Diagnosis by Song (Disney) (ALSO OLD)

~~~~Poor Unfortunate Souls~~~~
Why was she doing this again?
She was surely pushing her luck. She was now blind, trapped in a straitjacket, and absent from her throne. Anyone could take it. Now her shimmering sapphire eyes were gone, her sanity was shattered, and her empire she had been planning to build in Nevermore was in shambles.
And yet, running over the positives of Laurline’s proposition only served to intensify the impulse to just accept it in wanton disregard for the negatives.
Gigi recalled hearing the door screech on its hinges before she heard the witch’s coercing voice, riddled with “dahling” and “sweet cheeks” and other unbearably twee niceties. Underneath it all, however, she knew Laurline was still the same cunning, manipulating bitch she always was. She’d pointed this out, and she received a malicious laugh in response, followed by, ”I admit that in the past I’ve been a nasty. They weren’t kidding when they called me, well, a witch. But you’ll find that now-a-days, I’ve mended all my ways, repented, seen the light and made a switch. And I fortunately know a little magic. It’s a talent that I always have possessed. And dear lady, please don’t laugh! I use it on behalf of the miserable, lonely, and depressed….pathetic…
Poor unfortunate souls, in pain, in need… This one longing to be thinner, that one wants to get the girl and do I help them? Yes indeed. Those pour unfortunate souls, so sad, so true. They come flocking to my cauldron, crying ‘Spells, Laurline, please!’ And I help them!”
“Yes, I’ve heard how much you ‘help’ them,” Gigi had replied drily, trying to look as though she were glaring, but without her beautiful eyes, it just wasn’t the same. “You trade them what they want for their souls, and if that isn’t enough, you always double-cross them and give them an ironic twist that somehow involves them losing what they gained, or worse.”
“I don’t only bargain with souls, dahling, though that is the most common currency. No, I bargain with all sorts of things! What matters is whether or not they pay up!” There was a sigh. ”Now, it’s happened once or twice. Someone couldn’t pay the price, and I’m afraid I had to rake them ‘cross the coals. Yes, I’ve had the odd complaint, but on the whole I’ve been a saint to those poor unfortunate souls…”
In retrospect, Gigi realized she hadn’t exactly taken very long to consider her options. At all. In fact, hardly had Laurline finished her sentence before Gigi had started nodded her affirmative. “Fine then. You get me out of this place, and create some pretty blue eyes for me to see. And then I want my throne back.”
“Dahling, of course. That’s all for free. Anything else?”
Anything else? God, she could have named many, many things, but the first thing that popped into her head did so with the sole purpose of spiting her half-brother.
“I want Aaron Yakushi. I want his heart.”
“Medium or well-done?”
“Wha—No! Not like that! I mean…I want him…to…” Really, did she have to go on? Was it not obvious?
Apparently not, for Laurline had not responded.
“I want him to want me!” Gigi had finally cried. “I want a man with the same beautiful eyes. I want a stupid boy who will do as I ask! I want a handsome man whose looks are rivaled only by the Gods! I want a guy who will make Victoria writhe in envy! I want … a boy who’s unattainable by my own means. I. Want. HIM.”
“Is that all, dahling?” Laurline queried, as though this were the most menial request she’d ever heard.
Gigi felt her jaw drop, and hang agape as she stammered her shock.
“I can have more?”
“Of course.”
She pondered this carefully, as though she was limited by three wishes, and the first two had been used already.
“I want all your deadliest creatures at my command, as well the allegiance of my own army back. I need to crush all the rebellions when I get back to my realm, and I want to re-conquer all the land in Nevermore I have lost, as well as gain more.”
“Done.” There was a snapping of fingers. “Now, for your fee….”
Gigi swallowed audibly in anticipation.
“I only ask two things. The first is quite simple. I would like you to create a dual empire with my apprentice, Tetra, and her fiancée, whom is my nephew, Basil. All her troops will be at your disposal, and vice versa, and the land that the two of you have collected will be doubled by your joining her.”
She gritted her teeth. The last thing she wanted to do was share her empire with a sheltered prince and a pampered princess.
“Isn’t there another way?”
“It was nice talking with you, Genevieve…”
“No! Wait! Okay! Okay! But she doesn’t get ANY influence of the Shinigami realm! At all!”
“Of course, dahling.” Laurline drawled, and Gig could hear the smirk in her voice.
“And what’s the last catch?” She spat, thoroughly agitated.
There was a pause, a hesitation, her only warning of what was to come.
Then a slight laugh, before Laurline asked, “Do you know any of the laws of the conservation of energy?”
“Uh…”
“Energy cannot be lost. Energy cannot be made. The amount of energy in the universe always remains the same. Energy is only changed into different types. The same applies for everything I ‘create’, as you so aptly put it.”
“Erm… Pardon my ignorance, but what’s your point?”
Laurline huffed in amusement, and it made the gears in Gigi’s ears grind even harder.
“It means that in return for giving you eyes, you must give me another sense of yours. And I know what I want. See, this will be an advantage to both me and you. The only time you ever get yourself into trouble is when you speak, or scream, even. So for the remainder of your life, you will either be silent or blind. You have expressed distaste for sightlessness, so I assume you choose the former.”
“You want my voice?” Gigi echoed. “But how will I court Aaron?”
She felt her cheeks go hot as Laurline’s cackle reverberated off the walls.
”You’ll have your looks, your pretty face! And don’t underestimate the importance of body-language! The men over there don’t like a lot of blabber. They think a girl who gossips is a bore! Yes, in Raven’s Land, it’s much preferred for ladies not to say a word! And after all, dear, what is idle prattle for? Come on, they’re not all that impressed with conversation! True gentlemen avoid it when they can! But they dote, and swoon, and fawn, on a lady who’s withdrawn! It’s she who holds her tongue who gets a man!
Come on, you poor unfortunate soul! Go ahead! Make your choice! I’m a very busy woman and I haven’t got all day! It won’t cost much—Just your voice! You poor unfortunate soul, it’s sad, but true! If you want to cross a bridge, my sweet, you’ve got to pay the toll. Take a gulp and take a breath and go ahead and sell your soul! The boss is on a roll! This poor, unfortunate soul!”
Was it worth it?
Was it stupid? Brazen? A wise choice? A death warrant?
She would soon find out, Gigi realized, as she blinked, back to the present, where she suddenly found her eyes full of light once more. It had taken several hours, but it had happened nonetheless.
Her throat was dry, but she paid it no mind. Soon Victoria would come for her. And soon, all would be hers.
She may be a pawn, but at least she was back in the game.

~~~~Learn To Do It (Waltz Reprise)~~~~
“Congratulations, Odelia, you’ve come far in your training, and even further with your mannerisms.”
“It’s Oliver.”
“Whatever.”
Quince sighed. While he’d had his misgivings about the girl, she had actually proved to be an impressive pupil, a formidable apprentice, and most of all, a respectful young lady. The latter of the three was most astounding, given her former state; She had poor posture, walked about barefoot, spit often, talked with her mouth full, swore like a sailor, did not take care of her beautiful head of hair, and was overall vulgar and obnoxious. The only thing remotely feminine about her had been her unorthodox, gypsy-like dress, and her ability to dance.
Dancing only went so far, however. As it turned out, she knew almost every dance and then some… except the ones that required two people. The most important of which being a waltz.
He glanced towards his younger brother, who was busy courting the AC, before nodding to Anthea, the maid, to pick out a vinyl record and put it in the player.
“Your last lesson, Oliver is a dance.”
Immediately she perked up, intrigued. Sparrow turned, also interested, much to Ichabod’s annoyance and Quince’s glee at having once again proved to be a thorn in his little brother’s side.
Dax was leaning against the side-table, much disinterested. Quince had known the boy since he was in overalls with his name stitched into the back. He’d never liked him, persay, and was usually very disdainful of his conduct, but nonetheless, he respected him, and vice versa. Along with his affinity for creating huge mechanical creatures and weapons, Dax had a flair for lying and conning, and Quince imagined that this was how he would come up with the money to remunerate him for training this femme fatale. It was perhaps because of this that Quince decided against being Oliver’s dance partner himself, though he’d had toyed with the notion numerous times; it was no secret he wanted to get into the young girl’s skivvies. However, he chose instead to have some fun with this last lesson.
“I will need a volunteer from this little lady’s cohorts. Ah, yes, Dax, you’ll do.”
“Huhn?”
Quince rolled his eyes in exasperation. The young man seemed to have his own dialect that consisted of grunts, growls, and mumblings that often made him seem less of a city boy and more of a Neanderthal.
“A partner, Dax. Do pay attention.”
“…Wait—Wha—“
“Come now, up you get.”
Quince dragged him to his feet and practically shoved him towards Oliver, who regarded this lowly specimen of the male species as a disgusting insect, or perhaps a dung pile.
“Now take her waist.” He commanded, prompting an outraged look from Dax, but the latter reluctantly obeyed. Oliver attempted to begin, but was immediately reproached by Sparrow.
“You’re supposed to let him lead,” He pointed out. Ichabod snorted beside him.
“How do you know so much about dancing?”
“Because I dance,” was Sparrow’s dry retort.
Quince chuckled. “He is correct, little brother.” He agreed, his grin growing wider at Ichabod’s scowl. “Oliver, let Dax lead.”
It took several minutes to coach them on the correct steps, but once they got it down, they began to move more naturally, save for Dax continuing to accidentally step on Oliver’s toes; Quince had grudgingly allowed her to walk barefoot, but only indoors.
Once their movements were fluid enough, Anthea turned on the record player, and a slow flute began to play, joined by other anonymous instruments. With the introduction of music, the two dancers kept more easily to a rhythm without conscious thought, allowing them to converse softly.
Quince looked on, and he could not stop pride from overwhelming him as he regarded his pupil, who once seemed like an impossible challenge.
”It’s one, two, three, and suddenly, I see it at a glance; she’s radiant, and confident, and born to take this chance. I taught her well, I planned it all…”
She and Dax were laughing now, and Quince noticed a light behind the boy’s eyes that he’d never seen before.
Really, he couldn’t take all the credit for Miss Willows’ metamorphosis, though he could take most of it. In fact, in the earliest stages, he’d been ready to give up on the gawky girl, who proved to be headstrong and difficult. Dax had been the one who tirelessly worked to mediate between them whenever they had effectively gotten on each other’s bad side. And the girl herself should be proud of her own perseverance, though clearly, this was mostly due to her determination to save an old friend from a grave and certain doom.
Basil, son of Lucifer and Fate, was, by his father, a distant relative of Quince’s, and thus, he knew more about the boy than said boy knew about himself. He was charming, sweet, though rather naïve. Much like a farm-boy, with his “Well, golly” attitude and pointed respect for females, with the exception of his tyrannical fiancée. It was understandable, even condonable, that Oliver had been infatuated with him over a fast-talking, slick, snarky, and far more common man from her age group.
Quince looked again, and did a double-take: No, Dax was not the only one with the fire in his irises. He found himself sick with surprise at the unpredicted phenomenon unfolding before his eyes, because how could he not have predicted this?
”I just forgot…Romance. Quince, how could you do this? How will we get through this?”
The record skipped, and Anthea turned the player off before the jazz track that succeeded the waltz could pour from the speakers. Slowly, as though underwater, the two finally stopped, transfixed, as they too suddenly became aware of the terrifying but exhilaratingly undeniable phenomenon. They leaned in, as though in a trance, and both wondering who would break the spell first, and yet, neither actually wanting to.
Quince caught his held breath. Really, this was a soap opera that he just was not going to allow himself to be a fan of. Anthea, Sparrow, and Ichabod, however, did not seem to share his sentiments, and were leaning forwards in fear and anticipation, as though the clock just stopped and they were waiting for that last hand to strike midnight, for the enchantment to fade into an old shoe and a battered pumpkin.
As it turned out, Dax broke the trance first. Only millimeters away, eyes of both dancers already closed, he stopped for a split second, before, (rather unwillingly, Quince noted when he looked back upon the night’s events before he retired to his study), he reversed his path and looked away. He bowed lowly, in a rare show of regality, and murmured that Oliver was truly a lady now, and he wasted no time in departing from the room, leaving the girl dazed in the middle of the sitting room.
Quince shook his head, realizing his folly.
”I never should have let them dance…”