Four broken lives. Two different countries. One king. Evil everywhere. The sequel to Taking Fantasia, and the return of Ariel Triton, Peter Pan, Wendy Darling, and Jim Hawkins...Fantasian Guardians, cursed to an eternity apart. A Disney/ Non Disney...
"Okay Sarah, don't – Holy shit! WRONG one! Was not expecting....awwwwww."
Sinbad was surprised: This girl was not Sarah! This girl was...awwww. She was a pipsqueak! Aww. He he. This was going to be SO easy.
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Wendy was surprised: WHO on earth was THIS?
Wendy backtracked, pushing the stranger's hands from her waist. When they collided he had grabbed, crouched, and almost lifted -- like he was planning to sling her over his shoulder.
And now he was...baby talking?
"Awwww." The stranger repeated. Scimitar balanced across his back, he leaned. "Aren't you like the cutest little shrimp ever? I bet I could stick you in my pocket and no one would ever hear you scream. Would they, Scrimpy?"
Wendy bristled.
"I beg your pardon?"
The stranger's mouth twitched, fighting a laugh. As he let loose, Wendy's brain itched with recognition; although they'd just met, the stranger's mannerisms were intensely familiar. His idiosyncrasies reminded her of someone, but Wendy could not identify who.
Regardless, the stranger was odious.
Despite his wide smile, warm laughter, and chummy behavior, the stranger's greeting had been laced with a threat. The threat was disguised with sugary adjectives, but the subtext was clear: the stranger made known he was bigger and stronger than Wendy.
And he was. He was formidable. Easily a head taller than Peter or Jim, the stranger had shoulders like a bull, but he moved swifter than a breeze. His tone was sweet, his connotations were salty, and he was clearly fluent in 'sailor's mouth.'
Oh yes. This man was a beast. Although she tried not to look intimidated, Wendy believed the stranger was not exaggerating when he threatened to 'stick her in his pocket.'
Still, there was something...likeable about this stranger.
Wendy wouldn't overstate her attraction (the man was a brute) but something about him was comfortable and familiar. Perhaps it was his swashbuckle features (admittedly romantic), or his sunny brown eyes, or his chiseled face, or the nickname he gave her without asking...
Well. Wendy thought. It certainly wasn't the way he was laughing at her.
"Sir." Wendy glared as he continued to laugh. "Can I help you? Are you looking for someone?"
"Ah of course!" The stranger pretended to wipe a tear. "Of course it speaks with an accent. Might I help you? I beg your pahdon. Wooodint it be loverly?!Please sir, I want some mo'. Adorable."
