"Ain't nothing but a coward, is he?" The oldest of the group of boys said, much to Emile's displeasure.
"I ain't no coward, but I sure ain't an idiot either. " He snapped, adjusting his black newsboy cap with the peculiar pheasant feather on the side. His face was hot, and his teeth were gritted; what usually was a charismatic smile was replaced quickly with the angry glint of white, interrupted only once by the gap in between his two front teeth. "I know how y'all run; y'always find someone dumber and younger than you t'do the dirty work. I don't play like that, and y'all know it."
The older boy, somewhere around fourteen with the lispy voice of adolescence smirked to the side, leaning towards a stocky friend and mumbling something low, before leaning towards Emile. His expression was smug, elitist. "Y'know Facilier, just because you're smart don't mean that you ain't a failure." The laughter behind him seemed fake. Forced out of cruelty, but not actual humor. The younger boy's fists balled, his eyebrows set firmly, and his body tensed as though waiting for the signal to strike. Their voices continued to echo around him.
"-I bet the kid ain't even got what it takes to catch a frog, what with all he's been cooped round in his house all that time. What you doin' in there Facilier? Making plans? Why bother, we all know you ain't followed through with a single one of 'em!"
"I have!" Emile snapped, getting close to the older boy, losing some of his slick composure. It only took a second for him to calm, a vague smile creeping at the edge of his mouth, his voice collected and sharp. His eyes never stopped burning though, in fact, you could almost say they smoldered even hotter, as the cogs of his mind sped at ideas of social redemption. "I'll show y'all, alright? I'll catch myself loads of them froggies, and bring 'em back. Tonight. "
While in itself the event was of minor importance, the way in which he said it made it seem like a pressing issue. It was quiet for a second as they analyzed the intimidating little figure. One of the older boys gave a gasp of faked fear, but it felt uncomfortably done. Nothing more was said as Emile walked off coolly.
Now just t'figure out how to catch 'em. Shouldn't be too hard. He thought, adjusting his coat, and thinking through the plan of attack. More often than not he did these kind of things - talking himself into eloquent plans much too big and outside of his realm of capability, and inevitably failing in the enacting of them. In the event of dumb bullies like these after he lost? Thank god he was a fast runner. Time ticked by as he trudged through the woods far away from schoolyard jeering, mumbling to his shadow what were sure to be great ideas. (At least they seemed great, until he thought them through.)
He paused at the edge of a pond dotted with lily pads, autumn leaves resting on its glassy surface. It seemed as good of a place as anywhere else. Not that he knew much about frogs, mind you. He leaned over the water, tinted a rich gold with the reflection of the trees around him. Two reflections looked back just over the ripple of tiny wildlife in the pond. His own, and his shadow's.
"Well, now where to begin, eh friend?" No response. In a narcissistic way, a shadow made the best company. He seemed to be the only chap as good looking as him, as great of a dancer, and quiet enough to understand his good ideas. Somewhere in the distance, a frog croaked, and Emile snapped to attention, the feather on his hat bobbing as he searched frantically for where it would be. It grew quiet as he waited for it… But the sound was interrupted by faraway voices, and the crunch of leaves underfoot.
"-Now James, stop it-"A woman's laughter.
Emile rolled his eyes, and ignored the couple in the distance, linked arm in arm. He returned with a determined face into the search for the croaking frog. They sounded happy, from what he could hear, but they were loud. And distracting. Just a pair of sincere handicaps to his grand master plan. He looked under a couple of leaves, sighing heavily as the frog refused to turn up.
"-Stop what?" They were laughing a good deal hard, the young man speaking with a gentle voice. She laughed harder, but suddenly he held out his hand to stop her, their voices growing quiet. Emile's voice was a deafening shout in his head. Thank god they've finally gotten the sense to hush up!
"There something wrong James?" Her voice took on a concerned tone. The pretty young lady looked up at the man's face, her eyes wavering under a pair of thick black lashes. He sighed, and turned his neck to look at her, smiling weakly.
Emile thought he'd seen it- a flash of hunter green amongst the vibrant oranges and golds! Sure it might only be one, but it was something, something to prove his greatness. He knelt to the ground, and eyed where he thought it had been. A telltale rustle of the fallen leaves aided him, along with ripples on the edge of the pond. Easy goes it, it just had to be around there somewhere…
"No, there's nothing wrong." The man in the trees muttered, looking into the eyes of the woman next to him. "I've just been thinking is all, thinking about what I want from the future. Y'know, the restaurant that one day I'll have, a cozy house, all that. The dream, Eudora."
"I know, I know… The dream…"
"But y'know, there's something I been thinking as well. What I need. I don't need no restaurant, I only need one thing." This James in the distance shuffled to the side as he pulled something out of his pocket, radiating warmth out of every inch of his forming mile-wide-smile. He turned back to her, bending on one knee. "And that's you. So…?"
There it was! Emile saw it. That slimy little ticket to success. It sat next to the pond, all green, blob-shaped and lopsided-looking. Yet, Emile Facilier, for only that second of time, had never seen a sight more beautiful, merely because of the good it would do for him. He crouched to the ground, tensing his long legs to lunge at it, extending his hands slowly like claws.
"Yes!" The woman shouted so loud Emile could feel it. He shuddered and tripped forward, face landing in the pond and soiling his hat. His mind was suddenly filled with wordless anger, just a red mass of seething directed solely at the pair, which were now embracing happily. He wiped a layer of mud of his face, and did a sorry attempt to wring out his sleeves. His now-dejected-looking hat floated lazily in the water, the striped feather on it broken, much to his dismay.
Somewhere just a short distance away, a pair was rejoicing in happiness. As for Emile? The frog mocking him with ribbiting noises just outside of the pond did a good job inflaming his feelings to their full potential. The wiry boy splashed the water, leaves and muck sticking to his freshly wrung sleeves.
He did not like frogs.