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[x-dazzler.livejournal.com]

In which Alison gets a rude awakening. And then some. So she returns the favor.

Pass me the marshmallows, will you?
Asgard, unknown location

The villagers were chanting again.

Now, usually Alison would have been fine with this. Thrilled even. Masses of people howling in front of her, waving their arms, eyes aglow with emotion? Hey! That was her stock in trade. She lived for this sort of stuff! Of course, things changed a bit when they had you tied up to a tree and were stacking wood at your feet while the others were waving torches about.

What a way to wake up.

"~Kill the witch!~" Some cried out, eager to be rid of one of the Enchantress' minions. Of course, while Alison wasn't getting a single word of what they were saying, it wasn't really much of a stretch as to guessing what this was all about. Repressing a yawn and wincing at the headache (that was from falling on her head when the damn Enchantress had teleported her away, thank you very much!) Alison just let the screams roll over her, stoking up her reserves while she tested the rope binding her to the tree.

You know, burning people at the stake is some kind of rude. She sighed and leaned back, though there wasn't that much to it - she was pretty much wrapped in rope from the neck down to the waist. Apparently, burning sorceress minions while ogling their legs was considered acceptable. This is getting boring now. Real fast.

With a low grumble that even she couldn't hear over the din of the howling mob, Alison planted her feet squarely and looked at the erstwhile leader of the bunch. He caught her patient look and waved his hand imperiously - the crowd kept chanting. Alison smirked. With a glare at her he hopped up on a rock and waved his arms far less imperiously and more in a frenetic 'oi, listen to me you dimwits' sort of way. Still more chanting. Alison allowed herself a snicker this time, raising an eyebrow at the man as though suggesting he might need help.

Oooh. He's turning purple. They're going to get it now.

He did indeed blow up, although not literally, despite Alison's mental urgings to do just that, hopping up and down on his stone while waving his arms. This finally caught the attention of a few people at the edge of the crowd and after much shushing (all ten minutes of it) people finally went silent.

"~The witch wishes to speak!~" he declared, not at all importantly. In fact, his voice croaked over the last word before he just waved his hand in disgust and stalked off to see his wife about a pint of ale. Or ten. No one gave him any respect around here. It just wasn't fair!

Smiling brightly, Alison started to talk.

"…"

A small frown.

"…"

Politely, the crowd waited. It was only manners after all. You yelled and screamed, stacked wood and waved torches about. Then the witch had a moment for a few final words - had to be given at least one chance to curse you for generations, set up a hero wandering over to save your granddaughter or something and maybe even stick around long enough to bring new blood to the village. And all that jazz. In fact, they'd been due for a hero this generation, only he'd never shown up. (If only they knew. The miller's son, cursed with weakness, certainly would've been peeved at knowing his hero was actually being burned at the stake. Not that he could have done anything about it. He could barely lift his own clothing, after all.)

"!!!"

Hrm. The witch wasn't looking to happy. But she'd still not said anything and this was getting old. A few people shifted their weight, wondering when she was going to get on with it. Oh, she was stamping her foot now! That was good news. It was always fun when the town mayor did that! A few perked up, hoping this time they'd get a good curse, instead of the usual humdrum affairs.

Instead, they got light. Lots of it.