Elsa Vinters and Her (Dys)Functional Family

Sorry, about the late update. Reality sucks.

Hopefully, this will fulfill your Elsanna thirst.

If you see any mistakes please tell me, I will fix them.

EDIT: Fanfiction was glitchy with me yesterday and I had to take this chapter down and re-upload it. Technology. Sorry for the inconvenience.

((((0))))

Chapter 3

Elsa found Gerda in the kitchens, slicing potatoes. Humming a tune, the portly woman had her back turned to her and she decided that a sneaky get away (with perhaps some form of chocolate) was best.

The blonde didn't get five feet before, "Elsa, dear, would you be so kind as to get the strainer for me?"

With the plan foiled, she did as she was told, moving to the cabinet and grumbling, "How'd you know I was here?"

Strainer in hand, Elsa set it down by the older woman, who chuckled, "Those mud-attracting boots you wear all the time makes a dreadful noise."

Pouting, Elsa glanced down at aforementioned shoe wear and took note at how they were scuffed up and dingy, yet not dirty per say. "I don't see anything. . ."

"Well, obviously not now!" Gerda stated, exasperated, as she filled the plastic bowl with potato slices. Once done, she rinsed off her hands and turned to the grimacing girl, rag in hand. "You seem awfully . . . off today. Everything alright?"

A crimson flush erupted on Elsa's cheeks. The images of the Redheaded Goddess crossed her hazy mind, making her gulp back a whine. Seeing this, something twinkled in Gerda's eyes (mischief, playfulness?) as she whirled her head away, suddenly finding the moldings along the walls very interesting.

She knows.

Shoulders scrunched up to her ears and avoiding any and all eye contact, Elsa managed, "N-nothing . . . just had a nap." And witnessed the personification of Spring.

"Really?" Gerda accused, and Elsa couldn't help but hear the tilting in her voice. She wanted to slam her head on the nearest surface and the old maid appeared to be reveling in the fact the pained expression upon Elsa's face was becoming more and more prominent, mouth in a thin line and features being consumed by the flames along her cheeks. "I would think that a nap would refresh an architecture student."

A pause with flames licking the blonde's neck and ears, and Gerda's knowing expression acting as accelerant.

"But," began the maid, mortification throbbing along Elsa's body. "I could be wrong. . ."

About to say something along the lines of 'yes', Elsa choked back a squeak as Gerda uttered, "Met the painting restorer earlier. Spritely thing, she is."

The older woman looked peculiarly pleased with herself. Elsa was just content that she managed to suppress the urge to whine.

Gerda has been a housekeeper for the Vinters since Elsa was a little girl. She and her husband, Kai, was just as part of the family as Agdar and Geneviève were. Hell, she practically raised Elsa when her mother and father were roaming the country, representing high-end clients for various reasons. Like a second mom, Elsa regarded her with respect, kindness, and if the situation dictates, as it is at the moment, fear.

Fear, because like an actual mother, she can see through Elsa's thin façade of lack of keen interest and wary antics. She might as well be translucent.

By the time she figured she would have to respond to the maid's comment, it was already checkmate. Elsa, zero. Gerda, incomprehensible amounts of victories.

Snorting, the portly woman said, "Dear, don't be so afraid, she's harmless." Going back to rinsing the slices, she added with a quick, pointed glance, "Did you even say hello?"

How in all the purple shades on this house, is she harmless? She just awoke the repressed sexuality I've shoved down for so many years. Harmless is not the word that comes to mind when I think about her.

It took a moment and Gerda's awaiting gaze to tell Elsa that there was a question.

"Oh, um. . ." Was a squeal a form of acknowledgement? Maybe in some cultures . . . eh, good enough. ". . . Yes."

"Elsa Skadi Vinters!"

"What!?"

"Are you telling me that you didn't introduce yourself to a guest under your roof?"

She gulped, "I-I d-didn't say—"

Hands on her hips, Gerda turned fully to Elsa, a heated spark in her eyes that had the other wanting to run to the hills. As second mother, Gerda had the right to scold the blonde when she fell short of common courtesy and social adepts.

She called Elsa out on her bull shit with, "Exactly, you didn't say anything." Pausing, the maid huffed, buxom concaving slightly, "Now, if you want dinner tonight you will march to that kind, gentle girl and introduce yourself properly."

To emphasis, she erratically pointed at the quasi-direction of the portrait room.

Elsa chuffed, a sure sign that she was slowly losing the conversation and her esteem. She attempted to save her pride by saying, "Dinner, really? That's the best you could do—"

"I'm making potato skins with a roast."

Her stomach dropped. Gaping at the woman, she mumbled, ". . . drizzled with a seasoned berry sauce?" Dread ran up Elsa's spine. That dish was—

"Your favorite."

Checkmate, gloated Gerda's irked, lidded eyes as the blonde bounded down the passage. Her shoulders slumped in defeat and her bulky boots skidded unceremoniously along the wooden floor. But, clearly not fast enough for the older woman.

"I said march!"

. . . . .

Anna was in paradise.

The aroma of age-old canvases filtered through her nostrils.

Emblazoned pallets covered the room, a sight for tired eyes of city life.

A precept of awaiting money after today by a generous and compassionate man. With his goddess of a daughter somewhere in the manor, no doubt.

Definitely, it was more than she could ever want. Both the good and the bad, nevertheless. Pros: money, that one was a given. Agdar, the eccentric gentleman that he is. The absolutely miraculous portrait room that she now claims as her office. And Olaf (the adorable pup came waltzing in with his impermeable cuteness; Anna, hapless against him, couldn't stand not cuddling with the Pomeranian).

The cons: . . . the gorgeous distraction named Elsa.

Oh, and the granny. Don't forget that cranky broad, Anna.

Sighing, the girl rummaged through her tool kit of chemicals, brushes, paints, and other restoration equipment, a gift from an enraptured professor, who claimed she had the potential to preserve a Monet if it comes to that. She grinned at the memory. Geppetto was a sweet, elderly man. Yet, he had a thing for striving to set her up with his son, Pinocchio. Once she, however, divulged that it was impossible for them to be together, he accepted defeat and didn't press the matter further. At least, until Anna put his boy on a date with another, Lampwick. Geppetto thanked her for weeks afterwards. Her keen gaydar told her so, by the way Pinocchio's eyes would flicker to a passing males' rear.

Although Anna is characterized as humble, she does pride herself with determining if someone is swinging any other way besides heterosexual. Years of observation, trial and error, sharpened the instinct. And she got good at it too. Efficient enough that if she just met someone and chatted for a few measly minutes she could have a solid presumption.

. . . Until, Elsa Vinters.

That blonde-haired, blue-eyed bombshell scattered her readings.

Exhaling, the girl sat back in a cozy office chair (that Agdar so thoughtfully provided, as a matter of fact), pulled out her phone, typed the password to unlock absentmindedly, and cupped the cell to her ear.

She needed guidance. And she knew exactly who would furnish her a stern 'deal with it'.

One ring . . . two . . . on the fourth the other person answered.

"Hey feisty pants, how's it going?" The words slurred out of his mouth. Anna hypothesized he just awoke from a midday slumber.

"Kristoff, I need help." Curt, to the point. This was a drastic alteration to how she usually went about greetings. It meant business.

The man's, Kristoff's, interest piqued as he responded, still remnants of sleep in his voice, "Is everything okay? Do you need me to come and get you?"

"No, no," Anna said, placing a hand on her forehead. The tango picture from earlier glared down at her, judging menacingly. She glowered back. "Things are fine here. Great, actually!"

"So what's wrong?"

A beat. Another. Anna inhaled sharply, and stated, "Well, there's a slight hitch . . ."

. . . . .

By the time Elsa's dejected footfalls rounded the corner, her Gerda-influenced bravo dwindled away to nothing more than a sliver of purpose. Yet, that soon ebbed as the doorway of the portrait room came into view. Her usual anxiety crashed back. The jitters. The shortness of breath. Eyes casting around for an exit. Alas, it was a familiar feeling.

In a few practiced breathing exercises, Elsa somehow made it in front of the damnable room.

Remember to breath, remember eye contact. Like the therapist said.

Gulping in some air, Elsa shuffled in front of the entrance, though not wandering any amount of measure toward the other human that sat in the epicenter. She crushed her eyes shut as the recognizable undertow of hysteria came over her, the pulling sensation like being engulfed by the ocean, pushing and pulling her every which way. Taking her deep, deep down. In sync with the undulate, up and down they pulled her, in and out she respires. In and out. In and out. After an indeterminate amount of time, the water languished away, going back into its cove until another high tide arises.

Finally, Elsa opened her crystal orbs. The light from the room before contrasted with the naturally lit corridor causing her pupils to burn and adjust. Shadows quasi-concealed the blonde as she gazed into the room where the catalyst of her anxiety was at.

The ginger was rummaging through a silver briefcase, taking out bottles and brushes that Elsa could only hypothesize as her work tools. From the blonde's point of view (as in totally creepily standing in a hallway, cloaked by shadows point of view), it looked like one of her shoulders were hutched up to her ear, like she was holding a phone there. Her mouth confirmed Elsa's suspicion as she turned to one of the large paintings, lips opening and closing as if she was chatting. It didn't seem to bother Elsa that technically she was taking a personal call at her place of business. No. She was more concerned by the mere fact that the ginger was young.

When her father spoke fervidly about the awaiting interview with a promising restorer, Elsa thought he was talking about someone in their mid-thirties by the way he told them about her credentials. Of course, it had to be karma, chance, or some deity up above that kicked Elsa in the ass for some profound, unfathomable reason.

The girl was young, early twenties, maybe her age, perhaps a few years younger than the blonde herself. And pretty. Very pretty. Too pretty for Elsa.

A sharp intake of air, and she closed her eyes for a moment, the starts of another headache gently pounding at her temples.

Didn't her father say that she already graduated?

. . . great, and she was intelligent also. Just Elsa's type—

No. She's not my type. And she never will be. She's an employee. Not to mention, probably not even, residually gay.

With that sentiment and Gerda's vicious look burning in the back of her mind (with the prospect of not eating her beloved meal too), the woman concealed in the corridor finally emerged.

And nearly frightened the poor girl to death. And subsequently startling Elsa as she bounced back, alarmed.

"Yah!"

"Gah!"

The ginger flew back, eyes crunched shut, banishing her phone as a potential weapon against the gothic woman, who also jumped up and dashed away from the device. A moment passed as both women's hearts gradually went back to their usual pace and as both dared to glance at one another.

Anna, uncoiling herself from her little defense stance, blinked as she stared at Elsa while she straightened herself up from ever-present flailing arms.

"Um . . ." the redhead began, unsure how to proceed. Instead, she lowered her armed and so very fatal cell phone.

The blonde looked to the floor, head down and hands fiddling with its twin. She, in Anna's eyes, appeared like a lost, insanely gorgeous child.

A beat. A very awkward moment.

". . . Sorry, for frightening you . . ." The gothic woman's voice was so shallow and low, Anna almost didn't hear it. She tried not to also dwell on the fact that Elsa's voice sounded so sexy. But, her libido decided to plant that in her mind, much to Anna's annoyance.

"I-It's okay," she said, pushing the end-call button on her phone, terminating Kristoff's raging murmuring on the other end. He would have to wait because, well, there was a goddess in her wake.

A blush colored Elsa cheeks as she continued to avoid eye contact. Anna blushed at the sudden thought of how adorable it was.

Another silence followed. Elsa dallied with her pale hands, chipping away at the black nail polish, while Anna scanned the room for something to deflect herself with. Basically, she needed a distraction from the distraction.

Steeling her resolve, the blonde gulped, still not looking up, ". . . um, hi."

Not dwelling on the diffidence in the other's voice, Anna responded, equally skittish, "Hello . . ."

Elsa sunk her incisors into her bottom lip while avoiding any and all eye contact. Like the gaseous ball of life and light called our sun, she was certain the painting restorer also had potential fulgent qualities if leered at for an extended period of time. Withal, despite the jeopardy of losing her precious sight, Elsa couldn't necessarily say that the experience wouldn't be unpleasant, since it entitles having the Spring Goddess as the last thing she will ever witness again. It seemed like a worthy sacrifice. If only she could look at her.

Tired of the lack of bumptiousness usually accompanying the ginger, Anna straightened and said, "I'm Anna Solsten, the new restorer."

Ah-na.

A simple name, sounding so exotic and unheard of, Elsa nearly blanched as her mind wandered.

Before she can register what she was doing, Elsa's mouth moved, testing, and voiced, "Anna . . ."

She liked the way it rolled off her tongue. Like silk, it flowed so seamlessly.

It took her a moment to acknowledge that the object of the blonde's stupefaction was awaiting some form of reception, and hopefully, unlike the last 'acknowledgment' that transpired between them. Mortified, Elsa paled and tucked her chin further into her chest and muttered, "T-that's a n-nice name." She paused and took a deep, reassuring breath, "Mine's Elsa."

The Spring Go—Anna, giggled. Giggled. Maybe it was out of pity, but it made Elsa giddy internally, stomach fluttering with newly born butterflies fleeting about, and virtually glow externally, her pale skin illuminating like the moon on a clear night. A shy smile curled at her lips.

"Yeah, I know, Agdar helped introduce you earlier."

Elsa wanted to groan, the sheeny moon now enshrouded by wispy, ominous clouds, plunging earth into inky darkness. Of course she wouldn't forget about their previous introduction and if what Anna stated is true, then her father in all likeliness said some incriminatingly embarrassing things.

Sucking in a breath, she sighed, "I-I want to . . . apologize for our earlier encounter. I s-should've handled it b-better."

Damn it, stop stuttering!

Withal, Anna furrowed her brows, adorkably confused, "What do you mean?"

She gulped, "I s-should've said hello, instead of scurrying off like I-I did."

In all honesty, Elsa was suspecting the other to laugh and agree with her; maybe make jabs and jokes about her cowardice, even still, she wasn't suspecting the gentle glimmer in teal orbs with a tiny chuckle. She almost started when Anna said, "Apology accepted. Though, I do think running into a stranger face-to-face is enough to make anyone flighty, especially one with a face like mine."

It was the blonde's turn to be baffled. "What do you mean?"

"Well," began Anna, tucking a stray hair behind her ear, and looked down to the floor, a blush igniting along her cheeks. "With my abundance of freckles, some people may think I'm a leopard or something."

"I'm not following."

Cyan eyes sprang up, quickly, and locked onto confused icy ones, which nervously flinted back down to combat boots. A mischievous smirk played along her bow-shaped lips. "You know," Anna's voiced lowered into a menacing purr, and it sent a bristle through the Goth. It was astoundingly sexy, oh so very sexy, as it dropped an octave and graveled out in rough riffs, something Elsa didn't know Anna was capable of. "A leopard. A large cat with dangerous features, prowling about on the African plains. Anyone would be scared if they come within in touching distance of the beast."

She sauntered over to the blonde, who stood shell-shocked as her eyes bulged from their sockets, tracing the redhead's legs for she couldn't bring herself to look up at the undeniably coquettish behavior. Once in arm's distance, Anna raised her palm up and curled her fingers in slightly, mimicking claws. Elsa knees nearly gave as she heard a raspy, "Rawr."

Or, at least that's what she thought she heard. She was too business trying not blatantly glower at the ginger's swaying her enticing hips as she neared, they were like a modern-day hypnotic spiral, only much more seemly and glorious to look at. They put James Braid to shame.

Anna's lilting voice shatter her hypnosis, however. "I can see why a little gazelle like you would dash away."

After hearing that, Elsa snapped her eyes up to meet hers, and it was then that Anna's mission was successful. Mouth agape, the blonde stared at her with a mutant of flabbergast and temperament. Anna didn't know which one was more prominent, either way both were just as cute.

Then, something snapped the Gothic Goddess out of her stupor, and like that, once Anna was chipping away at the wary, dark exterior, she recoiled. Something akin to panic flashed across her face so fast, the ginger almost had an incident of whiplash.

"Uh um yeah okay I um have to go." The words came out in such a rush that the other had to decipher it for moment before she realized that the blonde was scurrying away toward the hall.

A sense of dread filled her. "Did I say something wrong—"

"No, No!" Elsa shouted from across the room, one foot exiting the portrait chamber. How'd she got there so rapidly was lost on Anna. "I, um, have to work to do see you tomorrow!"

Yet, before she vanished into the shadowed corridor, on the brink of disappearing into the abyss called the mansion, she stopped and glanced over her shoulder at the wide-eyed and very bewildered Anna. The latter witnessed her stiffen and take an elongated intake of breath, and once she exhaled, turned, and gave her a tentative wave. Her fingers flexed slightly, timid and shifty. It was endearingly unsure in all of the best of ways. Anna resisted the urge to giggle, instead, she returned the gesture, less shy, more certain, making it accompany a goofy grin.

A flash of white entered Anna's vision, before the blonde morphed with the darkness (further cementing the assumption that she is, in fact, a Gothic Goddess to the restorer), leaving only a virtually floating, dazed ginger and the imprint of her brilliant smile in the younger girl's memory.

Goodbye, my little gazelle.

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. . . And there's another nickname. Honestly I have no idea where the leopard!Anna and gazelle!Elsa came from, but I digress (though I'm sure it'll be on Tumblr soon hahaha). The list of nicknames so far: Gothic Goddess, Spring Goddess, Redheaded Goddess, Personification of Spring, and now, my little gazelle. Hopefully there will be more, so you never know if this list will grow.

Anyways, on a more serious note, yes Elsa has anxiety in this story, though it may not be a major plot part in this story, it will be rearing its head once in a while. The reason for this is because most fics over look this aspect of her, and only depict her shy, timid side. I wanted to introduce it because canonly she does suffer from it (she also suffers from depression too, just fyi, but, however, not in this specific story).

And I say 'suffers' because many people do have this problem and it can be a detriment to your health. I, too, have suffered from this condition on multiple occasions, yet only sparsely (I mainly have attack when in school, which is coming up for so many people including myself, so this is important to you also if pressures get to you). Although I don't constantly have attacks, I know that many people have them REGULARLY and it's a challenge just to go out the house sometimes.

The scene in this chapter deviling in that aspect of Elsa's life, is actually depicting my own personal experience. It's different for everyone, but most have shortness of breath, light-headedness, giddiness and sweats. If you do periodically have attacks or have friends who have attacks please read the following tips:

(1) Breath. Take deep breaths. Inhale for around five to seven seconds and exhale from six to eight seconds. Repeat three to five times until your breathing gets back to normal and the attack subsides.

(2) Don't coddle. If you have a friend or family member, DON'T try to restrain or go near them. I can't stress this enough. THEY ARE PANICKING. That means rationale is out the widow and they will try to get away and/or fight back. If possible try to get them to do the breathing tactics above and talk TO them, not AT them.

(3) Don't shame. If friend/family member is uncomfortable and they want to get away, then let them, but don't give them the guilt trip. This will not help them. They are dealing with a major condition that plagues them, it is not of their control. Be supportive instead.

(4) Count to 30. Like the breathing exercises, this helps the brain deal solely on one thing and it focuses on something simple. Preferably, say a word in between counting (i.e. "1, Mississippi, 2, Mississippi . . .)

(5) Talk to someone. I cannot stress this enough. Talk about what is making you anxious (usually before an actual attack, but not all of us are this lucky). Reach out for help in a reliable friend or family member. If you are on the flip side, listen to what they have to say.

Those are some simple things that can go a long way if you or a person you know has anxiety. If you have any other tips to add along to this list please tell me, I can add them on.

Remember, anxiety is something you can't control, because something in your life is out of control. It is a serious condition. Don't make fun of, shame, or get angry with a person who has this condition. It's not something to joke about. And it is REAL, not something people make up (this also goes for depression, most people don't understand that it is a physical condition as well as mental).

Also, if you do have anxiety and have no one to go to my PM box is ALWAYS OPEN. This also goes for any other conditions whether it be depression, OCD, or just everyday stress/problems such as family troubles or bullying.

Besides the serious matter, I hope you liked this chapter. It was fun to write despite the late update. Looking forward to starting on the next, since it will introduce Elsa's mother. Oh, the joy.

Until then, keep READING, keep REVIEWING.