Disclaimer: Don't own "My Fair Lady"("We are proud" and funky spelling of when Eliza says "you" in her accent), don't own Higgins (thank gods), don't own Pygmalion, and don't own "Jeeves and Wooster" ("We Woosters are made of sterner stuff"- for a minute, I thought I had something original). I don't even think I own my muse (that actually explains a lot).
Professor Higgins stared moodily at the clock. Where is that blasted girl?
Pickering, as if sensing his mood, said, "Come now, Higgins. It's only been five minutes. The poor girl probably slept in a little after last night's breakthrough. We were up until three o'clock in the morning."
Higgins glared at him, then resumed staring at the clock. "She must always be on time for lessons, else we lose valuable time before the ball. Five minutes late is five minutes of lost grammar, for which I may lose--"
Eliza entered, looking a little paler than usual. Pickering took notice immediately.
"Eliza, what's the matter? You don't look yourself."
"Nonsense, Pickering! She's perfectly healthy," Higgins stated with his usual contrariness. Eliza suddenly burst into tears.
"Oh now, we are proud! Don't care nothin' about a poor girl like me, jus' wants to make me win a bet and doesn't care if'n I live or die in the process!" She started wailing even more and rushed out of the room. "I don't care if'n I ever sees ye-oo agin, 'enry 'iggins! Oh, I wish I was dead!"
Higgins and Pickering gawked at the place where Eliza had been before she ran, and then at each other. Pickering was the first to venture an explanation. "Do you think she might be... you know?"
Higgins looked confused. "What? A temporary mental illness in which she forgets all that anyone has ever done for her and acts like a melodramatic, ungrateful hussy? It sounds perfectly like Eliza, except for the melodramatic part."
"No! Didn't your mother teach you anything about females and their... reproductive cycles?" He whispered the last part like it was a dirty word.
"Oh, that! No, actually. She just assumed that no girl would be idiot to ever even stay in my house more than one night, let alone a month. Why?"
"I had three sisters, and they were all nightmares during... you know. I stayed out of the house during the whole week."
"What?! Does Eliza honestly expect me to give up my house, which I earned with my money, to some ignorant flower girl for a week! Hah! We Higgins are made of sterner stuff, let me tell you!" Mrs. Pearce entered, grabbed the chocolate bowl, and headed for the door.
"I say, what the devil are you doing with that?" Higgins asked.
"Well, sir, chocolate is a well known remedy, and Eliza has the worst... case I've seen in twenty years."
"How bad is it?" Pickering asked in amazement.
"She is still crying and complaining about Professor Higgins, which you shouldn't mind, sir. A girl can say the most hateful things during this... time, and never mean them."
"What is that blasted girl saying about me?"
"She says that you're an ungracious cod who should have taken a long walk vertically off a high cliff onto some sharp spikes, and she pities your mother and wonders how she ever survived. Of course, I don't approve of this, but it is excusable because of the circumstances."
"Blast her! I'm going to go and give her a piece of my mind!" With that, Higgins stormed away, leaving Mrs. Pearce and Pickering shaking their heads at him.
Pickering eyed the chocolates. "Bet you three chocolates that she brains him with a book when he first enters the room."
"I don't bet, Colonel," Mrs. Pearce glared. "However, I am sure that Eliza will hit him with her table lamp after he has said five words." There was a sudden THUD! upstairs, followed by some very heavy cursing. Higgins thumped down the stairs. "Pickering, Mrs. Pearce, I'm going out! Keep Eliza confined to her room, and make sure any matches are safely hidden away from her!"
"Oh, Higgins," Pickering called. "Did she hit you right when you entered?"
"No! Five words into my lecture about perseverance and never cursing one's teacher, she threw a lamp at me! The woman has a devil of a throwing arm!"
Mrs. Pearce just smiled a small, triumphant smile and took the chocolates to Eliza's room.
(Hah! I have the whole thing done in one hour! Yay! I've vanquished the demons of procrastination!)
Please excuse the authoress while she mentally runs around in circles (too tired to physically do so). And review. Even if it's just flames. But, please, seal those in easy-to-mail-to-outer-space-containers so they won't get loose and start more wildfires over here.