The beanstalk was waiting. From an objective point of view, it hadn’t been waiting very long. But then it hadn’t been in existence for very long either and it had spent almost all of that time waiting. There had been a short period, in which it was growing and then getting its first glimpses of reality, that had been quite exciting. But since then it had been waiting and it was, to put it bluntly, bored. (Author’s note: ‘Why a cognizant beanstalk?’ I hear you say. Well, it’s not any sillier than some of the fic I’ve read. And a beanstalk is a well-established fairy-tale tradition thingy. Oh, I don’t know. I have to get Mary Sue to Middle Earth somehow and, ok, I admit it, I’m trying to be funny.)
Suddenly, it felt an arm hook around its lowest branch, followed by the swing of a leg, as someone pulled themselves upward. If the beanstalk had had a heart, it would have leapt. She was here! Finally! After a lifetime of waiting, the Chosen One had arrived.
She was a good climber too - quick, if not exactly elegant. The beanstalk had to admit that it was slightly surprised by the lack of elegance. The Chosen One, it reflected, wasn’t so much climbing eagerly as clambering drunkenly. Then it wondered how it knew what drunken clambering was like. If it had had a head, it would have shaken it briskly to rid itself of this thought. It knew what it needed to know and one of the things it apparently knew was what a drunken clamber felt like. The Chosen One, it had been given to understand, was the pinnacle of all accomplishment, physical and mental.
The Chosen One, however, appeared to have run out of breath and was slumped against the trunk of the beanstalk, panting and occasionally muttering bad words.
The beanstalk decided to investigate. It wasn’t really in its job description, but it was fairly sure that the Chosen One wasn’t supposed to use words like ‘motherfucking bastard’.
‘Excuse me?’ it said politely. (Author’s note: And now a beanstalk who can talk? Am I pushing the envelope? Am I just on drugs? Neither, really. But given that the beanstalk can think, I see no reason for it not to talk. It’s probably psychically projecting words into the Chosen One’s potty-mouthed head. It doesn’t matter. If you are looking for logic, please go elsewhere.)
Mary Sue Applecart had been having a strange evening. Well, perhaps not strange so much as drunken. The beanstalk was right about that. She had started climbing this straight tree that was, for some reason beyond her alcohol-hazed comprehension, standing in the middle of the carpark outside the Crazy Cat nightclub, for no reason at all except that she was drunk, and drunk people do strange things. It is a measure of her state of mind that, when the beanstalk spoke, she barely reacted.
‘Wazzup?’ she slurred.
‘Um,’ said the beanstalk, ‘Are you sure you should be here?’
Mary Sue considered. This was, she thought, a fairly existential question that was perhaps answered with a belch. So she belched.
The beanstalk cringed. It didn’t have a nose, but it could feel the wave of alcohol against its bark (Author’s note: Do giant beanstalks have bark? I do not know.) and it wasn’t exactly pleasant.
‘Um,’ it said again, ‘Perhaps I should put that differently. Are you sure you should be here?’
‘Who’s asking?’ Mary Sue mumbled. She was sleepy. She rested her head against the trunk of the beanstalk.
‘Me,’ said the beanstalk, ‘I was just expecting someone a little more... well, sober, for one thing.’
Mary Sue frowned. She looked around slowly.
‘Where are you?’ she asked.
‘Here,’ said the beanstalk, ‘Only I’m fairly sure...’
Mary Sue squinted. ‘Dude, I can’t see you,’ she said.
If the beanstalk had had eyes, it would have rolled them.
‘I’m here,’ it said crossly, ‘You’re sitting in me.’
‘Ok,’ Mary Sue paused to consider this, ‘Oh. Ok.’
‘Anyway,’ said the beanstalk, ‘I’m fairly sure you shouldn’t be here.’
‘And why is that?’ Mary Sue asked with drunken majesty.
‘I’m waiting for the Chosen One,’ the beanstalk said.
‘Are you implying that I’m not Chosen?’ Mary Sue was affronted.
‘Well,’ said the beanstalk, ‘Yes. In fact, I’m quite prepared to just say it. I don’t think you’re the Chosen One, so you should just get down.’
‘How rude!’ said Mary Sue.
‘Please!’ begged the beanstalk, ‘I only have this one job to do and you’re ruining it.’
Mary Sue got to her feet unsteadily, clinging to the trunk. ‘I’m not going anywhere.’
The beanstalk, being without lungs, did not sigh. But it wanted to. Mary Sue had started to climb again.
‘Stop!’ cried the beanstalk, ‘Don’t go any higher!’
‘Whatcha gonna do about it?’ Mary Sue swung herself onto a higher branch.
The beanstalk was nervous. If this interloper got more than halfway, that would be it. She would go straight there and the real Chosen One (who was late) would be left behind.
‘Please,’ it begged, ‘Just climb down!’
It has to be admitted that one of the things that had been left out of the beanstalk’s ‘need to know’ file was any knowledge of the psychology of drunk humans. However, it might have managed to convince Mary Sue to at least stay where she was if it hadn’t been distracted by the arrival of another young woman at its foot.
This new, young woman started to climb - with grace and elegance, the beanstalk was pleased to note.
‘Ha!’ it said triumphantly, ‘There she is.’
This was the worst thing it could have said. Mary Sue peered down in the darkness and glimpsed the young woman’s blonde head.
‘I don’t fucking think so,’ she snapped, and started to climb more quickly. Very quickly, in fact. Clumsily, definitely, but very quickly. The Chosen One was making good time, gaining on Mary Sue, but Mary Sue had the advantage of both a head start and annoyance.
The beanstalk cringed again. The Chosen One was calling ‘Wait! Wait!’ and Mary Sue was muttering ‘fucking bitch’, but it was obvious, even to the beanstalk, that it was too late.
Mary Sue grasped the branch exactly halfway up the beanstalk.
‘Oh fuck,’ said the beanstalk. And it vanished.
The Chosen One fell to the ground and burst in tears (boo fucking hoo).
Mary Sue fell too. At least, it seemed like falling, but she didn’t appear to be falling down. Or up either. She was just... falling. Randomly. For a long time. For such a long time, in fact, that she fell asleep.
