Book Shuffle | Open

[Cyrille LeFoux]

They wanted him to study? Fine, he'd study...and cause little mischief, too, Cyrille mused.

Cyrille did not, as a rule, spend a lot of time in the library - he visited occasionally to borrow books or return them, and sometimes he scribbled out homework at one of the long tables. The rooms were rarely ever dusty or forgotten-looking (although he'd found some positively wicked-looking tomes in some of the more shady areas) and usually you had a good chance of running into at least one other student, if not a group - thus the reason stranger-shy Cyrille avoided the place. Staring at books all day made his eyes blur, anyway. But one had to do what one had to do in order to ensure a passing grade in class, and so there the 'sidekick' sat.

Looking around the expansive library, Cyrille eyed the vaulted ceilings and the towering bookcases, kept meticulously clean. Knocking over the shelves would have been satisfyingly destructive, but there was no way to tell if anyone was in the aisles - and he wanted to cause a little mayhem, not kill or even injure someone. Frankly, Cyrille blamed it on the books. Why did they have to be so dull and dry? It was awful, studying for classes - even if the books were leagues better kept than most he'd ever seen back home, that didn't make them any less irritatingly smug-looking. Or maybe that was just the faces of his classmates; it was a well-known fact that Cyrille Lefoux had a bit of trouble with his studies; frequently he'd have to scramble at the end of the school year to make a passing grade - sometimes by hook, sometimes by crook, he always managed to pass.

Hearing a set of footsteps coming, a plot started to percolate inside his curly-haired head. Tile floors, slick-backed books; perfect! Now all he had to do was aim properly; and though he lacked book smarts, Cyrille was not a half-bad aim at throwing. Setting the book nearest to him on the tiled floor, Cyrille lined up his shot, squinted his dark brown eyes, and sent the blue-bound book skidding noiselessly across the floor - looking back down at the book open in front of him, Cyrille started doodling randomly, merely keeping an ear out for the sound of tripping, or - if he was particularly lucky - someone falling onto their heroic/villainous butts.

Who knew; if there was a bumbling hero at their side, he might even get a two-for-one deal. A smile curled at Cyrille's lips, and he couldn't help but look up expectantly.

[James Florian]

    Like any other teenager, James was less than thrilled when it was "suggested" that he complete the work that the other students had completed between the school terms in order for him to catch up with what his peers had learned before the Prince transferred to Seacombe Halpworth. Did I also mention that he only had a matter of days to complete the same amount of work that the others had essentially five years to understand and complete?
    Okay so he wasn't going to have to make up that much schoolwork, but as James quickly scanned over the convenient list he had received during orientation, he had a sneaky suspicion that he would need five years to complete all of it. Honestly, did the school officials believed that he had learned nothing from the tutors he had worked with back home before coming to this academy? After all that wasn't true. For example he already knew the history and the proper circumstances for a waltz, -after all it had been drilled into his brain in preparation for every gala he had to attend- so why on earth did he now have to write an essay about it. It's like arithmetic, unfathomably complicated and practically useless beyond the classroom walls. 
    However he had made a deal with his parents in order to attend Halpworth, every assignment had to be completed and handed in on time, or otherwise he'd be brought straight home. There was no way on earth James was going to let that happen. He had worked far to hard to get here, and one lousy essay on dancing was not going to be the excuse for his over protective mother to bring him back to those four castle walls which he'd never have a chance to escape from again. If Snow had her way, James would stay locked up and hidden out of sight so no jealous witches or others who may wish to cause him harm could ever find him. The young Prince had already seen more than enough of those stone walls to last a lifetime, so looks like he would be spending quite an amount of time in the library. 
    As a small blessing it appeared that some of these essays were going to be a breeze such as stating the laws of diplomacy and find a historical example that showed the steps, or explaining how charm and etiquette can used in your favor. However quite a few of them would be a bit harder though such as how to properly slay a dragon, or recognizing the difference between the curse of living death and general curses. When on earth was he going to need to slay a dragon or need to know how to wake somebody from a hundred year nap. That wasn't his story, it was his parent's tale or those of other people. Not James Florian. 
    A deal is a deal however, no matter how ridiculous it seemed. Which is how James found himself searching the shelves of dusty books that made his nose itch, searching for the titles that matched the ones on the sheet. It was a tedious task because the library had to be filled with hundreds if not thousands of books, and the librarian was far too busy with her own nails rather than help him find what he needed quickly so he didn't waste any more time. However he couldn't help, but think that the longer he was in here, the longer it was before he had to confine himself to his dorm room and start working on stuff others handed in a long time ago. Now that was just a temporarily relief that he would regret later when he didn't have the work done. 
-------------------
    On his own James did manage to find quite a few of the books he needed. Granted he couldn't find them all, but later he would seek Grove's help on locating the last two books he needed. So deciding that he wanted to go back to his own dorm to crack open these dust magnets and get this foolish work done. Unfortunately he wouldn't quite make it that far...
    Unknown to him a lone hardcover book was shooting across the floor at his feet, and whoever shot it did not miss their mark. Normally the raven haired lad would have stumbled at most when this projectile hit him, but his center of gravity was off because of the books in his arms so a tumbling down to the floor the Prince went. With a small thump, James fell forward, from about the middle of his chest to all him below that point had landed hard on the floor. (Luckily he managed to break his fall before he face planted onto the tiles.) A small cloud of dust erupted from the books that had fallen from his grasp which made him cough rather loudly.
    Mortified that he had fallen down, the Prince quickly scrambled onto his feet and scanned to see if anyone had seen his klutz moment, and to his horror someone had. There was no mistaking that grin that was plastered on their face although they seemed to be absorbed in the notebook in front of them, what a great way to start off his school career, have some babbler mouth tell everyone the new kid tripped on the library's floor. With his cheeks a light shade of crimson, James hurried to gather his books and get out of here before the kid said something about his face plant. 
    However one of the books that he picked up off the ground was not his. It was far less dustier, and had a partially imprint of his shoe on the cover. As he looked around to see where the book had come from, he realized that the kid who was laughing at him must've been the source of the book landing on the other side of the room. It wasn't an accident that James had tripped. That kid did it on purpose, just for kicks, and by no means was James just going to let that fly.  If that kid embarrassed him, then by all means the prince was going to have to mortify him in return. Just not in the same manner, he was a prince after all.
    So after regaining his composure and putting on what he referred to as "his regal air," James placed his dusty books on a nearby table and picked up the light blue book that had become the stranger's weapon. He walked over to the kid and held the book out and said, "I believe this is yours." As he waited for the kid to reclaim the book, he slightly raised one eyebrow and said "Books are meant to lay down the arms of warring soldiers, not become weapons for your own foolish amusement." It was a trick he learned from his mother, instead of directly reprimand someone for their actions, you always made them feel stupid with your own response. It was an excellent trick in shutting someone's mouth, and he knew from personal experience. After all his own mother used it on him countless times. Hopefully it extended to immature students as well. 

[Cyrille LeFoux]

Cyrille thought about plastering his best innocent face on, but the kid had already seen him, so he didn’t bother hiding the amused grin; instead let it spread over his dark skin as James picked himself up and dusted himself off, sheepishly collecting his books. Cyrille had expected him to make a quick exit - he’d looked around like a scared rabbit after he first had recovered - but saw why James wasn’t running out of the door when he started walking towards him. He walked like a prince - and not one of those grew-up-as-a-pauper prince’s, either. He walked with that air of self-importance and egotistical charm that oozed from their fair-skinned pores.

So it was with no trace of guilt or apology that Cyrille accepted the book, deftly sliding it to himself as James set it down. “Oh, you found it.” He grinned, tone teasing and blunt. They both knew the truth, as would anyone who had been lurking about. “Yes, it’s mine.” The sidekick-student listened as James snapped out a reply, a blank, flat look telling the other boy quite loud and clearly what exactly he thought of his little impromptu speech. At the finish of it, Cyrille bared his teeth in somethign that might generously be called a grin. “Oh, really?”

Cyrille snorted. “Please. You think I don’t know anything about books, or armies?” Being strong-armed into an army was always a hovering threat in his world; what with the castle so close to their little town, they would doubtless be the first ones sent out if anything threatened - or was suspected to threaten - King Adam or Queen Belle. “Books are the plaything of the bored and well-to-do, and armies march on their stomachs as much as their feet. You think the queen cares if we’ve finished our homework, or that book we were reading?” He snorted, openly derisive. He slapped one hand onto the blue book cover. “I don’t think you know as much you think you do.”

[James Florian]

    James was surprised when the kid didn't even bother to try and deny the fact that they were responsible for the mistreatment of the book. In fact they seemed to be proud of what he had done. (After if you were ashamed of your actions, you wouldn't be grinning ear to ear like the student in front of him.) Which immediately gave him the clues he needed to realize that the Prince was not talking to someone who the school would define as 'good.' Instead James was reprimanding a villain.

    After thinking for a moment though and remembering how they acted earlier, James changed his assumption of who they were. No they weren't a villain. After all what villain wouldn't want to take credit for their handiwork? Cyrille had initially tried to hide the fact that he was the one to slide the book across the ground, instead of leaning back with a sneer on their face, ready to make a joke as soon as the Prince fell to the floor. Also even James knew that a villain wouldn't be caught dead in a library like this one. They would have other goonies to do their schoolwork for them. Both of these lead James to believe that he was not dealing with a villain, but instead this kid was merely a villain's side kick. 

    Now armed with this information, James stayed silent as they reclaimed their book. They both knew the truth and he was not about to give them the satisfaction of pretending it was just a lost book, instead of a spiteful prank that was probably going to leave the Prince sore for a few days. He only glared at them and their so called 'smile.' 

    "Why, yes really. Do you not realize how many conflicts have been prevented by those who know and understand how the world works through reading about it?" James said in an annoyed tone. Granted it didn't appear that Cyrille had grown up in a household of leadership -they were a sidekick after all,- but surely they must have heard of a riot being subdued, or and uprising being quelled through the means of logic and reasoning. How many wars did his own family prevent through the means of alliances or using their land as a place for signing treaties? At least a dozen different times in the Prince's seventeen years.

    "Well I wasn't the one who used one for a prank." He said in response to the question of whether or not they knew anything about books or armies. He didn't touch the second topic because James knew because of the fact that Cyrille was a villain's sidekick, he obviously didn't really know that much. Or at least in comparison to James, after all he was trained in battle strategy and knew the structure of his kingdoms army inside and out. Who knew maybe one day he would need the skills he learned as ruling sovereign. As for Cyrille's next statement the prince merely rolled his eyes and said, "I'm not sure about wherever you came from, but rest assured where I come from books are not merely playthings. They are used to expand the horizons of my people, influence hopes and dreams, not to mention influences our economy in a positive way. Now I'm sorry if you grew up in a land where food wasn't as plentiful as other places, but I can promise you this. The Queen of both where I come from and the one who funded this library do care that you learn from the past's mistakes and lose your ignorance about mankind's greatest invention, instead of shoving it around like a child's toy."

    He had no idea that the Queen that had donated this library and the one from where Cyrille had grown up was one and the same. James only knew that this kid obviously didn't care about the opportunity in front of him. Okay so maybe books weren't easily obtainable where he came from. So why not take advantage of the vast library filled with at least a thousand books around him. Why didn't take the chance to learn what he would need in his life that the classes didn't offer. No, instead they had to be a sniveling brat, groveling and griping about how they didn't get access to books when they were in the middle of the largest library the Prince had ever seen!

    "At least I know that I know more than you do." James said as he then took one of the books off of his pile and placed on the table between the two of them before continuing, "and it's because of that plaything right there."

[Cyrille LeFoux]

It would be a suicidally stupid move to refute James' point with 'yeah, because my dad was part of one that failed', so Cyrille let that comment slide. The villagers being illiterate hadn't been reason for the infamous mob, but it certainly hadn't helped out the Queen...although she and then-Prince Adam had won, but Cyrille wouldn't be admitting that either. If he hadn't been almost sure of his thoughts before, Cyrille would have known for certain that James was cut from a Good Prince cloth; he even talked with the smug suriety of one of them. Cyrille sneered, resisting the urge to punch the fair-haired Florian in his mouth.

Just barely keeping the urge down - getting into a fight meant definitely drawing attention to himself, and there was no certainty he would win, anyway - Cyrille huffed out a taunting laugh. "'I wasn't the one who used it for a prank!'" He mocked, sneering at James. "Calm down, teachers' pet, it was just a little tumble." James, of course, had more to say - and didn't the other guy ever run out of words? Whoever his parents were, they had to be as chatty as he was to get a word in edge-wise! His own father wasn't nearly so bad, nor the few friends he'd made back in his world; of course, a lot of the princesses at Seacombe had the tendency to ramble, but you got used to it after a while. They just sounded like a bunch of angel-voiced hens in the background.

Cyrille stiffened when James mentioned the Queen who had built that library. As if Cyrille wasn't acutely aware of that fact very time he walked into the room; as if he didn't think about the massive irony of attending a school helped along by the woman his own father had once tried to storng-arm into a marriage. As if he took some kind of pervese pleasure in not using the books -- it made Cyrille's blood boil. Snatching up the book James had set down, Cyrille stood up and hurled it towards the closest window. If it hit any of them, Cyrille was fairly certain he'd thrown the heavy book hard enough to break the glass; if it didn't hit anything, it would probably echo pretty loudly in the high-ceiling'ed rooms anyway.

Still, Cyrille didn't feel too awful about using the violent distraction to his advantage, swinging one bony fist towards James' jaw.

[James Florian]

    It didn't pass the Prince's attention that Cyrille stayed oddly silently after his comment about the correlation between literacy and the number of conflicts. Perhaps this was a sign that this fool was finally starting to see common sense. Hopefully it was, James' patience was beginning to run thin. After all he had far better things to do than arguing over whether or not a book was meant to be read or if it was justified to fling it across the floor. Especially since the both of them already knew the answer. 

    However it looked like they were just thinking of a comeback and a rather poor one at that. "Be careful of who you mock, I'd hate to see someone such as yourself make enemies in high places." James warned, and he didn't really bother to hide the bitterness in his voice, after all he had nothing to lose here. He knew he had already won, at least he was able to back up his points with evidence unlike Cryille who just revealed his thoughts on a whim with no proof to back it up. The Prince thought for a moment before continuing, "You know for someone who complains so much about not having access to books, you don't take advantage of what's around you. After all this room is by far the largest library I have ever been in, and let me tell you, I've been in quite a number of book rooms throughout my life." Now James knew he had trapped Cyrille in his own words, after all how was he going to worm his way out of this one? Cyrille was in a library surrounding by books, which he had made clear he hadn't been around back home, but instead of making the best of the situation he had acted like a child. Now that had to be a clear cut case of hypocrisy. 

    However James nearly jumped out of his skin when suddenly, and without warning, Cyrille jumped up and chucked the book on the table towards the window. It hit it's target with an earth shattering crash. He saw the splinters of the clear material cascade to the grass below and James prayed that there had been no one walking by. The prince looked at the villain's sidekick with a shocked expression and a tone to match he said, "What the hell was that for!?" 

    The Prince then moved towards the now shattered window, but he never made it that far. He had barely taken a step when he felt something hard hit his face. He stumbled backwards upon the impact, and on instinct he cupped his hands around his jaw, one covering his cheek, the other covering his mouth. James could taste the bitter, metallic tang of iron fill his mouth, and he winced from the pain that was shooting from where he was hit to all over his skull. What had hit him? James cracked one of his eyes open and knew instantly what had happened, that Cyrille kid had punched him. No one had ever raised a hand against the seventeen year old in his life. Never. They were always fearful of the consequences if they happened to be that pissed off with the royal. Yet this kid wasn't, in fact it looked like they didn't give a damn that they had just struck not only a prince, but the next in line, a crime which back home would end with this kid rotting in a jail cell. 

    This had to be the final straw. First there was the book "dropped" onto the floor, then the snarky attitude, and now this. James had enough of this sophomoric sidekick. It was clear by now that Cyrille wasn't affected by words, but the raven haired lad still needed to act in a princely manner, he needed to represent the crown, turn the other cheek, and - you know what. Screw it. Underneath all the titles and formalities, James was a guy and there was only one rule that came into effect whenever a guy was punched. Hit 'em harder. 

    That's exactly what the Prince did. 

    James removed his hands from his face, clenched his fists so tightly that the knuckles turned a ghostly white, and launched himself at Cyrille. Who knew if Snow White's son actually had it in him to throw a couple of punches? Maybe he would just end up looking like a fool hitting the books instead of his target. Or perhaps he would make contact with Lefou's son. However James knew one thing for certain, it was going to feel amazing to get rid of all the stress and frustration that had been effecting him over the last few days. So what if he got a couple of bruises because of it? The more battle scars, the better. At least it'll prove he did something when he was younger instead of just backing down. 

[Cyrille LeFoux]

Oh, and now he was mocking his lower status? Cyrille felt his temper flare again, brighter this time, and it gave him the needed spur on to squash the feeling of regret and guilt when he punched the other teenager. Of course, James doing the unexpected and fighting back also helped; Cyrille had little time to duck backwards, he was so surprised. He knew the other boy had landed a couple of good shots; he could feel his cheekbone starting to swell already. Ugh, bony knuckles - he'd have to find something cold to put on it later... after he kicked the princeling's ass, of course. See how well the boy fought when he'd been kicked off his high horse!

"That--" Cyrille grunted, recovering from his surprise and aiming another, short but strong punch at James' ribs, "-- was for insulting me! I know I'm not a spoiled prince like you, but I have pride!" He snarled, moving to the right - around the closer end of the table he'd originally been sitting at, aiming to get closer. With the table between them, Cyrille knew neither of them could make a clear win - not without getting blood on the books, and he really didn't want to pay for them. It would probably cost more than his fathers' house, even if they sold the horse, too. Once he had rounded the corner and had room - not without another book being knocked to the floor in process of two sets of flailing limbs aiming at each other - Cyrille backed up a little, widening his stance.

He didn't know how to fight, or duel, or whatever it was that prince's did. Cyrille was a student of fighting in the woods with other boys, and the occasional brawl when he'd been at the town's only pub; he was very far from trained, although he had good aim with a shotgun. Still, he was pretty certain that James wasn't exactly a big fighter, either; most people Cyrille knew who fought a lot wouldn't have reasoned with him as their first reaction - they would have loosened his teeth with their fist. "Now come on, show me what you got - or are you too much of a coward to face me, 'hero'?" Cyrille sneered his challenge, adrenaline making him courageous. If they had been anywhere else on campus, he probably would have been long gone, but in the Rose Library... There was a history. One James couldn't possibly know about, but that Cyrille was all-too aware of. His side lost. His family lost. Always! He could change that, throw it in the royals' faces, if only from a distance.

[James Florian]

    A simple prank had now become a full out brawl. Now what were the odds of that happening at a school designed to teach the most upstanding behavior, not to mention one of the students that was swinging his fists was the heir apparent to his homeland's throne nevertheless. This had to be an once in a lifetime occurrence, it was a pity that the only witnesses to the fight that broke out among the tomes were the ones aiming to cause as much damage as they possibly could. Or least that's what they believed, unbeknownst to them, they were creating quite a ruckus and skin on skin echoed throughout the building quite easily.  

    However Prince James was not concerned about that in the slightest of way, no instead the most primitive parts of his brain had taken over the seventeen year old's mind and was leading all of his moves in this sick and twisted game. As a witness though his reaction wasn't altogether unexpected. He had been raised to believe that he was above being hit due to his status back home, as well retreat or giving in being shameful. So those two major factors is what influenced James' decision to jump into the fray and hit back. However James might have backed up a bit and put a bit of sense in his actions, because the adrenaline rush he had felt was fading fast, if it hadn't been for Cyrille's words as he landed a particularly powerful jab into the royal's side. 

    He had claimed that the Prince had no pride, or at least he implied it, as well as called him spoiled and it made James see red. "How dare you, you pathetic creature." James growled before aiming once more for the teens stomach as well. Granted James was only able to jump right back into fighting mode after receiving such a critical hit  was the violent hormones flowing through his system, numbing his brain and powering his fists. He couldn't even feel the excruciating pain he was bound to be in after all this was done and he was the winner. Right now it was just a dull sensation that the prince couldn't exactly pinpoint during all the action that was occurring. He threw a few more with no direct target, just as long as it hit skin, James would be okay with it. After all this to him was retribution for this sidekick trying to make a fool of him. No one made a fool out of a future king. Regardless of how cocky someone was, even the dimmest of light bulbs knew the repercussions of such an action against someone of his rank. 

    It appeared that Cyrille's was never even lit. 

    What really set James off though was the next brilliant phrase to leave his opponent's mouth. "You take that back! You filthy scum! You little street urchin!" James screamed as he launched another round of assaults on the Frenchman. "I am not a coward! You disgusting little pig! Take it back!" He continued to yell. Granted he had no idea on whether or not any of his blows were actually hitting his target who had now conveniently moved away from the table so they would have a bigger berth to hit each other and James was using it to his advantage. The raven haired lad's hair was sticky with sweat and blood dribbled down his chin, and was splattered in little droplets on his shirt. Being called a coward had brought up a monster in the prince, the one that wouldn't think twice about being abusive and cruel, and honestly James had never seen it before. He didn't know it even existed, but that one word had drug it out and bathed it in the sunlight that was streaming in from the missing window panel. Maybe it was that being called a coward went against all he had ever been told, and his mind didn't want to even entertain the idea. Or perhaps it was mostly the anger built up in him. Regardless adrenaline was no longer needed, James was going on anger alone. He had proved he was not a coward. 

    Who knew how long the two of them would've been there beating the living crud out of each other, James felt like he could've gone for days at least, it seemed like he had enough anger to fuel him that long. However neither of them would ever know, because at that very moment, something quite roughly pulled James away from his opponent. Not knowing what it was, he fought, kicked, and screamed insults, half at whatever had pulled him away from the brawl the other towards the kid who too was now being held back by what appeared to be the security guards of Seacombe Halpworth. "Unhand me this instant! Get off me, you buffoons!" He yelled as he tried to escape their grip to show the kid just who exactly was the coward here, but they held a vice like grip on the prince. It must've been a strange sight. A bloody and battered kid putting up one hell of a fight against two burly men who were clearly struggling to subdue the Prince. 

    However James was forced to calm down when a needle was stuck in his arm and a tranquilizer was pumped into his system that forced his muscles to go slack. The Prince was done fighting. It took all of concentration to glare at the security people when they asked what was going on here, that several students who were also in the library as well as the librarian herself had pressed the emergency buttons scattered throughout the building. Since the tranquilizer had been a weaker type, just enough to calm him down, James growled slowly and carefully "I'm...not...a...coward."

{{So we move on to their detention next?}}