Part 20 ^_^
Kurt was, as the people of Heirelgart put it, making mulch when he was
given manure. He'd made a promise, and Fate saw to it that he'd have to
keep it. It was a bad promise, and seemed to land him ever deeper into
pain and sorrow, but it *was* a promise.
He'd keep his word until either death or Jimaine freed him.
So he was better off going along with it and not fighting it any more.
The Professor knew, at least, and had promised to keep the secret. He
neither condemned nor commended Kurt for his actions. He just listened,
and pleaded doing research before telling the school psychiatrist that
Kurt was just going through a difficult time, and leaving them on their
own.
Kurt was excused for the rest of the day, leaving him plenty of time
to prepare for his 'date' with Jimaine. The actuality was that he was
under orders to take her out. Given the contraints of his budget,
combined with his appetite, it would have to be somewhere that went in
for big helpings.
Bernie's Steak House seemed to be the place to go.
But first - flowers.
He traipsed all over Bayville looking for the right florist, in this
case, one that imported German flowers. He found it at the seventh place
he looked in.
"Yes, we do get flowers from overseas," said Hi-I'm-Trish as she
chewed gum behind the counter.
"Do you get a flower called Freude Des Sommers?" asked Kurt.
"Oh, yes," Trish cooed. "It's quite a popular flower for weddings.
They look *so* cute as a bouquet for the little flower girls."
"Ja," said Kurt. "Well, there's this girl I'm taking out and it
happens to be her favourite flower, see..."
"Oh, that's *sweeeeeeet*," Trish squealed. "As a large bouquet,
though, you might want to mix other flowers in there with them."
"I was thinking the exact same thing," Kurt grinned. "I was also
thinking roses. Red and white."
"Oooo," said Trish. "Romantic."
"Ja. I hope so."
Jimaine found him waiting at the designated spot. He'd actually
cleaned up and gone quasi-formal. Or maybe his hologram had. It was
hard to tell without choosing to see the True Reality of things - and
that tended to get unpleasant. Especially near mirrors, which showed
souls.
At least he'd prepared. Jimaine smiled. Mayhap her covert spell had
worked already. Her beast bore flowers in one arm and a box under the
other. His face, though, was carefully neautral, showing neither glee
nor gloom at seeing her at the appointed time.
"Did I make you wait?" she asked.
"There's no such thing," he said.
Good. He still knew the lore. Sorcerers make their *own* time. Nobody
ever complains to a sorcerer about tardiness, because transformation
into a frog often offends. Jimaine smirked and held out her hand.
"Of course," said Kurt, rising and bowing with a flourish.
"Schokolade, milady, the finest I could find."
The presented package had the plastic overcover unbroken. Proof that
nothing inside had been consumed. This had to be a supreme test of his
fortitude, since even she could smell the chocolate within.
Kurt was practically hiding behind the bouquet, eyes peeking over the
top in a calculatingly cute, puppy-dog way. No doubt, it would soften
anyone else's heart, but Jimaine had turned hers to stone long, long
ago.
Then she noticed the flowers.
Freude Des Sommers, mixed with roses. Red for blood, and white for
innocence. Since he was giving it to her, it meant only one thing. He
knew the blood of murder was on her hands, and that he was innocent of
the crime.
She took the subtle insult with a cold, cold glare. "So you worked it
out," she hissed. "Congratulations. However, it will do you no good."
Jimaine placed her left palm over his mouth and said, "I bind thee
against speaking of my brother's death to any living or dead. To any
friend or foe. To any beast or burden."
His jaws clenched as the magic flowed, signifying that the spell was
working, and would continue to work for as long as she wanted it to.
Jimaine took her hand away. "Have you told anyone?"
"I -- Jimaine... I don't understand," he protested. "I thought they
were your favourite flower. You were picking them all the time back ho--
in Heirelgart."
"You remember your place, my demon," she hissed. "I can bind more than
your mouth."
"Jean, I need your help," said Scott. He hung on her bedroom door's
frame and looked like he'd just gone ten rounds with Logan.
"Are you all right?" Jean searched his surface thoughts and emotions.
Confusion. Fear. "Did something happen?"
"I don't know. I just -- I feel weird," he confessed. The knuckles of
his hand were going white, and he shook like he was fighting himself.
"Ever since I came home, I --" he sighed. "Jean, I can't stop thinking
about Jimaine... but I love *you*."
Jean raised an eyebrow. She'd known about Scott's crush on her,
practically ever since they'd first met. She was used to young men
thinking of her like that, especially Scott, and she'd largely tried to
carry on as normal. This latest development was just plain confusing.
"Can I have a look?"
He shook his head, even as he said, "*Please*, Jean. Do it quickly."
Obviously, he was fighting something that was slowly taking him over.
Jean crossed the distance between them and put her hands to his temples,
instructing, "Relax if you can," before she went in.
Scott's thoughts were curled up tight in a defensive ball, and all
around them was a thick weight of something else. Something Jean
couldn't define, but she knew what it contained. Jimaine.
"We have to see the Professor," she announced. "I don't know what this
is, but it's serious."
Scott balked, even though he clearly wanted to go, so Jean solved the
issue by lifting him telekinetically.
"Thanks," he murmured.
The Professor didn't even have to look deep to announce, "He's been
touched by sorcery. A love spell of sorts."
"A *love* spell?"
"Yes," Xavier explained. "The spell introduces a gradual obsession
with the caster. Under the right conditions, the subject will think
they're in love. It does not, however, have any real effect on the
heart, which is why true love is a sure cure."
Scott sighed. "But - Jean doesn't love me back," he sighed.
"How could this happen? asked Jean. "Scott's hardly been *near*
Jimaine."
"Odd," said Xavier. "If I recall correctly, the spell requires a
sample of hair... this is most perplexing."
How *did* it happen?
Observe, if you will, a simple comb. No object could possibly be more
ordinary, even though it's owner - strictly speaking - isn't. It's made
out of black plastic and costs roughly a dollar, and it usually stays
next to a pair of antique brushes that are infinitely more valuable.
Observe the events of that morning. Scott, with a worse case of bed-
head than usual, breaks his own comb whilst attempting to de-snarl his
hair. Thinking nothing of his actions, he walks down the hall and
filches the comb mentioned above. He leaves it on his dresser, replete
with a few loose hairs stuck in the teeth.
Later that morning, Kurt steals the comb back to fix his hair. He's in
a hurry and doesn't bother cleaning it, as is his habit.
Observe the few loose hairs that become enmixed with Kurt's indigo
tresses.
Now observe Jimaine, slapping Kurt for some misdemeanor. She
deliberately curls her fingers in order to snatch some loose hairs from
his head. She walks away with her prize, not knowing that her spell has
been polluted.
Because amongst the indigo strands she obtained, there lies at least
one brown one. From Scott.
Alone, Jimaine binds her captured hairs in a few strands of her own.
"I bind thee to me, body and mind. Think nothing but of me. See nothing
but of me. Feel nothing but of me. I seal thee to me with mine hair,
mine words," she pricked her finger on a hairpin, and sealed the knot of
hair with her own blood, "and mine life fluid. Me mine forevermore, or
until I choose to release thee."
And of course, true love is a natural cure.
Kurt was, as the people of Heirelgart put it, making mulch when he was
given manure. He'd made a promise, and Fate saw to it that he'd have to
keep it. It was a bad promise, and seemed to land him ever deeper into
pain and sorrow, but it *was* a promise.
He'd keep his word until either death or Jimaine freed him.
So he was better off going along with it and not fighting it any more.
The Professor knew, at least, and had promised to keep the secret. He
neither condemned nor commended Kurt for his actions. He just listened,
and pleaded doing research before telling the school psychiatrist that
Kurt was just going through a difficult time, and leaving them on their
own.
Kurt was excused for the rest of the day, leaving him plenty of time
to prepare for his 'date' with Jimaine. The actuality was that he was
under orders to take her out. Given the contraints of his budget,
combined with his appetite, it would have to be somewhere that went in
for big helpings.
Bernie's Steak House seemed to be the place to go.
But first - flowers.
He traipsed all over Bayville looking for the right florist, in this
case, one that imported German flowers. He found it at the seventh place
he looked in.
"Yes, we do get flowers from overseas," said Hi-I'm-Trish as she
chewed gum behind the counter.
"Do you get a flower called Freude Des Sommers?" asked Kurt.
"Oh, yes," Trish cooed. "It's quite a popular flower for weddings.
They look *so* cute as a bouquet for the little flower girls."
"Ja," said Kurt. "Well, there's this girl I'm taking out and it
happens to be her favourite flower, see..."
"Oh, that's *sweeeeeeet*," Trish squealed. "As a large bouquet,
though, you might want to mix other flowers in there with them."
"I was thinking the exact same thing," Kurt grinned. "I was also
thinking roses. Red and white."
"Oooo," said Trish. "Romantic."
"Ja. I hope so."
Jimaine found him waiting at the designated spot. He'd actually
cleaned up and gone quasi-formal. Or maybe his hologram had. It was
hard to tell without choosing to see the True Reality of things - and
that tended to get unpleasant. Especially near mirrors, which showed
souls.
At least he'd prepared. Jimaine smiled. Mayhap her covert spell had
worked already. Her beast bore flowers in one arm and a box under the
other. His face, though, was carefully neautral, showing neither glee
nor gloom at seeing her at the appointed time.
"Did I make you wait?" she asked.
"There's no such thing," he said.
Good. He still knew the lore. Sorcerers make their *own* time. Nobody
ever complains to a sorcerer about tardiness, because transformation
into a frog often offends. Jimaine smirked and held out her hand.
"Of course," said Kurt, rising and bowing with a flourish.
"Schokolade, milady, the finest I could find."
The presented package had the plastic overcover unbroken. Proof that
nothing inside had been consumed. This had to be a supreme test of his
fortitude, since even she could smell the chocolate within.
Kurt was practically hiding behind the bouquet, eyes peeking over the
top in a calculatingly cute, puppy-dog way. No doubt, it would soften
anyone else's heart, but Jimaine had turned hers to stone long, long
ago.
Then she noticed the flowers.
Freude Des Sommers, mixed with roses. Red for blood, and white for
innocence. Since he was giving it to her, it meant only one thing. He
knew the blood of murder was on her hands, and that he was innocent of
the crime.
She took the subtle insult with a cold, cold glare. "So you worked it
out," she hissed. "Congratulations. However, it will do you no good."
Jimaine placed her left palm over his mouth and said, "I bind thee
against speaking of my brother's death to any living or dead. To any
friend or foe. To any beast or burden."
His jaws clenched as the magic flowed, signifying that the spell was
working, and would continue to work for as long as she wanted it to.
Jimaine took her hand away. "Have you told anyone?"
"I -- Jimaine... I don't understand," he protested. "I thought they
were your favourite flower. You were picking them all the time back ho--
in Heirelgart."
"You remember your place, my demon," she hissed. "I can bind more than
your mouth."
"Jean, I need your help," said Scott. He hung on her bedroom door's
frame and looked like he'd just gone ten rounds with Logan.
"Are you all right?" Jean searched his surface thoughts and emotions.
Confusion. Fear. "Did something happen?"
"I don't know. I just -- I feel weird," he confessed. The knuckles of
his hand were going white, and he shook like he was fighting himself.
"Ever since I came home, I --" he sighed. "Jean, I can't stop thinking
about Jimaine... but I love *you*."
Jean raised an eyebrow. She'd known about Scott's crush on her,
practically ever since they'd first met. She was used to young men
thinking of her like that, especially Scott, and she'd largely tried to
carry on as normal. This latest development was just plain confusing.
"Can I have a look?"
He shook his head, even as he said, "*Please*, Jean. Do it quickly."
Obviously, he was fighting something that was slowly taking him over.
Jean crossed the distance between them and put her hands to his temples,
instructing, "Relax if you can," before she went in.
Scott's thoughts were curled up tight in a defensive ball, and all
around them was a thick weight of something else. Something Jean
couldn't define, but she knew what it contained. Jimaine.
"We have to see the Professor," she announced. "I don't know what this
is, but it's serious."
Scott balked, even though he clearly wanted to go, so Jean solved the
issue by lifting him telekinetically.
"Thanks," he murmured.
The Professor didn't even have to look deep to announce, "He's been
touched by sorcery. A love spell of sorts."
"A *love* spell?"
"Yes," Xavier explained. "The spell introduces a gradual obsession
with the caster. Under the right conditions, the subject will think
they're in love. It does not, however, have any real effect on the
heart, which is why true love is a sure cure."
Scott sighed. "But - Jean doesn't love me back," he sighed.
"How could this happen? asked Jean. "Scott's hardly been *near*
Jimaine."
"Odd," said Xavier. "If I recall correctly, the spell requires a
sample of hair... this is most perplexing."
How *did* it happen?
Observe, if you will, a simple comb. No object could possibly be more
ordinary, even though it's owner - strictly speaking - isn't. It's made
out of black plastic and costs roughly a dollar, and it usually stays
next to a pair of antique brushes that are infinitely more valuable.
Observe the events of that morning. Scott, with a worse case of bed-
head than usual, breaks his own comb whilst attempting to de-snarl his
hair. Thinking nothing of his actions, he walks down the hall and
filches the comb mentioned above. He leaves it on his dresser, replete
with a few loose hairs stuck in the teeth.
Later that morning, Kurt steals the comb back to fix his hair. He's in
a hurry and doesn't bother cleaning it, as is his habit.
Observe the few loose hairs that become enmixed with Kurt's indigo
tresses.
Now observe Jimaine, slapping Kurt for some misdemeanor. She
deliberately curls her fingers in order to snatch some loose hairs from
his head. She walks away with her prize, not knowing that her spell has
been polluted.
Because amongst the indigo strands she obtained, there lies at least
one brown one. From Scott.
Alone, Jimaine binds her captured hairs in a few strands of her own.
"I bind thee to me, body and mind. Think nothing but of me. See nothing
but of me. Feel nothing but of me. I seal thee to me with mine hair,
mine words," she pricked her finger on a hairpin, and sealed the knot of
hair with her own blood, "and mine life fluid. Me mine forevermore, or
until I choose to release thee."
And of course, true love is a natural cure.