Clarice and Jean-Paul
Nov. 8th, 2008 04:00 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
x-cynosure.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
xp_logsIn which the dusky huntress vents her sparkling, deadly ire against a long-absent teacher
Clarice had heard that Jean Paul was back and she was not entirely certain how she felt about this. On the one hand, Jean Paul was back. On the other hand, Jean Paul was back. It was a conundrum. Thankfully though, she was prepared, like a girl scout. A fabulously dressed non-cookie selling bad ass girl scout. Her preparations were simple, sitting on the floor by the banister, she waited with a bag of glitter bombs. They were sort of like water balloons, except glitterful and awesome. And since it was JP, the glitter was a mix of rainbow and red and white glitter. He totally deserved this. Oh yes.
The dusky huntress didn't have long to wait before the sound of footfalls approaching up the stairs sharpened her attention. Her oblivious prey stepped into view, his attention fully absorbed by the shopping list in his hands. Woe and alas for the man at the mercy of his metabolism (and former students).
Hefting the first glitter bomb, she dropped it, missing his head and hitting his shoulder instead. No matter, she had more. Swiftly, she dropped several more hooting and calling, gathering her bag and running down the stairs to where JP was. Unlike most people, Clarice ran to the scene of the crime, not away from it. "Miss me?" she asked, striking a pose in front of Jean Paul. She'd grown since he'd last seen her, though she was thinner now. Being nuked would do that. And she was wearing one of her god-awful wigs instead of a hat or bandanna. The wigs were awful and she rather enjoyed disturbing peoples worlds with them.
Jean-Paul was not standing where she'd expected him to be and announced his new position by tagging Clarice in the back of the head the two of the three follow-up bombs she'd dropped on him. "No, my aim is as good as ever." He folded his arms over his chest with a smirk, ignoring the fresh coat of sparkles over the right shoulder of his Gaultier jacket. He lifted an eyebrow as he took in her ensemble, including the bright orange wig that could scratch corneas from fifty paces. "Tell me you lost a bet."
"With a nuke," Clarice agreed, nodding. She'd collected a plethora of these wigs in a variety of colours over the past few months and Halloween had been very good for this. The orange one was brand new, she'd just bought it the day before at a Halloween closeout place. "You don't like it?" she patted it carefully to make sure nothing was out of place. It went well with her oversized off the shoulder I love the 80's jack-o-lantern sweatshirt and orange leggings. She wasn't at all upset about being glittered, turn about was always fair play. "Or did you think you were the only nukable one in black leather?"
"I was hoping that hero worship had its limits," he teased, tossing back the last bomb soft and underhand. "You could have taken up skiing instead. But at least I can lend you an oddly appropriate shirt to keep you warm until the hair comes back." He finally moved in close again. "It's good to see you, Clarice."
Now Clarice got all sniffly eyed. It had been almost 4 years since he had left, "You too," she muttered, hugging him closely. "And if you disappear like that again I will hunt you down and hurt you until you like it, got it?" she added, half joking...and half serious. She had grown up a lot since he had last seen her. "You can't hide from me either. I eat customs officials for lunch and fart tourist visas."
"And I have more people willing to hide me from rampaging purple elves in exchange for a night in bed. I win. But I will keep the warning in mind, in case I do not feel like whoring myself around the world just to get out of grading exams." He held the young woman in a warm embrace for another moment before stepping back to get a proper look at her. Close up, it was easy to see the thin, white scar that half-ringed his throat. "It has been too long, hasn't it?"
"Dude, I didn't go wandering in the great white north for...whatever. Well, except that time in Nunavut, but whatever," she waved that away, "Oh. And Alaska," she amended. She kinda got around. Not being at all subtle she peered at his throat, "New look?" she asked mildly. The scar was healed and faded, it wasn't recent. Still, it looked painful and as a rule, Clarice disliked pain. Especially when her friends experienced it. Causing it though? Sometimes she wasn't against that.
"Not worth mentioning," he assured her, taking her hand and heading back toward his room. "Come on. Let me find that shirt for you."
Clarice had heard that Jean Paul was back and she was not entirely certain how she felt about this. On the one hand, Jean Paul was back. On the other hand, Jean Paul was back. It was a conundrum. Thankfully though, she was prepared, like a girl scout. A fabulously dressed non-cookie selling bad ass girl scout. Her preparations were simple, sitting on the floor by the banister, she waited with a bag of glitter bombs. They were sort of like water balloons, except glitterful and awesome. And since it was JP, the glitter was a mix of rainbow and red and white glitter. He totally deserved this. Oh yes.
The dusky huntress didn't have long to wait before the sound of footfalls approaching up the stairs sharpened her attention. Her oblivious prey stepped into view, his attention fully absorbed by the shopping list in his hands. Woe and alas for the man at the mercy of his metabolism (and former students).
Hefting the first glitter bomb, she dropped it, missing his head and hitting his shoulder instead. No matter, she had more. Swiftly, she dropped several more hooting and calling, gathering her bag and running down the stairs to where JP was. Unlike most people, Clarice ran to the scene of the crime, not away from it. "Miss me?" she asked, striking a pose in front of Jean Paul. She'd grown since he'd last seen her, though she was thinner now. Being nuked would do that. And she was wearing one of her god-awful wigs instead of a hat or bandanna. The wigs were awful and she rather enjoyed disturbing peoples worlds with them.
Jean-Paul was not standing where she'd expected him to be and announced his new position by tagging Clarice in the back of the head the two of the three follow-up bombs she'd dropped on him. "No, my aim is as good as ever." He folded his arms over his chest with a smirk, ignoring the fresh coat of sparkles over the right shoulder of his Gaultier jacket. He lifted an eyebrow as he took in her ensemble, including the bright orange wig that could scratch corneas from fifty paces. "Tell me you lost a bet."
"With a nuke," Clarice agreed, nodding. She'd collected a plethora of these wigs in a variety of colours over the past few months and Halloween had been very good for this. The orange one was brand new, she'd just bought it the day before at a Halloween closeout place. "You don't like it?" she patted it carefully to make sure nothing was out of place. It went well with her oversized off the shoulder I love the 80's jack-o-lantern sweatshirt and orange leggings. She wasn't at all upset about being glittered, turn about was always fair play. "Or did you think you were the only nukable one in black leather?"
"I was hoping that hero worship had its limits," he teased, tossing back the last bomb soft and underhand. "You could have taken up skiing instead. But at least I can lend you an oddly appropriate shirt to keep you warm until the hair comes back." He finally moved in close again. "It's good to see you, Clarice."
Now Clarice got all sniffly eyed. It had been almost 4 years since he had left, "You too," she muttered, hugging him closely. "And if you disappear like that again I will hunt you down and hurt you until you like it, got it?" she added, half joking...and half serious. She had grown up a lot since he had last seen her. "You can't hide from me either. I eat customs officials for lunch and fart tourist visas."
"And I have more people willing to hide me from rampaging purple elves in exchange for a night in bed. I win. But I will keep the warning in mind, in case I do not feel like whoring myself around the world just to get out of grading exams." He held the young woman in a warm embrace for another moment before stepping back to get a proper look at her. Close up, it was easy to see the thin, white scar that half-ringed his throat. "It has been too long, hasn't it?"
"Dude, I didn't go wandering in the great white north for...whatever. Well, except that time in Nunavut, but whatever," she waved that away, "Oh. And Alaska," she amended. She kinda got around. Not being at all subtle she peered at his throat, "New look?" she asked mildly. The scar was healed and faded, it wasn't recent. Still, it looked painful and as a rule, Clarice disliked pain. Especially when her friends experienced it. Causing it though? Sometimes she wasn't against that.
"Not worth mentioning," he assured her, taking her hand and heading back toward his room. "Come on. Let me find that shirt for you."
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}