[SCENE: People Park FireStarter!]
[This log takes place on April 3rd, the day of the talent show. This reveals what really happened between Valant, Armstrong and Viola. :D]
Valant: *Valant has sent Trucy off after their act, letting the girl lead Phoenix off stage as he cleared up their props. A rabbit pokes its nose out beneath Valant's hat as he attempts to carry the throwing board out of the back of the tent*
Valant: Goodness, this was a lot easier to get in here than it is out, don't you agree, Mr. Snowflake? *he looks up to the rabbit sniffing beneath his hat* I certainly hope I did not forget anything...
Valant: *carries the board out of the tent and leans it against the entrance, sighing as he takes a brief break* Goodness.
Armstrong: *In the not-so-distant distance, there's the sound of muttered French exclamations of consternations and anxiety,* Mon Dieu! She will not stop, non, non! I do not 'ave it, I cannot let 'er--EEEeeeee~! *Pounding footsteps resound, the ground practically shakes with the force of the run. Armstrong comes careening from around the front of the tent, tears streaming from his eyes, lip quibbling in fear. He stops short, skidding across the grass as he spots Valant, and if it weren't for his pinwheeling arms he might have ran face-first right into the magician.*
Armstrong: OH! OH, MONSIEUR! *goes onto his knees, begging*
Armstrong: Monsieur la Magicien!!
Armstrong: You must save me!
Armstrong: *watery eyes*
Valant: *jumps back a little in surprise as his rabbit retreats back into the safety of the magician's yellow hat* Ah... Hello si-- madam...? What... What seems to be... the issue...?
Armstrong: Quoi?? It is she! She is...! *lip quivers* She is...! .... Ah. *sigh* I am in la trouble. *pause, studies Valant with those ever-glistening, watery eyes*
Armstrong: You are z'at ‘surprised’ monsieur on la journal, non?
Armstrong: *little smile*
Valant: Ah... Y-Yes, I suppose... I am one of... several gentleman who commented in your journal good si--- madam...?
Armstrong: Mademoiselle, s'il vous plait.
Armstrong: --- You are!
Armstrong: Trés bien! Could you still use la massage oils? La exquisite aromatherapy?
Armstrong: *suddenly whips open a very pink, cute little satchel bag*
Armstrong: *little bottles of aromatherapy oils are all lined up according to scent. They all look identical and they give off the strongest, most disgusting stench.*
Armstrong: For you, I will give la discount! *flirty giggle*
Valant: *shifts a little uncomfortably* Ah, forgive me, my sweet mademoiselle, but I begrudgingly must inform you that I tend to keep... many animals, and the scent of aromatherapy oils and the like can be... very detrimental to their health, you see...
Armstrong: Only ten dollars for la bottle! La scent de sandalwood is trés soothing, non? 'Ere, I will give you la sample, z'en you can buy la delicate scent!
Armstrong: *plucks a bottle out of the mass daintily, starts unscrewing the cap*
Armstrong: *reaches for Valant's hand*
Valant: N-no thank you, I... I am quite sure that-- *jumps back a little and two doves fly out of his pocket and perch on his shoulder* Ah -- see? Birds. Aromatherapy? Bad for birds!
Armstrong: *blinkblinkblink*
Armstrong: *Turns on the charm. Pulls a rose out of his pocket (he always seems to have one on him!), inhales slowly, moves forward with a serene look on his face*
Armstrong: La birds will like l'aromatherapy. It is soothing to z'em, too, non?
Armstrong: *Starts inserting the rose seductively into Valant's lapel*
Valant: *stares wide-eyed at Jean for a moment*
Armstrong: *smoothly, like the smooth french (wo)man he is* I will give you la massage exceptionnel, non?
Armstrong: Oui, oui! We will get away from 'ere, away from z'at... z'at girl.
Valant: Ah... My wallet is... in my car. How about... you wait here and... I will go get it and... I will purchase *he clears his throat* I will purchase your... oils. You wait here and... hide from this girl you speak of and in a jiffy I shall jauntily jog back to this very spot. ...Alright?
Armstrong: *lights up* You will?
Armstrong: 'Ow many bottles? I will put them in la package perfectement!
Valant: ...Yes.
Valant: Um... All of them.
Armstrong: ALL! Oui, oui, Monsieur!
Armstrong: Merci! You are 'elping very much!
Valant: *is staring at Jean like a deer in the headlights* Yes. You just... wait right here.
Armstrong: Z'ank you!
Valant: And don't follow me.
Valant: It's... it's part of the magic.
Armstrong: *immediately starts arranging the bottles all pretty*
Armstrong: You will come back, oui?
Armstrong: I will be wai-ting~!
Valant: ...Yes
Armstrong: Mon prince!
Armstrong: Mon savior!
Armstrong: *Siiiiigh*
Armstrong: Ah, z'is is so romantique...
Armstrong: Like la fairy tales, oui?
Valant: *without another word Valant quickly escapes away from Jean, shuddering once Jean is out of sight*
Armstrong: *sighing happily to himself as he readies the bottles for purchase*
Valant: Goodness... That was terrifying... *he pulls the rose out of his lapel and tosses it to the ground, noticing he's missing one of his knives* Oh for the love of-- *sighs, knowing he cannot go back and get it now -- he'll look for it after the show*
Armstrong: *minutes pass as Armstrong hums the fanciful Cinderella's Waltz under his breath. From his satchel, he withdraws a collapsible pink box and delicately starts setting it up, placing his little tissue-paper-wrapped aromatherapy bottles inside one-by-one*
Viola: *rounds the outside of the performer's tent slowly, quietly, from the opposite direction Armstrong is facing. It's unclear whether or not she came because she knew the large pink-clad chef-ballerina would be there, but when she spots Jean she frowns slightly, her lips curling up into a decidedly cruel smile*
Viola: *walks up to him oh so silently, and taps him lightly on the shoulder with a finger* ...Mister... Armstrong...?
Armstrong: *freezes, his humming stopping dead mid-note. He starts counting (in French!) under his breath, as if hoping he just imagined that voice. He slowly turns, catches a glimpse of black hair and makes an exclamation of shock and horror*
Armstrong: Ah! M-M-Mademoiselle!
Armstrong: *scrambles away a foot or two, taking his precious bottles with him* ... What are you doing 'ere?!
Armstrong: Ah, z'at is, I 'ope you are 'aving fun, non??
Viola: ...I saw your show... It was... very amusing... *holds her hand to her mouth as if to stifle her laughter*
Viola: ...But that's not why I'm here, Mr. Armstrong... *her tone takes on just the slightest amount of sharpness as she continues* Do you know... why I need to talk to you...?
Armstrong: Oui, oui, naturellement... *he trails off. In the absence of a handy-dandy rose, he starts untying/retying the bow on the front of his pink satchel. Tie, untie. He doesn't say anything more*
Viola: *clasping her hands together, she takes a tiny step forward towards Jean* You're... very behind on your payments. ...It's been a month again...
Viola: And you... do know that Tender Lender has recently adopted a... different... approach... towards loan repayments... don't you...? *smiles*
Viola: *softly, abruptly* ...You still like dancing on your toes... right...? Hee... Hee... Hee...
Armstrong: Non, non!! Stop it! Please! *pulls the knot on the bow tight, and fumbles for a couple of aromatherapy bottles* I will pay as best as I can, Mademoiselle! All la money will be in soon, non?
Armstrong: In la meantime, I can give you la free life supply of l'aromatherapy oils. 'Ow is z'at? I will 'ave la rest, I promise!
Viola: *frowns in earnest* ...Those scents of yours are too strong... *even more sharply* And you've tried offering them before...
Viola: ...No more excuses. *she takes another step forward* ...A lifetime supply isn't very much... when... your own life... isn't going to last... very long...
Armstrong: Aaaaaaaaaaaaaah! *Shrinks away* Non! Stop it! I am doing my best, Mademoiselle! I will 'ave it for certain by the end of la month. Give me anoz'er chance. I can give you la down payment now - z'ere is a man 'oo is buying l'aromatherapies.
Armstrong: Take some to sell, oui? 'Ere, I will show you la soothing scent de la rose! *puts on the watery eyes, trying to be suave but way too nervous to pull it off. Unscrews the cap of the bottle, unsteadily reaching for Viola's wrist to apply a few drops* Oh là là , z'at is lovely, no? *Desperately* 'Oo would not buy??
Viola: *grimaces as the bottle is opened--the scent is overpowering to her sensitive sense of smell--and when Armstrong advances towards her to take her wrist she draws back her hand and slaps the jar clean out of his hands* No. *hissing* ...It's not my job to do your selling for you...!
Armstrong: EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeek~~~! *There is a smash as the bottle shatters somewhere close by, but Armstrong doesn't even notice* NON, non, Mademoiselle!
Armstrong: Do not 'urt me!
Armstrong: I am but an innocent little girl!
Armstrong: A little fleur!
Armstrong: S'il vous plait, 'ave mercy!
Armstrong: *very close to tears*
Viola: *holds the hand she'd smacked the aromatherapy jar with gingerly in her other one--though Jean has gotten even more agitated with her sudden outlash, it seems as though the act has caused her to calm herself down significantly*
Viola: *in a surprisingly more patient voice than usual* ...I'm not going to hurt you Mr. Armstrong... You're still more valuable to me alive...
Viola: But don't try to... offer... those things... to me again...
Armstrong: *quivering* I am valuable...?
Armstrong: *perks up considerably* Oui, Oui! I will make la money in one month, non??
Viola: *a barely audible sigh* ...Yes... One month. ...We'll talk again then...
Viola: *a small smile appears on her features again* ...But if all you have are excuses... *with careful stress* I'll have to reconsider... the value... of your life...
Armstrong: Non, non! You will not 'ave to reconsider. *still a little nervous, but visibly calming* I will 'ave it all by z'en! Do not worry, Mademoiselle. To celebrate, I will cook la dinner suprême when you arrive!
Armstrong: *picks up his satchel, getting ready to bolt if necessary*
Viola: You'll have to find... someone else to eat it then... *the look on her face indicates she's quiiiiiite familiar with how his food tastes like* ...I died once... I don't want to die... again... --
Viola: *there's a faint crackling sound nearby, barely audible, but it's one so familiar and fascinating to her ears that she stops speaking and glances towards the tent to see what it is*
Armstrong: Non, non, it will be très fantastique. The best dinner gourmet I will ever cook-- *notices Viola staring past him at something* Mademoiselle... ? *looks as if he's about to book it when he sniffs the air and his face scrunches up. Turns to look at whatever Viola sees*
Viola: *for some reason or other, the base of the giant throwing board blocking the entrance of the performer's tent-which the aromatherapy bottle dashed against when it was hit out of Jean's hands-has caught aflame. As the tiny fire spreads, the distinctive crackle grows; already, the area is starting to smell like the overly sweet smoke of wood and rose scented oil. Surprisingly quickly, the fire catches onto the nearby grass--and as it's mostly dry scrub, the nearby area is aflame within a matter of seconds*
Armstrong: *gives a feminine GASP* FIRE, Mademoiselle! Allez! Run! We must -- *stops dead as he glances at Viola*
Viola: *appears absolutely enthralled by the fire, a joyful--and terribly demonic--smile on her face; her eyes glow as she watches it blaze--it's probably just the reflection of the flames, really--and she doesn't seem to notice Jean's reaction at all*
Armstrong: .... Au revoir! *Scurries off in an awful hurry, not to be seen at the park again for the rest of the day*
Viola: *the flames reach a slightly damp portion of grass, and with a sudden fwoom the fire blazes into a gigantic inferno, capturing the fabric of the tent*
Viola: *laughs softly, happily, as the fire blazes on, only taking a step back when the heat makes it absolutely necessary-and she stands there watching, smiling and laughing until the fire grows so large that it attracts the notice of others and approaching individuals pull her away from the entrancing sight*
Valant: *Valant has sent Trucy off after their act, letting the girl lead Phoenix off stage as he cleared up their props. A rabbit pokes its nose out beneath Valant's hat as he attempts to carry the throwing board out of the back of the tent*
Valant: Goodness, this was a lot easier to get in here than it is out, don't you agree, Mr. Snowflake? *he looks up to the rabbit sniffing beneath his hat* I certainly hope I did not forget anything...
Valant: *carries the board out of the tent and leans it against the entrance, sighing as he takes a brief break* Goodness.
Armstrong: *In the not-so-distant distance, there's the sound of muttered French exclamations of consternations and anxiety,* Mon Dieu! She will not stop, non, non! I do not 'ave it, I cannot let 'er--EEEeeeee~! *Pounding footsteps resound, the ground practically shakes with the force of the run. Armstrong comes careening from around the front of the tent, tears streaming from his eyes, lip quibbling in fear. He stops short, skidding across the grass as he spots Valant, and if it weren't for his pinwheeling arms he might have ran face-first right into the magician.*
Armstrong: OH! OH, MONSIEUR! *goes onto his knees, begging*
Armstrong: Monsieur la Magicien!!
Armstrong: You must save me!
Armstrong: *watery eyes*
Valant: *jumps back a little in surprise as his rabbit retreats back into the safety of the magician's yellow hat* Ah... Hello si-- madam...? What... What seems to be... the issue...?
Armstrong: Quoi?? It is she! She is...! *lip quivers* She is...! .... Ah. *sigh* I am in la trouble. *pause, studies Valant with those ever-glistening, watery eyes*
Armstrong: You are z'at ‘surprised’ monsieur on la journal, non?
Armstrong: *little smile*
Valant: Ah... Y-Yes, I suppose... I am one of... several gentleman who commented in your journal good si--- madam...?
Armstrong: Mademoiselle, s'il vous plait.
Armstrong: --- You are!
Armstrong: Trés bien! Could you still use la massage oils? La exquisite aromatherapy?
Armstrong: *suddenly whips open a very pink, cute little satchel bag*
Armstrong: *little bottles of aromatherapy oils are all lined up according to scent. They all look identical and they give off the strongest, most disgusting stench.*
Armstrong: For you, I will give la discount! *flirty giggle*
Valant: *shifts a little uncomfortably* Ah, forgive me, my sweet mademoiselle, but I begrudgingly must inform you that I tend to keep... many animals, and the scent of aromatherapy oils and the like can be... very detrimental to their health, you see...
Armstrong: Only ten dollars for la bottle! La scent de sandalwood is trés soothing, non? 'Ere, I will give you la sample, z'en you can buy la delicate scent!
Armstrong: *plucks a bottle out of the mass daintily, starts unscrewing the cap*
Armstrong: *reaches for Valant's hand*
Valant: N-no thank you, I... I am quite sure that-- *jumps back a little and two doves fly out of his pocket and perch on his shoulder* Ah -- see? Birds. Aromatherapy? Bad for birds!
Armstrong: *blinkblinkblink*
Armstrong: *Turns on the charm. Pulls a rose out of his pocket (he always seems to have one on him!), inhales slowly, moves forward with a serene look on his face*
Armstrong: La birds will like l'aromatherapy. It is soothing to z'em, too, non?
Armstrong: *Starts inserting the rose seductively into Valant's lapel*
Valant: *stares wide-eyed at Jean for a moment*
Armstrong: *smoothly, like the smooth french (wo)man he is* I will give you la massage exceptionnel, non?
Armstrong: Oui, oui! We will get away from 'ere, away from z'at... z'at girl.
Valant: Ah... My wallet is... in my car. How about... you wait here and... I will go get it and... I will purchase *he clears his throat* I will purchase your... oils. You wait here and... hide from this girl you speak of and in a jiffy I shall jauntily jog back to this very spot. ...Alright?
Armstrong: *lights up* You will?
Armstrong: 'Ow many bottles? I will put them in la package perfectement!
Valant: ...Yes.
Valant: Um... All of them.
Armstrong: ALL! Oui, oui, Monsieur!
Armstrong: Merci! You are 'elping very much!
Valant: *is staring at Jean like a deer in the headlights* Yes. You just... wait right here.
Armstrong: Z'ank you!
Valant: And don't follow me.
Valant: It's... it's part of the magic.
Armstrong: *immediately starts arranging the bottles all pretty*
Armstrong: You will come back, oui?
Armstrong: I will be wai-ting~!
Valant: ...Yes
Armstrong: Mon prince!
Armstrong: Mon savior!
Armstrong: *Siiiiigh*
Armstrong: Ah, z'is is so romantique...
Armstrong: Like la fairy tales, oui?
Valant: *without another word Valant quickly escapes away from Jean, shuddering once Jean is out of sight*
Armstrong: *sighing happily to himself as he readies the bottles for purchase*
Valant: Goodness... That was terrifying... *he pulls the rose out of his lapel and tosses it to the ground, noticing he's missing one of his knives* Oh for the love of-- *sighs, knowing he cannot go back and get it now -- he'll look for it after the show*
Armstrong: *minutes pass as Armstrong hums the fanciful Cinderella's Waltz under his breath. From his satchel, he withdraws a collapsible pink box and delicately starts setting it up, placing his little tissue-paper-wrapped aromatherapy bottles inside one-by-one*
Viola: *rounds the outside of the performer's tent slowly, quietly, from the opposite direction Armstrong is facing. It's unclear whether or not she came because she knew the large pink-clad chef-ballerina would be there, but when she spots Jean she frowns slightly, her lips curling up into a decidedly cruel smile*
Viola: *walks up to him oh so silently, and taps him lightly on the shoulder with a finger* ...Mister... Armstrong...?
Armstrong: *freezes, his humming stopping dead mid-note. He starts counting (in French!) under his breath, as if hoping he just imagined that voice. He slowly turns, catches a glimpse of black hair and makes an exclamation of shock and horror*
Armstrong: Ah! M-M-Mademoiselle!
Armstrong: *scrambles away a foot or two, taking his precious bottles with him* ... What are you doing 'ere?!
Armstrong: Ah, z'at is, I 'ope you are 'aving fun, non??
Viola: ...I saw your show... It was... very amusing... *holds her hand to her mouth as if to stifle her laughter*
Viola: ...But that's not why I'm here, Mr. Armstrong... *her tone takes on just the slightest amount of sharpness as she continues* Do you know... why I need to talk to you...?
Armstrong: Oui, oui, naturellement... *he trails off. In the absence of a handy-dandy rose, he starts untying/retying the bow on the front of his pink satchel. Tie, untie. He doesn't say anything more*
Viola: *clasping her hands together, she takes a tiny step forward towards Jean* You're... very behind on your payments. ...It's been a month again...
Viola: And you... do know that Tender Lender has recently adopted a... different... approach... towards loan repayments... don't you...? *smiles*
Viola: *softly, abruptly* ...You still like dancing on your toes... right...? Hee... Hee... Hee...
Armstrong: Non, non!! Stop it! Please! *pulls the knot on the bow tight, and fumbles for a couple of aromatherapy bottles* I will pay as best as I can, Mademoiselle! All la money will be in soon, non?
Armstrong: In la meantime, I can give you la free life supply of l'aromatherapy oils. 'Ow is z'at? I will 'ave la rest, I promise!
Viola: *frowns in earnest* ...Those scents of yours are too strong... *even more sharply* And you've tried offering them before...
Viola: ...No more excuses. *she takes another step forward* ...A lifetime supply isn't very much... when... your own life... isn't going to last... very long...
Armstrong: Aaaaaaaaaaaaaah! *Shrinks away* Non! Stop it! I am doing my best, Mademoiselle! I will 'ave it for certain by the end of la month. Give me anoz'er chance. I can give you la down payment now - z'ere is a man 'oo is buying l'aromatherapies.
Armstrong: Take some to sell, oui? 'Ere, I will show you la soothing scent de la rose! *puts on the watery eyes, trying to be suave but way too nervous to pull it off. Unscrews the cap of the bottle, unsteadily reaching for Viola's wrist to apply a few drops* Oh là là , z'at is lovely, no? *Desperately* 'Oo would not buy??
Viola: *grimaces as the bottle is opened--the scent is overpowering to her sensitive sense of smell--and when Armstrong advances towards her to take her wrist she draws back her hand and slaps the jar clean out of his hands* No. *hissing* ...It's not my job to do your selling for you...!
Armstrong: EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeek~~~! *There is a smash as the bottle shatters somewhere close by, but Armstrong doesn't even notice* NON, non, Mademoiselle!
Armstrong: Do not 'urt me!
Armstrong: I am but an innocent little girl!
Armstrong: A little fleur!
Armstrong: S'il vous plait, 'ave mercy!
Armstrong: *very close to tears*
Viola: *holds the hand she'd smacked the aromatherapy jar with gingerly in her other one--though Jean has gotten even more agitated with her sudden outlash, it seems as though the act has caused her to calm herself down significantly*
Viola: *in a surprisingly more patient voice than usual* ...I'm not going to hurt you Mr. Armstrong... You're still more valuable to me alive...
Viola: But don't try to... offer... those things... to me again...
Armstrong: *quivering* I am valuable...?
Armstrong: *perks up considerably* Oui, Oui! I will make la money in one month, non??
Viola: *a barely audible sigh* ...Yes... One month. ...We'll talk again then...
Viola: *a small smile appears on her features again* ...But if all you have are excuses... *with careful stress* I'll have to reconsider... the value... of your life...
Armstrong: Non, non! You will not 'ave to reconsider. *still a little nervous, but visibly calming* I will 'ave it all by z'en! Do not worry, Mademoiselle. To celebrate, I will cook la dinner suprême when you arrive!
Armstrong: *picks up his satchel, getting ready to bolt if necessary*
Viola: You'll have to find... someone else to eat it then... *the look on her face indicates she's quiiiiiite familiar with how his food tastes like* ...I died once... I don't want to die... again... --
Viola: *there's a faint crackling sound nearby, barely audible, but it's one so familiar and fascinating to her ears that she stops speaking and glances towards the tent to see what it is*
Armstrong: Non, non, it will be très fantastique. The best dinner gourmet I will ever cook-- *notices Viola staring past him at something* Mademoiselle... ? *looks as if he's about to book it when he sniffs the air and his face scrunches up. Turns to look at whatever Viola sees*
Viola: *for some reason or other, the base of the giant throwing board blocking the entrance of the performer's tent-which the aromatherapy bottle dashed against when it was hit out of Jean's hands-has caught aflame. As the tiny fire spreads, the distinctive crackle grows; already, the area is starting to smell like the overly sweet smoke of wood and rose scented oil. Surprisingly quickly, the fire catches onto the nearby grass--and as it's mostly dry scrub, the nearby area is aflame within a matter of seconds*
Armstrong: *gives a feminine GASP* FIRE, Mademoiselle! Allez! Run! We must -- *stops dead as he glances at Viola*
Viola: *appears absolutely enthralled by the fire, a joyful--and terribly demonic--smile on her face; her eyes glow as she watches it blaze--it's probably just the reflection of the flames, really--and she doesn't seem to notice Jean's reaction at all*
Armstrong: .... Au revoir! *Scurries off in an awful hurry, not to be seen at the park again for the rest of the day*
Viola: *the flames reach a slightly damp portion of grass, and with a sudden fwoom the fire blazes into a gigantic inferno, capturing the fabric of the tent*
Viola: *laughs softly, happily, as the fire blazes on, only taking a step back when the heat makes it absolutely necessary-and she stands there watching, smiling and laughing until the fire grows so large that it attracts the notice of others and approaching individuals pull her away from the entrancing sight*