Prolouge: The Background Once, long ago, in a solar system far, far away... There lived a woman. But, calling her a woman was not something that many did. Those "Many" called her a living Goddess, for she was so beautiful as to inspire men from all over the planet she lived on, called Persephone, to ask for her hand in marriage. They came from far and away, bearing flowers, chocolates, poems comparing her to stars and sun alike, and the promise of a thousand slaves to tend to her every whim. Her eyes were a strange, luminous, and altogether beautiful mix of brown and red, which outlined a startilingly black pupil, while the rest of her eyes shown a color like moonstone; creating an effect that caused many men to drown in ecstacy within their borders, so captivating were they two orbs of light. Her legs were tanned a light, golden color, which put all others to shame. Her face was shaped just like an almond, and within it was set perfectly her two jewel like eyes, a petite nose that crinkled oh-so-cutely when she laughed (A sound like a clear bell that could move the coldest of hearts), and, of course, a mouth filled with sparkling, even teeth, which hid behind them a tongue thatm made her voice, which could convince the birds out of their tree perches, and put their sweet songs to shame whenever she decided to grace the world with her songs that rang out through hill and vale like only her singing could ring out. Her kindness to every and all creatures, man or animal, was renowned, and would be the envy of ther Saints if they would stop being Saintly long enough to feel some semblance of Envy. Her hair was long and silky, the color of the sun at dusk. Truly, her lineage could be traced through the ages, to Pre-history, when man was not the true master of his world. Her name was Brittany. And this is not her story. If you truly would like see her story, or that of her many ancestors, one would suspect the Lord of the Rings section on Fanfiction.net. No, this is the story of her best friend and faithful Hand-Maiden, Tabitha. Tabitha Roseawauld. An altogether less than noticiable girl, who had voices in her head, a lax head of hair, a less then shining personality, and a habit of substituting "Bat-ShitCrazy Loco" with baked goods. This is her story, in her own words, and the grand adventure that would soon consume the both of them... *** Chapter the First: The Beginning of the Fan-Fic Yep, that's me. Tabitha H. Roseawauld. Don't ask what the 'H' is for, though. I don't know meself. Britt's old man took that particular secret to his grave. Least he didn't take his fortune, or we two both would be screwed so royally. Yeah. Currently, Britt is at another one of the Ball things that the Upper-Crust is so fond of. I'm not quite sure why, but I encourage her to go to them anyway. Maybe she'll finally meet someone who like her because she's Britt, and not because you could probably deflect a bullet off of her ass. Still, that's a good hour away until she comes home, so I keep the shovel out just in case. Trusty ol' thing, it's saved us a lot of male trouble more times then I care to count. Seeing as Rusty is right close, I can relax and sift through the fanmail. Relax? Maybe not... I gulp every time I see the pile, and it seems to grow bigger every day. I've long since quit looking in them; a good 99.9% of thjem all say the same thing. "Oh, Brittany, please, let me take you away from all this, and into a life of grandeur and with slaves to cater to your every whim!" Oh, please. Most likely, Britt would simply have tea with them, free the slaves and give them some kind of bonus, then wander back here after a bit of bird genocide. Speaking of that... Damn, it's those animal activists again, demanding that Britt stop singing, because she had a habit of putting all the birds to shame (So much so that they would oftentimes spontaneously combust out of jealously). Shame, really. Britt loves bird of all kinds, almost more so then anything else. Almost, but not quite, mind. Ah, well, that one goes into the fire. I'm not sure why we even pay for heating in the winter. We've got enough letters lying around to heat a good portion of the neighbourhood- and we live in the Mansion District. Still, twelve million credits has to go somewhere, and it might as well pay some poor sods bills. Well, there is always some more. Another poem, it seems. I think this one is comparing her eyes to the ocean. It's strange, really. I think I've looked into Britts' eyes more then mst, being with her for a good twenty two years (Out of a mutual twenty three), and, each time I do, I get a little voice in the back of my head that urges me to go to sleep. It's a good thing that I don't listen to the voices in my head very often- especially George. He just hasn't been the same, ever since Fred disappeared. Luna is alright, she even sounds like Britt, except... well, Smarter. No offence to Britt, of course. I love her to death, but she really isn't suited in the thinking department. All beauty, no brains, type of deal. That's why I do all the letters. If she had her way, she'd probably invite all of them over for tea on Sunday. But, back to her eyes... yeah. I followed Ginny's (The voice's) advice, one day, and fell asleep. I dreamed a bad dream. I'll let you use your imagination, but it wasn't pretty or very clean. Let's just say that it involved a basketful of puppies and a length of cheese wire. No, not pretty at all. Needless to say, I don't listen to Ginny at all anymore. I barely look at the letters anymore, just the names. If it's another suitor, then into the fire it goes! One name catches my eyes, but thankfully it's just someone with a similar name. This guy, oh ho ho... He was blueberry bananna-nut muffin, that one (And I'm quite sure it's rather hard to be a Blueberry Bannana-Nut muffin). His name was (Hopefully not is) Athlerton Wringe. Oh, what a card he was. I still remember it clearly; at one of those balls Britt goes to, two men got into a fight over her, and, like always, they proposed a duel. Well, I was there when it happened. I don't remember the poor sods name, it was over so fast. Athlerton bashed away his long sword, knocked him down, and pulled out his knife. Before any of us (There was a good dozen spectators for this one) could react, he was on top of this guy, and (I shit you not), Carved out his still-beating HEART. The expressions on our collective faces ran the gamut from mildly surprised to slight discomfort, and I think Britt and I were somewhere in the middle of that. Than, the muffin head came over- WITH the heart in his hands- and kneeled before Britt like some knight with a Dragon's heart. "My Lady, I give to you the heart of the fallen in the hopes that you will give me your heart." And Britt said, "Thank You, but you can keep it." At about this time, I took a hold of Britt's hand and started to run. Fast. Just thinking about the muffin-head makes me want to grab Rusty and whack someone with a beard on the head. You know, just to be sure. That's a part of why I'm not really all that jealous of Britt, besides her being my best friend and stupefyingly nice. All the losers and psychotic dredges seem to congregate to her, hoping to cop a feel of her (Admittedly large) chest. Sufffice to say, after the whole Muffin incident, I pulled some strings with our mutual friends on the staff. She never went to another Ball unsupervised. The clock chimes; five minutes to ten. She should be here at ten(ish), and it is a cold day in Hell when Britt breaks a promise, especially to me. I grab my shovel, and wait by the door. Five minutes later, as expected, Britt lets herself in. And, as expected, some douche in a suit is there with her, trying to take her home and out of the dress. Before he could speak, I said (Brandishing Rusty like a mace), "Begone with ye, ya pansy!" "Away, slave, I must convin-" CRACK! "That's enough out of YOU, ya pansy! And, as for the rest of ye, shove off! And take this one with ye!" A good two dozen man shaped shadows remove themselves. Satisfied, I shut the door and lock it, placing Rusty in his accostemed place in the Hall. Britt is in the sitting room, dancing with herself and humming softly. Her hair is done and teased up in ways that I don't think gravity would normally condone. But, then again, this is Britt. Physics takes a back seat to her (Most likely to stare at her ass). Ya know, I don't really understand one thing. Her hair is called Strawberry- Blonde. It's fricken Orange! Since when has a healthy strawberry been orange? Shouldn't her hair be red and speckled with seeds if it's called Strawberry? And, since it is orange, why not just call it Orange! Because God hates you, apparently, said George. Oh, no, actually God quite likes her, haven't you noticed. It's just she is allergic to Rainbows, hence her color confusion. A sad case, really, and one of the worst I've seen. She needs to drink a tonic with cottonseed oil, Dragon phlegm, and a Hippogriff toenail. Oh, and a Jabberwock's blood, of course, said Luna sagely. Smarter then Britt she may be, but se was more of a Muffin than her anyday. I ignored them... mostly. "So, Britt, how did it go?" She stopped humming. "Oh, just wonderful! There was this new man, I think he was named Malcolm. Tabi, he defended a woman's honor! And she was't even there with him! Isn't it wonderful?" "Yep," I said, nodding. "Sounds like a really good man to me. Whoever that woman he defended was, she was damnedly lucky to have someone like him in her corner." "I know," she said dreamily. "They're going to have a duel and everything. Although, I don't think that he knows the first thing about sword fighting. Do you think he'll be alright?" "I hope so," I answered truthfully. "Oh, and Tabi?" I started to undo the laces and strings that kept her confined in her dress. Fluffy bastard. "Eh?" "I want to become a Space Pirate!"