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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Delighted by both Rat's invitation and the arm draped around his shoulder, Marius scoots in closer, small grin plastered on his face. He snuggles up close to Rat, letting out a contented sigh before bringing his gaze to the book.

Rat is warm, and soft, and he has his arms around Marius the way no one ever held him as a child. He could remain like this for a fair amount of time and be content.

He switches between reading along and catching glimpses of Rat's face, not wanting to miss the way his expressions change with each voice.

He read slowly through the first act, taking his time with the voices and making as many gestures as he could while lying on a couch with a small body curled up against his. He used to read like this to some of the kids in the West District before he'd realized they were getting too attached to him.

"You're so quiet, I'm going to think you fell asleep."

"Isn't it rude to disrupt the performance?" Marius asks in turn, blinking up at the man beside him. He is absolutely enjoying Rat's efforts - the effortless switch between voices, the hand gestures to enhance a particular scene - they all inspire him to sit there and watch in awe. Especially since he knows how important this play is to Rat.

And if he is a tad quiet due to his rather adventurous morning, well. He manages to stifle his urge to yawn, at least.

"I suppose it would be," he agreed, even as he nudged the cat off his feet so he could lift Marius into his arms and carry him to the bedroom. A grown man's brain had quickly found itself undermined by the energy of a childish body and Rat folded Marius into bed before heaving the cat up to sit with him.

Marius just kind of stares as Rat moves to pick him up; the stubborn part of his childish brain wants to protest, wants to insist that he isn't tired at all, thank you very much. But then, surrounded suddenly by a strong pair of arms, Marius' whole face stretches as he yawns, and he finds his head falling to just near Rat's chin.

And when he tucks him into bed, Marius snuggles into bed while still trying to lean on him and the cat both.

"Read to me more? You can't just leave it on such an exciting part!" He pleads, feeling as childish as he looks.

"You're not even going to stay away," Rat said. Thumbing to the first page of Act II, he tucked the blanket more securely around Marius and began to read.

A traitorous part of him told Rat that he'd never read to Grey like this, the other dozing away while he sat at the edge of the bed. Pushing the thought away, he stroked his hand over the cat's head.

"I am too," he protests, even as his eyelids start to feel exceptionally heavy. The warmth of Rat and Polyphemus, as well as the blankets surrounding him, only further lull him into a contentment he barely knew in his own childhood.

Defiantly, Marius pushes himself up more to watch Rat as he reads, trying to hang on to ever y word. He smiles as he catches sight of the other man's hand on the cat's head.

He turned briefly away from Hamlet to smile at Marius and run fingertips through his hair. "Liar."

Hamlet could wait. While Marius slept, Rat decided he needed a very strong cup of coffee and a splash of cold water to the face while he reminded himself that every part of this was a terrible idea.

"I'm not lying," Marius manages before his eyes fall shut at last and he slumps down on Rat and the cat both. The inherent stubbornness in him refuses to acknowledge the fact of his own exhaustion even as he sleeps.

That this is the warmest way he's fallen asleep in this small a body is the last coherent thought that drifts across his mind as he latches on to Rat's shirt.

"Of course you're not," Rat said, watching Marius drift off. The cat settled on top of him and looked at Rat as if to say he had the situation well in hand.

Tired and heartsore, he hummed an old song that had once kept the sadness at bay.

Marius smiles in his sleep, surrounded as he is by warmth. He vaguely registers the weight of the cat as well as the humming, which only further lulls him into contentment. One hand unfurls to drape across Rat, holding him like a stuffed animal.

"You have a pretty voice," he mumbles in his sleep.

He shrugged, letting Marius cling to him as he liked, switching from humming to outright singing. He'd sung this song for Shion, for Grey, because it seemed to ease pain and bring hope. "The winds sweep away souls, and people snatch away hearts. Oh earth, oh rain and wind, oh sky, oh light, please harbor everything in this place," he sang.

"Please harbor everything in this place."

The song filters through Marius' dreams; he smiles in his sleep. Flowers, of all shapes and colors, bloom in his thoughts, and he is able to picture his father's smiling face fully. In his dream, his heart is at peace and he feels entirely happy.

His fingers curl in the fabric of Rat's shirt, and he lets out a small noise somewhere between a sigh and a song.

Tucking Marius in more snugly, Rat gently extracted the little hand from his shirt and tucked it into the cat's scruff.

Supper for Marius and coffee (probably spiked) for him. But not before he ran his fingertips through fine red curls. Whatever else was going on, he wasn't going to let a child get hurt. Especially not when he had the unfair advantage and he knew how little love Marius had had.

Marius awakes to a ball of fur in his face. Blinking, he pulls away to find Polyphems curled up next to him. Yawning, he moves his hand to pet the creature behind the ears, the way his own cat likes. Blessedly, his dreams had all been pleasant, spurred on, he knows, by Rat's presence. He's uncertain as to whether he felt fingers running through his hair earlier, but the thought alone is nice enough to keep him smiling.

Though, beneath it, fear lingers; the fear that the...less pleasant aspects of his childhood might rise to the surface, through dreams or otherwise. He shudders.

The lack of Rat in the room only makes him more nervous, so Marius carefully moves around the cat and jumps onto the floor. He makes his way to the kitchen, still rubbing sleep from his eyes.

"Rat?" He calls out, a little nervous, as the scent of something or other cooking reaches him.

Obligingly, Polyphemus had just sat there purring like a motor and nuzzling at Marius, protecting him while Rat attended to making food. Already, he had a pot of red sauce on the table, using up the last few of the cans he'd had left after raiding empty rocery stores in November. For the first time in months, he'd have to actually go shopping for canned goods.

"I'm here," he said, forgettig to sound gruff as he strained pasta from the pot. "Go sit down."

Already, he'd set plates on his rickety table.

He grins at Rat's assurance; for a brief second, he thought himself alone, and he detests how much fright such a prospect inspired in him.

Marius also can't believe he's hungry again after eating so much earlier that afternoon. He supposes it must be his childish body; capable of so much energy, but requiring much more food than his normal, adult self. The scent of cooking pasta makes his stomach growl, and he doesn't need more encouragement than that to sit at one of the places made at the table.

Behind him, he thinks he hears the sound of Polyphemus' feet following him.

"It smells delicious," he says, giving in to the urge to swing his legs under the table.

"Don't get too excited. It's just spaghetti and red sauce," he said. Did children even eat that kind of thing? Did French children? Who knew. Rat scooped pasta into both their bowls and covered it with sauce.

"Remind me to send you a food bill when you're normal sized," Rat said, pushing grated cheese to Marius if he liked. "What with you showing up and eating me out of house and home."

"It looks really good," Marius says, unable to keep his excitement contained as he eagerly digs into his bowl with his spoon. Pasta is a dish he's only really had experience with while in Darrow, and he does quite enjoy it, even if it is just spaghetti and sauce. It's delicious, and better than the meals he'd gotten by on in Paris.

He devours five bites of his pasta before he notices the cheese Rat nudges towards him. He pauses long enough to add some to his food before nudging it back to Rat.

"Don't worry," he says in between bites. "I'll pay you back. Promise."

Rat shrugged and reached out to ruffle Marius' hair again. He wasn't quite sweet enough to say it out loud, but Marius could take it as a given that he didn't actually care. God knows, most of this stuff he'd stolen months ago. "Just eat your damn supper," he said, dumping cheese into his pasta.

"You have other things to worry about."

Marius grins, and leans into the touch when Rat ruffles his hair. He's still rather unused to such a warm gesture at this size; he delights in it for as long as he can. His grin doesn't lessen when Rat tells him to keep eating, either. He understands exactly what he means by it, and he appreciates it. He stuffs more of the food into his mouth, enjoying the taste of it.

"You're a good cook," he tells Rat, mouth still full of food. He can relax around Rat the way he could never relax in his grandfather's home in his childhood.

And yes, he certainly does have other things to worry about; but for now, he's content to eat dinner with Rat.

"Lots of practice." Quality of food was unpredictable in the West District. Those who wanted to eat decently and safely learned to take dubious canned goods and cheap cuts of meat and turn them into something good. "No one else was gong to feed me.

"Do you plan to go back to your building or stay with someone."

"Hmm," Marius murmurs around another overly large mouthful. In Paris, he lacked the technology to cook for himself in his room; he'd lived on what he could afford from the cheapest bakeries near his apartment. In Darrow, he'd adapted, and begun to teach himself how to cook. He manages, but his skills certainly aren't up to par with Rat's.

He pauses at the question; he really hasn't planned that far ahead, yet.

"I was going to go to Coureyrac's birthday party, at Tintern Abbey," he says. And then he blushes, picturing his keys still perched somewhere on his counter. "And then try to find someone to stay with. I sort of...locked myself out of my rooms this morning."

He also rather loathes the thought of spending the night alone like this; it reminds him too much of nights curled in on himself, listening to his grandfather discuss him with his political friends in peals of unashamed laughter.

Rat didn't say it out loud but he did pause, looking over toward the bedroom where Marius had slept already. Rat slept rarely and badly anyway, and would have done so on a couch as well as a bed. If Marius needed a place, the offer was silently given.

"I haven't met Courfeyrac," he said, aware of who he was all the same. It was the strange advantage of having read their lives in a book ages before.

"Thank you," Marius replies quietly, in between bites of pasta. He catches the unspoken offer in the movement of Rat's head towards the bedroom from which he'd recently emerged; though the offer itself is silent, he wants to make sure his gratitude is known. Rat's kindness means a lot to him, after all.

"He's my best friend," he explains after swallowing a large mouthful of food. "He kept me from being homeless and friendless over the years. He helped me find work, too."

He would still be lost, wandering the streets of Paris like a lost soul if he'd never encountered the man.

Running around like a clown on purpose.

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