Street Scene
Notes: Set slightly post-OAV. As will probably be reasonably obvious. :)
The little blonde captivated Mrs. Wilcox instantly.
There was nothing overtly interesting about a mass of thick, longish pale fluffy hair, or a tallish, wiry frame beneath a little sky-blue summery trench coat, or very large, very sweet blue eyes smudged underneath with dark shadows that even long lashes could not counteract.
It was something of a hobby of hers, this people-watching thing; she had picked it up from a magazine somewhere, and really, it could be a fascinating business.
But, with a very clear and unpleasant memory of her own girlhood, and a family that seemed to be fated against granddaughters and instead had given her six rowdy grandsons that she loved almost to the point of a physical ache, young ladies such as this little pixie-girl rarely interested her all that much.
Nevertheless, she found herself carefully setting down her coffee and leaning forward over the small table of wrought iron, eyes fixed intently on the slim figure hurrying down the street.
Clearly, something was upsetting the girl. Even from across the street, and through a pane of glass reflecting the mellow midafternoon spring sunlight, Mrs. Wilcox would aver that there were tears in the little blonde's eyes – she could just tell.
And, as a tall, slim young man, starkly pale and with fair hair nearly to match, came hurrying down the street as quickly as dignity would allow, the cause became all too clear.
The poor little thing…probably her first row, with her first real true love forever.
What on earth were they fighting over?
From the way the man was pursuing her, the fault had to be his; no man with that aura of confidence that bordered dangerously on arrogant, and that distinct hint of indifference to anything that didn't directly benefit him in an immediate and profound way would ever attempt to seek out and console the special lady in his life unless he knew beyond the shadow of a doubt that the fault was his.
Usually, not even then.
So. Clearly, he was at fault for the argument, and it was one that stood to jeopardize his personal comfort and happiness with the sheer magnitude of how much she had been upset. What, then?
Had he accidentally stepped on her favourite pet?
Alienated several close friends all at once with an off-colour joke?
Ah! That was it! He had another lover, behind her back!
All at once outraged with men everywhere, Mrs. Wilcox gave the unfortunate gentleman at the table nearest hers such a blistering glare that he shrank back into his overcoat, hastily ending his conversation and tucking his phone back into his pocket.
Once this stranger had been satisfactorily chastened, the old lady returned her attention to the young couple across the street. The man had caught up with the poor girl, catching her by the arm and pulling her about to face him, and then out of the flow of Sunday afternoon traffic and over to a set of heavy stone steps. He spoke hastily to the little blonde, who remained stony-faced and petulant, arms tightly crossed and posture tense and unforgiving.
He brought one hand up to stroke her cheek gently.
Oh, the cad! Leaning closer, whispering to her that she was the only woman for him, all the while planning his next rendezvous with some hard-faced, mean-natured shrew, her only redeeming quality her willingness to hop into bed with anything in trousers!
Surely, the little dear wouldn't be fooled by such utterings!
Apparently, Mrs. Wilcox decided with a mournful sigh of one who has lost all hope for the world, she would.
The old lady watched the couple sadly, the girl nuzzling forgivingly into the man's touch, bright and smiling and played for a fool. The poor thing. His hand slid down to cup her chin gently, and big, bright blue eyes fixed with incredulous joy on his face as he murmured something and then leaned down to kiss her deeply.
And with that, Beth Wilcox thought, climbing from her chair and leaving a half-full cup of cooled coffee behind her as a testament that she was through with this people-watching nonsense for today, another soul was lost.
"For God's sake, Wendy, come back here!"
"Leave me alone!"
"It was only a suggestion!"
"It was a horrible suggestion!"
"Every suggestion seems horrible when you don't agree with it, though, doesn't it?"
"This one was truly horrible, though. Honestly, Mr. Joker, how could you?"
"I think it's high time, Wendy; you're looking a bit shaggy."
A pout.
"I think it's pretty."
A grin hidden by a slim, pale hand.
"Of course it is. But skill can always improve upon natural beauty."
A hardened, stiffened resolve almost audibly melting. A sigh.
"I just don't want to do something so drastic, Sir. Can't I do the trim, and then decide?"
"You can do as you wish. It is your hair, after all. But this would be far easier to care for. And besides which, it would be stunning. A nice, modern, choppy cut, just long enough to brush against your cheek…"
"Well…maybe I'll think about it. Em…Mr. Joker?"
"Yes?"
"There's a lady across the street, watching us."
"Ah. So there is. Well, then, let's give her something to watch, shall we?"