Death threats on Dead Beauty

by PantheraTigris1

Summary:

Harriet Hook, the Captain of Dead Beauty.
Harry Hook, her somehow unwilling first mate.
CJ Hook, their wild-card of younger sister.

Needless to say everyone is having an awful time.
(Everyone might include: the siblings themselves, their partners, their crewmates, anyone that finds themselves at the wrong end of the hook, and the young king.)

Or: Uma is not on the Isle of the Lost and that changes quite a lot. A D2 rewrite.

Chapter 1

Things are going fine, they really are.

Totally.

Well, fine. No one is actively dying, at least, which is about as good as it gets on the Isle.

The Hooks aren't yelling at each other – a rare occasion, that!

Sure, it might be because Harriet is, ehm, busy in her cabin, and CJ is nowhere to be seen, but Harry is enjoying not having his sisters around for once.

They're annoying, you see, and always think they're in the right. A trait that definitely doesn't run in the family.

Harry sneers at that thought, lips curled and eyes cold. If he bothered to look up, he'd see his crewmates frozen at the sight.

If you'd ask them, they'd tell you he is more haunting the deck of the ship than anything else: Sitting at the railing of the command bridge with no care in the world, reading an overly pretentious book he probably stole from his sister or his father.
Scaring the pirates into actually performing their tasks with his mere presence.

A blood red phantom of what could be.

Harry smirks and taps his lips with his hook, only glancing up to tell Desiree to move it unless she wants to be scrubbing the deck for the rest of eternity, and off her own blood at that.

He gets back to reading without checking if she obeys her command.

Next time Harry looks up, it is to greet Ginny Gothel, who just walked from the Captain’s cabin, smudged lipstick and tangled hair. Self-satisfied smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes, which are so dark they might be black holes. Pupils and nothing else.

She doesn‘t look him into the eyes much longer.

„So long, witch,“ he tells her, sliding of the railing and coming closer, „Ad arbitrium.“

She catches his hook before he can touch her cheek: „Fuck you, Hook,“ she says.

The deck is silent.

„You wish,“ he answers, or maybe „Is my sister not enough?“

Maybe he said both, and maybe neither; Ginny laughs, high and wild. The wind carries the mocking sound away.

She never answers.

Harry doesn’t look after her as she leaves the ship. After all, Ginny Gothel is not his problem. He barely cares if she lives or dies.
He takes out a flask from his pocket; his rings clank on it way too loudly as he opens it. He takes a sip of the vile liquid inside.

His sister, the mighty Captain Harriet Hook of Dead Beauty, stumbles out of her cabin and immediately tears the flask out of his hands. He lets her have her drink before he pushes her away and takes his flask back. She can get her own alcohol, please and thank you.

Besides.

She just saw Ginny.

„She left already?“ Harriet asks. She does not sound heartbroken or sad in the slightest, nope, not at all. She is a Hook and they don’t have a heart, anyone could tell you.

Harry doesn’t deem it worthy of an answer anyway.

With another drink, he says: „And this is why I should be the Captain, sister dear.“

She sneers at him, grabbing the alcohol again. He will be resupplying from her personal stock.
Unsurprisingly, the taste of cheap rum does nothing to lessen her sneer.

„You, sister dearest, spend your time drunk and fucking that witch of yours, or worse yet, the Tremaine Lord wannabe.“

If the deck hadn’t been dead quiet and abandoned before, it certainly was now.

„You say that as if you didn’t fuck half the Isle, frater care,“ Her knuckles turn white where she holds the flask. Neat.
„And you drink as much as me.“

„Are you calling me a whore?!“ he declares in mock offence, loud enough for half the port to hear, really.

„And I ain’t lying!“

Neither of them knows who started throwing things at this point, and the crew is too scared to tell.

Sometime during the fight, CJ comes, sneaking around them to get to her cabin; the older siblings interrupt their fight barely long enough to ask her where was she so long, and where does she think she is going?

„Why,“ the youngest Hook turns her nose up, „I’m crashing at Freddie’s now. Just getting some weapons and jewels and stuff. Eyeliner.“

„Touch my eyeliner and die–“ They both threaten at the same time, „Touch my jewels with one of your fingers and I cut off your whole hand, savvy?!“ adds Harriet.

„Geez, chill a bit. As if your stuff were Freddie’s style,“ sneers Calista, undisturbed by her older siblings, „Also, Anthony’s coming over. Just thought y’all would like to know.“

CJ cackles as her older sister pales considerably and uses the distraction to slip away from her siblings’ grip once more. Chaos cannot wait and all that.

„Well,“ Harry drawls, „I'll leave you to your amans, then.“

Harriet glares at him, but for once, she doesn't shout; she takes a swig of (her own) alcohol and steadies herself by gripping his shoulder.

„You could go scare him off,“ she suggests, „I'm not in the mood for him right now.“

Yeah, no. She isn't in the mood for him because he is likely going over to scold her for getting too drunk or too high with Ginny, or possibly just for not including him.
And Harry isn't gonna stop that, no. He likes seeing his older sister in trouble.

He pushes her off his shoulder.

„Well, that just sounds like a you problem,“ he tells her, „Have fun!“

„I'm gonna kill you and skin you alive and feed your toes to Tick Tock one by one—“

Harry just smiles at the death threats, all teeth, and blows her a kiss.
He dodges the lamp she threw at him without breaking his stride and jumps back at the railing; he gets back to pretending to read.

He flips the page three times without seeing the words before Anthony shows up, but that's fine, he has it memorised. Then he drops the pretense, still as a statue: The lordling will barely notice anything but Harriet anyway.

Anthony Tremaine struts on board as if the whole ship belonged to him. He doesn't bother asking for permission to board, which makes Harry snarl at him.
Anthony doesn't as much as flinch.

„Harriet,“ he says instead of greeting.

Silence; the crew barely breathes.

„Don't be a bitch, sweetheart.“

Harriet finally shows up at the insulting nickname and she is glaring daggers with burning eyes.
Harry whistles – that was fast.

She glares at him too, though she gets back to piercing holes through Anthony rather quickly.

„What do you want?“ she asks with her arms crossed over her chest.

Anthony unwisely steps closer to her and Harry holds his hook tighter.

„Why, can't I check on you?“ he replies with a question on his own, still playing that ridiculous game. She only quirks her eyebrow and he speaks again, his voice noticeably colder:
„I told you not to do that, Harriet.“

„Do what.“

Harriet is playing stupid and no one is falling for it; Anthony steps closer to her yet.
He grabs her wrist none too gently as he pushes against her and tells her: „I told you not to take Ginny's stuff, Captain–“

„It's not good for you.“

(But what if she doesn't care?)

„It's not good for her either.“

(Ginny definitely doesn't care.)

„She just leaves you on after.“

(Like you don't; like anyone wouldn't.)

„I told you not to–“

„You don't get to tell me what to do, Tremaine!“ she finally snaps and pushes him away; he stumbles a bit, but stays on his feet.
Shame.

Harry slides down from the railing and circles closer, quiet as the air before the storm.

„Yes I do–“ protests Tremaine, as if he got a say, „As long as we–“

„As long as we what, Anthony?! What?!“

He can't answer and everyone knows it. He steps back to her and tries to take her hand – she jerks away from the contact violently, swaying only the tiniest bit.
He doesn't move to catch her.

„You don't get to give me orders, Lord Tremaine, and I don't want to see you – go away!“ she shouts at him and before can touch her again, she pushes him again.

He falls on the hard wood and in a heartbeat, Harry is between him and his sister.

There is a hook at Tremaines cheek and there is blood at the hook.

Harry bares his teeth at the boy who dares bother his sister and Captain and behind him, Harriet cackles.

„Go away, Tremaine!“ she shouts loud enough for the majority of the Isle to hear, „Go away and don't come back!“

„Bitch–“ Anthony hisses as if he were in any position to complain and more blood drips down on the board of Dead Beauty.

„Tell Ginny not to come either, everything is her fault anyway.“

Harry lets go of Anthony, as this lover's spat is getting a bit tiresome; coincidentally, the other boy thuds down on the board rather hard. Interesting.

Anthony slowly gets on his feet as Harriet banishes him from the port again.

He spits blood on the already stained wood and looks her in the eyes, back straight and head held high.

„I don't need to come to the port,“ he tells her, „You'll come crawling to me sooner, you vain bitch.“

Harriet only points to the bridge with her hand and flames in her eyes; her crewmates duck away further into their futile hideaways.
Heartbeat of delay, and her anger is going to be lethal.

Thus, Anthony takes his sweet sweet time with an exaggerated curtsey and way too intense eye contact. Which Harriet is reciprocating, because of course she is.

Harry melodramatically sighs and hangs loose on one of the less important ropes of the ship.

„No one – absolutely no one – is going to the Tremaine saloon until I clear it!“ calls out Harriet as soon as Anthony rounds the corner.

She cares nothing for annoyed sighs and complaints of her crew, and Harry? Well, he has a program for tomorrow.

You see, he just found himself in a dire need of a haircut.

Chapter 2

Harry walks through the Isle, his cloak spilling behind him like blood. The Isle inhabitants, poor excuse for human beings as they are, trickle out of his way easily. He grins at that, all teeth, and dark figures press themselves further into the shadows.

He breaks up the doors of the Tremaine Hair Salon and winces as the melody of the wind chimes bites into his mind.

„Hiya!“ he calls out, „Tremaines!“

No one answers for the moment, which is rather rude, if you ask him; it’s possible the salon is not open now at all, but in that case, they should have locked their doors better.

He walks through the room, dragging his hook along the desk with the beat up cash register. He entertains the idea of nicking something for just a moment, but really, why should he bother?

„The fuck you doing here, Hook?!“

He spins towards the clear, lazy voice, and the girl sprawled on the once-decadent sofa.

„Dulcia, fancy seeing you here,“ he greets the eldest Tremaine granddaughter with barely an incline of his head and a wink. She doesn’t bother to sit up straight, playing with one of her earrings as she speaks.

„I live here, fucker.“

Ah, Dulcia Tremaine, always such a lovely lady.

„You – shouldn’t you be holed up in the port, with your older sister? Like the good little brother you are?“

Harry closes his hand around his hook tighter, his knuckles turning white and his vision turning red. He bares his teeth in a semblance of a smile as he says: „You wound me, dear Dulcia, you wound me.“

„Why, thank you,“ she yawns exasperatedly, „Now really, why are you here?“

„I need a haircut, of course–“

And a visible one, or maybe a dye job too. Harriet must notice it, after all. What would be the point if she didn’t?

But before the, ehm, negotiations with sweet Dulcia can begin, Anthony comes down, heavy steps and all.
„Out,“ he says, „If you even think about sitting down in that chair, I’ll slit your throat with a razor. Don’t think I won’t, I don’t care if your sister kills me for it.“

„Maybe it’s not my sister you should be worried about, Tremaine,“ challenges Harry.

„We both know that’s not true,“ says Anthony, unbothered.

Harry breathes through his teeth and spins around; the mirror shatters as the tip of his hook drives into it. The shards rain to the ground in a dissonance of sounds and lights and he drives the heel of his boot to a large piece of glass.

„I’m not cleaning that,“ announces Dulcia from her spot on the sofa. Harry couldn’t care less. He couldn’t care less for glaring Anthony either.

„Hit me up later,“ mouths Dulcia, the greedy thing, as her cousin is distracted.

Harry doesn’t answer, only slamming the door behind him. He hopes the door shattered, too – and damn Anthony. He will sneak out to meet Gothel before sunset, anyway, and it’s not like Harry has anything better to do.

He stalks the streets around the saloon, looking for any entertainment before the wannabe Tremaine lord vanishes into the night, but, curiously, no one wants to play with him. The street rats scurry into the shadows, and he sneers at them. Cowards.

Just–
Just one person in this alley, who doesn’t seem to recognise him or mind him. Walking through the middle of the street happily, with a bounce in his steps, and humming a ridiculously cheerful tune. Dark blue leather with a faded crest at it and a beanie, innocent-like and all.

But no, that cannot be.

No–

Harry presses the tip of his hook to his palm and then to his bottom lip, but the image doesn’t change. Nothing flickers in front of his eyes for the reality to correct itself.

So he drinks, just a gulp, really, the liquid barely even burns, and the boy king walks through an Isle alley still.

So, back to the Tremaines it is – their fault for being so close, really.

He’s there in no time at all, as everyone knows it’s a bad idea to stand in the way of Harry Hook with a hostage. Some of them learned the hard way, too.

The smell of metal lingers in the air as Harry thrusts his hostage against the wall by the doors; the hostage might be groaning in pain or protesting slightly, but the sound of the wind chimes drives that out.

Harry glares at the chimes. He must dispose of these sometimes, they make his head hurt.

„Harry! How can we help you?“ The little Tremaine makes his head hurt too, so sparkly and bright. Desi, was it? No, Dizzy.

Stupid name.

He makes an attempt at a smile anyway, and the child doesn’t flinch away.

„Hi little Tremaine,“ he says, „Would you be a darling and did me a tiny little favour?“

„Um, sure?“ answers the girl a bit uncertainly, and Harry smiles wider.

„Wonderful, now Dizzy darling–“

Before he can finish his thought, Dulcia screeches from the depths of the salon: „You’re early, Hook, and stop flirting with my baby sister!“

Harry looks said baby sister up and down and yells back in response that, ew, no, she’s what, like eight?? And smashes the hostage’s cheek into the wall more when he makes a noise of, well, probably complain. However, Harry doesn’t care.

„I’m twelve!“ protests Dizzy, and, yeah, no. Time hurts. She peeks out of the door a bit for some reason or another, and adds:
„Harry? Why do you have King Ben here?“

Harry looks at the hostage with wide eyes, looks him over; „Hi,“ the king’s lips move in a greeting and an awkward smile.

Harry looks away from him. His mind feels frozen, but he bares his teeth in a smile in the vague direction of Tremaine salon and answers: „A king, you say, little Tremaine? Why, I must take him to the port, my sisters surely wouldn’t want to miss such a noble visit.“

He drags the hostage away and, well, if Dulcia shouts something after him, he doesn’t hear it.

He decides that his haircut can wait.

Notes:

I didn’t get to the regicide and this feels vaguely correct for a cut or skip, so another chapter it is

Chapter 3

Summary:

The world is so lucky the Hook siblings get easily distracted by shiny things.

So, there is a royal hostage aboard Dead Beauty.

That’s neat, yes.

Poetic, even – Beauty’s son, Dead Beauty–

Harry giggles at the twisted ways of the fate, and immediately, his sister’s exceptionally surly voice asks from the Captain’s cabin: „Harrison James Hook, what did you do?“

And why, he hadn’t done anything at all, just nicked a little hostage, isn’t that what pirates do? His sister can’t be mad for that.

He giggles again and shoves the king away, towards the mast, for someone to catch and tie up and not let go, and he drinks before he says: „Why, Ettie, didn’t do nothing, nothing at all, just brought the king here, why are you asking, sister dear?“

„I call bullshit,“ his beloved elder sister gruffs, unamused, and Harry might or might not have flung his dagger at her door at that point.

Figures.

Her fault for being a bitch.

And no answer, either: So he walks forth and lets himself into the room, taking the knife, too – hey, it’s a good knife!

He is reasonably sure the crew will have the king tied, but, few death threats never killed anyone: „You’re responsible for him with your miserable existences, you scallywags, and no chit chats!“ he calls out, just before shutting the door behind himself.

„The fuck you want, Harry?“ says Harriet instead of greeting. She sits at her table, legs propped up on it, and some papers in her lap. She is leaning back in the chair rather heavily, and half-empty glass of red wine stands on the table. (Pretentious bitch, she might have been working, all right, but she ain’t drinking just wine–)

Harry sits at the chair opposite her and hits his own flask at the table: „We’ve got the king, Ettie,“ he says, „And if we don’t I’m going to kill that little Tremaine.“

„Bullshit,“ she says, and, „You were at the Tremaines?“

Why, yes, he was, of course he was, what else would he do?

„Irrelevant,“ he waves his hand and then tuts: „You should really trust your first mate in matters like these, soror cara, but I suppose you could just go and see with your own two eyes…“

As if that would do any good – Harry almost laughs at the thought.

„I suppose I will.“ Harriet glares holes through him as she takes a last swig of her wine and stalks out of the cabin.

Whatever.

He takes the fine opportunity to rummage around a bit and liberate some of her eyeliner; he tunes out the screams outside.

She comes back an eternity later, and he is sitting in her chair – she doesn’t kick him off immediately.

Instead, she collapses on the chair in front of her own desk and pulls out the flask she is keeping in her breast pocket.

„Holy fuck, you weren’t kidding.“

Eventually, Calista hears through the grapevine and deems to visit; eventually, Harry and his sisters stand in front of the prisoner.
They ignore him.
He has no gold on him, at least none worth taking. Harry thinks that people with that poor fashion sense simply shouldn’t be this rich.

The fact that his shit is ugly didn’t stop CJ from robbing him blind, though, and proclaiming that she could sell it at the marketplace and get something pretty for her Shadow Witch.

Which is a wrong method, and Harry must tell his little sister so – Which reminded Harriet about those bracelets of hers that went missing just yesterday – Which made the boy king talk and offer mountains and valleys and the blue of the sky should they let him go.

Harry turns away from his sisters, the argument frozen. He sneers and feels his eyes burning; his head hurts. Next to him, Harriet mirrors his expression, he knows, and CJ too, just slightly off-the-centre.
He wants to laugh at that, but instead he just bares his teeth at the hostage.

A laugh escapes his lips anyway, a crazed giggle.

„Pretty lies, boy king. Pretty pretty lies.“

(We’ve stopped believing in your lies eternity ago.)

„You couldn’t possibly offer anything that we would want–“ And yet Harriet’s eyes shine with greed as she spits out these words, the sheen reflected and magnified in another two pairs of eyes.

(Because we’re nothing but liars, anyway.)

The king breathes in to say something, defend himself or promise to freeze the hell, and Harry snaps his teeth at him. No talking, little king–

(Keep talking, keep promising.)

What a shame the little king was never told no – what a shame he wouldn’t recognise a well meant death threat, isn’t it?
What a shame he keeps on talking.

„Please,“ he repeats, „We can come to an agreement, just, talk it out…“

Harry feels the rising urge to gag him, despite the entertainment the hostage provides; Harriet holds up her hand before he can move, and CJ keeps playing with her knife.

„You don’t want to hurt me, do you? You’re not evil–“

Well, the fact that Malsie and her pathetic crew is a bunch of fucking traitors doesn’t mean that the rest of them are too.
Harry shows his teeth is something that is decidedly a threat:
„You are right, little king,“ he says, „We are so. Much. Worse.“

CJ’s laugh echoes through the otherwise eerily quiet port and Harry joins her, cackling louder yet as Harriet slams her hand to the mast, barely an inch from the king’s head.

„Listen here, princeling,“ she says, he smile reeking so much sugary venom it should kill, „We’ve told you already, you should shut the fuck up. We don’t negotiate with hostages. We give demands to the morons who, for some inexplicable reason, care for them,“ she smiles sweeter yet.
„So, little prince, how much do you think you are worth?“

The king bites his lip instead of an answer and Harry slides the tip of his hook over his palm; Harriet steps away from the king and jerks her head which he takes as a permission to take over.

Within moments, the hook is where Harriet’s hand has been, except much closer to the skin. Harry smiles as the young king gulps heavily and attempts to pull away from the weapon.
As if: Harry brings it closer yet.

„Oh, don’t worry, your majesty,“ he mocks with a fake pout, „We wouldn’t dare to hurt such a valuable hostage – I mean guest!“

CJ bursts into cackles again, though it is unclear if it’s because of his remark or because she managed to snatch something off Harriet just as she was walking away.

And something it must have been, as she comes to brag right after that, shoving it right in his face:
„Look! It’s glitter!“

„It’s highlighter,“ he corrects her, „Wait, why did Harriet have highlighter?“

„Doesn’t matter, the glitter’s all mine now!“ CJ cackles, gleefully helping herself to one of his daggers to check her reflection and apply the highlighter right now, because of course she does.

„Hey! That’s mine!“ he protests, grabbing for it, but she dances out of reach.

„Geez, chill a bit. I’ll give it back. …Eventually. Maybe.“

„You better, Calista Jane, else I’ll tie you up to the mast upside down and dump old fish on you so the sea gulls pick the meat off your bones slowly.“

„…The mast is occupied,“ she says, obnoxiously unmoved by the death threat, and she flings the dagger out. It imbeds itself right into the mast and pines the king’s horrid beanie in place.
„Here, I’ve given it back,“ she snarls.

Harry decides to leave it as it is now.

„And, yeah, why did Ettie have the glitter stuff, really?“

Well, that’s what Harry’s been saying! Glitter’s so not her style–
But it is somewhat rare on the Isle, and, oh, the favours he could get from some girls for that–

He eyes his little sister, deciding if it is worth the trouble: Calista’s slippery as eel when she wants to be. She was taught by the best, after all, and, not to brag, but she is his little sister. Of course he taught her how to steal.

So, instead he says: „She probably got it for Ginny, didn’t she?“
For whom else, really?

CJ perks up at that, looking up at him from inspecting her reflection in yet another knife – hers, this time.
„Oh, did she?“ she sounds way too pleased at that, „That’s amazing!“
The hostage coughs as he tries to get their attention, which is getting bothersome. CJ flings another knife at the mast, and Harry calls out for the ship’s medic: „Bonny! Give the little king something for his throat, he seems to have caught a cold!“

(He has no idea if the girl is actually named Bonny, but– she works with bones. Occasionally. She is Bonny now, it’s easy to remember.)

The medic actually comes out aboard, too, when CJ says that wait, wasn’t Ettie fighting with her lovers?

„The ban was on Tremaine’s salon, wasn’t it?“

„Yeah,“ interferes the medic. She’s so lucky they need her. „And she forbad both Tremaine and Gothel from going to the port again. Half the Isle heard her.“
She is also fucking lucky she is right.

Harry snaps at her to be quiet regardless, and CJ giggles and from the Captain’s cabin, poorly muted curses sound.

„Oh, you’re so fucked, starfish.“

The medic wisely takes her leave. Harry knew there was a reason he liked her.

CJ giggles again.
„That’s my clue to leave, brother dearest!“ she exclaims, „Have fun!“

She bolts to the open port just as Harriet kicks open the doors of her cabin – „Calista Jane! I will fucking skin you alive–“ – and Harry moves to watch the fallout from a better ankle.
Oh, this is going to be some fun, yet.

„Ehm, excuse me?“ calls out the poor forgotten royal hostage, „Do you think you could maybe let Mal know I’m here?“

Or he could do that, too, Harry supposes. Let Malsie know they’ve got her little king. Let her know he will die if she doesn’t meet their demands.

On the other hand, he doesn’t really want to talk with her, and he doesn’t care that much. He can tell the de Vils, and if they don’t tell her, that will be her problem.
And probably Ben’s, he supposes.

But first, let's see how CJ survives the day.

Chapter 4

Summary:

I had a lovely time putting Harry and Ivy into general proximity of one another and watching it spiral from there <3

CJ, unsurprisingly, survived the day. Slippery as eel, he said that already, she vanished off into the Isle shadows after a comparatively short man-hunt that Harriet probably wasn’t putting her whole heart into.
Royal hostage aboard her ship and all that.

And Harry would probably be way more enthusiastic about this whole affair if it wasn’t his fucking job to deliver their demands to whoever cares about the king enough to meet them.
Or something.

He stops at the corner of the empty alley, just few streets down the Hell Hall: He can actually see it from there, the half-crumbled thing reaching for the skyes and the souls of innocents or whatever.
He sneers at it and reaches for his flask, only to find his pocket empty.

Fucking great.

Either he left it at the ship, or one of his sisters got the better of him, but, whatever. Ivy’s probably gonna have something to share.

He hopes she’s at the Hell Hall, as she is the most tolerable de Vil to deal with – doesn’t hurt she’s not too bad to look at, either.
But if none of the cousins are there, well, that’s not his problem, is it? He can tell Cruella. The demands will have been delivered.

And if his darling sister wants to tell someone else, she can bloody well track them through the Isle herself.

He sighs, spits on the ground, and stalks the last few streets to Hell Hall.

Once there, he grimaces at the looming gate and braces himself before ringing at the rusty bell by it. It sounds through the Isle, scaring off the resident crows and ravens that take fly, cawing horribly, and Harry only just resists yelling at them and/or flinging a knife or two into the black mass.

He turns back to Hell Hall and pushes the rusty, protesting gate open, only to be met with the sight of Ivy de Vil already standing in the doors.
She poses just so in the dying light, showing off her bright red, ehm, clothes, stark against the black-and-white.

Her red-painted lips curl into a sneer that Harry matches immediately.
„What is your fucking problem, Hook?“ she asks.

Well, now he isn’t going to tell her why he came. Obviously.

„Why, can’t I just visit you because I feel like it, Ivy darling?“

„First of all, do not call me ’darling’,“ she scoffs at him, „Second of all, why do you think I’d be interested?“

He gestures at himself and turns up the arrogant smirk: „Why wouldn’t you be interested, darling?“

She sighs overdramatically and looks him up and down: „There’s so much wrong with you, Hook, it’s not even worth listing out. Do come in.“
She turns around and walks away, leaving the door open. On an unrelated note, Harry is pretty sure her dress is, in fact, lingerie.
„And if you call me darling one more time, I’ll poison your drink,“ she adds over her shoulder.

„Oh, do try, darling, please–“
There was never an option of Harry answering any other way.
And also:
„You’re offering me drinks first? Well, I’m honoured–“

She flips him off over her shoulder and he cackles; the both ignore Cruella screeching something from the deepest depths of Hell (Hall).

Harry follows through the decrepit labyrinth up the grand staircase and to a wing that seems even worse off than the rest of the building, and that must be where Ivy is staying right now – she’s crazy, alright, but not crazy enough to stay that near to her aunt voluntarily.

In Harry’s opinion, being in the same city part as Cruella is being too close to her, but who is he to judge?

They stop in a living room that is, unsurprisingly, decorated in black an white. It’d benefit from a pop of colour, really – preferably red – but who knows what will today bring yet?
The room might just end up covered in blood if it goes well enough.

He flops himself down on a sofa.

„You were saying about a drink?“ he asks.

„I was saying about poisoning it.“

„And I intend to hold you to that.“

Ivy cackles and turns away; she leans over some cabinet as she rumages for the bottle. Harry doesn’t bother to pretend he isn’t staring, since that’s what she wanted, anyway.

In a moment, she walks away into another room with the bottle in hand and Harry looks around the room to see if there’s something worth liberating.
However, it seems that Ivy, being the bitch that she is, took him to the plainest room in the house. Bloody brilliant.
Whatever.

But wait–
Is that a weapons case?
…A gun?

He sits up to get a better look, but before he can get up and maybe perhaps get it and disappear it in his pockets, Ivy comes back with two full glasses. She even managed to get ice.

„Do I want to know what you were looking at?“ she asks.

„No, not really,“ he answers with a smirk.

A raised eyebrow, a smirk – Ivy sets the glasses on the table.

„One of them is poisoned,“ she says, „I don’t know which one. Your choice.“ She smiles sweeter yet.

Russian Roulette, how fun.

„Oh, you’re too kind, Ivy, darling,“ Harry runs his hand over the glasses, feigning indecisiveness, before grabbing the one on his right.
„Cheers.“

She takes the other glass.
„Actually, I poisoned both of them, I think,“ she says, „Cheers!“

„Oh, I’d have expected nothing less from you,“ he says as he raises his glass to cling it with hers, „Here’s to us.“

They drink at the same time.

The alcohol is more bitter than normal, notes Harry, and Ivy just sighs, sitting down on the sofa too. Well, sitting down, more like dramatically collapsing down, as if the poison would act that quickly. She throws her feet over his legs.

„Now, what did you want?“ she asks as an afterthought.

„Why, I–“ Harry starts speaking but freezes up when he notices another person that is distinctly not Cruella walking through the hallway towards the living room. He blinks and drinks again– „Is that Claudine fucking Frollo?“

„Yeah,“ Ivy doesn’t even bother to look before she raises her voice enough for the other girl to hear, „C’mere, sweetheart, join us.“

„No way!“ Harry cackles and pushes Ivy’s legs off his lap, ignoring her faux-offended glare, „You pulled Claudine Frollo? You?“

„I don’t know what you are insinuating here, Hook, but I don’t like it,“ she informs him, as if he cared.

Claudine Frollo! At Hell Hall! Being called sweetheart by Ivy de Vil and not even cursing her out for it – he was wondering where did she disappear to after her father’s church burned down to ashes and her father with it.
Then again, he didn’t care all that much.

Still, he watches with interest as Claudine sits down next to Ivy, asking what’s going on?

„Nothing interesting,“ answers Ivy with a pointed look at him and Harry gaps at the insult, „Just having drinks. Want some too?“

Claudine takes Ivy’s glass from her hand–

„–Careful, that’s probably poisoned,“ Ivy warns. It looks as if she actually cares–

„Fun,“ notes Claudine dryly before bringing the glass closer and making a sour fave at the mere smell. Harry barks out in laughter, only cackling more when the rest of Ivy’s alcohol hits him in the face.
He looks good with wet hair, anyway, and it’s not like he had time to stop at the salon – he really should find time for that, it’d piss Ettie off so much.

„Have the fucking decency to look pissed when I pour a drink all over you!“ complains Ivy.

„Apologies,“ drawls Harry before schooling his features into an appropriate expression, „Better now?“

„Marginally,“ allows Ivy.

„There’s something very wrong with both of you,“ complains Claudine (the „Excuse yourself?!“ that they both say at the same time she promptly ignores), „Ivy, do you have a light?“

„Sure, since you are asking so nicely…“ Ivy sighs and leans forward to fish the homemade cigarettes and a lighter from the table; Claudine quickly lights one and breathing out the smoke, she lays her head on Ivy’s shoulder: „You can get to whatever you’ve been doing now.“

Right.

And what exactly have they been doing…?

Harry and Ivy look at eachother – there for sure was a reason for him to go to Hell Hall than just to drive her crazier, nevermind how fun that might have been.
He ignores Claudine once again bitching over how is that possible that you don’t know–

He raises the glass to his lips to take a sip before thinking the best of it.
„…Right,“ he says, „I’ve wanted to tell you something.“

„Perhaps how gorgeous and generous I am? How much you admire me?“
He looks her up and down and smirks: „Couldn’t have been–“

She flips him off and he thuds the glass down on the table, showing off his teeth in a smirk even more: „No, no, darling, I distinctly remember I wanted to tell you there is a royal hostage at the Dead Beauty – and that he will be dead if your beloved cousin and his friends–“ he spits out that word, „– don’t meet our demands.“

He cackles as Ivy shots back the rest of his alcohol without any hint of hesitation; „Let’s talk about that, then,“ she says.

Notes:

I hate to be so crude, but it is absolutely integral for you to know that (in this AU), Harry and Ivy had hate sex at least once <3

Chapter 5

Summary:

Everyone is having a horrible time, but the Tremaines especially.

Notes:

Um, tw for active poisoning going on?
It’s gonna be okay tho. Plot armour and stuff.

When Harry exits the Hell Hall his feet are too heavy and his mind is swimming in all the wrong directions: Ivy’s fault, naturally. The mix of alcohol and whatever poison she gave him.

He swallows heavily and bangs his hook to the metal gate, just because he fucking can. He hopes that bitch is suffering as much as he is.
And holy hell, is he suffering: the metal clang just about threatens to split his skull open.

He just hopes dear Ivy heard it too.

On completely unrelated note, he really would like to know how she got Claudine fucking Frollo, please and thank you. That girl has problems, alright, and he’s the one saying it.
Y’know, maybe she decided if she’s going to hell, she might as well go with a blast, and Harry can approve of that.
If he had his flask, he’d drink to that sentiment, even.

Alas, he just starts walking towards the Tremaines – hey, it’s closer, and he doesn’t exactly fancy arguing with his older sister about his methods of delivering demands, thank you. Besides, Harriet is just a fucking hypocrite.
He’s pretty sure she slept with Diego the last time she was vaguely in the vicinity of Hell Hall.

More importantly, he still wants his haircut.

He drags his feet as he sneers into the shadows, twists his wrist around to stretch it – the light twirls on his hook – cranes his neck around to stretch it too.
Curiously, that seems to send a street rat or two running.

Harry smirks at that.

It shouldn’t be too long to the Tremaines now, but he could just swear the bloody streets keep stretching under his feet. He kicks on something at the ground, mutters curses under his breath. And if he loses his balance for just a moment after that, well, who cares?
Two children run by him and he sneers at them to mind their way; his vision goes blank for a moment.

This is fine.

Tremaines’ is right there.

He breaks open the door, swatting his hook at the irritating decoration above it. He doesn’t manage to tear it down. Shame.
It is an eyesore.

He collapses at the nearest chair.

He’d say he hopes Anthony went out already, but frankly, he doesn’t care enough.

„Dulcia, darling!“ he calls out, „You promised me the haircut?“

She appears behind him, placing a hand on his shoulder and sighing: „Whatever is wrong with you, Hook – my dear cousin is right there, and his mood didn’t get any better.“
She tugs at his hair rather harshly, which he registers mostly because he’s looking in the mirror.
„Also, what the hell do you want me to do with this?“

„Oh, I don’t care,“ he lifts his hand to make a dismissive gesture and lets it fall when he discovers how heavy it is, „Just do your worst. I want Harriet to know I’ve been there.“

Dulcia laughs: „Why, that almost sounds like a dare–“

Harry discovers his lips are too numb to form an answer; he barely manages a crooked smirk, twisted more by the cracked mirror. His face feels weird.

Dulcia tugs at his hair again, turning his head from side to side to examine her canvas, and his whole body locks in a horrible spasm. He can’t jerk away or even breathe– his chest starts to hurt.

He watches his lips turn blue – watches Dulcia notice his stiffness and his expression – and curses Ivy. She wasn’t stingy with the dose, that’s for sure–

He manages to draw in a breath, his muscles relax a bit.

„What the hell was that?!“ asks Dulcia.

„Quiet!“
She is simply too loud, her voice too high – Harry remembers his manners again and says: „Oh, nothing to worry about.“

„So you’re faking choking to death for fun?“

„Oh no, that’d be the poison Ivy gave me.“

„Oh, you moron,“ Dulcia’s voice turns soft, placating, „You played Russian Roulette with her?“

Harry hums in response.

„Did you win or lose?“

„…Yes.“

Dulcia deals him a gentle slap over the back of his head.
„Fucker,“ she says, and his body spasms again.

This is starting to get majorly annoying, thank you for asking.

Oh, and it seems the ruckus finally dragged Lord Tremaine over. How lovely.

„What’s he doing there?“ Tremaine asks, as if it wasn’t clear – he came for the haircut. Duh. He told him already.

„Choking to death, obviously,“ answers Dulcia, sounding insultingly uninterested.
Harry would argue, but, y’know. He still can’t breathe.

„Dulcia, why is he choking to death in our salon?“

Well… Why not?

It’s not like Ivy would share the antidote or anything.

Harry watches Dulcia shrug her shoulders delicately, and, yeah. He’s reasonably sure that if he dies in there, she plans to use his head as a training dummy for the little ones.
Which is absolutely unacceptable, by the way.

Choking is fine, but that humiliation would probably kill him.

He breathes in again – fucking finally – and immediately spits at Anthony: „None of your fucking business, Tremaine!“

„My salon, my business,“ he answers, voice stone-cold.

„My life, my business,“ mocks Harry back, turning around to look at the marginally more agreeable cousin, „Dulcia, about the ha–“
The movement makes his muscles lock up painfully again, which is starting to get really fucking repetitive.

„Dulcia, take this moron to the Mims right now,“ says Anthony, „If he dies at our salon, Harriet will never speak with me again.“

„That’d be a pity for sure,“ agrees Dulcia in her overly sweet voice.

Harry manages to catch his breath again: „My sister’s too good for you anyway,“ he says. He just smirks when Anthony attempts to kill him with a glare.

„Dulcia, to the Mims, now. Before I can think the better of it. You are also welcome to just dumb him behind the corner though,“ Anthony raises his voice, which makes Harry snarl at him. What is it with the Tremaines and yelling all over today?
„Angelica, Desdemona, Deborah, go help Dulcia with him!“

Really, it’s almost admirable how much contempt Tremaine packs up into one word. Just a shame Harry isn’t exactly in the shape to break his nose, right now.

„I can take care of myself, thank you,“ he says instead, pushing himself off the seat, and almost immediately collapsing forward into his reflection. Well, fuck.

„Clearly, you can’t,“ drawls Anthony, and Dulcia grabs Harry’s shoulder, drawing her sharp, carefully manicured nails deep into his skin.
„Now go. I do not wish to deal with your sister in a worse mood than she is now.“

„Well, good fucking luck with that,“ says Harry, letting the Tremaine harpies drag him away.

As he passes under the door, he finally manages to tear down the horrid glockenspiel, to his satisfaction and indigent cry of one of the girls, which doesn’t seem like his problem.

Like, at all. That thing has been causing him headaches for months.

Now, Maddy being her usual bitchy self?

That does seem like his problem.

„Absolutely not–“ the demon-witch-whatever cries out, pointing at the list of rules scribbled on the wall with something that’s probably human blood, „You know the rules! No first aid! Your overdoses are not my problem! Your relationships problems should stay your relationships problems!“

Harry sways in the place as the younger Tremaine girls back away from darling Maddy, and Dulcia steps forward a single step, once again speaking in that placating voice of hers: „C’mon, Maddy, who said what about first aid? Just give him the antidote.“

„That’s what first aid is–“ grumbles Maddy.

„I don’t need an antidote,“ chimes up Harry, catching his balance on a nearby shelf, which makes Maddy look like she wants to bite his arm off. Sweet. Maybe he’d finally get actual hook like that.
„I want my hair done, Dulcia.“

„See?“ Maddy gestures at him; he slowly slides to the ground, as his muscles refuse to cooperate again.
„He’s fine. Now get him out of my apothecary.“

…Yeah, no. Maybe, just maybe, he’s not so fine, Harry thinks as he painfully struggles for breath.

„Maddy, be a dear. Just give me the antidote against strychnine. He’s got shit ton of gold on him, you can take it as a payment before he comes to himself.“

Harry would really love to protest that. She can’t take his gold just for a stupid antidote!

However, Maddy looks like she’s considering this: „…How do you know it’s strychnine?“ she asks with some suspition.

„Ivy always uses strychnine.“

That is not a concerning statement at all.

And Maddy doesn’t look too convinced.

Dulcia shoots Harry a look that can’t mean anything else than „You’re so gonna owe me for this,“ and then tells Maddy: „If he dies, Harriet will be out of it and then Ginny will be upset too.“

„I… Suppose I can spare some antidote,“ decides Maddy finally. He didn’t know she cared for Harriet’s witch all that much, but then again, Gothel can make herself likable like nobody’s business. And she is high most of the time, she has to get the stuff somewhere. He supposes it makes sense.

He doesn’t fight Maddy when she forces a pill into his mouth in a pause in between spasms, and doesn’t swat away Dulcia’s hand when she offers him water with it.
That should count towards his debt to her, by the way.

After that, the Tremaine girls leave, and Maddy quickly gets tired of staring at him, instead alternating absentmindedly playing with one of her dolls, yelling at one of her cousins in a language that makes the hair at the back of Harry’s neck stand, and preventing some mangy kid from randomly tasting the shit on the shelves.

The kid keeps singing in the same language.

Harry tries to ignore that and just focus on his breathing and, more importantly, about ways to get back at Ivy. Might that bitch be slowly dissolved in acid while listening to this crazy little Mim kid singing the demons to sleep or whatever.

Said mangy little Mim kid comes over and pokes at his ribs.

„Is he dead yet, Maddy?“

„Don’t know, don’t care. You know how to check.“

Harry does not wish to know how the Mims check if their customers are still breathing or not.

„I’m still alive, kid,“ he tells her, „Shut it.“

„Shame,“ the kid sighs, „Maeve said I get to dissect the next moron that overdoses.“

„Maeve also said you’re not supposed to talk like that in front of the customers, Malvina.“

Harry snaps his teeth at Malvina as she tries to poke at his ribs again.

„If that’s all, ladies,“ he grits in between his teeth as he pushes himself up, „I’ll be on my way.“

Malvina steps away from his as he struggles to regain his balance – he almost falls down as the doors to the Apothecary fly open and CJ greets the shop with a bright smile: „Hiii!“ she says and turns to him, „Freddie said you’d be there, Ettie’s getting snappy again– ooh, can we get some of that candy?“ She points to a shelf of brightly coloured expired candy.

„You lot are not allowed weed,“ notes Maddy dryly.

„Why not?“ asks the little Mim kid; Harry seethes at the sentence.

„Pleeease?“ whines CJ, making big eyes at Maddy and slipping her one of her gold bracelets over the counter. Harry barks out a laugh.

„This never happened,“ says Maddy as tears open one package, stabs her nail through some gummy bears, and gives the mutilated candy to CJ, „And if it gets into your head wrong, don’t fucking come back here.“

„Don’t worry, Maddy,“ answers Harry, grabbing his younger sister’s arm before she gets any more bright ideas, „I’ve had enough of this place for quite some time.“

He leads CJ outside.

„How stabby is Harriet?“ he asks.

CJ swallows one of her gummy bears as she thinks of an answer, carefully storing the other pieces in a napkin in her pocket: „Hmm… Not as much as when I bleached her hair. Kinda about when Frollo wouldn’t stop ringing the bells cos of some celebration or whatever.“

Harriet spent most of that time too drunk to form a coherent sentence, and honestly, Harry doesn’t blame her.

„No, wait! Like when the Hearts twins got the jewelry she wanted at the market the other time!“

„Well, then,“ Harry smiles at his younger sister,„How do you feel about a new haircut, then?“

„Yes!“ she jumps in her place, „Yes! Harriet’s going to be so pissed!“

Anthony, too, and it’s not like anything interesting is happening at the port now: He seriously doubts Ivy managed to forward their demands to her youngest cousin yet.

Chapter 6

Summary:

Ivy’s priorities are completely reasonable, she will have you know.

Notes:

Decided to add Diego to Harriet/Anthony/Ginny cos y’know, more people equals more chaos, and it’s infinitely funnier if the de Vil cousins are just absolute hypocrites.

Also, like last chapter, Ivy’s also going through an acute poisoning and not really motivated to do anything about it, tbh.

Ivy sits still (too still) with her head laid on top of Claudine’s and the smoke curls around them.

She doesn’t breathe it in, not for several long seconds, not until her lungs decide to cooperate again; then she breathes it in, coughing immediately after.
How embarrassing this is, Ivy de Vil choking on smoke.

„You okay?“ Claudine has the damn audacity to pull away and ask that.
Are you okay?
Did the Hell freeze over?
Did mould jeans actually go back into fashion again?

„Obviously,“ Ivy says, turning her nose up and drawing Claudine close again, before her muscles inevitably lock up, „Never been better.“

„Just checking, you know, with all the alcohol and poison,“ Claudine breathes more smoke into the air and Ivy would love to answer, she really would–

Would she though?

When she can move again, she just slowly stretches out her hand and fingers, watching the light dance on her red nails: She’s got a new manicure, got it done just yesterday. It’s flawless now, bringing her comfort.
She decides she’s fine now, can push herself for a bit more time before she gets the antidote.
Even if she isn’t actually sure how much strychnine she has had, how much time it was since, what with Harry Hook being such a distraction–

It’s his turn now, and she hopes he will come up with something fun.

She also feels like she should tell her youngest cousin what’s going on – right after she yells at him for coming back, and for coming back and not telling her immediately, not necessarily in that order, and, yeah. For that, he can wait a bit.

If he wanted to know, he should have just come to see her.

Ivy steals Claudine’s cigarette to drag a breath from it while her body isn’t being a joy-killing bitch, and here, fuck that–

Claudine has to forcibly take the lit cigarette from her locked up fingers, lest the hot embers fall down her cleavage, and oh no what a shame would that be–

„I wasn’t done with that yet,“ Ivy complains as soon as she can move again, ignoring the way Claudine lifts her eyebrow at her, the way her lips curl.

„Weren’t done with that, I’m sure–“

„Hey,“ Diego, that poor excuse of a cousin, so very rudely interrupts them, „What’s up?“

Ivy is unsure whom she should try to kill with her glare first, as Claudine answers that oh, yeah, don’t worry, she’s just, y’know, actively dying, and all that.

Ivy will have you know she has it completely and utterly under control, thank you very much.

„Harry Hook was there,“ she tells him, „We played Russian Roulette.“

„Of fucking course it was a Hook–“ he mutters, as if he didn’t sleep with the Beauty’s Captain any chance he gets, fucking hypocrite, and, „Did you win or lose?“

Ivy turns her nose up: „Yes,“ she informs him.

„Stupid bitch.“

She tries to show him the middle finger, but just manages to lock herself in a spasm again, damn it–

„Claudine, go get her the antidote – Auntie’s sleeping pills, she’s keeping them in her bedside table, second drawer,“ he commands, as if he had any fucking right to order around her Claudine–

„Fuck you, Diego,“ she spits out as soon as she can, „Fuck you.“
Then she turns to Claudine, quickly getting her tone under control, speaking sweeter and angling herself just so: „Could you go get it, sweetheart? She moved it to the first drawer.“
It is probably getting just a bit too late, she supposes.

„…Fine,“ sighs out Claudine, „For you.“
She gets up and extinguishes the cigarette on an ashtray and Ivy mourns the loss almost immediately.
She chooses to glare at Diego, what with his annoying insistence on not dying and stuff.

Claudine walks round Diego, who leans on the doorframe with his hands crossed, and as soon as she’s out of earshot, he asks: „Really? Hook? And Frollo – why are you still so hung up on her, anyway?“

Ivy chooses to not-hear the second question, and instead spits out: „Oh, so this is how it is?! When you sleep with a Hook, it’s okay, but if I do it, I’m suicidal and danger to myself?!“

„Yes! Ivy, they are dangerous, and fuck, look at yourself–“

She manages to throw the glass at him before she spasms again – he dodges, that fucker, and comes help her into a safer position.
Gods, sometimes she really hates him.

„Look at yourself too,“ she says when she can breathe again, ignoring the way her hands can’t seem to stop shaking, and the way Diego takes them into his, „Your throat is still bruised, and how long was it? A week?“

„Two.“

„You looked like she tried to rip out your throat with her teeth.“

He smirks, that bastard; „Pretty sure she did try that, yeah–“

And that’s how Claudine finds them, laughing because there is nothing else to do, because they are just two lost cases anyway, because the de Vils have reached Hell and yet they keep on sinking.

And still, Ivy lets Claudine force–feed her the pill.

She just sits in between them for a while, her head on Claudine’s shoulder and her hand in Diego’s, and waits till breathing stops feeling like a chore, till the tension bleeds out of her muscles. Claudine presses her lips to her hair; her eyelids drop down a bit.

„Oh, by the way,“ she manages to turn at her cousin, „The Hooks have the king. We should probably tell Carlos.“

„What?!“ He squeezes her hand hard enough to crush it and, offended, Ivy yanks it back. It was very mean of him, you see. But for her trouble, she receives another kiss from Claudine who is now glaring at him, which makes it almost worth it.
„Holy Hell, Ives–“ he gets his voice under control rather quickly, what with Auntie somewhere in the manor, „–Carlos is here? And he didn’t tell us?!“

„I know, right?!“

Their youngest cousin is making it really hard to be supportive and loving older relatives, isn’t he?

„Yeah, I don’t feel like either of you is focusing on the actually important part,“ Claudine informs them in the haughty tone of hers.

No, Ivy is pretty sure they are focusing on the correct part. Pretty sure, yeah.

„Hush, sweetheart,“ she tells her, slurring just a little.
„It’s been so long, he really should–“ the words die in her mouth. She realises she doesn’t want her baby cousin anywhere in Hell Hall and near his lovely mother, not if she can help it.
„He should–“

He should have found a way to see them, okay? She would.
And he’s clever, if he wants to avoid mommy, he can do so–

Ivy mutters few choice words about her baby cousin and his insolent behaviour, and Diego says: „Well, we’ll have to see him anyway now, won’t we? It’s not like the Hooks will be telling anyone else. And believe it or not, I don’t feel like being complicit in regicide right now.“

„Yeah, I don’t believe that,“ snorts Ivy in amusement, „Not for a second.“
Well, for a second, maybe – regicide of this particular monarch might make Carlos sad and grumpy and an absolute fucking nightmare to deal with.

„For the record, I don’t believe that either,“ notes Claudine dryly. See?

„…Yeah, that’s fair,“ allows Diego after some consideration, „Anyway, Carlos? I don’t think he’s coming here. Voluntarily, at least.“

Yeah, he damn well isn’t, and Diego knows it as well as she does.

„We could meet him by the Dragon Hall, Faciliers would let us.“

Faciliers would allow just about anything for the correct prize, and besides, Dragon Hall’s too far, and Ivy simply isn’t feeling like undertaking that trip; she informs her cousin so.
„How about the Tremaine salon?“ she proposes instead.

„Nah.“

„Why not? You lot still fighting?“

Look, if Ivy has the chance to get more of his situationship drama out of Diego, she’s gonna take it.

„None of your business, Ives.“

Well she begs to disagree – begs, no. She’s a de Vil, she doesn’t beg, but either way, before she can argue back, Diego adds: „Besides, the salon is like a street from the school.“

„None of your business!“ shoots Ivy back. It’s a long street, you see?! And as she said, she’s not feeling like walking that far.

They continue to bicker and meaninglessly jab at one another in between the discussion – Bargain Castle, what a disgrace to be seen walking to it now that it’s looted blank! Castle Across the Way – still booby trapped to hell and back, and what’s worse, Carlos’s friends might be there too. The Storm Hall? Absolutely not, Ivy said she’s not walking that far already, and how many times does she have to repeat it? The Skull Rock is too close to the port; Diego refuses to let her anywhere near the cliff at the End of the World, for reasons that are frankly beyond her.

Eventually, it is Claudine who loses her patience first: „Why don’t you just go to the thing on the garden? On the tree? You told me he used to go there all the time.“ She looks at Ivy; Ivy blinks slowly.

„…Or we could do that,“ acknowledges Diego finally, „We could do that.“

They could do that, yeah.

Diego leans forward to get a cigarette from the table – somewhat rare occasion, as he doesn’t smoke due to his band or whatever – and she motions for him to get her one too.

They could do that.

Carlos can most definitely sneak into the garden unseen by Cruella, and Ivy won’t have to walk very far like that. Now just–

„Harry! Jace!“ she shouts for the Badun cousins, only absentmindedly caressing Claudine’s hand when she flinches away from the sound.
„Come here!“

„It’s urgent!“ yells out Diego too.

„Wow, wouldn’t ever have guessed,“ mutters Claudine, and why, Ivy doesn’t have the slightest idea what she could mean.

The Badun kids walk into the room some time later – soon enough that Ivy didn’t manage to get all the current drama out of Diego, for example, what was going on with the make-up? So she decides to sulk, and leaves him to deal with them.

„You need to find Carlos and tell him to see us in the tree house, as soon as he can,“ he informs them, „Tell him, I don’t know. Tell him we’ve got his cat or something.“

That actually sounds like something that would make Carlos listen, Ivy will leave him that.

„We do have his cat,“ says Jace Badun dryly.

„You do?“
Well, that is as much of a surprise to Ivy as it is to Diego; Claudine, disliking the cat, just makes a face of disgust.
Really, one would have thought Auntie got hold of that mangy thing already.

„Well, good for you, I suppose,“ Ivy makes shooing motion at them with her cigarette, „Now go get him.“

She chooses to ignore the curses the Baduns mutter as they leave, even though she should tell them to shut it, really, but. She slips back into her shoes and stands up, only losing her balance a little, and she will blame that on the high heels, thank you.
„We should go meet him there,“ she says; the Badun kids are nothing if not efficient.

She offers her hand to Claudine to help her stand up and shoves Diego back into the sofa, cackling a bit as she does so.

„Let’s go.“

Notes:

Didn’t feel like writing that long chapter, so next chapter is Ivy again. Or maybe Carlos, but probably Ivy. I like her, if you couldn’t tell.

I also wish to inform you that the de Vils showing up at the salon would likely resulted in murder. Tremaines can only deal with so much in a day.

I hope you enjoyed!

Chapter 7

Summary:

The de Vil cousin reunion.

The talking dog unfortunately survives.

They got to the garden slowly, walking at leisurely pace – no need to rush, really, since it’ll take some time for Carlos to get there, anyway.
On unrelated note, Ivy has scraped up her knee; she was sliding on the railing by the stairs, as she just didn’t feel like dealing with the stairs today, not in her high heels at least.

Whatever.

The blood just adds to the aesthetic anyway.

And the bruise can be a future her problem.

She abruptly stops right in front of the lawn, if it can be called that, really: Overgrown weed sharp enough to cut skin, thorny bushes, some vaguely leafy stuff that she’s pretty sure she saw one of the Mims harvesting at some point.

It occurs to her that they should have demanded a payment for that, or at least a discount in the Apothecary.

Diego finally stops too, already halfway through the miserable parody of a lawn, and glares at them.

Ivy glares back and loses her balance a bit; she holds onto Claudine as she removes her heels.

She’s not walking on grass in heels, who do you think she is?!

She holds Claudine’s hand in one hand and her shoes in the other when she steps into the garden.

The ground feels weird under her bare feet, all squishy and muddy in all the wrong ways; she frowns and drops the shoes, as she has just decided they’re too much trouble anyway.

Neither Claudine nor Diego pick them up.

Besides, the gate just creaked. They should probably do something about that, it’s giving her a headache – then again, it does work like a rather effective alarm system, and making it shut up would just be entirely too much work.

And really, soon, they join them: Carlos and the Badun kids, who just as quickly leave with a very rude „try not to die,“ to which Ivy pays no mind.

„Carlito!“ she lets go of Claudine and stumbles over to her baby cousin – the long stems of grass were maliciously weaving in between her legs, yeah?

Carlos catches her before she can fall and she holds onto his shoulders and gives him a greeting kiss on the cheek – she needs to stand on her tiptoes for that, now!

Her baby cousin grew so much since she saw him–

Somewhere back in her mind, she recognises that might have something to do with the access to actual food and the distinct lack of Cruella that there is in Auradon.

Larger part of her doesn’t really care right now.

„How are you?“ she takes a step back, remembering his disdain for casual touch; she steps into Claudine again. Neat.

„Why didn’t you visit us?“

„Yeah,“ Diego says, trying his best not to sound angry, „Why didn’t you at least tell us you are back?“
He then proceeds to hug Carlos and almost lift him off the ground, by which Carlos is entirely unamused. Ivy smiles.

„Hi,“ adds Claudine with an honestly impressive amount of indifference. Ivy gives her a kiss on the cheek.

„What the fuck–“ mutters Carlos and Diego just cackles, that bastard.

„Rude,“ comments Claudine towards both of them, Ivy pressumes.

„You know what’s also rude?“ answers another voice, high and already grating on her nerves. When she looks around, she sees no one else who could be talking. Weird.
„Ignoring me! No one has greeted me yet!“

Ivy thinks she has managed to locate whoever spoke, but– it’s some mangy thing, a dog barely big enough to make a fur hat from, not that Ivy would wear a fur hat. Why, that thing was not even fashionable in the sixties!

She shakes her head and looks around to find the annoying Isle rat that made the mistake of trying to prank the de Vils; she sees Diego and Claudine gaping at the dog; Carlos shaking his head at it all.

„Really, Dude?“ he sighs, „I told you not to come with me!“

Wait.

Wait a fucking minute.

„That thing’s real?!“ Ivy shrieks and staggers backwards, „That dog’s fucking talking?!“

Claudine grips her arm hard enough to bruise and searches for a knife; Ivy steps in between the– the thing and Claudine.

„Not for long,“ says Diego with deceiving calmness, finally breaking from his own surprise, „I’m gonna get the gun.“

He turns around mechanically and walks back towards the Hell Hall; when he glances back, Ivy thinks his eyes are not quite there.

„Wait!“ whisper–yells Carlos after him, „That’s just Dude – I mean, my dog! Don’t– don’t hurt him!“

Oh, hurt it–
They’ll merely be putting that thing out of its misery.

Silver gleams through the dull Isle air, a yelp of pain or maybe just surprise: there’s a knife in the ground where the dog’s head was just a moment ago.

And neither Ivy nor Claudine have any other weapon.

Carlos picks the still fucking talking dog up and mutters calming nothings to it; Claudine clutches Ivy’s arm harder, clearly distressed. Yeah, that’s definitely gonna bruise.

Anyway.

„Ivy it’s– it’s talking, it’s talking it must be possessed or–“ Claudine hisses and holds on tighter yet, „Ivy, the Lord has decided. This is the end–“

She descends into what Ivy can only presume is a prayer and still doesn’t let go; Ivy brushes her fingers over hers. Just – please, she’s a de Vil. She’s so not dying by some talking dog.

„No end, love,“ she tells her, „Diego’s getting the gun and then you can get perhaps gloves from this thing, or anything. We’re de Vils, remember?“

„And you’re not killing my dog,“ butts in Carlos, as if anyone asked him.
„There’s this neat thing called breaking the generational cycle of expectations,“ he informs her and, again, Ivy doesn’t fucking care.

She turns her back to Carlos.

„Honestly, Ives, you’re doing this on purpose.“

Well, duh.

If he didn’t get too smart in Auradon, that little shit – oh, who is he kidding. He always had too sharp tongue for his own good. Usually, it was more amusing.

„If you’re just gonna sulk the whole time, I’m gonna leave.“

Well, that seems like his problem, if he won’t hear about the boy king, then.

Ivy tried.

„Say hi to Diego for me.“

She doesn’t think she will – oh, who is she kidding. They’re her cousins.
She turns around again, to see Carlos honestly very reluctantly backing away. She almost smiles at that – It goes both ways. They’re family.

„Where do you think you are going?“ interrupts Diego. He is really good at that.

Claudine finally shuts up and loosens her grip, her fingers pale, bloodless. Ivy rubs them with her own.

„Ives,“ Diego turns at her, „The gun is gone.“

Carlos stops now that he assumes no danger for his poor excuse of a dog and Ivy starts laughing.

Oh, just– „This is too good!“ she cackles, „Harry Hook must have nicked it – don’t you think, Claudine?“
Claudine just hisses. She doesn’t particularly like Harry.

Diego answers with something like „Dear god in the fucking Heaven, why–“ and Claudine hisses again.
Ivy doesn’t see the problem – the Hooks with a gun is going to get oh so entertaining–
She doesn’t stop laughing.

„Also, I think Auntie heard me,“ adds Diego, „So we better get going.“
He motions at the tree house.

Ivy makes a long face as they start moving and Carlos asks: „Why was Harry Hook here?“

„Curiosity killed the cat,“ she bitches at her darling cousin, „Or that dog, or whatever that is.“

Carlos doesn’t dignify that with a response. Diego unfortunately does:
„Oh, you know. They were just trying to poison one another. Or fuck one another. I’m not sure.“

Claudine flings the lighter at his head. Lovely.

„Go get, that, sweetheart,“ Ivy nudges her, because, lighter, you see, „And you go fuck yourself, Diego.“

„Oh, don’t worry about me, Ivana.“

„You know what, Claudine, you can just throw that at him again. Or light him on fire.“

„You can certainly try.“

Claudine walks over to Ivy though, pulling her close, which is good for closely unspecified reasons, and instead eyes the dog, which would probably burn way better than Diego anyway. Carlos clutches the dog closer and hisses something like „One fucking conversation,“ and Ivy has no idea what he means, really.

She turns up her nose as she motions for him to start climbing up; she grabs the rope ladder after him.

„If you fall, I’m not catching you, Ivana,“ Diego informs her. That doesn’t sound like her problem.

She puts both of her feet at the ladder and gasps out in surprise when the thing swings; the partitions dig harshly into her bare feet.

„I’m not falling,“ she growls through her teeth.

„Yeah, sure.“

„…Why would she fall?“ asks Carlos, already mostly up, and didn’t she just tell him curiosity killed the cat? Honestly.

„Oh, I don’t know– Might be the poison. Might be the alcohol. Or Auntie’s sleeping pills,“ Diego says obnoxiously, and all of these are absolutely fine, Ivy will let you know. Just a little something to get her by.
She giggles.

„For good– Holly hell, Ivy! Get down right this second, we can talk somewhere else!“
Oh, look, now her baby cousin has the audacity to pretend he looks after her. Well, fuck that.

Ivy laughs more and starts climbing up, ignoring both his protests and the way the rope burns at her hands. She just hopes her nails don’t get damaged from this escapade, that’d be a shame.

„Are you okay?“ he asks when he helps her climb into the treehouse, and why wouldn’t she be? She just laughs more.

„…Yeah, I think I’m gonna take that as a no.“

Always so clever, this baby cousin of hers.

She moves away from the trapdoor so Claudine and Diego could follow after them and asks:

„Me– What about you, Carlos? How’s Auradon treating you?“

He bites his lip, trying to find his words, and meanwhile, Claudine climbs in, very unhappy with the whole ordeal and rubbing at her hands. Ivy pulls her close and settles down, gives her the lighter so she wouldn’t just run her fingers raw.

Diego’s in now, too, finally, and:

„He must be bored in Auradon, Ivy,“ he teases, „For that to happen.“ He motions at the dog.

Speaking of which, Ivy would like to know if all dogs in Auradon talk, or just those that have the misfortune of meeting the de Vil family.

„That’s Dude,“ repeats Carlos, „He’s my friend.“

„And it’s talking,“ points out Ivy, eyeing it warily. Claudine runs her fingers too close to the flame and starts muttering prayers into her skin.

„Yes, because– well because me and Mal– Because Jane–“

Ivy perks up at the unfamiliar name, as does Diego.

„Jane?“

„Who is Jane?“

A distinct blush creeps into Carlos’ cheeks as he stammers the most unconvincing „No one!“ Ivy has ever heard.

„Come on, Carlito,“ she coos at him, „Who is Jane? Is she someone special?“
She threads her fingers through Claudine’s hair, just because she can.

„Come on, little man!“ adds on Diego, „Tell us! Maybe we can help you!“

„Please?“

Now, Ivy doesn’t beg, just– relationship drama, you see.

„I– fine,“ Carlos allows, still blushing, „Jane is a girl I… fancy,“ he frowns at the unfamiliar Auradonian word, „Fairy Godmother’s daughter.“

Oh, yes, relationship drama and also – Carlos’ first crush! Ivy squeaks and Diego whistles; Claudine flinches at the sound.

„And I… I kinda… sorta…“

„He’s a coward!“ jumps in the rude talking dog. No one asked him. It’s only fair Claudine throws the coincidentally still lit lighter at it.

Ivy and Diego laugh as Carlos scrambles after it and:

„Yes! Yes, we can most certainly help with that.“

„How does I can’t talk to a girl become there is now a hellish abomination of a talking dog?“ asks Claudine, extending her hand to get the lighter back, and, yeah, reasonable question, actually.

„Hey!“ barks out the demon-dog. Everybody ignores it.

„Yeah,“ Ivy prods at her cousin and snatches the lighter, which he doesn’t want to give back, for some reason, „How did that happen? Nearly gave me heart attack.“

Well, not really, but close enough.

„It’s lucky we don’t have the gun and I don’t wanna dirty my knives,“ adds Diego, running his fingertips over one of his blades, which looks fun. The fire is better though.

„I– Diego, no. Dude is mine,“ says Carlos, focusing on the incorrect part of this situation.

„Yeah, too late to kill him now anyway.“

Ivy looks at Claudine and at then at the dog: „Is it though?“ She wonders if Claudine will be more upset by the dog’s continual survival or Carlos by its death.
„I suppose it’s much too ugly to be of use anyway.“

„Hey! I’m very pretty!“ protests the fucking animal and Ivy catches Claudine’s hand to stop her from throwing the lighter again.

„Shut up, Dude,“ sighs Carlos, „This is a good thing.“

„It’s not!“

See?

That thing just wants to die.

And still, how is it talking anyway?

„Anyway,“ Carlos grabs his dog around the muzzle to shut it up, fucking finally, „Mal kinda gave me a truth gummy so I’d finally tell Jane what I feel to her, but this menace ate it first, so. Talking dog.“

Ivy cackles again: „Oh, you do need help!“

Diego is too busy gaping to agree with her, what a shame.

„Pray tell, did you take her at any romantic outings yet?“

„Like what,“ deadpans Carlos. Doesn’t seem like he appreciates her gracious help at all.

„…Midnight graveyard?“ she offers.

„Oh, good idea,“ says Diego, finally getting his head into the conversation, „It’s gonna be cold, you can offer her your jacket.“

„Oh, how romantic!“ Ivy clasps her hands, „Midnight graveyard, only the two of you… and the dead body you’re getting rid off. Just take a jacket you wouldn’t mind getting dirty or not getting back from her.“

(„The body we’re getting rid of?!“ mouths Carlos silently and, well, obviously. Nothing bonds people like getting rid of a body together, Ivy would know. She absentmindedly catches one of Claudine’s hands and brings it to her lips.)

„Oh, yes,“ nods Diego, „Nothing brings two people close like getting rid of a body together.“

See? Diego agrees!

„Torture also works.“

Ivy looks at him, almost asking „You and who?“ before deciding that she can ask that whenever and to focus on baby Carlos instead. She leans her head down on Claudine’s shoulder as she says: „Or arson. Good for the cold, too.“

Ivy might be just a little too jealous of her jackets and coats.

„Of course you’d say that.“

„Fuck off.“

Ivy just shows him the middle finger; she thinks Carlos is just too shocked to intervene. By how great their suggestions are, of course.

„Also, did you try getting rid of her parent yet?“

There is no underlying motive behind this suggestion of Diego’s, Ivy is so sure. She grins wickedly:

„Have you tried stealing anything for her yet? Jewelry? Designer tiaras? The wand – she seemed pretty hung up on that, didn’t she?“

„Ivy! She’s not– she’s not like that!“

Well, too bad.

„If you don’t like that, murder is always an option.“

„Yeah, what girl could resist when such a handsome young man kills someone for her?“

„…Guys. Guys. I don’t know how to tell you. All of these are illegal,“ says Carlos and, honestly, seems to Ivy he’s just being a kill joy. She slides down, laying her head in Claudine’s lap, and takes the lighter from her to play with it herself.

„…Fight for her hand at a grand tournay the king hosts in her honour?“ offers Diego.

„That’s not real,“ sighs Carlos again. Ivy yawns. He just isn’t putting his heart in it, you see.

„Kill a dragon for her?“

„Illegal.“

„You sure you are not stealing the wand?“

„Yes?“

„Dunno, then, wait till she’s comatose and kiss her awake with a true love’s kiss.“

„Arrange for an accident so she falls comatose faster,“ advises Ivy. And Diego keeps telling her she’s not practical, honestly.

„Diego! Ivy!“ cries out Carlos, „I’m not doing any of that!“

Well, too bad.

Ivy closes her eyes; Claudine is running her fingers through her hair. It’s nice.

„Sing her a love ballad then,“ says Diego, as his last ditch attempt, presumably.

„That’s…Not illegal. And not that terrible idea.“

Ivy raises her hand for Diego to high five.

„Still not doing that though.“

Diego high fives her anyway.

„Oh, by the way,“ Ivy decides she should probably tell Carlos about the whole hostage situation now, before she falls asleep, „The Hooks have the king. They want ransom.“

Carlos jumps to his feet:

„The Hooks– What?!“ he shouts in surprise and Ivy grimaces at the volume. Her head hurts. „Ivy, couldn’t you have led with that?!“

„Geez, chill a bit,“ she complains, „It’s just a hostage situation.“

She wants to sleep.

„It’s not like Harriet will have him killed while she can get something in exchange for him,“ adds Diego helpfully.

„Yeah they could just kill him on accident,“ adds Claudine way less helpfully.

„Shush,“ advises her Ivy. Little lethal accident, who cares? Just adds thrill to life.

„Fucking hell, I can’t believe you guys,“ grumbles Carlos. Well, he’s welcome to go check. She’s sure the Hooks would be all to pleased at him showing up with bare hands.
„What do they want?“

„Oh, just the usual,“ she yawns, „Alcohol. Like, obscene amounts of money. A functional remote to the Barrier.“

„Wha– nevermind,“ Carlos shakes his head, „How much money?“

And, you see, Ivy isn’t actually sure. You’ll have to forgive her, with everything else that has been going on.

„Claudine?“ she says instead.

Claudine lists a number and Diego whistles; Carlos just curses again and mutters something about their general insanity, as if that was anything new.

„I’m pretty sure Harry made up the number on the spot, though,“ adds Claudine, shaking her head. Her hair fall into Ivy’s face and she sputters.
„Sorry.“

„I– I–,“ Carlos, and thankfully the dog too, are at the loss of words. Neat.
„I’m gonna go tell Mal, I suppose.“

He sounds about as enthusiastic about it Claudine does when she offers to take her to the Tremaine salon, that is, like he would rather have his teeth pulled. Mood.

„You do that,“ Ivy waves him away. She is tired and he refuses to take any reasonable advice with that Jane girl anyway. Speaking of which:

„Hey, bring Janey a gift while you’re here. Maybe something from the Mims, or the Faciliers. She’s magic, isn’t she?“

„I–“ He just shakes his head at her before crouching down to the trapdoor, „Lovely seeing, you, Ivy, Diego.“

She blows him a lazy kiss.

„Wait, I’m gonna go with you,“ Diego stands up too, and, well, that doesn‘t seem like her problem.

She wonders if she wants to fall asleep here or try to get to her bed first.

Notes:

I hope you enjoyed an it’d mean a lot if you decided to comment ♥

Chapter 8

Summary:

Welcome, Captain Harriet Hook.

Notes:

Oh, slight lore drop: Hook siblings mother is a siren. This changes nothing except for the fact that Tremaines have to deal with it, as per usual.
It is also borderline impossible to use siren song on the Isle, magic barrier and all.

I hope you enjoy the chapter!

Harriet walks aboard her suspiciously quiet ship and–

Right.

Her siblings are not there yet, Harry, sent to deliver demands to anyone who might care, and Calista, sent to drag him back, goddammit, he has work to do, doesn’t he know?

He knows, doesn’t he, he just doesn’t care, that son of a bitch – he takes after their mother anyway, so Harriet doesn’t care too much for insulting her too.

She looks around the ship again and shouts out their names, for the off-chance they are there after all, or that her order gets to them before she can. The walls have ears and eyes and her siblings have an undue fucking amount of luck.

Unlike her, because of course they don’t come running; she sneers at the now decidedly empty deck and drinks from her flask.
Of fucking course she has to go get them.

She drinks again – it’s good for her nerves, yeah, and she’s gonna need that – and sets out.

Or, well, she would. Except there is Sammy Smee in her way, holding out a plastic fucking water bottle. On her ship. For her to take.

„No.“

They don’t even bother answering, instead mostly forcing the bottle into her chest.

„Fuck you, Samuel,“ she hisses at them and their unimpressed stare; she drinks a bit of the water before looking them straight to the eyes and crumbling that abomination, dropping it on deck with dull thud.

Then she sets off, leaving them to pick up the litter and ideally get it off her ship, too.
Fucking plastic.

Should be criminal, that’s what she thinks.

Unfortunately, she doesn’t think she can afford to throw Sammy Smee overboard.

The port is quiet as she marches through it, and so is the central district, and, well, these street rats are lucky too, she supposes idly as she walks through the wide-empty streets, her mood souring with each step she takes towards the Tremaine salon, because where else on earth and beyond would her siblings go?!

Of course it is the Tremaine salon.

And Anthony is going to be insufferable over it.

She sighs and leans on a corner just shy off the salon, sending someone scurrying through the shadows ; she can see the salon from there. She drinks as she looks at it, watches through the dark windows to see if she catches a look of her siblings – of Anthony.

(No such luck, only the horrid mannequin heads the Tremaines insist on displaying in the vitrine, each colour louder than the last.)

She drinks again. Nerves, okay?
Her rings ring on the metal when she puts the flask back into its place and the next moment, well, the next moment she is in the salon.

Her existence is pure suffering.

She stands framed by the doors, giving her eyes a moment to adjust: Her siblings are there, of course they are.

Has she said the line about existence and suffering yet? How about the one about existential dread?

„Harry.“ (He lounges in a chair as if it belonged to him, having just spinned to face her, and Dulcia stands next to him, looking all too pleased for the situation; Harriet wonders how many bribes were involved.)
„CJ.“ (Sideways in her own chair, waving her hands about and she’s singing, by Lord, she is singing– Harry gestures at her to let it be, something to the effect of „she’ll fuck over her vocal chords and she’ll be fucking quiet for once,“ and, yeah, point. So Harriet spares a dismissive prayer for the little Tremaines and unfortunate customers in her sister's general vicinity and shows her brother the middle finger, as he shouldn’t have let her do that anyway.)

„Both of you, out – home. Now,“ she says then.

(She doesn’t think Calista noticed her yet.)

And Harry, well, he definitely doesn’t care, only leaning back in his chair and smirking wide.

„Harriet.“

Still facing her brother, she makes a face: She was hoping it wouldn’t come to this.

That she could just. You know. Walk into the Tremaine salon without Anthony Tremaine noticing her?

Yeah, that would have been nice.

„How…Lovely,“ he says.

She spins around to face him: He stands all high and mighty in the middle of the salon, crossed arms and that bloody smirk on his lips.
Not that she’s looking at his lips. At all.
She doesn’t raise her eyes to meet his.

„I knew you’d come here soon.“

Why, that–
How does he dare–

„This hardly counts, Tremaine,“ she hisses though her teeth, stepping closer to him. He doesn’t take a single step back.
„I’m just getting my insufferable siblings, that’s all.“

He’s still fucking smirking, that bastard, and she can feel the pleased arrogance practically radiating from him.
She steps closer again.

„Oh, I’d say it counts,“ he counters, „You didn’t have to come here yourself, Captain Hook, did you?“
He circles closer too.
„You could have sent anyone to get them. Sam. Murph. That girl that almost jinxed Deborah the last time she was there– Any of them, Harriet. Any of the people on your ship that’d rather die than risk disobeying your command. And yet – you still came, my dear.“ He reaches out, caressing her cheek as he says the insult.

She isn’t sure why she let him speak that long.

She catches his wrist in viciously hard grip and looks into his eyes as she barks out: „Harry, CJ. I said– Home, now!“

He ignores her as he brings his other hand up, puts his thumb on her lip: „Or are you too drunk to remember that again? Too drunk to care?“

She snaps her teeth at his fingers and he has the audacity to not jerk away, not even an inch. She has her drinking perfectly under control, no matter what he says.
Annoyed, she swats his hand down, not bothering to loosen her grip on the other.

„Didn’t you hear me?!“ she growls towards her siblings.

„Oh but it’s just getting interesting, Ettie,“ her pest of a brother counters, „And I think CJ’s having lots of fun.“
Yeah, lots of fun making the people near her fall into trance periodically, maybe. But also, Harriet doesn’t feel like dealing with that situation right now. And besides:

„Oh, yes,“ Anthony whispers, now so close she can feel his breath on her cheek, „Why the rush? You’ve already scared all of our remaining customers out, anyway.“

Oh, did she? Nice.

She turns her head just a little bit and speaks, now more or less directly into his lips: „Why the haste? Oh, I could just leave my siblings there a little longer, if that’s what you want.“

„Please, my dear,“ he whispers, not bothering to step back or lean away, „Do take them away. I beg you.“

Oh, but he’s just asking for it, isn’t he? He gives her no choice, really.
She smirks as she says:
„Then beg.“

Instead, he hums and traces his lips along her jaw, fluttering impressions of a kiss.
„You should know I won’t,“ he says into her skin. He has put his hand on her waist.

„You should know I get what I want.“

She thinks they are both lying.

(She thinks the salon went suspiciously quiet, too.)

„In that case, Harriet, please, take them away.“

Well that’s not „begging,“ please and thank you.
She shoves him away so maybe he can think it over yet, she knows he can–

Unfortunately, the moment is ruined by her darling little sister gaping at her like dead fish, what a joy.

„That was gross,“ Calista Jane complains.

…Gross.

That is one way to put it, Harriet supposes; she pointedly doesn’t look at Anthony who is still in front of her, instead trying to figure out how to best react to that statement and–
Wait.

„Is she high? Harry, is she high?“ she asks, still examining her little sister’s face.

He sighs melodramatically: „I was hoping you wouldn’t ask.“

That means, yes, yes, she is. Explains the singing, then. Not like Calista has functional pain tolerance anyway, though–

„She’s been like this for the last three quarters hour,“ complains Anthony.

Great, and no one has bothered to tell her. Just. Great.

„So, really, you should just send her home. For her own good.“

Harriet gives– gives the Tremaine lord an unimpressed glare:
„That’s what you call begging, Tremaine? Try harder.“

Now, she really should get Calista home safely.

However, she also really wants to see him beg.

„Get a room for that,“ advises Harry insolently.

Fuck her life, honestly.

„I think I will,“ answers Anthony, „Or maybe you could just leave.“

Harriet isn’t sure if she likes the look in his eyes or not.

„Harry!“ whines CJ, „Let's leave! They’re–“ she doesn’t bother with further articulation, instead only making a vaguely disgusted sound.
She also doesn’t seem to mind her hairdo is only half-done, pushing the last bewitched children away as she jumps down.

Well, that would be it, then.

Solved.

„You’re so fucking lucky, Tremaine,“ she sighs, already turning around; CJ tugs somewhat unwilling Harry out of his seat; „See?“ Tremaine says, arrogant as ever, „Just send them away, Captain Hook.“
The doors open.

The doors open.

In a fraction of second, she watches Anthony’s eyes go wide, and at the other end of the salon, Harry tucks CJ close, telling her to „just wait here a little bit longer, starfish, it’s gonna be fun.“

„Hi,“ she puts on a smile and spins around to greet Ginny Gothel.
„I was actually just about to leave, so…“

„Oh no you don’t,“ Anthony grabs her arm and hisses into her ear before raising his voice again, „Hello, Sunflower.“

„Harriet, Anthony. Various other Hooks and Tremaines and people I don’t care about,“ she greets them and the salon with a wide, dismissive gesture to which Harry cackles and says something like „As charming as always, Gothel,“ and Dulcia flips her off.
CJ waves.
Without any care for that, Ginny zeroes on Anthony again and Harriet sidesteps just a little bit.

„You promised you’d meet me tonight!“ Ginny accuses Anthony Tremaine.

„Well I–“

„I don’t want to hear it,“ she interrupts him, pouting, „I see how it is.“
She angles her head so her curls fall in front of her eyes and sniffles: „ You had better things to do– I suppose you just don’t care enough to meet me anymore.“
Ginny hunches her shoulders and hugs herself and Harriet thinks she knows what she’s doing but goddammit–

Anthony sighs – he also must know, mustn’t he – and rushes past her to meet Ginny. He puts his arm around her shoulders and tucks the stray curl behind her ear
„You know that’s not true,“ he tells her and glares at Harriet as if the whole situation was her fault or something.
„I just had to make sure Ettie’s siblings didn’t leave my salon in ruins.“

„Your salon?!“ protests Dulcia fruitlessly.

And yeah, Harriet still doesn’t see how that’s her fault. She did explicitly forbid them from coming to the salon.
She curls her lips in displeasure over all of this; she tries to ignore Ginny’s eyes.

„So glad to be of service,“ quips Harry and, yes. That.

„So you were there, with Harriet. Without me.“

„No–“

„No?“ Ginny tilts up her head, opens her lips a little bit, and leans further into Anthony: „What was happening, then?“

Harriet resolves to not take any drinks or meals Ginny offers her in the near future.

„I forgot the time, Sunflower, nothing more, nothing less,“ he tells her, leaning down and kissing those lips briefly. Harriet doesn’t bother to pretend she isn’t staring, even in front of herself.
„I was trying to keep my salon intact and I forgot to check the time.“

„And I was just getting my siblings,“ Harriet states again, looking anywhere but at Ginny and Anthony, or at her siblings, really.

„Really, Ettie?“ Her insufferable fucking siblings.
„Looked to me like you we–“

„Shut up,“ she hisses at her brother, „Shut the fuck up. And go– We are going.“

Harry – for once – does shut up and walks to the door, with CJ clinging to him all the while. When Harriet finds out who sold CJ weed, they are fucking dead.
Anthony manoeuvres himself and Ginny out of the way as her siblings walk to the door and Harriet moves to follow after them: Ginny’s hand at hers stops her.

„You’re leaving already?“

„You’ve barely been there, Harriet.“

She doesn’t look at either of them as she says: „I need to get them home and besides: We have a royal hostage. I should be on my ship.“

Ginny slowly lets her hand fall, her fingers lingering, her nails dragging over Harriet’s skin. Harriet’s fairly certain she is fucked.

„I see,“ Ginny says, hiding her face into Anthony’s neck and looking at Harriet sideways, „You just care more about some fancy foreign prince than about us, pirate Captain and all. Go, then.“
Instead of commenting, Anthony kisses Ginny’s hair and just– looks at her.

Harriet is absolutely certain she is fucked.

„Harry!“ she calls after her brother, „Go home. Make sure CJ is safe there until I come back, savvy?“

Instead of an answer, Harry gives her a parody of a salute: Hand raised to his temple, pointed middle finger, and gesture of firing a gun.

„Do not wish me if anything happens to her! And take care of the Beauty, too!“

She doesn’t bother to wait for his response, certain she doesn’t want to hear it anyway. Instead, she shuts the door and turns at them.

„Well?“

Notes:

PLEASE tell me if you liked the chapter? It was very hard for me to write, as Hannah and Flower can attest.
So, please?

Chapter 9

Summary:

Just Ivy being a diva for 2,7k words straight. Well, not straight. You know what I mean.

Ivy & Mal
Ivy wakes up in her bed; she isn’t really sure how she got there, and she isn’t really sure if she cares. (She thinks she remembers the rope, itchy under her hands, and Diego talking at her. She thinks she remembers being carried.)
But now, now she’s in her bed, which is good, and something nearby is throwing the vibes off, which is horrible.

Something: A certain wannabe good fairy standing in the door and leaning at the frame.

Ivy groans and hides her face into the pillow again.

She’ll need to have a talk about this with the Baduns – later.

„Don’t act on me,“ the purple nuisance scolds, all poisoned apples and cursed roses, and Ivy fumbles her hand under the pillow, there should be– Right. That knife is still in the garden. Fucking demon dogs and fucking annoying fae.

So she sits up and opens the bedside drawer. Next moment, a different knife imbeds itself into the frame of the doors – well, mostly – and Ivy lazily smirks at that. She has a good aim.

„Now that we know you’re awake and we have the pleasantries off the way, how about you and I talk like civilised beings?“

Oh, absolutely not, please and thank you.

„Fuck off,“ answers Ivy. She doesn’t feel like talking, at all. And besides, it’s too early to be up and about anyway. Leave it to Auradon to fuck up perfectly good circadian schedule.

„It’s eleven in the morning, de Vil,“ Mal informs her, as if anyone asked her. Ivy ostentatiously turns away from here and look, Claudine isn’t there anymore. (She thinks she remembers falling asleep next to her.)
„Now get your ass up and about.“

Ivy supposes she could get up, if only to see where Claudine went, make sure she– make sure she didn’t leave.

„Fine,“ she sighs dramatically as she slips out of the covers, „Since you are asking so nicely.“

„How lovely of you. And for fucks sake, cover up. You look like a slut.“

Ivy looks down at her clothes, and yes, they look good, thank you for asking.

„And you look like a dumb bitch, so?“

She takes a tiny bit of pleasure at the look of hurt at the fairy’s face, though it doesn’t take long time for her to shake the insult off and defend herself:
„You’re wearing lingerie–“

Ivy bends down to find her shoes, and, right. Those probably stayed in the garden too. It’s okay, it’s not like anyone sane would want (to steal) (her) high heels. She opens the closet to choose a different pair and barely spares Mal a dismissive glance:
„And you’re wearing, well, all of that.“

There is something wrong with this girl, honestly.

She fishes out high heels that she thinks used to have rhinestones on them once upon the time; they’re white, Claudine might like them better than the red ones.
She also grabs one of the coats her Auntie let her have, to start her own collection or because she didn’t feel like cleaning it herself, without Carlos around, Ivy is honestly not sure, and she throws it over her shoulders. Anyway.

She turns back at the fairy only to find she’s walked away already, let herself into the living room.

Oh well.

Ivy is fairly certain the fairy would just wake her again if she went back to sleep, but she isn’t really feeling like joining her just yet.

Thus, she sits in front of her vanity and calmly selects what products to use – does her eyeliner – mascara and highlighter on her cheekbones – paints her lips bloody red. She stares at herself, for now satisfied. This shade suits her, and matches her nails; she poses with her fingers at her cheek, she looks like those old photos in Auntie’s rooms, drawn over carefully with harsh red marker, and–

She shrieks. Her nail is broken. From the whole treehouse escapade, no doubt,

„Who’s murdering you, de Vil?“ yells Mal from the depths of the house with adequate level of disinterest but loudly enough Claudine is sure to hear it, if she is in the house. And she might not come near due to this bitch, she doesn’t like loud noises.

„This is all your fault!“ shouts Ivy back as she stumbles into the living room. The sooner this annoying uppity bitch is out of the house, the better.

„What did you want anyway?“ She stops by the cupboard where she stores alcohol and pulls out the bottle of whiskey from– yesterday?
Eh, who cares. She holds it against the light, it looks decently full still, and also–
„Dim these fucking lights for Evil’s sake.“

„’s not my fucking fault you’re hungover, is it now?“ The accursed fairy doesn’t do slightest move to shut the lights.

„It is your fault I have to look at you.“ And so early, too, and those colours, the hair– Why the hair!
„Also, who did that to you?“ She gestures to, well, her whole self, and screws open the bottle.

„Well, why–“

Ivy puts down the bottle momentarily and claps her hands sharply:
„Lights!“ she reminds her. Her head hurts and it is painful to look at.
She makes a shooing motion at the other girl when she hisses something she doesn’t bother to try to understand, and yeah. Fucking finally.
She sighs as the lights dim and sits down at sofa, the flask in her hand again, leaving Mal to deal with it or sit elsewhere. Mal sits elsewhere. Her loss, really.

Ivy drinks from it as she leans back and asks: „Well? Who did that to you?“

„Why little Dizzy Tre–“

Ivy cackles and almost chokes on the alcohol. When she recovers from the coughing fit, she cries out: „Little Dizzy Tremaine! What did you do to the Tremaines already! You’ve been back here, what, two days? Three?“

„Almost four, you bitch, not like you or Hook would notice.“

Ivy just shrugs. You see, she just doesn’t care all that much.

„And I think it looks cool.“

Ivy chokes again. God, she isn’t drunk enough for this.
„She gave you bangs!“ she protests.

„I like it,“ shrugs the insolent fairy, the bloody crime against fashion and a walking insult to anyone who has eyes, „Now–“

Ivy holds up her hand– What does she mean, now?!
Still holding up her hand to stop the fae from talking, she drinks again, and then sets the flask down on the ground and says: „I need a cigarette.“

She cares nothing for Mal’s eyes flickering in displeasure as she reaches out into the table:
„Goddamit,“ she curses quietly before raising her voice again, „Would you make yourself useful and got me a light?“

Mal, Mal the Auradonian princess, Mal, one of the arsonists of the Isle of the Lost, promptly throws a lighter at her head.

Ivy catches it and lights up the cigarette in between her lips.
„Thanks,“ she mutters then, letting the words go along with the first breath of smoke.

„You’re so fucking pathetic, de Vil,“ the fairy sights as Ivy plays with the lighter absentmindedly.
„You can keep that, by the way.“

She looks at the lighter now: It’s the cheap but reusable kind, with a picture of more naked than clothed woman at the side. Ivy figures Claudine won’t like to borrow this one; she keeps it anyway. Free stuff, you see.

„Didn’t think you were into that,“ she says, just to say something, „And also, don’t you have a boyfriend?“
She doesn’t really care what Mal likes to look at, but, relationships drama, you see.

„He’s not my boyfriend anymore,“ Mal frowns.

You see, relationships drama.

„So he dumped you? Don’t you magic folk have some potion or curse against that?“

„No– Yes! I mean we do and I did use that, but it washed off! And he didn’t mind that. I- I broke up with him!“

Why, yes, Ivy does greatly enjoy watching the colour rising up as the fairy struggles with her words and it takes her a moment to register what she said. Then, she just stares blankly: I mean, who dumps a prince?
This girl, apparently.
„Wow, you really are dumb,“ Ivy says finally and drinks straight from the flask again.

Mal just makes some mostly incoherent noise of outrage in response, and well. Not Ivy’s problem.

„Shut up,“ she says instead. If she keeps shrieking like that, Claudine will be impossible the whole day.

Notably, Mal doesn’t shut up, at all. Instead, she waves away Ivy‘s words and says:
„Anyway.“
Ivy yawns, utterly uninterested in anything the stupid fairy-spawn could say in her defence.
„Anyway,“ the fairy-spawn presses on, „Why the fuck didn’t you tell me the Hooks have my boyfriend?!“

„Your ex-boyfriend,“ corrects Ivy, blowing out the words along with the smoke from her cigarette.

„So not the point!“

Ivy lifts her eyebrow. She’s still not drunk enough for this.

„It is not the point, de Vil!“ insists Mal again, as if Ivy cared, „You should have told me anyway! He’s there because of me, he is my responsibility!“
Wow, young love.
Ivy yawns again.

„I told Carlos,“ she says, „He told you. Basically the same thing.“

Ivy listens to the other girl throwing an annoyingly loud and awfully repetitive hissy fit for a moment, before she cuts her off: „And yet, here you are,“ she breathes out the smoke and gives Mal a glare, „Yapping at me like the useless bitch you are and disrupting my morning.“ (Disrupting Claudine, too. She still hadn’t shown up.) „Instead of, you know. Getting your ex-boyfriend, the very rich and powerful king, from the port?“

„I– de Vil!“

Fucking finally, she had shocked the fairy into silence. Took her long enough. Ivy breathes in from her cigarette, leans her head back, and closes her eyes.
„Amazing. Now, kindly shut the fuck up and leave. You know where the doors are.“

Given she let herself in, she must know: and, well, if she doesn’t and has an unfortunate run-in with one of the traps around the house? Ivy couldn’t care less.

„You should have told me– Told me directly– fucking Hooks– Why, you didn’t have nothing better to do, nothing better than trying to kill yourself–“ Mal starts muttering again like the broken gramophone in the downstairs living room, and geez, still?

„I told Diego. I told Carlos. You know. I don’t know what’s the fuss about,“ she, too, repeats. Though, speaking of which:
„Diego!“ she calls out, to try and see if he’s home or if he’s vanished again, to the salon or perhaps to the port or to other depths of hell she does not wish to be thinking about.
„Diego!“ she’s sure he’d just love to hear this new relationships drama, too.

And really, he peeks his head into the room few moments later: To Ivy’s delight, he has new, very distinct, bruises on his neck and jaw. Looks like someone had an interesting night–
But about that later.

„The fuck did you want?“ he grunts at her with an attitude suitable for the early hour and also maybe being distracted from other far more pleasurable activities.

She points her hand at Mal: „She dumped the king.“

„What.“

„That’s what I said!“ Ivy gestures around wildly.

Neither of them pays attention to Mal, who is trying to defend herself. Something about too much media attention?
Ivy can’t relate.

Diego stalks closer and helps himself to the flask that Ivy left by her feet; he drinks straight from it.

„She’s still gonna do the hostage-money stuff, right?“ he says, „Or at least give the demands further? To someone who will?“

„Fucking hell!“ swears Mal loudly and both cousins stare at her. No need to be so rude, really.
„Yes I am going to get Ben from the port. He’s my responsibility! And the money– and the rest. We’ll see. But I am getting Ben from the port.“

„Then fucking get to it,“ growls Diego.

Ivy takes the flask from Diego, drinks, and then gestures around with the bottle: „Thank you! That’s what I’ve been saying!“

Mal sputters. In answer, Ivy dramatically drops her forehead against her cousin’s shoulder.

„Do you need to be escorted or what?“ Diego asks rather irritably. Fucking mood of him.

„I– no,“ Mal finally – fucking finally! – gives up and gets from her seat, „I know the way. Thanks for nothing, by the way.“

„You’re so welcome,“ Ivy says, and it means „If you don’t dip right this bloody second, I’ll rip your throat out with my teeth.“
Diego makes a growling noise that she can only assume means the same.

Though–!

„I’ll go with you,“ she decides, sighing heavily and standing up. She doesn’t sway, not really.
„Gotta make sure the unwanted guest is really out of the way, don‘t I?“
And maybe see where Claudine did disappear to, while she is at it.

Diego holds his hand against her back for just a heartbeat before he joins her: „I’ve been thinking about visiting Harriet,“ he says, and they dive into familiar arguments, which, Ivy notes with pleasure, make Mal blush furiously.

On the ground floor, still few halls down from the front door, something catches Ivy’s attention: A shadow moving under the door, clinging of the dishes, a well-known voice humming an anxious melody.

„Bye,“ she says to Mal, „I hope you have an awful day. Bye, have fun.“ She presses a quick kiss to Diego’s cheek, careful not to leave any mark with her lipstick.

„Try not to die,“ he tells her in turn.

„Can’t promise anything.“ With that, she opens the door to the kitchen.

Claudine is there: Of course she is. She didn’t turn on the lights and she is busying herself with the dishes. Ivy almost frowns at that, but: She’s still there.
Ivy closes the door behind her softly; Claudine hears anyway.

She turns around, fast and tense, and relaxes again when she sees Ivy.
„It’s you,“ she says, and if anyone else said that, Ivy would be insulted by the words alone, „Hi.“

Ivy nods in greeting and walks to her, sits on the counter by the sink.
„You know you don’t have to do that, right?“ She points her chin towards the dishes Claudine is cleaning and re-cleaning, organising and re-organising.

„I–“ Claudine wrings her hands together in the cloth in a manner that looks vaguely painful and Ivy resists taking it from her.

„You don’t have to do that here,“ she repeats instead, „Cook, clean, wash dishes – You don’t have to. Or– Did auntie make you? Again?“

Ivy takes the cloth away now, as Claudine is decidedly pulling at it just to hurt herself. She makes a displeased noise at that, but doesn’t argue.

Ivy frowns.

„Your aunt hasn’t been there,“ says Claudine finally, „I wanted some tea.“

The „And I didn’t want to deal with people,“ goes unsaid. She points at the counter, to the half-empty mug on it.

„I made you some, too.“

Ivy coos at that and Claudine turns to fetch it for her; Ivy decides to ignore the line of cooling mugs on the table. Claudine explains anyway:
„Wanted to have the tea good for you. Not cold.“ She gives her the cup – very warm – and she is blushing slightly, „Didn’t know– didn’t know when you’d come?“

Ivy could just fucking melt. Not that– Not that she’d admit it, or anything.

„Aww,“ she coos again as she takes it and she leans back slightly and hooks one of her legs behind Claudine’s back, bringing her close,„Thank you.“
Claudine is now blushing furiously as she attempts to arrange Ivy’s dress into place.

Ivy laughs at that, which, of course, makes Claudine blush even more. This is just delightful.
But she still has the cup in her hand, so she brings it to her lips: She’s not surprised to find the tea is exactly as she likes it.
She hums appreciatively at Claudine and says:
„Maleficent’s daughter was there, being annoying. But that’s all dealt with: I’m all yours, sweetheart.“
With the understanding that there will be complaining about the fairy, of course.
Still blushing Claudine carefully moves aside the cup and leans in for a kiss and really, for how horribly the day started, it might shape up yet.
Ivy smiles into her lips.

Notes:

If you enjoyed, please, comment?

Chapter 10

Summary:

You thought no one could care less about the plot than Ivy?

Well, meet Dulcia Tremaine.

Notes:

Tremaine cousins in age order:
Anthony (21), Dulcia, Deborah, Danique (17), Angelica, Desdemona [Dizzy] (12), Dolores, Anais, Adeline, Delilah (5)

Hope you enjoy!
♥♥♥

Dulcia rinses off her hands and prepares to close the salon. It is her turn today, as Anthony decided he was taking a day off – that decision had absolutely nothing to do with how Ginny Gothel looked yesterday, Dulcia is sure.

Absolutely nothing.

She huffs a little, as she doesn’t think that her cousin being unable to deal with moderate doses of poison should mean more work for her. He should just develop an immunity and/or walk it off like a man, you know.

She shakes off the water from her hands, as she refuses to touch a towel Jaxon from the Shadow Keep just used; the droplets splatter on the already dirty floor. She’ll call Desdemona or Angelica to clean it, later.

The doors open.

She breathes in sharply, fully prepared to yell any variation of „Get the fuck out“ at the top of her lungs. Then she takes in who walked in, the familiar shade of dark blue hair and bloody lipstick.
„Girls!“ she shouts instead, „We have a visit, come down!“

Dani and Dolly, who were working in the salon with her, rush to her side first, as their visitor calmly walks in.

„Evie!“

„Dulcia!“ Evie takes her hands and kisses both of her cheeks in exaggerated greeting, „Long time since we’ve talked, and you look lovely as ever!“

The Evil Queen’s daughter was always such a flatterer – part of the reason Dulcia likes her so. The other part, of course, being how much she’s willing to spend on her already perfect looks.

Evie greets Dani the same way, and compliments her on her eyeliner; „Is that a new look?“

Unfortunately, it is not, and if you ask Dulcia, it is tacky at best, but Danique refuses to see reason. In her humble opinion, Danique is just copying Harriet Hook, who is hanging around entirely too much.

Either way, the rest of her sisters and cousins sans Anthony made their way downstairs, and she snaps her attention back to make sure no one is harmed too much and the salon stays standing.

She watches as Evie kisses the cheeks of the older ones, hugs the younger ones and even lifts Delilah on her hip.

„She’s much too old for that,“ Dulcia scoffs, „Stop babying her.“

„Nonsense, Dellie, isn’t it,“ coos the princess of all Evil, touching the child’s cheek with her nose and pointedly not putting her down.
Dulcia scoffs again as Dellie laughs in joy; she’ll want to be carried all the time now, and she’s getting too heavy for Dulcia to lift.

She’ll just have to redirect her to annoy Anthony, then.

Still, she takes her little sister from Evie and carefully puts her down, gently nudging her towards the sitting area.
„Come, sit,“ she says to her girls, „Deborah, be a dear and go make us all some tea.“

She ignores Deborah’s long face and Evie’s performative protests, waving her words away.

„Long since we saw you, indeed,“ she says, „How’s Auradon treating you? Any Prince Charming or a knight on white horse on the horizon?“

„Is he rich?“ interrupts Deborah rudely, calling out from the kitchenette. Dulcia knew why she sent her away.

„Yes, yes, that too,“ she allows as she sinks on her favourite spot on the sofa, subtly nudging Dellie to climb on Dani’s lap instead, „Is he very rich? Does he own a lot of mirrors?“

„Did you bring us anything from Auradon?“ interrupts Dizzy with wide eyes and Dulcia inclines her head slightly – she’d just love a gift.

Evie laughs, just like the so unfortunately lost glockenspiel, and eventually says: „Actually, yes, I did bring you gifts.“

Notably, Dulcia doesn’t straighten up at that unlike many of her younger relatives, retaining her posture. She is a lady and she won’t fall over herself at the mention of free shit, thank you very much.

„It was… A bit last minute, this whole thing, really,“ Evie gestures dismissively in the vague direction of the port, „but I did bring you something.“

Dulcia nods in feigned understanding, not really interested in any sorts of pirate drama right now, not when Evie reaches for her purse to pull out the presents.

First, she lays down a box on the table right in front of Dulcia.
„Chocolate,“ she explains as Dulcia runs her finger over the lid, „Got this from an overeager customer, but I can’t eat it. I’m watching my figure, you understand.“

Of course, Dulcia understands.
„Of course,“ she agrees as she slowly puts a bonbon on her tongue, letting it melt. Fuck– it’s good. She decides Anthony doesn’t need to know about this present of theirs.

„For the little ones,“ Evie continues, and Dulcia passes the box to the older sisters with an over-heavy sigh, as apparently, no more chocolate is coming.
Evie shakes some brightly-wrapped lollipops in the air, leans forwards and whispers conspiratorially: „I stole this from a baby.“
She winks when Dellie giggles.

„Oh, darling, what sorts of manners are you teaching them?“ Dulcia says, mostly just to be annoying, and snatches another chocolate for herself.

„I’ll have you know I’m passing Remedial Goodness with shining grades.“

„You’re lying to the poor teacher through your teeth, aren’t you.“

„Of course I am,“ Evie flashes the room a shining smile as she reaches to her purse again; Deborah finally comes, bearing a tray of tea. She puts it down and reaches for the chocolate, Annie clammers to settle on the lap of her favourite sister.
„Thank you,“ says Evie.

„Anyway, figured you could use this.“

A small array of full nail polish bottles is set on the table and Dulcia quickly decides Anthony doesn‘t need to know about these either; no way she’s letting these beauties end up in the salon.

And as for dear old grandmother, well, what she doesn’t know can’t hurt her.

„And something extra for my favourite little designer,“ finishes Evie, passing a shiny notebook to Dizzy, and Dulcia snorts.

„Disgusting favouritism,“ she mutters under her breath and drives her elbow into Dani’s side for doing the same.

„I'd have brought more,“ sighs Evie, delicately sipping on her tea, „But Mal decided she couldn't keep dating Ben any longer and that she needed to get back to the Isle right this second. Why is frankly beyond me.“

Dulcia takes a moment to process what she said, ignoring the familiar insult to their home. Deborah does no such thing:
„What the fuck do you mean, couldn't keep dating the king?!“ she blurts out.

„Language,“ scolds Dulcia on instinct, „Really though, what the fuck. Did he threaten to kill her firstborn daughter or what?“

Honestly, Dulcia struggles to conceive of a reason to dump the bloody high king short of murder. And, frankly speaking, that could be forgiven too. Maybe with an apology necklace, brilliants and gold. Maybe pearls. She’d need to think it over.

„Don’t be so hard on her,“ sniffs Evie disdainfully, „It’s been tough for her.“

Yeah, while the Isle is a walk through roses orchard – Dulcia doesn’t bother hiding her grimace in her cup of tea.

Actually, she could do with a glass of red wine right now, too.

„Really,“ insists Evie, „It was. Everyone wanted her to change, as if– as if she could be more perfect than she already is.“

Dulcia lifts her lips in a small smile, aimed at Deborah and Danique. She has a sinking feeling they know something Evie doesn’t.

„She could have given us a little bit more of a notice before she decided to run off, though. I – we wouldn’t hold it against her.“

Evie wouldn’t, Dulcia is sure.

On completely unrelated note:

„Dani, sweetheart, would you fetch me the red wine from the kitchen?“

„Make Debbie do it,“ argues Danique, gesturing to Dellie sitting on her lap and apparently unwilling to move.

„Debbie made us tea,“ decides Dulcia, „You bring the wine. Annie can go with you, help you carry the glasses.“

You see, Dulcia just needs to drink to that poor knight in shining armour that will inevitably end up playing the second violin.

Before she can ask if there is such unfortunate, rich, fellow, Dizzy interrupts:
„Yeah, well– The king. Shouldn’t you do something about that?“

Evie picks at her nails a little, humming in non-response. Quick glance tells Dulcia that she’s just waiting for Dani and the wine to get there.

Fortunately, it doesn’t take long.

Dulcia takes her glass from her younger sister and watches as Evie swirls the wine in hers before finally answering: „Nah. Builds character, you know. It’ll be good for him.“

And, you know, Dulcia recognises jealousy speaking if she hears it. She hides her expression in her wine as she shares a conspiratorial glance with her sisters.

„A king should know how his subjects live,“ states Addie with all the self-importance she’s capable of, and Dulcia drinks so she wouldn‘t laugh at the smart-ass little girl. She just started lessons with their Grandmother, it wouldn’t do to discourage her.

„Exactly,“ nods Evie.

„And you’d know it, right? You’re a princess,“ adds Addie, hoping for more praise.

„That’s right, little one.

Evie really is spoiling them.

 

„A princess needs a prince,“ challenges Annie, sucking on her lollypop, „Do you have one?“

„Not a prince, but– there is a boy,“ Evie frowns slightly, „He’s… adequate, I suppose.“

Such a high praise, indeed, but– adequate is as far as any noble girl could possibly want, so Dulcia doesn’t comment any.
She just smiles and listens as her sisters ask all the important questions:

„Is he rich?“

„Does he own a lot of mirrors?“

„Do you have a picture?“

„No, no, and yes, actually, I do,“ answers Evie as she reaches for her purse again, fishing out a strange mirror-like device that Dulcia doesn’t really care to ask about. She fiddles with it for few seconds before passing the thing to Dulcia – eldest sister privileges.

„Pass,“ Dulcia comments, barely sparing the picture a second glance, „Really, girl? Why him?“

„He’s nice–“

Yeah, Gaston is nice too, when he wants to get a girl to fuck him.
Thus, Dulcia only scoffs, passing the device to Dani, so the other girls could pass their judgement too.

„Pass,“ decides Dani, sending Evie a vaguely insulted look; Annie repeats after her.

Deborah passes too, but Angelica decides on „Smash“ after a moment of hesitation – she’s been feeling very grown up lately.

Dulcia grimaces at her little cousin: „Get better standards,“ she advises her.

„What? I like his hair, it looks soft.“

„Get better standards and you’re banned from the salon until I know you won’t give any of our dear paying customers a haircut like that.“

Unimpressed with Angelica’s pout, Dulcia drinks from her wine deeply.

Really, the youth these days–

Dulcia behaved much more sensibly at her age, she’s sure.

„Who’s he anyway?“ asks Dani, successfully feigning an adequate level of interest.

„Doug, son of Dopey. One of Snow’s dwarves,“ Evie adds quickly for the benefit of those present who had much more important shit to do than memorise „heroes’“ sidekicks.

Debbie mutters something about cross-species breeding – she’s been spending entirely too much time by the Overgrowth – and Dulcia leans forward to ask the arguably much more important question:

„Sooo, did the dwarven anatomy carry over? Especially, y’know,“ she drops her voice to a whisper, for the sake of common decency all around, „down there.“

Evie chokes on her wine.

When she recovers from her coughing fit, she answers: „I wouldn’t know–“ with a barely contained sneer.

„Why, saving yourself till marriage, princess?“ teases Dulcia. It’s just so fun seeing the princess all flustered.

„You had no such sensibilities the last time you visited,“ adds Dani with a small smirk; Evie’s blush only grows in the resulting catcalls that Dulcia lets go on for entirely too long. And that she might be participating in, just a little bit.

„Anyway,“ Evie finally manages to get a word in, „I was wondering, Mal wanted some colour bombs, could we use your stuff? I don’t feel like tracking down the Faciliers.“

Dulcia clicks her tongue. Colour bombs are distasteful, but the people do need to visit the salon after, so honestly, it’s fifty fifty: Meanwhile, Evie offers an explanation no one asked for:
„You know, as a distraction for the pirates.“

Distraction for the pirates, sure. Those crazy fuckers will probably enjoy it too.

Dulcia shrugs her shoulders: „Fine. As long as you pay for it.“

„Didn’t expect anything less.“

„A distraction, you say?“ new voice asks, Ivy de Vil poised dramatically in the frame of the doors, „That’s gonna be fun.“

„We’re closed,“ Dulcia informs her. This girl, honestly.

„Are you, though.“
She walks over, swaying her hips entirely too much, and drops a haphazardly tied bundle of cash notes into Dulcia’s hand.

„I’ve changed my mind,“ announces Dulcia, „What do you want?“

„I need new manicure,“ says Ivy with a theatrical whine, flashing her nails to the audience and earning sympathetic coos in return, „See?“

„What a tragedy,“ deadpans Dulcia, „Do join us.“

Ivy immediately flops down, stealing Evie’s wine in the process.
„Oh,“ she notes, almost as an afterthought, „Diego’s at the port now. He’ll kill you if you get any of those wild colours on him, by the way.“

Evie nods with overemphasized seriousness and Dulcia drinks – seems like she will be hearing about port drama today anyway.

Chapter 11

Summary:

Harriet and Diego, they bring out eachother’s worst traits.

AKA: Isle girls throwing a tantrum over Mal dumping the king for the third chapter in row. Half of them don‘t even go there, but, come on, the KING?!

Harriet flings the knife she was toying with into an already abused wall.

„What the fuck do you mean, she dumped the king?!“ she shrieks, looking for more things to throw.
The knife falls down with dull clatter.

„I said what I said,“ Diego de Vil, that handsome bastard, shrugs his shoulders as if that explained everything.

„And I heard you just fine! I asked you what you mean, she dumped the motherfucking king!“

„She said, and I quote, "The media attention was getting to me",“ Diego puts an emphasis on that in a way that really just makes her want to punch him, but mostly:

„That stupid motherfucking damned BITCH!“
Another knife joins the first.

„Yeah, you said that already,“ he’s smirking and – in all honesty probably truly – asking to be punched.

„Oh, fuck OFF–!“
She grabs the thing nearest to her – an ornate hair clasp – and throws it at the wall too.

He never once flinches as she screams.

Death wish, Harriet is sure, but who is she to call him out? Just the Captain Harriet Hook, you know–
But sometimes, she’s tempted anyway, to see how much violence he can take and give, but –

Not now.

Not when the idiotic fae-spawn decided to dump the boy king that is currently hostage on her ship.

She wouldn't give a fuck about that, normally, but given what hostage situations are all about? She suddenly finds herself with a vested interest in the boy king’s (nonexistent) romantic life.

The sacrifices, the fucking lengths she goes for the well-being of her crew and her siblings–!
And, fine. The alcohol and the money.

Sue her if you have the balls.

Meanwhile, Diego pushes himself away from the wall he was leaning on, and picks up the clasp in one fluid movement.

„She did say she’d still give you the money and shit,“ he steps closer to her as he says that.

„She’s only half-fae,“ answers Harriet, not raging and shouting anymore, but only just so, „She can lie for all I know.“
She wouldn’t trust her anyway.

Diego only hums in non-answer, and idly turns the half-forgotten hair clasp in his hands.
„A gift from Anthony, was it,“ he says as he steps closer to her yet and carefully pushes her disrayed curls from her face.

„Yes,“ she admits, as if it didn’t matter at all, and spins around when he gestures for her to do so. She feels him tugging at her hair as he gathers parts of it in a bun.

„Ivy swears up and down that having her hair up and away from her face helps her focus better,“ he says in a way of an explanation.

Harriet laughs a bit at the idea of Ivy deVil actually focusing on something, but doesn’t bother with an answer as she turns around.
„How is she anyway?“

„Still alive,“ he half-answers with a half-smirk.

„The god must really love her – or really hate her, I suppose.“
Harriet can’t really decide.
„Probably the latter, though.“

„Probably.“

She laughs again, mirthless, as, you know – she’d condemn herself too. Maybe they really do deserve this life, after everything they’ve done to keep it.

With that dark thought, she forces herself to move, wills the tension back to her body.
The cabinet door almost falls off the hinges when she opens it.

„Want a drink with me?“ she asks, already holding two glasses anyway.

The answer is gonna be yes.

„You breaking out your good rum?“

See? That’s what she said.
„For you, deVil? Why bother?“

„Hey! I did just provide you with crucial information!“

She sniffs at the reminder, downs a half of her glass at once before refilling it.

„And maybe I wanted to see you,“ he amends. Thus, she doesn’t react when he reaches around her for his glass, doesn’t step away.
„To distract you – or to help you plot. Whichever you want.“

„You did always have a mind for war,“ she breathes out, glancing down at his lips briefly, „For revenge.“
The fact the revenge may be… preventive measure doesn’t concern her in the slightest.

It’s just the way things are.

He doesn’t answer; she knows he doesn’t care if the revenge is earned or not yet either.

„Did she say anything else?“ inquires Harriet leaning back at the edge of her desk. She idly presses the nails of her free hand deep into the wood.

„I might’ve been too distracted by too much media attention,“ he teases.

Of course he was.

„Of some use you are, then.“
She finishes her glass and lets him take it from her, knowing he will fill it back up.
He can make himself useful, occasionally.

She licks the remains of alcohol from her lips, noting the familiar, burning bitterness, as she narrows her eyes at nothing.

„Do you think she’ll involve the army?“ she asks.

„She’d be stupid to.“

„Well, dumping the fucking king would be stupid too, and here we are!“ Harriet snaps at him, since that was not helpful in the slightest.

„God, I know, right?“ he laughs, he fucking laughs, „The motherfucking king!“

 

„Shut up–“ she pushes him away now, maybe lingering her hand longer than she needs to.
„I’m trying to plot there.“

She sees him bite deep into his lip as he swallows what is probably a sarcastic remark, and chooses not to linger on that image too long.
She does have a war to plan, it seems – what could have been a simple exchange of hostage for money might now involve the authorities. Which – Harriet still has the hostage, the young king. She holds all the cards.

But Auradonian army – that is a much bigger threat than what remained from Mal’s crew. Much more numerous, at the very least.
Come to think of it: She’ll need to contact the Faciliers, make sure her informations are correct still.

(She could ask Diego whose side his cousin is on, but that might force him to think this through, choose whose side he is on, and – she won’t risk it. She won’t lose him.)

She will need more people.

„I take it it’s going well.“
She blinks as his voice crashes into her thoughts.

„I’ll need more people. The Mims; any funky shit thy can give us. I’ll need to overrun the port; the road to the bridge.“

„Don’t forget the tunnels.“

„I’ll need – what if she doesn’t go through with it?“
What will she do then?

„You’ll still have the hostage.“

She hits her fist into her desk, hard: „I need to escalate! It‘s not – the script says I must escalate!“
Her knuckles are turning white with the force of her grip on the glass.
„I can’t just threaten to kill him, then I’d lose my leverage.“

This whole fucking thing is an absolute headache.

She shakes her head impatiently, as some of her curls escaped the bun already.

„I can’t kill him,“ she re-states,„But–“

„But?“ he prompts, just as he was supposed to, for what else she’d keep him around?

Her mouth splits into a nasty smile as she finishes: „I don‘t have to keep him undamaged, do I.“

He tucks her hair back behind her ear, leaning in close, staring at her lips: „I think you can work with that.“

…Yes, that‘s why she keeps him around.

But before either of them can move the conversation forward, her brother enters her cabin.

„Get the fuck out!“ she yells, not interested in whatever he wants to say.

He ignores her, because of course he does.
He ignores the knife flung his way too.

„Ettie!“ her pest of a younger brother exclaims, „You wouldn’t believe it!“

She can’t believe she is related to him, yes.

She ignores Diego chuckling to himself as if there was anything funny – fine, ignores. She jabs at his ribs a little.

„The boy-king wants to negotiate – and to get us therapy!“

Harriet slams her glass on her table so hard it’s a miracle it doesn’t break.
„He wants WHAT now?!“

Notes:

I want you to understand that the Villain kids understanding of „therapy“ comes from Cruella’d dramatic retellings. As far as they‘re concerned, it consists of lobotomy, being strapped to table and electroshocked, and, in the – arguably – best case, badly functioning vibrators.
(No, Cruella did not undergo this treatment. She yelled at her doctor for two hours and threatened to kill him no less than twenty different ways after he suggested this treatment for „hysteria“)
So, yeah, Harriet is currenly mortaly offended cos in her eyes, Ben accused her of having „female hysteria“
(Ben is not suicidal enough to even think that)

So, anyway.
I hope you enjoyed!
If you did, please, let me know?

Chapter 12

Summary:

Harriet remembers the plot – almost.

Notes:

Violence and bad outtakes about therapy and Villain kids being Villain kids (cruel, mannipulative, and slightly insane)

Harriet sneers at the boy king that is currently held hostage at her ship.

This little Auradonian brat – she must’ve been too soft on him, why!
He just keeps running his mouth. Telling her to calm down, telling her to give him up and go to therapy.

As if!

Harriet has heard of this fucking miracle of Auradon’s humanity: Electroshocks and lobotomy and badly functioning vibrators.

She glares momentarily towards the port, where Diego conveniently vanished at the first mention of therapy, and why the fuck wouldn’t he, he and his family is where Harriet learned of therapy anyway, and what can she say, tales from the Hell Hall echo.

She rolls her eyes at her brother, who thought he had seen her staring towards her elusive lover wistfully. Bullshit, of course. She does no such thing.

And either way, she will have you know that she would rather kill everyone at this ship and then herself than be dragged to be electrocuted at „therapy“.

„Modern therapy–“

See? The captivity was entirely too soft on him.

„Shut up!“ she barks out to the cackle of her brother’s laughter, „And keep your mouth shut unless you have something of value to offer to this conversation!“

„Well, mental health–“

„Of monetary value, you idiot!“ Harry snaps too, flinging a haphazard knife towards the mast.
„Fuck!“

Now, Harriet can’t hold her laughter too; the board of her ship is all but abandoned.
„Look at him, brother!“ she gestures towards the hostage, her rings flash in the always-dying light, the shine tainted by the boy-king’s blood. She will have to have them cleaned.
„The puppet-ruler does have some spine!“

And no sense, it seems: He tries to speak still, with lips half-frozen with cold and bloody gash at his cheekbone. (Where did you think the blood on her hand came from?)

„Mal–“

„Shut up about that bitch of yours, will you?“ Harry moves in a blink of an eye, his fist punching at the mast near the boy-king’s face. Splinters fly from the impact of his rings at the half-rotten wood – another fucking thing she’ll have to replace.
Maybe she’ll just add it on the ransom: Some wood that isn’t crumbling under her hands.

But hey, if it goes well enough, they’ll be free to loot it anywhere – and if it goes wrong enough, they’ll all take a swim with the fishes. Figures.

Though, speaking of which: „Harry, don’t damage the hostage,“ she admonishes her brother, „Damaged goods and all that.“

„You were the one who tore his cheek open,“ he notes, running the tip of his hook over the wound.

„Irrelevant,“ Harriet waves the (correct) point away with an impatient gesture, ignoring the hiss of pain, „Anyway.“

„Anyway?“ he echoes, pointedly not drawing the hook away. Whatever.

 

„Stupid bitch dumped the boy king here, you heard?“ Harriet notes needlessly with a jerk of her head.

„Even if I didn’t, soror mea, I’d have heard from you.“ He gives her a big grin, so she knows exactly he’s making fun of her – as if he had any right.

„Fuck off.“

Notably, he doesn’t: But he does draw his hook away from the boy-king’s face, finally. He grabs his face roughly, his hands tense, and Harriet is sure he will leave a bruise. She doesn’t tell him off for playing too rough again.

„Dumped your pretty face, did she,“ he all but coos at him. Hook over the boy-king’s contours, Harriet drinks. She’s not drunk enough to witness this.
„Can’t blame a fairy for getting bored,“ he tuts, keeping a rather disturbing lilt in his voice, „They are known to be rather…flighty.“

She drinks again.
„Stupid is the word you’re looking for,“ she tells her brother.
Unsurprisingly, he pretends not to have heard her.

Fucking insolent brat, that’s what he is.

She swishes the alcohol in her flask around and decides to hide it away for now.

Her brother has inched creepily close to the hostage, but she decides to let him have his fun; she glances out onto the sea and listens to the conversation, as one-sided as it was.

„Hmm, one can’t trust the fae,“ her brother continues, enjoying his audience can’t get up and run, „They have no taste, do they, I mean… Look at this pretty face. I’d go for it, never even mind all the other… advantages.“

Harriet repeats to herself that she isn’t running away from her ship, no matter how atrocious her brother’s lines get.
She takes her flask out again and ignores the numb feeling in her lips.

Harry turns the prince’s face from side to side, as if inspecting it, and Harriet knows he’s disappointed he doesn’t try to resist more.

„What do you say, your majesty,“ Harry muses, „Doesn’t pirate life sound good? Pirates over princesses and all that?“

Yeah no, Harriet isn’t doing this anymore.
„Enough!“ she barks out and ignores her brother’s pout.

Her head hurts.

„We’ll need to secure the port in case she decides to play any tricks.“
One can never be too careful with the fae, you see.

„Don’t forget the tunnels,“ Harry says, having pushed Ben’s head away, but not bothering to look at her.

„Would she–?“

„Jay would.“

„Fucking street rat,“ she spits out. Jay’s grubby hands and back alleys cost her more jewels than she cares to admit.

„Gonzo and Micah ought to take care of that,“ says Harry carelessly, sauntering closer and making a gesture for her flask. With a roll of her eyes, she does share, and drinks herself.

„I was thinking of having the tunnels barricaded.“
She can’t have enforcements joining Mal without a warning, can she now – and one could do so much with the tunnels barricaded at one end, isn’t it so?

„They can get started on that, too.“

„Some port rats on look-out, maybe.“

„Hmm,“ he hums in lieu of agreement, „Calista could handle that.“

Calista does indeed spend far too much time with the port rats, but:
„I want Calista to track down the Faciliers“
There is, of course, the question if their younger sister will be up and about and able to deliver a message, but Harriet doesn’t think CJ would pass the opportunity to see her Shadow Witch.

Harry clicks his tongue, well aware of that too.
„I could go see the Mims,“ he offers.

Yeah, and render himself useless with whatever shit they have on display: Harriet snorts at the thought, at him thinking she’d let him go.
„I’m not sending you to the Mims,“ she says, „Marya can go. You stay here and–“
She doesn’t finish the sentence, for a flash of a familiar wine-red caught her eye.

Ginny, she walks through the port as if she were haunting it. She’s certainly on Harriet’s mind enough for that.

„At least close your mouth, sister,“ Harry says in low voice and she pushes hard into his ribs.

„Keep it down, will you,“ she snaps at him, „You can draw a schedule for watch tonight: Reinforcements.“

„I can do no such thing.“

She might or might not have slapped him at this point.

„You will do as your Captain tells you.“

She has no time for this, with Ginny almost boarding the ship – she glares at her insolent brother, and with few more muttered insults, he does go away in the direction of his cabin. Probably. Hopefully.

Either way, Harriet spins around to greet Ginny, who is, of course, already boarding the ship – the pirate on guard had offered her his hand as she crosses the bridge.

„I hadn’t expected to see you today, mea lux,“ she says as she and Ginny meet, Ginny holding on her arm for support on the rocking ship: The witch never quite got her sea legs, not that Harriet complains.
Not when Ginny leans on her, hands on her chest, as she kisses her in greeting.

„I’ve thought I’d just visit you at the port,“ Ginny whispers, still more or less into Harriet’s lips, „Since you hardly ever leave it anymore.“

„I’m– I’ve been busy.“

„Oh, I know, I know. Royal hostage and all, to keep you preoccupied,“ Ginny sighs, forming her lips into perfect pout. Harriet ignores the slowly descending doom just as easily as her brother, who just walked out on board again to watch and listen in, no doubt.

Ginny sends a displeased glare at the hostage, and her eyes flash as she sees Harry too. Harriet dearly hopes he isn’t making a fool of himself for once.

Harriet tightens her hand in Ginny’s hair, squeezes her hip enough for it to hurt, ignores her sigh as she does so, and asks: „What do you want?“
It comes out less sharp than she wanted it to.

Dear Ginny bats her eyelashes at her, leans in even more.
„Well, since you‘re asking,“ she whispers, the want clear in her voice.

And Harriet, damn her, confirms: „I am.“

That’s about all it takes for Ginny to start listing: Jewelry and precious stones, a clasp for her hair. Winter cloak that didn’t belong to Cruella once. Medical supplies – By everything that is holy to you, Harriet, I swear to you I won’t speak to you ever again if you don’t get me those.

As she speaks, Harriet’s fingers dig deeper and deeper into her bone: „Ginny! Do you have any idea how difficult the negotiations are?!“ She protests before the witch can protest any further.
It is futile, of course, but she argues regardless.

Ginny’s eyes flash and her breath catches in her throat as the witch pulls her hand away and slams it into her chest; she resists the notion to catch her again.
„Well, figure it out!“ Ginny orders moodily, her features setting into hard stone.

She is far too good at this.

„I’m perfectly fine not speaking to you ever again,“ Harriet lies.

„We both know you’re not.“

Ginny is right, of course, she is right even as she slowly drags her fingertips over Harriet’s cheek and states that she will figure it out again.

Harriet could– she could just have her brother deliver the demands again, isn‘t it what a Captain’s first officer is for? She lets her eyes flicker towards him for just a heartbeat.
Splash!

…And he just threw himself overboard.

Of course he did. Fucking drama queen.

Well, she has other people for that. And either way, Ginny is laughing, stepping away already, and Harriet is left to watch her float away into the port.

She doesn’t linger her gaze too long, though: She does have shit to do.

Hostage situation to deal with, possibly a war to plan.

Speaking of the hostage: He is breathing in to speak again, and Harriet can’t have that.

She turns to leave, but before that:
„Well, my king,“ she tells him, „Do you think you are worth that much?“

Notes:

I hope you enjoyed <3

Chapter 13

Summary:

Carlos de Vil doesn’t want to be a part of this story.

Carlos trails after Mal as she walks along the shops and bars and establishments, idly and shamelessly looking through the windows.

The neon red light of some of the less subtle signs crashes horribly with her newly-again purple hair. She looks pale under the vivid light, paler yet than she looked in Auradon, and: She doesn’t look haunted now.

She is the one doing the haunting.

Well, when she isn’t busy dragging him from shop to shop under the pretense of purchasing a gift for Jane – as if sweet Jane would survive getting any of that stuff.
Carlos sneers at a passerby that doesn’t mind their distance, the practiced expression slipping at his face easily even after the months in Auradon. Auradon can try, but it can’t take the Isle from them: They are rotten from the core.

So, really, Carlos almost can‘t blame Mal for ditching that happy go lucky place, except, he totally can. It is fully her fault he is back at the Isle, being dragged by the crowded alleys of the Red Lights District.
It is totally her fault Ben is now held hostage at the port.

Mal makes a beeline for a shop with vaguely stabby looking shopkeep and Carlos grabs her shoulder to yank her back. She is not trying to commit suicide by circumstance on his watch, thank you.

„Not there, Mal,“ he complains, „Their shit is gaudy.“
He can feel the persona slipping back into place as Mal pouts at him for a split-second before smirking.

„Gaudy, of course.“ He doesn’t like her smile. „What about this one?“

He doesn’t get a chance to answer before she drags him inside.

Ring of the bell above the door, and the next moment, Mal is dangling a set of fluffy pink handcuffs in his face. He hasn’t the faintest idea how those found their way here.

He blinks a few times, and then says: „I bet Audrey would love these.“

Mal cackles as she dangles the thing in the air, and Carlos pushes her hand away. Ew.

„That’s what I was thinking!“ she exclaims with far too much delight,„You have to give her these and film her reaction for me!“

Wow, what a nice way of saying that she’s definitely screwing her life over and not returning to Auradon.

„Tell her yourself.“ He pushes her hand away again.

She pretends to contemplate that for a few moments, before she shrugs and tosses those functionless handcuffs carelessly aside: „Nope.“

Carlos can’t say he is surprised.

Mal flutters to a rack that displays instruments with dried specks of rusty blood on them – what else would it be, on the Isle – and looks over them with fascination, her head cocked slightly to the side. Carlos hadn’t missed seeing those in Auradon.

„We’re not getting those for Jane,“ he says before Mal can get a world in. Really, if he wanted so many bad ideas as to what to gift her, he’d have stayed with his cousins.

Ben would have survived a few more hours in the port, and besides – it’s not like Mal is in any rush to get him. In fact, she seems to be doing anything but. For example, right now she is hissing at the poor shopkeeper that came to haggle about prices of products Mal isn’t actually interested in buying.

 

True to her form, Mal sneers, and exits the shop – snatching something off the shelf just before she leaves, because of course she does. Thankfully, the shopkeeper has enough wits not to argue with her, even after a year of absence: The family colours do serve their purpose, after all.

As does the knife that Carlos so accidentally touches and shows off.

So, yeah. Whatever Mal took is now completely free, for them exclusively, and the clerk retreats to the back.

With a sigh, Carlos follows after Mal.

She’s waiting at him outside, and he’s – to be honest – completely surprised she didn’t vanish yet.

„Look what I got,“ she says, sticking her treasure right into his face again, „For Janey,“ she singsongs.

„Awesome,“ he deadpans, before he even fully takes in the sight, „Why.“

„Because I’m such a good friend and want to help you!“

The worst part is, she must believe that, on some level.

„I mean, why would you think she would like that.“

Mal pulls the thing away from his face a bit and examines it, as if trying to come up with a sufficient answer.
„It’s blue?“ she says finally.

Yeah, it’s painted in deep royal blue via a paint that’s probably toxic. Carlos really misses being in an environment where everything wasn’t poisonous, venomous or otherwise actively kill you for fun at any given moment.

„Not her shade of blue.“

„Whatever,“ Mal shrugs, somehow slipping it into a pocket where it by all accounts shouldn’t fit.
„Let’s go somewhere else.“

She steps down the street again, idly walking through the crowds would have parted for her a year ago, and he can see the way it makes her fume, the way she keeps fingering her favourite knife.
Carlos is pretty sure someone is going to day today, and that he should care way more than he does.

But it’s so hard, on the Isle, to care–

It’s so much easier in Auradon.

The Isle, still, fits like a custom-made fur coat, the heavy smog hugging him like an overbearing mother; that thought sets a shiver down his spine, and he subconsciously touches the lighter that had found its way into his pocket.
It has been so long since he smoked.

He keeps toying with the thought as he follows Mal from window to window; ducks behind a corner so she could avoid walking into one of Maddy’s cousins.

The weight of a cigarette on his lips, the heavy smoke in his lungs. Like his mother. Like his cousins.
The crackling of a tiny flame next to his lips for that brief moment.

„Let’s go there,“ says Mal, pointing at a bar, hunger apparent in her eyes, „Wait for Jay.“

And Carlos would agree, really – it is where they had agreed to meet, when he got from Auradon with the remote and the money and all the other stuff, except: He sees his cousins in the crowd: Diego walking arm in arm with Anthony Tremaine, and Ivy few steps in front of them, heavily flirting with the poor soul of the night, about to be a bit poorer in the morning. (Claudine Frollo is not with her.)
They, of course, step right into the bar Mal chose.

„Yeah, no, I’m not doing that,“ announces Carlos, „Not going in there.“

Mal flashes her eyes at him like the feral fey she is becoming again.

Unfortunately for her, Carlos is utterly unfazed by any manner of fey.

„Not going there, Mal,“ he states again, „Let’s go there instead.“ He points to a door under less glaring sign just few steps away from them.
„I’ll pay for your drinks,“ he adds in an obvious attempt to bribe her.

„I wasn’t planning on paying anyway,“ she says, but she moves to the bar that he indicated.
„Jay won’t find us though.“

She doesn’t seem too concerned about that, though.

„He will,“ says Carlos, finding himself to be increasingly over this whole situation, „It’s literally next door.“

„It is not.“

„Whatever.“

Mal steps down into the smoky interior of the bar and Carlos follows, only stopping to steal a cigarette from a man loitering by the entrance.

The smoke settling over his face feels like second skin.

Notes:

Hope you enjoyed <3

Chapter 14: Bonus Chapter

Summary:

Some songs for the rewrite <3

Notes:

I wanted to have more of them before I post, but fuck it

ROTTEN FROM THE CORE

Beyond nine rivers and nine mountain ranges,
Nine valeys and a sea
Lies a place where there are no second chances,
Just come closer: see!

The fallen-from-grace, the once-grandeurs,
The forever Villains and us-
Rising from ruins!

Born to be alive, born to be great,
And this vile Isle, it's how Villains are made.
Born to be alive, born to die soon,
Live fast, aim high, and go with a BOOM!

So that's us, rotten from the core [core]
And we want for more [more]
Rotten from the core [core] rotten from the core
Being good's a bore!

[Ivy de Vil]
You'll call me a bitch, slut, whore
Yet - you'll come back for more
I'm no to-go, off-the-rack,
I look great in white and black!

[Harry Hook]
Can't forget the red, Ivy dear
Cos the red is what they fear:
A glimpse of my hook and blood red coat
I can put second smile ’cross their throat–

Born to be alive, born to be great,
And this vile Isle, it's how Villains are made
Born to be alive, born to die soon,
Live fast, aim high, and go with a boom!

So here you have us, rotten from the core [core]
And we want for more [more]
Rotten from the core [core] rotten from the core,
Being good's a bore!

[*Camera cuts to Maddy*]
"Nope. We're not doing that. I'm not singing."

[Anthony Tremaine]
Only son of a noble line
I look after what is mine
Call me possesive, stuck-up, rough
You might regret that soon enough

Call us what you want and you might be right
Say that to our face, come one, fight!
We fight dirty, we bite and claw;
And here's the truth, cold and raw:

Here we are, rotten from the core,
And we want for more
Rotter from the core, core, rotten from the core,
And we own the floor

Diamonds are formed under pressure,
Humanity's greatest treasures
Rotten from the core [core]
And playing a role

......

THE NEGOTIATIONS
[set at the end of chapter 12]

[Harriet Hook]
There is no point in trying,
No point in trying to talk
And if I hear you crying,
You'll do the walk" [*dramatic pointing to the plank*]

So listen here, listen, you little king of mine,
And maybe - just maybe - it'll all turn out fine
I'll spare your life, I won't pierce your heart,
I won't let them pick your pretty corpse apart

But maybe - just maybe - your little girl won't come,
She'll take the coward's route, the traitorous whore;
Your army against my pirate scum
And I'll go to war"
The war drums will be singing soon -
The gold for your life -
To every henchman and every goon,
To ready their knife"

So, little king, shut up and think,
Pray to any god you belive in,
What is your worth? Is it less, or is it more?
More than the jewels I want?
More than one little machine and a bit of rum?"
*Manic cackling*

Chapter 15: Chapter 14

Summary:

Jay and Lonnie.

Lonnie is doing well and definitely NOT freaking out right now.

Oh and the deVil cousins crashed the plot again.

Jay slips back onto the Isle and breathes out as the familiar weight of the Barrier settles onto his shoulders.

Oh, home, sweet home–

After all, they can take the Villain kids from the Isle, but they cannot take the Isle from them, and he and Mal are too much alike for him not to understand her.
He and her know each other too much: Enough for her to ask him to bring her a real remote to the Barrier she could give to the Hooks.

(She wants to give it to them and send Jay back to Auradon with Ben and Evie and Carlos; she wants to stay on the Isle without a vendetta against her, unbothered.)

Enough for him to bring her a dupe instead.

(He doesn’t want her to stay on the Isle at all.)

(She doesn’t have to go back to being the future queen, but – But she is not throwing her life away like this. She could be so much more.)

Jay resists the impulse to check he still has the remote and the dupe, he knows better than to show tells like that, and almost jumps out of his skin when someone almost presses into him.

Someone – Li Lonnie, of course.

The girl insisted on accompanying him to get her king, and lately, Jay had found it hard to tell her no, for some reason or another.

„Easy,“ he mutters to her in vain hopes of calming her a bit. He should know better than that.

„Easy?!“ she whisper-yells at him, „Easy?! Look around, Jay! I– This place is a ruin! And– Jay, the people, the children–“

„I know–“ he hisses at her, „I grew up here, remember? Just, don’t mind that.“

„Don’t mind that?! Jay–“

He turns around abruptly and grabs her by the arm, roughly.

„Lonnie. Listen to me.“

Unwillingly, she purses her lips, and he takes it as his cue to continue.

„It’s the Isle. It’s– nothing you see is out of the ordinary. So, I need you to stop freaking out, or else people will notice: They will notice anyway, because you are with me, but you need to stop looking so surprised and jumpy. Just–“ he breathes in, „Don’t look anyone in the eye. Stick close to me. Walk like this dump was the whole world and it belonged to you.“

„But– How can I do that?“ she asks, genuine, and looks him in the eyes. He softens his grip on her arm.

„Acting, baby,“ he smirks, „Broadway style performance.“

To her credit, she does attempt something that could be described as a smile. Only for her, though.

He pats her shoulder and flashes his teeth at her.
„We’ll work on that,“ he promises her.

Then, he is off to the Isle streets again, Lonnie sticking to him like a shadow.

(He reminds himself he needs to be mindful about the Shadows again, in general and what if Freddie Facilier and CJ Hook hadn’t gotten bored of each other yet?)

Still, they get through the Isle quickly, with Lonnie only wavering a few times.

(She keeps touching her sword.)

„Few more streets, Lonnie,“ he informs her.

She nods tensely.

Some street rats eye them, their hungry looks lingering on Lonnie way too long for his liking.

No matter she could kick them into dust in a few moments – They don’t know that. For the onlookers, she is just a no-name pretty girl, isn‘t she, lucky enough to be out in a company of a Villain Kid for the night.

(Jay thinks he hates himself for thinking like that once.)

Still, when in Rome, do as Romans do: He flashes his teeth to those street rats in a smirk and lays his hand around Lonnie’s waist, bringing her close.

„You can kill me later,“ he whispers into her ear in what passes for conspiratorial flirting, „Just – stay with me, okay?“

He takes it as a good sign she doesn’t stab him immediately, though, speaking of which, he isn’t sure if she has knives. He should get her some.

„Just down the street now. Please try to look a tiny bit more enthusiastic that you’re here with me.“

She stops at that, in the middle of the street:
„Look enthusiastic? Keep calm?!“ she whisper-yells at him, which honestly attracts more attention than if she did full on shout at him, „Fuck, Jay! They– They have Ben. Captain Hook has Ben. Our king. I– we have to get him back!“

He looks around quickly, daring the onlookers – the street rats and the stray Villain children they’re starting to attract – to come closer and get their asses handed back to them. He looks at Lonnie, then, with as much intent as he can muster: He hopes she gets the message. They will get him, but she needs to be careful.

„Come on, let’s get inside, eh?“ he says instead, putting his hand at the small of her back again.

(He is very surprised he hadn’t been punched yet.)

Luckily, it really is very close now, and he manages to steer Lonnie inside before she gets over her shock and starts making a scene again.

(Come to think of it, he isn’t sure she knows what half of the words on the signs outside mean, what a red-lights district is.)

(If she had even been in a bar before.)

Well, here she is now: One hell of a place to appear at for one’s first time, Jay must say. But Mal did always prefer the wilder shit, so to say, where she could just fade to the background. Like, yes, for example this vaguely Wonderland-inspired bar, the theme of which mostly seems like an excuse for the persistent (and almost certainly dangerous) greenery that overtakes one corner (and that must bring in some deal with the Mims, too).

No wonder Mal chose this place.

He sidesteps from the door as he looks over the place, pulling Lonnie with him – she is darting her eyes all over, trying to assess too many threats at once. He runs his thumb over her waist, which, well, does shock her into the present: Namely, she shakes off his hand, rather forcefully.

(Shame.)

He doesn’t see Mal in the crowd, or Carlos, who was left to, eh, keep her company (fine, to make sure she didn’t disappear entirely and reappear two days later, with head as shard and no memory of the last week or so), but he does see the red-black-and-white his family wears: Ivy by the bar, Diego further in the back, leaning in close to Anthony Tremaine, half-empty glasses in front of them. Interesting, that, isn‘t it?

Jay grabs Lonnie’s hand casually and steps out in their direction.

Diego is looking at him already (had been since Jay had noticed him first, always so quick to know when he is being looked at), and Anthony raises his head not long after.

By the time Jay gets to them, they are silent.

„Heyy,“ he greets and after a bit of deliberation, sits down, pulling Lonnie down on his lap. (It is a fucking miracle she isn‘t screaming bloody murder yet.) (Must be the shock.)
„How you doing?“

„What do you want?“ asks Anthony Tremaine dryly.

„Can’t we just stop in for a chat?“ Jay turns his charm to eleven for the fucking game, and Ivy deVil staggers close in her suicide-high heels.

„You can, but you won’t.“

„…Touche.“

Lonnie sits tense, her eyes flickering all around wildly, until Ivy grabs her chin (her movement sharper and faster than Jay would expect, given the way she walked), and Lonnie freezes.
Jay squeezes her waist in silent reassurance.

„She’s new, Jay, isn’t she,“ states Ivy, „I don’t remember her.“

„No fucking wonder–“ mutters Diego, and it is absolutely an insult. He continues more, But Jay tunes him out in favour of speaking over Lonnie, who was going to do the Auradonian thing and introduce herself.

„She’s not spending her life at the Tremaine salon, is she now,“ says Jay easily.

Surprisingly, Anthony doesn’t comment.

Unfortunately, Ivy does.

She grabs a strand of Lonnie’s hair in between her fingers and gives Jay a judging look to the general effect of "don’t lie to me, babyboy".

Jay sighs:
„She’s not yours to mess with, deVil. Just tell me where your cousin is and piss off.“

Ivy makes a giant show of pouting at him and when Jay checks, yep, one of Lonnie’s earrings did disappear. Sounds kind of like a her problem, though.

He eyes Ivy’s hands, still – the bracelets dangling from her skeletal wrists – and she pulls them out of his reach, quick as a snake.

„Why, my cousin is right there, can’t you see?“ she gestures around and as if by chance, grabs one of the glasses on the table.

Diego makes an over exaggerated half-bow, only taking care not to hit Anthony, and Ivy grabs the second glass, taking a drink from it too. Neither of the boys stop her; Jay thinks they had just given up.

„Well, sure,“ Jay smiles at them, an Isle smile, „I can just stay with you the whole night, then.“

He ignores Lonnie’s panicked look: They won’t want him there.

The deVil cousins, maybe, too stubborn to admit they did anything wrong, ever, but Anthony Tremaine?

Anthony Tremaine is not pleased Jay and Lonnie are crashing his… whatever it is that is happening right now.

(Jay didn’t have time to catch up, okay? He is not sure who with whom and when, and when did anyone try to kill whom for fun and shit.)

„He went to the bar just down the street,“ Anthony informs him helpfully, „Sinner’s Rose, I believe. Now get lost.“

„Gladly,“ Jay nudges Lonnie to sit up, „I’d say I am pleased to see you, but I‘m really not.“

He ignores Ivy’s dramatic whining that „He didn’t even want to see us! He ignored us!“ and the middle fingers sent his way and steps away.

Hopefully Mal didn‘t get too bored with a singular place yet.

Chapter 16: Chapter 15

Summary:

Lonnie has one (1) objective: To get Ben from Captain Hook.

It is not her fault that no one tells her shit. Or that Jay decided to... behive like that.

With the carefully manicured tallon-like nails of the young deVil woman on her chin, Lonnie freezes.

She can feel her own heart beating painfully, the heat of Jay's body so close to her and the oppressive atmosphere of this Isle bar, sticky on her skin. It makes her hair stand up at the back of her neck.

The woman manipulates Lonnie's face with surprising steadiness, given how obviously intoxicated she is, and Lonnie leans further back into Jay to escape her deathly cool touch.

It doesn't help much.

„She's new, isn't she. I don't remember her.“ The woman states, her voice like glass-shards.

Lonnie breathes in to introduce herself, but Jay speaks over her. She bites her tongue as he does so, exchanging easy jabs with the three Villain Children – young Villains in front of them.

Finally, it is over, and Jay nudges her to rise so they could leave the trio behind and go find Mal and Carlos and Evie. And finally do something about this whole Ben being kidnapped by the Neverland pirates situation?

She hates the way the bar looks at them, hungry eyes drinking in the scene. It seems everyone is looking, except for the trio they had been talking with – the woman got back to her drinking and the two young men are talking at each other with hushed voices. All of them undisturbed by the attention – and Jay too.

She runs her hands up and down her palms as if that’d help her get rid of the unwanted gazes and steps away, Jay close at her heels. She is so eager to have this whole experience behind her

Jay catches up with her and gives the crowds a scathing look; puts an arm around her waist. Kisses her.

Lonnie freezes.

His lips are soft on hers and he holds her weakly enough that she could break away at any moment. Could – should.

She takes in a sharp breath and grasps at his biceps momentarily before catching herself and remembering the gravity of the situation, and fuck–

„Is this how it is, Jay?“ she hisses, suddenly furious with him and his stupid games, „You won’t even hold hands in school, but you will kiss me in full view of an Isle bar?!“

If he doesn’t have a good response in the next five seconds, she will be so over him.

(she hopes.)

„It’s– It’s not like that, Lonnie,“ he says, bringing his hands halfway up in an apologetic gesture.

„What is it, then?“ she challenges.

„Fight, fight, fight–“ the people around them start chanting.

„Look at them – look how they’re looking at you. They don’t know what you’re capable of, they could hurt you–“

Yeah, and Lonnie has no fucking idea how he got the stupid idea that parading around with his arms around her as if he didn’t spend the last month avoiding her touch and affection like fire would help. How kissing her would help–

„Let’s show them what I can do, then,“ she says steadily, „Fight me, you coward. Fight me.“

He shies away from her just the tiniest bit away, his eyes darting away frantically.

„I– I don’t want to hurt you–“ he says finally.

„You won’t hurt me, I promise.“

„Please–“ he doesn’t have the fucking decency to beg out loud, only forming the word with his lips.

„Fight, fight, fight–“ the crowd keeps chanting.

Lonnie takes out her sword from the sheat and attacks – to hell with all of this.

To hell with evasive Isle boys that’d break a girls heart for fun but „don’t do feelings“.

To hell with Mal, running away, and to hell with Ben, following her.

Lonnie is so over it.

Jay meets her blade with his, and the people scramble from their seats, leaving the chairs upturned.

Jay immediately kicks one of those under her legs and she leaps over it, already swinging at him from the air.

He parries easily and says: „Let’s dance, then.“

And so they dance.

It feels good to just let go.

Jay forces her to stay on her toes, constantly coming up with moves that she had never seen and that she is pretty sure are banned, but she gives as good as she gets.

She doesn’t manage a hit, and notably, Jay never once slices her skin, though she is sure tomorrow she will be bruised all over.

Finally, they stop at an impasse, swords pointed at each other, breathing heavily.

Jay is smiling.

She has a sword pointed at his throat and he is fucking smiling.

„Well, that was another way to ensure no one will touch you,“ he says, already putting away his weapon, „Now let’s fucking go, before someone gets the bright bloody idea to get ransom for you too.“

He stalks away and Lonnie, well, Lonnie is left to follow.

Before she breaks from her shock fully, the crowd is clapping – somehow, it comes as no surprise to her that the deVil woman, sat high up at the bar table, is leading the applause.

She ducks her head, sheats her sword, and bolts out of the door, where Jay is waiting for her.

They quickly walk over to the establishment the young Villain indicated, and step inside. It is–

„Jay,“ she grabs him roughly, „I’ve had enough. The king was kidnapped. What are we doing in a stripper bar?!“

„Eh, strategic meeting?“ answers Jay, his eyes darting around the bar distractedly, „Anyway, want a shot?“

„Jay!“

„Trust me, you’re gonna need that shot.“

Before she gets the chance to answer, he steps out, to meet Mal and Carlos – Evie isn’t there.
Mal is leaning back in her seat, legs propped up at the table, cleaning her nails with a knife, and narrating something to Carlos, who clearly does his very best to channel how uninterested in the conversation he is.

„Where is Evie?“ Lonnie asks.

„Ah, at the Tremaines, I presume.“ A heartbeat of silence. „She wouldn’t be caught dead in this district.“

Good for her, Lonnie supposes.

Jay leans at the table and immediately steals whatever Mal was drinking.

„Fuck you, Jay,“ the fae puts her feet down and leans forward; she doesn’t bother hiding her knife, „You got it?“

„Please, tell me you got it,“ adds Carlos, desperate not to let the conversation steer off-track.

„Do I got it, baby.“

Both of them fix him with a glare.

„Yeah of course I got it,“ he sights, „What are we drinking?“

„Tequila,“ sneers Mal.

„You cannot hold your tequila, sweetheart–“

Lonnie clears her throat.

„Trust me, I’ve told her so,“ adds Carlos.

„Hello?“ Says Lonnie over the banter,„We’re not drinking anything? The pirates have kidnapped Ben?“

„All the more fucking reason to drink, don't you think?“ asks Mal. Carlos waves down a waiter for them.

„No!“ protests Lonnie, „Not at all! And besides, none of you are of legal drinking age,“ she adds with a huff.

„Old enough to serve a prison sentence, old enough to drink,“ they chorus at her.

She needs it to be over.
She grimaces.
„Not how that works,“ she notes dryly.

„Old enough to rule a country, old enough to drink,“ offers Mal with a slightly manic look in her eyes as she leans forward.
Lonnie steps back.

„I don’t like you,“ she notifies Mal. She is entitled to a bit of pettiness in this situation.

„Balsy,“ Mal smirks, showing her teeth, and turns at Jay, „What is she doing here anyway.“

„Excuse me, I’m right there!“ protests Lonnie, to no avail at all. They both ignore her.

„She wanted to come,“ answers Jay nonchalantly.
„You could’ve said no to her,“ tells him Mal at the same time as Carlos comments „You’re all the same,“ for no one in particular.

Jay just shrugs, as if that hadn’t crossed his mind, and: „Oh, look, our drinks are there.“
He leans forward and puts some powder onto the back of his palm; Lonnie thinks there is way too much glasses for the four of them.

„You’re lucky I don’t care that much,“ sighs Mal overdramatically as she does the same as Jay. Lonnie stares bewildered as Carlos takes the powder – crystals? – onto his hand too, and: „It’s salt, then shot, then lemon, baby. Tequila.“ Jay nudges her.

„You’re so gonna need it,“ adds Carlos.

Lonnie reaches out for the salt too.

They take their glasses.

„To us, then,“ says Mal, „Rotten from the core.“

„I hate you,“ responds Jay to her toast.

Mal just smirks, licks the salt from her hand and shots back the tequila, the boys following suit.

Reluctantly, Lonnie does the same, and immediately erupts in hacking cough: The tequila is vile. And it burns.

„Gotta suck the lemon.“

„When life gives you lemons–“

„You drink silver fucking tequila.“

With tears in her eyes, Lonnie reaches for the repugnant-looking vedge of lemon, hoping the sour fruit will actually do something for the cloying taste left in her mouth.

Finally, she manages to get her bearings, and she is not all that surprised to find the conversation has nothing to do with the kidnapped king.

She knew why she wanted to come – she likes Jay, but–

But he’d choose Mal over her at any heartbeat, she thinks.

Anyway. Enough about Jay and his noble– stupidly blind loyalty.

The king.

Idly, she notices the three already have new glasses in front of them. She decides to be concerned after Ben is saved, thank you.

„When are we getting Ben?“ she asks.

„Eh,“ smirks Mal lazily, „After midday? Gotta give Captain Hook time to get over the hangover. Or to get drunk again.“ She appears deep in thought over this.

„And for you to regain consciousness,“ notes Carlos dryly.

„Oh, fuck off, deVil,“ complains Mal, „I have it under control.“

„Sure you do.“

Mal steals Carlos’ glass and shots it back, to make a fucking point, apparently.

„So, midday?“ Lonnie presses on.

„You might want to postpone that.“

She turns around to see whoever spoke: a pirate with dark leather coat and utterly impassive expression. She turns around at Jay: „Who is that?“ she hisses.

„Smee,“ he half-whispers back.

„How long have you been there?“ Mal demands moodily.

The pirate sighs: „Like two minutes. It’s not my fault you didn’t notice me.“ Mal breathes in to argue and Carlos claps his hand over her mouth. The pirate continues without paying her any notice: „Anyway, I don’t have the whole night, so. Ginny Gothel came by and she wants some shit: Some medical supplies that she helpfully wrote down for you.“ They slam a paper at the table. „A good winter coat. Jewelry and hair accessories and some precious stones. Don’t bother coming unless you have it.“

The pirate turns to leave.

„Yes,“ spits out Mal, having freed her mouth – probably via biting, if Carlos’ indignant expression is of any indication, „Go back to the port. Tell them not to die before we get there – some feat that’ll be, I imagine.“

Smee pauses.
„I am not paid enough to chit chat with you,“ they say.

„Wait, you are paid?!“ asks Jay. Lonnie is growing more concerned by the minute – second.

„Yes.“

The pirate leaves and Lonnie turns back at the group. Before she can think of anything to say or to read the demands, Mal picks up the paper with ner nails, grimacing with annoyance.

„So…“ Jay start to question her: She answers before he forms the sentence: „Ugh, yes, we gotta get that. Evie would have my head if I didn’t get the medical shit for Ginny.“

„On it,“ nods Jay decisively and he gets up, as if nothing was going on at all.

„No!“ Lonnie slams her hands on the table; she has had enough, „I don’t understand. What is with you? What is wrong with this place? Why should the fact that Ginny Gothel wants gold and jewelry mean we have to get it for Captain Hook?!“

„Oh, they’re dating,“ explains Jay easily. Carlos hits his head against the table.

„They’re what now?!“ she asks, suddenly furious: Ginny Gothel, that must be Mother Gothel’s daughter, and why–

„They’re dating, keep up,“ sneers Mal, and Lonnie gives her a half-scathing half-panicked look.

„But–“ she stutters in her fury, „Isn’t he like fifty now?! And she’s– young, Mother Gothel’s daughter?“

Lonnie only gaps when Mal starts cackling, her head thrown back. Jay joins her, while Carlos continues to bang his head against the table.

Finally, Mal gets over her laughing fit, and tells Lonnie: „Yeah, no, he totally is. But we meant Harriet– Captain Harriet Hook. Y’know, his daughter?“

„WHAT?!“

Notes:

I hope you enjoyed <3

Chapter 17: Chapter 16

Summary:

Prepare yourself for THE CJ Hook, here to entertain.

CJ walks through the Isle, unbothered by its usual doomy-gloominess. She twirls her hair on her finger absentmindedly as she looks into the Shadows: It seems Freddie isn’t near, and such a shame, that.

She had been asked to find her, and how could she ever say no to that?

…Well, she had also been given a list of really annoying questions she ought to ask pertaining to the boy king and a war and whatever, but honestly?? Who even cares??

A shine catches her eye and she snatches the trinket of the passerby – maybe a Westergaard? Or someone vaguely related to them? Or maybe whoever Drizella Tremaine bribed with Westergaard gold?

Freddie will appreciate the gift all the same.

CJ lets her feet carry her: She always ends up wherever Freddie is. Better not to question it too much.

She zones out a tiny bit, maybe, thinking of the boy king and his gold, of the fun potion Zevon gave her to try. Such a shame Harriet forbad her from medical malpractice on the Beauty, but since had CJ ever cared? Maybe she could invite Freddie too. That’d be fun.

She stops abruptly in front of a multi-store ruin whose attic is positively crawling with Shadows: Seems she’s there, then.

„Hi, Freddie!“ she calls out as she enters the dim space, only vaguely lit up with shit that probably shouldn’t be glowing. Specks of dust dance in the fluorescent lights and she fights the urge to swat at it. She loses that battle, of course, and smiles widely as she makes the dust swerve with a swing of her hand.

„CJ,“ greets Freddie from where she sits in front of the mirror. CJ bounces over and hugs her, putting her chin on her shoulder so she could look at them in the mirror.

„Hiii,“ she says again. Her throat pulses painfully, still, from that time she got high few days ago and sang, but frankly, CJ doesn’t give a fuck.

Harriet told her her mother and aunts used to say that trying to sing under the Barrier was like drinking melted gold and crushed up diamonds – Or maybe Harriet dramatised „It is like drinking acid“ a tiny little bit. And either way, CJ never really cared, and neither did her siblings. Life hurts, and? Might as well have some fun while at it.

…And she had spaced out again. Totally, cos Freddie is laughing at her.

CJ pouts.

„Don’t zone out at me, you menace,“ says Freddie with laugh in her voice as she pats CJ on the cheek.

CJ elects to ignore that.
„You look pretty,“ she purrs instead.

Freddie laughs again as she gestures around at her make-up laid around:
„I’m not done yet.“

„Pretty anyway,“ CJ shrugs before gasping and jumping up.
„I’ve got this for you!“ she exclaims, fishing out the glitter she stole from Harriet – highlighter.
„Shiny.“

Freddie takes it and opens it.
„Shiny indeed,“ she says. She swatches it over her cheekbone experimentally, before shrugging and turning to CJ. CJ holds still as she puts the glitter on her cheeks too.

Someone should really take note of that – look at her, staying all still!

„Go be gross somewhere else,“ complains Celia from where she is perched up on half-rotten beam, wrapped in Shadows like in a fine cloak. CJ sticks out her tongue in her vague direction.

„Shouldn’t you be at the Salon?“ complains Freddie back.

„Evie’s still there,“ sneers Celia as if that explained anything. CJ is frankly disinterested in whatever is going on there but she would greatly appreciate it if Celia shut up; she tells her so.

Freddie clicks her tongue, losing interest in the conversation too, and turns CJ’s face around; CJ can see the glitter reflect brightly in the mirror. She blinks rapidly as the light and shadows play tricks on her eyes.

„Don’t look around,“ reminds her Freddie softly. Well, has she considered that her lair is always so very interesting? Really who even cares if she gets trapped in a cursed mirror or something for few hours??

…Definitely not speaking from experience here. Not at all.

(She still hadn’t told Harriet.)

CJ shakes her head to clear her thoughts and drags Freddie away from the vanity and to the sofa, where she immediately drapes herself over her lap.

„Get off," drawls Freddie playfully, nudging CJ into the shoulder, "I gotta go to the stand. Future telling and all that – money doesn't make itself, you know?“

„I brought you gold, though,“ whines CJ back, „If you want it. It's kinda gaudy.“
Really, the boy king has no taste, and she made sure to tell him so. Multiple times. It was fun.

Freddie raises an eyebrow at her, which clearly means CJ must tell her all about the king's poor taste.

…It does cross her mind that Freddie might want to hear about the whole hostage situation in general, but honestly, priorities. Duh.

Freddie runs her fingers through CJ’s hair and says: „What are your siblings planning with the king, though?“

CJ closes her eyes and whines: „I don’t know! Something boring! Who even cares?“

…And Freddie had shoved her off herself. Great.

CJ scrambles to right herself up and pouts at Freddie.

„Do not try that on me, pirate,“ Freddie warns, her hand closing around CJ’s chin, „Tell me.“

CJ sights dramatically and starts talking: „They’re planning war,“ she says, „Royal hostage and all. Calling the port into arms – they went to visit our father.“

She falls silent and Freddie moves her hand to her wrist, gentle now. CJ casts her eyes down.

She knows why she had been sent here – well, aside from getting the information that no one cares about. Her siblings, they say, their father doesn’t wish to see her. Say it’s safer for her, that way, until she is not as old as Peter Pan and his Lost Boys anymore.

They are right, of course. They’re right. CJ bites her lip and blinks rapidly – if her father will not see her, she will not think about him. Fuck the old man, and had she shown Freddie the boy-king’s gold, yet?

She hums and sways back and forth, once, twice, as she tries to remember in which pocket she had stored it: She knows where she has the Westergaard gold, but honestly, she can get that any day. Beast’s gold, now, that is exciting.

Right – that one.

She fishes the very few pieces the princeling carried – cufflinks with the obnoxious fucking coat of arms, and watch with roses carved into it, rather badly if she can say so.

She shows it to Freddie: „See? It’s barely worth it.“

The Shadows, which she didn’t notice before, withdraw further away and Freddie scoffs: „You’re right.“

Well, of course she is!

„This is just horrible.“ Freddie picks up one of the cufflinks, sneers at it, and lets it fall: it bounces off of CJ’s hand and she doesn’t bother to catch it.

She was actually planning to have it melted or sold, so she could get something that didn’t hurt to look at; she finds she doesn’t care if it gets lost or not. (Not that anything truly gets lost where the Shadow witches are).

It is still clanging somewhere on the floor when she leans in close to Freddie: „I will be sure to tell him so.“
She can feel her breath on her cheek when the Shadow witch chuckles.

„I have no doubts about that.“

It’s not like the boy king has anything better to do than listening to her currently.

…Or in general. CJ has great ideas, more people should listen to her, honestly.

She leans closer yet just to see if Freddie will let her. (It is their personal space now.)

Freddie pushes her face away – such a shame, that – and CJ flops dramatically back on the sofa. She’s basically hanging upside down with her curls brushing the floor when Freddie gets up to finish her make-up, completely undeterred by CJ’s pout.

CJ stops acting and stares into the shadowy darkness cast by the fluorescent fairy lights. …That are probably not really fairy lights but Freddie and Celia had forbad her from dissecting and/or vivisecting them, so that is what she is calling them.

She sees the king’s cufflink reflecting the light but decides she doesn’t care enough to reach for it; instead, she starts to play with her nails.

The silence is ringing in her ears.

She dislikes that, she had decided a long time ago. To fill the silence, she starts talking about her older siblings’ relationships drama. So romantic, honestly.

Freddie just hums in answers occasionally but CJ knows she is listening.
Who wouldn’t? Everyone wants to hear about her siblings’ drama.

Celia scoffs from where she is listening in and CJ flips her off; she frowns when she realises the gesture is upside down and attempts to correct it.

„…Anyway,“ she decides to abandon that effort, not all that interested in finding out if she can break her wrist that way – not before the big fight tomorrow, at least – and dives right back into the drama.

She is unsure of how much time flew by, when footsteps scramble on the stairs, but it mustn’t have been very long, because Freddie doesn’t have her lips finished properly. She squints at the door and at the Shadows that stilled unnaturally by it.

In walks a street rat, about as old as her and dressed in rags, no family colour in sight.

„I bring information,“ the street rat says, freezing near the door frame. They try to pretend they’re not looking at CJ.

Freddie walks over to the sofa and sits down next to CJ; Celia leans down. The silence drags on.

„Talk,“ the sisters say in unison.

Idly, CJ wonders if they had practiced it or not.

The canary barely starts to sing when CJ complains over their words: „They should kneel, Freddie. They should kneel.“

Freddie gazes at her, curious: CJ takes it as her clue to continue. She flips around to sit on her heels next to Freddie and sings: „Kneel.“

Her throat burns as their knees buckle. She swallows heavily, as if it’d do anything for her throat. She forms the word once more, silently.

„Fun,“ assesses Freddie with barely concealed delight, „You might continue,“ she says to the kneeling tipster.

They glance at CJ, as if scared she might want them to do something more: She couldn’t sing if she wanted now. Not that she wants anyone to know that. Better keep them on their toes. Live to surprise, and all of that.

„There is an Auradon girl, with Jay, Mal and Carlos at Sinner’s Rose.“

„Is there?“

„Well, was: Jay was leaving with her.“

Celia sneers and Freddie holds up a hand: „Stop. Start talking when you start making sense.“

CJ watches the street rat with hawk’s eyes, honestly just trying to freak them out by this point. She thinks it’s working.

„Right. Um, Sam Smee delivered a new list of demands to the Rotten four. Mal and Carlos were in Sinner’s Rose, joined by Jay and an Auradonian girl. A fighter, that girl, went with him almost toe to toe. Anyway, Jay and the girl left again: They will be getting the medical stuff for Ginny Gothel. …I’m not sure about the rest of the stuff, though.“

CJ stares at the informant with hungry eyes: Interesting news, that, isn’t it?

Notes:

Please tell me if you enjoyed?

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 9 of On the Edge
• Part 1 of Dead Beauty AU