pontmercyfriend | Running around like a clown on purpose.

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Running around like a clown on purpose.

Awakening beneath a jumbled pile of sheets, Marius doesn't register that anything is off, at first. He yawns as he blinks awake, staring at the mostly unadorned wall across from his bed. His first thought follows the loud, rumbling noise of his stomach. Suddenly, he doesn't remember if he actually, in fact, had dinner last night at all. He'd spent almost all of yesterday reading; he must have forgotten to eat, his head too much wrapped up in both the clouds and his past week in general.

"Mrow?"

Courfeyrcat mews before pouncing on him, landing clean on the middle of his stomach. Marius winces, surprised by how much heavier his cat seems, before he blinks again and gets a good look at himself.

Most of the sheets he finds himself entangled in are his own pajamas; he is all but drowning in his own shirt, and his tiny legs are tangled in just one side of his pants. He blanches before flailing, much to his cat's dismay, and falls off the side of his bed. He makes his way to the mirror above his dresser, which, he realizes, he can't see unless he stands on the tops of his toes.

"Dieu," he exclaims, clamping his hands over his mouth at the high pitch of his voice. His hair is a brighter shade of red, longer, and even more out of control than usual; his eyes are widened, trying to take in the sight of himself. He looks exactly as he did back in Paris when he was 8. And still, Marius; stomach grumbles. How on God's green earth did he suddenly become younger again?

That's when his pajama pants slide off him completely, and Marius knows his first order of business; as much as he wants to freak out right now, he requires clothes that actually fit; and then he can have a proper cry, or whatever it is young children do these days.

"Right," he tells himself, glancing around. He owns absolutely nothing that will possibly fit him, so he'll have to go out and purchase a new outfit for himself. In the mean time...

He runs over to his bed again, crawling back up and grabbing one of the pillows. He shakes it out of the dark brown case, and takes said case with him to the kitchen; he grabs one of his belts, too, before he goes. By the time he finishes, Marius feels relatively accomplished; he's managed to fashion himself an outfit, not entirely unlike a toga - he's cut holes in the case for sleeves, and wrapped the belt around the middle to keep it up. He lacks shoes, so he'll just have to go barefoot for the time being. Inexplicably, he giggles at thought.

With all that said and done, and a mournful Courfeyrcat glaring at him, Marius grabs some cash from his wallet and makes his way to his door. Forgetting, of course, his apartment keys.

"Damn it!" He shouts, banging his tiny fist against the door after it falls shut. He groans; he'll just have to convince someone he is actually himself, he supposes. Or learn how to pick locks, whichever proves the easier option.

Still, there's nothing that can be done now; Marius needs new clothes so he looks less ridiculous. His stomach interrupts the thought with another growl. Okay, after breakfast.

He makes his way to one of his favorite cafes close to Dimera apartments. The pavement hurts his bare feet, especially with the morning chill, but he finds he doesn't mind; oddly, Marius grins at the sensation. There's something oddly freeing about being this small and having only the ground beneath him. He's tempted to run, the way he's seen gamins weaving in and out on the streets of Paris.

"Hold it, kid."

He approaches the cafe, only to be stopped by a nearby police officer he failed to notice. His shoulders tense and scowls at being called a 'kid.' He is a twenty-three old man, thank you very much. Currently trapped inside the body of an eight year old, but still. The indignity of it all.

"Yes, sir?" He says, trying to stay polite. He doesn't want to cause any trouble if he can help it. "I'm just trying to get something to eat."

"Where are your parents?" The officer asks him, peering down at him over a pair of sunglasses. He looks like a monster, Marius petulantly thinks. But then he realizes: he has to lie. He has to think of some convincing lie, just to get the officer off his back.

He is a terrible liar, even as child.

"Dead," he says, plainly, as if he were answering a simple question such as 'what's your favorite color.'

The officer stares at him, clearly taken aback by the answer. "Alright kid, I'm going to need you to come with me."

Marius glares; he really, really dislikes being called 'kid.'

But then, the policeman is reaching for him. He recoils and ducks, grateful in that moment for his small size as he turns to run as fast as he can.

"Kid, come back here!" The officer huffs, though, unfortunately for Marius, he is not the sort of police uninspired by running. Indeed, as Marius glances back, he finds the other man keeping up with him, nearly overtaking him.

Shit, he thinks, wincing as his feet stumble over debris on the sidewalk. He only barely manages to swerve and avoid a shard of broken glass; bouncing off a nearby brick building as he runs, grinning at the thrill of it. He feels like he could fly, if he just set his mind to it.

This is, of course, the moment when the officer grabs Marius by the arm.

"Alright now, kid, come on. It's alright, we'll take care of you - Jesus Christ!"

Marius doesn't think; he elbows the man where he knows it will hurt the most on instinct. And then he's off running again, making himself move as fast as he can possibly go. His stomach starts to cramp, though, as it reminds him that he still hasn't had breakfast, and suddenly, as he turns into an alley, searching for a place to hide, the dumpster, perhaps, he is actually flying, for a few, brief moments.

"Ow!" He grimaces, glancing down to find his knee cut up and bloody. Damn it all.

"Don't cry, don't cry," he mumbles to himself, chewing on his lip as though that might stop his tears. Grandfather disapproved of him crying.

He manages to right himself, clinging to the wall for support as he keeps his tears in check. He eyes the dumpster, even as the thought repulses him. Better than letting that awful man take him away.

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Marius' eyes widen at Flavia's sudden use of French; it takes everything in him not to correct her pronunciation. He settles for burying his nose in his hand briefly, instead. Because, of course, the officer is still before them, and Marius really doesn't fancy being forced into foster care when he is fully capable of taking care of himself.

He almost misses the way she begins to wheel the bicycle towards the alley opening; thankfully, he catches on quick, and decides to help her by further insulting the officer.

"What she means to say is that you look like a monkey, sir, and you live in a zoo." He can't help but stick his tongue out, for good measure.

“Yes, it’s true,” Flavia says, pausing Gladys in her slow roll towards the exit just briefly enough for the boy to situate himself more securely on the bicycle seat. Once the chance for escape came, there wouldn’t be a moment to waste. “And the cat is at the train station, with a rubber tomato.” She didn’t care if it made no sense; the policeman hadn’t any idea what they were saying, anyway.

As if to confirm her point, he let out an aggrieved sigh, reaching for his radio. “Neither one of you speak English? Par-less anglaze?”

Flavia blinked up at him, trying to make her expression as innocently stupid as she could. “The duck is our friend,” she says, sorrowfully. “What time is my biology class?”

“Yeah, I’m going to need some—” he starts saying into his radio, and as he moves just enough to one side, Flavia decides to take the chance. Breaking into a run to build up momentum, she pushes past the policeman and leaps astride Gladys, pedaling furiously.

The angry, spluttered Hey! that reaches her ears as she and the boy speed away sounds utterly wonderful.

Marius nearly falls on his ass trying to get onto the bicycle, which he manages to cover up with a sudden coughing fit. He's never ridden such a vehicle before, and truthfully, the prospect frightens him almost as much as the officer. But being younger makes him bolder; he finds himself grinning at the prospect of such a getaway.

He does have to actually facepalm at the rest of Flavia's French; he makes a mental note to offer her lessons, whenever this mess is over.

But then suddenly they're moving and Marius squeaks, clinging on to Flavia for dear life.

"Flavia, don't you think we're going a little too fast?"

The boy proves a surprisingly decent passenger, able to keep his seat as they round corners and not utterly crushing the life out of her as he clings to her waist. Whoever he is, he's not entirely stupid.

Still, she scoffs at his timid admonishment, standing on the pedals as they coast down a straight bit of road. "If you think this is fast," she starts to say, wholly prepared to describe exactly what sort of speeds she and Gladys used to reach, careening down Bishop's Lacey's country lanes--though perhaps not the story that ends with her hitting a rock and pitching headfirst over a fence and into a sheepfold. Instead, she realizes the boy called her by her name, and she chances a surprised look back at him over her shoulder.

"How do you know my name?"

Not entirely stupid, or possibly entirely too terrified to do much more than squeak and gape as she brings them around sharp corners and through narrow alleys. God, if he dies as an eight year old. He wonders what the obituary might say: Poor child, only eight years of age. Hardly even got the chance at life before mowed down by a crazy cyclist he thought was his friend.

What a nightmare.

"Flavia, please be careful," he tries to warn her as she stands up, letting out another yelp. Perhaps he ought to have just gone quietly with the cop, instead. "It's me, Marius! I...kind of shrunk overnight."

"I suppose I ought to have worked that out on my own," she says, as Marius identifies himself. "There's only so many ginger Frenchmen around." Once again, Darrow has shrunk another of its citizens to a much younger age; she tries not to think about how it had done the opposite to her--and only her, so far as she can determine--only a few months previous.

Grudgingly, she slows Gladys to a less breakneck pace, turning her towards Dimera.

"Well, in fairness, you were helping escape a police officer," Marius points out with a tiny smile. "And I do not think I have yet thanked you for it, so. Thank you."

"And thank you for slowing down," he says as he feels her slightly slow her pace. "I admit, I am not usually one for bicycles."

"Confounding the police is something I've had quite a lot of practice with," she boasts, smiling to herself as she imagines how Inspector Hewitt and his underlings might've reacted to her little show, had they been there to see it. P and accomplice evaded capture, she imagined he'd write in his casebook (one day soon, she was going to work out what P stood for; she hoped it was something impressive). Damned frustrating, but P so brilliant, can't find it in my heart to be upset.

"Thank you for not criticizing my French," she says. Catching sight of the apartment building only a few blocks away, she presses onward, closing the distance a little more with each revolution of Gladys' pedals. "Even if it didn't really matter what I said, considering he couldn't understand a word of it."

"Really now?" Marius asks her, curious for those stories. The childish daring within him, as part of the bargain of his new, pint-size form, makes him eager to hear more stories of similar adventures as this, even as his adult-self knows he ought to be concerned when Flavia makes such a statement. "You have quite the life skill, there."

"Well, I was definitely more worried about the officer taking me away," he admits, dropping his chin on her shoulder. "But now that you mention it, your French is atrocious."

"The Hinley constabulary is perfect for petty sorts of crimes," she allows, grudgingly permitting them the smallest of compliments--if only to avoid speaking completely against the husband of the beautiful goddess of Billingsgate, Antigone Hewitt. "But they're utterly out of their depth when it comes to murder."

They reach Dimera just as Marius issues his opinion on her language skills. A good thing, she reflects, turning her head to give him the most affronted look she can muster, I'd have made Gladys buck him into the street otherwise. "I've only started taking classes this year, you know."

"And I assume they turn to you when they find themselves entirely out of their depths?" He asks her with a knowing smile, which would look far more fitting on his normal face. As it is, he feels like he's conspiring with Flavia in sharing such a smile.

And then she mentions that she's only just started taking lessons, and Marius feels guilt creep into him.

"God, I'm sorry," he apologizes. "That was rather rude of me, especially after you got me out of trouble. Well, if you ever want lessons, I'm happy to help."

"Of course they do." Flavia smiles back at him, equally sly--and mollified by his sincere-sounding apology. Perhaps, after all was set to rights, she would bring her homework over to his apartment every so often. "I don't know how they ever got on without me, really."

She coasts Gladys to a stop by Dimera's entrance, holding the bike steady so Marius can dismount. "I don't suppose you've got your keys in your...are you wearing a pillowcase?"

"They sound like they are incredibly fortunate to have you," he tells her, rocking on his heels a bit.

And then she mentions keys and his pillowcase, and Marius blushes. Profusely.

"Er, well. About that. I locked myself out of my apartment," he explains. "And I don't own any child-sized clothes, normally."

"No, I suppose you wouldn't," Flavia says, looking from the building to Marius as she thinks. After a moment of silent consideration, she nods, decisively. "You're shorter than I am," she says, leaving out the triumphant for once--she couldn't wait to grow into her full height. "But you could borrow some clothes of mine, until you can get ones that fit."

She waits a moment before reassuring him, "I won't make you wear anything that looks like girl's clothes."

"It is an odd thing, to be so small again," Marius replies ruefully, glancing down at himself before turning his gaze back to Flavia. He feels odd, having to look up to her for once. It's a realization that makes him truly feel the size of his age.

He blinks, letting her offer sink in for a moment.

"That's awfully nice of you, Flavia," he says. "Thank you."

Flavia nods once in acknowledgement, before wheeling Gladys over to the bicycle rack and locking her in. Straightening up, she takes her keys from her pocket and holds open the front door to the building, waiting to follow Marius inside.

"I suppose it must be strange," she says, still trying not to think of her own experience--especially not the way she'd so resembled Harriet, even Feely had been fooled. "Especially since you've still got all your adult memories."

"Strange is one way to put it," he admits. To interact with Rat now, for instance, as a child is certainly worthy of the word 'strange.' And along with his adult memories, Marius now has to also contend with the prominent memories and feelings of his childhood which, to say the least, hardly resembles his life now.

Upon noticing that Flavia is holding the door open for him, he is quick to thank her, only too aware of his earlier behavior. "Oh, thank you," he says walking into the building and waiting for Flavia to follow. "I'm sorry again I was so rude to you before."

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Running around like a clown on purpose.

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