milliways_bar | (no subject)

Entry tags:

(no subject)

When Viola's view screen pops up, she lets out an involuntary gasp and immediately hunches over to shield it from view: for there , next to the options to become a fox and a-- robot?--, is the option to become a boy. What are you trying to do, Bar, give her away?

...but then again...

She presses the button. Outwardly, nothing much changes. She always did look uncannily like her brother, after all.

Outwardly.

[ooc: moderate slowtimes, especially over the weekend, but since she hasn't been around in a while, open 'til whenever!]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Yesss, she's rather red.

"Just so."

"Thou lackest nothing. Ha! Young man, let me buy thee a drink!"

Viola makes a very appealing boy, but we all already knew that.

"Why, very well," she says, laughing. "I feel all full of sport today. Perhaps I shall strip me all bare and dive into the lake."

"Marry, but I had that selfsame thought." He gives her an exaggerated leer that settles quickly into friendly laughter. "'Tis a fine day; we'll bathe in the lake if it please thee, or kick a football or play tennis, or drink. Whate'er mischief thou wouldst have, I'm thy man."

"A kindly vow!" Her expression softens. "But truly, sir, I am well pleased to see your spirits so much improved."

He rubs his jaw. Heh, well. "I have made merry in worse places than this. There are Englishmen here; their king cannot be always shuffling about, long-faced."

Never mind that he's not their king.

"And thou look'st a man in health again," she says. "I need not fear thou shalt but faint if I call thee to a race."

"Put me to the test, approve me! I'll never be ill again: I am past it."

Her smile briefly falters. "Ay, so thou art. --but as we are two lads with naught to fear, why, let us forth!"

"Lead the way, Cesario, lead the way! --Unless we do race, in which event, kindly restrain thyself and spare the feelings of such an ancient as myself."

"I do mourn indeed to see thee so decrepit."

She stands. It's the first time since she transformed, and a flash of surprise crosses her face. It feels-- well, it's a bit different, isn't it. But as she starts to move, she finds it oddly familiar. It's like all the things she's trained herself to imitate suddenly make sense.

"O, I see how thou mournest--with a swagger in thy step!" He picks up her walk himself for a moment before putting a companionable arm around her shoulders. "Lesser men will flee before us."

They're different shoulders! It's all very strange!

"O, I have no wish to make any flee!"

She says it as they reach the door, and that's his cue: "No? Then it will spur thee in our race!" And he's off--curious himself to see what kind of speed he can put in it.

She lets out a cry of protest and takes off after him. It's clumsy at first, her limbs feel all wrong, but it only takes her a little bit to get the hang of it. And then she, too, is curious to see just how fast a boy can go.

...Quite possibly faster than a 35-year-old man. One who's been recovering from a long illness. Oof.

It's probably foolish and unseemly to care about a thing like this, but Harry finds himself pushing to run for the lake.

don't hurt yourself old man then she'll feel bad

Anyway, it's not like becoming a boy has magically transformed Viola into an athlete, and even though she beats Hal to the edge of the lake, she's quite winded when she gets there, doubled over as she laughs and tries to catch her breath.

She doesn't beat him by much, dammit.

And he's not doubled over laughing. He has the strength to give her a good strong push from behind, in the direction of the water.

She's all off-balance, and she stumbles forward at the push, falling to her hands and knees in the shallow water at the edge of the lake.

"Why, what a sore loser thou art!"

But since she's here-- and since she can-- she sits back on her heels and begins to unfasten her doublet. She tosses it into the grass, then pulls her shirt up over her head.

She looks down at herself-- and starts to laugh.

"Sore all down my legs," he grumbles, as he sits down and begins taking off his shoes. "What? --O! Ha, thou needst not gape and stare at thyself, 'tis no great difference from before. I would know."

She smacks his arm. "--well, I cannot call thee out for such a word, being true. But 'tis ungentlemanly to say so."

"Indeed--'tis kingly said, not merely gentlemanly." It's his turn to shed upper layers, and he disappears for a bit as he pulls off his shirt.

He's accumulated some scars. Not a lot--that's what armor is for--but he's a king who's fought in his own battles.

Viola, meanwhile, has been attending to her stockings and hose, and is down her drawers.

"Hast breath enough to swim, good King?"

Hal's had time (since dying) to get used to fending for himself again, but he hasn't yet become tidy. He tosses his stockings, hose, etc. casually under a bush before approaching the edge of the lake and sticking in a toe. Eh, still a bit chilly, but about what you'd expect early in the summer.

Breath enough? He makes a face at Viola over his shoulder and charges into the water with a great splash.

She crashes in after him.

"--I should confess," she says when the water is up to about her waist, "I cannot swim."