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On the first Monday of the month, the capital city of Arcadia seemed to be absolutely abuzz with revolution. Many citizens scurried about, gossiping about and preparing for the arrival of a much-anticipated foreign dignitary. Sweeping in and out of all the hustle and bustle were the cloth caps and adorned tunics of King Tyree VI’s musketeers, doing their level best to prep the defenses, tweak them even just a little bit more as the morning of the visitor’s arrival approached rather rapidly. Missing amongst them was the smallest member of their merry band, who’d spent the last several months in a sort of hesitant exile.
But as a tiny shadow crept over the horizon, the familiar blaring of trumpets signaled Mickey Mouse’s return to Arcadia.
Adjusting his cloth cap on his head, the mouseketeer breathed a sigh of relief as the only home he’d ever known finally began to take shape. Throughout his trek through the stuffy forests between the sorcerer’s tower—situated on a cliff-face overlooking a faraway sea—and his destination’s main gate, he’d lost track of time and of his distance from home. The journey seemed to be nigh neverending, and the gargantuan tome weighing down his pack only served to lengthen the struggle.
The trip from Yen Sid’s tower, had been exhausting, if not exactly treacherous. Throughout that time, Mickey had spared many a thought on why, exactly, the wizard had called him—of all King Tyree VI’s musketeers—to the tower. Many of the others seemed more eminently qualified to capture the old wizard’s attention; in fact, if he were being really honest, he was probably one of the worst musketeers ever employed in the king’s service.
Truth be told, though, the group wasn’t exactly made up of high caliber fighters to begin with. The troupe of musketeers served less as an official segment of the boy king’s guard and more as noble figureheads, pointing their rapiers at petty criminals and occasionally guarding an important political figure of some sort. Most were, at best, competent at their job; some, however, impressed the aristocrats greatly. Some of Arcadia’s finest lords and ladies had been known to specifically request a musketeer escort rather than a member of the city guard.
This trend had only increased since the unfortunate slaughter of the young king’s family. Public trust in the city’s highly-trained elite bodyguard force had waned as their monarch and much of the royal family had been ruthlessly murdered, leaving only an introverted, highly anxious teenager behind to rule the city, and in their place, the musketeers slipped in. They’d not yet found occasion to prove whether or not they deserved a spot amongst the most elite of the city’s watchmen, but nowadays you couldn’t look around Arcadia without spotting one of the brave, cap-sporting swordsmen puffing out his chest and holding his head high.
Yet, the man had seen something in him—someone very few people back home had ever considered special. Yen Sid called him across the countryside to test his natural abilities in the arcane arts, and then—much to the mouse’s surprise—he’d passed the original test.
The book in his pack was testament enough to his apparent success. Its pages filled with spells and magic of all kinds, the sorcerer had bestowed it upon Mickey to study intensely, and then hopefully return when he was ready to put things into action. Some had been able to learn the magic of the Spellbook without formal training, but suffice it to say, between his normal klutziness and almost destroying the wizard’s entire operation solely with some magicked cleaning supplies, confidence in Mickey’s abilities had waned slightly, despite his surprise aptitude in Yen Sid’s many tests.
A few more hours of walking, and finally, Arcadia’s magnificent gates swung open to greet the return of one of its trusty—if not necessarily trusted—musketeers, and Mickey Mouse stepped inside. The cobblestones of his home city’s streets had never felt so good beneath his feet.
The hustle and bustle of the city, it seemed, had not ceased in the mouse’s absence. Dim, orange lights illuminated the town even as the sky shifted to the deep purple of night, and the streets filled to the brim with people heading home from work or out to lavish evening events, the hour of night be darned. Mickey, for his part, felt his eyes and huge ears growing droopier and droopier after long hours of walking, and eventually made his way through the city’s winding streets and back to his flat.
He plopped down on his bed, his eyes immediately shutting as he buried his face in his pillow. A deep sigh elicited from the little guy as, without even changing into his PJ’s, he slowly slipped from consciousness, drifting into dreamland and away from the stresses of the world.
The next morning: back to work.
“Mickey!”
The boy mouse stood in the entrance hall of her rather lavish home, up and armored bright and early for his duty that day. It wasn’t every day he got to act as personal bodyguard to Lady Minnie Mouse, a minor noblewoman of Arcadia, and between the infrequency with which the Lady graced him with her presence and… their history, he wanted to look impressive.
His worries, however, were unfounded. The lady mouse bolted down the stairs from her chamber at first sight, running as fast as she could in her stuffy lady’s garb and wrapping her arms around his neck in a tight hug. Mickey could feel her various servants averting their gaze at the sight, but he wasn’t complaining.
For her part, the Lady Minnie Mouse had become a… specific champion of the musketeers in recent times. Or, perhaps—Mickey dared not even hope for it, but… perhaps she was more a champion of a certain musketeer… though running off to some stuffy old tower right after saving her hadn’t exactly won him any points.
What could she say, though? Well, very carefully, and making sure to only express it as much as was appropriate with her favorite musketeer’s state, what she could say was that she missed him, and that she wanted him to come back home. And today, finally, after many months of waiting, it seemed the lady mouse had finally gotten her wish.
Mickey returned the hug gently and respectfully. “Good morning, milady.”
“Oh, please,” Lady Minnie said, breaking away from him, “it’s just Minnie, please! How many times do I have to tell you to quit with that nonsense?”
“Just a few more times, milady,” Mickey winked, and Minnie Mouse scowled.
“Whatever,” she shrugged, brushing past the male mouse. Mickey frowned. He hated to upset her, but what else was he supposed to do? She was a lady of noble parentage, and only about a year ago he’d been a simple street urchin, condemned to a life of poverty forever. His change in fortunes didn’t foretell some automatic change in station. He couldn’t afford to let his personal feelings about Minnie cloud his judgment.
…in truth, though, he thought of little else. Lady Minnie’s face had been burned into his mind the first time he’d seen it, and for the weeks he’d spent in veritable exile from his friends and his work while at the sorcerer’s tower, he longed to return to her and see her again. Now that he was here, though, he wasn’t sure exactly what he expected. Of course they’d go back to her being a paragon of beauty gliding through the upper echelons of society, and back to Mickey being nothing more than her occasional muscle.
They weren’t meant for anything more grand than that.
Mickey glanced over his shoulder and watched as Minnie Mouse’s effervescent form floated out of the main hall of her home and into the front gardens. With a sad sigh, he followed.
But as a tiny shadow crept over the horizon, the familiar blaring of trumpets signaled Mickey Mouse’s return to Arcadia.
Adjusting his cloth cap on his head, the mouseketeer breathed a sigh of relief as the only home he’d ever known finally began to take shape. Throughout his trek through the stuffy forests between the sorcerer’s tower—situated on a cliff-face overlooking a faraway sea—and his destination’s main gate, he’d lost track of time and of his distance from home. The journey seemed to be nigh neverending, and the gargantuan tome weighing down his pack only served to lengthen the struggle.
The trip from Yen Sid’s tower, had been exhausting, if not exactly treacherous. Throughout that time, Mickey had spared many a thought on why, exactly, the wizard had called him—of all King Tyree VI’s musketeers—to the tower. Many of the others seemed more eminently qualified to capture the old wizard’s attention; in fact, if he were being really honest, he was probably one of the worst musketeers ever employed in the king’s service.
Truth be told, though, the group wasn’t exactly made up of high caliber fighters to begin with. The troupe of musketeers served less as an official segment of the boy king’s guard and more as noble figureheads, pointing their rapiers at petty criminals and occasionally guarding an important political figure of some sort. Most were, at best, competent at their job; some, however, impressed the aristocrats greatly. Some of Arcadia’s finest lords and ladies had been known to specifically request a musketeer escort rather than a member of the city guard.
This trend had only increased since the unfortunate slaughter of the young king’s family. Public trust in the city’s highly-trained elite bodyguard force had waned as their monarch and much of the royal family had been ruthlessly murdered, leaving only an introverted, highly anxious teenager behind to rule the city, and in their place, the musketeers slipped in. They’d not yet found occasion to prove whether or not they deserved a spot amongst the most elite of the city’s watchmen, but nowadays you couldn’t look around Arcadia without spotting one of the brave, cap-sporting swordsmen puffing out his chest and holding his head high.
Yet, the man had seen something in him—someone very few people back home had ever considered special. Yen Sid called him across the countryside to test his natural abilities in the arcane arts, and then—much to the mouse’s surprise—he’d passed the original test.
The book in his pack was testament enough to his apparent success. Its pages filled with spells and magic of all kinds, the sorcerer had bestowed it upon Mickey to study intensely, and then hopefully return when he was ready to put things into action. Some had been able to learn the magic of the Spellbook without formal training, but suffice it to say, between his normal klutziness and almost destroying the wizard’s entire operation solely with some magicked cleaning supplies, confidence in Mickey’s abilities had waned slightly, despite his surprise aptitude in Yen Sid’s many tests.
A few more hours of walking, and finally, Arcadia’s magnificent gates swung open to greet the return of one of its trusty—if not necessarily trusted—musketeers, and Mickey Mouse stepped inside. The cobblestones of his home city’s streets had never felt so good beneath his feet.
The hustle and bustle of the city, it seemed, had not ceased in the mouse’s absence. Dim, orange lights illuminated the town even as the sky shifted to the deep purple of night, and the streets filled to the brim with people heading home from work or out to lavish evening events, the hour of night be darned. Mickey, for his part, felt his eyes and huge ears growing droopier and droopier after long hours of walking, and eventually made his way through the city’s winding streets and back to his flat.
He plopped down on his bed, his eyes immediately shutting as he buried his face in his pillow. A deep sigh elicited from the little guy as, without even changing into his PJ’s, he slowly slipped from consciousness, drifting into dreamland and away from the stresses of the world.
* * *
The next morning: back to work.
“Mickey!”
The boy mouse stood in the entrance hall of her rather lavish home, up and armored bright and early for his duty that day. It wasn’t every day he got to act as personal bodyguard to Lady Minnie Mouse, a minor noblewoman of Arcadia, and between the infrequency with which the Lady graced him with her presence and… their history, he wanted to look impressive.
His worries, however, were unfounded. The lady mouse bolted down the stairs from her chamber at first sight, running as fast as she could in her stuffy lady’s garb and wrapping her arms around his neck in a tight hug. Mickey could feel her various servants averting their gaze at the sight, but he wasn’t complaining.
For her part, the Lady Minnie Mouse had become a… specific champion of the musketeers in recent times. Or, perhaps—Mickey dared not even hope for it, but… perhaps she was more a champion of a certain musketeer… though running off to some stuffy old tower right after saving her hadn’t exactly won him any points.
What could she say, though? Well, very carefully, and making sure to only express it as much as was appropriate with her favorite musketeer’s state, what she could say was that she missed him, and that she wanted him to come back home. And today, finally, after many months of waiting, it seemed the lady mouse had finally gotten her wish.
Mickey returned the hug gently and respectfully. “Good morning, milady.”
“Oh, please,” Lady Minnie said, breaking away from him, “it’s just Minnie, please! How many times do I have to tell you to quit with that nonsense?”
“Just a few more times, milady,” Mickey winked, and Minnie Mouse scowled.
“Whatever,” she shrugged, brushing past the male mouse. Mickey frowned. He hated to upset her, but what else was he supposed to do? She was a lady of noble parentage, and only about a year ago he’d been a simple street urchin, condemned to a life of poverty forever. His change in fortunes didn’t foretell some automatic change in station. He couldn’t afford to let his personal feelings about Minnie cloud his judgment.
…in truth, though, he thought of little else. Lady Minnie’s face had been burned into his mind the first time he’d seen it, and for the weeks he’d spent in veritable exile from his friends and his work while at the sorcerer’s tower, he longed to return to her and see her again. Now that he was here, though, he wasn’t sure exactly what he expected. Of course they’d go back to her being a paragon of beauty gliding through the upper echelons of society, and back to Mickey being nothing more than her occasional muscle.
They weren’t meant for anything more grand than that.
Mickey glanced over his shoulder and watched as Minnie Mouse’s effervescent form floated out of the main hall of her home and into the front gardens. With a sad sigh, he followed.