Chapter Text
It had been over a decade since the last of these festivities were held in the area. Sportacus could still recall from his childhood the grand event with the feas and elves, humans included, unbeknownst to them. How the room was decorated with hues of all the colors of the world with the honey wine spilling and food plenty. That his family was but a guest, and that as a child he still had a lot of excuses to hang from the high beams of the ashen oak. Now, as an adult and someone whose family was directly involved in the traditional union of the courts, he felt a tad more serious.
He read his letter over and over while pacing up and down his blimp, the ship asking in vain to stop, as his unusual indecision was making the enchanted home unbalanced as well.
"Sorry," he said, flipping the paper one more time. "Do you have any idea why the courts decided to hold the ceremony here, in Lazy Town of all places?" he folded the letter, turning it between his fingers.
"I have no data; however, the high court always preferred to hold such high-profile mergers on human soil; magic folk are less prone to show themselves when in the crowd with the mundane," came the perfect answer.
"Sportacus, is it true that it’s going to last six days?" Ziggy's eyes were wide and round in wonder as he tossed the ball, missing the hoop miserably.
Sportacus zipped after the basketball, scooping the plaything with a cartwheel. Spinning the thing, he showered in the awe of the kids, who kept chattering about the big event held next week. Passing to Stephanie, she dribbled the ball expertly, twirling out of Pixel's guard with ease.
"Yes!" Sportacus laughed, cheering for Trixie, who snapped the ball back before it could have ended in the hoop.
"Six days!" Pixel repeated, highfiving his accomplice. "For that, would the venue and the castle be enough?" and Sportacus almost saw the numbers wrap around the boy’s head.
Yeah," Stephanie huffed, blowing her bangs up, once again dribbling the ball, and sneaking a glance at Stingy for their next attack. "Uncle Milford said there would be at least a hundred guests!" and this time she scored.
Sportacus grinned as he nipped the ball away, twisting in the air and making a perfect arch.
"A hundred?!" Ziggy gaped, arms above his head, as he skipped to reach for the ball bouncing toward him.
Sportacus stopped, eyes on the high castle that had appeared from thin air, boundled with all the necessary amenities that are usually needed for such an event. He was always amused when things just popped up, seemingly out of nowhere, and how the town never had an inkling of mistrust for pyramids or haunted towers. Remaining blessedly oblivious when it disappeared the same way.
"Yes, and you are all invited, right?" he asked, running in a lazy circle around the children.
"That’s right," Stingy said, fanning himself in vain. "I got mine just yesterday."
We've all got one!" Trixie rolled her eyes but laughed good-naturedly.
While permonging a trick shot for the children, arms straining as he pushed himself into a handstand, ball balanced on one leg, he peered at the children’s flustered faces, not that they would be snapped up by fae, but just to be sure, he vowed to keep a close eye on them, despite his other, according to his mom, more pressing responsibilities.
Said responsibilities showed themselves with vengeance the moment the magic in the air shifted on the first day of the festivities. Lazy Town was prone to seduce the magically inclined, and Sportacus had met more than one anomaly that otherwise would have stood out like a sore thumb, but it never shook blimp, or his senses for that matter, this much.
"Door," skipping to the door, turned plank and snapped his telescope to its full length.
Peering over the town, Sportacus enjoyed the fresh afternoon air. The kids were already all pampered for the small parade-like arrival of the colorful folk seeping into the otherwise lackluster little town. He heard the familiar chime of the airborne ships as they arrived, breaking from the thick sea of clouds one after the other, shimmering with mirth and something so much home that it almost hurt Sportacus.
The venue and the commodities were all what one would imagine when the high court pushed for whatever political benefit they hoped for. Gaudy halls, bags of treats, and personnel on a level Sportacus didn’t remember ever seeing.
With a bounce in his step, he followed the kids, who were adequate ooh-ing and aah-ing for the shiny halls. The mundane all flowed into the castle like it was just their usual festivities, with the mayor leading them in his usual wobbly steps.
Sportacus fell back, feeling the pull of his family’s magic, and hopped up to one of the shaded beams hidden from the onlookers. Catching the wooden fixture, he twisted and flipped to a seat with ease, nudging his brother’s shoulder in jest. "Big day!" he smiled, ignoring his brother’s eyeroll.
Íþróttaálfurinn, number nine, the hero in Lazy Town before him, who left for the more action-driven and in need Mayhem Town years ago. Always on the tip of his toes, he was usually the first to snap to attention or to reach the one in trouble. Now, however, he was sitting on the beam, legs dangling, and his usual golden uniform changed to a more subdued and event-relevant, loud beige-y yellow suit pants and white knitted sweater, despite the heat.
"Welcome, well, back, I guess." Sportacus tried again to lift his brother’s unusually rounded shoulders.
Thanks, Sport," he smiled halfheartedly. "It’s good to be back." Looping a hand over Sportacus’ shoulders, he pulled him into a side hug. "You take good care of the town and its folk." they both looked down, where the kids kept swarming random stations set up for the guests.
Both of them laughed heartily in the shade of the high arch when Stingy backed into a table, scattering some gift bags all around, ending in the children hurriedly collecting everything while apologizing like the great kids they were.
"So why the long face?" Sportacus asked once they had come down from their mirth. Sportacus slipped from the hug and hopped to his feet, balancing on the wooden structure, jittery from the familial magic buzzing on his skin.
"I don’t know," Íþróttaálfurinn, shrugged. "the moment I arrived, I started to miss my town. Also, you know about my villain; what if he wrecks havoc while I am gone?"
Yet Sportacus could sniff a lie out from a mile away, even without the magic swirling around them. "Are you not sure about this union?" he asked, dropping to a low crouch and letting one leg hang as he kept balancing. Seeing his brother so idle was also a nag in his mind. "Did you change your mind?"
"Of course not," Íþróttaálfurinn said without missing a beat, "It is a great honor to be part of strengthening the alliance between our folk; it’s just-"
"What-" Sportacus leaned forward, his hand reassuringly falling on his brother’s shoulder.
"Never mind," he said, shaking his head, and before Sportacus had the chance to ask further, because there was something to mind for sure, Íþróttaálfurinn slipped from the beam, turning at least six times, a feat his brother executed perfectly each time, and landed with a soft sound in the ring of their relatives.
Sportacus straightened to follow, his hand stopping on the sturdy wood holding up the roof when he found the familiar scent lingering in the air. Speaking of villains. He took a turn, flipping toward the farther side aisle. A turn, and he landed into a languid walk, waving some of the more skittish fae folk, hoping for a charming smile instead of a challenge.
The lingering scent of citrusy peaches made it easy to find his challenge. Robbie Rotten was storming out of one of the bathrooms, face painted in anger and wet, his usual vest drenched with whatever the talented mundane had gotten himself into. His villain was a human; Íþróttaálfurinn swore up and down he was at least a changeling, but with all the mild things and handmade mischief, it was impossible.
With a huffing laugh, he peered out to the aisle, where the man paced up and down, sniffling and rubbing his eyes with dangerous speed. While murmuring like a windlass under his breath, his chest expanded with withheld anger as he snapped to straighten up, fists rounding, and Sportacus could already tell something was about to happen.
"I'll wreck this wedding; fuck them; they shouldn't have invited me in the first place..." he grumbled, stomping toward Sportacus with dangerous velocity.
Only to jump back like the coward he was when he reached Sportacus’ spot, arms up before his head like Sportacus would ever hit him. Even when he came close to hurting Sportacus, there was never a moment where the hero wanted to inflict it on the scrawny man.
"Sportaflop!" he danced away, Robbie’s back hitting the rustic stone wall. "What are you doing here?!"
"Everyone is invited," Sportacus explained calmly, arms crossed before his chest, his usual stance working on the villain like a charm. "You wouldn’t cause any trouble now, would you?" Sportacus asked in jest, a tiny worry pinching his nape.
"Me?" Robbie asked, his hands plastering against his chest, a semi-innocent grimace on his face. "Would never," he smirked, hands coming together as he slouched like his usual self. "if anything, your flippity-floppity nonsense will end the ceremony sooner than needed," he said, demonstrating Sportacus’ usual hand movements while grunting in pain from the 'excruiating' workout.
The elf couldn’t really say anything to that, and smiling, he nodded knowingly. Not enough that he had to keep an eye on the kids; all the mundane folk, growing in number, now his very own villain, made a vendetta against this union. Sportacus didn’t fear his usual schemes either; if anything, he was more concerned about Robbie.
"I hope so, Robbie."