#aloha-4-ever

The story starts off with Mrs. Marbury, in smeared lipstick, literally pimping out Lily's sexual services to Cust. (He later takes her up on the offer. Yes, the unnecessary prostitute rant WAS in part prompted by this show!)

Cust is creepy but kind of good looking, which is not the right type at all.

There's no Hastings, and Japp dies of a heart attack early on.

Crome hates Poirot's guts and claims to have proof that Poirot faked his credentials and was never with the Belgian police, which is why hardly anyone came to Japp's funeral.

Everyone hates Poirot in general, because he's foreign and they're fascists.

Megan Barnard, as stated, is fat, dowdy, meek and downtrodden. Don was originally her boyfriend, and she's now left pathetically begging Betty to let her have him back, while Betty mocks her for caring so much.

Betty also tries on the stockings that Cust sells, and when he wants payment, goes, "Uh, no, I don't PAY for things, men GIVE them to me." She then mocks him, calls him a virgin, shows her stockinged leg while going "this is the closest you'll get to my legs, virgin," and swaggers off.

When Poirot goes to talk to Megan, she unprompted calls Betty a slut. Twice.

Poirot is sad and dejected all the time (because everyone hates him) and could pretty much be replaced with any other detective in any other bleak and dreary detective story. Also, beard. (I know it's a minor detail, but it's also a FUCKING BEARD on POIROT.)

ABC writes long and poetic letters about how close he's been to Poirot, how he can tell that Poirot wants to cling to the youthful times when he was loved, that ABC has never been loved, that he inhaled Betty's last breath and how it felt, etc etc forever.

They've changed the methods of murder, which I don't really care about, but they have.

Basically, the plotline is the same, but everything else has been run through the grimdark machine and warped into submission to get there.

You know in A Murder is Announced, how Edmund Swettenham describes the novel he tried to write as: "Pages about an unshaven man getting out of bed and what he smelt like, and the grey streets, and a horrible old woman with dropsy and a vicious young tart who dribbled down her chin – and they all talked interminably about the state of the world and wondered what they were alive for."

An excerpt from my outline :

The only way to save them is to sew six shirts of buttercups (ORIGINALLY ASTERS) over six years without speaking. She sings instead.She climbs into a tree in the forest and begins to knit/craft these shirts together. ((Goes to a tree or meadow everyday to knit?))One day, the king of this kingdom ((Killian)) is hunting in the forest. His hunters find the girl in the tree and ask her who she is.  ((Maybe instead, he courts her? And visits everyday, much to her annoyance?)) 

((Family: August, Robin, Snow, Ruby, Will, Merida )) ((Henry as the son or possibly a fae counterpart, page?))

((Royalty: Killian, Liam (dead), Cora as the Evil Queen (killed the Queen/Liam to usurp the throne), David, Jefferson, Graham = Hunters, Belle as Emma’s handmaiden, Mulan as her guard, Princess Regina as Killian’s close (And jealous) childhood friend who eventually warms to Emma. ))

EXCERPT I: Intro

Once upon a time, as so many stories begin, there was a man and his wife who loved each other very much. They could not have their own children, much to their deep regret, and set to living in the deep woods to live a quiet life. Every evening they’d walk together hand in hand, a tried and true path through the wood and around the streams and ponds that unseen creatures called home. The couple knew the woods were as old as time, and respected them as such; they left gifts of sweets, bread, and any other offerings they could spare.

The wrath of the wood and what lived within was not a kind.

One night, as evening fell with its profound grace, they returned to their cabin to find a wailing child on their step. Pale as milk and beautiful, they took him in as their own. When it happened again after 2 years, their beautiful son toddling along the path to the squall of another child, they celebrated further. The husband was so overjoyed that he built on to the small house, and the wife extended her garden. They left more gifts to appease those in the wood.

Another child, and another, and another and then one more appeared at their door and their house grew with the many smiling faces they raised. Though they did not suckle at the woman’s breast, she was there’s in everything but blood. She would fight for her children to a bitter end.

On the full moon that rose over the summer swell, the wife felt the sharp pain of labor in her back, her body bowing to its need to push. Her husband and her surprise at the child that had grown unknown in her belly caught them unaware as they tried to keep both baby and mother alive. There was only one survivor.

The baby was a beautiful child, a girl with bright eyes the color of moss and clover.

The husband buried his wife, becoming the father.

His family became his world, watching his children grow into beautiful children, and then almost adults. The children would soon have to leave the nest. On their long evening walk, the Father made a wish most Fathers make:

I wish my children would not leave the nest.

The wood listens. The wood and those within it listen well.

They returned to their home, all but one falling asleep. The youngest child climbed high, out of the loft and the haphazard but cozy add ons of their home, out into fresh air and a blanket of midnight silk and twinkling diamonds. She sat and watched like she liked to, the quiet blissful and serene. It was hard being the youngest in some ways, the small voice under the loud cacophony of her siblings.

She heard them even now, their shouts breaking the silence. Something was wrong.

She climbed back down into the house, down to where her siblings and father were yelling and light was shining brighter than any candle.

A woman stood, wings spread and body swathed in spider silk. Her voice boomed through the house like thunder and the light pulsed brighter.

“Your wish has been granted, they will remain.”“NO! No this is not what I meant!” The Father cried, but the gift had been given, the children given by fae taking fae form. The woman looked at him with bewilderment.

“You do not like my gift? Is this not what you wished for?”

“No, I wish there was a way to fix this!”

“A gift given cannot be undone by the giver. And you are the one who wished it.”

The youngest child, with bright green eyes and golden hair, jumped from her perch to stand before the woman. She was without fear, brash fury and courage.

“You were silent as a mouse, little one! To you I will give this task, but be warned, to take back my gift for siblings 6 will take great effort.”

The child did not falter, her eyes gleaming emeralds.

“Then you, little one, quiet swan on still waters, you will be silent, unless in song, until my gift is returned.”

The child felt something taken from her, and she grasped her throat. No sound came out when she opened her mouth.

“My sweet soundless child, your task is not done. To save your siblings from their fate, you must sew them garments of buttercups. You must swim in my spring with a stranger to you. Finally, you must dance with every full blue moon.”

A bright glow filled the room once more, a buttercup appearing on the child’s wrist.

The winged woman disappeared in a silver mist.

And so a gift was given, or a curse was cast, the tasks set to return her siblings to normal. For only at night did they retain a semblance of their human form, in the day’s sun they flew.

So she sewed. Buttercup after buttercup sewn into small rows,held tight with soft thread. Days went by as she weaved yellow flowers together in silence, only broken in the still of the night, when her family changed to their true forms. Their Father passed, filled with guilt over his mistake. They did all to assure him he was forgiven and loved. Pain filled their house for many months.

One night she found that she could sing and started humming to her family’s delight. In the lonely sunshine of the next day, she raised her voice, surrounding herself in songs that her father had sang to her, and her mother had sung before that. Days turned into months, months turned into years, with only a shirt and a half to show for it.

Her family changed. They all grew taller, with skin the color of cream and pale cheeks with the slightest blush. The girls were full of grace, a soft sway in their movements now. The boys grew unafraid and brash, used to fighting air currents and diving into dark waters to bring Emma gifts. They learned languages from different cultures, observed storytellers in markets, saw new foods being made, and listened to lectures in the monasteries on the sciences.

There were more somber silences as they discussed a future, but they told Emma stories of their flights over the many lands she could not see. Over time, her silence became a language they could understand, her looks or dismissive body language a code they easily cracked.

Occasionally, Emma would find her fingers bleeding or her eyes tired from making minute stitches. Her siblings would fuss over her.

“Emma,” Snow whispered, quietly rubbing a salve Will had made on her bleeding fingers. ”You don’t have to do this. You could go live your life, we would understand.”

Emma sighed, and gave her a look. I’d never do that. You are my family, and this is my home.

Emma changed. Gone was the girl. She grew taller, her hair flowed out in sun bleached strands of gold. Her days spent sewing under the canopy of the forest left her subtly kissed with peach, in contrast to her pale siblings. She was lean muscle, quiet, serious, focused drive, with one goal in sight: Save her family.

EXCERPT II :

Prince Killian hated hunting. He went out of duty and tradition, but found himself bored the entire time. This trip was an exception, however. With his closest friends in tow, he was heading out to celebrate his last days of freedom before meeting his betrothed and his coronation. The forest that sprawled across the west of his kingdom was full of life: deer, rabbits, pheasant, grouse, wild turkeys, boar, and other various game animals. They were relatively untouched in the old woods, the animals fattened and unaware of the threat of hunters. Not only was hunting not a challenge, but it felt almost too easy.

He was joined by David, one of his very good friends and a lord of Southernmost Barrens; Jefferson, a court musician well known for his flamboyant nature; and Graham, a friend of Killian’s for years who was one of the best hunters the land was blessed with. Only Graham and David seemed excited by the prospect of catching anything. Jefferson was content to enjoy fine wine and get away from the ladies of the court, and Killian… the only consolation of this excursion was a reprieve from castle life, and his step mother.

After his brute of a father’s sudden death, peace had been held by his brother, Liam. When Liam had died unexpectedly, Killian had been given the crown, but being unmarried, the Queen Mother helped him rule with an iron fist. A few weeks away from her and her revulsion for commoners felt well deserved.

He held his face up to the forest sky, it’s green leaves creating a canopy over them, and leaned back in the saddle. It was warm out, an early spring after a cold and long winter. Color was a welcome relief to his eyes. They came to a small glen where towering oaks broke to shower a glade with sunlight. They were deep in the forest, the trees ancient and tall. When his mother was alive, she had warned him this was the type of place the Wee Folk hid, witches lived, and the spirits of the wood moved between realms.

“Here looks good,” David said, hopping off his mount. There were some low lying berry bushes, a small stream, and a dogwood that dropped petals like snow. They undid the saddle bags of their horses, stretching after the ride. After a camp was roughly set, they separated, drawing their bows and arrows. They would meet back in the clearing after a successful hunt, or if unsuccessful would gather firewood, water, mushrooms, sweet onion, or young shoots to use later. Graham was insistent that no hunt or trek was truly unsuccessful. Killian set off following the stream as it widened into a creek.

He hadn’t walked long before he heard it. A song lilting on the breeze, rustling through boughs and thicket. The beautiful tune was not familiar to his ears; sad and mournful, but somehow full of hope. Following the melody to a small pond the creek emptied into, sunlight gleamed and sparkled off of its surface, and the tune mixed with the babble of the water took his breath away. He could vaguely make out the words:

‘Fire, earth, water, air,I did have 6 siblings fair,now they glide through the sky,and left all alone am I’

Stepping closer to the water, the song stopped abruptly.

Looking around he could find no source of the beautiful music. A siren or fae creature, maybe? He began to wash his face in the pond, one hand reaching for a dagger in his boot. If a creature hunted him he was prepared. As he touched the handle a flicker of movement caught his eye on the water’s surface. Killian was shocked to see green eyes and a tangle of blonde hair in the reflection of the crystal pool staring at him. He turned, staring at the blonde woman holding a bundle of buttercups, her lithe form almost entirely concealed by the canopy of the tree.

They stared at each other and she tensed, curling her body into the tree with her head peeking out to watch him warily.

”Who are you?”

She didn’t answer and simply stared at him with eyes the color of the forest.

“What are you doing here?” He had to be hallucinating, or this was a Fae creature using it’s beauty to trick him or steal his soul. He continued to press her, knowing Fae were compelled to answer. “Are you all right?”

Her gaze blew through him, a flicker of something in her face as she cocked her head slowly to the right. Killian’s mother had told him Fae were compelled to answer riddles, should he ever need to face one.

“No one can see me or catch me in their palms. I spread the noisy sound of my voice quickly through the world; I can break to pieces the oak with my loud, crashing strength, as I beat against the high poles of the sky and traverse the fields.” He said, reciting from memory his tutor’s favorite riddle. The woman looked confused for a short moment, then narrowed her eyes. She stepped back, completely covered by leaves and out of sight.

Killian shouted after her, “Wait! I’m sorry -” Shock radiated through him as he watched her swing her body easily to a higher branch, staring down at him from her perch.

Her silence chilled him. She shifted, letting her legs hang, her dress far shorter than he was used to in the courts. He could feel his face flush. She tugged at the hem when she saw where his gaze fell, and her face and chest flushed pink. She looked away from him, chewing her lip.

”Do you need help getting down…?” That caused her gaze to snap back at him, and she shook her head no furiously. She opened her mouth to say something, but after a long pause, pursed her lips with a sigh. He moved under the tree, his hand pressed against the bark. She was still far above him, but he could see her well worn dress was a faded jade, bleached to mint. It was decades out of fashion, and looked to be made for a child. Her hair was tangled gold with curls springing wildly.

“I didn’t mean to frighten you.” He said softly.

She gave him a sad, pleading look, and made a shooing motion. Her face almost looked pained.

”Can’t you speak?” Her gaze was green fire, sunlight through a piece of sea glass. She shook her head no, and glared at him. “Alright, look, I’ll leave you be then. I just… We’re staying in the clearing over at the mouth of the stream. If you want to be left alone, stay clear of us. We’ll give you a wide berth.”

Her face softened, and she cocked her head to the side again, moving forward. He watched her slowly climb down the tree, until she stood only a few feet in front of him.

“I’m…” He hesitated. She would know who he was if he said his name. “Jones.” He said reaching out a hand. She didn’t take it, and shrank away at his movement. He noticed that she clutched a garment made of flowers to her protectively. Maybe she was one of the Drue, or a Nymph?

EXCERPT III :

David stood as she stepped into the moonlight. Her eyes flashed under a shock of long brown hair dusted in silver, and a white slip of a gown stuck to her body. A flash of silver shined in her hand, as two tall men crept out of the wood to support her. They were all graceful in their movements, gliding towards him. David began to believe he was dreaming as they glistened, somehow dusted in silvers and opalescent mother of pearl on their skin and hair.The point of a dagger rested under his chin, the stunning woman before him staring up at him.

“You owe a debt to me. Help me. I need medicine.” Her voice was lilting, and he felt his mouth go dry as long lashed eyes glinted blue green. David’s heart skipped, and he remembered Killian’s words in shock.

“Who… Who are you?” it came out in a stutter. She smiled, and the men behind her shifted uncomfortably.

“Call me… Blanche.” she whispered, lowering the dagger and cocking her head slightly. “It’s nice to finally meet you David.”

His name from her lips electrified him, and he understood. He would do anything for this woman.

She extended a hand, and he took it with wonder.