"Making Faces"
Nov. 29th, 2010 01:28 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
amelia_petkovaThis semester I seem to have established the habit of starting fan fiction when I get bored at my internship.
Title: Making Faces
Fandom: Merlin (BBC)
Word Count: approx. 1,200
Genre: Humor, crack fic
Disclaimer: Merlin is owned by the BBC.
Summary: “If you keep making silly faces, it’ll freeze that way.” But nobody ever told Morgana that. Season 3 silliness.
Once there was a young woman named Morgana, who had a secret sister, a father who pretended that he was not her father, and desired to be Queen of Camelot while murdering several people along the way. She had been taken away from Camelot due to being mostly dead and returned a year later as her sister’s spy.
Now, Morgana was very fond of smirking. Evil smirks, when no one was looking. She had practiced many days and nights before a mirror until she got it right. Smirking became one of her favorite activities.
Growing up, surely you were told not to make faces or else your face would stay that way. Alas, the poor girl had no mother to teach her this lesson, Camelot’s physician was busy brewing sleeping potions, and her sister (named Morgause) never got around to it. And so Morgana continued to smirk, unaware of the potential consequences.
Morgana woke up one morning with a full schedule: choose the perfect combination of clothing and jewelry; plot against the king of Camelot; and smirk at the prince’s servant Merlin, who had poisoned her with hemlock (she got better). She smirked once, just for practice, and went about the business of getting dressed.
It was only as she was about to go to breakfast that she realized something was wrong. She had glanced into the mirror before leaving her room. The sight stopped her cold.
She was still smirking!
The expression had come to feel so natural, she barely felt it anymore. She had been sure that her face had returned to a demure expression.
Morgana attempted to straighten her mouth but her lips wouldn’t move. She attempted to push them into place with her fingers and wiggled her jaw. Yet her lips retained that smug expression that practically shrieked, “I have a diabolical plan!” There could be no doubt: her face had frozen.
“I won’t be going down to breakfast today, Gwen,” she announced to her maidservant. “In fact, I think I shall stay in all day.”
“Yes, my lady,” Gwen said. “Is something the matter?”
“I’m feeling unwell. You may leave.”
Gwen curtsied and shut the door behind her. Morgana continued to unsuccessfully poke at her face. She felt greatly annoyed. How was she supposed to get any sabotage done with this look on her face?
A breakfast tray was sent up to her room soon after. Have you ever tried to drink a full cup of wine while your mouth is stuck in a smirk? It’s exceedingly difficult. And messy.
In the early afternoon, there was a knock on her door. “Morgana, are you in there?” It was Uther, the king.
Morgana swore under her breath and kicked the wall. Louder, she said, “Just a minute!” She rummaged through her wardrobe frantically, finally coming up with a piece of sheer cloth, then enough to see through but not enough for the other person to make out any facial expressions. Veils were so unfashionable these days but desperate times called for desperate measures. Morgana draped the fabric over her head. “Come in!”
The king entered the room, looking every inch the image of a man concerned over the welfare of his ward (secretly his daughter), when he wasn’t busy drowning children in wells or looking for sorcery under his bed. “I had heard that you are feeling ill. Should I call for Gaius?”
Morgana twitched. The only thing Gaius had ever done was give her large amounts of sedatives. “Thank you for your kindness my lord, but that’s not necessary. ‘Ill’ is perhaps a bit of an exaggeration.”
“Does this have anything to do with your current outfit?” He poked the end of the veil.
She refrained from slapping his hand. “Well, it’s a bit embarrassing…” She sniffed and changed to the little girl voice that always worked to get her own way. “If you have to know, I woke up with a horrid spot this morning! I can’t let anybody see me until it goes away!”
Uther laughed. “Is that all? Very well, I won’t tell anybody. Though let me know if you change your mind about Gaius; I’m sure he could think of something.”
“Of course, my lord.”
He left the room, still chuckling. Morgana threw a pillow at the door and ripped off the veil. Tearing it into shreds made her feel a little better. Clearly this problem wasn’t going to go away on its own—it was time to call for reinforcements. Using one of the few spells she had learned, she wrote down a message and folded the paper into the shape of a bird, which flew out of her window. “Urgent problem. Meet me tonight in the armory. Morgana.”
#
The hours dragged by until the time for the meeting. Morgana paced up and down the armory. Instead of finding another veil, she wore her cloak with the deepest hood.
She turned around yet again, and this time saw Morgause. “Sister,” she said in relief, and held out her hands.
The two women embraced. “What is the matter?” Morgause asked. “Have you learned something new?”
“No. But it’s horrible and I don’t know what to do.” Morgana threw back her hood. “I smirk sometimes when Uther isn’t looking and now it just won’t go away!”
“Only sometimes?”
“Well, some days I do it a lot.”
Morgause looked solemn. “I have heard of this but it happens rarely. If a person makes a specific expression often enough, her face becomes accustomed to it, and may remain that way.”
“Can you fix it?”
“Yes, but the spell is very difficult. If I do one thing wrong, your face could be stuck like this forever. Hold still, sister.” Morgause began to chant in the sibilant language used by sorcerers and her eyes flashed gold. This continued for several minutes. Morgana began to wonder how long it would take. At that moment, Morgause clapped her hands together and stopped speaking.
“Did it work?” Morgana asked.
“See for yourself.”
Morgana put her hands to her face. The smirk had gone! Her face felt very stiff but she could make other expressions once again. “Oh, thank goodness. You have no idea how difficult it was to get through the day like this.”
“Be careful not to do it again. The spell might not work a second time.”
The sisters walked arm-in-arm out of the armory. “It’s amazing how you always get into the castle so easily,” Morgana said. “The guards have never been the most competent but it’s still impressive.”
“Years of practice, sister.”
Morgana brightened. “Do you want to go and kill Uther now?”
“Not tonight. It will be better to weaken him further before taking the final step.”
“I guess. Good night.”
“Don’t be too discouraged; Uther shall be defeated soon enough.” Morgause kissed her cheek.
“Good night.” With a swirl of her cloak, Morgause disappeared into the shadows.
Morgana returned to her chambers and slipped into bed. She smiled a little but was careful not to smirk. Tomorrow she could begin to plot again.
Title: Making Faces
Fandom: Merlin (BBC)
Word Count: approx. 1,200
Genre: Humor, crack fic
Disclaimer: Merlin is owned by the BBC.
Summary: “If you keep making silly faces, it’ll freeze that way.” But nobody ever told Morgana that. Season 3 silliness.
Once there was a young woman named Morgana, who had a secret sister, a father who pretended that he was not her father, and desired to be Queen of Camelot while murdering several people along the way. She had been taken away from Camelot due to being mostly dead and returned a year later as her sister’s spy.
Now, Morgana was very fond of smirking. Evil smirks, when no one was looking. She had practiced many days and nights before a mirror until she got it right. Smirking became one of her favorite activities.
Growing up, surely you were told not to make faces or else your face would stay that way. Alas, the poor girl had no mother to teach her this lesson, Camelot’s physician was busy brewing sleeping potions, and her sister (named Morgause) never got around to it. And so Morgana continued to smirk, unaware of the potential consequences.
Morgana woke up one morning with a full schedule: choose the perfect combination of clothing and jewelry; plot against the king of Camelot; and smirk at the prince’s servant Merlin, who had poisoned her with hemlock (she got better). She smirked once, just for practice, and went about the business of getting dressed.
It was only as she was about to go to breakfast that she realized something was wrong. She had glanced into the mirror before leaving her room. The sight stopped her cold.
She was still smirking!
The expression had come to feel so natural, she barely felt it anymore. She had been sure that her face had returned to a demure expression.
Morgana attempted to straighten her mouth but her lips wouldn’t move. She attempted to push them into place with her fingers and wiggled her jaw. Yet her lips retained that smug expression that practically shrieked, “I have a diabolical plan!” There could be no doubt: her face had frozen.
“I won’t be going down to breakfast today, Gwen,” she announced to her maidservant. “In fact, I think I shall stay in all day.”
“Yes, my lady,” Gwen said. “Is something the matter?”
“I’m feeling unwell. You may leave.”
Gwen curtsied and shut the door behind her. Morgana continued to unsuccessfully poke at her face. She felt greatly annoyed. How was she supposed to get any sabotage done with this look on her face?
A breakfast tray was sent up to her room soon after. Have you ever tried to drink a full cup of wine while your mouth is stuck in a smirk? It’s exceedingly difficult. And messy.
In the early afternoon, there was a knock on her door. “Morgana, are you in there?” It was Uther, the king.
Morgana swore under her breath and kicked the wall. Louder, she said, “Just a minute!” She rummaged through her wardrobe frantically, finally coming up with a piece of sheer cloth, then enough to see through but not enough for the other person to make out any facial expressions. Veils were so unfashionable these days but desperate times called for desperate measures. Morgana draped the fabric over her head. “Come in!”
The king entered the room, looking every inch the image of a man concerned over the welfare of his ward (secretly his daughter), when he wasn’t busy drowning children in wells or looking for sorcery under his bed. “I had heard that you are feeling ill. Should I call for Gaius?”
Morgana twitched. The only thing Gaius had ever done was give her large amounts of sedatives. “Thank you for your kindness my lord, but that’s not necessary. ‘Ill’ is perhaps a bit of an exaggeration.”
“Does this have anything to do with your current outfit?” He poked the end of the veil.
She refrained from slapping his hand. “Well, it’s a bit embarrassing…” She sniffed and changed to the little girl voice that always worked to get her own way. “If you have to know, I woke up with a horrid spot this morning! I can’t let anybody see me until it goes away!”
Uther laughed. “Is that all? Very well, I won’t tell anybody. Though let me know if you change your mind about Gaius; I’m sure he could think of something.”
“Of course, my lord.”
He left the room, still chuckling. Morgana threw a pillow at the door and ripped off the veil. Tearing it into shreds made her feel a little better. Clearly this problem wasn’t going to go away on its own—it was time to call for reinforcements. Using one of the few spells she had learned, she wrote down a message and folded the paper into the shape of a bird, which flew out of her window. “Urgent problem. Meet me tonight in the armory. Morgana.”
The hours dragged by until the time for the meeting. Morgana paced up and down the armory. Instead of finding another veil, she wore her cloak with the deepest hood.
She turned around yet again, and this time saw Morgause. “Sister,” she said in relief, and held out her hands.
The two women embraced. “What is the matter?” Morgause asked. “Have you learned something new?”
“No. But it’s horrible and I don’t know what to do.” Morgana threw back her hood. “I smirk sometimes when Uther isn’t looking and now it just won’t go away!”
“Only sometimes?”
“Well, some days I do it a lot.”
Morgause looked solemn. “I have heard of this but it happens rarely. If a person makes a specific expression often enough, her face becomes accustomed to it, and may remain that way.”
“Can you fix it?”
“Yes, but the spell is very difficult. If I do one thing wrong, your face could be stuck like this forever. Hold still, sister.” Morgause began to chant in the sibilant language used by sorcerers and her eyes flashed gold. This continued for several minutes. Morgana began to wonder how long it would take. At that moment, Morgause clapped her hands together and stopped speaking.
“Did it work?” Morgana asked.
“See for yourself.”
Morgana put her hands to her face. The smirk had gone! Her face felt very stiff but she could make other expressions once again. “Oh, thank goodness. You have no idea how difficult it was to get through the day like this.”
“Be careful not to do it again. The spell might not work a second time.”
The sisters walked arm-in-arm out of the armory. “It’s amazing how you always get into the castle so easily,” Morgana said. “The guards have never been the most competent but it’s still impressive.”
“Years of practice, sister.”
Morgana brightened. “Do you want to go and kill Uther now?”
“Not tonight. It will be better to weaken him further before taking the final step.”
“I guess. Good night.”
“Don’t be too discouraged; Uther shall be defeated soon enough.” Morgause kissed her cheek.
“Good night.” With a swirl of her cloak, Morgause disappeared into the shadows.
Morgana returned to her chambers and slipped into bed. She smiled a little but was careful not to smirk. Tomorrow she could begin to plot again.
