Chapter 12 – Wrong Neighborhood

Hans could do nothing but stew. Though he was well-practiced in manipulation and deceit, such ploys only worked on the unaware. This population refused to accept his warnings about the dangers of trusting Elsa—having apparently heard the entire story of his arrival in Arendelle and subsequent exile from it end-to-end. How that was possible, he didn't know.

"Sorcery" he muttered. "The Duke was right."

Further, these "Norwegians" did not even have a monarch! If he wanted to effect any changes, he had to appeal to a bunch of people elected to a council of commoners, not a king.

"We think it best to explain exactly the world you've ended up in" said a woman who called herself the Minister of Defense. That a woman who was not a Queen could command such power flummoxed him.

She, along with her counterparts in other nations, decided to let the people who were normally responsible for trying to scare errant groups into line do the talking. That is, pull up some (old) United States war films. Was it honest? No. But if it could avert whatever small conflict this Hans intended to cause against a relatively harmless person (Elsa), why not? Who said politics had to be all serious business?

Hans and several men he'd designated leaders were led into a small room.

"You're going to see exactly what you are up against, should you continue this pointless conflict-mongering."

Besides, thought the Minister, if this man really is a villain straight out of a Disney movie…

"The most powerful battleships the world has ever seen!" boomed the typically-bombastic male voice found on American war-informationals (propaganda, really). "Fifty thousand tons of steel, the Iowa-class battleship can lob shells sixteen inches in diameter twenty-four miles, crushing anything unfortunate enough to be caught in the massive explosion. No ship, not Soviet, Chinese, or other Red nation can match these vessels' firepower and speed. Almost three thousand men operate each vessel, a city unto itself…"

Hans and his men stared blankly as light returned. First the notion of, for lack of a better description, moving paintings with sound, left them speechless. Combine that with weapons reaching over the horizon—it just didn't seem possible.

"Where are the sails?" asked one brutish man stupidly.

The woman's voice intruded.

"We don't have sails. Our ships can move in whatever direction they want. Just imagine what would happen if you tried to launch an assault. Explosives raining down on your heads that you wouldn't see until you were dead."

He didn't need to know all these vessels were docked as museums—in no way fit to do anything of the sort.

"Lest you think yourself safe on land…"

Lights dimmed.

"Allied armor charges across the desert to drive the forces of Saddam Hussein from occupied Kuwait. Dated Soviet gear is no match for precision-guided munitions fired from miles away."

Tank turbines filled the ears of the transplants, not that they would have known what they were.

"Metal beasts! What are those things?" demanded Hans.

He didn't get an immediate answer. Instead, eardrum-bursting blasts showed exactly what happened when these vehicles' weapons struck home. Explosions taller than several men, causing similar-looking objects to explode violently (these were Iraqi T-62s).

The Defense Minister smiled to herself. It didn't matter Norway wouldn't be the one to do this, nor, did she suspect, would the United States deem a few men with cannons worth bringing the entire might of their military to bear on. But with such technological disparities, why not try to scare them?

[…]

Elsa's slide to greet her sister ended up ricocheting around the world too. With this a chorus of increasingly-loud voices insisted whatever was going on had to be supernatural as the Orlando Police Department had exactly zero incentive to either continue the prank or cooperate with Disney in deploying ridiculously advanced special effects that would've made militaries the world over stand at attention.

To clear up precisely what the people of this world thought of her, Elsa was treated to a showing of "Frozen." Though she had already seen it, Anna sat with her through the whole thing, causing her sister to wince as she belted out tunes along with her screen-self.

"I don't understand. If these people were able to show this much correctly, why change my appearance?"

"It's silly" replied Anna. "Don't worry about it. Liz tells me it's half art and half idealized notions of what women should look like. Remember those dresses that were supposed to clean themselves?"

Both sisters snickered. Several less-than-honest businessmen earned themselves stints in prison for peddling clothing that supposedly "would retain a pleasant odor even after a week of constant wear!" Marketed specifically toward ladies, they proved popular until people realized the claims made were unrealistic to say the least.

"There's absolutely nothing that stupid Hans can do to you" said Chelsea happily, having viewed the film for probably the twentieth time. She climbed up Anna and whispered in her ear. "He's a poop head!"

"Oh!" Anna jerked back in surprise, but Chelsea managed to hang on, giggling the whole time.

"You're both quite popular" assured Liz. "Look!"

She pulled up page after page on the internet—Frozen forums, Frozen merchandise, Frozen fan videos, Frozen art, Frozen cosplay…

"Why does this show Anna and me… kissing?"

Elsa turned slightly red. The scene was correct—Elsa weeping over an icy Anna, but there was a slight variation. Title: "Love Will Thaw."

"Eh heh heh. Uhh, Chelsea? Can you cover your ears and look the other way please?"

After Liz finished speaking, her explanation left both sisters embarrassed and confused.

"Let's…not talk about this anymore" said Elsa with an air of finality.

"Wait a minute" protested Anna. "I might think that drawing a little weird, but the title may have a point. If love thaws ice, can it also…"

"…transport people places?" finished Elsa.