The Meet Cute From Hell

There was something marvelous about libraries. Maleficent felt that books were humankind's one saving grace, and vast semi-organized collections of books were better still. Perhaps it was the seductive allure of so much knowledge in one place, or maybe it was the fact that the rows and rows of silent bookshelves reminded her a little of her various homes in the forest, giving her a security she'd still not yet managed to build after living in Fortuna for two years.

Whatever the reason, Maleficent spent her days tucked away in the reference section of the Fortuna Public Library, commandeering an armchair and two to three small tables for herself as she hunted fact and theory. It was peaceful, for few people had the gall to stop and stare at the stately green woman as she thumbed through the musty tomes. The Library was the one place where she couldn't be treated like a second class citizen.

If she was diligent and kept her head steady on her shoulders, Maleficent was confident she could use the information offered by the Library to make sure none of her kind were considered second class ever again.

Eventually; today the shelves had not yielded the ancient census records she'd been looking for, and all the books mentioning the mythical city of Midian were at best sparing in their lore. Her luck had been very poor in both cases this past week, and the Queen of the Disbanded Unseelie Courts was starting to feel a little discouraged.

Just a little, mind you.

Presently Maleficent was ensconced in her customary chair, her long legs tucked under her and a record of the full history of Ireland propped up in her lap. By way of stress relief, Maleficent had spent the last hour and a half amusedly reading through the human accounts of the great events of that beloved land and meticulously correcting every misconception in red ink. Normally she found it almost physically painful to mark the pages of books in ink, especially an old beauty like this one, but in this case she could make an exception. She had been present at the Easter Uprising of 1916, and could recall events going a little differently, thank-you-very-much.

Vaguely the Unseelie woman became aware of a sharp pain in her neck and knees, and with relief she hefted the history off her lap and stretched like a cat, blood rushing back to her toes as she stood. It was almost disgusting, how little she'd accomplished. She was attempting to build a case for her new organization, and she wouldn't have a leg to stand on if she didn't have documented proof of longstanding and sustained discrimination against persons of dark alignment.

Of course, with those fools reigning high in the Council of Heroes, it was very likely she wouldn't have a leg to stand on anyway.

She sighed, massaged her temples. Her mind was scattered, a disconcerting feeling, and she resolved to collect herself and soldier on. Maleficent was a warrior and a magician by birth and upbringing, and her mind was at its most efficient when there were clear objectives to be obtained. A plan, a strategy, some sort of direction…

"The wisdom of Sun-tzu is in order, I think." She muttered to herself, and the Fae set off towards the S section. She wasn't particularly religious, not even when it came to Mother Danu, but if pressed Maleficent would likely admit that The Art of War was her equivalent to a holy text. On the battlefield and off, she found it to be an extremely useful book.

She found the appropriate shelf and scanned the titles, her elegant hand hovering in anticipation. She could hear shuffling on the other side of the row and paid it no mind; the less time spent making inane small talk with her fellow visitors, the happier she would be.

"Ah!"

At last she spied the crimson spine of Sun-tzu's masterpiece, and with her spirits already lifting Maleficent reached out to tip the book down.

Or tried to. She met with resistance, as though something- or someone- were holding the book back. From the opposite side of the row she heard a growl of frustration from the other browser.

Maleficent scowled. The nerve of some plebeians.

There was an eye-level gap in the books not far from the silent battle, and with her fingers still clamped around The Art of War Maleficent leaned over to peer through to the other side, preparing to lay into the interloper-

And found herself staring into eyes so dark and deep that it was like drowning, and suddenly it seemed to her as though all the air had been taken from the room. Maleficent felt that she recognized something familiar in this other, and that she in turn was recognized.

Unthinking, every inch of skin tingling, she released her grip on the book just as the other released theirs and together they darted to the end of the row. They met before a potted plant, man and woman, human and Fae, and they both knew in their bones that this was possibly the most important meeting of their lives.

The Unseelie Queen took in her companion and found herself pleased by his physical appearance; dark skinned and dark eyed, bearded and tall, a few inches taller than her, but no muscle bound idiot prince. He possessed an air of keen, cultured intelligence as well as barely concealed disdain for most other life forms. He was proud, he was cunning, and he evidently was as much a scholar as she.

Vaguely, the Faery wondered what he saw when he looked at her.

Maleficent stared at the man and he stared back, seemingly awestruck by her. She thought it would be prudent to speak, but found that her word-horde stood empty.

"Hello." Her fellow scholar said, never once taking his eyes from hers. His voice was low and smooth, and the very sound of it sent a delighted shiver down Maleficent's back. In that moment the Unseelie Queen became painfully aware of how shabby and approachable she looked, and her hand unconsciously jumped to the back of her head where her hair was knotted and skewered carelessly with pencils.

Din and damnation.

"Hello." She replied at last, sounding calmer than she actually felt. "We seem to have the same quarry, don't we?" She gestured back to where The Art of War jutted from its place, her interest in it suddenly lost. The stranger didn't even glance at the book.

"Yes, it seems we do." He murmured. They contented themselves with just looking at one another for a moment more, still trying to set their minds in order. Eventually, the man cleared his throat and bowed low at the waist to her.

"Forgive me my rudeness, my lady. I am Jafar Rahal, formerly the Grand Vizier of Agrabah, now but a humble magical engineer. Who might you be?"

"Greetings, Master Rahal. I am Maleficent MacMorrigan, High Queen of the currently scattered Unseelie Courts, though at this point in time I am something of a political activist."

"I had thought you were some sort of royal; there's something in your bearing. It is an honor to meet you, Majesty." Jafar intoned, and Maleficent smiled in approval.

"Would you care to sit with me? I am very interested in getting to know you, and I do not think I'm wrong in thinking the feeling is mutual."

Without hesitation he fell into step beside her, and the two quietly exchanged more information about one another as they wove through the shelves. Jafar knew he should perhaps pay closer attention to where he was walking –he'd already nearly knocked some hapless student off a ladder to their doom- but found he couldn't look away from Maleficent. He wondered if all people felt this way around a powerful member of the Fair Folk (how aptly named they were!), but knew that wasn't the case. Many Fae were beautiful like Maleficent, and some may have even come close to matching her in power…but they were not her.

This strange draw he felt had everything to do with Maleficent's wolfish smile and her regal voice and how she gestured with those beautiful hands as she spoke. It had everything to do with her eyes, and what he saw in them.

They settled themselves in Maleficent's secluded corner, not noticing that other library patrons were casting them wary looks and giving the area a wide berth. They were in a world that contained only them and the words they shared. Together they spoke of their previous lives, what had compelled them to come to the City, what it was to be a villain in a land ruled by the Heroic. Maleficent was delighted to learn that Jafar was fairly proficient with magic and privately resolved to help him reach his full might in the coming days.

He made her feel strange, though she didn't find these new emotions unpleasant. His presence set her on edge, breathless and alert and happier than she'd been in many decades. His voice thrilled her, and for once it was a pleasure to listen to a human talk. She mentioned her work on behalf of their fellow villains, and he understood. He understood everything.

And also he had very nice hands. Large, but with long tapering fingers. Somehow this made her ridiculously happy.

The sun had sunk below the horizon and the moon ascended to Her heavenly throne before the two former villains lapsed into a comfortable silence, happy to watch each other in the silvery light flooding in from the windows.

Jafar, in any other situation, would have felt stupid of just staring like some slack-jawed idiot, but felt it was justified here. By Allah, she was beautiful…

"I was wondering, Majesty, if you would grant me the honor of taking you to dinner some time."

The technomage clamped his jaw shut and patiently waited for her to electrocute him. Maleficent arched one black brow high and smirked.

"A bold request to make of a woman you've just met. Impertinent, even."

"I mean no disrespect, of course, but I see no reason why we should waste time; I intend to court you." Jafar stated plainly. He had all the appearances of a calm, collected man, but Maleficent could hear his heart hammering wildly in his chest. She very nearly purred.

"Courtship? My, my, going a bit fast, aren't we? From what I've come to understand of mortal society, shouldn't we be friends before we start courting?" she drawled. The Arabian sorcerer made an impatient gesture, his brow furrowed.

"As I said before, I see no reason why we should waste time on foolish social mores; I am not yet sure exactly what it is that I want from you, but I know that mere friendship would never satisfy me. Now; my intentions are laid bare. I leave the outcome in your hands, my Queen."

Outwardly Maleficent was sensual magnificence personified. Inwardly, her inner lust-addled adolescent was bouncing up and down and squealing joyfully. Quashing the urge to succumb to the same idiotic display, Maleficent dislocated her inner adolescent's jaw and pitched her down a mental staircase. She was over a thousand years old, for Danu's sake; she would handle this situation delicately and with poise and restraint.

"I would love to accompany you. Is tomorrow evening too sudden?"

There was irony in there somewhere, but Maleficent was too giddy to care. For his part, Jafar looked as though Maleficent had handed him all the secrets of the known Universe on silver platter.

"You…you would? Go out with me?" he asked, eyes wide. She considered tossing out a sarcastic little barb, but instead flushed a darker shade of green and offered a small smile.

"Yes."