` YOU WERE SHAKING LIKE A HONEY BEE [tag/FRANNNN!]

[ELSIE !]

The day was a beautiful one. The sky was flawlessly blue, not a single cloud blemishing its perfect cerulean expanse. The gardens of Florence’s Academy for the Young were in pristine condition, as always. The sun was bright, but not overwhelming, and its rays were gently diffused by the leaves of the surrounding trees. All of this beauty was lost on Teddy, who was on his hands and knees in the dirt, sleeves pushed back and pants getting more than a little muddy. The suit jacket he was required to wear by the school was carelessly thrown on the ground, and a few insects were crawling around on it. His nose was centimetres away from a fat honey bee, a look of pure delight on his face. A battered, fancily-bound notebook lay in the dirt next to him, and his left hand was furiously scribbling down notes in it.

As the self-proclaimed resident ecologist of Florence’s Academy, Teddy Knight could almost always be found outdoors during the warmer months of the year. He only went indoors to sleep and eat. Occasionally he would go into the school when classes were in session, but he tried to avoid going as much as possible. (Which probably wasn’t the best habit for a student to have, but it’s not like he would have been doing anything in said classes anyways.) He thrilled in wandering around the grounds, looking at all of the various specimens of plants and animals offered. If he found a particularly interesting sample, he would try to get as close to it as possible and sketch it (albeit very badly) in his “super duper organism catalogue,” then write a description on it. These descriptions were... interesting to say the least, and often included perspectives that had never been recorded before. It was safe to say that Teddy’s super duper organism catalogue was perhaps the only one in the world that included what an oak tree tasted like (“woody, with slightly bitter leaves and a delicious crunch”), and it is doubtful that any other ecologist (if Teddy counts as one) would be willing to figure out whether or not a honey bee really smells like honey, which is exactly what Teddy was trying to do on this beautiful August morning.

The sixteen year old leaned in closer and took a long, careful sniff. Unfortunately, it was apparently not careful enough, as he somehow managed to suck the bee into his left nostril. The honey bee really was rather fat, though, and got stuck halfway through. That would have been bad enough on its own, but as fate would have it, at that very moment Teddy discovered that he was extremely allergic to either pollen, the fuzz on honey bees, or having bees stuck halfway up his nose.

“Ahh... Ahhhhh... ACHOOOOOOO!” Teddy sneezed, the force propelling the bee out of his nose rather violently. Needless to say, the bee wasn’t exactly happy with being stuck in some human’s nose. In fact, it was extremely angry about the whole ordeal. It flew around crazily for a few seconds, trying to recover from its traumatizing experience, and then proceeded to attack Teddy.

“AHHHHH! HELP! HELP! KILLER BEE ON THE LOOSE!” He screeched, running around the garden with no care as to whether or not he was ripping up the gorgeous flower beds, bee hot on his trail.

[Javert]

((I have decided to imitate Jane Austen whenever I write about Fran. It's inevitable. Sorry. xD))

There was something about the color yellow that placed Frances Crawford into the realm of an exceptionally joyful mood. Perhaps, she mused, it was because its vibrant hue matched that of some of her favorite flowers, or reminded her of her garden back home; perhaps it was because it reminded her of sunlight, and the light itself was a catalyst for a pleasant disposition, or transferred its energy to her as if she herself were a plant. Either way, Fran had rescued a fallen sunflower from its grave on the ground and had it tucked behind her ear, nestled comfortably against the vibrant red of her hair. Its presence alone made her smile.

Near the entrance to the gardens sat a squat, cheerful watering can. The paint was chipping in some areas, contributing to the image of a gap-toothed grin upon its bright yellow countenance. Fran, skipping through the grounds, halted her gallivanting long enough to pick up the watering can. She regarded it as lovingly as if it were an old friend. Indeed, it nearly was: This humble object had been in her possession since she first began gardening several years ago. It also bore the reminders of other old friends, in that their signatures or other epithets were solemnly engraved upon it. Fran's gaze roamed over these familiar writings, despite having memorized them long ago. 'FLC' was there several times, and 'Jane Crawford' was written in a large, ornate, ostentatious hand just beneath the spout. Several other things were present, but Fran allowed herself a moment to dwell upon two letters: HW.

She traced the initials with the pad of her thumb, her smile slipping, falling.

It righted itself after the shortest instant, however, as Fran blinked once, twice, clearing oncoming tears from her vision. There was no need to dwell on the past when the future was just before her in the form of a potential garden just waiting for her.

She had been allotted a patch of soil near the lake for such an endeavor, and, taking a deep breath, Fran prepared to head that way when she heard a bellow of a scream from somewhere inside the school's gardens. An “Oh!” of surprise was scarcely able to escape her lips before she was hiking up her skirts in a rather unladylike fashion and scurrying into the flowers with all the speed her legs could muster, all while trying very valiantly not to trip and fall as she was often accustomed to doing. A curly-haired boy she had yet to know the name of was running in haphazard ellipses and causing the flowerbeds—and the surprised onlooker—great distress. Fran's good-nature, however, immediately cared more for the boy than the flowers, and she stumbled swiftly over to him.

“Are you alright?” she called desperately, eyes wide. She looked round for his pursuer, located him, and, hesitating for a moment, swung her watering can round and trapped the honey bee inside of it. Loath to harm any of God's precious creatures or her treasured possession, she did not throw it in alarm but quite quickly set the watering can down and backed away from it, grabbing the arm of the boy as she did so in encouragement for him to do the same. “There,” she panted, looking over at him, “now he'll be able to just fly on freely. Try not to attract his attention and I'm sure the poor thing will go right on his merry way.” She cast a sidelong glance at the impromptu cage before her brows knitted in concern. “Oh, dear, he didn't sting you, did he?”

[ELSIE !]

Sometime while he was being chased around the gardens by a fuzzy insect, Teddy had come to the brilliant realization that he really did not like angry bees. In fact, he was pretty much terrified of them. He was pretty okay with normal bees, as they didn’t really do anything to you and were generally interesting to observe, but angry bees? They were, hands down, his least favorite organism. Under normal circumstances, Teddy would have been extremely embarrassed about the exceptionally girly squeals he was currently emitting, but his brain was in panic mode and not about to deal with something as silly as what other people must be thinking about him. As such, he was still releasing increasingly shrill noises when an alarmingly red-haired girl practically fell down in her hurry to reach him. Teddy’s brain, which was still thinking along the lines of flying insects, immediately registered her as a ladybug, and he was extremely confused as to how such a large specimen had come into existence. It simply wasn’t normal to have human-sized beetles, much less ones that efficiently trap honey bees in watering cans.

“Er... pardon?” Teddy asked, eyebrows shooting up and almost disappearing behind his bangs in his surprise at the ladybug’s concerned questions. It was all very well that this member of the Coccinellidae family had just saved him from death by killer bee, but it was so completely bizarre for a ladybug to be speaking perfect English that he knew something was off with his nervous system, and had to pause for his brain to catch up.

“Oh, um, sorry about that. I am perfectly fine, just a bit... shocked, I suppose, but I haven’t been stung, unless of course my nose is swelling up, because that particular honey bee did spend a bit of time stuffed up in my nasal passages (only barely, though, as it’s a rather chubby bee), but I don’t think it is because I think that I would be able to tell if my nose was stung, don’t you?” Teddy rambled, trying his hardest to seem lighthearted and cheery. This was kind of difficult to achieve, as his voice was slightly shaky, his eyes had widened to the point that he looked a bit deranged, and a crimson blush was now creeping onto his face. His brain had indeed caught up, and he was quite embarrassed that he had managed to think the girl standing in front of him was an insect, and even more so once he realized she had heard him utilizing his vocal cords in a rather feminine way.

He opened his mouth and was about to introduce himself, as he was almost ninety-seven percent sure they had never met before, when an enraged clattering reached his ears. It was coming from the watering can, and there was no doubt in Teddy’s mind that the honey bee seriously had it in for him. There was a sharp intake of breath and he started slowly backing away from the yellow contraption. The honey bee seemed to sense this, or perhaps it was just trying to escape, and started rattling the watering can with a renewed fury. Pride thrown completely aside, he threw himself behind the girl in an effort to hide from the insect, quivering slightly and more than a little terrified.

[Javert]

The look of total bemusement upon the face before her was enough to bring a smile to Fran's lips once again, but she quickly smothered it in her concern for the boy's well-being. Certainly he was traumatized by the vicious attack he had undergone. It was difficult for Fran to comprehend the boy's fear of honey bees—they were simply so precious with their little black stripes and translucent wings like drops of dew—but she understood that they did, indeed, have a nasty sting that even Fran wasn't especially fond of. He could also, she rationalized, be allergic; she distinctly recalled an instance in which one of her eldest sisters, Octavia, had been stung by a bee, and the preceding horror that ensued when her face swelled to become roughly the shape, consistency, and hue of a ripened tomato.

Brows furrowing over narrowed eyes, Fran studied his face intently as he explained to her his predicament. She noticed the red creeping onto his cheeks but made no comment—she was, after all, of a nature to blush whenever someone looked at her sideways. Instead, she looked for any signs of abnormalities near his nose. He may have been becoming the color of a tomato but that appeared to be his only symptom. The transformation from student to vegetable (for Fran had not been informed of the mystery that surrounded a tomato's true identity) would not be complete.

“Oh, no, don't be sorry,” she assured him, shaking her head. “My sister Octavia was stung by a bee once and it certainly seemed like a very dreadful thing.” She gave her hand a little flap of dismissal. “I've been stung so many times out in my garden that I don't really mind it any more, but the very first time must have hurt quite terribly.” She tilted her head from one side to the other, regarding him, before proclaiming, “No, it certainly doesn't appear that you've been stung, and I'm quite sure it would hurt rather awfully, so you must be alright! That's certainly good to hear.” She smiled at the knowledge that whom she now considered to be her patient was free from any lasting scars of the wrath of a honey bee.

And yet the wrath of the honey bee had not yet extinguished: It burned bright and true, as evidenced by the sudden, ominous rattling emanating from her precious watering can. “Oh, dear,” tutted Fran, with hands on hips. “That won't do at all.” As the boy ducked behind her, Fran smiled over her shoulder at him in what she hoped to be a reassuring gesture, flapped a hand to implore him to remain where he was, and began to creep closer to her watering can. A few slow steps, a single quick reclaiming of the can...

Her plan had not included tripping over her skirt, sprawling into the grass and tipping the watering can over to release its incensed prisoner out into the world.

Fran scrambled to her feet, face now aflame with its usual blush, debated flight, and instead forced herself to remain in place. “Don't,” she projected in a stage whisper, “move.”

[ELSIE !]

The calm that had come from being proclaimed completely sting-free by a very experienced source had long ago faded, and was now replaced by a terror so fervent that even Teddy had to admit that the situation was definitely not a happy one. It was, however, fairly entertaining to the casual observer, and a complete switch of gender roles. Teddy was cowering near a lovely rose bush, trying his hardest to not burst into tears, and the girl (who was still nameless as of yet) was flashing him a brave smile and carefully treading her way over to where the bright yellow watering can stood, housing one very angry honey bee.

Teddy was just starting to calm down slightly, thanks to the girl’s composed bravery and steady steps, when his savior suffered an untimely fall. With a loud, threatening clang and a decidedly ungainly stumble, the girl tripped onto the grass, bringing the watering can down with her. A brief look of concern for the girl flickered across Teddy’s face, but was immediately replaced by concern for himself when the girl quickly got up, furiously blushing, and told him (far too dramatically, but as Teddy was currently being quite the drama king, he paid no attention to this) to not move. There was the shortest moment, perhaps a millisecond or two, where he stood where he was, confused by her command, but the bee soon came shooting out of the upturned watering can, buzzing loudly.

He wouldn’t have been able to move even if he had wanted to (and he very much wanted to). The moment that vile yellow and black creature had appeared back in his range of vision, his body froze and his heart rate reached unhealthy levels. He would have been almost certain it would pop out of his chest in its beating frenzy if he hadn’t known that to be physically impossible. The bee started creeping its way slowly over to Teddy. It wove around the girl and continued almost lazily on its way, the only suggestion of its fury being the slightly jagged line in flew in. Teddy’s breathing was becoming erratic and he was definitely breaking into a sweat. The bee flew closer and closer, taking its time. If it were capable of doing so, Teddy was positive it would have smirked. It flew a small circle around his mop of curly hair, grazing his left ear tauntingly. A sudden adrenaline rush took hold of Teddy. He was now sweating profusely, and his eyes had widened to sizes they had never dared dabble in before. His brain was going slightly haywire and couldn’t find the definition for either “fight” or “flight.” The bee landed gently on his sweaty nose. A strangled noise escaped from his throat, and he closed his eyes, prepared for the worst.

“Meow.”

Teddy’s eyes flew open, and in his shocked delight he completely forgot about the violent insect perched on the tip of his nose. He grinned, bending down to pick up the calico kitten. The bee flew off heatedly, drawing strange shapes in the air as it buzzed around the sixteen year old. Teddy paid no notice and gleefully cuddled the kitten, who swatted its little paws happily at the furious honey bee.

“Now what are you doing outside, Phoebe?”

[Javert]

Remaining frozen in as much of a statuesque stillness as an ever-energetic Fran could manage—and, she pondered, she most certainly looked nothing of the sort, since statues were not adorned in vivid hues, nor did they ever resemble homely 16-year-old girls, instead favoring voluptuous beauties of Greek or Roman nationality—was proving to be a particularly arduous task. Something—her nature? Stupidity? Were they one and the same? worried Fran—was compelling her to move forward and simply cup the poor honey bee in her hands, and then run as far as she could before the bee decided to protest its entrapment. With her luck, however, she would trip again, or run into something, or miss the bee entirely as she swung her cupped hands around like a glass jar. Her face flamed again at the mere thought. Thus, she folded her hands tightly in front of her, and observed with eyes like saucers the tiny behemoth.

It was, she decided as it drew nearer, adorable. Fran, of course, deigned any fuzz-covered animal automatically adorable, whether it was equipped with a venomous stinger or not. As it flew past her, Fran nearly reached out a hand to touch it, but instead turned slowly around to watch its progress. The boy's face was donning several different expressions that ranged from disgust to horror. Fran took a step forward, moving as silently as was possible for her—not because she was frightened of the endearing little insect, but because she didn't want to spur it any closer to the boy. “Hold your breath or something,” she suggested, then shook her head and corrected, “Well, no, because it might be around for a while, and you might turn blue...”

Instead of turning blue, she noted, his face was paling alarmingly. Fran compressed her lips into a tight line of worry as the bee grazed his cheek, seemed to debate nesting in his curls of hair... And then landed upon his nose. It painted an amusing picture: wide-eyed boy attempting in vain to stare at the bumbling bee on his face, and Fran could not restrain a short trill of laughter before, horrified, she clapped a hand over her traitorous mouth. “I'm sorry,” she gushed, “don't worry, just stand very still, I'm sure he'll let you alone...” Her words were delivered from experience—the image of Octavia's swollen tomato face suddenly flooded her mind's eye, and Fran winced at the recollection and the possibility of seeing such a face again in the flesh.

A sudden mewl sounded, and Fran blinked at yet another fuzzy adorable creature as it crept into view. “Oh!” she said in delight, forgetting the boy and the bee, and instead rushed forward to greet the garden's new guest. The Crawford residence hosted several cats that meandered across the grounds and periodically demanded food or attention, and Fran was, naturally, enamored with them. As she bent down to coo a greeting to the kitten, she was jolted back into reality, as the boy was certainly utterly terrified at the moment and she was paying him no mind whatsoever, and Fran stood up quickly, realized belatedly that that was not an intelligent movement, froze in place once again, and ended up looking rather like a marionette with an inebriated handler, limbs jerking haphazardly. The bee, however, was gone from his nose, and she breathed a sigh of relief. “That went well!” she said cheerfully in an effort to disguise her reddening cheeks. “I'm sure he'll just fly right on home now. His family probably misses him.”

The boy was cradling the kitten in his arms, and Fran reached out a hand to gently stroke its downy calico fur. “Phoebe?” she repeated, a grin alighting back upon her lips. “That's my eldest sister's name! How quaint. I'm not sure how pleased she would be to have a cat named after her, but I personally would be delighted. I'm not sure that Frances is a good name for a cat, though. Phoebe is,” she assured him, nodding, before it dawned upon her that although she knew the cat's, she was unaware of the boy's own name. “Oh, well, then, I'm Frances, I suppose I should have told you that sooner,” she explained, laughing, stuck out a hand for shaking, simultaneously realized that the deportment teacher would chastise her for such a behavior, folded her hands swiftly, and presented him instead with an embarrassed grin. “And you are?”

[ELSIE !]

Teddy’s entire demeanor had completely changed, and instead of sobbing crazily like the terrified version of himself had been a few seconds ago, he was grinning like a maniac and feeling quite at ease. The presence of one of his favorite cats made him delightfully giddy, and from the way the girl practically sprinted over to where he was holding the dear kitten, he could tell he wasn’t the only one affected.

“She’s cute, yes?” He said, tickling Phoebe affectionately behind the ears and grinning at the completely captivated look on the girl’s face. This look melted smoothly into one of horror, and she froze in place, doing some sort of strange pose that Teddy thought might be a very bad attempt at dancing. Before he could ask if anything was wrong, she relaxed and looked quite human again, a blush creeping up her face as she mentioned something about how successful they were and that the bee’s family missing him. At this, Teddy burst out laughing.

“Oh yes, that went smashingly! Absolutely perfect, you know, the way you managed to trap the bee in a watering can and then proceeded to set it loose upon both of us,” He chuckled, absentmindedly squeezing Phoebe a bit too hard and causing her to emit a rather scandalized “meow!”

“Actually, trapping it in the watering can was pretty impressive,” He admitted, scratching his ear thoughtfully, “though I expect the fact that I almost inhaled the bee in the first place probably makes up for that one act of genius.” He smiled again, gazing fondly off into the distance as if remembering something that happened years instead of mere minutes ago.

“Oh? Really! That’s a bit strange...” Teddy muttered, frowning slightly. “Not to say that your sister’s name is strange, but I’ve always imagined Phoebe as a cat name. Of course, I’m the one that named Phoebe Phoebe, so I guess that makes me a smidge biased.” He smiled lopsidedly, revealing a dimple on his right cheek.

“Frances! No, no, I could definitely imagine a cat being named Frances,” He assured her, “Probably a very handsome black kitten with white paws, very neat and tidy, but with an enormous appetite.” Though, he thought privately, he imagined that kitten would belong to a very strict, snooty grandmother type with rather alarming eyebrows and lips that were permanently pursed, which, in Teddy’s opinion, was perhaps the worst sort of person there was in the world. His thoughts were interrupted in the form of a pale hand sticking out towards him. Teddy, who had never been rather big on the silliness that is proper etiquette, shifted Phoebe’s weight to one arm so he could shake it, but before he had even managed to free his hand from the furry warmth that was the kitten, she had withdrawn her hand and looked slightly embarrassed. He hurriedly scratched his nose to make up for his sudden movement.

“Oh, it’s completely fine. We were both a bit busy for introductions, trying to avoid death by honey bee and all,” He said, nodding wisely. “I’m Teddy! Well, okay, it’s Theodore, but that’s perhaps the most revolting name decent parents could force onto their son (well, I suppose it would be pretty horrifying to give it to their daughters too), so please call me Teddy.” He suddenly looked rather stern, and said in a slightly threatening voice, “If you don’t, I’m afraid I’m going to have to release the horror that is Phoebe after a bath upon you.” He grinned at her, but then his face sudden flushed a brilliant pink. “Er... Phoebe as in my cat, not your sister.” He added hastily, now grinning sheepishly. He tickled the animal in question, trying as hard as he could to avoid making embarrassing babyish cooing noises, which was proving to be rather difficult as Phoebe was purring happily under all of the attention and somehow looking twice as cute as usual.

“So,” Teddy said, gesturing around to various thriving foliage, “do you come here often?”

[Javert]

Fran was beginning to entertain the notion that her face might remain perpetually pinkened, [/size] for the familiar warmth of a blush at her cheeks had not yet faded fully, and seemed only to be flaring in earnest as the boy sarcastically, albeit not unkindly, summarized her efforts to entrap the honey bee. She really had not been at all surprised by her earlier acrobatics. Her family, upon her departure from home a week earlier, had laughed as they embraced her and assured her that they would forgive her when she returned from school and still tripped over her own feet. The teachers wouldn't be at fault; it was simply a part of Fran that would never be able to be schooled out of her, as natural as the nose on her face or the freckles spanning it. Still, she had hoped, somewhat naively but in earnest, that presenting so brave a face towards the honey bee would correct her stumbling feet, that the sheer power of her will would make them realize the error of their ways so that they would proceed, shamefaced, without fault. Apparently, her will remained as weak as her balance.

Nevertheless, as the boy then praised her heroics, Fran laughed away the compliment. “Oh, I'm sure if you would have had a watering can, you would have done it eons before I got here.” Wondering as to the well-being of their earlier prisoner, Fran's gaze sought for the bee among the flowers and the asymmetric patches of blue sky in between them, and located the bee flying away in a serpentine pattern that Fran happily interpreted as contentment and the bee probably intended to be ireful. “Oh, and there goes our friend now,” she observed, smiling, pointing over Teddy's shoulder at the bee and wishing it bon voyage with a jaunty wave of her hand.

Her attention returned to the boy as he described the sort of cat that would bear her name, and Fran laughed, envisioning her face upon a kitten as it bathed its white paws superciliously. At the image, she gave her own hands a momentary inspection, and at the layers of dirt beneath her nails, she announced, “Well, I do have quite an appetite, especially if my mum's cooking, but I suppose I'm not very neat, nor tidy. I try to be, but somehow things just end up sprawling all over the place if I try to organize them or anything.” Ellipses indicating a rambling mass were described in the air at her sides by her hands; Fran spoke as much with them as she did her mouth.

“Teddy!” repeated Fran gleefully, clapping her hands together in her amusement to clasp them beneath her chin. “Like the bear!” There was something about the boy that quite reminded her of a teddy bear, she decided immediately upon the introduction, but she did not say this aloud, for she was quite rapidly dissolving into giggles at the boy's next statement. His sheepish expression had only heightened his resemblance to a stuffed bear, and Fran found it several moments before she was able to straighten from her nearly doubled-over stance and look at him without losing her composure. “I'm sorry,” she said truthfully, little bubbles of laughter still floating in her words despite her efforts to pop them. “I understood you, don't worry. My Phoebe isn't really horrible after a bath. She quite enjoys them, I think. She's a very clean sort of person, you know?” Bestowing a dubious glance upon the feline in question, Fran smiled, scratching her behind the velveteen ears, and proclaimed, “I can't see your Phoebe as being very horrible after a bath, either, though. She's too sweet! I'm sure that, even if she doesn't enjoy them, she's much too sweet to make a fuss about it. I promise to call you Teddy, though,” she assured him with a serious nod and a smile.

At mention of the gardens, her smile widened, her entire expression brightening, if such a feat were possible after her explosion of laughter. “Well,” she began, “I only got here—the school, I mean—about a week or so ago, but I've been here every day, whenever I get a chance, because these gardens are some of the most beautiful I've ever seen, and I always thought that Mum's was the prettiest, but hers isn't nearly as big, of course. I do wonder how their sunflowers manage to grow so high, and we have a problem with beetles on our hydrangeas, and I'd love to speak with the gardeners if I ever see one of them because I'm sure I could learn ever so much from them!” She was a professional at delivering speeches of such length without pausing to breathe, and, thus, at the conclusion of this monologue, she did not gasp for air but merely beamed. “Do you? Come here often, I mean?” she asked politely. [/font]