In Jean's house in the Faubourg St-Germain, a Jedi Knight
prepared for battle.
He drew his lightsabre from its makeshift swordbelt and held
it in front of him in classic en-guarde. It had about as
much heft to it as... a long tube of cheap plastic. He
sighed. That duelling sword T'beth had sent was really a
lovely, lovely weapon. He and Julian would have had a duel
that would have been written down for the ages with those
sabres.
Genevieve, watching him, looked away quickly so that he
wouldn't see her trying not to laugh. She had, fortunately
for Jean's composure, chosen not to dress as Princess Leia
with curly buns at her ears. Pondering what to wear to a
duel between knights had been quite a fierce decision, in
fact. She had finally chosen a demure two-piece suit,
rather like a businesswoman going to a meeting of the board.
A silk scarf marked her only accessory, apart from discreet
jewellery (which no longer included a certain fine gold
chain holding a ring.)
Jean wore jeans and a knit shirt, to give him freedom of
movement. He made a very unlikely-looking Jedi. He would
have been better cast as one of Han Solo's more questionable
acquaintances.
"Where is Evan?" he asked, looking at Gen. The Nameless One
had arrived the day before and taken up residence in Jean's
spare bedroom.
"He has gone ahead to the Palais, to inspect the garden,"
Genevieve replied. "He will meet us there."
"D'accord."
Jean swished the lightsabre around a few times, trying to
look graceful. He was horribly afraid he was going to start
laughing as soon as he saw Julian.
Gen glanced at the clock. "We'd best be on our way," she
said. "It would not be good form to be late for a duel."
"No, cherie, it would not." Jean stuck the weapon back into
his belt. He held out his arm. "Let us go."
"Wait." She untied the scarf from around her neck and tied
it back around his. "A knight must go into battle with his
lady's favour, after all."
"Genevieve, I..."
"Hush." She kissed him. "Just let us get this over with.
Viens."
They vienned.
----------
Meanwhile, at a house near the place where the Rue de Saint
Julien le Pauvre meets the Rue de la Bucherie at the Quai de
Montebello, Julian Vaurien was posing in front of his own
mirror.
He was dressed all in back. He didn't look much like a Sith
Lord, however. He looked more like Westley from The Princess
Bride.
His own lightsabre, the red one, was just as clunky as was
Jean's.
Nimue made a face.
His second, however, looked nothing like Buttercup. She wore
black leather pants (low rise, of course), black combat
boots and a black corset. The corset did not meet the
waistline of the pants, and a good deal of midsection was
visible (not to mention the veritable shelf of breasts
popping out of the top). Nimue looked down at her pale
breasts and thought back on Mabel, one foot on the wall and
both hands pulling brutishly at the lacing on the back of
the corset. Her hair was in a long braid down her back.
Julian grinned at her and said a word under his breath. The
toy lightsabre changed into the real thing. "Ooooo" said
Nims.
He dropped into an en garde, and raised the sabre to salute
Nimue. It went back to its clunky toy status.
"Jean will feel better when he sees what these things can do."
"Well, I'm doing my part to distract him, per your request."
Nimue leaned forward and shook her tightly fettered wobblies
at him.
He winked. And held out his hand to her. "Shall we?" As
they stepped into non-existence at the apartment, Julian was
singing,
"I need you more than anyone, darlin'
You know that I have from the start
So build me up Buttercup, don't break my heart"
(stolen shamelessly from Busted Lyrics' song Build Me Up Buttercup)
======
And at the site of the match, le Jardin du Luxembourg, in
the heart of Paris, Spencer Smythe was busy setting up
cameras and lights. His computer hummed. He checked the
views from the cameras.... All was in readiness.
Evan, who'd introduced himself to Spence, was inspecting the
garden grounds. He removed stray pebbles and twigs, went
over the territory carefully.
"We're going to have a hell of time keeping Palais security
off our backs," he commented to Spence. "Not to mention
gendarmes and the general public. Thank God Julian didn't
want tickets sold."
"Yes, well, bribes have been paid, alas not to me. Guards
will be lax regarding their tours of the gardens. We
couldn't get to the gendarmes, however, so there we must
trust to luck."
"Not a good plan," Evan commented, "leaving things to
luck."
Spence shrugged, "Julian's assessment also. But then his
own garden or Jean's wouldn't be neutral territory. One
must observe the proprieties, even when acting in the
theatre of the absurd."
Adele suddenly came around the high shrubbery which gave the
chosen boxing, er fencing ring, a bit of privacy.
"Hullo, Evan!" she enthused and threw her arms around the
Nameless One, giving him a huge smooch on the lips before he
realized what was happening.
She'd decided against the leotard, but the black leather
miniskirt and nearly see-through black silk blouse (with
nothing under it) wasn't exactly a sack. Luckily there were
two pockets on that shirt in strategic places. He never
noticed the black stilettos or black hose. He never managed
to look down that far.
Spence, poor lad, drooled.
Evan stepped back from Adele, not without some personal
regrets, and smiled at her.
"Hullo, to you, too," he said. "If Alex saw that outfit..."
"Oh," she pouted, "he wants me to dress like some Victorian
virgin. This is Paris!"
"Don't you think you're going to distract poor Jean?" Evan
asked.
"Wait til you see what Nimue's wearing," Adele replied. "I
suppose Gen felt she had to wear something plain and
serious? I have got to talk to her about her wardrobe."
Evan's mouth twitched. He would love to be in on _that_
conversation. "Well, she is in quite a responsible
position, Adele."
"Oh, poop. It's about time you all take responsibility for
yourselves."
Spence, meanwhile had the cameras trained squarely on Adele,
hoping for compensatory funding from Alex.
The arrival of the Jedi Knight and his lady upstaged any
reply Evan might have made. Adele rushed forward to greet
them.
The cameras, alas, only showed Adele rushing forward to hug
air. No that that wasn't a good view since she must needs
turn her cute little bottom to the camera.
"Bugger", said Spence under his breath.
Jean looked like he wasn't quite sure where it was safe to
hug Adele, especially with Gen giving him a steely-eyed
look, but he managed. Gen hugged and kissed Adele, without
commenting on the outfit. She was far too used to the young
lady's tastes by now. With Adele happily hooked to one arm
each, she and Jean moved into the battlefield, where they
greeted Spencer and Evan.
"Is the field prepared, second?" Jean asked.
"Aye, captain," the Nameless One replied.
"Then we must await my noble opponent."
Adele, seeing Spence's frown, hurried over to where he
stared into the computer screen to see the video feed.
"What? I didn't look appropriately daring? Not enough to
get Alex to hop the next plane over here?" she asked.
"If he doesn't he's an idiot. No, it's not that. You can't
SEE them."
Adele bent down and peered to check out the feed too.
"Bugger," she said.
"Exactly," Spence said.
"Hang on. Let me think." Adele walked over to one of the
two cameras and stared at it. She reached out and thunked
it with her finger.
"Hey! They're sensitive equipment! Not to mention bloody
expensive." Spence, although American, had studied at
Cambridge.
Adele hit the camera again.
"Wait!" Spence yelped. "What did you do?"
She grinned. My witchy wily ways, Spence. I might not be
able to turn you into a newt, but I've got a few skills of
my own."
"Do the other one too!" Spence encouraged her.
She walked over to the second camera and thunked it twice.
The feed went all ghosty and snowy for a second, then two
vampires were seen to be standing in the field of honour.
Just as two magic users stepped around the shrubbery.
"Ah, Darth Vader arrives," Evan began, then spotted Nimue.
His mouth hung open.
"Merde," said Jean.
"Yeah," said Spence.
"Men!" snorted Adele.
"Yes," Gen agreed gravely. "It would seem I overdressed."
Adele giggled. "Jean is dying to see you in a miniskirt,"
she said. "Come and meet Nimue. She doesn't bite."
Genevieve smiled, showing, for the first time Adele had ever
seen, the teeniest hint of fang. It was the politest
possible way she could say, "No, but I do."
Jean had already drifted over, against all duelling
proprieties, to meet Julian's second. His eyes were doing
the unlacing that his hands couldn't.
He straightened up and pretended to be studying Spence's
cameras when Adele arrived with Gen in tow.
Julian, apart from the commotion, leant casually on his
light sabre watching it all. He caught Gen's eye and gave
her one slow wink.
She nodded back, and then turned as she was introduced to
Nimue.
"Finally, we meet." Nimue smiled at Gen, and then turned to
Jean. "It is good to meet you at last, also. I trust I'm
doing my part for my Sith lord?" She asked, and, placing her
hands on the bare portion of her hips, posed for him.
"Oui," Jean breathed. "Could I persuade you to join the
Light Side of the Force?"
"No, sorry, it's Dark or nothing."
Once the niceties had been observed, the seconds cleared
away the spectators (all three of them) from the field and
banished them to a garden bench on the sidelines.
"No interference," they were sternly warned.
"No, of course not, Mr. Jones," replied Gen in a deadly
serious voice that made Adele giggle again.
"Right," said Evan with a crisp nod. "The opponents will
take the field, and bow to each other."
They did so, gallantly.
"The other second will give the signal to begin."
Nimue sauntered over (and every male eye followed her every
sinuation) and stood in between Sith and Jedi. She waited
until Jean was nearly slobbering, then raised a hand in
which was clenched a delicate little hankie.
She dropped it.
Both Jedi and Westley -er, Sith- struck a pose. Feet
glided, cross over, halt, then weapons outstretched to touch
with just a whisper of weight. As the weapons touched, they
were suddenly transformed: into a weapon a man could be
proud to wield, as light and beautiful as the perfect
rapier, the handles smooth, the weight perfectly balanced.
Only the blades were of blue and red light. They sang as
they touched, and the smell of ozone filled the air.
As the men pulled back to salute each other, Jean was
grinning. "Ah, now this is truly a weapon!"
Julian smiled. "They will count hits for us. En garde!"
Adele saw a mildly alarmed look appear in Gen's eyes, and
sought her hand.
"It will be all right," she said, as the duel commenced, the
lightsabers "zzzzting" as they met and clashed. "Nobody
will get hurt."
Jean was in his element, happy at last with this duel. He
moved like a dancer, as light on his feet as any Jedi, the
lightsabre a perfect extension of himself. He must have
been a real champion once, Julian realized; not a knight, of
course, but what a cavalry officer he must have made! He'd
seen some of Jean's moves already, of course, but this
wasn't quick and dirty fighting in a sewer.
And Jean, for his part, assessed Julian's skills with a
blade. He was quick, too, graceful and smooth. It was like
a pas de deux. With lightsabres.
How long it might have gone on no one would ever know. But
before long Julian was sweating profusely, the scent of his
sweat bringing back fond memories for two ladies present.
Then Julian was forced to use his left arm to wipe sweat
from his eyes. Jean lunged, taking advantage of the first
and only opening he'd had. The blade barely nicked Julian's
arm. "One!" sang Jean's blade. But no blood appeared on
Julian's arm, although his sleeve was sliced quite nicely.
Several people groaned. One might have been Julian.
A fiercesome exchange began then, the blades ringing and
hissing, flashing as they struck against one another. Jean
missed his footing, Julian pressed the advantage, Jean
giving way.. It looked as if .. Yes! Jean fell back and
Julian suddenly had his blade at Jean's throat.
Then all hell broke loose. Sirens, lights, gendarmes
flooding into the garden, yelling, people running every
which way.
Julian was heard to mutter, "Bugger."
He lowered his lightsabre, bowed to Jean, and snapped the
fingers of his left hand.
Suddenly, just like that, all of them, with one stray
gendarme, were standing in the living room of Julian's Quai
de Montebello house.
"Merde," the gendarme breathed, as he looked around,
befuddled and confused.
Mabel appeared with a tray. "Whiskey all round?"
They all accepted, including the gendarme, who seemed to
feel that any port--or, in this case, Scotch--in a storm was
welcome.
"That was absolutely excellent fighting!" exclaimed Evan.
"I haven't seen two people that well-matched in years. Well
done, both of you."
There was a round of applause. Jean and Julian both beamed.
"But we were interrupted at the most crucial point," Jean
said, casting a sour look at the gendarme. "This would have
been better formally done, in the field of battle." He
knelt before Julian and lifted up his lightsaber--now
plastic again--in both hands. "I yield."
Julian reached down and took the weapon. Then he held a hand
out to help Jean to his feet. A quick kiss on each cheek,
as the French do, and the men were clapping each other on
the back.
"I would have had you, had my foot not slipped," Jean said,
taking a gulp of whiskey.
"Oh, hah, so you think!" Julian exclaimed. "When you
yielded, you admitted that I am the better."
Genevieve turned to Adele and Nimue. "Men!"
"_Now_ can we spank them?" Adele asked, watching them bicker
good-naturedly.
"I would prefer to spank Julian in private," replied Nimue.
"What is going on, please?" asked the gendarme.
"So," Jean turned to Julian. "What are your terms of
surrender? Am I banished from the city? Made to live in a
hermit's cell? Shall I foreswear all weapons? Become your
slave?"
"A night on the town. You said loser buys the beer. Your
choice of venue," Julian added, feeling magnanimous.
"Shouldn't we do something about this gendarme, first?" Spence asked.
"Oh, right." Julian nodded. The gendarme's face acquired a look of
dreamy bliss just before he was popped out of the room. "Jean and I are
going drinking and whoring," he said to the remainder of the audience.
"Don't wait up."
"A bien tot," Jean grinned.
"Viens," Julian said.
They vienned.
"And they didn't even invite me along," Evan grumped.