twisted wonderland iase bl au

 Azul Ashengrotto vs. Iase Pendrahul

ft Floyd Leech, Jade Leech, Eric Westergaard of Tirulia

So I found a visual novel called Twisted Wonderland which does the villains of Disney and their henchpeople as anime ikemen... The animal characters are personified including Floyd & Jade (Flotsam & Jetsam), and the females are Rule 63:d including Azul (Ursula/Vanessa).

Knowing Iase Pendrahul of Ibria and my own soft spots as a fujoshi I decided to rewrite his character arc by replacing the villains who poisoned him with their Twisted Wonderland counterparts

*********************+

The Ibrian ambassador, Iase, paranoid and terrified of poison, was constantly tossing whatever he was served out the closest window.

*****

 After attending to his maquillage, Azul put his muffler back into place and nodded approvingly at his public face in the mirror.

"Everything is arranged with the guards. Your Grace" Floyd hissed.

"Excellent. Now all I need to do is figure out this mess." Azul pointed at his own throat, not bothering to whisper. No one was around who mattered. With a wave, he dismissed Vareet. The little maid scampered off, hopefully to make sure the rest of the royal apartments were being cleaned properly. That stupid dog's hair got everywhere.

"Perhaps a new voice would help? A new ...donor?" Jade suggested.

"That's not a bad idea," Azul said thoughtfully. "Not a bad idea at all. I'll get right on that, later. So much to do.... cementing our relationship with Ibria so I can proceed with our military plans. ...But right now I have to deal with a petitioner. Ridiculous, really."

The receiving room was little more than a large study with a few bookshelves and a partially hidden door in the back that led to the library proper. Taking up most of the space was a large naval-style desk strewn with the books he was currently reading, sheaves of notes, a log for meetings, and a small burner for the teas and tisanes Azul told people he enjoyed for their... medicinal properties.

Which was not entirely a lie. While being prince consort gave a different land of power than he was used to—power over people rather than mystical forces—well, call him old-fashioned, but magic was still magic. Its potential for destruction surpassed everything else.

And he had none in the Dry World.

So he set to work researching magic of the land. Among the many occult trinkets he kept hidden were bloodstained crystals; the tongues of several extinct beasts; a curvy: evil-looking knife with a shiny black blade—and several books bound in strange leather that did not smell very good. They explained many things, from the proper sacrifice of small children to the use of certain herbs.

***

Azul played with the new golden chain around his neck and considered.

No, not yet. ... And an end to his fun with Tirulia! he had such plans for the little nation.... Maybe he would pursue the matter later. For now he would work with her rather prodigious non-magical powers: manipulation, deception, and all the gold in the coffers of the kingdom.

And as for the kingdom, right then he had to deal with more pressing princely duties. So he settled himself primly mto a tiny, very ornate golden chair with delicate curled legs that ended m the sweetest little tentacles.

Floyd took a polished brass urn from a shelf and carefully tapped out leaves that resembled ashes more than tea. Jade decanted water from a crystal jug into a tiny copper kettle and set it on the burner. How he lit it would have been unclear to any human watching the scene.

One never knew when a tea like this would be needed...

******

"Send in the next," Azul said with a chuckle. The meeting with the fisherman had put in him a surprisingly good mood after all.

"Iase Pendrahul of Ibria," Floyd announced.

With rather more sureness than he liked, the ambassador—spy—sauntered calmly into the room. Now that's a powerful gait, Azul thought. Iase's skin was clear and his cheekbones high, his hazel eyes lit from within like an ember you thought you had put out. Thick, curly brown hair attacked the air around his head, barely contained in a riotous ponytail.

"My dear Iase," Azul whispered indicating the only other chair—a stool, really, with no back, set there for the express purpose of making the other person feel lesser. Yet the representative from Ibria took it and sat arrogantly at ease.

"I've heard you have a cold. A thousand blessings on your health," he said, touching his heart.

"Forget about it, it's nothing," Azul whispered. "Let's talk about our alliance."

"We can talk—or at least I can," Iase said with a smile that didn't reach his eyes, "but I do not see any advantage to our siding with you. Your fleet is still short three of the warships you swore to provide—six, I believe, was the original promise. Your land skirmishes have been of questionable success at best. Burning down defenseless villages isn't really much of an accomplishment—I'm fairly certain Gaius Octavius would agree with me on that one. Ibria is wealthy enough. We have no reason to spend resources on a war that doesn't directly lead to our advantage."

"Oh, but it will," Azul whispered, putting a hand on his arm.

Iase stared at the prince's fingers with distaste.

"I'm sorry, what?" he asked.

"It will, " Azul hissed louder.

"You'll forgive me. Your Highness, but you have given me no proof of that. I see no reason to make deals with a prince who dresses prettily but lacks any strategic ability."

"You refuse to deal because I am a queer man?" Azul growled, perhaps a little loudly, in his own voice.

"On the contrary," Iase said, patting Azul's hand and then removing it from his arm. "I have had many dealings with fine queer men I respect. Including at least one pirate captain. It is you, personally, Prince Azul, whom I am hesitant to entrust the resources or future of any country with."

The two were silent for a moment, looking into each other's eyes. Iase's were steady and dark; Azul's glittered strangely.

Azul wished he were underwater, wished he had his tentacles. Wished he had his old necklace... wished he had anything he could smite Iase with—frankly, a large piece of coral would have done nicely.

First he lost his stolen voice, and with it the charm and forget spells that made dealing with the humans around him easier. Now it looked like he was losing a potential—and very powerful—ally. Not only would this be a severe setback for those war plans, but his failure would be the talk of the court; he would look weak and pathetic and incapable of mustering the help they needed to conquer their neighbours. And the weak were devoured. It was the way of the world.

"Thank you for your honesty-," he finally whispered.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Oh, never mind. I need some tea for my throat. Join me?" Azul indicated the bubbling teapot: this gesture was perfectly clear, even if what he said was not. Floyd was suddenly at the desk, laying out a pair of beautiful Bretlandian teacups, golden spoons, a fat little jar of honey, and some lemon slices. "Don't mind if I do," Iase said carelessly. "Feel a tickle in my throat myself."

Azul put the pretty gold strainer—not silver, no no, never silver; when prepared properly the metal had the power to negate certain desired effects of a potion—over his cup and poured, and over his own cup, and poured. Strangely grey liquid came out, neither opaque nor completely translucent. It was precisely the same color at different depths.

Each person doctored the drink the way he or she liked: lemon, two lumps... Azul put a candied violet in his own—one that had a silver dragee as its center.

"Good for the throat, eh?" Iase asked, holding the cup up to toast Azul. 'To life!"

"To friends," Azul whispered over the rim of his teacup.

Iase raised his cup again before bringing it to his mouth—but waited until Azul sipped before taking a draught himself. Azul watched him, the grey liquid pouring over his lips and into his mouth... and he (Iase) swallowed...

*****

Grimsby appeared like a shadow at his side.

"Yes, we met, we'll talk later—" Eric began.

"It's not that," Grimsby said, keeping pace and not looking at the prince, as if the two were just speaking casually. "The emissary from Ibria was found while you were out... dead. On the unused balcony on the third floor. Causes unclear."

Eric cursed under his breath.

"Poor fellow. Not the worst sort, for a known spy."

"Absolutely regrettable. But it's a dangerous occupation, sir."

Then the prince considered the situation more deeply, and the possibilities it presented him.

"Er, it's in rather poor taste, I know, but I could use the distraction right now to follow up on something... privately. If you would make sure Prince Azul directs the inquiry until I officially take part, that would be extremely helpful."

"Prince Azul direct...?" Grimsby said, eyes widening.

"I need his attention elsewhere," Eric said, giving him a look.

"Ah. Very good, sir. At once."

Like a well-trained military horse, Grimsby peeled away, intent upon his mission.

*****

In the world of operas, when a hero is searching for something, be it the identity of a woman who rescued him or the letter that will free his daughter from being unjustly imprisoned, the tenor sings heartbreakingly about his quest, wanders around on stage, picks up a few props, and looks under them. He finds the thing! Voilà. Done.

Real life was a lot more tense and a lot less satisfying.

And, unlike in opera, Eric's search was often interrupted by real-life stuff: sudden appearances of Azul or his twin manservants, meetings, rehearsals for the opera's end-of-summer encore, formal events he had to attend, or princely duties—such as hearing a coroner's report on the death of the Ibrian.

(No foul play discovered, although why such a healthy youngish man had keeled over would remain a mystery for the ages. Azul had no trouble getting along with his replacement, who was much more amenable to collusion anyway.)

Often when interrupted Eric would forget which was the last object he had looked at and have to start a room from the beginning.

****

As soon as the chef was gone Azul gave him a nastily patronizing smile. 

"Don't fret, darling. I really do have Tirulia's best interests at heart." 

"I highly doubt that you have Tirulia's best interests anywhere near what passes for a heart on you."

"Well, I suppose hearts are a mostly human condition, aren't they? Especially yours. You're so full of love and feeling for everyone around you. Your country, your little mermaid, your dumb dog, your butler.... Say, speaking of hearts, his is rather old, isn't it?"

Azul's words chilled Eric to his bones.

"Hate for anything to happen to it. A man at his age probably wouldn't recover from an attack," he said thoughtfully.

"I... I'm not sure how you could arrange that," the Tirulian prince stuttered. "Since we just established you don't perform your witchery anymore."

"Oh, there are other magics, my dear," Azul said coyly. "And things besides magic when one must make do."

Eric fumed, unable to think of a snappy retort. The dead Ibrian lay like an unspoken nightmare in the middle of their table.

"So while you're keepmg everyone's best interests at heart''' Azul continued through clenched teeth, "perhaps it's best if you stay out of my way. If I so much as suspect you're helping the little redhead, Grimsby will be dead before the day is out. And if anything should suddenly happen to me, he is also dead. Along with a few others I have my eye on. Am I clear'7"

"As seawater," Eric said, through equally clenched teeth.

And that was how the chef found them, glaring silently at each other, when he came back m with the sorbet. He shifted from foot to foot for a full minute before fleeing back mto the kitchens.

*****

Azul played with the heavy golden chain he wore under his uniform jacket: thinking. Things were in fact getting a tiny bit out of hand in Tirulia. Although the stubborn Iase had been taken care of, his otherwise agreeable replacement wasn't taken seriously by the long of Ibria. He was still three warships short of the fleet he had promised potential allies. The number of soldier recruits were down this week—the townspeople were growing uneasy about her military maneuvers.

****

Eric blinked.

He reread the instructions:

TO BE DELIVERED DIRECTLY TO THE HANDS OF KING OVREL III OF IBRIA, AND NOT A SERVANT OR FOOTMAN. ALSO CONDOLENCES ON THE LOSS OF YOUR EMISSARY, FROM PRINCE AZUL ASHENGROTTO.

****

Eric looked out the window they had indicated, at the neat rows of flowers before the willow grove. Everything looked normal, if a little dull smce his grandmother had grown too frail to keep taking a personal hand in the seaside garden.

Then, squinting, he saw a patch that looked different from the rest. Freshly turned, and irregularly planted.

He leapt downstairs as fast as he could and ran outside.

The fact that there was an entirely new, if tiny, garden on castle grounds that Eric hadn't heard anything about was... disheartening. It was just one more detail that cemented Eric's flailing, ignorant, and useless place in his own castle. His grandmother would have known about it immediately. Would have been told the moment the gardeners started spendmg their time on anything besides her heirloom roses and exotic perennials.

The plants growing in this new patch were not roses—though they did more or less fall into the category' of exotic perennial. Eric studied the leaves and little identifying tags.

Artemisia. Okay, that was like wormwood, what they made absinthe out of. His grandmother had always liked their pretty woolly silver leaves.

Belladonna. Clary sage, henbane. Old-fashioned herbs.

Mandrake.

He recognized the last because a sailor had once shown him a particularly fine specimen of the root; it looked like a little person. "There's folks in Bretland will pay a king's ransom for this. I just have to tell them it screamed when the farmer pulled it out of the soil."

Eric shook his head in wonder. Even to someone more skilled in the arts of the sea and music than farming, it was obvious Azul was trying his hand at a poisoner's garden.

His magic didn't work on land. So he was trying to learn new magic. Land magic.

Was that... a thing?

Was witchcraft real?

If it was, could Azul harness its powers? Would he be able to summon undead armies to do her bidding, call down storms and plagues on countries they were at war with?

Would he be able to cast new charms? Would Eric once again find himself foggy and forgetting, hypnotized and half-awake? Would he do everything his terrible partner said?

He swallowed, trying to control the panic that was coming on.

Boneset. Some said it was good for aches and pains. Modern doctors disagreed.

Wolfsbane.

Foxglove. A pretty flower, and dangerous to animals. It was also known as digitalis and contained a substance that destroyed the heart—literally. Eric remembered his father telling him not to let Max anywhere near it if they found some im the woods.

Whether or not witchcraft was real, poison certainly was.

No one really believed the Ibrian had died of natural causes. And here, more or less, was the proof: holes in the ground where some of the flowers had been pulled out. Used. The plant could be put into anything: tea, soup, tobacco mix for a pipe... Azul could make good on her threat at any time. Grimsby would keel over from a heart attack and no one would suspect anything—it would be sad, but an entirely natural, predictable death.

Nothing Eric could ever do would convince the butler to abandon his post, short of tying him up and putting him on a boat to the lands in the west against his will. Eric ran his hands through his hair, frustrated and at wit's end.