Juliette Coulombe (clearyourmind) wrote in emillion, @ 2013-08-08 12:06:00 |
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Entry tags: | !complete, !log, juliette coulombe, pyr min |
Who: Pyr & Juliette
What: Making up Playing tag Running in the park
Where: Park in the Commoners' District
When: Early Thursday morning
Rating: PG
Status: Complete
The twins' last switch had been as big a failure as the first, and for the same reason: while imitating each other's mannerisms was second nature, their respective specialised skills were not as easily copied. Just as Pyr would have been taken in by the city guard after an unsuccessful pickpocketing attempt, had it not been for Ari, Sky had got pounded by Juliette. Of course, as neither Ari nor Juliette knew there were two of them, their ruse hadn't been discovered. The problem lay elsewhere: just as Pyr was no thief, Sky was no fighter, and did not fare well in straight-up combat, so Juliette had beat him so easily she'd thought she was being mocked. She had told Pyr over the network not to expect her on Thursday mornings any more, and to seek his amusement elsewhere. If Pyr apologised to her, she may demand to know what had been wrong with him, and he had no intention of explaining about Sky; no doubt she would never approve of their games, and may get even angrier at him. While he enjoyed provoking her at times, he wanted to solve this situation, not make it worse. All week Pyr had been looking for her around the guildhalls, hoping he would run into her and come up with a decent explanation that would be both vague and effective. This morning, when they would have sparred, had she not refused to see him, he'd remembered the conversation he'd had with Juliette and Storm at the squires brunch, and how she'd said she liked Emillion's parks for running. Pyr usually ran his laps around the training grounds at Lindwyrm, but that day he'd made his way to the biggest park in the Commoners' District to look for Juliette there. His luck was good. After five minutes jogging around, he caught sight of Juliette running some distance ahead of him, her ponytail swinging proudly from side to side behind her. Pyr picked up the pace and ran up to her and, when he was right behind her, tugged on one end of the ribbon she wore. As it came undone, he told her, "You're it!" and ran ahead of her, ribbon in hand, hoping she would give chase. Juliette had taken to running in the mornings about a year ago. One of her instructors at that time had berated her most harshly on her flagging stamina in training. Upon asking around, she had been told that running was one simple way to improve her endurance; she had been running after her morning meditation ever since. She had not found peace in it at first, but eventually she had learned to clear away everything but the rhythm of her breathing and the pounding of her feet along the path. It was not quite a meditative state, but it was surely calming in its own way. As with many things, she had learned to like running for its utility. And now, she had unexpected - and slightly disappointing - freedom on Thursday mornings. She chose to fill that free time with something useful. The Nobles' District had a number of small, public spaces that could be called parks, though most greenery was hidden behind tall stone walls. Sometimes, she ran down the wide avenues, where traffic was sparse so soon after dawn. But in the end, she preferred the park in the Commoners' District, where she could run under the arching branches of trees and not worry quite so much about whose maid might look out a window and carry tales of her inelegantly sweaty face. She had never considered this part of town unsafe. Of course, as it turned out, she had simply never thought of this manner of threat before. As her hair was yanked and then swung into her face, she squawked in a manner quite unbecoming of a young lady of quality. Watching Pyr streak away with her ribbon in his hands, she couldn't even consider letting him go. Her anger, simmering for over a week, rose immediately to full prominence, and she loped after him, her smooth, easy tempo - meant to cover distance steadily and without overexertion - exchanged for a sprint. Her hair streamed behind her, surely becoming impossibly tangled in the process, but she would catch him. She was gaining on him quickly. Juliette squawked when Pyr stole her ribbon and began to chase him at full speed. He had to run as fast as he could to stay ahead of her, which was no easy feat, as they were evenly matched in that category. As he swerved sharply around a man jogging in the opposite direction, Pyr reflected with no little amount of glee that he was getting much better at provoking Juliette; it used to be she could rein in her temper for much longer before snapping at him. Perhaps she really liked this particular hair ribbon. He kept running, zig-zagging where possible to attempt to confuse and delay Juliette, but it was pointless; she would not fall to such desperate tactics. Pyr thought absently that running away from someone furiously chasing after him was very good physical exercise, and he should perhaps do it more often, as he and Sky had done back in Ordalia, where they'd had to run away from trouble at least once a week. Sadly, the plump backstage hand at the Festival of Lions over a month ago had been the last of their victims to give chase, and it hadn't been much of a persecution at all. Juliette was starting to gain ground on him, little by little. He couldn't keep running from her forever, and he did want to get caught and get her to start talking to him again. As Pyr ran, he remembered there was a big fountain in the middle of the park. What would Juliette's face look like if he dunked her inside the fountain? He ran in that direction, already congratulating himself on his brilliant idea. Pyr’s darting to and fro might have been more effective had Juliette not been intimately familiar with this park and its various paths. Ultimately, even if Pyr ran among the trees, the uncertain footing would slow him down, so the paths were really his best option, and it seemed, as she continued closing on him, that he realized this, too. They continued their mad chase towards the small paved area at the center of the park, which was usually ringed by food vendors and tended to be a favorite gathering place for mothers and nannies with strollers and children splashing in the fountain. She hoped he would swerve before then; she wouldn’t put it past him to mow down some grandma with a baby carriage. When he made yet another turn to lead her exactly there, though, it really seemed that her only choice was to catch up to him before they arrived at his apparent destination. With a burst of speed, she closed on him, reached out her hand, caught the edge of his shirt in her fingers... There was a tearing sound as he swerved away; she found herself holding a fistful of fabric, but he had recovered his footing and kept right on running, now sporting a strip of bare skin at his lower back from the rather large swatch of fabric she had managed to yank free. Her breathing was becoming heavy and labored now and she was sweating, but she couldn’t slow down - couldn’t let him win. It wasn’t about the ribbon. It was the principle of the thing. Determinedly, she regained her stride and kept running after him. What concerned Pyr was how close Juliette had been to catching him, not that he was now running around in a shirt with a huge chunk of fabric missing. He had never liked that shirt very much, and really, on a morning as hot as this one already was, he was glad for a little extra ventilation. They were now nearing the fountain, and in their mad dash they caught the eye of a group of mothers relaxing in the shade with their children. As they sprinted past the group, one of the kids began to clap and emit loud gurgly noises that Pyr took for encouragement. He had to settle this before her next attempt to grab him succeeded. Once he had reached the edge of the fountain, he slowed his pace enough so that when he stopped, she couldn't do the same in time to avoid toppling into him. Using her inertia against her, he gave her a little push and watched with glee as she fell into the water. She shrieked as she went over the border of the fountain. She couldn’t stop the shriek any more than she could have stopped her mad dash right into the water. It wasn’t icy - lukewarm, really - but when she was submerged, it was still a shock. Her only real solace was the fact that she had caught his sleeve, and this time it didn’t rip, as evidenced by the fact that a heavy weight landed across her abdomen, causing her to breathe in water rather sharply. She came up dripping, coughing, and spluttering, pushing sodden locks of heavy hair out of her face helplessly. “Children these days.” The voice of the older woman passing nearby - complete with baby carriage and disapproving expression - had Juliette gaping. It wasn’t her fault. At least Pyr hadn’t fared any better. His torn shirt was all twisted, his wet hair was standing straight up, and he was coughing too. He looked skinny and dumb and... “Well, what do you expect from young hooligans like that?” another woman replied to the first, clucking her tongue and shaking her head. She should have been mortified. It was humiliating. But there was Pyr, looking exactly the ruffian she accused him of being, torn clothing and all, and she... something out of an Ordalian horror story, surely, the one about the girl in the well. She couldn’t help it. Her cough became a giggle. Then she was clutching her stomach and laughing helplessly, leaning drunkenly against the fountain’s edge as the water continued to sprinkle down on her and the old ladies continued their grousing. What Pyr had thought to be a brilliant plan had turned into an abject failure. Juliette fell into the fountain, but she dragged him down with her. His jaw had dropped with the shock of feeling himself fall, and he swallowed a mouthful of water as he went under. He righted himself, coughing and spluttering. He was soaked to the bone. His shirt, already beyond salvation, was all scrunched up and twisted. And there were flocks of housewives hovering in their vicinity, clucking away about kids these days. But the biggest shock came next, when Juliette, who looked like the evil girl from the well in a story his father had told him many years ago, leaned against the edge of the fountain and began to laugh. Pyr stared. "You know how to laugh," he gaped. Surely he had hit his head as he'd gone down. Or maybe she had hit hers. That had to be it. He had seen her smile before, but he'd never seen her laugh like this, so uncontrolled and uncaring what the people around her thought. Her hair was plastered all over her face, and she looked a mess. "You look like the crazy girl from the stories. The girl in the fountain." Looking down at himself, he added, "And I look like a street urchin. One that just got run over by a rickshaw." He couldn't help it then; he began to laugh too, thinking how stupid they must look. The housewives continued to scowl and make their disapproval known. "Oh, shush." Still laughing, Pyr splashed water in their direction, and watched with satisfaction as they squawked indignantly and scampered away. “A sequel to the girl in the well, perhaps?” she managed, once she had her giggles under control. What had gotten into her? It felt... strangely good, even if she was soaked to the bone and everyone was looking at her. “The difference is, once I dry off, I will no longer look like the crazy girl from the stories. You, I am not so certain about.” She doubted any of these ladies would recognize the prim and proper Lady Juliette Coulombe in the waterlogged girl in the fountain. A bit of impropriety surely wasn’t so bad, as long as no one knew her for who she was. She would confess to Father Luscini later. She clambered to her feet slowly, squeezing water from her tunic, combing her fingers through her hair. “Naturally I know how to laugh. I am a hume, am I not?” Never mind that she didn’t do it often. “You have simply not yet managed to be funny. And the next time you try something like this, my reaction will not be laughter. Consider today... an anomaly.” Yes, that was the word. It was only that he looked so silly and flabbergasted. She held out her hand, said imperiously, “My ribbon.” Pyr returned the soaked ribbon to her. "Maybe the girl in the fountain can be the Valendian version of the girl in the well." She was right, though; she would look normal once she dried off, but he'd look a mess until he had a chance to change his shirt. "I may still get lucky. Some middle aged woman might spot me on my way home and try to feed me." He put on his best innocent look for Juliette's benefit; that would make him look like a lost child, guaranteed to earn someone's sympathy. Now that he'd climbed out of the fountain, he thought about wringing the water out of his clothes, but saw little point. He considered Juliette's words: an anomaly. He took that as a challenge. He'd find out what sorts of things set her off and try to make her laugh again. She had said he wasn't funny; well, he'd show her. "I wanted to say sorry for last week." Perhaps dunking her in a fountain hadn't been the best tactic to get her forgiveness, but he'd made her laugh. That had to count for something. "Will you spar with me again? I promise not to lose next time." Appealing to her competitive streak had to work, he was sure of it. She dragged her hair back, wringing it out before pulling it into a messy plait and tying it off with the similarly wet ribbon. She gave him a long, flat look, considering. “Don’t make promises you may not keep,” she told him primly after a moment. “It is enough if you promise to try as opposed to... whatever it was you were doing the other week.” She still could not understand how he wasn’t personally embarrassed by it. She knew that she could certainly continue acting angry and wrangle more apologies, but she had already decided, hadn’t she? Her anger had evaporated with the laughter, as though it had never been. that was rare for her - a gift of sorts, almost. “Next week,” she told him with a sigh. She sat down on the lip of the fountain to pull off her shoes, pour water out of them, then don them once more. “Be on time. And keep your hands off of my hair, you... hooligan.” Though if he pulled it loose during a fight as a diversionary tactic.... She might have to consider putting it in a bun. “And now, I am going to run until I am dry.” She couldn’t go home until she was, after all. That... simply could not end well. The fit Lady Demiel would throw would be unimaginable. Smelling salts might be required. “Might I suggest you do the same?” And she stood and took off at an easy lope, ignoring the squelching of her shoes, which remained wet despite her best efforts. He fell into step beside her not long after; she said nothing and continued to run in fairly companionable silence. Perhaps - just perhaps - she might grow to tolerate him, after all. |