If the Writer genuinely thought that the Ugly Duckling was the saving-the-world type, he was out of his telepathic little mind.

Was she trustworthy? Was she a woman of her word? Yes. Yes and no. She was honest when deserved, revealed the truth when needed be, and did not retract promises. She did not lie, at least never directly. But it was like Claude had said. To some extent, one had to be both a liar and a thief. There was no option of one or the other. To steal was to lie and to lie was to steal. Really, given how muddled and ambiguous it all was, what had the Writer expected from her?

Still, her bad wing weighed her down, and it felt a little like her conscience as she stood in the middle of downtown Nancourt—one of the largest, most populated cities in West Fairy.

"'Specially sunny out today," said the burly troll leaning against a brick wall amidst the crowded bustle of the weekday market, arms folded.

Ramona glanced up at the sky, shielding her eyes with one hand. "Actually, I suspect a cold front may be coming in," she responded just as she'd memorized, and he nodded, scanning the lot of them.

"Well, then, don't let the wind bite you on the way out." With that, he pressed his heel into a stone beneath him and the opposing wall to their left suddenly parted like an elevator door, allowing just enough time for Ramona, Minerva, Claude, Bear, Penny, and Lindsay to duck through before it shut again.

They were faced with a cramped and completely black room, unable to see anything except for glowing neon icons of crows on a screen in front of them.

"One for sorrow, two for mirth," Minerva whispered under her breath.

Penny couldn't help but continue the poem, knowing it by heart since childhood. "Three for a wedding, four for a birth."

"Five for silver," Ramona added, smiling a little.

"Six for gold."

"And seven for a secret never to be told," Minerva finished.

"Alright, but how do we actually get through this?" said Claude, rolling his eyes.

"It's the letters in the poem," Ramona explained. "S—one for sorrow. So we press the silver one once." She reached out and pressed the crow that glowed a silvery gray. "M for magenta." She pressed the bright pink crow twice. "W for white." Her fingers trailed along until they found the white one. "B for blue. Silver again. Then green."

Claude raised his eyebrows. "Not gold?"

"There isn't a gold one, wise guy," Ramona said dryly, pushing past him as the birds all blinked and gave way to a dimly-lit stairway that went downward.

"Right, but if there was silver—"

The two of them continued to bicker as everyone trodded into the darkness. On the way, they tore off cloaks and overgarments, pulling their hats and weapons from Ramona's enchanted bag.

"They made this way more complicated than necessary," Bear complained as they all huffed their way down the stairs that seemed to go on forever. "And it's hot."

"Have to weed out all the cops," Penny replied, although she didn't seem too thrilled about jogging down a gazillion flights of stairs either.

They finally made it to the entrance, a wide arch guarded by an ogre woman and a male wood fairy with vine-threaded dreadlocks. With a slow, lingering assessment of their clothing, the woman finally nodded her approval to Ramona at the front of the pack.

"Name."

Ramona held her stare, knowing that if she broke eye contact it could be interpreted as weakness, making her the loser in an unspoken intimidation game. "The Ugly Duckling."

She snapped the cap off a laser wand. "They all with you?"

Ramona confirmed this, and one by one they were made to step forward and reveal their wrists. The woman guarding the entrance lasered on some kind of stamp, which immediately vanished completely into their skin but would be made visible later if any of them needed to be identified. Proof that none of them had snuck in.

Bear's eyes were darting back and forth between the breadth of their surroundings as they stepped into the chaos of the convention, and it was chaotic, alright. The smells, sights, and sounds assaulted Ramona from all sides as she tried to focus on making sure everyone looked coordinated and not too nervous. Penny and Lindsay appeared bored at best, Claude was watching everything as hungrily as though he'd been presented with a stadium full of easy targets, Minerva had clearly been overtaken by a youthful curiosity but retained her air of slight scariness—which was good, today—and Bear... Bear appeared more conflicted than usual.

"That's a lot of villains," he murmured, taking it all in.

He was right, of course. There were stalls and booths galore advertising cursed amulets, deadly weapons and armor made of bones; one seller dressed all in dragons' hide claimed he could forge you a sword from the blood of your enemies; and witches, sorcerers, trickster fairies, brutish ogres, and sticky-fingered goblins alike roamed, all trying to one-up one another in evilness. From extravagant headdresses to powerful staffs to dramatic capes, everyone was trying to stand out.

The largest attractions, though, were the stages—enormous displays featuring famous villains that everyone was eager to meet. (Those that were still alive to show up, anyway.) The elusive Sea Witch with her twisted deals and admittedly impressive potions, that fairy fellow who called himself the Devil and was apparently still in the bad guy game, Dame Gothel and Frau Trude sitting around a fortune-telling cauldron, and of course, the Big Bad Wolf surrounded by copycats eager to meet their hero. However legendary he was, Ramona almost pitied him for how many had plagiarized his work. Truthfully, she'd only ever looked up to one villain, and she was unsurprised not to find her here. Baba Yaga had retired ages ago. The Devil should really consider the same, she mused. Trying to trick peasants into giving up their inheritances and cutting off girls' hands was so last century.

At the heart of it all was the main stage, elevated on a raised platform and featuring a black carpet and an enormous Blackhearts Crime Convention banner. The Black Apple Villainy logo was all over everything, from stall signs to doors to food and drink packaging to the uniforms of official staff lurking in the shadows to ensure that everything was going smoothly. A uniform that was deeply familiar. A uniform Ramona had worn as a teenage employee at this very convention at some other location years ago.

But this time she was here for herself. This time she could stand on her own two feet, no one to depend on for her own pay.

It wasn't easy living this way. But it was a hell of a lot more fun.

No-Name was here too. You could practically smell it in the air. Of course, Black Apple wouldn't have funding without them, so that was a given. Ramona caught it in shadowed glances and unmistakable tattoos—poisoned apples with knives through them. She would steer clear of them to avoid trouble.

"So," Ramona said finally. "Where do you want to go first?"

"We should split up if we want to have any chances of running into a member of the Alliance," Penny replied, and Ramona remembered with a sharp sting of annoyance that that was the real reason they were here, or at least in the eyes of the rest of the crew. "But maybe only partially. So none of us lose track of time. Or money."

"Those cursed amulets do look tempting," admitted Minerva.

Suddenly one of the hosts on the main stage tapped a microphone and boomed over the commotion. "WELCOME ALL THEE COLDHEARTED AND NASTY TO THE FORTY-SIXTH ANNUAL BLACKHEARTS CRIME CONVENTION, BROUGHT TO YOU BY BLACK APPLE VILLAINY!"

Ramona cringed at the sheer volume of the cheering that ensued. She felt like her eardrums were going to explode.

A second host wrestled the microphone away from him. Now that they had everyone's attention, the crowd quieted somewhat. "Sign-ups for crime spree categories will open in precisely one hour," he announced, "so be at your designated stages by that time! If you have not yet heard the categories, listen closely. Dastardly Schemes will be here on the main stage. Murder will be over there with Big Bad Wolf, and Larceny will be with the Devil. Arson..."

Ramona tuned the rest out as she turned to discuss registration with her crew. "We're still signing up, correct?" she said, eyes sparkling.

"Assuming we have time between saving the world..." Lindsay said wryly. "Yeah. We might as well. Not like we're going to win, but whatever."

"Dude, is that Diablo Terena?" Claude breathed, craning his neck to get a better view of the Devil. "I've always wanted to tell him how much he sucks to his face!"

Penny patted his shoulder. "Yeah, good idea. You go do that. I'll watch."

"Come on, you have to admit, the guy is a loser. How many schemes have worked in, like, five hundred years?"

"I mean, he started a couple world wars, so I guess that counts for something."

"Oh, big deal. I could start a world war if I really wanted to."

"I wonder what people will come up with for Dastardly Schemes," Bear mused. "Hopefully nothing that messes with the order of the world even more than we've already got to deal with..."

Ramona frowned, nodding her agreement. The convention kept distracting her, and she'd almost forgotten entirely that she was supposed to be acting concerned about the mission the Writer had given them. Last year's scheme winner was someone she didn't know, who'd successfully unleashed a legion of shapeshifting hellhounds onto the Charmings' annual masquerade ball. Of course, the whole ordeal was put to an end before more than a handful of nobles even got eaten. Underwhelming in comparison to many of the more impressive schemes of recent years. The fairy who'd turned Prince Alexios into a beast and his whole castle into inanimate objects was a personal favorite of Ramona's, partially because it was a major reason she'd ever gotten to meet Minerva and partially because it was undeniably funny.

Penny's mild interest dissipated quickly. "So, back to splitting up," she said, gesturing among the crowds. "Duckie, you want to take that way and I'll head down the far side?"

Ramona nodded. "Anything suspicious—er... more than usual, I guess—buzz me." She wriggled her crystal into her ear, powering it on. Everyone else followed suit, save for Lindsay. Amidst all their preparation, they had yet to find a replacement for her broken earpiece, nor a jewel repairman that wasn't outrageously priced. She would have to suck it up and stay close to someone who had a functioning one.

Minerva tugged at Ramona's sleeve, eyes bright. She seemed to unconsciously revert to acting like a real teenager when she got excited. "You'll let me look at the jewelry, won't you?"

"You know they hike up the prices of magical artifacts at these booths," she sighed, but waved for her to come along. Claude tucked his hands into his coat pockets; gloved, of course; and followed them, Bear and Lindsay heading in the opposite direction with a parting wave.

She and Claude waited, murmuring to each other judgment of everyone who passed by, as they allowed Minerva to scour the booth with cursed necklaces. They made it a game of ranking people's outfits from one to ten, dishing out scathing insults whenever someone was wearing anything particularly bad. Perhaps most egregious was one man's enormous boat-shaped hat bearing live fishes. Ramona couldn't remember the last time she'd laughed so hard.

"And you say this will bring wrath upon my enemies?" Minerva was saying to a seller, examining an admittedly very beautiful necklace cut from swirling black agate.

"Oh, yes, yes. Indeed. Tested and proven." Minerva looked rightfully skeptical of the batty old lady whose eyes were practically bugging out of her head and whose eyelashes were long enough to be draped in what Ramona was sure were genuine spiderwebs, but she stroked the shining jewels anyway, enamored with the necklace.

"I'll take it," she decided finally, and the old woman rubbed her hands together, delighted.

The trio went on their way after that, making their way through congested crowds of outcasts and outlaws. There were capes and boots galore, and Ramona was glad to have aligned the crew's color scheme, because strict black-and-white seemed to be rare enough to keep them from appearing too forgettable. She received interested glances and raised eyebrows from passersby, but didn't see anyone she recognized from the apprentice's books. Not that that was surprising in the least. There had to be hundreds of people here from all across the world—maybe even thousands. Ordinary criminals and ambitious villains alike had come together for socializing or the award opportunities or both.

Ramona paused in her tracks upon noticing a sign that read CLANDESTINE AFFAIRS dangling in front of one of the curtains that lined the raised ledges on the outer borders. Out of curiosity, she diverted and headed over, Claude and Minerva following her without really knowing where she was going. The sign advertised the best forgery in the north!

So he had come, just as his letter had implied. She ought to thank him for his help at least.

Ramona made her up the short series of steps, peeled open the curtain and stepped inside. Unlike the smaller booths, this one was given deluxe space, including seating for customers around a circular table where Hayden had set up samples. Perks of being up above all the packed pandemonium. Across the other side, a curved balcony looked out on the entire convention.

A few potential customers were mosying about, and Hayden Calypso himself was conversing with one of his uniformed employees. Ramona began to wander around the table, tapping on a printing machine beside a stack of false yellowbacks. Claude's brow furrowed over her shoulder.

"This that guy who did the documents?"

"Yep. Figured we'd stop by."

Hayden glanced over while talking, and after a slow moment, must have realized who she was. He clapped his hands and came over, looking pleased to see her.

"'Ay, Ugly Duckie! See, it's a lot easier to recognize you with the whole getup," he said, gesturing to what she was wearing. He was dressed in furs and pastels, as if he'd been plucked straight out of Snow and hadn't realized the change in weather just yet. "You're so much older now. Not that I mind a bit," he added with a mischievous, scarred smile. Another tooth had been knocked out since she last saw him. Real obvious, right in the front.

"You're still the degenerate scumbag I remember," Ramona replied lightly, her smirk crooked. Hayden was older than her by ten years at least, but he would shoot his shot with a talking slug if it gave him the time of day.

He only smiled wider as he stepped forward, reaching out an arm. "But I'm the best in the business."

They shook hands and clapped each other on the back. "That you are," Ramona conceded. Of course, despite not being her favorite person in the world, he had his strengths; his flaws simply outnumbered them. Hayden always had reliable street wisdom and horrible plans on his tongue. Or at least, that was what she remembered—and someone like Hayden never really changed.

He snapped his fingers.

"Speaking of! How did the papers hold up?"

"Oh, the papers worked like magic. Things got a little rocky, but it's not your fault."

"Ah, I see." Hayden's eyes lit up when he noticed Minerva and Claude. "You finally decided to bring your little crew."

Ramona nodded, gesturing to them in turn. "You've probably heard of Dolos. And that's Lynon. Everyone else is somewhere on the other side of the con."

"I like the outfits. Very classy. You know, there's people talking about you. No one's figured out for sure who killed the queen, not with all the conflicting rumors."

Claude's eyes flicked to his. "But you know," he asserted, reading his expression and tone better than Ramona could've.

He shrugged. "Maybe I do, maybe I don't. All I can say is that an old friend's gone down a dark path."

"Haven't we all these days?" Minerva murmured wryly, and Hayden barked a laugh.

"Touché," he replied with a touch of amusement.

He gestured for Ramona to follow, and hesitantly she did, going with him to look out on the balcony. Below them were Fairytaletopia's worst, but from here they looked like blots on a map, like crushable ants, like the insignificant, desperate souls they really were at their core.

"You see, thiefling," Hayden began, "these are our heroes. When we give up on the unreachable goal of knights and princesses and happily-ever-afters, this is what's left."

Ramona hummed. It was all somewhat dreary to consider.

"Bit pathetic, isn't it?" he admitted.

Hayden leaned forward on the balcony, and Ramona turned to him.

"You ever get your crew back?"

"The Twelve Dancing Princes," Hayden drawled, with an air of mocking and a bitter aftertaste. "A tragedy. Most of us dead, missing, or in chains. The ones that survived left our souls behind. Nothing left to mourn." He turned to Ramona, his eyes sharper than before. "Do you know what it feels like to be truly imprisoned? Not just in a jail cell, but isolated on an island with no. Way. Out."

She shook her head, her eyes trained on his—the color of toffee and laced with a little bit of crazy.

"You know, we were going to be royals someday. I had the ambitions of a budding villain; I was going to sit atop a throne and wear a crown of stolen valor. But there isn't room in the world for everyone to be king." Toffee eyes wandered into the distance, looking out upon the stages from which famous baddies preened and congratulated themselves on jobs never finished. "I think the villains we've come to know are a relic of a time past," he said. "Big Bad, Frau Gothel. I have a feeling that something is coming—a new world order, something we haven't seen before."

Ramona glanced out to where he was gazing, trying to imagine what the world would look like fifty years from now. "What do you think the future looks like for people like us?"

Hayden shrugged, stepping back. "I don't know. If we're lucky—" his grin returned— "it'll be filled with piles and piles of gold."

She barked a laugh. "I wish."

"You know, if you're still on that dream to find your family or whatever, I'm sure there's investigators somewhere around here."

"I'm more likely to find a bounty hunter than anything else."

"Eh—find your family, receive your family's heads in the mail, same difference. You and the Junior Ducklings going to sign up?"

"I don't even know if I'd be able to come up with anything that would top what everyone else is doing."

"Well," Hayden offered with raised eyebrows, "snatching crowns could be a good start."

The idea went off like a lightbulb in her head, although it was technically Hayden's and not hers. Her mouth formed a small O. "That's brilliant," she realized. And if she had to go along with the Writer's silly plan, she would be going into every castle anyway—it was only a matter of planning the steal better than last time. Changing plans abruptly rarely worked well. Oh, yes... the concept was already mapping itself out in her head, potential pathways in and out of Fairy Palace scribbling and rearranging themselves. First things first: "Do you know anyone with up-to-date maps of the castles? Even just the Charmings' palace would be a good start."

"Hmm..." He frowned and tapped his fingers on the railing, considering it. "Try 'Totally Legitimate'. It's a junk shop, but they usually have stuff like maps, and all their products are bootleg but definitely the most recent editions of everything. Cheap, too. You'd better catch 'em before they're sold out. They always draw a crowd."

Ramona pumped her fist silently. "You're a lifesaver, Calypso."

"Good luck, kid. You're a crappy thief, but it's all about the performance. You can be the most hilarious disaster and still win so long as you go out in style. That's the villain code."

"Thanks. Really instills confidence."

"You're welcome. I'm here all day."

So Ramona left, wrapping both arms around Claude and Minerva's shoulders as they headed out through the curtains and down the steps.

"I have the perfect plan for how we're going to win this thing," she said, with that gleam in her eye that meant trouble. "You guys are gonna love it—it involves humiliating the royals."

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

Hello! :) Do you want to see my old LD sketches???? No???? Well, if you change your mind, I'll put the link in the comments. Wink wink. Some of them are quite bad (Nikolai looking like Jim Halpert is particularly fascinating to me) but some of them I don't mind actually.