. He knew why he’d joined the Royal Service, more or less; there was something about strong female leadership that had always spoken to him. He wasn’t sure why he’d taken on Princess Azkadellia as a project.
Maybe because, under the mask of competent acceptance, he’d seen the same fear and loss he remembered from his last days in Sunnydale, when he hadn’t even understood the monster he’d become. There were no Tibetan monasteries in the OZ. As far as Oz knew, there were no monasteries at all. It felt right to help her, to share what he’d been taught - especially when it was clear that no one else wanted the job.
A week after Oz witnessed Princess Azkadellia’s love affair with wind, he was only a little surprised to see that she’d cut her hair into a pageboy that barely brushed her jawline. (He was more surprised by how neat it was, in all honesty.) Eyes glittering with an excitement that mostly hid her fear, she approached him. "What do you think?"
"It’s very different for you. Short."
She couldn’t help running a hand through her hair. "It’s never been this short or shorter."
"Hmm." Oz nodded, momentarily studying her in silence. "How do you feel about it?" He almost asked her what she thought about it, but thinking had never been the Princess’ problem.
A wide, honest smile spread across her face. "I feel lighter."
Notes 2: If you knew how long it took me to write this... So tired...