Chapter Text
“Your name, dear Evelyn, means Desired,” the self-proclaimed Evil Queen ponitificates. Her eyes are fixed on her own reflection in her vanity mirror. “And it’s certainly not because I wanted you.”
The words echo in Evie’s head sometimes, so loud that it’s hard to think.
Lectures from Mother are to be taken in her bedroom, standing or sat prim and proper on the sofa. They began much the same, every time, though the content depends largely on which of Evie’s flaws she has decided is most important to eradicate.
She doesn’t need to be smart, she needs to be pretty. She doesn’t need to be comfortable, she needs to be pretty. She doesn’t need to speak up, she needs to be pretty. She doesn’t need to eat. Think. Breathe.
She needs to be pretty.
She sits, or stands, perfectly still and poised like a doll, until Mother dismisses her. Evie can manage it for hours, by now - back straight, eyes up, a delicate upward curve to her lips. No smiling, no frowning. She wears elegant skirts and tight corsets and does her makeup exactly the same way each time, or over and over until she gets it right. She’s not to speak unless asked a direct question. It’s a lesson she learns fast and well.
The first time she dares to interrupt a lesson, she earns herself a hard slap to the face.
“You’ll not speak,” Mother instructs Evie coldly, “unless spoken to. Men don’t care what you think, they care how you look on their arm.”
“Yes, Mother,” Evie says, hands itching to cup her stinging cheek. She rights herself quickly, smoothing her skirt and placing her hands demurely in her lap.
Later, she sits at a vanity of her own, and covers the bruise her mother’s ring left behind with foundation. It’s cheap, and no amount of delicate layering will fully cover the faint purple stain, so she lines her eyes a little darker, blushes her cheeks and contours her nose and overdraws her bold red lips until she’s beautiful anyways.
-
The Evie that exists in front of Mother and the one that she is everywhere else are two very different creatures. Evelyn Queen and Evie Grim. She takes on as many different personas as there are situations to pull them out in, but only two of them have names - only two of them does she pull on so completely that it feels like stepping into herself. Her mother gets Evelyn Queen: prim and proper, delicate and silent.
Evelyn Queen is long dresses and flowing sleeves, perfect red lips and the palest foundation she owns. The perfect Auradon china doll.
Evie Grim, on the other hand, is a different beast entirely - a siren song of smoked-out eyes and fishnet tights.
Skirts short and tits spilling tantalizingly out of the neck of her dress, she strides down the market streets. It’s a balance, she’s found, between looking confident enough to catch attention, while delicate enough not to be seen as a threat. She scans the crowd with wide, innocent eyes.
Mother knows plenty about being ladylike - how to sit, how to walk, how to speak - but Evie privately wonders how long it’s been since she’s met a man.
Evelyn Queen may not have her mother’s strategy of dainty silence down yet, but Evie Grim has perfected the art of making men pay attention.
First, she spots him. Her eyes skate over her mark without pausing. Her opening move doesn’t play if he sees her coming, so she settles her eyes on a market stall, tracking his movements in her periphery. He’s walking toward her, but not with purpose. He has time to be distracted. All it takes is a little wobble on her heels to make her look unsteady, and she’s pitching forward with a delicate gasp of surprise, flying into her mark’s arms.
It’s practically cliché, but it works every time.
The gasp, of course, is to give him enough time to catch her. Now it feels like he’s making the first move. He conforms beautifully to expectation, arms coming up to wrap around her waist as he takes a steadying step back. He’s tall, with hard muscle, and she lands firmly against him, a line of contact from waist to chest. Grasping at his bicep for balance, she looks up, as if for the first time, directly into his eyes. They’re wide with surprise, taken aback. She mirrors.
The next part is entirely instinct by now: her gaze slips down to his lips, then back up to his eyes before they go back, as if pulled, to looking at his mouth.
She parts her lips, taken aback by the sheer beauty of him, before dragging her eyes back up, with a chin lift to accentuate the sheer difficulty of the task.
He catches her signals, surprise morphing into lust as he stares down at where her chest is pressed up against him before forcing himself to look again at her face. It’s tragic, really, that for the mark it isn’t even an act.
She gives him the barest hint of a smile, tinged with surprise and embarrassment.
“Hi,” She says, breathless, still in his arms, still with her hand on him.
All the elements are vital, the execution perfect. She’s vulnerable, he catches her - he’s got the power. She might even owe him, just a little, for the favor of catching her. Indicators of attraction, so he uses it the way she wants him to. The facsimile of embrace, the contact, to put the thought in his mind. They’re halfway to bed and he doesn’t even know it yet.
Not that he’d know it anyways, he’s a meathead. Most likely, he’s someone’s hired help, a grunt to pick over the barges for someone richer, or a bodyguard. Either way, he’s not rich. The rich ones are never strong like this, they don’t have to be.
“I’m Evie,” she says, voice pitched just a little bit up to give it that innocent lilt. He smiles at her. Bingo.
He gives his name, and she repeats it back to him warmly, leaning into him the slightest bit as she does. He’s so far hooked she barely needs to do anything now, but it’s good practice. She might as well give him the full experience.
Now she starts to pull away, righting herself, and her hand slides down his arm in a caress.
Scant moments later, they’ve left the street, and she’s looting his pockets with his fly between her teeth.
-
When she tries her move on Jay - her patented move, the one with a near-perfect hook rate - it’s the first time in years that it doesn’t take.
“Hi,” she says, breathless, “I’m Evie.”
“Jay,” He says, distracted. He pushes her carefully away from him and takes his hands off the moment he’s sure she’s got her balance, breaking contact thoroughly and completely.
If anything, it throws her more off-balance than before.
“You really saved me there,” she tells him earnestly, looking up at him from under her lashes. “Save” is a watchword. There are a lot of them, and Evie is the master of talking her way around them. “Friend”, “trust”, and “good”, for example, make you sound soft. Those are Auradon words. “Save” makes you sound weak.
It’s a risky gambit, but she has her rings on. She can scuffle if she needs to. Realistically, it should be enough to lower his guard, at least catch his attention. He barely grunts in response.
“Think I could… find some way to make it up to you?” she asks coyly. She leans so her breasts are pressed right up close, and trails a finger along his chest.
“Owe” is another watchword, but a different kind. The kind of word that doesn’t get tossed around lightly.
Jay’s hand comes up to caress her waist and suddenly he’s flashing her a grin. Her smile gets brighter. She’s hooked him now, for sure.
He says, “I’m sure we can figure something out.”
Evie has visions of slipping into an alley and picking him over the second he closes his eyes, but he’s slid past her and into the crowds. He doesn’t look back. Evie frowns into the space he’s left behind.
She hates to lose.
-
It might be a risk, trying again, but she does it anyways. Not the same move, of course - a con never plays twice.
It’s just -
She did it perfectly . She grabbed his attention, she made herself look vulnerable, gave good eye contact, touched him without prompting.
She pushes into the shop where he’s standing behind the counter. It’s Jafar’s shop, but Jafar hardly makes an appearance. Instead, he lets his son manage the counters and the merchandise. She’s come in here before once or twice with Mother, but Jay would hardly recognize her from that. She’d been Evelyn, then.
Evie’s eyes wander the shelves for a few long oblivious seconds before she lets them land on his face, like this is all some happy accident. She lets her face come over surprised, brows raising and lips parting into a disarmed little smile. He’s been watching her from the second she walked in - obviously. She’s a customer.
She can’t imagine Jafar takes too kindly to shoplifters.
She knows all the steps, she’s practiced them plenty. Eye contact, signals of attraction, look flustered for a moment, then approach. So she bites her lip, takes a long look, drops her eyes to the floor and glances up through her lashes.
“Hi,” she says, breathy and light. This time, his eyebrows flick up, a smirk sliding slowly over his face. That’s more like it. Why couldn’t he have done that the first time? He braces both hands on the counter he’s stood behind and looks her up and down, slow and appreciative.
“Jay, right?” Evie asks, approaching the counter. She could lean over it a little, rest her chin on her hand and give him a good view down her dress, and she files the thought away for later. It’s early yet. She gets close enough anyways to let him get a whiff of her perfume.
She made it herself: a touch of magic to reel them in is the most she’s ever been able to do, thanks to the barrier, but in another world it’d be powerful enough to put any man on his knees. Her mother’s recipe books lay dormant in a locked case under her bed - out of sight and out of mind - but the lock is a joke, and if Mother has taught Evie anything, it’s how to be silent.
“Evie with the dark blue hair,” Jay replies, reaching up to wrap a curl around his finger. She titters at him.
“Wasn’t sure you’d remember me,” She admits bashfully, “but I’ve been thinking about you.”
“Remember you?” He repeats, voice warm and flirtatious, “Baby, I couldn’t forget you if I tried.”
He certainly could, certainly has, but she doesn’t tell him that - lets him charm her to death like it was all his idea.
He grins at her, and his eyes sparkle. His thumb brushes her cheek as he pulls his hand away, deliberately-by-accident.
He’s following the same script she is, she realizes. Touch without prompting, flattery, a dash of vulnerability, but not enough to tip the scales. His angle’s not sex, or they’d be having it already, but he’s definitely running a game on her.
She could back off. She should, even. If she’s onto him there’s little doubt he’s figured the same about her, but -
On the other hand, this could be… fun. A challenge. A game, almost. Mentally, she resets. Her eyes sharpen and her posture gets a little more predatory. There’s really no use faking weakness if there’s nothing to gain from it. Besides, if they’re playing a game the least she can do is make it a fair one.
“I bet you say that to all the girls,” she deflects, leaning in a little more over the table. He hasn’t once glanced at her cleavage, and part of her is almost offended. If he’s trying to use sex to get her to buy something, he could at least take a look at her goods.
“Only the fairest,” He counters easily. She has to hold back a little nod of approval at that - he knows his mark. Clever boy.
“What’s a pretty girl like you doing in a dirty shop like mine?”
“Maybe I’m looking to get a little dirty.” she flirts.
“Careful,” he says, voice low and teasing, “a man could take that as an invitation.”
She grins, raising a shoulder in a delicate shrug. “Maybe a man should,” she suggests, “You seem like you could show a girl a good time.”
“I don’t know, baby girl, I’m a lot to handle.”
“Yeah? You gonna take me for a ride?”
“It’d be the ride of your life. Wouldn’t want to ruin you for all those other boys.”
She’s having fun, she realizes with some surprise. This is easy banter, and they’re on the same footing - he’s trying to manipulate her, and she’s doing the same, and they’ll both keep parrying each other’s advances until one of them slips up or they call it a draw. Either way, she won’t break first.
Suddenly, he’s got something in his hand: a delicate gold necklace, the pendant sparkling red. He holds it up near her face, letting the cool metal rest against her collarbone. For all that she’s observant, she has no idea where he pulled it from.
“What do you say, baby?” He flashes her a charming grin, “A pretty thing for a pretty thing.”
Evie considers it. It’s a nice necklace, and she’s got the cash to buy it, but that would be tantamount to losing, wouldn’t it?
“Something to remember me by on all those long, lonely nights?” He offers.
This time, Evie grins like a shark - a little bit mirthful, a little bit dangerous - and lets the last of her put-on innocence fly out the window. “Baby, if you think a girl like me gets lonely, you’re barking up the wrong tree.”
He leans back on his heels, watching her for a considering moment. Something like respect plays across his face, and it’s somehow far more gratifying than making a man want her has ever been. A draw, then, she thinks.
“I’d hate to see you walk out empty handed.”
“Yeah,” she says dismissively. Then, a parting shot as she turns for the door, “but they love to watch me leave.”
She switches her hips as she walks out, and doesn’t look back.
-
He telegraphs his approach on purpose when he sees her in the street - she’s seen Jay in action, it’s certainly not an accident - so Evie doesn’t bother to act surprised when his arm snakes around her waist. She turns her body so it’s flush against him, one hand on his chest. It’s quick and smooth and seductive. He gives her that same charming boyish little grin as he looks down at her. Tall boys just love to look down at girls.
“Evie with the dark blue hair,” He says warmly.
“Jay,” she greets, voice low, “To what do I owe this… pleasure?” It’s the little emphasis on ‘pleasure’ that makes his eyes light up.
“Half a take if you shill for me,” He says: part-offer, part-challenge. He knows what she does and wants to see what she’s capable of. An audition, perhaps? Evie flicks up her eyebrows, tilts her head like she needs any time at all to consider it. Distracting a mark is old hat, and having a partner to make the grab for her means she can give her undivided attention.
Plus, it’s rare she gets the opportunity to show off.
“Big take?”
He chuckles, and she can feel the rumble of it in all the places her body is pressed up against his. It’s sort of nice, to be held like this when she knows it’ll go no further. He won’t make a move, just like she won’t buy that pretty necklace, even if she wants it. That would mean losing the game.
“A big enough take that I’m giving up half to make it happen,” He says, which is really answer enough.
Half. Jay runs with Carlos de Vil, and has been for a while now. It’s only half-secret, really. She makes it a point to know associations.
Evie narrows her eyes, “Half of your half, or are you shorting your boy?”
Jay gives her a startled look. Evie thinks he shouldn’t be so surprised, all things considered. She is, however, a little smug that she’s managed to get the drop on him.
“Equal thirds,” Jay amends, like he’s making an allowance. Evie shrugs, steps back out of his space. She’d do it for nothing if she thought it wouldn’t make him suspicious.
“Point me.” She instructs. Jay gives a description down to the cowboy boots the man’s wearing, and Evie has him give her sixty seconds before he makes the grab. The man’s a backcountry sort, so she pops the pins out of her hair, drops her jacket behind a trash can, puts her feet through the holes in her fishnets and pulls them up her thighs until they’re hidden under her skirt. Jay watches with some fascination.
“Don’t telegraph yourself.” She says, voice distorted by the elastic band in her mouth. She flips her head forward, pulls her hair into a high, tight ponytail. “Distraction only does so much,” she warns. Jay scoffs. “Fifty four,” he says instead of a reply. He’s grinning, though. “Fifty three,” he continues, “fifty two…” and she goes.
The mark’s at a stall in the marketplace, examining wares with a critical eye. The woman presiding over the stall seems to be growing tired of this. Evie lets herself get jostled by the crowd until she’s pressed right against his left side, jostling him just the slightest bit before righting herself and putting on her best flustered face. He turns to regard her, an irritated frown on his face.
“On my mama, these crowds!” she exclaims, letting her voice take on an understated twang. She’s clearly not addressing him, but it opens her up nonetheless. She fixes her hair, lets out a little “Oh!” when her eyes fall on him looking at her. “I really didn’t mean no harm, I just got a little flustered is all.”
Those farm boys do love a double-negative. She’s gratified to see him turn to face her, giving her his attention, even if he’s frowning. Being liked isn’t really integral to the distraction. It’s just a nice side-benefit.
“Y’alright?” She puts a hand on his arm, gives him big concerned eyes as she looks him over. Not “sorry”, but close enough. Twenty seconds.
“I’m alright,” he allows, and her shoulders fall into relief. “I was worried I’d managed to step on your feet!” she admits, bashfully, looking down and then back up at him through her lashes. Then, after a moment too long staring, she says, “I’m Hanna.”
His eyebrows twitch in surprise, but his frown goes away. Or, it softens at the eyes. She leans forward, just a little, only a few seconds to go now.
“Did you know, you just have the most beautiful blue eyes?” She asks, voice dropping a touch lower, and he’s hooked now. He takes a half-step closer, and Jay’s red hat flashes past her vision.
She lets out an embarrassed little laugh, looking down. “Oh, I’m so silly, talking to a stranger like this. I don’t even know your name.”
He tilts her chin up with his finger, a claiming sort of motion, and she lets him with big wide eyes. “Devon,” he says, and she smiles.
It’s disgustingly naive, she thinks, to believe that any girl could grow up on this island and be as guileless as this, but they never fail to eat it up. It’s like a fantasy come-true for an evil man: the last innocent young thing left to defile.
“Devon,” she repeats softly, mouth turning back up at the corners. “Devon, I have to get back to my mother, but I’ll, um,” lip bite, hair twirl, “I’ll see you around, right?”
She takes a few lingering steps away, and the frustrated disappointment that flashes across his face makes her want to grin.
“Definitely,” He says, louder to be heard over the crowd, and then Hanna is gone. Evie pulls the rubber band out of her hair as soon as she’s out of his line of sight, straightening her shoulders and shaking her head until it falls around her shoulders in loose curls again. Her shuffling walk becomes a stride.
Maybe his eyes will skate over her on the street, or she’ll come back to him as Evie and take him for all he’s got, but that little farm girl he’d had his eye on? She’s gone the second she leaves his sight. She’ll never come back again.
-
Evie and Jay sit on the floor of what was probably once a shop, with holes in the ceiling that won’t keep out the cold. The walls have patches of drywall missing, and a window’s been punched out so thoroughly that only a few tiny shards still cling to the frame. Jay fills the space with the comfort of someone who’s spent time in it, and Evie wonders if he’ll meet Carlos here later.
Her grace and poise is nearly forgotten here. She sits criss-cross in the dust, dirtying her skirt and admiring their little pile of gold. Jay produced a wallet, a coin purse, a shiny golden belt buckle, and - of all things - a fanny pack, all of which lay with their contents spilled out for them to see. She pulls a watch from her cleavage and drops it on top.
“Not a bad morning,” she remarks. It’s almost nonchalant, but she can’t help the smile that pulls up the corners of her mouth.
“Not a bad shill,” Jay replies, looking at her through the sides of his eyes. She tosses her hair, but doesn’t reply.
If it was an audition, there’s no doubt she landed her role.
-
She doesn’t quite mean to show the letter to Jay, but they’re sharing a palmed cigarette under the awning of an old grocer and it slips right off her tongue between one puff and the next.
She’d never quite realized how dangerous it was that she’d stopped putting up all her masks around him. There’s a terrifying moment where she’s thinking about just bolting altogether when Jay starts fumbling with his jacket. She’s never seen him do anything like that before, and it’s clear why he’s doing it now when he pulls a creamy piece of paper out from within it.
It’s heavy with the scent of magic, earthy and spicy, and the words on it are exactly the same as the one she’s had stuffed in her bra all day.
“Mal and Carlos got them, too.” He says, voice a little unsteady. “I don’t think - we don’t think there’s anyone else.”
Evie takes that in with another deep drag of smoke, letting it wisp out of her mouth as she looks out sightlessly at the street.
Not just her, but four of them. Villain kids, going to Auradon. No backup, no game plan. No way out if it’s a trap.
Struck by a sudden terrible thought, she grabs Jay’s arm.
“Do their mothers know? Does your dad?” She demands. Jay hesitates, shakes his head.
Her shoulders drop, eyes fluttering closed. Her own mother would stop at nothing to get revenge on Auradon, to say nothing of Maleficent. None of them would think twice to risk their children’s lives if it meant freedom.
“Can’t keep it that way forever, though.” He says, eyes hard. He takes the last drag, drops the smoke and stomps it out hard with the heel of his boot. He’s frustrated. Scared. She watches him slip his hat off and run a hand through his hair, agitated.
“Come to the tenements behind the marketplace tomorrow.” He says after a long moment, glancing around the abandoned street as if someone could be lurking. “Third floor, second left, fourth door. Eight o’clock.”
-
She hears them before she sees them. Turning the corner down the second hallway on the left, she slows her steps to listen.
“Four?” Mal questions, disbelief clear as day in her voice, “Who’s the fourth?”
“Uh, Evie Grim.” Evie can hear Jay’s wince. “I told her to meet us here.”
Whether it’s Evie herself that he thought Mal would be mad at, or the fact that she’s meeting them in the clubhouse, Evie can’t tell, but he’s clearly bracing himself. Mal delivers in full.
“You invited her here?” she demands, voice rising, “She knows where we sleep ?”
Evie imagines her rounding on him, those big green eyes flashing.
“She’s trouble, Jay,” Mal says severely, “And not the fun kind.”
Surprisingly, it’s Carlos who pipes up next to defend her. Interesting.
“She’s smart, Mal. Good at what she does. We don’t know what we’d be walking into, and if we do it, she’ll be an asset.”
Evie stifles a proud little smile even as she stands alone in the hallway. Jay’s more likely to pull her in when Carlos isn’t around, but she’s run a few games with the boys - shilling for them in a pinch, or lending an extra pair of eyes and ears when they need it. Carlos is sharp, analytical, and quick - both literally and figuratively. It’s always nice to know your skills are appreciated, especially by your allies.
“She runs the best confidence game I’ve ever seen,” Jay agrees.
Mal grumbles. “Doesn’t mean I want her to know where I sleep.”
Then, because timing is everything, Evie strides into the room.
“I see my reputation precedes me,” she lilts, shoulders back and head held high. Jay grins at her, and she gives him a secretive little smile before leveling Mal with a look that’s part smug, part easy confidence. Mal glowers back.
“Mal,” Evie greets graciously, giving her the barest of nods before turning to cast her eyes around the space.
It’s modest, but clearly set up with care. Two old double mattresses on the floor against the brick wall opposite the door, head to head so they can get up quick. A table with broken chairs blocks off the corner where they keep their backpacks, and a big, heavy dresser leans against the wall just beside the door, a quick barricade if necessary. Everything is as far from the sightline of the door as they can manage it. Nothing’s sitting out in the open.
The only sign of who might live here is the mural, and Evie sidles up to it curiously. It covers one full wall, edges spilling over to the next and the back of the door. A motif of purple, green and black fades out from the center to incorporate reds, whites, and a smattering of gold. At the center is a smoky purple and black, green eyes and barely-there suggestions of features coming through the smoke. Unthinkingly, she lifts a hand to run fingers over the art.
“Don’t,” Mal barks, voice sharp enough to make Evie flinch. She lowers her hand.
It really is a beautiful painting, Evie thinks, running her gaze over it. It’s the only personal touch the room has, but it’s clearly been a long time in the making. There’s Carlos running across the wall, a flash of white and red and black that tears across the wall like he’s half-made of wind itself. Hard cell-shaded lines are blurred out by speed so that his body can hardly be made out, but his head is turned to look behind him, an impish grin on his face. Jay, on the other side, glows with warm golds, his hair flying behind him in a shot of black and his red hat hanging loose from deft fingers. It’s a Jay she hasn’t seen before.
She turns around to look at Jay, then over at Carlos.
“Yknow, I wondered why I never caught him looking at my tits.” She tells Carlos conspiratorially. If she was hoping to break the tension, it does the opposite, making both boys tense up.
“Leave him alone, ‘Vie,” Jay says, only a touch of warning in his voice. Evie grins, then affects a fake pout, directing it at Jay.
“Aw, jealous of the attention?”
“What can I say?” Jay shrugs, “you make a boy feel special.” he shoots her his fakest, most panty-melting grin. Evie turns up her bedroom eyes. “I can make you feel a lot more than just “special”, baby.”
Out of the corner of her eye, she checks on Carlos - Wouldn’t do to offend Jay’s little prince charming. Jay’s never hesitated to flirt back to her on a job, but there’s a difference between keeping his cover and actually enjoying it, though a little twist of regret slides through her at the idea that she’s been having fun at their expense without even knowing it. Carlos, comfortingly, just grins, looking like he’s settling in to watch the show.
“Y’know,” Mal interrupts sharply, “As hot and disturbing as this is, if we could focus up for a minute?”
“If you wanted a turn, Mal, you only had to ask,” Evie flirts, tongue darting out to wet her lower lip. Mal ignores her. Evie tells the little flash of disappointment she feels at that to stay well off her face, please, and crosses to perch herself daintily on the corner of the table in the corner, furthest from the exit but facing the whole room.
“Say we do this,” Mal says, clapping her hands and turning on her heel to face them. She looks at each of them in turn, “What happens? Go.”
“We lose our turf,” Jay says immediately, like he’s been thinking about it. Mal nods approvingly at him.
“If we don’t come back, that won’t matter.” Evie points out.
“If we do, we’ve still got reputations.” Mal reasons, “It would be… inconvenient, but we could get most of it back eventually.”
“I can’t go back to my mother, if we do this,” Carlos says, voice cold and detached, “She won’t let me go willingly. If we do this, I’m crashing here until we leave, and I’m never going back there again.”
Mal nods. Jay sets his jaw.
“Separating you from Cruella de Bitch isn’t exactly on my ‘cons’ list, Los.” Jay says bitterly. It’s an interesting dynamic they have, the brains and the brawn. Carlos is clearly smart enough to know better than to get attached, and Jay isn’t one to need the safety of numbers. When she’d seen them in action, Jay had flirted a little, Carlos had blushed, but it seemed secondary to their professional partnership - Carlos quietly dealing with his feelings and Jay flirting because well. He’s Jay.
Now, though, Jay is something else: protective. There’s a cold resolve on his face. Whatever it is between them, it’s much realer than splitting some scores.
“Kids disappear around here all the time,” Evie says lowly. “A low profile, some grease on the right palms, and none of our parents know we left until we’re gone.”
Mal’s mouth twists.
“Sure,” she agrees, “but if we come back with nothing to show for leaving?” She gives Evie a fatalistic sort of smirk, eyes cold. “Carlos is right. I, for one, will get my throat slit the second I set foot in my mother’s home if I come back from outside the barrier empty-handed. We either kick the dust of this sorry place off our shoes, or we take Auradon down with us when we leave it. Otherwise, we’ve lost our turf, made enemies of our parents, and painted a big-ass target on our backs.”
“Alright.” Jay says, “Then what’s the game plan?”
“Assuming it’s not a big, blinking lights and neon signs trap , you mean?” Carlos drawls. Evie watches Mal consider this.
“Alright, say it’s a trap. What’s the angle?” She asks the room. It feels very much to Evie like a Queen consulting with her advisors, or a captain laying out battle plans. She commands attention, directs the conversation, defers to their judgment, though they seem to tacitly acknowledge that Mal makes the final call.
“Leverage is my working theory.” Carlos says, “Over our parents. They hold us hostage to ensure compliance among their most unstable and powerful prisoners.”
Jay snorts. Evie has to agree with him.
“I’m not saying it’s smart,” Carlos presses, “or that it’ll work. But think about it. That place shits out nothing but sparkly picket-fence family propaganda all day, you don’t think they could be operating under the delusion that our parents want us to live?”
Evie takes a moment to imagine how Mother would react to a threat from the King, with her daughter’s life hanging in the balance. She’d probably laugh, thank him for the convenience of being rid of her. A chill runs up her spine, and she viciously suppresses the shiver it accompanies.
“It’s a solid theory,” Mal says, “has more teeth than any where they’re playing it straight.”
“But then, what if we don’t go?” Jay asks, “They just kidnap us anyways?”
Evie purses her lips, “There’s really no need to be coy about it, if that’s the case.”
“They’re right,” Mal admits, looking to Carlos with an apologetic tilt to her brows. “It doesn’t explain the letters. It’d be stupid to risk giving us a heads-up before nabbing us if we said no.”
Carlos’s lips press together, but he nods. “Considering the letters are our only clue, that is a pretty big hole in the theory,” He relents. Evie looks around at them all. Jay has his arms crossed, a frown settled into his forehead as he works the angles. Carlos is sitting forward on the edge of a mattress, his elbows braced on his knees, hands clasped. Mal has her hips cocked, lips pouted in thought as she narrows her eyes into the middle distance, considering.
They’re going to do it. It’s an impossible opportunity - the kind that would haunt them, if they said no, for the rest of their natural lives. The what-ifs they’re considering now have nothing on the what-ifs of saying no and living the rest of their lives knowing they might have had a chance to get out, and they hadn’t taken it.
Evie pulls the letter out of her dress, unfolds it, and turns to smooth it on the table. At the bottom, there’s a thin dotted line next to the words, “sign here.” The movement catches Jay’s eye, and she feels him watching her, Carlos and Mal too.
“Say we stay,” She says quietly, mirroring Mal’s language from earlier. Her eyes lock onto Mal’s, “knowing that we might have been able to get out of here. If we miss our only opportunity to, at the very least, not die of scurvy or get shivved and we said no. What then?”
There’s a pen in her left sleeve, and she wraps her fingers around the cuff of her jacket so that the fabric stretches and it slides down into her hand. After a moment’s consideration, she holds it out to Mal, waist height. Not an ultimatum, just an offer.
Mal sets her jaw. She looks at her boys, then at Evie, then hones in on the pen. There’s a thin moment of silence, where Carlos and Jay are watching them like they’re not sure what’s going to happen next. Evie knows exactly what’s going to happen next.
Mal huffs. “Fuck,” she says, and snatches the pen.