My sister expressed some interest in seeing Princess Tutu and I was really happy about that! We watched the whole series during the past few days. I wrote some squee about the series after I first watched it. There's so much to love about this multifaceted series and characters (and to this end there are some shining examples of Tutu-fic floating around on the internets)— and that is exactly what intimidates me about writing for it. Things have been done, you know? An idea arrives, I open a blank Word document, then realise I don't know how to put words to it and besides, it's been done more beautifully before. "Do you want to save the changes to 'Document 1'?" N!
This time an okay starting sentence drifted to mind. I only ever seem to write short bursts of things so I thought it might be interesting to distill the scenes further to 100-word drabbles. Here's three; I wrote two more Rue-centric drabbles but I want to let them sit.
If he let his feelings flow into his story without protest, he knew for certain that she would change into a girl. But the town might crumble, creating holes and loose ends that must perpetually be righted. Circumstance could still tear her away from him- she could forget everything (because ending is inevitable), she could leave him (because she calls him a jerk and she’s right), she could fall into a river and drown (because you can never know with her). He cannot afford to be irresponsible. His page remains resolutely blank as he watches a small duck glide by.
—Is the synchronicity of a town worth endangering for the sake of a duck? Autor preaches possible anachronistic threats but is cut short, jaw snapping backwards from a punch.
The pig-headed fool speaks of bigger exchanges in tales penned by bigger writers; of the smallness of the town and the greatness of happiness; that there is a hidden debt hanging over all of them and they owe her.
—You forget; fairness and fairytales are mutually exclusive.
—But we are more than stories! The shouted words are met with silence not only because they are true, but because love lurks beneath.
He’s acting really weird! After a long day of thinky jetty-sitting and unsuccessful attempts to ply him away, he scoops her up with black-tipped fingers. But, how funny! The papers shoved under his arm contain nothing but scribblings-out and finger smudges. She’s unsure of what it means, but she notices that it scrunches his brow and shortens his temper. Ah! Maybe a dance would cheer him up! She wriggles away but he holds her tighter to his chest.
But it is warm there and the dusk is cold, so she settles against him, wings folded in a small prayer.