Brianna (![[info]](http://p-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} bri_chan) wrote in ![[info]](http://p-stat.livejournal.com/img/community.gif){kind=small} curiousinsane,@ 2007-06-07 11:37:00 |
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| Current mood: |  rushed |
WCMI - The Spring Dance (Part 3)
The evening wasn't panning out quite the way Reginald had expected. It wasn't a total loss (or so stated the purple squirrel during its brief appearance on his shoulder some minutes ago) but 'things' were most definitely not progressing as they should.
In Reginald's self assured mindset the task of winning a woman over wasn't all that different from a simple paint-by-numbers picture. Safe, dependable and uncomplicated - a clear-cut blueprint for success that had served him well over the last seventy years of his life.
The blueprint was failing him tonight. He did not like that. No sir, he did not like it at all.
Three hours had passed since their arrival at the dance. Alice had long since come to the dismaying conclusion that his attention wouldn't be lured away from her as easily as predicted (aside from a short-lived infatuation with the disco ball that glittered over the dance floor) and that she'd have to exert herself if she wanted to keep him at arm's length. Exert herself she did...quite well, in fact. A little too well according to his all-important opinion. Over the last three hours he had assailed her with almost every courtship tactic known to mankind while she evaded them all with the cool, unruffled poise of an experienced matador in the bullring. He was admittedly impressed. Her defense was impenetrable. Calculated. Magnificent, really. Hell, he didn't even know where she was at the moment.
Reginald had spent the last twenty minutes stalking...er, strolling through the crowds in patient pursuit of the wayward blonde. He flitted through the throngs of dance attendees with an air of detached confidence. With more prowess than an advanced animatronic his eyes filtered the crowd for Alice’s distinguished hair color. Dark blonde, platinum blonde, strawberry blonde…
Reg bit his lower lip in frustration. There are far too many blondes in attendance.
Suddenly that distinct shade of blonde peeked at him, rendering the other hair colors surrounding it rather dull. He stretched himself up onto his prominent tippy-toes for a better look. There was no mistaking that face nor that signature look of trepidation - it was her. She was hovering around the punch bowl that dominated the buffet table. Reg mentally spat on his hands and resumed the stalk while the voice of a nature documentary narrator began to drone on in the back of his mind. {The zebra pauses to slake it's thirst at the waterhole, blissfully unaware of the lion's stealthy approach...}
His eyes were so focused on Alice that she may as well have had her face painted in red and white circles, topped off with a red nose. The others in his viewpoint dissolved into haziness but she remained still crystal clear.
Out of the haziness, from the left side of his hawk-vision, emerged another crystal-clear figure.
Suddenly Reg's vision was dramatically altered. It was Lumiere.
Now he saw a startled zebra wheeling around to face a ravenous hyena. The hyena bowed his head in what seemed to be the least convincing apology Reg had ever witnessed. The intended prey - clearly unimpressed by the apology - backed up a step and glanced about for a likely escape route. The hyena sidestepped to casually block her intended path while his shifty eyes darted nervously about. The documentary narrator re-appeared in Reg's head and continued his droll gobbleygook. {The hyena inches closer as the zebra stands transfixed. This shameless, cowardly, despicable low-life whispers vile profanities that cause the poor, innocent, defenseless zebra to blush profusely. The hyena is now grinning. What a vile miscreant...HE'S TOUCHING THE ZEBRA'S HAIR! STOP DEFILING HER, YOU LITTLE -}
Reg shook his head vigorously and the increasingly hostile narration ebbed into silence. His anger, however, did not.
For one chaotic minute it suddenly seemed like a rhino had been let loose across the dance floor. People's shoulders painfully collided with...uh...something. Piglet - who was already having quite the trouble holding his cup of punch without opposable thumbs - tumbled backward end over end, the cup of punch landing on his head. Tramp's efforts to woo a well-groomed Dalmatian were dashed as some unseen force shoved him face-first into her spotted flank. Eventually the sounds of "oof!" "ow!" "hey!" and random baby crying reached Lumiere's ears. The Frenchman looked up and saw cause of this pandemonium - Reginald, breasting toward him through the crowds like an icebreaker ship at sea.
A strange disquieting fear stole over his mind. The sort of instinctive fear a beach swimmer experiences if something brushes against his submerged leg.
Reg watched Lumiere retreat backwards towards the bowl of punch. {How unfortunate for you that a glistening bowl of red fluid just happens to be within your vicinity. It seems to be lonely. I think it needs a friend. Your head will do nicely. After all, you're the expert on making new friends, aren't you?} Miraculously, Alice had yet to notice the disapproving murmurs of the people Reg was shoving nor the skittish behavior of the fellow who had been cooing to her in French only a moment earlier.
Lumiere seemed to have come to a decision. His demeanor suddenly changed, if only with supreme noble effort. He took a step to the left, away from Alice. His mouth went from a fearful gape to tightly pursed. He straightened himself up, narrowed his eyes and met Reg's furious glare dead-on.
The unfazed hatmaker instantly mirrored his rival's macho posturing and quickened the pace of his approach. He was debating between merely hauling off and decking the Frenchman or taking the more dramatic approach by tackling him into the buffet table. With a running start, of course. The punch bowl was still a plausible option too....
Lumiere inhaled deeply and puffed his chest as best his lung capacity would permit (although all that really did was make his already thin waistline approximate the size of a marker.) Reg pretentiously squared his shoulders and inflated his own chest in response. His posture was hardly more imposing than the Frenchman's, truth be told. Rather, Reg's idea of chest-puffing was to lean backwards as if he were in a limbo contest. The histrionic swinging of his arms at eye-level wasn't helping the image, either.
Alice felt the hairs on the back of her neck prickle as ominous footsteps drew near and came to a decisive stop behind her. She drew a deep, wary breath and turned around to find herself nose to...er...chest. A chest that had somehow expanded to several times it's natural size. She bit her lower lip and tilted her head back to see none other than the freckled countenance of Reg looming over her.
His expression flicked from murderous to suave without missing a beat.
Alice flushed bright red and stepped away from him so quickly that it mimicked the effect of missing film frames. Her gaze dropped and focused on a speck of dirt on Reg's shoe. Such an interesting dirt speck. Really.
"..ahem." Lumiere cleared his throat to get her attention. She looked up at him for about half a second before peeking at Reg for a third of a second. Her milk-pale arms clasped tightly across her chest, hands cupping her elbows as if she was cold. Lumiere tried to lure her attention again...only this time by speaking to her in sweet, buttery French.
He tried, that is. Reginald's sharp bark in the same language silenced him cleanly...albeit it wasn't sweet and it certainly wasn't buttery. "Tais-toi! Sinon, je te donnerai un bon coup de pied au cul qui te fera cirer ma chaussure avec la langue!"
Lumiere startled - moreso at the unexpected use of his own language than anything else - and drew himself up haughtily. "Alors le fou peut parler français aussi? Impressionant! Je ne croirais jamais que tu puisse apprendre l'alphabet et encore moins une autre langue."
Reg's eyes adopted a dangerous gleam. "Dégage, tro de cul. Cette fille est à moi."
"Ha! De tels mots forts pour un homme dont la semble l'éviter à tout prix. Le réalité et toi, vous ne vous entendez pas, n'est-ce pas?" came the reply.
"Seulement quand c'est nécessaire, vous putain!" Reg snarled.
The men were too intent on each other to notice that Alice had disappeared from sight. She had begun inching away from the testosterone-marinated drama as soon as their attention left her and was now nestled safely among her own female peers on the far side of the gardens.
Author's Note! If anyone would like a translation of Reg and Lumiere's chit-chat, feel free to drop an email to Rain at PurpleSquirrel27@aol.com. And nobody post the translation in the comments! Don't wanna give it away to easily. ^^
EDIT: Ok it seems like the French is a little off. I'll speak with Rain and see if we can fix it. After all, SHE'S the writer I'm just the artist! XD
