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lightening816 · 7 years

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The Guild Gala: A Boxtrolls Fanfic

Special thanks to @motherofallsharks and @scrapnick for allowing me to use their respective Boxtrolls OCs, Molly and Payton :)

Chapter 1

“Hear ye! Hear ye! Good citizens of Cheesebridge, the curfew is over and done. Come out of your homes. Enjoy another day of life, away from the risk of child snatchin’ Boxtrolls!”

Speeches similar to this were the first things Madame Molly Monte-Cristo heard each morning. As the sun peeked through her thin pink curtains separating her from her balcony, the young woman opened her bright green eyes to the same pink canopy bed that hovered over yellow bed sheets. She sat up and yawned. Who needed a ticking alarm clock when one had the oily voice of the leading night time pest exterminator?

Molly sat up and felt her stomach churn and her mouth water. She groaned as her feet swung into a pair of soft yellow slippers and she wrapped a pink silk robe around her yellow silk nightgown. She staggered over to her washroom and looked at herself in the mirror. Her eyelids were sunken and she seemed a little green. “How did I…oh yes…” she smiled despite her ill feeling, glancing at an empty wine glass and a sheet of paper on the desk beside her bed table behind her. Another night, another glass of wine, another letter to write to her Monty Pickles.

Well, not ‘her’ Monty Pickles technically. But maybe someday…

She removed her hair curlers and allowed her poofy blonde hair to fall gracefully down her shoulders. She ran a wide toothed comb down her layered locks and cleaned her teeth. A smile suddenly appeared on her face because she remembered what tomorrow would be. She dashed from her bathroom, sat at her writing desk, and began writing another letter.

Dear Mr. Pickles,

Forgive the repetitive letters, but I just remembered this morning that tomorrow’s the big day! Don’t forget to meet me by the steps inside the Guild! I can’t wait to see you. Don’t forget our promise.

Your dearest friend…

Molly hesitated to sign her name.

Friend…

She sighed. As optimistic as she tried to be, that one word in particular always bothered her. ‘Well,’ she thought. ‘Friend means I’m halfway there, right?’ She sighed her name as a knock was heard. “Yes?” Molly asked. “Good morning, Madam. Breakfast is ready in the dining hall,” the small voice of a house staff member replied from behind Molly’s bedroom door.

“Thank you! I’m coming!” She replied. She hummed as she left, smiling at a banner she glanced at from out her window.

One Day Until The Guild Gala …

Dr. Antoine Eugenie Payton knew that night time was the best time of the 24 hours within each day. Not only was it much more quiet, but it also wasn’t as warm, giving her at least a little bit of comfort in her stuffy morgue. She hummed to herself in her husky voice as she sewed up the remaining skin of one of her newest corpses.

“Mrs. Browne, you were just full of surprises, for an old lady. A boil on your leg, and a tumor in your brain, strong bones though. Tsk, tsk,” she said to herself as she finished sewing up the old woman’s flesh. She washed the corpse, placed marbles in the eye sockets, and put Mrs. Browne in a long drawer.

Dr. Payton was quite happy to be done with the poor lady. A scratching feeling in her throat caused her to hurry up the stairs to her loft on the top floor. It was a spacious dwelling with a small kitchen, closet, and the door to her bathroom to her left as she entered. To her right was a full sized bed topped with a soft floral printed blanket, and a pair of plush white pillows. In front of her was a wide green rug, a sofa with a coffee table stacked with books, potted plants, and a semi circular window just behind it, giving her a pretty good view of tall houses, chimney smoke, and a windows connected by laundry lines. She tossed her dirty work gloves, and whistled to herself as she used her right mechanical arm to roll up her opposite sleeve. Her organic hand pulled out a soap dispenser, allowing her to use her mechanical elbow to let some old fashioned hand soap fall onto her smooth olive toned hand.

Its opposite however was a metallic mechanism connected by wires, screws, and gears, all connected to her shoulder by a leather strap. It itched only a little bit as it merely sat over the side of her kitchen counter, near the water, but thankfully not close enough to touch it and possibly rust or fry the woman’s skin. As her skinned fingers ran as much soap as she could over the rest of her real hand and wrist, she was too focused on cleaning to realize the water’s temperature rising.

“Yeowch! Damn faucet!” She cried as she retracted her hand from the suddenly hot water. She cursed at herself as she studied the pink spot on her skin, but then smiled and blushed at herself. Maybe if her lover behaved, she’d let him kiss it. She blushed and giggled as she cooled the water, finished washing it, and wrapped a towel around it. “I wonder…” she muttered to herself.

Payton was a woman of certain kinds of simplicity. Aside from hand soap, and unlike some of the more elegant women in the town of Cheesebridge, she didn’t spend too much time pruning in the bathroom; no jewelry, polish, not even the tiniest ounce of foundation. She didn’t mind. Who had the time for fancy clothes and jewelry when you were elbow deep in dead clients? Sipping on a cup of water, she picked up her daily paperwork, sat down on her sofa, and wrote down Mrs. Browne’s general and forensic information; an elderly brunette with a sad old brain tumor, despite her obviously strong limbs. She checked her work, verified it all with a signature, and properly stored the document away.

The doctor glanced at her Green Hat and coat, hanging on a rack, before noticing the outside world; dark and numerous in stars, which she figured were out shined by the street lamps. Cheesebridge was by far the strangest town she’d ever lived in. In the 6-7 months she’d been there, she had been appointed the official mortician of the town; a member of the Guild as their official Green Hat. Not that it made any difference to her. Even though the Guild was the governing organization of the town, all that truly mattered to her was her work. She didn’t particularly like having to submit her paperwork to those dull, snooty White Hats as her Bosses of sorts. Thankfully, she didn’t have to see them everyday. She was more than happy to mail in her paperwork before the end of the week.

“Hear ye! Hear ye! Good citizens of Cheesebridge, the curfew is over and done. Come out of your homes. Enjoy another day of life, away from the risk of child snatchin’ Boxtrolls!”

There was another member of the Guild however, that she did see everyday, and she didn’t mind one bit. Payton could sense the rest of the town awakening from the sound of that same oily voice. She finished her water cup, washed it, and put on a new pair of work gloves to prepare for her next client. She noticed the white banner hanging outside.

One Day Until The Guild Gala

‘Ah, yes…’ she thought. Payton shook her head and shrugged. …

"Mummy,“ 3 year old Winifred Portley-Rind began. “Yes, darling?” her mother asked. “What’s a gala?” “Oh my dear, Winifred, the Gala! The Guild Gala!” Lady Cynthia Portley-Rind exclaimed as they sipped on their porridge in Her Ladyship’s bedroom. As 2 young women in black dresses and white aprons, laid out that day’s dresses for her and her child on the former’s bed, the young woman spoke to them all excitedly. “How exciting! The biggest holiday of the year. Even moreso than Christmas. I can’t wait. Dancing, socializing, speeches; I must commend your father for letting me decorate the foyer for the party yet again. Lord knows the poor dear is busy enough as it is with the other White Hats,” she sighed as the maids helped her into her dress.

The wife of the Mayor was a very fashionable woman, and even at the tender age of 3, Winifred Portley-Rind believed it every time she looked at her rake thin mother. Both ladies were fair skinned with bright green eyes. Her Ladyship’s long blonde hair was being braided by Martha, a young maid with delicate hands, while Winnie fidgeted in her cushioned chair as another maid, Lydia, stylized her hair into pigtails. “Lydia, use the pink bows today,” Her Ladyship requested. “Yes, Madam,” the latter maid replied before adorning Winnie with her hair bows.. Little Winnie squeaked a little at the feeling of staff members helping her into her day dress, alongside Her Ladyship. “But, Mummy dear, what IS the Guild Gala?” Winnie asked.

"A means to celebrate our founding of course!“

Everyone turned to find two men standing at the bedroom doorway. One was a man in black, white, and grey and looking quite neutral. The other looked much more impressive with her white silk vest, trousers, and tall feathered hat. The latter man stroked his red mustache, as he left the first man in the doorway to greet his wife and daughter. “Ah, dear!” Her Ladyship replied. “Father!” the little girl added. His Lordship patted Winnie’s head as he stepped towards his wife. Each maid bowed low to the Mayor. “Your Lordship,” they both said.

"Cheshire,“ he gestured towards the man in black and white. "Escort Miss Jones and Miss Prenderghast back to Mrs. Dickson for their next assignment.” The butler walked out with Martha and Lydia, leaving the small family together.

Now, dear,“ Lady Portley-Rind resumed. "Do you suppose Trubshaw Baby Remembrance Day will outshine the Guild Gala?” she asked the man casually. “Don’t be ridiculous, Cynthia…Well…to be fair…ever since Mr. Trubshaw and his poor son disappeared, people don’t think about the Gala as much as they used to, do they? I mean, it’s Cheesebridge’s anniversary for goodness sake! The day our founders found this whole valley and set up shop,” the mayor explained.

“Of course, dear.” Lady Portley-Rind leaned forward onto her dresser and stared into her long mirror while she padded her face with power and decorated her eyelashes with mascara.

“At first, we were just some immigrants from London looking for elbow room and now look where we are 200 hundred years later! We’re the most popular source of dairy products in all of England. Even Queen Victoria appreciates us and many of us don’t normally leave this town! But now that the curfew’s been installed for the last year and maybe a half, it wouldn’t surprise me if Trubshaw Remembrance Day became the most important day on the calendar, given how much people talk about it. Not to mention those Red Hats I hear every night…” His Lordship grumbled that last part. He thought of that oily voice that cried out 'Hear ye! Hear ye!’ and his nose wrinkled at just thinking of the sound.

"Father?“ Winnie asked. His Lordship glanced at her. "What is it, Winifred?” “Will Boxtrolls be there to bite fingers and nibble knees?” the toddler asked with a twinkle in her eyes. The parents were silent for a minute. His Lordship winced. Her Ladyship fainted. “Ooohh….” she moaned as she fell. “Winifred,” he put his hands to his hips. “Proper girls do NOT think so lightly about nocturnal monsters.”

"But Mr. Snatcher says-“

"I know, I know, but you’re a nice young girl. Nice young girls don’t need to dwell on needless things. Besides, you’re too busy to worry over them. Today’s your last day to practice your dancing until the Gala after all!” “Aww, more dancing?” Winnie asked. “Yes, yes, of course…” His Lordship replied as he turned to the window. “Oh! Are we still here?” Her Ladyship asked, sitting back up. “Love, do pass the tea?”

“Very well,“ His Lordship replied. "I just came to see if you two were ready for the day. I must be off.” “If you must, darling,” Cynthia replied. “But, Father,” Winifred started. His Lordship poured the tea, kissed Her Ladyship’s cheek, patted his daughter’s head, and left.

Winnie pouted. …

In her short 7 years of existence, Pepper Snatcher had never been so concerned in all her life. She could sense something coming to disturb her flight through the clouds with powder blue feathered wings. As she performed her flips in the air, laughing and smiling, she flinched at the sound of thunder. She turned and far out in the distance, she saw a cluster of dark gray clouds forming. They were far away then, but Pepper didn’t stay to find out when they’d reach her. She hurried through the sky, searching frantically for land. The sweat dripped from her brow and her gasps and heavy breathing increased as this feeling of dread overwhelmed her senses.

In the moment, a sharp feeling scratched her pale fair skin. She screeched and looked up. A fat, red vulture wrapped its humongous talons around her thin body. She tried to squirm free, but all she could do was wiggle her feet and scream for help. “Mummy?! Mummy!!”

“Pepper,” that deep, oily voice replied. “It’s time to get up.” Her eyes closed, but then they opened again, back in the real world. The little girl found herself entwined in her gray and white bed sheets, back in her old dreary bedroom on the highest floor of the largest factory in Cheesebridge. Her alarm clock screeched before she reached over to turn it off. It read 6AM. Pepper pinched her extra long men’s night shirt and picked it up so the air could circulate over her form. She yawned while kicking the sheets away and rubbing her chocolate brown eyes.

Almost every morning began this way: waking up from a strange dream involving some red, overweight predator, and rolling out of bed to get herself ready for the day ahead. She reached into her closet and after a few minutes of deliberating, picked out a deep blue work dress over her purple one and chose a white pinafore to match. She picked out a white bow to tie up her short, deep red hair with, allowing half of it to stay flat on her shoulders, white stockings and black leather boots with laces.

Pepper paid little attention to her surroundings at this moment. She was the most colorful thing in the room. Her room was quite large, and held a twin sized bed, a bed table, a closet, and a complete bathroom. She didn’t mind the bed or furniture, but she always did wish for more colorful walls and bed sheets, for they were painfully dull and gray. If only Pepper was brave enough to ask her Father for more colorful options. She knew she wouldn’t though. After all, Father is a busy man; a very important gentleman who needed to focus on work, not on the small, simple concerns of a little girl.

And Pepper was, to him, very simple indeed.

She made up her bed, made sure she left her bathroom and floors neat, and left her room with the door closed. Pepper faced a long hallway with red carpet, dark walls, and gasoline lamps. To her left were 2 more doors down; her father’s Private Quarters and his office. Many times did the little girl think about entering these places by herself, but she knew it would only end in disaster.

Living with her father for 8 months had given the girl plenty of tips about the man, she knew better than to forget. The very idea, for instance, of going into his room or his office uninvited was ludicrous. The simple action of touching his special chair at the kitchen table, without the intention of dusting it, was unthinkable, and certainly one simply doesn’t touch his things without permission. Father was the rule maker; the respected head of the household, and that was just the way things were.

And if she knew him, he’d be getting close to the end of his work night right about…

"Hear ye! Hear ye! Good citizens of Cheesebridge, the curfew is over and done. Come out of your homes. Enjoy another day of life, away from the risk of child snatchin’ Boxtrolls!“

…now.

Pepper hurried down the hallway and found the steps that led to largest room in the factory. Down the steps was a wide open space where plenty of manufacturing used to take place no doubt, with its old fashioned generator sitting parallel to the steps. Nowadays, it was a wide foyer of sorts with a kitchen and laundry corner to the side, and a basement underneath that was absolutely off limits to the little girl.

So that day, just like any other day, Pepper hurried down the steps, put a pan on top, and turned on the potbelly stove. …

"Hear ye! Hear ye! Good citizens of Cheesebridge, the curfew is over and done. Come out of your homes. Enjoy another day of life, away from the risk of child snatchin’ Boxtrolls!”

The tall foreboding motorized truck drawled down the cobblestone streets as the sky began to glow with the signs of an inevitable sunrise. At that moment, 4 figures remained on the streets of Cheesebridge and there they were on their truck, a contraption of handles, exhaust, and a huge sign on its side that had a painted rectangular shaped monster in black paint with a red line marked diagonally. “BOXTROLL EXTERMINATORS”.

The three that held on at its sides were a tall beanpole, Monty Pickles, a hulking giant with gentle eyes, Edward Trout, and an ice blue eyed imp, Bernard Gristle. On each of their heads was a red hat of sorts; for Mr. Pickles and Mr. Gristle, they were top hats, but for Mr. Trout, it was a tiny red bowler. None of them were as tall or as impressive as the hat belonging to the gentleman that sat on top. The gentle giant sat at the front side, driving with a tiny steering wheel.

The fearless leader of them all sat in a fancy chair on top with a side table, a pot of tea, a teacup, and a saucer to his right. He certainly appeared the most impressive of all of them, with his red jacket of velvet topped with a fur collar, and hands clad with rings, the grandest of which had a large yellow gem sitting in place. Though the other men were bald, he had a long limp hair tied back with matching sideburns, peeling trousers, and a long ovular face to match a huge potbelly that sat between his buttoned vest and his crossed legs.

The truck rumbled with the sounds of running wheels and the tiny whimpers of monsters behind the cloth that bore the monstrous side of the truck. Mr. Trout drove the truck down Milk Street, away from the tall 3 story buildings that made up most of the steep hill. The Boss put his phonograph, which he’d used to wake up the steep hill, away and leaned back, his fish like lips stretching into a knowing smirk.

Cheesebridge may have been governed by the White Hats of the Guild in the day time, but at night, the Boss was proud to say that he was its perfectly efficient leader from sunset to sunrise, thank you very much. The curfew that took over after the disappearance of the widower inventor Herbert Trubshaw, and his infant son, Arthur, had granted the Red Hats all the time they needed every night to hunt down the suspected criminals responsible: the Boxtrolls.

The Boxtrolls were menacing monsters, plain and simple. Those nocturnal creatures that stole children and what’s worse, cheeses of all kinds, would never stay away until every child they could find was nabbed and eaten and the town ransacked of all of its fine dairy products. But none of them need worry. As long as the courageous, gentlemanly leader of the Red Hats was still in charge of Cheesebridge at night, while most others were in bed, no underling of any kind would even come close to running away with another innocent child again. All in a night’s work for Mr. Archibald P. Snatcher.

The truck pulled to a stop in the front yard of the factory, and as soon as the breaks were put on, the 3 employees hoped off. Mr. Pickles stretched his limbs. “Another night, another feat of heroics,” he told Mr. Trout. “Yeah, I suppose it was,” Mr. Trout replied. “TROLLS!” the imp added.

"GENTLEMEN!“

The 3 men turned around and watched their Boss climb down the truck. Once his pointed shoes were planted firmly on the floor, he swiped the dust from his jacket with his long thin fingers. "Another successful night, it seems,” he said with a chuckle in his throat. “Mr. Trout, follow me. I have much to do today, and I need all the time I can acquire,” he responded in a sudden low tone. “Right, Boss,” Mr. Trout replied tiredly.

Pepper could hear the truck and the voices of the 4 men from inside. Every few seconds, she glanced at the door feeling her heartbeat increase, though it didn’t surprise her anymore. She turned off the stove and flinched at the sound of the door opening.

“Pepper!”

The 7 year old turned around and hurried over. Though her head only came up to his knee, his long thin arms managed to reach down and pat her head as he looked down at her. “Good morning, Father.” "And good morning to you too.” "Had a nice night, sir?” she asked as she let her arms fall at the weight of his jacket being taken into her skinny arms. She hooked his jacket and Red Hat onto a nearby hat and coat rack. The man chuckled. “See for yourself.”

She turned to look at him but immediately recoiled. Wrapped around his arm between that and his hip was a shaking box. Mr. Trout followed him with 2 more. “Good morning, Miss,” the giant replied. Pepper glanced at him. “Good morning, Mr. Trout.” Pepper watched as both men walked past her, all the while standing there making sure not to say anything else. She did however, glance continually at the two men as they put the 3 Boxtrolls in cages, hanging by chains from the rafters high above them. Every time she saw the monsters, she always noticed the sounds they’d make. The mumbling and whimpering frequently confused her. Apparently, bloodthirsty monsters only genuinely felt sorry after they’d been caught.

She tried not to stare too long, lest she get in trouble for any implied sympathy or communication with remorseless beings. Once Mr. Snatcher and Mr. Trout had walked away from the hanging cells, the blue-green faces of the trolls peaked out from their cardboard shells and glanced at the girl. Their pointed ears twitched as they looked at her. “Pepper?” They seemed taken aback from the girl’s doe like eyes and how she appeared when standing next to the dismissed Trout and the lizard like Snatcher. Both men were tall, huge mountains. “Pepper?” The little girl was as thin as a rake with a heart shaped face; she just didn’t match, they realized.

“Pepper!”

The startled girl child turned to face Mr. Snatcher, her hands neatly folded to her chest. “Yes, Father?” Snatcher whipped his head back at the boxtrolls who disappeared into their boxes at the sight of his glaring face and hair strands falling onto his face. “That’s better. Ignore them, Pepper dear, it’s no use looking at those things.” He pushed his hair behind his ear and reached behind her. He grasped her shoulders (making her shoulders shrug and stiffen), and lightly pushed her to the kitchen table. She could’ve sworn her father gave one last warning look to the trolls, but she chose not to question it. His hands on her shoulders were all the sign she needed. A ‘Code’, she’d call it.

Pepper sat at the table and watched her father inspect what she’d made for them. This part concerned the girl, as she’d always hope that he liked what he found. As he pulled out dishes for them, her tiny fingers tapped on the wooden surface of the table. Her head eventually turned to the most impressive chair at the table. Each of the chairs looked the same, save for what Pepper called 'the Boss Chair’, an elegantly carved wooden chair with red colored cushions. The others were simple rectangular seats and stools, and she almost always sat in one of them. She shuttered at a memory of the last instance she had the gall to sit in the Boss Chair; one that she preferred to forget.

Her hands rested on the table and twitched. She tried to regulate it by simply tapping on the wood, but nothing seemed to work, until she felt a long cold hand pat the top of her head. She squeaked a little, but it resulted in a blush and willing smile on her face. Her short hair was a little rustled, but she didn’t care at that moment. “I appreciate the attempt, my pet. I must say you’re getting better.”

Pepper found the courage to look at him as he sat down and passed her a plate. His had 3 eggs and hers had 2. How he was able to carry 2 plates and a tray carrying a teapot, sugar, and teacups was beyond her, but she smiled regardless. “Thank you, Father!” Despite her delight, her smile faded a little.

“Pour the tea, would you?” he replied. “But, Father-” “Now, please.”

She quickly reached over and took the teapot, causing a small spill. He rolled his eyes at her. Pepper gasped and stepped away, as he stood up from his chair, reminding her of their sizes. He plucked a handkerchief from an inner pocket and absorbed the spilled tea. The girl looked down at her folded hands, unsure of what to do.

“A little frazzled, are we?” Snatcher asked, giving her a raised eyebrow. “I-I, well-” “Yesss?” he replied. Pepper widened her eyes and froze. “I was just…wondering something…why are we drinking tea right now? We usually have some a little later, right?” she asked, rubbing her neck in nervousness. Snatcher smiled at her, now clearly relaxed. “How insightful, my dear. I’m impressed,” he drawled, leaning back and crossing his legs. “Our schedule will be a little different today. No schooling, no chores-” “Really?!” Pepper asked excitedly.

“Pepper! Don’t interrupt.” “I’m so-y-yes, sir.”

Snatcher nodded in response. “Good show, now where was I?” “Today’s schedule…” Pepper replied. “Ah, yes right, now Pepper, we’re going into town today to pick up those items we are to present to our White Hats tomorrow. Something to impress them with, if you remember. Then we’re going to visit Mother.” The little girl smiled genuinely at him. “That’s right! I love Mother!” Pepper replied. “As you should, darling,” he replied, sipping on his tea and pointed to the boxtrolls trembling in their cells. “You see those pests over there?” he asked. Pepper nodded. He left his chair to stare down the boxtrolls. One was bold enough to glance outside its box, but the moment it caught sight of Snatcher’s judgmental eyes, it squeaked and immediately retreated into its little square.

“Typical…One day, everyone of these things will be destroyed by your esteemed father,” he elaborately gestured to himself. “And I shall take a White Hat of my own! I will be the most respected man in town, and you and your Mother will be at my side; the most respected pair of women here. It shan’t take long now, my dear.”

Pepper didn’t expect anything less. Snatcher always loved getting passionate. Whether it was about the government, underlings, or his little family, the passion in his voice and his elaborate gestures helped him feel powerful. He was a passionate powerful man in her eyes. Pepper sometimes shrunk away from him, but this moment simply made her sit there in her chair and watch him give them this strongly worded speech, in awe of his confidence. He was so frightening yet so elaborate and opinionated.

Pepper looked back over at the trembling boxes in their cells. “Father?” she piped up. “What is it?” he asked. “Can I watch you ‘take care’ of them today? The trolls, I mean.” Snatcher turned and put a fist to his hip. “Why?” he asked strictly. Pepper felt her spine tingle at the low, unamused tone in his voice. “It-it’s just, the Gala tomorrow; I mean, if we’re going to go and talk to the Guild, and-and you always tell me ‘maybe when you’re older! Maybe when you’re older’. When will I be olde-…”

The more Snatcher stared her down, the quieter her voice became. She noticed his eyelid twitch, causing her to nibble her lip. Another Code, she realized. She clutched a plain looking chair as her shoulders shook subtly. He approached her, so Pepper closed her eyes and tilted her head down, ready for the usual lecture. “Pepper, Pepper,…” he drawled. He placed his hand on the top of her head. She reopened her eyes, looked up, and kept her mouth closed.

“What have I told you about becoming a Red Hat, darling? Catching these things and watching their destruction?” he asked in a strangely friendly tone. “…that I’m too young, too soft, and too gentle?” she asked, followed by a nod of his head. “And I’m absolutely right!” he replied. He took her into his arms and tilted her chin so she could look at him into his cold, gray eyes. “We’ve been over this, child. Only the boldest men can ever perform such a task; a brave, serious strategist. And you, my sweet, are none of those things. You know that Boxtrolls just adore the taste of little girls after all. Not as quick as a fully trained Red Hat, you must understand. Besides, I’ve told you time and time again that those pests would stop at nothing to take you from me.”

Pepper’s breath hitched at the feeling of his cold hands clutching her face as she stared into his eyes. “But, of course, with me protecting you, that surely won’t happen,” he said in a proud tone. Pepper looked down however. “…I wish I were brave.” Snatcher placed her on the floor. ”Oh, I know, I know, but you mustn’t waste your time with such aspirations. That’s why you have me. Aren’t you lucky? I’m only looking after the Fortunate Favorite of an Esteemed Gentleman.” “But…you’ve said I’m your only favorite.” “And?”

Pepper blushed awkwardly at him. “Good point.” Snatcher chuckled at her and while Pepper had opened her mouth to respond, he gave her no such opportunity. She let it go though; best to keep him in a good mood anyway. “Go upstairs and put on something nicer for our visits, hmm?” he asked as he escorted her to the stairs. “I’ll take care of the monsters. Now off with you.” Before Pepper started to the steps, she looked at Snatcher one last time. “Go on,” he said with a gentle push. She sighed and did as she was told. “Yes, sir.”

…

Monty Pickles held his red top hat, dangling in his gnarled fingers, as he left the factory to walk up that steep hill he’d spent many hours inspecting in the night. His mind felt clouded as he watched people leave their homes and begin their day. Though he’d wave and say ‘hello’ to people passing by, all he could think of was a picture he kept in his coat pocket. He plucked it and smiled at it: Madam Molly Monte Cristo herself. How kind she’d been to give him a photo of her to assure the well meaning man that she hadn’t changed much since the night they’d met. Though the picture was black and white, her brilliant eyes and wild hair made it the loveliest image he’d ever seen. He remembered the promise they’d made to each other in regards to the Gala. He could only hope that Molly would be tolerant of his lacking of dancing skills.

“I wonder if she’s sent a letter lately,” he muttered dreamily.

#the boxtrolls #laika #madame molly monte cristo #annie payton #payton #lord portly-rind #lady portly-rind #Winifred portley-rind #pepper snatcher #the guild gala #archibald snatcher #mr. pickles #mr. trout #mr. gristle

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