This was written for the Random Title Generator . . .thing on Livejournal. It caused me some trouble, I'm still not completely sure about it, so, opinions are welcome.
As for Split Second and Da Capo. . . Yeah.I'm working on them, I swear.
The real life of a pout is not something that can really be mapped because the pout is a mysterious thing. When you're young, it comes and goes as it pleases. Sometimes because you really do have something to pout about and other times simply because you're paying attention to something else.
Mapping the life of a pout does tend to get easier as you get older. You learn to control the pout; you learn when to use it to obtain the best results. Pout just so at your father and you will get that new toy. Just right at your mother and you get to stay up an extra 10 minutes. And when you use it on your boyfriend? Well, the possibilities were endless.
Lorelai Victoria Gilmore had learned the power of her pout early on. Extra deserts, pets and new toys when she was young. And as she grew? Groundings were forgotten, deadlines extended, and cigarettes and concert tickets others purchased for her enjoyment. She had a feeling that Christopher was starting to learn what the different pouts meant, that he was starting to be able to tell when she was faking to get her way and when she was upset.
That didn't really matter once Rory came long. Christopher would never realize that when she pouted for something now, that it was for diapers or clothes for their daughter. Her parents didn't care about her pout any more, they only really seemed to care about making sure that Rory was presentable in their world, to try and wash away some of the shame Lorelai had draped over the family.
Rory's pout began to take shape at the Independence Inn and Lorelai felt a giddy little thrill when she saw this. As soon as Rory was old enough to understand, Lorelai began teaching her how to really use this new, powerful weapon well.
"Put this together with those blue eyes and look out!" she told the little girl enthusiastically before they both shared a giggle.
A few days later, after a long day of cleaning up after a particularly rowdy hockey team, Lorelai came to the little potting shed only to find Rory on a stool, leaning against the sink as she practiced in the mirror. Lorelai quickly put a hand over her mouth, to hold in the laugh as she watched Rory, so seriously practicing her pout in the little cracked mirror.
It wasn't until Lorelai met Luke Danes that she really realized that her pout was starting to take on a life of it's own.
"You should ask Luke to help," Sookie often told her when she complained (and pouted) about something that was falling apart in her house.
"He hates me," Lorelai said, dejectedly, as she stirred her coffee.
"Well, you know how to solve that, don't you?" the chef asked, rather amused that they were having this conversation, again. Lorelai sighed and didn't say anything, though Sookie did see a pout starting. "I would imagine that if you stopped calling him Duke, it would help a lot."
"I know," she grumbled as she downed the last of her coffee before pushing away from the counter in the kitchen of the inn and heading for the front desk.
Eventually, Lorelai broke down and headed to Luke's. While that broken window hadn't been a large problem during the summer, it was becoming one now that the weather was starting to turn cold. She stood outside the diner, watching the late lunch rush slowly empty out as she mentally rehearsed the pout she was going to chose to accompany her apology as well as her request. When the diner was sufficiently empty, she squared her shoulders and marched into the diner.
"Hey Luke?" she asked as she slid up to the counter.
"God, for the last time it's Luke!" he grumbled, not noticing that she had dropped her running habit of calling him Duke. "Right," he said after a moment, realizing that she had called him Luke. "Coffee?" She nodded and he watched as she grew quiet and played with the rim of her mug. "What's wrong?" he asked her.
She was a little surprised by the concern in his voice. Usually he was cool and distant to just about everyone in town.
"I . . . I need a favor," she said quietly, finally looking up at him. She was using the first stage of her pout right now, big eyes, slightly watery and her bottom lip just starting to stick out.
He arched an eyebrow and waited for her to continue. She quickly spilled out a story about how the window had broken, why they had left it so long and would he please, please, PLEASE fix it for them?
He studied the brunette in front of him for a long moment as he tried to decide what to make of this plea.
Lorelai, fearing he was going to say no, jumped to the biggest pout she had, the one that came right before looking silly.
With a sigh, Luke agreed and said he'd be there tomorrow around 4. Lorelai's face instantly broke out into a dazzling grin. She thanked Luke profusely before she downed the coffee, dropped some change on the counter and bounded out. Luke stood, watching her for a moment. Eventually, he realized he'd been had and suckered into offering free labor.
For some reason, it didn't bother him at all.
From that point on, Luke began to catalogue the pouts, keeping track of which ones were for manipulating him and which were because she actually had something to pout about. He was almost positive that she was starting to realize that he knew when he was being played, but neither said anything and the game continued on as normal.
As they grew closer to crossing the line from friends to something more, she found herself having to pout less and less to get her way and this caused the town to gossip more and more.
When she finally broke down on his shoulder, confessing that Sookie was too busy with the baby, Michel with his job and she missed Rory desperately.
He held her as she blubbered her way through her reasons for wanting to have dinner with him, to ask him for a ridiculous amount of money, but she didn't want to talk about that because she was failing at everything.
He frowned as he held her close, pulling her tight against her and he realized that this was the most down he had ever seen her.
This must be her real pout, the one that didn't hold any prisoners. This was the real life of a pout.
Eventually the pair did cross the line from friends to lovers and finally to more than even that. He never saw her fall apart like she had that night on the bench. She still pouted to get her way, but never like that.
She had come close, though, that day she walked into the diner and discovered April, his long-lost daughter, filling salt and pepper shakers while going on about brown verses white rice. Her face fell, she had a hard time looking at him and he was sure he saw tears in her eyes.
That was the last time he really saw any pout she wore.
Even as they stood on the doorstep of his diner, even as she pleaded with him to run away with her and marry her, to prove that he still loved her as much as she loved him, he didn't see the pout. All he saw was a fiancé suddenly desperate to run off and he didn't understand why.
Luke Danes came to understand the real life of Lorelai Gilmore's pout the hard way. As he sat in his empty apartment a few days after they had officially ended their engagement, he realized that she had been pouting at him for months. Not in the noticeable way she did when she wanted something, but in the way she did when she was truly disappointed.
Her bottom lip didn't stick out, but the corners of her mouth curved down and the laugh lines didn't liven up her face, they just made her look tired and drawn. Her eyes were watery, but with tears, not with laughter and hope.
The real life of a pout was a complicated, one that couldn't really be understood until it was too late.