Re: Main Street, Back of the Crowd
As they moved, it became increasingly apparent that people reacted well to Iris. Though her French was slightly accented, her poise out of place in the maddened crowd, the initial suspicious eyes softened once they got within a certain range, and whatever exotic musky perfume she was wearing was strong despite the acrid smell in the air and the old sour smell of her garments.
For her part, Iris was spare and intent. The impression of assembled coolness had been cut down to a knife blade of movement. "Trying to get away from where everyone else is going. Stay on the outskirts. Let me know if you see some place that looks like it's been abandoned for more than a couple days." They needed to regroup, somehow. She was just thinking that when ran headlong into the first man that didn't dodge out of her way. He was big for a Frenchman of the period, not as big as William but certainly big enough. He had a gun, a bayonet, and there was blood on the front of his shirt. Real blood. She could smell it. As she tried to retreat quickly, two more men came into view. These men, too, were armed, and showed signs of being victorious in recent fight. Their eyes were glazed over with a hunger for freedom that they thought would bring them life even better than edible bread, and the first man's grip made Iris drop her bag.
They were shouting in French, and though they held Iris by the arm, it was Will they were focused on. He did not look French, he was not with the crowd, his clothes did not fit. They started accusing him of being one of the Swiss guards escaped from the Bastille, and then they started shouting at her, accusing her of assisting him. She shouted back, but the situation was clearly deteriorating.