*sings* Hellooo, readers! :D I'll explain what happened to "Reformed Anew" in the chapter following this. And depending on how this story goes, I might just post an Ulumi fic very shortly. :) A special thanks to my friends, Yuoaj009, Bloophearts, and The Eccentric Gamer for offering me support and great counseling advice! :D
Anyway, I present the result of my obsession over Les Misérables. XD Just a disclaimer—the setting is going to be a strange mix of the Colonial and Victorian eras, so don't be expecting something historical. XD Ahem, all the rightful rights belong rightfully to Code Lyoko's rightful owners, haha. Now, go ahead and read! :D
"The rationale that etiquette should be eschewed because it fosters inequality does not ring true in a society that openly admits to a feverish interest in the comparative status-conveying qualities of sneakers. Manners are available to all, for free."
-Judith Martin, Common Courtesy: In Which Manners Solves the Problem That Baffled Mr. Jefferson
Chapter 1: Factional Society
"No," Aelita said in disbelief. "You can't possibly make me wear that!"
Anthea Schaeffer laughed lightly at the rather comical stance her daughter chose to take. The teenager's fists were clenched menacingly as she glared disdainfully at the much too frilly dress—topped with a bodice that laced up in the front, the hem was lined with bows made of white ribbon.
"The neckline is much too low," Aelita then pointed out, gesturing towards the top of the dress. Both sides were off-shoulder, the section thinly surrounding her upper arms an off-white that matched the bows. She crossed her arms. "The men won't ever take me seriously, mother—they would more predictably gaze at me like dirty hogs! You must understand."
"My dear..." Anthea walked up to her daughter, and cupped her elfish face within her gentle hands. "This is part of signifying your woman-"
"I don't want a man that looks at me like I'm the equivalence of an object." Aelita ran her fingers through her short, pink hair as she turned away from her mother's expectant gaze. "All I ask is for a segment of respect, is that a bit too much?"
"Well, no." Her mother placed a hand on her chest and swallowed lightly. "But you have to understand that this is part of attracting a suitor. We must marry you off... I thought you learned that in finishing school."
"Ugh, curse it, finishing school," Aelita hissed under her breath. "The "skills" I perfected there—I find no practical use for them." She lightly swatted off the entire thought, wiggling her fingers to emphasize.
"I'll eradicate the parasol," Anthea then offered as a trade-in. In attempt to show Aelita, she walked over to the matching frilly umbrella and picked it up, closing it shut with the flick of her elbow. She scrunched her eyebrows. "How's that?"
Aelita frowned slightly. "Mother, you know I like the parasol..."
"Well, it's either this dress, or you'll be attending the debutante ball in just your bloomers and corset." She pressed her lips to a thin line, and returned the look without staggering, and as much intensity. "You'll look much more like a prostitute that way, if you haven't realized that already."
A pause. "...You drive a hard bargain, I'll admit." Aelita lifted her gaze and turned to look at her mother. She sighed in defeat. "Alright, I'll put it on, but only to please you, mother."
"Thank you, 'Lita," Anthea took one of her hands in hers and smiled as she placed the other on her cheek. Aelita smiled softly in return, then ushered her towards the door after a few goodbyes.
"But I won't guarantee I'll try and 'mingle' with the men!" she then said quickly as she shut the door. The hinges squeaked in agony, and the wood slammed loudly against the frame.
Then, silence.
Once out of sight, the girl let out a sigh and lowered herself with her back against the door. "..Oh, I suspect that Odd will be just as mannerless as all my other dates," she muttered quietly to herself. She folded her arms over her chest and sighed in despair.
"How many euros for this?" a beggar asked, holding out a peeling, brown vegetable. He looked haggard as he picked at his scraggly beard, yet his eyes still managed to gleam with life. After all, as said by many others: beautiful like his mother's, they were.
The storekeeper narrowed his eyes in antipathy, the crow's feet at the edges further emphasized. "Depends," he muttered, artificially shrugging in ease. "You gonna steal it? I've heard about you...Jérémie Belpois, is it?"
Although rude, Jérémie didn't take it so personally. In response, he only shook his head at the former question, then began to forage within his pants pocket. As soon as the jangle of coins made their way to ears, the storekeeper held out his hand, the universal motion for him to stop.
Jérémie lifted his gaze in question. "Get lost," he callously said. The storekeeper spat on the ground, right at Jérémie's feet. If not for his sudden jolt back, the spit would've landed right on his left shoe. "Bottom line is, I don't need your dirty money. You probably stole it from someone, anyway."
At the rather pungent words, his face contorted into that of demoralization. However, it was quick to disappear, for he quickly retained his composure. Alternatively, he shrugged, and tossed the onion back into its crate.
At that, the storekeeper dismissed Jérémie's presence, nothing more, and continued to assist another customer. Not so long after, the pair became deeply immersed in petty conversation, now oblivious to the younger man.
Right when he was certain the storekeeper wasn't looking, Jérémie humorously snatched not one, but two apples instead (kind of like a bitter farewell gift) and walked briskly from the outdoor produce market and out into the street.
Whilst this, he was ignorant towards the fact that he can't ever return to this part of town. That storekeeper deserved some major backlashing, after all. Answering to his thoughts, he heard a few howls of anger behind him, but he merely disregarded them, and began in a run for the much more populous streets of Sanaelan. They were in a rather rough part of the suburb: dreary, monotonous, and bustling with life, it was still full of pickpockets and potential criminals. The spires of multiple Cathedrals rose up high into the sky, the sidewalks were gray-tiled, and the sky looked ominously weary.
Letting the usual gray cityscape envelope him with familiarity, he shuttled through a mobbed intersection. He let his feet aimlessly guide him, and his surroundings flew past him as he did so. He was quick to run into something, though—right at the intersection of Cherryhurst Road and Cardigan Street, in fact. Collapsing from impact, a pain sprouted in his left hip.
"Oomph!" His stolen loot guiltily slid from his fingertips, and rolled themselves across the sidewalk. They were still a bright red, but now bruised.
"Oh, excuse me!" rang out a young, feminine voice. "Are you alright?"
The woman was dressed in a pure white gown, paired with a beautiful, ornate parasol. Despite his usual sharpness, her elf-like, mischievous beauty succeeded with muddling all his senses. Jérémie was left speechless as he slowly lifted his gaze—pink hair wasn't even close to grazing her shoulders, and her skin was rather pale. Barely a sound escaped his chapped lips as he tried desperately to speak with her. Tragically, his throat was clogged with nervousness—he realized, this woman was of high class.
An uneasy laugh from her subsequently greeted his ears like song. Since she received no response from him, she merely lowered herself and began to help him with the fallen apples, picking them up with her dainty hands. Unfortunately for Jérémie, that "something" was one of the debutantes of the coming ball.
He widened his eyes in all the surprise he could muster whilst massaging his head in pain. Never did he see such a young debutante beauty containing so much kindness and character.
"Here," she whispered under her breath, holding out the fruit to him. A warm smile graced her features. "You're going to need these, yes?"
"U-uh—that is affirmative, thank you." He followed Aelita's lead as she got up from her kneeling position. Then, he held his hands out to her, and nervously cleared his throat. He wasn't quite sure on how to deal with this situation, and for that, a bead of sweat rolled down from his temples.
An amused laugh escaped her lips as she quirked an eyebrow. "O-oh!" The blonde's features lit up from the realization that she was confused. "I can't p-possibly soil you by touching your hands, Miss. It's m-much more safer this way, am I correct?"
Aelita's features softened in understanding. "Please, sir, there's no need for formalities." The beggar was shocked that this woman of much, much higher class even thought about addressing him that way. Evidently, it showed through his expression, for she laughed once again, and dropped the apples within his cupped hands. She rested her fingers gently atop his prominent shoulders and began, "You're much too kind. Now, what-
"Ah!"
"Aelita!" Anthea grabbed her daughter's arm and yanked her away from the beggar. "What are you doing?!"
"I'm just helping this benign man, that is a-"
"What will I ever do if your reputation becomes adulterated?!" the older woman exclaimed back. She looked bent out of shape, all agitated and such. To think that this was all caused by a mere act of kindness. As a response, Aelita did a double take. Her eyes grew considerably in size, and she opened her mouth in confusion.
"But-but I don't understand." Aelita swiveled her head to look towards the blonde, then back at her mother. "...How could speaking to him possibly-"
"He's of a lower class, simple," Anthea interjected. "Commoners shouldn't even possess the will to look at you in the eye." To serve her point, she shot daggers at the blue-eyed blonde, and he quickly lowered his gaze in shame. "My dear, into the carriage. Now."
Aelita turned to her right. Tall and proud, there stood an ornate, bejeweled coach flanked with majestic white horses. It was noisily drawn towards the debutante, the wheels jerking against the gray-tiled ground. The pinkette looked fixedly at it as it halted right in front of her.
Suddenly, all the surrounding people were silenced as they witnessed Aelita's next move. The pinkette ignored her mother, shifted her gaze to the beggar, and airily asked him, "What is your name, kind sir?" Her emerald eyes held that of kindness as she tried to urge him to look at her. He refused to send back her stare, however.
"It's Jérémie Belplois, Miss," he muttered bitterly, his gaze lazing around—anywhere but her eyes. He was embarrassed, and felt more so guilty.
"Jérémie." The name barely left her mouth as she whispered it faintly. "I'm Aelita Schaeffer-"
"Aelita!" Anthea gasped in horror. The woman clamped her hands around her daughter's small wrist and ushered her towards the carriage.
"..." Aelita scrunched her eyebrows. Halfway through being dragged away, she turned back and gave Jérémie a pained look.
In response, the man shrugged and simulated her frown. Aelita sighed one last time, and finally walked into the gold-plated carriage.
Author's Notes: Like it? Hate it? Let me know with your review! Or follow/favorite—that's just as fine, too, haha. ;) I'll try to update at least once every two weeks. :)