A/N: This was written for Resbang 2017. Thanks go to my betas, Sahdah, Sand, Laura, and Yulie for their eyes, and to my wonderful artists, Rogha and Sahdah. Their amazing art can be found linked on my tumblr page! Cover image is by Sahdah.

There is light, that's the first thing. And noise-so much noise. Angry, wild, unnatural. She opens her eyes to find the light is a blazing beam shining down on her amidst the darkness, and then there is a loud screeching, then blaring as she stands up, dazed. Lights are barreling towards her at breakneck pace, but they halt as the screeching does, and then there's silence.

Maka blinks at the lights, at the metallic yellow beast that has stopped before her, eyes glowing brightly in the dark of the night around her.

Drawing her blade, for surely this monster can mean her no good, she eyes it warily.

What is this strange place? Everything has too much texture, too much shine, too much brightness. Her mind is fuzzy, hazy, and she can't quite remember how she got here or why.

There is a loud creaking, the stomping of feet atop the strange, hard, dark surface on which they stand, then a man appears, backlit by the eyes of the beast. With odd clothing, a chin shadowed in what must be stubble, his lips twisted into what she's fairly sure is a scowl, Maka cannot decide if he's friend or foe in her upcoming battle against the currently dormant metallic monster.

"What the fuck lady? This ain't no goddamn renaissance festival. Get the hell outta the road!"

"I-road?" She blinks a second time. His tone is hostile, but he has no weapon, makes no move to attack, and his words are strange.

"Yeah, the thing you're standin' in the middle of, ya moron. You were almost meat, lucky for both of us I didn't hit ya, insurance woulda been through the fuckin' roof. Now get outta the way so I can move the damn car and get on with the night. Got a fare waiting."

"Car-uh-" she shakes her head. "But do you not fear the yellow beast? I would gladly help you slay it." She gestures towards the metal giant with her blade.

"Look lady, I don't know what kinda shrooms you ate at whatever geekfest you rolled out of, but you 'slay' my cab and I'll have your ass in jail faster than you can say Hogwarts. Now outta the goddamn way before I call the cops and ruin both our nights."

"I-" Maka shakes her head again. She's not stupid-she's put together that the yellow thing belongs to him, somehow, and is called a 'car' or a 'cab'-but it still doesn't make sense.

Dazed, she nods and walks away from the man, hitting some sort of raised white surface connected to the black one that must comprise the road he accused her of being in the middle of. Now that her eyes have adjusted, the black surface does appear to be some kind of path. Strange.

Even stranger, she hears a loud slam followed by an odd rumbling sound, then her eyes go wide as the yellow monster rolls by. Where legs might be it has wheels, and it fades off into the night, bright red lights on the rear the only sign of its passing.

So it's not a monster, she thinks, but some sort of-magical carriage?

Where has the witch sent her?

Hearing footsteps, Maka sees a stranger approach down the white path that borders the road. He wears some kind of knit hat and dark clothing, hands stuffed in pockets. She can make out little else as he looks her up and down, shakes his head wordlessly, then climbs nearby steps into a tall building made of stacked brick. Actually, as she looks around, she notices countless tall buildings hemming her in like some sort of canyon. It is odd and disconcerting. There's a haze of lightness surrounding everything even in the dark of night, even with the starless sky above.

Sighing, unsure where to go or what to do, she slides against the same brick building the man had disappeared into and sits on the hard, dirty ground.

Where has the witch sent her?

The witch. That's right, she hired a witch. To… To…

Kim, her name is Kim-a so-called "good witch," with bright pink hair and a predatory smile. The witch had told her that her memories might be hazy once she sent her away, sent her to a place where she couldn't be found.

Wanting to run far and fast-Maka remembers that part, too. And the overwhelming anger; at her papa with his red hair and his tears, at her mama long fled, at anyone and everyone, and especially at that smarmy prince.

As her eyes begin to flutter closed, heavy with the exhaustion of night and her journey and a deep, unsettling confusion, the memories flood back under the thick, impenetrable veil of sleep.

She sat up to see an unfamiliar face leering down at her. Smug. Self-satisfied.

"Who-where?"

Maka looked around. She was in an unfamiliar room, one full of light, frilly things and nonsense. She felt like she just got hit by a carriage, bruised and exhausted.

"Ah, Princess Maka, worry not for you are quite safe with me. I am Prince Ox from the land of Ford, your rescuer. For indeed, I have vanquished the dragon and bestowed upon you your first kiss to break the curse and win your hand."

"C...curse? And-my hand? And, wait, Kiss? What in the nine hells do you speak of?"

The man before her, well dressed in well-crafted armor, with a bright blue tabard and an ornately pommeled sword sheathed at his hip, pursed his lips in distaste at that. His hair was brown and perfectly coiffed but for two odd spikes, one on each side, and his face was adorned with shiny spectacles.

"Do not trouble your-" he paused, looking her over "-pretty head about such trivial things, my love. It is for me to worry over important matters and you, as a proper princess, to worry only for your smile and your song."

Maka scowled, she could feel the expression marring her features, because who was this utter twit?

A throat cleared and she swiveled her head. Another man in far more worn armor stood off to the side, his brown hair in a practical bun. He stood leaning slightly against a long spear, dark with blood, the visor of his odd half helmet shadowing his eyes. The thing only covered the part of his head over his forehead and ears, leaving room for his hair to peek out from the top. Maka marveled that it stayed on at all.

"I think, Highness," the man interjected. "That it might be a mercy to explain the situation to your betrothed, seeing that her father, the King of Albarn, informed you she had been kept in ignorance of the curse in hopes to avert it."

At least this one seemed more reasonable, but the deep, drawn out sigh her first rescuer let out in response did nothing to endear this Prince Ox fellow to her as he met her gaze, exasperation clear in his beady, bespectacled eyes. He wasn't exactly her image of the ideal prince. Then again, her image of the ideal prince included one who remained far, far away from her at all times.

"Yes, well. Might I sit, Princess?" He gestured to the bed, to the small space near where she herself sat, and Maka shrugged her indifference.

There was a small meow and a black form jumped up on Maka's lap to hiss at the Prince.

"Blair!" Maka squealed, happy to see her favorite pet and, really, closest friend once again. "You're here! But how? And what's going on?"

Blair didn't respond, just curled up in her lap and purred, casting narrowed yellow eyes in Prince Ox's general direction.

"On second thought." He wrinkled his nose in distaste. "I think I'll stand. Ah, alright then. Since the sun grows high in the sky and we've a long journey ahead, the short version. Upon your birth, there was a witch called Medusa who had once been an-" Ox began to look uncomfortable, clenching and unclenching the hand resting on his pommel "-uh friend-of your father's."

A cough interrupted from the retainer standing off to the side, one that suspiciously sounded like it contained the words "Ex-lover." Prince Ox glared towards the man for an instant before resuming his tale.

"In any case, the witch Medusa was displeased at not receiving an invitation to your royal christening, so after the other witches and fairies of the realm had bestowed blessings upon your birth, she and her sisters arrived to bestow a curse, triple wrought and unbreakable. One cursed you to never be happy in this realm. Another cursed you to ever be haunted by your past. But it was Medusa's curse that sealed your fate, for she wove a spell that would see you bitten by a vicious snake upon your twenty-first birthday, never more to awaken. And that might have been the end of your fate had not one mysterious witch arrived late to alter the curse. Claiming to be your fairy godmother, the witch used her blessing to change your fate, speaking that you would, indeed, sleep for all time unless one of royal blood passed through the trials she set to bestow upon you your first kiss." Suddenly, the prince fell to his knee, clasping the hand not currently occupied stroking Blair, who hissed her protest. Steadfastly ignoring the angry animal on her lap, the prince continued. "And so I have done. And so you have been rescued, and now, by your father's decree, we are to wed-is it not glorious, my own, my beloved?"

Stifling the urge to scowl again, both at his proclamation and his presence, Maka took in a calming breath. It's not that she wasn't grateful, because she was certainly glad not to be unconscious for eternity-though it did make her her rather unhappy to hear that her mouth had been violated without her express permission while she slept. Still, even she could admit the necessity in this case, however distasteful. But she was also furious at having been lied to all her life. Furious at her parents, at their retainers, at everyone and everything. How dare they. It was her life, her life.

And to be wed to a man she'd never met? She had no wish to marry anyone, let alone a stranger, yet her father had the audacity, the sheer nerve to promise her against her will? Well, she had a thing or two to say about that when they arrived safely back in Albarn.

"Yes, well, I thank you for your kindness and-service, Prince Ox, and when we return to the kingdom, I am sure you will be most handsomely rewarded. Shall we be on our way, then?"

"Yes, of course my love! Let us go-on a journey!"

Oh no. No no no no no. She felt the air shift even before the disembodied music began and knew, knew he was about to sing.

"For love's first journey is a time when both of us will sing. Both will laugh and both will smile upon this lovely spring!"

Prince Ox looked to her then to join the song as a duet, but she crossed her arms and shook her head. Instead of taking the hint to stop, however, he danced over to fling open the one stained glass window in the tower, and birds fluttered in, chirping merrily.

"And birds will fly and chirp and cheer to echo our sweet song. And all the people in the land

will dance and sing along!"

Another look, another headshake, a hiss from Blair, and Ox took up a broom to dance with instead.

"Our dance will start as we begin, the road before us long, but as we laugh and dance and play,

the world will be our song!"

Dancing her way and tossing the broom to the side, he held out a hand to her in silent expectation. Sighing, she took it. The quicker this was done, the quicker they could just leave already. Maka scowled as he twirled her clumsily then pulled her with him.

"So as our new love starts to grow, that budded in the spring, let our journey now begin

with joy of which we sing!"

The music swelled to the last crescendo, and the birds fluttered around them as they exited, first out of the room then down the many winding steps of whatever tall tower she had been holed up in. Maka was just grateful one hadn't managed to leave a gift on her the same way several had on Ox's shoulders. Princes are really not meant to summon wildlife in their song, but some had to learn the hard way, she supposed.

They passed a rather sad looking two-headed purple and black dragon on the way out, and Maka was fairly certain it was still breathing faintly. Well, good. Most dragons were docile enough creatures unless disturbed, and she had no wish for one to perish in her name.

Even better, there were three horses waiting for them at the base of what she could now see from the outside was a tall, fat, crooked tower, which meant a swift journey home. Perfect. She could already tell that minimal time spent with her rescuer would be preferable.

Turning to introduce herself to their third companion, for neither he nor the prince had bothered, Maka was about to speak when the Prince suddenly said,

"Hey-hey! Wake up! You can't sleep-shit, you're freezing. And soaked. Shit."

The voice was too deep for the prince, but there it was. What?

"Hey!" The prince repeated, voice still wrong, and he was shaking her shoulder. What was this? Why would he…? Her confusion was palpable. This was all off somehow, so desperately wrong. "Well, I guess it can't be helped," the deep voice coming from the prince said with a sigh and then he was scooping her up, hands warm and strong as they held her and carried her towards the horses.

"Wha-"

And then her eyelids fluttered and her world went white.

Eyes flying open, the first thing Maka sees is the blinding light of the sun, so high in the sky it's visible over the canyon of structures overhead, even mostly surrounded by thick gray clouds. A dream. She had been dreaming. Relief floods her at the realization, followed by the sharp pang of regret because the dream was also a memory, and while her mind is still fuzzy, that memory is now clear.

Including the fact that the end of the dream was just wrong. Ox hadn't scooped her up like that, and why is she on her back, and what is this-warmth? She shifts her eyes, realizing she's being jostled, realizing she's suddenly out of the sun, realizing that there's a face swimming in her vision that is not familiar.

Who? And what?

There's a strange ding, followed by an odd whooshing sound, and Maka screams, scrambling out of the hold of the man who carries her to fall straight on her rear. She scoots backward and springs to her feet in an instant, pointing as she reaches for her sword. It's gone, along with her pack, though her small satchel thankfully remains on her belt. Desperate, she fishes a hand inside to find her journal and brandishes it menacingly, whacking him hard on the head before dancing back further.

"Unhand me, you ruffian!" she shrieks loudly.

The man growls at her and clutches his head for an instant, clearly confused, before his face goes blank and he shrugs. "I'd say you're unhanded, and I was just trying to help-stupidly, I should add, because what the fuck was that?"

"I don't need help," Maka seethes. Looking him up and down, she realizes she vaguely recognizes him as the man she had seen enter the building last night. In the odd light of-wherever they are, a small metallic room that is-moving?-she can see that he has changed clothes into some sort of cotton shirt with writing and designs along with dark blue trousers that look worn and faded. His clothing is decidedly odd, but it's his face that makes her startle-wild white hair, red eyes, and as she waves the book again menacingly, his grimace reveals unnaturally sharp teeth. "Especially not from some sort of-demon!"

His short bark of laughter is humorless, and Maka can't help but note the hurt that crosses his face.

"Yeah, demon who pulls hung over crazies out of the cold." He sighs, and there's a ding. Odd metal doors slide open with another whoosh and he's backing out, hands up and spread. "Look, if you don't want my help, go back down the elevator and leave. Sorry I bothered you, seriously. You were just alone and freezing and wouldn't wake up, and I thought you needed help. My bad. Won't happen again. Have a nice life."

"Ele-vator?" She blinks at him, following him out the odd doors into a large, bright space. It's some sort of open room, with oversized windows on one wall. There's strange looking furniture, and a large piano forte off in one corner. Maka still can't get over how odd everything looks, so detailed and shiny and full. Shaking her head to shake off the disorientation, she meets red eyes narrowed skeptically.

"Yeah, you know, that thing we were just in? Goes up and down?"

"Oh, um-" Come to think of it, she is cold. And wet. And maybe he had been trying to help. Maybe.

A wave of dizziness hits her, the newness of it all making her head spin, and Maka begins to shiver. She has to-to-she doesn't even know. The witch had said it might take time to adjust to her surroundings. Maybe this is what she'd meant? It all looks so off, so wrong, and she's cold, she's freezing, but she's sweating and her head feels like it's on fire. She realizes her vision is growing hazy, the world tilting dangerously. She needs to get out and fast.

"I-if you show me how this-elevator-works, I'll just be-"

The man steps closer, concerned red eyes swimming unsteadily in her quickly fading vision.

"-going," she manages to finish before she feels her knees buckle, before she feels warm arms catch her, before the darkness takes her.

The bed beneath her is soft and warm, that's her first thought as her consciousness begins to drift to the surface. She'd like to sleep longer, much longer, but somewhere buried within her mind, Maka knows that's a terrible idea, so she forces her eyes open reluctantly, grateful that the room is shadowed. She's not sure her throbbing head can take the light just yet.

Hadn't the witch said she would be disoriented, that her head might spin for some time after?

The witch. A fuzzy memory surfaces, head still stuffed with cotton. Kimael Diehl, so called "Good Witch of the North," also well known as one who will perform mystical feats for money. Things like sending a desperate princess Far, Far Away from where anyone would think to follow, to where no one could follow without enlisting their own magical aid.

Apparently that's-here. Maka still doesn't know where here is, really. Wherever it is, everything looks different, more textured, more vibrant somehow though also less vibrant in ways she can't quite put her finger on. It's weird, this place, though not in a bad way. Just so very different.

Anyway, it really doesn't much matter to her where here is as long as it's very far from her betrothed. As long as Maka can live life as she pleases and not be forced into a so-called "happily ever after" with a man she barely knows and doesn't much like, she's content. As long as she can make her own way without the false promises of love and marriage and other such nonsense, then the witch has kept her end of the bargain.

Shifting herself to a sitting position because nature is calling, and quite urgently at that, she takes in her surroundings. She's in a bed, one with soft linens in a dark, cool shade she can't quite make out in the half light. The walls are a lighter color, though she's not sure which-a pale yellow, maybe-and there are a few paintings hung about full of people and flowers. It's a pretty space, she thinks, if the lace curtains are anything to go by. There are some sort of coverings beneath the curtains she's less familiar with, and Maka sees no candles, so with a small sigh, she throws off the covers and pads over to the window.

The window covering doesn't have a string, so she pushes the stiff fabric to one side to peer outside. It is still day, and the street is occupied. More of the strange carriages roll by in every color imaginable, and people hurry past on the street far below. The window is high up, so she cannot see them well, but there is no lack of movement in this strange place.

Where is she?

Maka remembers the road last night, the carriage, the angry man. She remembers the white path and the brick building she had finally rested against, and she remembers-ah, the odd man who had taken her. He must have placed her here; that's the only thing that makes sense. Well, her dress is dirty from her time in the elements but still intact, so maybe he had wanted to help.

The call of nature becoming painfully urgent, Maka steps back from the feast of activity the window affords and turns around. There must be a chamber pot in here somewhere, or perhaps a close stool, that would be preferable.

More light would help, but there are no candles in sight either, though she does spot something that looks like a lamp on the night table. She sees no wick, however, nor any lighting mechanism, so with a sigh, she peruses the room among the shadows. There's furniture, but no box for a close stool, certainly. Maybe there's a chamber pot under the bed? Squatting low and lifting aside the thick coverlet, she fishes around with a hand. Nothing. Repeating the motion on the other side, it's the same.

Perhaps there's a closet off the main boudoir for the stool?

There are three doors. Surely the one opposite the window leads to the main house, but the others might conceal what she seeks. Maka approaches the door nearest the window and tries the handle. It's not locked, so she pushes inward and is instantly hit by light streaming in from the frosted but uncurtained glass. It's not painful, having just been at the other window, but only just, her head still aching and sore.

Looking around, the room appears to be some sort of bathing chamber. There is a bathing tub, claw foot, with a curtain pushed to one side clearly meant to go around it. There is an odd sort of fixed wash basin with a mirror mounted above, along with a second wash basin, also mounted and oddly low to the ground, already half filled with water. Maka is tempted to freshen up in the smaller basin, but nature's call has become almost unbearable and there is still no close stool in sight, so she rushes out to the other door that might offer what she seeks.

The second door opens to a tiny room with a hanging rod and some shelves. A magical light attached to the ceiling flares to life as the door swings inward, and while Maka is impressed with such an innovation, she has no time to marvel as there is still neither chamber pot nor close stool in sight.

The bathing tub is sounding highly tempting at this point, but however reluctant a princess she might be, she has some dignity, curse it all, so her options have been whittled down to one.

Clearly, she will have to try the interior door and seek her rescuer, facing the utter mortification of asking after the close stool.

To hell with this strange, backward place. What type of boudoir contains not even so much as a chamber pot?

With a laden sigh, Maka closes the door to the storage closet and moves to the interior door. The moment she opens it, she notices music, drifting over from somewhere nearby. It sounds like piano forte, a deep, dark, haunting melody. Is the strange man playing, or is he hosting some sort of gathering? She's certainly not fit for company; her dress is looking practically ragged, and the dirt smudge she'd caught on her forehead in the looking glass that had hung in the odd bathing closet is entirely unprincesslike. While Maka has never much cared about such propriety, she figures she ought to at least try to make a good impression while still so unfamiliar with her surroundings.

However, not wetting herself is becoming far and away her most urgent priority, so company or not, she makes her way down a broad hall lit by more magical ceiling lights like the one in the storage closet, drifting towards the sound.

The melody is swelling, reaching some sort of crescendo as Maka herself reaches an open door not terribly far from the one she's only just left. Inside is a room dominated by a black piano forte, the walls, the floor, all else white and stark. The man who plays has his back to her, the piano facing the windows, but the white hair hints it is the man who had carried her before. Leaning against the door frame lightly, she waits, swept up by his playing. He hits a final swell before it goes soft, quiet, drifting off into oblivion like a last word, a final breath. It's sad. Poignant. Maka almost forgets how urgent her own need really is. Almost.

As the sound trails into silence, she claps politely, her deeply ingrained sense of etiquette kicking in suddenly and forcefully, and the white-haired man shoots up from the small bench on which he sits so suddenly that it clatters to the white marble floor as he whirls to face her, red faced and wide eyed.

"You scared the shit out of me!" he accuses from where he stands beyond the felled piano bench.

"I am sorry," Maka says immediately. Nature still calls most persistently, and as there is no party, only her odd self proclaimed rescuer, she would see to that first. "I was seeking you and couldn't help but to overhear. You are very skilled."

"So you-liked it?"

She manages an enthusiastic nod. "Yes, very well. It was really quite beautiful, but also very sad."

The man looks at her for a long moment then nods slowly.

It's awkward, the silence that follows, but Maka doesn't have time for such things, so she speaks into the pause.

"I-I apologize for the impropriety of this request, but I could find no close stool in the chambers where I awoke and was hoping you might advise me as to where one might be found within this dwelling."

Years of courtly etiquette help make the request that tiniest bit less embarrassing. That is until he blinks at her like she's instead just requested that he serve her the moon for breakfast.

"Close stool? I mean, if you need to sit, I know there's a couple reading chairs in the room." He's eying her thoughtfully, carefully, "Honestly, with how bad you looked, I didn't expect you'd be up yet, so you could also just go back to sleep. I swear I won't bug you. Door locks if you're worried."

Wait, does he think she wants to rest?

"I thank you for the offered hospitality, but I'm not tired. I do, however, need-I mean, surely there must be a chamber pot somewhere?"

Nevermind asking for the moon, now he looks as though she's requested the sun itself, slack jawed and wide-eyed like he thinks she's gone mad.

"Chamber-pot?"

Is it the very idea she might need one that proves so offensive? It is a breach of etiquette to ask, but in an unfamiliar place with not so much as a chambermaid to be found, what else is to be expected?

Well, in for a penny in for a pound.

"Yes, or better, a close stool. I fear I must heed nature's call and only apologize for the necessity of asking, for it has become rather urgent."

"Nature's…" He still looks confused. "You mean you have to go to the bathroom?"

"Bath-room? No, I do not require a bath, I-"

"No." He waves a dismissive hand, interrupting. "I mean-you have to go, right?"

"I-of course I will leave if you wish it, but it would be a small mercy to allow me use of a chamber pot first."

And then, he's laughing. He's laughing. She's frantic, she just may soil her skirts, and he somehow finds that humorous? Furious and desperate, Maka balls a hand into a fist, and as his laughter echoes, she lashes out, lunging forward to sock him on the arm, hard.

"Seriously, what the fuck is wrong with you?" he says as he rubs his arm, eying her warily.

"I have to relieve myself and the chamber in which I awoke contains no close stole," she practically shrieks, then gulping in a breath, continues more calmly, fist still clenched. "I may use your bathing tub in desperation if you refuse to aid me."

He bites down, curiously sharp teeth poking his lip. It's easy enough to see he's choking down laughter, but at this point, if it yields answers, she doesn't care.

"Yeah, I-" a sucked in breath, another bite to the lip. "Got it. Just. Follow." And then he's off in his strange, torn blue pants and tunic printed with an odd design.

Following closely, because what choice does she really have, he leads her back to the chamber in which she had awoken. So there had been a chamber pot hidden within! And she had looked so diligently, too. Feeling even more embarrassed, Maka continues to follow as he makes his way to the odd bathing chamber and stops just at the doorway, gesturing.

"The bathroom, milady." The man is grinning like he just found Xanadu and she wants to throttle him.

Maka stifles a scream, grits her teeth, and growls out, "I know where the bathing chamber is, but I require a close stool-at minimum a chamberpot-" she pauses, because a horrifying, absolutely mortifying thought occurs to her "-or perhaps-" her brow wrinkles, her anger deflating "-you really do answer nature's call within your bathing vessel?"

"Bathing-" his own brow furrows, and then he laughs again, though he also looks mildly horrified himself amidst the amusement. "Oh fuck no, you think I shit in the bathtub? It's almost like you've never seen a damn toilet."

"Toy-lit? I don't-"

His smile fades and he looks something like frustrated as a hand sweeps through the back of his hair. "Yeah, toilet. Like a-like a chamber pot, I guess. Look."

Hesitantly, and with no small amount of squirming, she approaches the doorway and he gestures to the odd, low wash basin. She feels her face go hot. That's-that's a close stool? If so, it's the oddest one Maka's ever seen, and she had nearly-had nearly-

Her stomach turns, but there is nothing within to come up anyway, so she nods her understanding and is happy to see he's not such a fool as to stay where he has no place as he makes a quick beeline for the chamber door. "I'll just be in the hall," he mumble-grumbles over his shoulder before shutting the main chamber door just as Maka is herself nearly slamming the door to the bathing chamber and maneuvering her skirts, eying the odd close stool skeptically. Well, it seems as though it should work. And it's not like she has many options.

It turns out it's quite sufficient to performing her business, and she sighs in relief as it is done. There are no rags for cleaning herself after, but there is some sort of odd paper on a roll next to the-toy-lit he had called it-so she assumes these soft papers are meant for freshening. She only wishes she might freshen the rest of herself, but with the basin empty, Maka has no chance, so she closes the lid of the strange close stool. Leaving the bathing chamber, she wonders how the maids manage to empty it since it seems quite fixt to the ground, and laments her lack of a way to cleanse her hands as she continues on to the door that will lead out of the sleeping chamber and back to the hall.

At least she is no longer in desperate straits and can speak more productively with this stranger who has seemingly taken her in for the moment. Perhaps she might even learn more about this odd world the witch has sent her to.

Yes, the witch, of course.

Her memory is so much clearer now, and the bargain she had struck comes back in force. So this is what she had meant when she said, "it might not be what you expect." Kim had a reputation for being able to solve any problem-for a price. In Maka's case, she had plenty of means, and the magic mirror and large sack of jewels she had offered up for a way out of her impending marriage had been a small price to pay. They were mere baubles, the legacy of the heritage she is trying so desperately to escape.

The little cottage had been so neat and trim it might have belonged to a virtuous woodcutter's daughter destined to marry a prince rather than a known witch, but Kim is a good witch and they tend to keep things on the level. Her bubblegum pink hair and odd clothing had been Maka's first tip off that she was a bit-odd-but odd could be good in such cases. Odd often came with power, and the power to change an undesirable destiny was what Maka had been seeking so desperately.

Opening the door in an unusual sort of short dress, the witch had grinned at her broadly.

"Ah, Princess Maka of Albarn, yes? I've been expecting you!"

"You-have?"

"Sure have!" She had ushered Maka in, chewing on something incessantly before blowing an odd pink bubble out of her mouth and letting it pop before chewing some more. "I wouldn't be a witch worth the price if I wasn't, and trust me, I don't come cheap. Now. Have a seat-Jackie here will get us some tea while we have a bit of a chat."

Jackie, it turned out, was a tall, dark-haired woman wearing a rather dull looking gray dress, with her hair in a pony tail. Maka had envied her at once; the dress and hair looked entirely serviceable compared to her own ridiculous, elaborate gown and hairdo. She hadn't had time to really do anything about her attire, had simply stuffed some stolen clothes-a maid's dress and one of the male servant's outfits-into a bag along with other necessaries and sped away as far and fast as she could on her father's horse.

"Ah, don't mind Jackie-she's paying off her debt. Little trouble with some trolls in her homeland she needed the power to drive off, nothing you need worry yourself over."

The witch had settled herself on an inviting cushioned chair, gesturing to the chaise opposite for Maka to sit on. Settling her skirts, the princess had taken the proffered seat and offered the strange witch a tilt of the head, questioning.

"Now, then," the witch began. "You have a problem?"

For all she had sat down roughly, the witch looked almost dainty with her leg crossed, chin thoughtfully in one hand, attention completely on Maka.

"No, I've come for tea and a chat." It was probably dangerous to speak so flippantly to a witch, but Maka had been exhausted from the journey, far too exhausted to engage with the obvious and very nearly beyond caring. Sighing as Kim merely raised her eyebrows, Maka then continued. "I suppose you'll need the whole story. Fair enough. For the past few years, up until a few days ago, I was asleep. In a tower."

"Ah, the curse. Bellamore wasn't nearly thorough enough with the remedy for that one. I mean, to not even require a true love's kiss? Sloppy, tsk tsk." The witch had shaken her head in seeming disapproval before gesturing. "But do go on, dear."

"You see, that's just the problem. I was rescued by-a prince." The word left a bad taste in her mouth. "But I have no wish to marry him and I certainly do not love him. I don't even believe in love, really, but my papa is so thrilled that I've finally been awoken that he insists tradition must be followed. He won't hear my objections and believes that since Prince Ox kissed me awake, he must be my true love and it will all work out." Punctuating this with a sigh, Maka had smoothed her skirts in irritation at the memory.

"Well, most mortals don't really understand the inner workings of magic, and your fairy godmother did rather botch that spell in her haste. It's understandable."

The look Maka had given her then could have scorched the earth.

"But of course," the witch added hurriedly, "your feelings are also understandable. I take it you want a way to get out of this marriage, then?"

"Well, yes," Maka answered, one impatient ankle tapping against the other where they were crossed daintily. "I would solve the problem of this impending marriage and grant myself the freedom to live my life as I please, happily." She had chosen her words with care. Witches were well known to grant just what was asked for and no more, often to disastrous effect. To find a way out of one marriage only to be forced into another wouldn't do at all, but the clauses of freedom and happiness should insure Maka would be able to do as she pleased and avoid love altogether since love couldn't possibly make her happy.

As the witch began to nod slowly, thoughtfully, Jackie arrived with cups of steaming tea, placing a tray that included sugar and cream on the little table between them.

"Do you take cream and sugar?" The woman asked Maka as she hovered over the tray.

"Ah, no, plain is good, thank you."

Jackie nodded and began to dump a lot of both into a cup before handing it over to the witch and stepping back.

Presuming the other cup was hers, Maka grabbed it up, put it to her mouth in a sip like gesture, but didn't let a drop cross her lips before returning the cup to the table between them. It is, of course, common knowledge that while it's rude to refuse refreshment from a witch, it is utter folly to actually ingest it.

Nearby, Kim had taken a few healthy sips before placing her own cup back down on the little table. Putting her chin in her hand, she'd continued to eye Maka for a moment before finally speaking.

"I can definitely help you," she said carefully. "If you can pay my price."

Maka took in a deep breath. Kim had a reputation for taking tangible things, not voices or first born children, but that didn't make such a request impossible. Not that Maka intended on having children, but she needed her voice, and anyway, it was the principal of the matter.

"If I'm not mistaken, I believe you absconded with a bag of treasures from home. The gems I expect, of course, but what really interests me-"

Not the sword, not the sword, not the sword-Maka needed that sword-

"-is that magic hand mirror you took. That I could certainly use."

Wait, Kim wanted her mother's mirror? But it was-well, useful. Maka would need it to track anyone trying to follow her, plus it would help her keep an eye on things in general.

"But-you're a witch-I thought witches always kept their own mirror or crystal ball or-whatever."

The deep sigh Kim let out before blowing and popping another bubble of the pink substance she was still chewing on had warned Maka she was in for a tale.

"I have a mirror," she agreed, gesturing vaguely behind her to where a rather large, rather ornate looking rectangular mirror took up most of one of the cottage walls. "It's just not very portable, and I do need to travel at times. Hazard of the profession and all that."

"But-it's not like you need a mirror all of the time." Kim's face took on an annoyed frown, and by no means wanting to anger the witch, Maka had quickly added, "I mean, maybe you do, I was just hoping to keep mine."

"Look." The witch leaned forward, looking intently at Maka. "I'll level with you. There are things I need to check regularly on my mirror, important things, and your portable mirror would make that easier for me. They aren't easy to come by, but then again, neither are my services."

Maka nodded slowly, carefully. "I-understand." She really didn't, but witches were mysterious always, and in the end, Kim's reasons didn't matter if it gave her a way out. The mirror was useful and close to her heart, so she'd wanted to keep it, but it wasn't a deal breaker. Nothing was, really, if it got her out of marrying Ox. "Important things. I get it."

From the other side of the cottage, a clipped voice offered, "She means those awful otherworld dramas."

Blinking towards the strange not-quite-servant, Maka could only tilt her head in question as Kim hissed over her shoulder, "Jackie!"

For her part, the tall, dark-haired girl had stepped forward with a calculating gleam in her eyes. "She's got a real thing for the otherworld, especially their entertainment. You should see the garbage she watches, especially the mini plays about those Kardashian people, it's-"

"Jackie!" Kim admonished a second time over her shoulder, tone scolding. "We do not discuss these things with our marks-" she looked back to Maka for an instant before once again glaring at Jackie. "Guests," she corrected. "The princess doesn't need to know what use I have for her treasure, only the price to be paid." Head swiveling back to level the most predatory gaze Maka had ever seen her way, Kim added, "I require the mirror and the jewels if you wish an escape from this marriage, and that is all you need worry about."

Maka nodded her understanding, not wanting to agitate the witch further. It was never, never a good idea to annoy a witch, princess or no.

"Then we understand each other," Kim said, tone still serious as she reached for her teacup. Taking a sip, she watched Maka from over the rim. "The real question is, are you willing to pay my price?"

Another nod, this one more firm. "If you can provide my escape, one that assures my ongoing freedom and happiness, then I will gladly pay what you require."

"Excellent!" Kim had replied with unfeigned enthusiasm, setting the teacup back down with a loud clank as she stood, clapping her hands together once. "Let's get that contract signed and get started then, shall we?"

The rest had been a bit of a whirlwind. Signing the contract, sealed with a drop of blood. Giving over her mirror and jewels as well as a lock of hair "to ensure proper functioning of the spell, and future tracking should the need arise," then the appearance of the large magical cauldron in the center of the cottage and the peculiarity of the witch's assistant, Jackie, somehow heating it with her own hands.

Kim's stirring and adding ingredients and chanting was so practiced that Maka had gotten the distinct impression the witch had done it before, probably many times.

Really, it had all been fascinating, and then it was over as Kim had dipped a sacred golden cloth in the mixture and used it to wipe down the massive magic mirror on the far side of the room.

"Now listen well. This is a portal to your escape. Your memories will be stolen when you go through, you will feel strange and the world will be strange, but it will come back to you quickly enough." The witch looked serious and a little wistful as she reiterated briefly what she'd already explained in greater length long before.

"And here I can escape my betrothal to live as I wish and find happiness?" Maka had needed to be absolutely certain there would be no last minute alterations. The contract was binding, but caution was always best where magic was concerned.

"Yes," Kim agreed. "Now, are you going to keep wasting my time or are you ready to finish this bargain and step through?"

Putting her chin up proudly, shouldering her pack and straightening her skirts, Maka had put a hand on the pommel of her family blade, her mother's blade, and stepped towards the mirror. "I'm ready." Her tone softened, genuine gratitude flooding her as she met the witch's bright green eyes. "Thank you."

Waving a dismissive hand, Kim smiled. "Pleasure doing business with you," she said as Maka stepped into the mirror.

As the light had taken her, overwhelming, Kim's last words for her had drifted in from some other place. "Just remember, it might not be what you expect."

Just what had she expected? Her hand still hovering over the doorknob that will lead her out of the chamber, she can't quite say. A different kingdom? Perhaps. Maka isn't really sure what she'd expected, only that it hadn't included strange textured surroundings and snarky would be saviors who laugh at her desperation. Though, she supposes, given that his close stool, odd as it is, is also in plain sight, maybe it had been humorous. Perhaps not kind on his part to laugh at her clear suffering, but certainly ironic that the suffering was so obviously unnecessary.

Mortification at her own ignorance, at her pleas for aid make her face feel hot, but really, it isn't her fault that this world is so strange!

Still, now that she must face her benefactor after such an embarrassing display, Maka finds she'd rather face her father's gross affections. At least those she knows how to stop.

So much ignorance really is anathema to her.

Well, it can't be helped. Determined, she twists the knob to the door, expecting to seek her savior, only to find him standing just outside, leaned against the wall, looking decidedly bored. There's some cloth under one arm, and Maka wonders just what his game is. Why is he helping her, or is he really helping her at all?

"Hey," he drawls, pushing off the wall.

Strange as it sounds, the tone suggests it's a greeting of sorts, so she returns the gesture with a soft, "Hello."

"Found you some clothes to change into-you can use the shower if you want. Stuff might be a little big, but it's gotta be better than the renfest reject you've got on."

Though the words are odd, the tone isn't unkind, and Maka appreciates the offer of clothes. Still, it isn't her priority.

"I thank you for your kindness, and though I do not know what this 'shower' is, clothes would be most welcome as well as a place I might freshen up. But-"

He's gaping at her again and she's not sure why, so she soldiers on bravely.

"-I should very much like to ask some questions first if you would be so kind as to provide answers. You see, this place is quite strange to me, and I would know more of it before I do aught else." Maka keeps her speech formal, measured and diplomatic as a good princess should in hopes of gaining his cooperation, but he merely blinks at her again and yet again.

"Uh, look, uh-" he looks expectant, so Maka supplies him with her name.

"-Maka? That's-different. I'm Soul, by the way." He looks skeptical, as if she'd lie about something so trivial as her name.

"My mother was from the Eastern lands, far from Albarn. She chose my name, and anyway, it is no more unusual than Soul." Her attempt to keep her slight annoyance from her tone proves unsuccessful; Maka never has been good at masking emotions. But then it occurs to her she knows so little of this place it could be a common name here, and so, she begins to amend, "I mean, it isn't common in my kingdom, and-"

"Yeah, okay, both our parents were hippies or some shit," he cuts her off with a laugh and a dismissive wave of one hand. "Not my point. And you can cut the renfest crap anytime." When she doesn't respond because she honestly finds his words baffling, he continues. "Look, just, clean up, we'll get some food in you, and then we can get you home, alright? I'm trying to help you here, but you aren't making it easy."

The urge to scream is nearly overpowering because he isn't listening. Maka just wants answers, and this strange man is fixating on her appearance of all things. Well, if he finds her state so appalling, clearly they will be at an impasse until she manages to groom herself. Biting down a rude retort is difficult, but again her training serves her. Perhaps those years of tormenting her protocol tutor had been unfair after all.

"I appreciate the opportunity to freshen up, thank you," she manages in a clipped tone. "If you would be so kind as to have a servant draw me a bath or even just fill the wash basin, I would be happy to do so-or you can even direct me to the well, I care not."

Why is he laughing again? He's practically doubled over in his mirth. Maka wants to punch him, but really, that's not going to help.

"I fail to see what amuses you so, sir."

Managing to bite back his laughter, he takes her in. "You really that into this cosplay shit or you hit your head or what?"

Feeling the back of her head, she shakes it. "I do not believe myself to be injured, no, and I do not know this word, 'cosplay.'" Maybe he's the one who hit his head? Or perhaps this world is so strange her words confuse? She really doesn't know.

The sigh he releases could rival her old politics tutor, Stein.

"Alright, whatever, I'll humor you if it means you'll actually listen. Follow me."

As he marches into the chamber from which she'd emerged, Maka follows him straight back into the bathing chamber.

"This." He gestures to the tub. "Is a shower. I'll even start it for you." There's a strange silver dial jutting out from the wall that he turns, and water begins to spray out from some sort of fixture located on the same wall. He spends a minute adjusting the dial, then moves the curtain to enclose the tub before opening a small cabinet and pulling out a big, fluffy white towel. Setting it down on the raised wash basin, he looks at her and shakes his head.

"So, shower. There's shampoo and conditioner and body wash, Wes insists on keeping the good shit in here. I'll leave the clothes on the bed. Come downstairs when you're done and we'll eat and figure out what to do with you, okay?"

"I-" she manages to nod, too busy marveling at the steaming water coming out from behind the curtain to have a mind for much else. "Yes, but, why did you not tell me your home had magical conveniences? That's amazing! So this is the 'shower' you spoke of! Perhaps my papa could contract a witch, it really is ingen-" the reality that she won't be returning home hits her hard and she cuts herself off. "My apologies, I didn't mean to carry on," she finishes, sufficiently sobered. "I thank you for your hospitality and for the use of your-shower. I will attend you downstairs when I am finished freshening up, as you requested."

Without a word, he rolls his eyes and leaves, closing the door behind him. Maka checks the handle and, finding a lock, employs it even as she hears the second door click shut.

Alone again and as confused as ever, she turns her attention to this shower. Clean first, then answers. She can do this.

Twenty minutes later, Maka feels refreshed. Leaving the shower hadn't been easy-the warm water, the scent of the soaps, it had been absolutely invigorating-but she had finally turned the odd contraption off with only a bit of trouble, grabbed the large, soft towel to dry herself, then made her way into the sleeping quarters adjacent to the odd bathing room. Her host has left the previously proffered clothing on the bed, folded neatly, so she pads over in her towel to inspect them, pulling up the items one by one. There are three, seemingly-an odd pair of trousers made of some sort of soft grey cotton, one of those strange tunics he seems to prefer also made of soft cotton, this time black, and emblazoned with the words Pearl Jam and some sort of odd rendering of a person, and another large cotton tunic of sorts with long sleeves and a pocket sewn in front. It is grey like the pants and has the word Juilliard emblazoned on it in blue.

She has never seen clothing with writing on it before, never seen any attire like this at all, but it's clean if a little worn, so she lets her towel fall to the ground and gets herself dressed, only lamenting the lack of undergarments slightly. Everything is far too big-she has to roll over the waistband of the trousers several times and cinch the drawstring tightly-but they cover her, which is all she desires just now. She can make herself presentable at a later time, not that presentability is her current priority.

As ready as she can be, Maka makes her way downstairs. At least she's clean now, and the second tunic is warm, so that's something.

A wonderful aroma permeates the air, that's the first thing she notices as she moves down the large staircase towards the bustling sounds she hears. Using her sense of smell, it doesn't take her long to find the kitchen, tucked to one side of the massive, open main floor. Soul wears an orange apron over his odd clothing and is currently setting down a plate stacked with hotcakes and bacon on the table to one side of the cooking area.

"Great, you're done. Hope you like pancakes. Don't keep much shit in the house even when I'm having company, so." He offers a half shrug, his face revealing little in the way of emotion as he returns to the stove and plates up another stack. "Sit, eat," he calls over his shoulder. "I'm just making my plate."

Unsure what else to do, Maka complies, seating herself in the chair in front of the plate of pancakes. There is a small carafe of (apparently) warm syrup and a plate with butter, so she avails herself of both as he sits down across from her with his own plate.

"Thank you," she says as she slides the butter and syrup his way before taking her first bite, and oh, oh, it is good and she is starving and she can't help it, she eats with relish though also with manners, not quite able to shake a lifetime of ingrained hyper politeness.

"This is quite delicious," she praises between bites before dabbing at the corners of her mouth daintily with the provided napkin. It is made of-some odd paper rather than cloth, but she doesn't let that bother her. It has already become crystal clear that wherever she is, there are many things that are very different from Albarn, and so, she would be silly to get hung up on every minor detail. It's enough that she's still trying to adjust to how odd it all looks, how full, how utterly strange.

Having placed his own plate across from hers, her host takes a seat and slathers his pancakes with butter and syrup as he answers, "Glad you like them. You're lucky my brother is coming into town next weekend so I sort of stocked the kitchen, otherwise all I'd have to offer would be some questionably edible Poptarts."

"Pop-tart?" Maka isn't sure what that is, but it sounds like a pastry. "I would have appreciated your hospitality regardless, of that I can assure you."

A noncommittal "Mmm" is all he manages, his mouth now full of pancake, and his face still betrays little as he finishes chewing and swallows. "Whatever," he says finally, adding, "so, you gonna tell me what's up with the renfest get up and what you were doing in the rain and where I can help you get back to, or what?" His tone isn't harsh, but neither is it conciliatory, and his expression is still neutral.

"I'm from Albarn," she says after finishing her own bite, holding her chin a little higher. "But I have no wish to -"

"Albarn? Where's that, upstate? I'm not sure-"

"I don't know where this 'upstate' is, but Albarn is the blesséd southern land where the mountains kiss the sea. Although," her mouth purses. "I admit 'tis an odd place the witch sent me to. I suspect it is very far from my home, so far you would never hear of it if not for my presence. Mistress Kimael did say the place I was to be sent could only be reached through magic, after all. I must admit your land is strange, and while I do appreciate your kindness and concern, I've sacrificed much to leave my homeland-I've no wish to return so soon."

Frowning as he looks up from some odd rectangle in his hand, he shakes his head. "Not a nut house anyway," he mutters.

"Yes, well, I am not the type to chat with the squirrels often, whatever tradition suggests." She nearly crosses her arms over her chest in annoyed defiance, but really, she's much better served filling her belly, so she keeps eating instead. While she knows princesses are supposed to be beloved of all creatures, she has always found most of the forest variety a bit empty headed for her tastes. She prefers to limit her natural interaction to Blair and a few of the nicer hunting dogs her father keeps for festivals.

The man across from her has stopped eating, fork hovering over his plate mid bite, jaw slack. He blinks at her several times then shakes his head. "Nevermind where you're from, you need help. I should call-what, 911? Shit, I don't even know. Fuck."

"Yes, well, I really could use some aid to navigate this strange place, I must admit. Where are we anyway? What kingdom do you reside in?" She takes a bite of bacon, signaling her wish that he explain in detail.

Clearly, his royal etiquette is lacking, because he simply blinks again, shakes his head, and says, "Death City."

"Death...City? This is-what kingdom then?" It is a rather morbid name for a town, but she's heard worse. The Duchy of Flay comes to mind.

"King-look, you're in Nevada, in the United States-enough with the renfest bullshit."

It's her turn to blink. "You have said this word, 'renfest,' many times, but I fear I've no knowledge of it. Might you explain?" Actually, the places he names are confusing too, but she can only tackle one mystery at a time.

"Oh come on, lady!" He rolls his eyes. "I saw your dress-if you didn't come from a renfest, I'll-"

"I told you, I am unfamiliar with this word. If you would do me the courtesy of explaining, perhaps I could confirm your suspicions."

"You're really going to make me explain, aren't you?" he sighs.

"It was a request, not a command, but it would be helpful."

"Fine, whatever, you win." He puts down his fork with a clang. "A renaissance festival, renfest for short, is a themed fair where a bunch of dorks dress up like they're in the Middle Ages, except not really, and other people go in to gawk at said dorks."

"Dorks-middle ages-I don't-" his explanation leaves more questions while answering little, and she's shaking her head. About all she understood is it's a festival of sorts. "You believe I am a celebrant from this festival?"

"How else do you explain the cosplay?"

"Cos-pl-"

"The dress."

"My dress was-odd to you?" So he's thrown off by her attire. The fact clothing standards aren't the same in this place is already pretty apparent by what they both currently wear, so she feels a little silly it's taken her this long to make the connection.

"No, people wear ball gown looking shit all the time in the middle of the damn city-of course it was 'odd.'"

"In Albarn, such a gown would be considered normal daywear for members of the court. It is actually fairly plain for royalty, but I have ever preferred function over strict propriety, and in this my father has proven most indulgent. If only he would have proven so malleable when it comes to other traditions," she sighs out, her fork forgotten on her plate as she rests her chin in her hand for a moment. "But of course, I suppose he fears that not to follow protocol is to tempt the curse. Silly, old fashioned notion, but then, my father is a rather silly man."

Maka suddenly realizes she's rambling, musing aloud, and colors violently. This transport spell really has addled her brain! The fact he's blinking at her like she's grown another head again does nothing to ease her mortification.

"Alright then," she manages not to sigh her mounting frustration a second time as she wills the heat from her cheeks. "Clearly, you find my situation intolerable, and for my part, I have no wish to inconvenience you if my presence is naught but a burden. I am genuinely grateful for the hospitality-the meal and the shower and the place to rest unmolested-so I will gladly leave you in peace if you will but tell me where you have stowed my satchel and blade. And of course, I will have need to use the sleeping chamber a last time if I am to return your clothes."

"I-" he's shaking his head, his own fork also long forgotten "You can keep the clothes and I-it's not like I mind, I'm just-" another head shake. He's clearly flustered. "And I'm not sure what you mean by your satchel and blade, but I haven't' 'stowed' anything."

"My blade was scabbarded at my hip when I left, and my satchel shouldered. Surely you must have seen them when you-" Maka colors at the memory of her own helplessness as he had carried her. It's humiliating, and yet, she also can't help but to find his chivalry in aiding a complete stranger admirable. "When you aided me."

But he's shaking his head again. His face still reveals little, but there is something like regret in his eyes she doesn't quite get.

"Really," he cuts her off. "You were wearing the dress, that's it. I think I would have noticed a bag, let alone a sword. But honestly? If someone took your shit, you're probably lucky it's all they took. I caught the tail end of someone hot footing it around the corner when I came outside and found you, so I'm thinking my leaving scared them off."

"Oh." The word cannot convey the sliver of fear, then mortification, then sheer anger she feels in quick succession. How dare some ruffian acost her in her weakened state, how dare they take her things, especially her family blade-nevermind she herself had absconded with it without explicit permission. And how dare anyone even consider further molesting her in her helplessness?

The anger bubbles within her at the thought and she sucks in several deep breaths. She hates the feeling of helplessness, the loss of control. Maka only arrived here through much sacrifice, has come to this foreign place in order to take back her own destiny, and by the gods, she will begin here and now!

Even if she has to humiliate herself by using that to do it. Well, she supposes, there are worse things.

Soul is still staring at her, face blank, so she meets his gaze. He may look like the child of a demon, but though he has been a bit snarky, he has been nothing but helpful thus far, so Maka decides to trust him in this as well. If he's lying, that truth will be known all too soon in any case.

"Do you have a balcony I might borrow?"

"A-er-no?" He looks confused. "But I have a pretty nice roof deck."

"This is outside and elevated?"

"Yeah, of course it's outside. And, you know, on the roof, but I don't see-"

"If you would be so kind as to lead me there." She's the one cutting him off now, etiquette be damned. It's really not his fault, but she's seething. "I should be out of your way shortly."

"I-" he shakes his head again and sighs. "I'll take you there, but I'm not sure how it's going to help."

"Simple." She smiles his way, teeth flashing in undisguised anticipation. "I'm going to get my things back."