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F.A.Q. ♦ RULES ♦ PLOT ♦ FACE CLAIM ♦ CANON SPECIFICS ♦ BIO FORMAT ♦ CANONS ♦ DEATH TO MARY SUE! ♦ BELIEFS ♦ EVENTS |
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JOLY Technicolor-Werewolf SISTER SITES  
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| Varying Views; for Merrill Price | |
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| Topic Started: Jul 26 2009, 04:34 PM (222 Views) | |
| Alandree | Jul 26 2009, 04:34 PM Post #1 |
 
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He'd been awake for some time, dreamy gaze soaring up the rather turgid architecture, ceiling rising in a vast spire. They'd found a tiny little room, up a set of rotting wooden stairs, in a church that had seen its best day perhaps a century ago. Sleeping outside in the English district, or on the back door steps of le Garnier had been well and good for a few days, but there were only so many rude awakenings, particularly those of a shoving, pummelling manner from a particular set of gendarmes, that his poor body could take. Stol'n away sometime in the evening, after a bit of a bummed robbery attempt, from which they returned alive with only half the cutlery they'd been planning on taking. Jeannot had been quite satisfied with what they'd gotten, (the lot of it was scattered on an altar nearby, forks and pitchers amid dusty red candles and scorched incense burners) whilst Merrill had not been quite as sated. Currently he lay alone here, sunlight pouring in through broken stained glass, illuminating the cold floor with stilted rainbow. Staring so began to make him dizzy, or quite as if he were going to start charging up that ceiling himself, throttling to crunch at its end, and that would be the end of him. A sigh, filled with such woe...Where'd he gone off to? His wig lay to the left, coat and shoes kicked in a corner. Merrill's clothes were missing. The damnable creature. He'd best not have left for the day without him. At times they each in turn would go missing, and not see each other for several days, sent separate ways on their own specific missions, or perhaps having argued sometime the evening before, and became inclined to not speak to each other. Though they'd always meet again. Usually Jeannot would forget which way he'd been meaning to go in the first place, and would turn back begrudgingly to find his friends again. It was annoyingly peaceful here. However much he condemned the church. A snug little sanctum, up a few storeys, with a view of the Isle du Palais not far away. He stretched his arms, trying to touch the end of that spire, feeling warm and only half awake, but enough to still be angry. He twisted round at the hearing of audible creaks from the stairs. That'd best be him. He narrowed his eyes appropriately. |
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| Janey | Aug 11 2009, 11:08 PM Post #2 |
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Upon waking up near sunrise and finding himself restless and sore - because he was old, or at least getting there very steadily, and however nice it was to sleep beneath a roof, it did nothing for his bones - and still, perhaps, sulking somewhat over the previous night's disappointment, Merrill had entertained the thought of going out in search of breakfast and letting Jeannot fend for himself. Immediately afterwards, however, he had entertained equally the thought of waking him and dragging him along. Passing fancies, both. He did leave, in the end, dressing quietly and creeping even more quietly down the stairs that led to the room they had found, but he went no further than the nave. It was even less to look at in the day than it had been in the night, decrepit and distinctly lacking in splendor, but that only made him feel an odd bit of affection for it, and he was able to content himself for - well, he wasn't sure how long, as he had never been one for keeping good time by his head alone, but he must have spent an hour at least wandering from window to broken window and puzzling at the scenes stained into them. He might have gone on an hour longer, too, had he not come around a pillar and found himself eye-to-eye a horrifically realistic figure of Christ Crucified, face contorted sideways and frozen in agony. Merrill started in surprise, then grimaced. Bloody papists. Someone gave them a perfectly lovely story about a man rising from the dead, and they fixated on the dying instead of the rising. No wonder his mam had been so miserable all the time (although he did suppose being Irish was excuse enough). Whatever curious affection he had for the church now quite thoroughly gone, Merrill straightened down his waistcoat and made back for the stairs. He was hungry, and Jeannot had been sleeping long enough. He went up the stairs as light-footed as he could, because every one looked ready to give out. The room had been all in grays when he'd left it earlier in the morning, but now there was fractured light on the floor. A pretty picture, really, and with Jeannot right where Merrill had left him, though considerably more awake. The only thing amiss was the look on his face. Merrill raised both of his eyebrows - raising just one always made him turn squint-eyed and ridiculous-looking - and leaned his shoulder against the door frame. "What?" he asked, then added without pause: "I'm not fighting with you till I've had something to eat." |
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| Alandree | Aug 12 2009, 04:17 PM Post #3 |
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"Oh please, Eepo." Jeannot rolled his head back dramatically, shoulders rippling, gazing up the ceiling again. "You might have been a gendarme for all I could have known. Or a priest. Just think what I'd do if I were to be caught here, alone, by some holy man with nought but his cross and disapproval for wearing the occasional lady's pair of gloves." A small sigh, which held a little less exasperation, and more commonplace amusement, and he lowered himself back onto the floor, with not much but the sack cloth for a blanket, and no straw at all. "Suppose he'd gone and done something to me with that crucifix of his, hmm?" A hand was raised to his forehead, perhaps for effect, but he yawned behind it soon after. Casual inflection indicating jest, but there was a note of desperation behind it as well. Perhaps suggesting that he had worried more of Merrill deserting him for good, rather than any sort of fear concerning unwelcome trespassers. "I shall stay lying here all day long, I think, dear. And you cannot do a thing about it." |
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| Janey | Aug 15 2009, 09:16 PM Post #4 |
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Merrill gave Jeannot a long, calculating look. "I could carry you," he decided, then after another moment's thought amended, "if you promised not to struggle." But however manageable Jeannot's weight, his not-inconsiderable height would make things awkward at best - not to mention that Merrill wouldn't trust him not to bite him or something equally horrid, promise or no - so he made no move to attempt it. Nor did he point out that he could just as well leave without him. He would, if he got hungry enough and Jeannot proved stubborn enough, but it seemed he had worried Jeannot enough, for one morning, without making careless threats besides. He crossed the floor instead and dropped to the floor, stretching out on his belly at an angle that allowed him to lay his head on Jeannot's belly, which was moderately better than the floor, and look askance at the underside of his jaw. "I was only in the cathedral," he said, tone just short of apologetic. |
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| Alandree | Aug 15 2009, 09:40 PM Post #5 |
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"Mmmph! A promise which would most surely be broken the moment you attempted to do anything of the sort, you charlatan!" At that he closed his eyes, frowning at the undersides of his eyelids, determinately, waving his arms in the air. "You cad. You cur. You blackguard." But he opened one eye at the detection of nearby movement, tilting his head back imperiously, feeling the weight of his head against the increased rising and falling of his stomach. "And did you meet any priests of depravity? Did they molest you with their crucifixes?" And his eyebrows raised to an almost comical degree, picking his own head up to attempt to view him, hand trailing up the side of Merrill's face to splay fingers in his hair. A gesture perhaps acknowledging the hint of apology, when he was too focused in all other senses to be gentler in speech. |
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| Janey | Aug 16 2009, 10:28 PM Post #6 |
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Merrill beamed, more charmed than insulted by Jeannot's miniature tirade. "You'd enjoy it, really," he murmured, though he didn't believe it for a second. And even if he had managed to get Jeannot off the floor and then down the stairs without any broken necks or noses, they would likely attract far more attention in the streets than Merrill would prefer, right now, with recently stolen goods on their persons. So no carrying. Not today. If Jeannot was in good spirits, Merrill wasn't in any rush to ruin that. He stifled a laugh, let the breath out through his nose in an amused sigh, and said, "No, no priests at all," with badly-faked relief, doing his best to play along. He was almost comfortable, inasmuch as the floor would allow, with Jeannot as a cushion and a hand in his hair, and so not particularly inclined toward getting up again (except for food, good God). But he lifted his head just a bit, just for a moment, to grin at Jeannot properly. "I did see a crucifix," he said, and the mischief in his expression was entirely genuine. "I could go and get it." |
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| Alandree | Aug 16 2009, 11:10 PM Post #7 |
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"What, and molest me with it?" He said haughtily to the ceiling, voice echoing up it and bouncing off the wood and stone. "And here I've been mistaking you for a gentleman. You've mislead this poor boy to his doom!" But his tone grew less energetic, the weight of early morning seeming to sink back into place with the warmth of an overlapping body. "Whatever shall I do..." A bit of a hoarser utterance, a bit distracted, as he turned his head to survey the stained glass window, engulfed in sunny reds and greens. Squinting, trying to prepare for what would inevitably mean getting up and making his rounds for the day. Visit the corner pawnbroker, up the alley, a stint at the brothel in trade, perhaps a recitation of Shakespeare in the park. Who'd take to the overseeing of pockets then was anyone's guess. A bit of a whining noise, crossing one ankle over the other. Fingers drawing along Merrill's jawline, to play at the sensitive skin of the neck. At odds with his own duty. At least he had the sense to know what was necessary. Today, anyway. Must get up. Must work. Must eat or die. Food. Food. Where were they going to get food today? His expression became that of quick-changed trouble. |
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| Janey | Aug 22 2009, 12:27 AM Post #8 |
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Merrill laughed languidly and rolled over onto his belly, his nose landing somewhere in the vicinity of Jeannot's sternum. "Mmm... Yield?" he suggested, although it was muffled by the sackcloth. He smiled into it - good morning, so far. And they hadn't been arrested or killed last night, however little they'd gained. That was always something to be happy about. He noticed the change in Jeannot's demeanor, though, and turned his head sideways to keep a cautious eye on him - what Merrill could see of him, anyway. He had to be the most mercurial thing in Paris, honestly, and that was saying quite a lot. But whatever plans Merrill may have been making to gently coax Jeannot's thoughts out of him were forgotten when Jeannot's fingers found his neck, replaced by a vaguely contended noise. He hoped the thoughts were building to something productive - something that involved eating - but whatever they did today, there probably wouldn't be much lying about involved, or much petting. He allowed himself a few moments to enjoy it, then heaved himself up to sit, cracking a joint in his back in the process. "I want a bloody drink," he said, half joking - it was a tad early for that - but, really, only half. |
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| Alandree | Aug 22 2009, 01:16 AM Post #9 |
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He rubbed his eyes indignantly, "Ugh." The left one was sore, most likely from hunching over dimly lit, dully shining cutlery all night. Or sifting through book shelves, that was his habit. Plucking little penny bloods from between bibles, licking the pad of his thumb to flip the first pages open. He'd read whatever he could. It was like sifting through sand, or playing with a dissected map like the Sunday school children with their little black shoes. Things he knew, things he gleaned, and things he forgot just as quickly, only to remember them weeks later and wonder how he'd come to know them in the first place. At least he had his name. He would see it on wine crates now and again, and he supposed Guilbeault to be a popular packing product pseudonym. A couple of rapid blinks. He wished for water to splash on his face, perhaps. Water to drink, even. Watching his back dimly, brow set, sitting up himself and biting the inside of his lower lip. "Where to go then? Market? Boulangerie? Shall we break the bread of life?" A tiny scoff, and he knelt with his hands placed squarely between his knees like a cat, shuffling to place his chin on Merrill's shoulder. "It's stuffy in here. We could go drink Christ's blood." |
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| Janey | Aug 23 2009, 09:15 PM Post #10 |
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Merrill splayed his legs out in front of him and frowned down at his waistcoat. The lowest button was beginning to pull loose; a quarter-inch of thread separated it from the material, and it wouldn't be long before he lost it altogether. He tugged at it, distracted and only half-listening as Jeannot spoke and moved about behind him (If he was going to lose a button, he'd rather do it now, when he could put it into a pocket and beg someone to sew it back for him later, than while carousing in the streets or quite possibly running for his life.) until the arrival of Jeannot's chin on his shoulder recaptured his attention. Christ's blood. Wine. Right. "Not if it might absolve our sins," he said, turning his head to press a quick kiss and then a grin against Jeannot's cheek. "I'm fond of them." Most of them, anyway. He could have lived without the stealing bits, if the opportunity to survive by other means every presented itself. But the rest of them - the vulgarity, the drunkenness, and of course the sodomy - he was more or less proud of. He bent and stretched his arm back to grasp Jeannot's shoulder, affectionately. "I think... Market." |
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| Alandree | Aug 23 2009, 10:24 PM Post #11 |
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"Oh piffle." Was his limp protest, raising one cat paw to rub his eye again. "We'd just as soon sin again and it would all be for nothing." And it was true, he wagered. "I can't begin to think of what state my soul might be in." He imagined his soul rather like a net or a spider's web. Delicate and floating and thin as the wind. So many holes in it that it was barely there at all. The black widow chasing down the fly across it. Wrapping him up and feeding. What parts of him did they represent? "But have it your way." He curled into the embrace, fingers splaying to fumble with stray threads along Merrill's collar. "Sell the silver. Is it silver? Sell it and say it's silver." And with a little more dallying he stood up, bones cracking, clutching the small of his back, nose wrinkling at the very sight of all these things. Shrugging back on a fallen suspender. Jeannot stepped light-footed across their makeshift sleeping arrangements, arms raised artfully, rather like a dance or promenade. Plucking his wig and coat from the floor. Which comprised the full amount of his outerwear. |
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| Janey | Aug 27 2009, 11:23 PM Post #12 |
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At the talk of souls Merrill hummed, patting vaguely at the side of Jeannot's face, fond but dismissive. It was a line of conjecture too heady for this hour of the morning. He refused to talk in depth about the condition of anyone's soul on an empty stomach, and certainly not one so inevitably complicated as Jeannot's. To business, now; that was better, although he had been quite comfortable, there, for a moment, and spent a few seconds resenting the world for requiring him to move again. "Yes, of course," Merrill said with a dutiful air and a faint smile, watching Jeannot flutter across the room. It was silver, he was sure of it, if only because he refused to believe he might have risked his neck for anything less. As long as no one asked if he was entirely, absolutely sure, he would likely be able to keep his face from betraying him. He watched Jeannot a moment longer from his place on the floor, then stood up again and crossed with purpose to the altar, taking a potato sack from their pathetic bedding along with him. He began to pick through the pieces, tossing them in one at a time, until his hand stilled over a candleholder. Dull, brass. Not one of theirs. He sighed sharply through his nose and added it to the sack anyway. Robbing a church would probably bring some ill fortune, later (and he did believe in that sort of thing, whatever atheism he professed when attempting to sound learned), but perhaps at a time when they could better weather it. For now he'd take the pennies and his chances. He closed the bag and slung it over his shoulder, and turned to Jeannot with an expectant look - cautiously so, unsure what exactly it was he expected. "What is it today, then?" Edited by Janey, Aug 27 2009, 11:24 PM.
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| Alandree | Aug 28 2009, 04:29 PM Post #13 |
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Jeannot examined himself in the dull stained glass, donning his coat and squinting. The wig was lowered with some ceremony onto his head, chin raised slightly. Somehow he was sure it was a fright to behold. Somewhere. In the inner recesses of his conscience. But being frightful tended to save one from being excessively hectored. Depending on the alcohol intake. So he would assert loveliness, at least in demeanour, for as long as possible. Dirt on his face, still. Leaking into the pores, permanently settled under his nails. But no matter. "What is what?" He spun around, surveying Merrill, a touch dubious, coat skirts flying. “What is it? Really.” But he spared no time, and stepped carefully to the threshold, slipping on his shoes, and disappeared down those most precarious stairs. The chapel couldn’t be gloomier. If it were not for the sun, this would have been as eldritch as the interior of a mausoleum. He coughed, a bit of a disapproving sound. |
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| Janey | Aug 30 2009, 12:28 AM Post #14 |
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"Today's disaster," he clarified - to himself, really, because Jeannot was already gone, and Merrill had no real plans for starting a fight. He'd meant what he said: not until he'd had something to eat. He huffed at the empty doorframe and started after him, stopped to shuffle back for the bag of personal affects (blank paper, mostly, and a few odds and ends - a broken watch, extra shoelaces, nothing remotely useful) he had discarded beside the altar the previous night. He snatched it up and didn't quite run, but at least walked briskly, silver rattling against his back, to catch up. He nearly stumbled to his death on a crooked stair and had to take the last few steps at a tripping pace before he came up short behind Jeannot, a few inches from bowling him over. Immediately he stood straight and adjusted his waistcoat again, habitually pulling it down flat against his belly. That had not just happened. He had arrived in time to catch the cough, and frowned for a moment in misplaced offense, then shrugged it off. Just because he had spent an hour of quality time with the chapel didn't mean he owed it any loyalty. "Look, they have a terrifying Jesus," he said, gesturing toward it. He wasn't nearly so horrified by it now that he had someone to share it with. |
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| Alandree | Aug 30 2009, 01:09 AM Post #15 |
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The coat tails took flight again, his eyebrows raising to disappear behind the corkscrew wig curls, holding out his hands in alarm, and as possible bracings for the impending collision. But he got his footing well enough. Jeannot pursed his lips, seemingly impressed, or perhaps just glad he'd not smashed into him. "Don't die before we've eaten yet. I mean it. Especially in a church, a church with me in it. And that." He turned his eyes to the ghastly Christ depiction, whereupon he winced visibly before making his way down the aisle. "You know, if you were to die in my company, everyone would assume I killed you. Don't you think? Not that such a thing would ever happen. Me killing you. You killing me. We killing each other. But you know, it is perhaps a thing to consider. A thing to be courteous about. Meaning that I would appreciate if you did not die standing next to me..." He ran a hand along the dusty pews, tone considerably unfit for such a subject as Merrill being killed. Rather blithely unaffected. "Oh and here I am talking about death when I've not even made certain that I won't die of starvation!" And no sooner had the thought entered his head than his foot raised to kick the door open, and emerge into the sun. The market wasn't far. He went on his merry way assuming that Merrill would eventually catch up. Setting up the right sort of frame of mind to pick pockets. Or perhaps tip vending stalls forward in a beseeming accident to shovel stray apples into his coat. |
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| Janey | Sep 7 2009, 01:08 AM Post #16 |
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"I'll try," he said with an obliging, mock-gentlemanly half-bow, as if it were some great concession on his part. Perhaps he should write a note to keep in his pocket: despite any evidence to the contrary, Jeannot Guilbeault most likely did not kill me. He doubted anyone would take enough notice of his death to make an investigation of it, however, and if they did such a note would likely arouse more suspicion than it quieted, so Merrill would have to do as Jeannot asked and not die around him. Not die at all, preferably. He had every intention of living forever, or at least until the last of his teeth fell out, at which point he would be unable to eat anything worth tasting - and likely impotent as well - and there would be no good reason not to just drink himself to death. But he wasn't toothless yet, not anywhere close, and they had their stomachs to tend to, and Jeannot seemed to have come to the thought before him and was already bursting out of the church. Merrill squinted in the sunlight for a moment while his eyes adjusted, by which point Jeannot was already several paces ahead, and switched the bag of silver to his other shoulder to keep his arm from going numb. He followed vaguely after Jeannot without paying much attention to where he was going. Between the rather noticeable wig and the extra sense Merrill liked to imagine he had developed, a special Jeannot-hunting sense, losing him for good would probably take more effort than not. |
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| Alandree | Sep 7 2009, 01:48 AM Post #17 |
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He wound his way through stalls. Through people both dirtier and cleaner than he (the cleaner ones were carefully stalked). It was really like a dance if you knew it well enough. An innocent bump. "Mon Dieu, sorry sir!" Then the gentle slip of the fingers through layers of cloth until leather was pinpointed, or paper, or even raw coins. He wasn't a flurry of movement. Nor was he the best at pocket-picking; but after ten or fifteen odd years of doing nothing else, it was more second-nature than most other things he could do to provide for himself. "Hmm." One could not necessarily pick and choose when it came to the produce he acquired here. Apples fallen to the ground, only a leaf or two of lettuce. The bigger game could be captured, but it had to be done with just enough people in the crowd. An innocent jumble. The sweep of a coat-tail. There was a chunk of bread wedged in his sleeve. Now was probably the time to search for his dear swain. Though half the bread was devoured in less than a minute. Peering over a meat display. How he longed for good meat. But alas. Those were more difficult to hide under one's coat. An entire pig carcass, for example. |
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| Janey | Sep 15 2009, 11:37 PM Post #18 |
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Merrill caught a last, fleeting glimpse of Jeannot up ahead of him as he began to disappear into a throng of people and merchants; he didn't follow, but turned a corner and slipped into a shady storefront with not half the shame of the two women who had entered just ahead of him with heads ducked down. Poor things. Merrill might have said something kind to them, if he hadn't thought that being acknowledged would only make them more embarrassed. Best let them imagine they were invisible. He took a stall and waited his turn with his usual patience; then, when the pawnbroker stopped before him, he dumped the pieces onto the counter and negotiated a pittance out of the man (as opposed to a robbery, the vultures). He halved the francs into either of his pockets before leaving the stall, so he might pull out an even number for Jeannot to keep - to spread the risk between them, in case one of them later found himself mugged or drunk or a bit mad and lost the contents of his pockets - without fumbling with the money in the streets and making a target of himself. No honor among thieves and all of that, or at least very selective honor, sporadic honor, honor that depended on how hungry the thief or how many the children waiting to be fed. Back in the streets, he stuffed the pawn tickets into his sack, not because he had any aspiration to return for the silver, but because paper in any form was worth something to him. Then, satisfied, he made his way back into the crowd. The smell of food, even half-rotting and mixed with dirt and sweat, was enough to make his stomach twist and add a touch of urgency to his step. He only came up with a cut of cheese that some harried wife had dropped from her basket, however, before he caught sight of the back of Jeannot's head and came to stand quietly beside him, picking bits of dirt and strips of rind - eating the latter, however tasteless it was - from the cheese and twisting his mouth to one side in regretful consideration of the meat. |
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| Alandree | Sep 16 2009, 01:26 PM Post #19 |
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In retrospect, it had not been quite a sound idea to make his rounds with the wig on. Or had it? Perhaps the more forceful collisions between himself and his oh so amiable targets would prove more convincing. Poor old boy. Stark raving mad. Or at least a few decades behind with what one does and does not wear on his head. A pity it matter so much to them. He felt a rustling from behind, and backed up intentionally to spin around and catch the bloke by his pocket, which he did, but any and all sense of duty was quelled when he discovered that it was only Merrill himself. "Oh la, dear sir." He rolled his eyes up to the sky, clinging perhaps a bit too long, though at length letting go to spin off to the right, making certain his bread had not slipped away. A small, "Fils de pute..." under his breath. Honestly, he would have preferred a fat member of parliament, perhaps. Could get something out of that. "What they give for them, hm?" He thought against fishing out the bread just yet. Find a place more private, so that it wouldn't be stolen right back out of his mouth. |
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| Janey | Oct 16 2009, 02:05 AM Post #20 |
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If Merrill had been quicker to startle - or to offend - he might have done something other than grin broadly at Jeannot's aborted attempt to pick his pocket, but he wasn't, and would have been stupid to expect much less, besides. He reined his smile into a pinch-lipped smile, at least, in sympathy for Jeannot's apparent disappointment at finding him there. "Half what they should have," he answered, cheerful despite it. It was to be expected. The pawnbroker also needed to eat, after all, and even if he could perhaps stand to eat less, the obviously-stolen nature of the goods did not put Merrill in much of a position to make demands. And it was enough to keep them from starving, not until next week at least, which was as far ahead as Merrill ever thought in the first place: "Six francs," he elaborated, and stuck the bit of cheese - mostly clean, now - into his mouth, whole, before the underfed lad eyeing them from behind a cart of apples decided to try anything clever. Merrill hated to hit children. He chewed and swallowed and his head cleared straight away - not that anything had been wrong with it, of course, but having room for a thought or two that didn't end in eating was always nice. He buried his hands in his pockets, wrapped protective fingers around the coins inside and gave Jeannot a quick, slightly-less-protective appraisal. "Have you had anything?" Edited by Janey, Oct 16 2009, 02:06 AM.
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