(no subject)

[toothycat]

Original here.

A large, well-lit examination room. On the glass door there is writing, "00:61 litnu desolC". Along one wall - a sparse, official-looking bed, covered with paper; next to it some kind of equipment and displays. Another wall is covered with diplomas, certificates, licenses and all sorts of other papers. Prominent on it is a price list: "Removal of curses... of evil eye... diagnosis... foretelling..." and so on - the text bold, the prices in small handwriting and hard to decipher. Of furniture there is also a table, two chairs, a full-height mirror, a meditation mat and an exercise treadmill. The Beautiful Princess is running on the treadmill.

A close-up: she is wearing a blue T-shirt; her face is covered in beads of sweat; a stray lock of hair has escaped from under her headband and stuck to her forehead. Her hips move rhythmically; her tracksuit reaches down to the knees... below the knees, metal glints dully.

The princess is running in iron shoes, the treadmill track made of sandpaper.

Pan out.

The Witch enters. She looks very young; she is wearing classical witch's rags, but with a certain modicum of style. She is shaking a bag in the air victoriously; inside the bag, something clangs.
The Princess leaves the track and braces her hands against the knees, breathing hard.
"How's it going?" the Witch asks.
The Princess silently pulls off an iron shoe and looks at the Witch through the hole in the shoe. The Witch grins. The Princess removes the other shoe, then the ruined socks, leaving her barefoot. She throws the lot in the wastebasket.
"I feel like my feet are about to drop off", the Princess complains.
"Bear it", the Witch replies brightly. "At least you're not having to eat iron loaves of bread."
"True enough", the Princess agress. "But two pairs of shoes for each loaf - that's also, you know..."
"I did what I could", the Witch shrugs. "I could not cancel the curse entirely, but at least the tasks are easier..."
"Thank you."
"You're welcome. Just part of the job."
The Princess looks at the clock.
"It's nearly five to four! Tell them I'll be there soon, I need to change."
"No problem", the Witch assures.
The Princess exits through a side door; there is a sound of running water.

The Witch is examining a client. The client is lying on the bed. He has a long, furry muzzle with giant fangs.
The Princess is sitting on the mat in the lotus position, her eyes shut.
"What can I say?" the Witch smiles at the client. "Quite a simple case. A kiss from a beautiful girl will cure you totally. Actually, true love was required, but I broke that interlock."
"Grrrmm?" the client asks.
"No, no." the Witch laughs. "I don't go around kissing just anyone."
"So you're saying I do?" The Princess opens her eyes and stands up from the mat.
"Well, it's your job", the Witch giggles.
The Princess kisses the client's muzzle, the muzzle falls off. Underneath there is a healthy human face. While the client pays for the diagnosis and removal of curse, the Princess walks up to the door, looks out into the corridor and shouts: "Next!"

"And what have you done this time?" the Witch asks.
In front of her are two children, a boy and a girl. The girl is pouting. The boy has an ass's ears.
"She called me names!" the boy says.
"That's because you really are an ass!" the girl says.
"Little one", the Witch crouches down in front of the girl. "You know that calling people names is bad?"
"He pulled my hair!"
The Witch leans forward and whispers something in the girl's ear. The girl bats her eyelids in surprise, stares at the Witch, stares at the boy, shrugs.
"You're making that up..."
"I cannot remove the curse", the Witch says with well-practiced sorrow in her voice. "He'll have to stay like that."
The boy gives the girl a nasty look, the girl shrugs again.
"What about Her Highness?"
"No, no!" the Witch shakes her head. "This curse can only be removed by him who placed it. Or her."
"I won't!" the girl pouts. "He's horrible!"
"Child", the Witch says kindly. "I explained it to you last time. You're a big girl now, you're almost eight. You need to be responsible for your actions, that is professional honour."
The girl glowers at the boy.
"Make him close his eyes."
The boy squeezes his eyes shut.
"Can I do it through a handkerchief?"
"No", the Witch replies.
The girl grimaces in revulsion and pecks the boy on the lips. The ears scrunch up.
"If you pull my hair again, I won't kiss you next time!" the girl shouts and runs outside. The boy follows her.

The treadmill again. There is an empty bag next to it. The Princess is running in shoes made of thin tin.
"There's a bit quicker now", the Witch remarks.
The Princess nods silently without breaking pace.
"Is that the last pair?" the Witch asks. The Princess nods again.
"Shall I call him in?"
"Go ahead." The Princess gets off the treadmill, pulls off the shoes and throws them in the wastebasket with a practiced flip. Her socks follow the shoes; the Princess spends a minute studying the sole of her foot, sighs and straightens up.
The Witch leads the next client into the room.
"All ready", the Witch says chirpily. "The boots are worn down. You can kiss."
The Princess closes her eyes for a few seconds, concentrates and kisses the client. Nothing happens.
"One moment", the Princess says.
She leaves by the side door.
"What's wrong?" the client asks nervously.
"Don't worry, it's all right", the Witch calms him. "She's probably just not quite Beautiful enough."
The Princess reappears. She has changed into a low-cut dress, fairly revealing, and high-heel shoes; she is wearing makeup.
She glances briefly in the mirror, nods and walks up to the client again. She kisses him. Nothing happens.
The Princess turns to the Witch and raises a questioning eyebrow. The Witch looks at the client.
"Actually", the client mumbles, "I... don't really like high heels. Or bright lipstick."
The Princess throws off the shoes and wipes the lipstick off.
"More passion", the Witch wispers.
The Princess throws her arms around the client and clamps her lips to his. A long, passionate kiss. There is a quiet click.
"Done!" The Witch claps her hands and pulls the Princess off the client. She moves her hands along his body and nods in satisfaction.
"You will no longer turn into a goose at night. For the next three to four days try to keep away from large bodies of water to avoid a relapse. Come back for a check-up in two weeks."
"Thank you."
"This is your medical record, and here is the bill for our services. Do come back if there are any more problems."

"Next!"
"Oooh, I'm suffering!" - a shout from the other side of the door. The Witch hides a smile, the Princess titters into her fist.
"Cheeky lad", the Witch mutters.
A young lad in apprentice's clothes looks in through the door.
"May I come in, ladies?"
"Go on, then, since you're here", the Princess replies. "What can we do for you?"
"Oh, I'm so miserable", the lad rolls his eyes and feigns supreme suffering. "My days are numbered, a great illness is upon me..."
"...and its name is spermotoxicosis", the Princess mutters.
"Oh, Princess!" the apprentice exclaims. "How vulgar! Its name is love!"
The Witch walks up to the lad and hugs him.
"A kiss from a horrible Witch won't save you?"
"Alas, no", the lad sighs. "It is incurable. But my suffering will be somewhat eased."
The Witch kisses the lad, who nods seriously.
"There, you see - already much better!"
"Something tells me you won't be rid of him with just one kiss", the Princess remarks.
"I'm not intending to be!", the Witch grins and kisses the lad again. "You didn't happen to see if there are many still waiting out there?"
"Three more at least", the lad sighs.
"Then you will have to wait for the rest of the treatment." The Witch pulls away. "I'm still at work, you know."
"Oooh, how I suffer!" the apprentice howls once more and winks.
The Witch kisses him once more and steps away.
"Incidentally, the prices here are high", the Princess remarks. "What will the payment be?"
"From you, your Highness - nothing!", the apprentice bows gallantly. "I do not require anything of you. You of me, on the other hand..."
With a flourish he pulls out a little golden pot from behind his back.
"You've fixed it?" the Princess exclaims in delight.
"Just like new! You owe me one kiss, Princess."
The Princess grabs the pot, and the bells inside tinkle gently.
"Kiss him for me", the Princess says to the Witch.
"I will be certain to."
"And for the witch's services I will pay honestly!", the lad adds, and takes off his rucksack. "Guess what's in here?"
"What could there be to guess?" the Witch sniffs. She touches the tip of her nose and smells the opening. "Smells of calfskin, wax, iron... and cherry jam! Oh, it's my favourite!"
"It's all for you", the apprentice gives the rucksack to the Witch. "But don't open it until I come back! Or something terrible might happen!"
"All right, all right", the Witch giggles.
"I'll be back in an hour. Oh, and don't forget - you owe me one kiss for the Beautiful Princess!"

Dinner break. The Princess and the Witch are having tea and buns. Only the Witch is eating the buns, the Princess just stares sadly at the plate.
"Have some", the Witch offers.
"I can't", the Princess sighs. "I need to watch my figure."
"Uh-huh, uh-huh", the Witch nods with her mouth full. "And also exercise every morning, run around the block every evevning, visit the hairdresser twice a month and the manicurist once a week..."
"I have to!", the Princess interrupts the Witch. "I have to stay in form! I am twenty eight, others have long since left the business by this age!"
"You're still doing great", the Witch agrees heartily. "Very Beautiful. A sixth-generation Princess, a real professional with a lot of experience. Guaranteed results."
"Exactly!" the Princess replies with affront. "Guaranteed! And have you seen the youth today? They don't look after themselves at all! They have no idea about make-up, they wear some kind of horrible rags, they don't know how to move at all! A pretty young face and an appetising figure isn't everything, you know! A real Beautiful Princess needs to carry herself like royalty!"
"Like you?"
"Like me."
The Princess spreads out her shoulders, straightens her back, puts on a majestic, solemn look.
"I remove 99% of all curses. And they are lucky if they can manage one in ten. How can I quit the business now?"
"Who's telling you to quit?"
"You."
"Me?!"
"Yes, just now."
The Witch stares at the Princess, the Princess at the Witch. Sighing, the Princess shrugs.
"Sorry, it just felt a little like..."
"If you think about it, though, maybe it really is time for you to think about marriage?", the Witch says. "You could make some new princesses, a seventh generation. When it comes down to it, you are not the only specialist in the country, there are others."
"I can't!", the Princess cries. "Not now! Don't you understand? While I'm a girl, while I am Beautiful... It would be criminal to think of myself when I can help so many who are suffering!"
"There, there", the Witch mutters into her cup.
"It's only in fairytales", the Princess says sadly, "that the evil stepmother curses just one heir-prince. And no-one else. Here, every other person's been given the evil eye! People don't think about what they say at all, they curse each other more often than they give each other colds!"
"A cold is a kind of curse too", the Witch clarifies.
"All the more so, then. How can I put my duty aside in this situation?"

An examination is in progress. A fat, repulsive miller is sprawled gracelessly on a chair. He is fanning himself with a newspaper while sucking a boiled sweet with loud slurps.
The princess is sitting on the rug in the lotus position, wincing.
"Could you please not slurp, at least?"
"'Dear'!" the Witch wispers rapidly. "You must say 'dear' when you speak to him."
"Yes, yes", the miller nods and winks at the Princess luridly. "Go on, go on, love me."
The Princess squeezes her eyes shut and grinds her teeth helplessly.
"There's nothing I can do", the Witch whispers, "the curse is very strong, there are too many emotions in it. And I'm only fifth level."
"Go on, girls, hurry up", the miller encourages. "Don't keep me, I'm a busy man."
"You have to love him with a pure, true love", the Witch says without much hope in her voice.
"Here and now", the miller giggles.
"Could he keep quiet?"
"You just do your job!" the miller snaps. "Don't go dissin' me!"
"You are making my task harder", the Princess squeezes out through gritted teeth.
"'My dear', 'my dear'!" the Witch corrects her.
"You! Are! Not! Helping! Dear!"
"Quit justifying yourself!" the miller retorts. "Maybe I don't like the way you look either. Maybe I like full-bodied women. Ones that go like that and like that." He draws melon shapes in the air with his hands. "But if you come to my mill, I'll serve you like any other customer, mill whatever it is you need milling, even if actually I can't stand the sight of you, because that's my job. So you, too, work like you're supposed to. She's got sentiments, can you imagine..."
"Dear!" the Princess speaks in a calm, terrible voice. "Shut up. I'm working."
"Then work", the miller mutters. "And just try to say that it's not working! I've got a letter here from the mayor!"
The Princess glances at the Witch.
"Maybe general anaesthetic...?"
"Won't work", the Witch sighs. "He needs to be conscious."
The Princess squeezes her eyes shut once more and rocks back and forth, repeating over and over like a mantra: "He's human... he's human too... he must have something good in him... it must be possible to love him... for some idiot to love him..."
The miller pulls the boiled sweet out of his mouth with a loud slurp, licks it and closes his eyes in anticipation.
"When I get home, I'll catch that ginger bitch and give her a good hiding with a belt! No, I'll strip her first and tie her up by the refuse pit, with all the horseflies. Then I'll whip her! So they sting where it's raw. Yes, that's what I'll do."
He pushes the sweet under a cheek and mumbles:
"No, I'll shag her first. Or maybe afterwards? Oh, yes! I'll shag her, then belt her, and then in the evening shag her again. So she learns!"
He sucks for a bit.
"Teach her to curse her betters!"
The Princes stares at the Witch in misery.
"I can't...", the Witch sighs.
"Give me another dose", the Princess asks.
"Have you gone mad? It's bad for you! You've had four already!"
"Another", the Princess begs. "I'm completely failing here. You can see yourself, it's an exceptional case."
With an obedient sigh, the Witch pulls out a bottle of love potion, measures ten drops into a spoon and gives it to the Princess.
"Here. If not even this works..."
"What do you mean, 'not even this works'?!" the miller exclaims angrily. "You have to do it! I've got a letter from the mayor here! You've all conspired, haven't you? You women are all the same; one's cursed me, the other doesn't want to help! I know your sort!"
The Princess clasps her hands over her ears.
"That's good, that's all right", the Witch strokes her head, "you sit there like that while the medicine does its job. And you, come here!"
The miller does not move; he crosses his legs.
"As for you, witch, you might do well to call me 'sir'."
"I might. But I don't want to. I said, come here, you!"
"If you need to, you'll come to me yourself."
"No", the Witch smiles terribly. "It's YOU who needs this."
After a minute's thought, the miller mutters under his breath, stands up and walks up to the Witch.
"Closer. Bend over."
The Witch whispers something in the miller's ear, the miller breaks out in a nervous red rash.
"Are you threatening me?!"
"I am not threatening, I am giving fair warning", the Witch smiles.
"I have it!" the Princess exclaims quietly, leaps to her feet and quickly kisses the miller's sticky lips. The miller stumbles backwards. The Princess stays rooted to the spot, swaying as though drunk.
"I told you, five doses is too many", the Witch whispers to her angrily.
"'m... 'm fine... I... don't feel so good..."
The Princess clasps her hands over her mouth and runs out the side door.
The miller unbuckles his belt and peers into his pants. After a long and thorough examination he belts up again.
"Looks like it's back to how it was... How much do I owe you?"
The Witch whispers in his ear again.
"Whaaat?!"
"It's a hard case", the witch shrugs, "with complications. Feel free to check our pricelist."
"Piss off!"
The miller throws his purse on the table.
"There's more here than I should pay you, in fairness. Three hours of talk, one quick peck, it's you who should be paying me! You women have become totally brazen... I'll deal with you yet! I'll complain to the mayor!"

"Last one for today!"
The Witch opens the door and admits the last client. It's quite a gruesome furry monster.
"Hello, you", the Princess says.
"Hello to you too", the monster replies. "You recognise me?"
"I do."
"You know each other?" The Witch looks from the monster to the Princess, pleasantly surprised.
"We do," the Princess nods slowly.
"Uh-huh..." The Witch bites her fingernail thoughtfully. "So, I'm making a diagnosis?"
"Yes, please." The monster, clearly used to the procedure, walks up to the bed and lies down on the fresh paper. The Witch makes some gestures with her hands and whistles delightedly.
"That's amazing! Ninth level, at least!"
"Actually, twelfth," the monster clarifies. "Here's a note."
The Witch reads the referral note, turns to the Princess and spreads her hands.
"Nothing I can do. A kiss of true and faithful love, no other way."
"Bastard!", the Princess shouts, kisses the monster, slaps him hard and runs away.
The Handsome Prince sits up on the bed and shrugs philosophically.
"Yes..." the Witch says thoughtfully. "You really do know each other."
"Since we were little."
"A kiss of true love, just like that, with no preparation... first time I've seen it."
"Of course. There was another witch here last year. With black hair."
"Yeah, I've only been working here eight months."
The Witch returns the referral note to the Prince and fills in some more paperwork. The Prince pays.
"Twelfth-level curses are expensive", the Witch remarks casually.
"Everything I've earned this year", the Prince agrees. "But for a real specialist, with a guarantee - it's worth it." He pulls on his chainmail gloves, adjusts the sword on his belt.
"Well, I must be off, duty calls. Chasing orcs, stilling the undead... while the hand is firm and the eye sharp. I will save up for the next curse."
"That's how you live? One kiss a year?"
"Sometimes less often", the Prince sighs. "That's life."