Kiss Me I'm Irish

Lately Maleficent started suspecting that she understood grand total of nothing at all. Not only did love, apparently, exist, in different forms even, there was also friendship. Moreover, everyone understood it completely differently than the dark fairy. Take, for example, Aurora, who spent days and nights trying to re-build — and sometimes build — friendship both between the two parts of the kingdom held together by her own crown, and between her kingdom and the lands beyond. Sometimes this process felt more like a tug of war. At least her palms burned quite often. Human friendship was quite... quite wrong, frankly. At events it was too restrained, clad in signatures on papers and official speeches. The obscurantism of the latter was simply nauseating. Maleficent, as the Guardian of the Moors, had to attend such meetings so often that at this point it could as well be a sickness. The sorceress was no mistress of weaving words. Hers were rather sharp as an arrow – in hope of hitting the target. Or at least making some blue blood curdle. Even dear Aurora, for whom sincere politeness and courtesy came easily, did not always have enough experience compared to the hoary potbellied windbags of the Perceforest elite. The fairy feared that the shadow hanging over their heads and pressing on their shoulders would turn into a real disaster. Long story short, the walk on eggshells in castle walls hiding behind friendship did not attract Maleficent at all. No luck there. And here… But where — here? Where was she this time? Oh yes. Another feast. If anything, kingdom restoration has succeeded in the number and frequency of all kinds of celebrations. Understandably, there weren’t many reasons for joy for awhile, and then suddenly the grip of the mad tyrant ended, and the lost princess was found, and the exhausting war ended... But this? Maleficent eyed the crowd. Humans were hilarious. It was a cool, sunny March — apparently, there was no better way to spend such a wonderful day than to celebrate Christian exploits a couple of miles from lands full of magical creatures. Moreover, something told Maleficent that there was little Christian or righteous in what was happening. Weren't they fasting right about now? She would never have guessed from the amount of food and drink. Diaval called it St. Patrick's Day. These days, he was pretty much on cloud nine from the words alone, that miserable animal. Maybe because he was Irish – as he kept reminding, lately a hundredfold more. Mostly to justify his insolence. Oh, and, about friendship. That was how Diaval, apparently, understood it. Otherwise, why, gods, why, having received freedom and remained to Maleficent only a friend, he lost his last remnants of shame, she did not understand. Either that, or he was finally turning into the grumpy old raven he always threatened to become in his declining years. Not only did he bicker and flaunt constantly, but she no longer had leverage — no debt. And wasn't that the scariest part? Plus, now that her wings were returned, he suddenly got this idea into his head that he had found a new language to decode and use to get right under her skin. As if her wings really gave her away... He must have really “read” something inexplicable from them, otherwise wherever did the jokes that he, all offence and dignity, will leave and won’t return, came from? He liked to torture her, no less. Yes, he returned every time, every time, but only accompanied by a mocking "Missed me?", discouraging all desire to show any friendly sentiment upon his return. And yet sometimes he was so... so... She found no words — just remembered the examples. Say, when they spent evenings with Aurora: rare at first, and then, when the queen moved to the Moors, more frequent. When she treated him to a rosehip, as inedible as it was his favourite. When he treated her to something in return. Or allowed to stroke his feathered head. Or when he watched her fly for the first time — he himself stuck on the ground recovering from the battle, with his head cocked — and finally land. The way he looked at her then, she remembered forevermore. Of course, sooner or later he was his annoying, grumpy, stubborn self again: pissing her off with one glance, or a one-sided grin — or, for example, with preferring to drink with humans and sing about some wild rovers instead of staying at her side. However, in this jumping screaming crowd he was like a fish in water. Or a bird in a flock. People seemed somehow indistinct, like blots blurred by rain. They scurried here and there, and the weight of music and exclamations pressed on from all sides. Sometimes they merged in one discordant cry, like a splash, but the sorceress could not make out a word. There was a thud right at her side. Speak of the Devil. Diaval sat down — no, he fell, he flopped down at best — nearby with an oblivious smile. “These lads ain't Irish,” thundered in lieu of greeting — the raven pointed to the crowd from which he’d just broken away. “They may think they're Irish, but someone lied to them, several times. They're pretending.” An index finger flew in a significant gesture in front of her face. “No Irishman would allow himself to dance like these morons.” Maleficent grinned. “Do you dance yourself?” Diaval lifted his head. “I don’t need to, I’m a bird,” he brushed aside and leaned back, leaning on the table, closer, like a merchant with a special offer. “So-o-o, how are we doing?” he cooed. “Why are we sitting all gloomy like snakes banished in the sea? Oh look, you even look like one!” He jabbed his finger at the bandage on her head.  “Hi—la—rious.” There, there it was! The cheek, the nerve! The audacity! Had he been the mere minion he had been for the last seventeen years, he would never have such gall, such gumption. The moment his hard duties fell, like links of the chain he’d taken off her, as soon as he remained to her not a servant but a friend, the stream of his stupid remarks could no longer be stopped. You see, at the coronation and for some time after Maleficent had the misfortune to let her hair down. It soon proved not nearly as convenient as it had seemed, and the hairstyle invented in wingless times greatly helped not having her hair in her face during flight. In addition, the fairy could not imagine herself with her hair loose anymore — this girl she no longer knew. Of course, it would be a bad idea to bring her for negotiations. Therefore, the Guardian began to tie it up again — something she, by the way, had every right to do. But, you see, Diaval didn't like it very much. What a fad he had on her loose hair, the fairy didn’t even want to know. All she wished was the bullying that began the same day she appeared in her headgear would stop. But nothing has been going her way lately, and Diaval was too pleased with his remarks to stop. Maleficent rubbed her forehead. “How drunk are you?” “One glass of the finest Irish whiskey,” said the raven, and then: “But-but-but! I know you’re about to ask, so no, it's not just about alcohol. I'm just having a lot of fun.” “You sure are. Hopefully you're not going to get plastered like this horde of leprechauns?” The named horde meanwhile were singing to an indescribable combination of drums and bagpipes — as indescribable as they were unsuitable anywhere but a hilltop with grass and sheep for miles around. “Firstly, they’re more like clurichauns, aren’t they? Secondly, no, I am not. Although, I must say, I don't blame them, these lads are great,” Diaval grinned — and grinned even wider to the amazement of his interlocutor, throwing up his hands: “They’re just celebrating, glorifying Grandpa Paddy!” “By drinking themselves to death?” “But of course. By the way,” he bent down again, “Paddy and his mates gave my people the magic of distillation… whatever that means. And he must have not told the Scots, because your whiskey still tastes like smoke. At least today you can get the real aqua vita and not some kind of peat. That's why everyone is happy. See? Green and joyful. As God intended.” There were indeed plenty of people in green. What cahoot was this? “Did they not find have enough green cloth for you then?” At first glance, the raven was in his usual attire, inherited from a generous scarecrow many years ago. But in the light of the flickering and rushing lights gleamed the silver embroidery on the doublet. One of the new suits, then. A humble gratitude from Aurora in return for saving her life. He got several of these for special occasions — apparently, topless men were a no-no at the court. Why, though? Maleficent saw no problem with that. “I don’t need it,” Diaval waved, as if something put him head and shoulders above the faceless emerald crowd. “They might all be clover, but I’m the Blarney Stone today.” His smug physiognomy did not match the words spoken at all. “You’re dressed up as a stone,” Maleficent repeated just in case. The raven clicked his tongue, putting on an irritated, almost condescending expression, painfully familiar. “Mistress,” he tilted his head. “Do you ever listen when people tell you things?” When Maleficent refused to bat an eyelash to such blatant — not to mention false — accusations, he clicked his tongue again. “Dare I remind you that Aurora and Phillip have just returned from Gowrie and shared their observations?” “I’m not out of my mind, Diaval. I remember that very well.” He nodded with a smile. “In that case, you must have remembered what they told about the Stone of Scone, the Stone of Destiny, where Scottish kings have been crowned for centuries.” Maleficent puffed as she straightened her dress. “And I do." “Do you now? Do you remember how I’ve mentioned a piece of it that ended up in Blarney Castle and was called the Stone of Eloquence? That it has magical properties and can make anyone’s tongue silver and endows anyone with the gift of gab?” “I do!” “Good! I am this stone today. One hundred thousand welcomes. To me.” He shrugged, as if hinting she better start giving him one hundred thousand welcomes right now. Maleficent chuckled. “The gift of gab...” she lowered her head. She remembered all the times when her tongue — far from silver — almost led everyone to trouble. Usually when it featured nobles who’d be better suited kicked out of the palace. If Aurora had a weakness, it was the habit of tolerating people of the opposite opinion, and sometimes those whose competence had to be doubted, just because they were loyal to her. Although it couldn’t be overlooked, of course. Loyalty to the queen was not an empty phrase: others at first could not even offer that. They all have come a long way indeed. It was just that Maleficent was not at all happy about how much more was yet to be overcome. “It would play into our hands. Not all of us can give the patter like some, we make do with horns and wings,” the sorceress grinned. “Turns out that this does not always lead to the desired result.” “Well, as I said, the stone is ready to endow with its gift!..” His eyes, huge and black, gleamed — his gaze ran over her face. His smile would have passed for the usual lame grin, but there was something more in it, something hopeful. But whatever was supposed to happen, apparently did not happen, and Maleficent — with a rising feeling of awkwardness — watched all the colours from his face disappear in a jiff. “Oh! Forgive me!” he began, moving away. “What are you talking about?” For a short moment the raven froze — only for his eyebrows to jump to his very hairline, and a wide smile to stretch out on his face. “Nothing, you got it all right!” he responded loudly, although Maleficent did not get anything, let alone it all. He swung one leg over the other, straightened his collar. “Yes, it's a shame everything is... the way it is. You can go find yourself a shamrock for good luck. For eloquence, that is. Ah? Who!” he twitched, listening. She almost missed the blush on his cheeks. “Hah. Speaking of eloquence. Someone called me? did you hear it too?” he got up, dusting himself off. “I have to go... I will— I go... I... Yeah.” Cheerfully saluting, positively crimson, he turned on his heels. “...Diaval?” Maleficent woke up a second later. “Have you gone barmy?” but he was already marching away. “Come back this instant!” “Don't order me around!” came in response. Wretched beast! The Guardian was left alone in the middle of tomfoolery reigning around, but her own thoughts were hardly any better now. Truly, lately she understood grand total of nothing at all.  

***

  “Why do we even bother doing what we are doing? There he goes, a professional, a diamond in a rough among us, and we just let him get wasted like all his potential.” The river of their conversation, which so far has smoothly skirted the topic of exchanging all kinds of necessities for Perceforest iron, especially with Ulstead and England, smoothly flowed into the topic of a poor bird standing among humans Aurora nodded laughing. Diaval, who was still probably slightly intoxicated and only just twaddling first with his compatriots and then with Maleficent, now was confabulating with the nobles of the kingdom, as if nothing had happened. At first after the war he, accustomed to the status quo, hid even at feasts and balls, lurking in the corners and getting lost in the crowd. To stumble upon his gaze out of nowhere was sometimes truly sinister. Maybe getting debt-free affected him so much, or maybe the vain soul could not endure the trivial existence, but the black bird slowly left the shadows and chose to speak with everyone unfortunate. It was sometimes amusing to watch, to be honest. Firstly, because Diaval did his utmost not to reveal the seventeen years of spying on these people, as if he did not know them and their daughters and maids by name, and what they usually ate and when they went to bed. Secondly, because over the past seventeen years, having been in a company of two and then of three, Maleficent rarely saw him communicate with anyone else. It was hard to believe that it was the same creature. The one that joked around with her, that gave advice to Beastie in a softest voice. The same one that has just been bawling shanties, swaying from side to side and cursing all the peoples in the world who made the mistake of not being Irish. She couldn’t quite pinpoint the difference. Was it the length of the sentences, or the pitch of his voice, or how confident he sounded? There was definitely something – truth be told, Maleficent had seen it herself, for she herself probably needed a different approach every other time. She recalled him stumbling with his words when he felt the awkwardness of the situation. Changing the subject or turning everything into a joke if she didn't fell like talking. His voice, strict and exacting when it was necessary to reach out to her... Oh the puppeteer... Bloody bird. The mastermind! “Maybe the suit was right after all... Indeed, the spitting image of the Blarney Stone.” Aurora's eyebrows shot up. Even the butterflies around her head seemed to slow down. “Is that what he said?” “But of course. He also promised to bestow me with this phenomenal ability,” the fairy rolled her eyes. For some reason, Aurora's eyebrows climbed even higher, almost hiding behind flower petals of the wreath. “He what? Oh really!” she exclaimed suddenly, loud and high, as if she were not a queen at all, but a sixteen-year-old girl from a shack in the back of beyond. “Finally? At last! I'm so happy for you both!” “Huh?” The girl grabbed her hands, squeezing, beaming with joy. “Well, did you do it? Oh, this is a rude question! Sorry, godmother! But-o-ho-ho, did you do it?” “Do what?” “Why, kiss him, of course!” “What?” “What?” They stopped like that, palm in palm, until Aurora came alive to frantically throw her hands up. “So you didn't, then! Why not? You didn't want to? But—” “What on... Earth are you talking about?!” found the sorceress at last, still competing with idols in immobility. “Have you all gone mad today? Why would I kiss him at all?” “Godmother-he-her-er!” howled Aurora, covered with red spots. Seemed like she was destined to paint a blush upon people without any adequate reason today. “You really don't know?” Maleficent shook her head. To kiss Diaval... What a... “Well, do you remember when Phillip and I went to Gowrie—” “I do!” “There was a stone—” “I remember all that! I just don't understand what you are saying right now!” “Godmother dear! To receive the gift of gab, you must kiss the stone!” Lately Maleficent started suspecting that she understood grand total of nothing at all. She did understand that she was now simply standing and batting her lashes, but was unable to change anything. Diaval asked her to kiss him? Did he... really... Meanwhile, Aurora was rapidly turning into the darkest of blushes, like a ripe apple, right to the tips of her ears. “I may be wrong, but perhaps he wanted to... Well, you know what they say? “Kiss me, I’m Irish,”” the girl forced out a laugh, nervous and almost fearful. “Just like that.” To kiss Diaval... What a... strange... strange... Maleficent stood still for a while, gathering herself. And the first and only thing that then managed to slip first into her head, and then through her lips, was only: “Damned bird, couldn't he just say so?!”

***

  It seemed that the festivities were never going to end. Humans never ceased to be an eyesore. It would seem that the most violent should have either left with battle wounds, or fallen asleep somewhere in the alleyway long ago, making room for their civilized brothers, and yet! No such luck. “Oi!” Diaval gave out only, spotting her out of the corner of his eye. Circling from behind, the Guardian of Moors carefully seated herself. Fortunately, the aura of drunkenness around him faded away — his eyes even shone with a familiar clever gleam. “Good evening! You must have come to join my condemnation of human dancing, right? Thought so." Well, whatever. Maleficent relaxed a little. With the tips of her wings she felt the earth, the timid wind and warmth. The fairy nodded him to continue, looking at the dancers. Hysteria. Pandemonium. A kaleidoscope of green and brown. “I like these fellows the most,” Diaval stretched, pointing. “Partner dances with beer.” And so it was: clinging to the bottle, some men swayed back and forth waving their other hand in the air like a pendulum. Some, having the mouths busy, expressed all their thoughts with various gestures. One didn't need to be human to decipher them. “And those langers who ain’t even dancing but jumping on one spot, I don’t even want to mention them! How about these unfortunate souls?” the raven continued at the ear. Straight ahead, someone was jumping dangerously on one leg, the other — as well as his fists — vigorously swinging in the air in the hope of hitting anyone. Most of the noise came from him. “Poor fragile manhood has awakened.” “It's not manhood just yet. Here is who is doing it right,” Maleficent nodded to the side, where several men performed a rhythmic shift from foot to foot, palms at their crotch. “What is this dance? "Precious cargo"?” Diaval cracked up. He, as always, had the most terrible laugh. Well, not as always: he would unlikely allow himself such guffaw in the presence of humans — it was the most animal sound he made in this body. With her? He laughed every time like it was the last, throwing his head back and grabbing his side. She would be flattered — she was almost flattered — if he sounded at least a little softer. But it’s grown on her already. “Better not tell them that,” he bleated. “There are some of the most influential barons. Real seniors.” “As if I care.” “I know you don’t, that's why I remind you.” Maleficent huffed. Who did he take her for? “You don’t think I’m going to voice such stupid thoughts in front of them, do you? And when? At royal meetings?” “One can never know with you.” “I hasten to inform you that this is not the case,” said the fairy. His words were not encouraging. “On the contrary, it seems to me that everyone else is talking absolute nonsense at these meetings. Minus Aurora,” she added, cutting off his objections. “But all these meetings: with knights, and barons, and abbots... Tautology,” exhaled Maleficent. Diaval bent down, chasing her gaze lowered to the ground. “There is only talk that peace is necessary, and what a pity that it is not the case.” “What's wrong with that?” “Of course, you might not find anything wrong with that! To me it seems as if we all are roofers invited to talk about how sad it is that the roof has leaked, and what a pity that it needs to be changed...” Next to her Diaval cackled, bending over. “Oh, I know you could spend hours talking about this topic, wouldn’t you?” The raven was still rolling in the aisles. Licking his lips, he assured: “Perhaps I would. If the situation demanded it.” Maleficent was much less satisfied with the correctness of the guess than usual. “Yes,” she snapped, shaking her head. “If the situation demanded it. If the people demanded. You always talk about what the other person wants to talk about, the way they want to talk about it, and in the words they want to hear.” Through the veil of laughter Diaval frowned. “Is it me, or are you judging me right now?” he chuckled, and Maleficent cut off: “I am!” knowing she wasn’t serious. Probably. Diaval’s darkening countenance didn’t indulge her, anyway. Still she pressed. “How, if I may ask, is this different from a lie?” “What? Lies?” “Yes, lies. You... You listen to what others are saying, and you even feel what they are feeling — I have no idea how — and then you choose what to say, and how to say it, and how to behave depending on it.” “My foot! Last time I checked, this was called "adjusting to others"?” “Rather, pleasing them.” “So be it. What's wrong with that?” “How can you know you aren’t pretending, that it’s really you who speaks? If you always have to speak like others, or as they please; if you even feel a certain way just because they do? And why bother?” “Because I can? Because I want to, anyway. This is my own decision. I want to say something, and I come up with that something myself, so of course I am me!” He crossed his arms over his chest. “And I'm not pretending.” “But you are different all the time! You behave one way with me, another with humans, another — with everyone else! You are talkative and vulgar, and you talk all sorts of nonsense, and then suddenly you fiddle with every word. Sometimes you are so... so... kind,” the fairy blurted out, “and in five minutes you are a walking head-shrinker, so serious and determined I cannot make you change the subject!” “Well, I'm complex, multifaceted and interesting! You better get into it!” Diaval chided, jerking his head. And proceeded then to stick up his tongue. That stopped her — Maleficent could not help but laugh. The raven, meanwhile, sat down more comfortably, arms tight. “I don’t get the complaint, honestly,” he muttered, ignoring her “I am not complaining.” “I just try to keep things harmonious, pleasant, and further down the list, so that, perhaps, in the end, it gets down to business, just the way you love it. Isn't it nice when everyone’s enjoying themselves?” he narrowed his eyes. “Someone has to do it, and it might as well be me. I can influence someone the same way they influence me. And there's nothing wrong with that! Maybe I just don't have such a solid wall between me and my surroundings, like an oyster!” “Like... a who?” “Oyster, you heard me.” "Did you just compare me to an oyster?" “You compared yourself to an oyster, I didn’t say a word about you.” The sorceress eyed his figure – cross-legged, cross-armed, hair falling on his face. A sight to behold. He looked almost as insulted as she felt. And fought with a smile almost as successfully. “Fine,” the fairy grumbled, rearranging her wings. She straightened up. “Well, for the record, oysters make pearls, as hidden behind the shell as they are. And... and nacre. Very beautiful nacre.” He was definitely smiling now. “Yeah, yeah, yeah, of course, except it's all inside,” he retorted. “The pearls, the nacre, all the edible delicious squishy par... what am I talking about...” he hid his face behind his hand, in apparent desperate aims to squeeze out his eyes – not unlike oysters. Even in the coming darkness, he was red as a crayfish. Do crayfish eat oysters? Maleficent didn't even know whether to take offense or laugh. “I think I'm still drunk. Give me a minute.” A minute passed. And a few more. Time passed slowly. The music shifted — drums and bodhrans gave way by graceful harps. No rattling of lutes and bagpipes — their sound sailed smoothly, trailed past, every movement of the hand a brigantine. Diaval was still sitting, resting his head with his hand, but the blush, in turn, gave way to some kind of almost cold pensiveness – Maleficent could not help but see her reflection in it. She had thrown a stone into the water and was now facing the ripples. The fairy turned the ring on her finger. The raven followed her gaze. Maleficent sighed. “…I don’t think you’re lying,” she yielded. Diaval did not seem to be listening, but for relaxed shoulders. “I think you are manipulating.” “This keeps getting better and...” “It's not necessarily a bad thing,” said the fairy. “I would even say, you... One can manipulate with no ill intent, not always even deliberately,” she explained. “And that's not what I meant in a first place. It’s simply that you...” she could not help herself and sighed, surrendering. “You are good at convincing. At least, affecting minds with words, especially given enough time... Speaking from experience here.” The raven huffed again, but warm and affectionate as if apologizing, had he accidently influenced her too much, although she hadn't presented any accusations yet. “Come off it.” His pose changed: his hands left his face and chest, and Maleficent could now put her head on his shoulder. He lowered himself slightly to get her comfortable. The fairy examined his own ring, almost identical to hers, adorned with a raven's skull. Her present. He always wore it, as morbid as he claimed it to be. Good at pleasing indeed. “Perhaps there's something to it,” she said. “I’d go as far as to assume that this is a strong tool. From a practical point of view. If my appraisal is correct, humans appreciate it and are good at it, although they are far from you.” Like this. Flattery was always handy when this miserable bird was concerned. “You don’t say,” he smiled sweetly, and only the gleam of his eyes betrayed his true reaction — and they revealed that even Maleficent sometimes knew how to approach some stones with the right words. “Because you're doing it sincerely,” she admitted, moving closer. “Again, speaking from experience. Some barons might disagree, I have not asked them.” Diaval laughed again but quieter and warmer, just the way she liked. His hand was almost brushing her wingtip, and she couldn't help but feel it — or stop thinking aloud. The pale city lights timidly touched his sleeve, and the threads shone in return. “Must feel nice being able to do it naturally,” she said, running her fingers over the glittering pattern. Like dragon scales. “Although I still think bluntness gets the job done faster, I daresay it’s a nice gift that I, too, would like to acquire. Do you by any chance know how?” Diaval blinked a few times. Maleficent kissed him before he could come up with an answer. At first he, diligently fulfilling his role of a stone, went still. Then, finally, he moved his lips and even ran his hand up her arm. And, finally breaking the spell, he kissed her again. She parted away with a smile. Diaval looked clubbed. “Well... well, how... how are you... you...” “Oh, it must have worked. I obviously stole all of your eloquence.” “Yes, yes, exactly...” “The rest could've been better. You taste like whiskey, and that's not the best choice for a first kiss. For your information.” “There’ll be more?” Maleficent narrowed her eyes. He was coming back to his wits. If he was an unbearable servant and an insufferable friend, what could she even expect now? “I’ll think about it,” she said at last. Diaval beamed — and approached her face, sporting the most cunning gaze of his glimmering eyes. “Then you better know that the Blarney Stone should be kissed upside down and hanging backwards.” She shoved him away from her. “Well, that’s not happening.” Diaval fell about laughing.