#eitheroracle

“No! I’m tired of doing what you say.”

Princess Angelique threw back her long blonde hair, slapping and actually rendering unconscious the Second Degree Wizard standing behind her.

“Darling Princess Angel, please. I know his kingdom is rather smaller than expected, but please, just try-”

“I don’t want to. He sounds poor.”

“Angelique,” tried the Queen. “Prince Gerald is a perfectly nice young man. We need this alliance to solidify relations between our two kingdoms. And their kingdom is really quite lovely. Not small, just . . . quaint. Wouldn’t you like that? Lovely vineyards, mountains, forests-”

Angelique reeled around, “I don’t want forests mother! When was the last time you thought about my needs?”

“Your needs?” Her mother looked at her the way a fish monger might look if someone tried to sell him a ham. Except more queenly. “What more could you need besides a nice young man?”

Angelique sighed. Her mother would never understand her. She’d understood this intimately at age 14, when her parents had bought her a grey pony, instead of a white one, as she’d asked.

“Maybe I don’t want a nice man… Maybe a want…. A bad woman.”

“Like… another maid? A bad maid? Honey we can-.”

“No, Mom! I want a woman like The Great Dragonslayer Dr’a’gonsleyer.”

“Oh,” her mother laughed. It was a high and queenly sort of laugh. “From those books you read? You do know she’s fictional, don’t you?”

“You’re fictional,” said Angelique nastily, who knew when told hold ‘em and when to fold ‘em and that the time to walk away was five minutes ago and that she couldn’t run in these Regulatory Princess High Heels.

“Darling, please. Just be civil. It would be a great benefit to your father if we were able to ally our two countries. Prince Gerald and Princess Rowena are arriving tomorrow and I expect you to be kind to them, even if they’re poor- especially if they’re poor. Poor people have soft hearts and cry easily.”

“I don’t- wait, who’s Princess Rowena?”

“Prince Gerald’s sister. Now, as I was saying-”

“What’s she like?”

“She’s an . . . enthusiastic girl. She has a reputation for getting herself into trouble, and for meddling in unprincesslike things. It’s a shame, really, because she’s supposedly very beautiful. Hair the color of autumn, eyes the color of rich honey, that sort of thing. She’s had many suitors but still she remains- honey, are you alright? Why are you staring at me like that? If you’re going to behave so dreadfully tomorrow-”

“Mother, I take it all back,” said Angelique, who looked like she would be taking deep calming breaths if her corset allowed that sort of thing. “I will do as you ask.”

“You won’t insult their tiny kingdom or their hair or clothing? Even if it is dreadfully ugly?”

“I won’t.”

“Well, I’m glad you’ve come to your senses.”

“Have I ever.”

“Now, I must go. I need to visit the royal salt room- arguing is bad for my pores.”

The Queen turned to leave the room.

(First part written by me, switch to sash will be denoted by subtle bolding.)

“Steve, we can’t do this.”

“Not with that attitude!” said Steve.

Linda looked at Bob and frowned. The concrete was scraping her knees and she had cracked a nail a few feet back. The cardboard box filled with packing peanuts that she and Bob, an accountant from the second floor she’d met once or twice, were carrying on their backs, was not very heavy but somehow heavier than you would imagine.

“Steve, I’m willing to do anything to improve teamwork,” said Harvard O’Princeton, who looked like he could feel each and every particle of dirt that was sticking to his Armani jacket. “But is this really necessary?”

“Teamwork requires hard work on the part of everyone! Teamwork isn’t just necessary- it’s essential.”

“Okay. Sure,” said Harvard. He turned to his assistant, who was on her hands and knees next to him, in pumps and a pencil skirt and pain. “Come on, let’s just get to the end of the parking lot. I’ve gotta pick up the kids from rich people school.”

Steve watched them go with a smile on his face. The sweet glow of teamwork crackled and swelled around him, like those illegal discount fireworks he’d bought on the fourth of July to appear more human. Human’s loved festivities, as Steve had learned in his three years occupying the body of one. Steve didn’t really care for celebrations. Steve didn’t really care for anything except teamwork. One could say that it sustained him. In fact, if one did say this it would be exactly true. Steve was an alien who thrived on good old collaboration and companionship. On his home planet, it was the only thing that kept his species alive. Steve was one of the very few who escaped from the fold to try and start life somewhere else.