the_seafarer | The Frog Prince, or: Kate Was Right All Along

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The Frog Prince, or: Kate Was Right All Along

The world is larger now.

Not just larger; taller, stranger. Everything caught in odd angles, flat and imposing. Blades of grass tower over him, ants the size of small dogs bump into his feet, and he startles --

Sending the world into a spinning, alarmed leap. A blink, and everything has shifted; he might be miles from the door, for all he can tell the difference.

The tea. It could only have been the tea. There was a splash of warmth, and his shirt soaked in a crooked strip, and deep violet plumes of choking smoke, and then everything grew horribly large and strange. Could it? Truly, there have been times when he'd been warned off food or drink in this place in the past, but he'd always felt tea would never betray him in such a fashion.

It appears Milliways is not yet through with surprising him.

Be that as it may, he cannot continue in this fashion. Large eyes blink, bewildered, at the green, long-fingered hand replacing his own; he attempts to edge towards his right and finds himself catapulted into the rough wood of the back step. A twitch forward sends him sailing in an arc that turns steadily less graceful as he tumbles back into the ground, heart thrumming a panicked pace somewhere nowhere near his usual steady beat.

There must be a way to reverse this spell, whatever it is. A wizard, perchance, or sorcerer, if he can find one -- but any attempt to move back into the bar proper would result in a scramble to keep from being trod upon, and in his present state, he can hardly call for help, or draw attention to himself.

He sits, for a moment, shivering in a clump of tall grass, flips into a bewildered cut of a half-leap at a bugling call sounding nearby, a sharp whinny that freezes him into a shell he cannot seem to break from for a lifetime's worth of worried breaths and buzzing pulse.

The horses. The stables. Possibly, there, he might find aid -- there are fewer feet to trample him, when the horses are in the stalls, and the place is peaceful enough he might find a moment to think, or plan.

It has simply never seemed such a very insurmountable distance, before.

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The frog-who-was-Caspian sits where she places him, and watches as she paces, the grasses trembling around him, the pool lapping gently at his skin, soothing water.

He could swim. The whole idea of it is nothing but appealing at the moment; he could sink into cool calming water, swim away, flee Kate's pacing boots and panicked eyes and the humiliation of finding himself suddenly a fraction of his usual size.

So he tries to focus -- on Kate, not the buzzing flies humming lazily through the tall grass, because that thought is going nowhere good -- and listens, as well as he can, when every sense is flickering into terror at every flicker of her shadow over the pool.

It makes a kind of sense. He'd never heard such a story, himself, but Lucy had often spoken of enchanted princes and princesses from the stories told in her England, and this seems to fit a similar pattern, true enough, though Kate's missing a piece of the puzzle. Enough of one that the way he looks away, blinking, throat inflating and depressing again, might even seem shamefaced.

If such a thing could be said to be seen on a frog, enchanted or otherwise.

Lucky for Caspian, Kate's not well versed in frog expressions. It's hard enough distinguishing between his ribbits. If it weren't for that small crown, he would look like any other frog.

Any other frog with a fondness for leather boots and a lack of sensibility.

"If it weren't the Miss who did this t'you, it might be a trick t'get y'back t'normal. If y'could remember who did this t'you, I could try an' pin 'im down. Or ... "

Beat.

"Wait, I have a notion."

Or?

He waits, but this body isn't meant for waiting, and it's impatient at best, until she opens her mouth again and those words drop out, and he can't help himself, springs forward.

He's a frog, Kate. Why is he a frog, Kate? What notion, what kind of a notion is it, he will honestly try anything to cease this wretched enchantment. In his agitation, he comes springing back towards her, limbs askew and eyes bugged and desperate.

Make it stop, Kate. He'll try anything, anything at all.

She turns on her heel, movements tight to avoid any clomping. Kneeling quickly, she holds out her hands to intercept any further head-to-boot damage.

"If that is what happened, there's a way of breakin' the spell. In the story, the princess jus' had t'kiss the frog an' he was restored t'his human form."

Well. There's also the version where the princess throws the frog across the room into a wall, but Kate does little more than purse her lips in acknowledgment of that option.

She meets the frog's eyes.

Blue on gold.

Determination on frenzy.

She sets her jaw.

"I'm gonna go fetch Marian."

And with that, she stands.

Marian?

Princess?

Kiss?

Kate isn't speaking any sort of sense, but she's in motion now, and Caspian is unsure whether he ought to accompany her, or stay put, but every twitch sends him hopping, unhappy, short little bursts that send him popping through the grass in the general direction Kate's headed.

She holds out her hands once more.

"Stay put here, where you'll be safe. I won't be but a tick. If she ain't around, then we'll figure somethin' else out."

Kate might be forced to try her hand, but she ain't Caspian's true love. Perhaps it's best she doesn't share this reasoning with him, as he is ~~as clueless as a plank of wood~~ much too proper for such talk. But it stands to reason Marian will have an effect on him.

With one last contrite expression, she turns and starts for the main bar.

"I'll be right back!"

Coincidentally, there is another such tea drinker today.

Not yet involved in new Milliways introductions, or in the mischief of Milliways magic.

Marian is seated at a round table in the bar. Skirts settled around her chair. A tea service tray with a fine porcelain tea set sits to her side, tea only finished steaming seconds ago, crumpets with dark bitter cherries resting on a matching plate. Marian, herself, is presently focused on a thin, dark bound book, with the single last name Rumi in the middle of the spine.

Kate bursts through the door with the flair she's acquired over the last year; hat low over her eyes, hair billowing, duster whipping around her legs. She stands in the doorway for a few seconds, eyes adjusting to the room.

Dark hair, security badge, fine skirts — come on, Marian. Where are you?

She eventually spies her table, and swiftly makes her way over.

"Lady Marian."

Her eyes are wide, grave, but she smiles as convincingly as she can.

"I need your help."

She looks up, instantly. The book coming down, a fingertip slipping between the pages, as she looks up to find Kate.

It has been a while, but not all that long for Marian. Which feels both too long, given Nottingham's endless suffocating walls, and, ultimately, unimportant in the wake of those first words. Drawing her delicate brows, as well as her shoulders together. Making her press upward from her seat, not lifting from it, but leaning toward the woman.

"Of course." She lifted her other hand, in a graceful turn, gesturing to the chair at her side. "Is everything alright?"

Kate is smiling. It can't be so bad that she needs her deep, immediate concern. But those words drive in daggers.

Edited 2013-02-23 05:23 (UTC)

Kate is at least attempting to radiate calm.

There's no easy way to say So you know Caspian? You know how he used to be a bipedal, blonde, human man? Well, about that ...

She takes the proffered seat, perched on the edge, elbows on her knees. She figures they won't be sitting here much longer.

"Nobody's hurt, or in any immediate danger. So, yes. In that sense, things are okay. However, there's been some kinda incident. I couldn't tell y'what happened, but Caspian came t'me in the stables. An', well."

She catches Marian's eyes.

"He's a frog."

Those first words are quite relieving. Enough so that she's actually already considering whether she'll need a second cup of tea. To let Kate tell her about whatever project or dilemma has placed this serious graveness within Kate's blue eyes. As she'd be glad to help as much as she can, for as long as she is still here.

Before she's certain she must have heard that wrong.

Marian's mouth draws closed, lips pressed together. Eyelashes fluttering through quick blinks of confusion. Her lips pressed together. Head tilting in direct, sharp unspoken question first. Dark curls falling to one side, over a shoulder. Eyebrows pushing upward. Too many words falling against them. The thought that it's not possible hitting every proof of Milliways since the day she walked

"Caspian is a frog?" A sharp, next possible moment, repetition.

Her mind at how and where, but her mouth, shooting out next, "Is he alright?"

Marian's blue-grey eyes were suddenly checking across Kate's hands and the pockets of her duster, as she was pushing up from her chair, leaving everything else, instantly, behind.

"As well as anyone could be expected in that kinda situation, far as I can tell. We're havin' some difficulty communicatin'."

She rises, hands out once more, this time to calm and console her friend as well as show that he is not currently with her.

"Come with me, an' I'll take you to 'im. He's ... well, he's in a state."

Marian gets the first message easily, with the hands held out. Caspian is not here. Caspian is somewhere else. Once, again, it repeats in her head. Caspian is a frog. She nodded, and gestured, hands slightly faster moving than normal, in a waved gesture to lead the way.

"Do you know how it happened? How long he's been this way?"

It seems strange that Caspian would fall under the workings of the general magic worked here.

He was on the people that warned her of everything here. But the magic did like to change in new and expected ways.
There's a seconds thought about writing this up for Security. That will wait until the problem has been handled though.

"I'm sorry t'say I don't know much more'n you do now."

She opens the door for her, recounting everything that's happened in the past twenty minutes as they make their way out into the afternoon sun.

"So, y'see, it ain't the normal bar fare, so far as I'm understandin'. Sounds t'me like someone, or some thing, had a hand in this. Which is how come I thought y'might be able t'help. Short'a findin' who did this, which appears nigh on impossible right now, there's only a few things that might help."

The closer they get to the little shelter she set him in, the clearer a small bounding ball of frenetic energy can be seen. Kate clucks.

"I told 'im t'stay hidden."

No self-preservation.

Kate leaves, in a brushing wave of grass, her duster sweeping over the blade tops, moving too fast for him to keep up even if he hadn't been told, sternly, if not unkindly, to keep himself put.

Easier said than done. He hears the words, and intends to obey, but the frog is edgy and unhappy, hopping in startled circles at every brief shadow or tremor in the ground. It's mortifying, being required to hide from birds he'd never have noticed in his natural state, and the minutes drag like years.

Kate's plan -- what is it? Could it possibly work? If not -- well, such things have historically worn off, in the past.

Haven't they?

A large shadow falls over him, and the frog freezes, trembling, until grass is bent by familiar skirts and Kate's boots, and he hops closer, towards Marian, who has never let him down, who will surely know what to do.

"Ribbit."

There is certainly a small frantic frog, green and, occasional, flashing gold. Hoping about everywhere. In a circle. Haphazard and in every direction. It's confusing and pitiful, tugging at her heart, even as it bewilders her. Sending her to her knees, in pile of skirts a few feet from him. Leaning down and reaching out, even as she's asking, "Caspian?"

She didn't like or dislike frogs, and couldn't even remember the last time she'd touched one. Maybe when she was a young girl, when Much and Robin could collect them and toss them into sewing circles through windows. Subtly until their laughter couldn't be drowned out by the screams even, when she'd collected them from under the feet of girls more likely to trample them on accident than cause any ill in the opposing direction.

But she was careful or at least tried to be very careful as she was picking him up. Even thought her fingers caught on the hard little crown, surprising her, when she was being so delicate. Making her look up toward Kate, "What is this f--" She'd tugged at it lightly, only to realize it wouldn't come off. "Is it stuck on him?"

"Beats me."

At least they're of one mind so far as initial reactions. Kate kneels beside them, brow furrowed deeply.

"S'the only reason I stopped t'consider he wasn't just any other frog. There are stories, where I'm from. Stories 'bout royalty fallin' under curses like this one. Why Caspian would be affected, I couldn't tell you. But if'n that's the reason for all this, the cure might be simple."

It's so Milliways. That she's very probably holding a friend, her closest here, small and a little more slimy than she really like, hearing that there are worlds out there that have frog curses specifically for royalty, and the second part is the part she can easily just make an odd face at and not drag out the necessary surprise toward. Milliways had doors to every kind of world, even she hadn't associated anything like that with Kate's world yet.

Her fingers stopped tugging the tiny gold crown, still looking at him very close, and the small shiny crown.

"What is the cure?" She was looking back up at Kate. "He's the brother of the Queen of Amergeldar, and was a king, back in his own world."

"A king?"

Isn't that the kind of thing you tell a body before you've known them, say, a whole year? All these months. All the impropriety.

Kate wants to press her further, eyes darting to the frog king — she isn't upset, Caspian, she's just very disappointed — but knows now isn't the moment. So he simply garners an arched eyebrow and the thinning of her lips before she answers Marian.

"A kiss."

There's a very particular expression universal to schoolteachers everywhere -- a specific angle of eyebrow, a degree or two of winter chilling the voice. The frog-who-was-Caspian shrinks under it, thin throat skin thrumming, the only clue the frog hasn't turned into a stone against Marian's palm.

Perhaps, if he's still enough, Kate will cease looking at him with that expression. Or maybe a hawk will appear and remove him from her frosty disappointment by eating him.

It may well be preferable.

Marian, on the other hand, looks only surprised aside from the concern widening her eyes. It's an expression he regrets putting on her face, and he's wishes Kate had simply kissed him herself, if indeed that is the cute for his sorry state. Was there truly a need to worry another friend, no matter how comforting he finds her presence?

"It was a long time ago," Marian said, the faintest sharp edge to her tongue sliding out fast, as she instinctively pulled her hands, and the little frog -- Caspian --, closer to her at the not entirely expected, or unexpected, ice to Kate's surprise. Not entirely at obvious odds from her own both protectiveness and defensiveness.

And, perhaps, even a shaft of guilt. It was not her story to tell, and it was not a normal one even for here. A whole other 'whole life' from beginning to end. Rather like his war, and his loss, even this was something she held delicate, precious, and was humbled to hold. Whatever he chose to share with her, that she kept carefully for him.

She didn't share his truths lightly. Only the hairbreadth from the edge of never. Except for Amy. Alanna. Mal. He would have to understand. He was a frog.

"I can assume it didn't work when you tried, then?" As he was still a very little be-crowned frog in her hands, trembling and still in the cage of her fingers.

How Milliways of it not be that simple. "What else can we can try? Should we find one the Gods or Tricksters?"

Both eyebrows creep almost imperceptibly toward her hairline. There may even be the fledgling wings of a smirk curling her lips. The protectiveness always in tandem with the affection, the fond spark.

"However, still royalty."

Her eyes shift between the two. She's weighing her next words.

"Ah, I haven't tried myself. I don't, ah — know 'im as well as you do."

Kate hadn't even tried, which is rather hard, and Caspian isn't sure that not knowing him well is really a fair enough excuse.

Still, she had just pointed out he'd been less than entirely forthcoming with her, so he supposes judgement should be bypassed, no matter how distressing the situation might be.

And he appreciates Marian's defense, whether necessary or not. The truth is, he ought to have told Kate, he supposes. When she'd teased him about having a fortunate childhood, at least. And he hadn't meant to lie, had certainly never desired her to feel he'd kept it from her purposely. It is -- a hard truth. Not what he once was, but what remains, mayhaps.

Well. He can explain later, once his form has been returned. For now, the little frog stares up at Marian, and blinks, before inflating to comment.

"Ribbit."

Dash it all.

Marian's brow wrinkled, head tilting backward, to look up and over toward Kate finally. A little bewildered. "That matters?"

At, admittedly, both the notion that Kate hadn't tried, and the one where Kate felt she didn't know Caspian well enough for merit, and, if she was being honest, at the first passing notion of being referenced off the task of kissing a frog. The holding of which, small, clammy and a little slick, was still an oddity she wasn't entirely settled to. Except that it was Caspian.

Which was rather how the settling of shoulders and decisions went. Except that it was Caspian.

Making her look at the frog in her hands and back to Kate, again. The cultured raise of eyebrows, past the first impulse, and the following thoughts, that it was an odd, albeit far simpler solution that most any of the magic usually worked in the bar. Save that mistletoe freezing. Which this wasn't. "You want me to kiss him and see if this wears off?"

Wherein him is probably gestured a little with the movement of the frog between them.

Innocent face is innocent.

"It matters."

Caspian had made the situation rather clear to her the day she remarked, nonchalant, on he and Marian being lovers. As he'd nearly burst into flame on the spot, stammering and denying. And Marian, of course, with her complicated situation in Sherwood Kate does her best not to press her on.

However, call it a theory. A theory based on the light in their eyes and the irrepressible smiles that come to their faces at the mere mention of the other's name; the devotion and loyalty, the unbreakable and untarnished ferocity of their friendship.

'True love's kiss' as an explanation won't go over well, she knows, but presented as a theory ...

"If he an' I are understandin' each other well enough, it seems the best move t'make. Only other ways I see are trackin' down whoever did this t'him, but I got the feelin' that'll be like lookin' for a needle in a haystack. At the time, huntin' you down seemed most practical."

Practicality, Marian. You like that, right?

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