Professor Henry Higgins (i_articulate) wrote in we_coexist, @ 2008-09-12 23:22:00 |
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Entry tags: | henry higgins, violet baudelaire |
Not the Original Ending [Open]
"Eliza..."
Henry's face gleamed with pride for having finally (and completely!) conquered the pretentious guttersnipe. Her voice in his parlor, announcing her return to him, signified his success. His success at getting her back! Marry Freddy? Ha! If she had gone off and married Freddy then she would have been the most selfish and ungrateful trollop this side of the known universe. And she would have deserved all of the misery she got from marrying a flouncy mama's boy with no money and no means for taking care of himself. Henry almost wished she hadn't come back. Then he could have mocked her for the rest of her life! That would have pleased him very much.
But, perhaps, not as much as the pleasure he received from knowing that he had won once again. Not only had he turned that squashed cabbage leaf into a princess in front of the entire world, but he had convinced her to return to his home at 27A Wimpole Street, to live with him for the rest of her days. Or until one of them got bored. Why, that's what it was all about after all. Not for the sordid love affair or the lust or the chocolates. But for the fun of it! They played off each other so delightfully well. And now the game would continue. And, naturally, Henry would have the upper hand.
He didn't go crawling to her, after all. (Although he did go whining to his mother.)
"Where the devil are my slippers?" He asked, slipping into his arm chair and flipping his tweed hat over his face as though preparing for a nap.
Ah, the blasted slippers. That would really get her goat. Rankle her ire. Get on her nerves. She hated those confounded slippers. Perhaps that's why he found so much joy in tormenting her with them. She would bring them to him. She always brought them to him. (Not counting that one time when she threw the slippers at his head -- hurled them over the sofa -- although he did get them in the end.)
He waited.
But Eliza didn't say anything. Nor did she bring him his slippers. Playing tough? Ha!
"Eliza? I said, where the devil are my slippers?"
But still no reply.
So Henry sat up and pushed his hat back onto his head, leaning over the edge of the chair to peer behind him. Eliza wasn't there. He quirked a brow. His expression was obvious confusion. He was in his living room. Everything was normal. His phonograph of Eliza's voice had been clicked off (which she had done herself just a moment ago.) But Eliza herself was gone.
"Oh blast it all, woman! How many times are you going to run off like this?! Don't make me call Mrs. Pearce on you!"
That would get her. Eliza didn't have a good relationship with his maid, Mrs. Pearce. She never liked her. Ever since her first day at his house when Mrs. Pearce forced her to take a bath. Oh, that had been sorely needed. On a bad day Henry's trash bin had smelled better than she did when she waltzed into his home demanding that he give her lessons on how to speak properly.
"Eliza?" He blinked. No answer. "Where the devil could she have gone?"
Well, Henry wasn't going to lose his moment of glory so quickly. She must have gone back out the front door. Why? Well, how the hell should he have known why she'd leave? Why did she do anything she did? Because she was a woman. And women were ridiculous. Their heads were filled with cotton, hay, and rags. Getting a woman to make any logical sense was akin to finding the proverbial needle in a haystack. It was impossible. And Henry didn't try to understand them. He never understood them and he never would. Although, with Eliza, he had just become willing to try.
He grabbed his coat, slipped it over his arms and shoulders and stepped out the front door. What he saw surprised him. It was a city block but it wasn't his city block. It wasn't Wimpole Street. At least, not the Wimpole Street he knew. He peered out at what should have been elegant row houses with black wrought iron fences and trees. What he saw looked horrid. Buildings made of steel and glass. People walking about in ridiculous clothing. Cars zooming, honking, barely braking for pedestrians.
Oh, this was absolutely fascinating.
Was he dreaming? Perhaps. Or maybe this was all some sort of elaborate scheme put on by Miss Doolittle. He wouldn't put it past her to go out of her way to make him look like a fool. Ah, but she wasn't going to make him look ridiculous! (He didn't need her help for that.) Henry Higgins was not going to be alarmed. Not in the slightest. Instead, he was going to take this strange change with calm and ease. That'll show her.
So what did he do?
He locked the door, hopped down the entry steps to the sidewalk, and began on a little walk towards what appeared to be the main sprawl of the city. And when he found Eliza? Ooh, would she ever get it from him!