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narniaexchange2012-08-10 09:53 pm
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Between a Rock and a Bard Place - for ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
notoriousreign
Title: Between a Rock and a Bard Place
Author:freudiancascade
Recipient:notoriousreign
Rating: K+
Possible Spoilers/Warnings: Takes place after SC. Warning - contains Shakespeare!
Summary: The Experiment House tries to put on a play as proof it really has reformed.
Author's Notes: I'm sorry for the title pun. Oh, wait...nope, I'm not. Much love goes to my beta!
Between a Rock and a Bard Place
"Well, God give them wisdom that have it; and those that are fools, let them use their talents."
- William Shakespeare, Twelfth Night
--
It is frequently remarked that William Shakespeare had a knack for depicting human truth.
For instance, his poetry typically drew comparisons between people and things that, on the surface, were not similar to people at all. This tendency towards metaphor is thrilling if one happens to be a scholar, and tedious to the point of despair if one happens to be a student who has been conscripted into preforming in a haphazardly contrived school play.
One such student, a young lady by the name of Jill Pole, was reminiscent of a water strider in a sense that would arouse the envy of any Shakespearean sonnet. She was all long limbs and lanky movement, her hair unbound and her freckled nose speckled with paint as she meandered towards the gym of the Experiment House with her hands loosely balled in the pockets of her dress. In contrast, the boy that trailed behind her was undeniably a pill bug, all compact energy, short strides, and dense, careful movement. His name was Eustace Scrubb and his only visible spontaneity came in the form of facial expressions which were as varied as any cartoon figure's. At the moment he wore an impressive scowl, matched in notability only by the bundle of multicoloured fabric perched precariously atop his head. It chimed with each step he took and stuck out like a sore thumb against the greyness of the school grounds.
"I'm baffled by that thing on your head. Is it supposed to be a hat?" Jill said as she heard him approach, having to double-check that it really was him beneath the offending garment.
"Get lost, Pole." Eustace pulled the hat further down his forehead, as if he would be able to disappear beneath it. He had to take two steps for every one of hers. "It's a jester's hat."
Her laugh was incredulous. "Not even in Narnia -" she lowered her voice - "Not even there have I seen such an absurd thing!"
"I made do, alright?" Eustace scuffed at the ground with a foot, glaring at her. "You know as well as I do that we've all got to participate in this -" he switched tone mid-sentence, adopting a voice in mimicry of the professor who had made the announcement, "- this program to cultivate an enriched appreciation of the arts." He lifted his chin and crinkled his nose as he spoke, causing the hat to slip dangerously on his head and nearly fall off backwards into the soil. Jill considered it a fairly accurate impression, though she recalled the adult's voice as being a tad more nasal than Eustace could properly manage.
"It's to show the parents that the school's changed, isn't it? That the Experiment House really has reformed?" Jill replied with a snort.
"Yes, but -" Eustace groaned, "Why Shakespeare?"
"It's a fact, isn't it? Shakespeare's a sod and so of course he's the teacher's favourite." The play chosen for performance was called, for some reason that neither student had been able to discern, Twelfth Night. Like most Shakespearean plays, both Jill and Eustace found it exceptionally dull. It had nothing to do with nights or the number twelve. Instead, a lady found herself shipwrecked upon a beach and disguised herself as a man in order to gain employment in the household of the local Duke (with whom she promptly fell in love). The Duke, of course, sent her to woo another woman on his behalf and the resulting mess took five acts to properly sort out. As the shipwrecked woman turned out to have a twin brother, by the conclusion of the play everybody had contrived a happy marriage.
The two walked in silence for a moment. Eventually, Jill asked once more about the hat.
Eustace glumly replied that he was elected to play the role of the court jester, remarking dismally that he still wasn't entirely certain if the character's name was to be pronounced with one syllable or two. Honestly, he confessed, he'd much rather have been one of the sailors if those "good parts" hadn't already been claimed by Them.
"I thought you disliked boats?"
"Oh, I still do. They're ruddy awful, believe me. But at least the sailors all drown in the shipwreck in the first act." He peered over at Jill. "What costume did they inflict upon you, then? You're not wearing anything different."
"That's because I'm not acting," Jill replied, swallowing a smug grin. "I volunteered to help paint the stage." She raced towards the gym before he fully comprehended that sentence, leaving Eustace with no choice but to trail despondently behind while muttering to himself that the girls always got the good parts, the teachers were obviously picking favourites, and there was no way - none whatsoever! - that he would ever go on stage in front of an audience while wearing such a ridiculous hat.
His grumbling became rather unbearable in the ensuing weeks. Initially believing the part he had been assigned was minor, Eustace's dismay grew greater by the hour as he realized exactly how many monologues he was required to memorize. This was nothing compared to the moment that Jill, in the midst of running lines with him, pointed out that several segments he had assumed were to be spoken actually required him to sing.
--
An hour before the curtain was to rise, Eustace Scrubb looked absolutely dreadful. His hands shook when he released the handle on the door to admit Jill into his room and his forehead was slick with a cold sweat. She noted with dismay that her friend's skin had gone the precise colour of the toffee pudding that was sometimes served with supper at the House, a horrid shade of grey that might at one point have attempted to be cream. If Eustace did not appear so close to violent illness, she would have found it fascinating. Instead, Jill bit her lower lip in concern.
"Eustace? You look horrid."
"I'm ill," he said, pressing his back against the wall. His legs visibly trembled. "Pole, I know this sounds dodgy, but I am actually ill. I think - I think I ate something off."
"What are you going to do? The play - it starts in half an hour -" Jill pushed a hand through her hair.
"I can't go on stage like this, Pole! I think I'm going to be sick again. What am I going to do? I tried so hard to memorize everything, and now this!" He gave a melodramatic moan, his hand shifting to clutch against his stomach and pull against the fabric of his shirt.
"I don't know -" Jill started, and then frowned. "Can I see your hat?"
"What does that awful thing have to do with any of this?" Eustace snapped.
"Because nobody is going to be looking at you with that thing on your head."
"I still can't - Pole, I'm sick!"
"I know! You didn't let me finish, Scrubb! Listen: Nobody will be looking at you under that hat, so nobody will notice if you're not you!" She gave a triumphant smile, though her stomach twisted in upon itself and she wondered if perhaps now she was the one who was to be ill. Regardless, the look of relief on Eustace's face was so genuine that her hands closed around the shapeless mass of the hat and she nodded. "I'll fix it. It's going to be alright, Scrubb."
"Pole, I -" He seemed to be at a loss for words. She nodded in acknowledgement.
"I know. You shall owe me for ages after this, but for now, just stay here and rest up." She tried to smile. "With any luck, in a few hours, we will never have to deal with this monstrosity again." Jill gave the hat a shake and it rang like a bell.
--
Twenty minutes before the curtain rose Jill Pole was in her room, attempting to make her clothing as shapeless as possible. She'd already wound a strip of bandages around her chest to flatten her silhouette and had borrowed a set of Eustace's clothes. Her feet slid around inside his boots, two sizes too large with laces that seemed to untie themselves on purpose at every opportunity. Jill said a fervent prayer to Aslan under her breath as she shoved the hat down as far onto her head as possible, her hair bound up beneath it.
Jill turned towards the looking glass once more, running lines under her breath. Up close, she knew that the illusion would never hold - she took a step back, and then another, until she was pressed against the opposite wall with her eyes screwed up until they watered. She hunched down a little bit, rolling her shoulders forward and widening her stance. Jill tried an experimental scowl.
Weeks of running through the script with a reluctant Eustace had left his lines etched into her mind. Jill tilted her head. It depends on how much attention people pay to the hat, she decided, and tried once more to mimic her friend.
Jill didn't quite know how she was supposed to manage it, pretending to be a Eustace who was pretending to be a reluctant court jester. She had heard him speak often enough before, and had mimicked him in jest more times than she could count, but this felt decidedly different. Jill took heart in the knowledge that several classmates had remarked how spot-on her impression of him was, although her lower lip curled at the reminder of the subsequent rumours that there was more to their relationship than met the eye.
Of course, both Jill and Eustace protested that particular claim was rubbish.
Oh! She looked into the mirror and nearly cheered at the sight of her own grimace. There we go. That's much better. Uncanny, really. Jill touched the borrowed hat once more for good luck and began the trek towards the gymnasium.
--
Ten minutes before the play's scheduled start time, a reluctant crew of students was still struggling to properly erect the stage. It was a garishly painted platform, unevenly lit, and emitted horrible creaking noises with each step taken upon it. Haphazard rows of chairs were filled with parents and other guests; the women rustled in their purses while the men checked their watches and conversed in low voices. In her ridiculous hat, Jill felt as though every eye in the room turned towards her as she opened the door and crept behind the curtain. In reality, a member of the stage crew had managed to somehow become wedged between the underside of the platform and the floor; as a result, the few individuals who were paying attention to the students at all were watching the rescue attempt with bated breath.
The first act of the play was slow and monotonous. She waited in the wings and watched the chaos unfold. Two sailors failed to show up and the painted paper boat tore right down the middle as it passed over the stage, causing the girl who had decorated it to spring out from behind the prop and attempt to fix it in the middle of the scene. She was ushered off by a mortified teacher, and the rest of the scene passed in a blur.
Every time the action paused, she could hear a faint tapping from beneath the stage - they had given up on retrieving the stuck student and begun the performance with him still trapped below the stage. The show, as they say, must go on.
It seemed like both forever and no time at all, but then the fifth scene was called and a pair of hands shoved Jill abruptly into the spotlight.
She stumbled, nearly sprawling across the stage as Eustace's shoelace caught on a raised nail. It tore, she lifted her foot, swung her head up to regain her balance -
- and froze.
Bright lights turned the audience into a sea of silhouettes. The fabric of the ridiculous hat slapped against the back of her neck with the residual momentum, and the jingling was painfully loud. Jill couldn't move. She couldn't think. One hand lifted to clamp down on the bell, silencing it abruptly. She thought for a moment that she could faint - indeed, the slight rustling of the audience was entirely drowned out by a sound in her ears that reminded her of the rushing of the ocean. It throbbed in time with her pulse.
Deep breath, Pole. Remember how Eustace drawls out his vowels when he's anxious and snips the consonants short - it's distinctive enough. Just take one step forward. Regain your bearings, and speak.
"Let her hang me." Her voice cracked. Too high, the imitation of Eustace was poor, and for a moment she worried their entire cover was blown. A beat passed - nobody noticed - she tried again, stammering through the rest of the line, "he that is well hanged in this world needs to fear no colours." A flourish of the hand, to underscore her point. The hat jangled. How in the lion's name did Eustace even manage to get his hands on bells?
"Make that good," replied the student opposite Jill, a glum-faced girl with her hair scraped back in a bun and a monotone to her voice.
"He shall see none to fear," Jill replied, more confident now. The words flowed smoothly after that and she found herself capering about the stage in the next scene, pretending to pluck a harp. Later in the play she sang in a high, reedy voice - it was only midway through the scene that she remembered Eustace's inability to carry a tune and forced the pitch to waver accordingly.
Her heart raced the entire time.
--
That night, Jill climbed into the window of Eustace's room to return the bundle of clothing, his shoes knotted by their laces to hang around her neck. His roommate was sound asleep in his bed and so she moaned quietly as she shoved the limp mess of fabric back towards him and began to untie the shoelaces.
"It was awful!"
"It can't have been that bad?" Eustace protested as he shoved the hat back under his bed. It would be forgotten and found there covered in dust at the end of the term, housing evidence of mice.
"It was!" she hissed in reply, struggling with the knot. "Two of the sailors didn't show up, Edith Jackie simply forgot which character she was supposed to be playing midway through, and half the audience had left by the third act!" Jill gave up and simply deposited both boots into his arms as she continued, "And then they had to close down the entire affair two scenes from the end when somebody noticed that Clarence Picker had gone quiet - he got trapped beneath the stage in the beginning of the thing and by the end of it he had fainted dead away!"
"Rubbish - I thought the audience was mostly parents, they can't have all left. Aren't they supposed to stick around and pretend to be fascinated? And what happened to my shoes? They - this shoelace is ripped!"
It was then that she noticed the miraculous recovery of Eustace Scrubb. His eyes were bright, his hands steady, and his cheeks pink. She stopped.
"You liar!"
"What?"
"You said you were ill!" She folded her arms, her voice dangerously loud. Both children cast a glance over to Eustace's sleeping roommate, who remained motionless. Reassured, they swivelled back to watch each other again.
"I was feeling ill," Eustace said with a smug grin, returning his focus to Jill.
"You look much better now, then," Jill huffed. The stage lights still burned in the back of her mind.
"I feel much better."
"You liar," she repeated. For a moment they stared each other down - Jill was nearly an inch taller, and Eustace found himself counting the freckles on her upturned nose. It surprised them both when she gave a snort of laughter. "I thought you were a horrible actor! How did you manage that, then?"
"Simple." Eustace had a smug grin on his face as he folded his arms and leaned into the doorframe. "I imagined what would happen if I actually went on stage and felt very, very ill. Then, when I didn't have to go I felt better. See? I never lied. For all we know, I might very well have had food poisoning. Still might." His eyes gleamed with mischief as she flicked at him with her hand.
"I don't think I'll speak to you ever again!" she hissed, and he sighed.
"Thank you, Pole. I mean it. You - you really did help me out, you know?" His attempt at mollifying his friend fell upon deaf ears, as she was already lowering herself from his window and muttering under her breath. For a moment Eustace felt something akin to guilt but, then again, absolutely anything was better than having to wear that dreadful hat.
--
A week later they will be crouched behind the gym, talking in hushed whispers. "You know," she will say, "It actually wasn't that bad. I used to think Shakespeare was a bit of a sod, really, but...not anymore."
"Oh?" Eustace will grin, knowing he's been entirely forgiven. A bounce will have appeared in Jill's step following the night of the play, slightly dampened upon hearing a teacher compliment Eustace on his wonderful performance. Once Eustace points out that this misdirected praise means she must have done a phenomenal job, she will began to speak to him again. It won't hurt that he will slip a peppermint into her hand as he speaks.
"Yeah. It was actually - well, it was a bit fun, pretending to be somebody else. I can't see myself wanting to do it again but it wasn't as horrid as it should have been." She will peer over at him. "I hope you know that you're still not forgiven, by the way."
Obliging, Eustace will press another peppermint into the palm of her hand. This will continue for the next several months. Thankfully, Eustace was never entirely fond of the candy and will decide it is a small price to pay to pretend that this entire affair had never happened.
As for Jill?
Tragically, Shakespeare forgot to write about another particularly applicable human truth: it is impossible to remain upset at a friend who possesses and is willing to share a limitless supply of peppermints.
Original Prompt:
What I want: Anything that incorporates a Shakespeare sonnet or monologue from one of his plays (or both, both is good). Jill/Eustace, school fic, after the events of Voyage of the Dawn Treader at least.
Prompt words/objects/quotes/whatever: School production, "I used to think Shakespeare was a bit of a sod really, but... not anymore."
Author:
freudiancascadeRecipient:
notoriousreignRating: K+
Possible Spoilers/Warnings: Takes place after SC. Warning - contains Shakespeare!
Summary: The Experiment House tries to put on a play as proof it really has reformed.
Author's Notes: I'm sorry for the title pun. Oh, wait...nope, I'm not. Much love goes to my beta!
Between a Rock and a Bard Place
- William Shakespeare, Twelfth Night
--
It is frequently remarked that William Shakespeare had a knack for depicting human truth.
For instance, his poetry typically drew comparisons between people and things that, on the surface, were not similar to people at all. This tendency towards metaphor is thrilling if one happens to be a scholar, and tedious to the point of despair if one happens to be a student who has been conscripted into preforming in a haphazardly contrived school play.
One such student, a young lady by the name of Jill Pole, was reminiscent of a water strider in a sense that would arouse the envy of any Shakespearean sonnet. She was all long limbs and lanky movement, her hair unbound and her freckled nose speckled with paint as she meandered towards the gym of the Experiment House with her hands loosely balled in the pockets of her dress. In contrast, the boy that trailed behind her was undeniably a pill bug, all compact energy, short strides, and dense, careful movement. His name was Eustace Scrubb and his only visible spontaneity came in the form of facial expressions which were as varied as any cartoon figure's. At the moment he wore an impressive scowl, matched in notability only by the bundle of multicoloured fabric perched precariously atop his head. It chimed with each step he took and stuck out like a sore thumb against the greyness of the school grounds.
"I'm baffled by that thing on your head. Is it supposed to be a hat?" Jill said as she heard him approach, having to double-check that it really was him beneath the offending garment.
"Get lost, Pole." Eustace pulled the hat further down his forehead, as if he would be able to disappear beneath it. He had to take two steps for every one of hers. "It's a jester's hat."
Her laugh was incredulous. "Not even in Narnia -" she lowered her voice - "Not even there have I seen such an absurd thing!"
"I made do, alright?" Eustace scuffed at the ground with a foot, glaring at her. "You know as well as I do that we've all got to participate in this -" he switched tone mid-sentence, adopting a voice in mimicry of the professor who had made the announcement, "- this program to cultivate an enriched appreciation of the arts." He lifted his chin and crinkled his nose as he spoke, causing the hat to slip dangerously on his head and nearly fall off backwards into the soil. Jill considered it a fairly accurate impression, though she recalled the adult's voice as being a tad more nasal than Eustace could properly manage.
"It's to show the parents that the school's changed, isn't it? That the Experiment House really has reformed?" Jill replied with a snort.
"Yes, but -" Eustace groaned, "Why Shakespeare?"
"It's a fact, isn't it? Shakespeare's a sod and so of course he's the teacher's favourite." The play chosen for performance was called, for some reason that neither student had been able to discern, Twelfth Night. Like most Shakespearean plays, both Jill and Eustace found it exceptionally dull. It had nothing to do with nights or the number twelve. Instead, a lady found herself shipwrecked upon a beach and disguised herself as a man in order to gain employment in the household of the local Duke (with whom she promptly fell in love). The Duke, of course, sent her to woo another woman on his behalf and the resulting mess took five acts to properly sort out. As the shipwrecked woman turned out to have a twin brother, by the conclusion of the play everybody had contrived a happy marriage.
The two walked in silence for a moment. Eventually, Jill asked once more about the hat.
Eustace glumly replied that he was elected to play the role of the court jester, remarking dismally that he still wasn't entirely certain if the character's name was to be pronounced with one syllable or two. Honestly, he confessed, he'd much rather have been one of the sailors if those "good parts" hadn't already been claimed by Them.
"I thought you disliked boats?"
"Oh, I still do. They're ruddy awful, believe me. But at least the sailors all drown in the shipwreck in the first act." He peered over at Jill. "What costume did they inflict upon you, then? You're not wearing anything different."
"That's because I'm not acting," Jill replied, swallowing a smug grin. "I volunteered to help paint the stage." She raced towards the gym before he fully comprehended that sentence, leaving Eustace with no choice but to trail despondently behind while muttering to himself that the girls always got the good parts, the teachers were obviously picking favourites, and there was no way - none whatsoever! - that he would ever go on stage in front of an audience while wearing such a ridiculous hat.
His grumbling became rather unbearable in the ensuing weeks. Initially believing the part he had been assigned was minor, Eustace's dismay grew greater by the hour as he realized exactly how many monologues he was required to memorize. This was nothing compared to the moment that Jill, in the midst of running lines with him, pointed out that several segments he had assumed were to be spoken actually required him to sing.
--
An hour before the curtain was to rise, Eustace Scrubb looked absolutely dreadful. His hands shook when he released the handle on the door to admit Jill into his room and his forehead was slick with a cold sweat. She noted with dismay that her friend's skin had gone the precise colour of the toffee pudding that was sometimes served with supper at the House, a horrid shade of grey that might at one point have attempted to be cream. If Eustace did not appear so close to violent illness, she would have found it fascinating. Instead, Jill bit her lower lip in concern.
"Eustace? You look horrid."
"I'm ill," he said, pressing his back against the wall. His legs visibly trembled. "Pole, I know this sounds dodgy, but I am actually ill. I think - I think I ate something off."
"What are you going to do? The play - it starts in half an hour -" Jill pushed a hand through her hair.
"I can't go on stage like this, Pole! I think I'm going to be sick again. What am I going to do? I tried so hard to memorize everything, and now this!" He gave a melodramatic moan, his hand shifting to clutch against his stomach and pull against the fabric of his shirt.
"I don't know -" Jill started, and then frowned. "Can I see your hat?"
"What does that awful thing have to do with any of this?" Eustace snapped.
"Because nobody is going to be looking at you with that thing on your head."
"I still can't - Pole, I'm sick!"
"I know! You didn't let me finish, Scrubb! Listen: Nobody will be looking at you under that hat, so nobody will notice if you're not you!" She gave a triumphant smile, though her stomach twisted in upon itself and she wondered if perhaps now she was the one who was to be ill. Regardless, the look of relief on Eustace's face was so genuine that her hands closed around the shapeless mass of the hat and she nodded. "I'll fix it. It's going to be alright, Scrubb."
"Pole, I -" He seemed to be at a loss for words. She nodded in acknowledgement.
"I know. You shall owe me for ages after this, but for now, just stay here and rest up." She tried to smile. "With any luck, in a few hours, we will never have to deal with this monstrosity again." Jill gave the hat a shake and it rang like a bell.
--
Twenty minutes before the curtain rose Jill Pole was in her room, attempting to make her clothing as shapeless as possible. She'd already wound a strip of bandages around her chest to flatten her silhouette and had borrowed a set of Eustace's clothes. Her feet slid around inside his boots, two sizes too large with laces that seemed to untie themselves on purpose at every opportunity. Jill said a fervent prayer to Aslan under her breath as she shoved the hat down as far onto her head as possible, her hair bound up beneath it.
Jill turned towards the looking glass once more, running lines under her breath. Up close, she knew that the illusion would never hold - she took a step back, and then another, until she was pressed against the opposite wall with her eyes screwed up until they watered. She hunched down a little bit, rolling her shoulders forward and widening her stance. Jill tried an experimental scowl.
Weeks of running through the script with a reluctant Eustace had left his lines etched into her mind. Jill tilted her head. It depends on how much attention people pay to the hat, she decided, and tried once more to mimic her friend.
Jill didn't quite know how she was supposed to manage it, pretending to be a Eustace who was pretending to be a reluctant court jester. She had heard him speak often enough before, and had mimicked him in jest more times than she could count, but this felt decidedly different. Jill took heart in the knowledge that several classmates had remarked how spot-on her impression of him was, although her lower lip curled at the reminder of the subsequent rumours that there was more to their relationship than met the eye.
Of course, both Jill and Eustace protested that particular claim was rubbish.
Oh! She looked into the mirror and nearly cheered at the sight of her own grimace. There we go. That's much better. Uncanny, really. Jill touched the borrowed hat once more for good luck and began the trek towards the gymnasium.
--
Ten minutes before the play's scheduled start time, a reluctant crew of students was still struggling to properly erect the stage. It was a garishly painted platform, unevenly lit, and emitted horrible creaking noises with each step taken upon it. Haphazard rows of chairs were filled with parents and other guests; the women rustled in their purses while the men checked their watches and conversed in low voices. In her ridiculous hat, Jill felt as though every eye in the room turned towards her as she opened the door and crept behind the curtain. In reality, a member of the stage crew had managed to somehow become wedged between the underside of the platform and the floor; as a result, the few individuals who were paying attention to the students at all were watching the rescue attempt with bated breath.
The first act of the play was slow and monotonous. She waited in the wings and watched the chaos unfold. Two sailors failed to show up and the painted paper boat tore right down the middle as it passed over the stage, causing the girl who had decorated it to spring out from behind the prop and attempt to fix it in the middle of the scene. She was ushered off by a mortified teacher, and the rest of the scene passed in a blur.
Every time the action paused, she could hear a faint tapping from beneath the stage - they had given up on retrieving the stuck student and begun the performance with him still trapped below the stage. The show, as they say, must go on.
It seemed like both forever and no time at all, but then the fifth scene was called and a pair of hands shoved Jill abruptly into the spotlight.
She stumbled, nearly sprawling across the stage as Eustace's shoelace caught on a raised nail. It tore, she lifted her foot, swung her head up to regain her balance -
- and froze.
Bright lights turned the audience into a sea of silhouettes. The fabric of the ridiculous hat slapped against the back of her neck with the residual momentum, and the jingling was painfully loud. Jill couldn't move. She couldn't think. One hand lifted to clamp down on the bell, silencing it abruptly. She thought for a moment that she could faint - indeed, the slight rustling of the audience was entirely drowned out by a sound in her ears that reminded her of the rushing of the ocean. It throbbed in time with her pulse.
Deep breath, Pole. Remember how Eustace drawls out his vowels when he's anxious and snips the consonants short - it's distinctive enough. Just take one step forward. Regain your bearings, and speak.
"Let her hang me." Her voice cracked. Too high, the imitation of Eustace was poor, and for a moment she worried their entire cover was blown. A beat passed - nobody noticed - she tried again, stammering through the rest of the line, "he that is well hanged in this world needs to fear no colours." A flourish of the hand, to underscore her point. The hat jangled. How in the lion's name did Eustace even manage to get his hands on bells?
"Make that good," replied the student opposite Jill, a glum-faced girl with her hair scraped back in a bun and a monotone to her voice.
"He shall see none to fear," Jill replied, more confident now. The words flowed smoothly after that and she found herself capering about the stage in the next scene, pretending to pluck a harp. Later in the play she sang in a high, reedy voice - it was only midway through the scene that she remembered Eustace's inability to carry a tune and forced the pitch to waver accordingly.
Her heart raced the entire time.
--
That night, Jill climbed into the window of Eustace's room to return the bundle of clothing, his shoes knotted by their laces to hang around her neck. His roommate was sound asleep in his bed and so she moaned quietly as she shoved the limp mess of fabric back towards him and began to untie the shoelaces.
"It was awful!"
"It can't have been that bad?" Eustace protested as he shoved the hat back under his bed. It would be forgotten and found there covered in dust at the end of the term, housing evidence of mice.
"It was!" she hissed in reply, struggling with the knot. "Two of the sailors didn't show up, Edith Jackie simply forgot which character she was supposed to be playing midway through, and half the audience had left by the third act!" Jill gave up and simply deposited both boots into his arms as she continued, "And then they had to close down the entire affair two scenes from the end when somebody noticed that Clarence Picker had gone quiet - he got trapped beneath the stage in the beginning of the thing and by the end of it he had fainted dead away!"
"Rubbish - I thought the audience was mostly parents, they can't have all left. Aren't they supposed to stick around and pretend to be fascinated? And what happened to my shoes? They - this shoelace is ripped!"
It was then that she noticed the miraculous recovery of Eustace Scrubb. His eyes were bright, his hands steady, and his cheeks pink. She stopped.
"You liar!"
"What?"
"You said you were ill!" She folded her arms, her voice dangerously loud. Both children cast a glance over to Eustace's sleeping roommate, who remained motionless. Reassured, they swivelled back to watch each other again.
"I was feeling ill," Eustace said with a smug grin, returning his focus to Jill.
"You look much better now, then," Jill huffed. The stage lights still burned in the back of her mind.
"I feel much better."
"You liar," she repeated. For a moment they stared each other down - Jill was nearly an inch taller, and Eustace found himself counting the freckles on her upturned nose. It surprised them both when she gave a snort of laughter. "I thought you were a horrible actor! How did you manage that, then?"
"Simple." Eustace had a smug grin on his face as he folded his arms and leaned into the doorframe. "I imagined what would happen if I actually went on stage and felt very, very ill. Then, when I didn't have to go I felt better. See? I never lied. For all we know, I might very well have had food poisoning. Still might." His eyes gleamed with mischief as she flicked at him with her hand.
"I don't think I'll speak to you ever again!" she hissed, and he sighed.
"Thank you, Pole. I mean it. You - you really did help me out, you know?" His attempt at mollifying his friend fell upon deaf ears, as she was already lowering herself from his window and muttering under her breath. For a moment Eustace felt something akin to guilt but, then again, absolutely anything was better than having to wear that dreadful hat.
--
A week later they will be crouched behind the gym, talking in hushed whispers. "You know," she will say, "It actually wasn't that bad. I used to think Shakespeare was a bit of a sod, really, but...not anymore."
"Oh?" Eustace will grin, knowing he's been entirely forgiven. A bounce will have appeared in Jill's step following the night of the play, slightly dampened upon hearing a teacher compliment Eustace on his wonderful performance. Once Eustace points out that this misdirected praise means she must have done a phenomenal job, she will began to speak to him again. It won't hurt that he will slip a peppermint into her hand as he speaks.
"Yeah. It was actually - well, it was a bit fun, pretending to be somebody else. I can't see myself wanting to do it again but it wasn't as horrid as it should have been." She will peer over at him. "I hope you know that you're still not forgiven, by the way."
Obliging, Eustace will press another peppermint into the palm of her hand. This will continue for the next several months. Thankfully, Eustace was never entirely fond of the candy and will decide it is a small price to pay to pretend that this entire affair had never happened.
As for Jill?
Tragically, Shakespeare forgot to write about another particularly applicable human truth: it is impossible to remain upset at a friend who possesses and is willing to share a limitless supply of peppermints.
Original Prompt:
What I want: Anything that incorporates a Shakespeare sonnet or monologue from one of his plays (or both, both is good). Jill/Eustace, school fic, after the events of Voyage of the Dawn Treader at least.
Prompt words/objects/quotes/whatever: School production, "I used to think Shakespeare was a bit of a sod really, but... not anymore."