The Little Cyborg: A Space Age Fairy Tale (Star-Crossed Tales), page 18
Peter said nothing, having long ago learned not to take the bait in these situations.
“I hate this planet. I’m so heavy and I feel bloated and I just can’t do it,” she said, scowling at her butt in the mirror. “I won’t.”
Peter resisted the urge to bury his head in his hands. He also resisted the need to shout at her, to grab her by the shoulders and shake some sense into her. He couldn’t risk Tink — she was all he had left. The rest of his troupe had either disappeared or gone to Hook’s show voluntarily and now he was out of options. If they couldn’t pick up some new recruits after this show, there wasn’t much hope for them.
Still, Tink was difficult and delicate all at the same time. He had to maneuver this minefield carefully.
“You look fantastic,” he said, catching her eyes in the mirror. “And the crowd is going to love you. Don’t you want to hear them all cheering and clapping for you?”
He saw the spark in her eyes at the mention of applause and knew he had her hooked.
“And don’t you want to go back to Neverland and perform in packed houses and see Hook’s second-rate show go out of business?”
Tink spun around facing him, her eyes searching his face as she seemed to war with herself internally. Finally, she nodded.
“Fine. But next time pick a planet with less gravity. I can hardly pick up my feet here,” she pouted.
“And such dainty little feet they are,” he said with a smile, knowing he had a chance now. If Tink went out there and performed the way she always did, surely people would want to join them. Theirs was a life free from responsibility and the oppression of everyday life. Who wouldn’t want that?
“Now you’re just buttering me up,” Tink said, a little grin playing on her lips.
“Is it working?”
She sighed. “You know it is.”
Peter laughed. “Good, now go get dressed. You’re supposed to be on stage in two minutes.”
“Ladies and Gentleman, boys and girls, tonight, you’re going to see a show unlike any other!” Peter boasted to the rather modest crowd. He’d hoped more people would show up, but when you’re asking for a miracle, you couldn’t exactly be picky about what you got. Still, one never knew. The next biggest star of Neverland could be in his audience and not even know it.
“We’ve come from a planet far from your own, seeking new members to join our troupe. But first, a little taste of our show,” he said with a grin, his eyes searching the crowd for interest. There were a few people watching with glazed, wandering eyes. There were small children, drawn in by the bright lights and exciting music, clutching the hands of their bored-looking parents.
Peter held in his disappointment. There was still time — Tink hadn’t even gone on stage yet.
“I’d like you all to give a warm welcome to Neverland’s own Damsel of Danger, our Midair Mistress, the fabulously talented and always-ravishing Tinker Bell!” Though they’d been a bit reticent before his introduction, the crowd dutifully applauded for him, the promise in his voice alleviating their hesitation momentarily.
He gestured to their make-shift stage, set back into an alley so the crowd could gather on the sidewalk, and the lights lowered, fog pouring in from the sides of the stage with just a press of a button on the remote in his pocket.
While the crowd cheered and the music ramped up again, Peter retreated to the edge of the threadbare curtain, keeping one eye on Tink and one on the crowd.
She sauntered out onto the stage as if they were the ones there meant to entertain her, not the other way around. Her small frame was lit from behind and as the fog built and gathered around her, Tink disappeared.
Now, the side lights came on, and the fog cleared to gasps from the crowd — Tink really was gone.
“Mommy, look!” a little boy cried, pointing up, his jaw slack with wonder.
High above their heads, Tinker Bell soared, flying and flipping, twirling and twisting, only a thin rod keeping her from plummeting to a broken neck — her hover trapeze.
The crowd ooh’d and ahh’d at all the right times and Peter watched as more and more spectators joined the group, his smile growing as the congregation did.
She was nearly done with her routine when someone in a uniform started breaking up the crowd, saying they were blocking the street. Peter didn’t care — he was half enthralled with Tink’s grace, and half giddy with the idea that they may actually have some new additions after this.
His plans rarely worked out so well.
As Tink’s performance came to a close, the officer breaking up the crowd lost interest in harassing them. Peter emerged on the stage with a fresh plume of smoke and extended an arm toward the sky, where Tink had disappeared high above the alley — she did love her grand entrances and exits.
“Let’s hear it one more time for Lady Bell!” he said to the applauding crowd. Just as he’d hoped, they weren’t immune to Tink’s charms; nearly every person in attendance looked thoroughly entertained, but only one pair had that devilish gleam in their eyes that he recognized.
Good. He had a couple more tricks up his sleeve just for them.
A ball of light erupted to life in his palm and the crowd sucked in a breath in unison. Peter tossed the plasma ball up a few times, letting it get close enough to a hanging banner to singe the edge and fill the air with the smell of charred paper.
The gangly pair of twins were more glued than ever.
Peter tossed the crackling energy into the air and another appeared in his palm, and another, until he was juggling — one-handed, mind you — and then, he stepped off the stage.
Of course, Peter didn’t fall into the crowd or land on the cobblestone street with a painful crack, he stepped out onto the air and it supported him.
Heavy planet or no, anti-grav boots always worked. Tink just missed floating.
He climbed — on nothing at all — up above the crowd as they twisted and craned their necks to follow him. More people gathered around the edges and the officer with the shiny badge decided they were troubling him again.
“You’re blocking the road, pal. You got a permit for this show? I’m gonna have to shut you down.” he shouted up at Peter.
Peter ignored the quick burst of indignation that flared within him and turned to the crowd. “You heard the man, folks. Show’s over I’m afraid,” he said, hanging his head. In one last burst of showmanship, he fired the balls of plasma into the crowd, eliciting shrieks and shouts, but each one dissipated just above their heads, earning him another round of applause.
But the officer wasn’t having it. He didn’t like Peter’s final word and stomped red-faced toward the curtained-off alley, making pointed glares in Peter’s direction.
He may not know much about this planet, but he knew the importance of a shiny badge. At least he had Tink with him.
Peter offered the crowd a sweeping bow and a grin. “And remember kids, we’re looking for new additions to our troupe. We’ll be accepting applications backstage,” he said, doing a series of somersaults in the air as he made his way back stage.
His feet had hardly touched the ground when Tink stomped over to him, her cheeks flaming and her hands balled into fists at her hips.
"Did you really have to juggle plasma?" she said through gritted teeth. "Of all the showboat moves to pull..."
"That cop's back here threatening to fine us, isn't he?"
Tink pursed her lips and glared at him.
Peter blew out a long breath and ran his fingers through his hair. "Right. Okay, not the end of the world. You're charming, right Tink?"
Her glare intensified.
"Oh, come on, don't give me that look. It's just one little officer and one measly little ticket. That's nothing for the Damsel of Danger," he said, lowering his voice in a tease.
Tink's anger drained with her resolve and slowly she unbunched her fists with a groan. "Fine. But you owe me, mister," she said, thrusting her finger in his chest.
Peter just grinned as he watched her disappear to the other side of the curtain where she'd undoubtedly work her Tinker Bell charms on that poor unwitting officer of the law.
His shiny badge never stood a chance.
Just then, someone cleared their throat behind him and scuffed their toe against the pavement. Peter's face split into a grin, knowing who was there before he even turned around.
Sure enough, it was the twins from the audience. One, practically bouncing on his toes and the other, curiously examining the props and doodads laying around backstage.
"Well, hello! Did you enjoy the show?"
The bouncy one grinned and nodded. "It was awesome! Was that real plasma you were juggling? How do you do that without burning yourself? Can you show me how? That was so cool."
He seemed content to prattle on, but his brother cleared his throat. "What Michael's trying to say is that we heard your call for new recruits and—"
"We wanna join you!"
A glare shot from one twin to the other. "—And we're interested in hearing more about the opportunity."
Michael sagged a little at the admonishment, but Peter wasn't going to let that stop him.
"Of course!" he said, clapping his hands together. "Yes, it was real. It's very tricky and I've burned myself a lot. And I would be happy to show you," he said, all to Michael. Then, turning to the other twin, he added, "We're performers. We have our own theater and we pack the house with the greatest show in the land. You could be part of that show."
Michael's eyes widened and he started bouncing again. "Come on, John. We never get to do anything like this."
John frowned, considering it.
Peter flicked his wrist and a new plasma ball sprouted in his palm. Four identical eyes glowed with wonder as Peter turned and twirled the ball in his hand.
John seemed to shake himself free of a trance and his voice came out broken when he asked "And what land is that?"
Peter let the ball disappear and tried to keep his smile from splitting his entire face in two. He had them now, hook, line, and sinker. Now he just needed to reel them in, hope Tink was handling that cop alright, and all would be well.
“Planet Neverland, boys!” Peter said, clapping them each on the back heartily. “Where all your dreams become reality and responsibilities are a worry of the past.”
The twins exchanged a look, eyebrows raised, slow grins spreading their faces in tandem.
“What a load of nonsense,” said a stern voice from behind them, each syllable clipped and short.
Peter turned to scowl at whoever dared insult his home, but he stopped short, the words dying on his tongue. The twins shared another look, this time pure dread, as they groaned and slumped with defeat. Peter gave them another clap on the shoulders, extracting himself from between them, sauntering over to the woman with a lazy smile.
“And what makes you say that?” he asked, his eyes roving over her.
She had the same strawberry blonde hair as the twins, the same pale complexion, a smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose. On most girls, it would look quite cute, but cute was not at all the right word to describe the woman glaring daggers at him with her hands on her hips. Her lips were pursed in a sour lemon face and her eyes blazed pure fire.
“You can’t just have a place where no one’s responsible. That’s ridiculous. Who picks up the trash? Who fixes the leaky pipes when they burst? Who maintains order and reason? Someone has got to be responsible,” she said, hurling the words at him like they were insults to his own character.
She looked past Peter — having dismissed him thoroughly in her mind — to the twins, jerking her head backwards. “Come on then, you two ought to be at home, not at…” She paused to look Peter over, her lip curling like she’d just seen something offensively unclean. “Not at trashy street shows. You’ll catch your death in this cold.”
The twins started arguing and resisting her, but Peter just strolled around her, circling like a curious shark testing the waters. “Have you ever considered show business?” he asked, stroking his chin thoughtfully. “I’ll bet you look fantastic in sequins.”
Her jaw went slack, a total lack of words coming forth as she gaped at him aghast.
Peter grinned, pleased with his own ability to get a reaction from this girl, but he spotted Tink lurking just beyond the curtain, her face screwed up into a crimson scowl.
Realizing she'd been discovered, Tink waltzed into the chaotic backstage area and pointedly ignored everyone other than Peter. "He's not going to write us a ticket, but you definitely owe me," she said, dragging the back of her hand across her lips and making a face. The twins watched her with worshipful admiration, drinking in Tink's ample curves and tiny tight waist. If they hadn't been sold on the idea before, Tink certainly provided some sway.
"Good job," Peter said, returning his attention to the newcomer. She had a hand around a bicep of each of the boys and was muttering about taking them home.
"Hold on a minute," Peter said, jogging a few steps to catch up to them. "These boys were interested in joining my show."
The woman's horrified expression seemed more appropriate if he'd said something about the ritualistic slaughter of furry baby animals. "They'll be doing no such thing," she said, her voice tight and clipped. "Honestly, John, what were you thinking coming to something like this? Michael I'd expect, but you're supposed to be more reasonable." She started dragging them out of the alley again. They didn't resist much, but sent longing looks over their shoulders, still practically drooling over Tink while being admonished.
Peter hurried around to cut off their escape — there was only one way out to the street and it was through him. "And who are you to say so?" he asked, folding his arms over his chest.
He had to admit, she was quite pleasant to look at — or she would be if she ever stopped scowling at him like a plague-bringer in a hospital.
She huffed at him and blew a bit of fringe off of her forehead, not releasing the twins for anything. "Not that it's any of your business, but I'm they're sister and I'm the one in charge of taking care of them. Come on," she said to the twins, trying to use their considerable height to intimidate Peter into moving out of her way.
He stood his ground, smirking even as Tink quietly fumed behind them, making gestures to suggest they should just forget the whole thing. Peter wasn't going to forget, though. He needed performers or his show was going to have to shut down, and twins? Well, he was certain he could find a use for them, all their enthusiasm aside.
"Does the sister have a name?" he asked.
"Wendy," said one of the boys — Michael he thought, but it was harder to tell them apart now that they'd moved.
"Wendy," he repeated. "A pleasure. I'm Peter."
She rolled her eyes. "And we're leaving."
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Check out all the Star-Crossed Tales from J. M. Page:
The Little Cyborg
Beauty and the Space Beast
Alien Frog Prince
Cinderstellar
Lady and the Space Tramp
Planet Neverland – Coming Soon!
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[LS1]Is this his usual watering hole? If so, we need to rephrase.
[LS2]Changed word to ludicrous for different look/feel.
[LS3]Changed for different tone.
[LS4]Purpose and nonchalant mean two different things. Suggest changing “with purpose” to “casually” and deleting the rest of the sentence.
[LS5]I’d use a more common word here. Occluded is a bit obscure.
[LS6]“may” is present tense, which we want to avoid.
J. M. Page, The Little Cyborg: A Space Age Fairy Tale (Star-Crossed Tales)
