| Title: The Taming of the Shrew. Time: Wednesday, March 24, 2004 The Thespians: Toby Darling and Pascal Curio Location: Scattergood Grounds - Stadium Notes: Here is the resulting *rumours post from this little RP here. ============================================ Message 110 on *Rumors (#1210): Date: Thu Mar 25 00:38:08 2004 PST From: Pascal Curio (#2879) To: *Rumors (#1210) Subject: The Taming of the Shrew. Sebastian and skinny-boy, who will henceforth be known as Edward, are once again, sitting about a table in the Dining Hall, Sebastian currently preoccupied with making love to a buttered croissant. Edward is busy polishing his glasses, and he squints at the larger boy. E: "So, guess who I ran into in the hallways today?" Sebastian quickly swallows his mouthful of croissant, but as he speaks, he still succeeds in showering poor Edward with crumbs. S: "Who?" Edward gives Sebastian one of those, 'you are so /dumb/' looks. E: "That crazy hexing girl with the bright red hair. You know, the one who -" And here Edward ducks his head and whispers of 'fingers sticking together' and 'noses being enlarged' are heard before he raises his head again. He doesn't even give Sebastian a time to speak before he continues. E: "She was being nice!" S: "Excuse me?" E: "She was being /nice/!" S: "I don't follow." E: "Nice. You know, friendly. Smiling. Generally doing things that hex-happy... /witches/ like her don't do. It looked like it was going to kill her." S: "You almost didn't say witch there, Edward." E: "Shut up, Sebastian." What's up with that? A hex-happy witch suddenly turned nice, without any reason? Oh, but there must be. Public humiliation, loss of some prized possession, there /must/ be a reason. OOC: Questions? Comments? Flame Pascal, Toby or Lien! |
| +---- Scattergood Grounds - Stadium ]----------------------------------------+ | | | Stone walls, lined with wooden bleachers, rise high into the sky around | | the field. The first thing one would see upon entering the stadium through | | the tunnel-like entrance is the giant seal of Scattergood upon the far | | wall, under the announcer's box. In the distance, in either direction, the | | glittering triple hoops grow out from the ground. However, instead of the | | usual three poles, a single root pole rises a good thirty feet into the | | air before branching into different directions to support the hoops. All | | around the outer wall, pennants of forest and emerald green green as well | | as pristine white can be seen. Lastly, to the players in the sky, there is | | one last curiosity. On the field, a mural of a gray cougar painted in the | | grass, a tribute to the school's Guardian, Matthias. | | | +-[ Exits: ]-----------------------------------------------------------------+ |
| -Zoom- Toby Darling is what!? That's right, he's flying. On a broomstick. On the quidditch pitch. But... Toby doesn't fly! Something must have changed, for he's actually doing decently. He makes a quick lap around the pitch before climbing up to the west team's goal hoops and flying a quick circle around them. "Woooooo hoooo!" he shouts as he makes a quick low pass across the short width of the pitch and sets down softly at the north bleachers. |
| Pascal Curio does not play Quidditch. Or if she does, she doesn't tell anyone that she does. Which is why she walks into the stadium empty handed save for a large canvas bag slung over her back. Which is quickly dropped to the ground. Her robe is removed, and she's wearing a grey sweatsuit that's definitely too big for her. She's also got a pair of white runners on her feet, and still she hasn't seen Toby flying around in the air. As she starts her stretches though, that's when his 'Woooooo hoooo!' pierces her ears, and she stops, hands on her hips, just staring at the boy. |
| Toby leans his borrowed broom against the fence in front of the bleachers and, clumsily, hops over it heading to have a seat on one of the many rows of the lower seating bowl. Happily he plops down and scans his gaze across the pitch, from one goal post to the other, from the top to the bottom, from the large Scattergood mascot on the field to Pascal standing right next to him. "Oh! Pascal. Heh... hi." -timid wave- |
| Pascal gives her shoelace more attention than she does Toby, and she gives him a rather flat look, and then looks at the broom that the boy had flown on. "Didn't realize you flew, Toby." He probably didn't realize that she had any athletic ability either. She finally acknowledges his presence and nods. "Practicing for the team? Or just out to test your luck?" She returns her attention back to her shoelaces, tugging on them probably a little too hard as she tightens them. |
| Toby looks a little uncomfortable. Pascal was the /last/ person he expected to meet out here on the pitch... but no matter, he had something he wanted to talk to her about anyway. Yup, that topic. He notices that she's not a mushroom yet, so things must be okay for her. "I don't usually fly. I love doing it, but I don't have a broom of my own. That, and I'm kinda bad at it." Apparently he's not /that/ bad at flying since he landed with four limbs and 26 vertebrae still intact. |
| Too bad Pascal came out on one of Toby's lucky days. Then maybe she would have seen blood. She just continues to nod and keeps on attacking her shoelaces. "Lien know you fly?" She asks casually, and continues without waiting for a response. "She'd probably freak out at that too." And here she stops to imitate the small sixth year, and quite frankly she does a good job. "No Toby! You're going to get yourself killed! I'll never talk to you again!" And then back to Pascal. A final tug on her shoelaces and she stands up, ready to stretch. |
| "Er, no. Lien doesn't know." Toby chuckles at the impression of his small, Vietnamese friend. "Yeah, that'd be her alright. She'd freak out." He watches as the older girl finishes tending to her laces. "So, what brings you out here? I didn't know you did any of that physical sort of stuff." |
| "There's a lot of things you don't know about me," comes the rather sarcastic reply as Pascal reaches down to stretch out her hamstrings. She's incredibly limber, and with her forehead pressed against her knees, her voice is muffled. "I run." She stops talking as she continues to stretch, and her face is slightly flushed as she stands up again. "No point in sitting on a broom when I can move my whole body." And again, she's started up with those little comments that are meant to sting. |
| Toby Darling has started to get used to the little comments. That's just how Pascal is. She doesn't seem to /try/ to be mean, she just is by nature, he observes. Deep down inside there has to be nice person and Toby expects that he'll get to see it someday if he sticks around long enough. He offers no reply to her little jab figuring that a response would just encourage her. Instead he smiles and nods, just like a polite little boy. |
| Darn. Now Pascal's going to have to find another way amuse herself around Toby, if he starts to actually /learn/ that the best thing to do is just to downplay it all. Still, she's going to get points for starting to try now. "Do you run?" Not that she's actually looking for company, dear god, but if he's going to learn to have a spine, she'll respect that. Somewhat. |
| "Me? Run? No." Toby is about as athletically inclined as a spork. A lethargic spork. Flying isn't exactly all that athletic. "I hardly even fly, if you can call that athletic. Nope. I just... do what I have to, really." |
| "No, I wouldn't call that athletic. Anyone can hold onto a broom," Pascal says rather bluntly, since well, it's the truth, truth being her opinion. Still, she shrugs and looks at Toby, carefully eyeing his midsection, which she knows he's probably not all that fond of. "You should probably take up running then," she says, her voice still light as she continues to stretch. "It'll get rid of that little baby fat you've got around... there." And when she says 'there', she pats his stomach area. |
| "Hey!" Toby swats Pascal's hand away. Nobody's allowed to poke his belly but... well, nobody, really. "I'm not fat! I'm just... fluffy." |
| "Fluffy," Pascal sounds hardly convinced and her face falls deadpan as she stares first at Toby, and then rather obviously at his midsection. "Right. Fluffy." She rolls her eyes and kicks her knees up in the air slowly. "You tell yourself that. I'm not the only one calling you fat, you know." Okay, so she's totally lying, but he doesn't know that. |
| "Can't you say something /nice/ for once?" Toby has never had anyone call him fat. He's not even really all that thick. Just a little padded just in case he needs to use his belly as a bumper or something. "I'm healthy enough, thank you." |
| "Why be nice if I'm only going to be lying to you, Toby?" Pascal's got a point there, and she's distracted enough from her pre-run exercises to stop stretching, and she's got her hands placed firmly on her hips, or where they would be if they weren't covered by layers and layers of sweatsuit. "So what, I lie to everyone just to be /nice/ to them?" A scoff and she tosses her head defiantly. "No, thank you. If you want to go about lying to all your friends just to be nice, you do that." |
| Oh, so being nice is just lying? Toby puts on his 'mean' face. Of course, it's about as mean as Pascal's nice face. "There's a difference between being nice and lying to people, you know. But, I don't think you could ever tell the difference." His eyes narrow. He's up to something, isn't he? |
| Pascal Curio raises an eyebrow at Toby, faintly aware that he may be up to something. Of course, she doesn't know what, and that only intrigues her that much more. "What do you mean by that?" She asks darkly, taking a few quick strides to reach Toby's face. Let's see how he does with her /in/ his face. |
| Toby is feeling bold today. Perhaps his little spin on his borrowed broom made something snap inside him. He takes a step toward Pascal getting even closer to her. Standing eyebrow to nose with her (she's a few inches taller, after all, he looks up and glares into her eyes, his still slightly narrowed. "I bet you that you couldn't be nice to somebody if you tried." |
| Uh oh. A challenge. And a good one at that. In ten years, maybe Pascal will thank Toby. She glares right down at him, a glint flashing through her green eyes. Damn her determination and damn her inability to resist a bet, a dare or any sort of challenge. "Really. A bet." She pauses before her voice has the chance to get any sort of insecurity in it. She clears her throat and doesn't flinch. If he gets closer, she's not moving. "What'll you bet me?" Which is pretty much her way of saying, 'you're on, punk.' |
| "Oh, you think you can be nice, huh?" Toby takes a step back so the he can look at more than just Pascal's nose and eyes. "Well, prove it." He crosses his arms across his chest. "I bet you that you can't be nice to people for a week. That's no hexing anybody, no poking fun at anybody, no name calling, none of that. One week." A mischievous smirk crosses innocent little Toby's face. "You think you can do it?" He's ignoring her question about the cost of said bet for now- he'll get to that in a bit. |
| Again, Pascal's face deadpans and she crosses her arms in front of her chest. She falls silent for a moment, a glare slowly emerging from her features as she takes these last minutes to /glare/ Toby to death. "Well, since you're part of this little bet, I'm going to have to take out my frustrations on /someone/, won't I?" Another pause, and she's got her own little plan working in the back of her mind. "I'll be nice, or /lie/ as it's going to be, to everyone. Everyone but /you/, since you were the brainiac that came up with this little idea." |
| Toby considers for a moment what, exactly, being Pascal's only meanness outlet for an entire week could mean. The outlook isn't exactly pretty, but it could be done. "Deal. But no magic, no practical jokes. It's not my fault you've got a habit of hexing the snot out of people smaller than you. Now... for the wager..." he trails off for dramatic effect. |
| Cough. Toby did not poke at who Pascal hexed and what size they were. Her eyes narrow again, but she just clenches her fist. Her wand's back in her robe, which is unfortunately a few feet away from her. She mutters under her breath, and just takes a very, very deep breath. Toby was fatter than she was anyway, so he was... kind of the same size. "Alright," she says darkly, "What's your wager, your brilliancy?" She might as get all this attitude out of her system now. |
| Toby takes the brilliancy jab as a compliment. "Thanks, I didn't know you thought so highly of me." Wow, the sarcasm is getting thick here. Notice, however, that Toby never mentioned that he couldn't be mean back to Pascal. We'll see how that plays out, shall we? "Ah, the wager. If you can't last a week without being mean to anyone but me you will post a flyers telling everyone about how you truly love Elijah. Three flyers in the dining hall, one in each academic building, and one in the common room of both the boys' and girls' dorms. I've heard about how you coo over him when you think nobody's looking." Ooh! Buttons! I wonder what happens when I press them? "Signed and dated, of course." |
| Pascal Curio tilts her head to the side her mouth slightly ajar while her jaw totally tenses up. Fist clenches, whitens, relaxes, clenches, whitens, relaxes, and the cycle continues. The blood drains from her face as Toby slowly pushes her buttons about Elijah. How wrong is he? She's about ready to kill Toby with her stare, but she says nothing. He's convinced that he'll win, and she's convinced of the contrary. "Very well. And if I win," and in her mind she states, 'which of course I will,' "You have to do exactly the same. In writing, you have to profess your undying love for Lien. Actually, I'll dictate the letter to you when I win, so you'll know exactly how I want it." How about pushing Toby's buttons now? "And then you can write out your copies, and post them in the exact same places." She closes her mouth and smirks. "Deal?" |
| Ah, the button pushing continues. This time the pusher has become the
pushee. Toby feels his own jaw tighten up now. He does -not- love Lien. Girls are still 'icky' for him! "Okay. And I get to dictate your letter for you, too. But-" Oh, of /course/ there's a 'but.' "This has to be a secret. Nobody can know or the person who told somebody will
forfeit and lose the bet. Not quite being turned into a mushroom, but..." "Deal?" Toby extends a hand to Pascal as he narrows his eyes and glares again. Wow, one whole week safe from Pascal's threats of magical violence. This. Will. Be. Fun. |
| There is far too much at stake for Pascal to even think of anything to hex Toby with. She merely grins, though the glint in her eyes is pretty clear that once the week is over, Toby better wish he'd found himself an invisibility cloak, or he'll be in big trouble. "You've got yourself a little deal, punk," Pascal's hand finds Toby, and she gives it a nice, good shake. Nothing magical at all about a solid vice handshake, is there now? "You don't tell anyone, and I won't tell anyone. I'll see you in the library in a week though, to dictate your love letter to Lien." She gives him a wink, and releases the shake. "Now, if you'll excuse me, /some/ of us, don't want to get fat." That being said, she's off, running her laps around the field. |
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