fandomtownies | Street corner, Monday afternoon.

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Street corner, Monday afternoon.

Right, so Brooke was clearly out of her mind this morning, and the list of suggestions for catching a husband were deeply stupid, but...it was for a grade.

And Paris was verrrrrry serious about her grades, which was why you would find her on this particular corner. Crying. Just like #40 told her to.

Granted it said in a corner rather than on one, but she thought this would get her noticed by more people in a way that wasn't public drowning attempts in November (#118, she was judging you so hard).

If this failed, she supposed she could always go to Yale (#111), right? God, this was dumb.

[OOC: So very open.]

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Prompto had seriously considered never leaving his room again after last weekend, buuuuuut....he was an antisocial loser as a kid and barely talked to anyone, and he felt...pretty confident that no one would have recognized him anyway. So he could probably shove it to the back of his mind and completely forget about it.

All the food he'd eaten, however....not so much. And there had been soooooo much food. So once his classes were done, he sucked it up and went for a much needed jog around the island, appreciating the brisk air, the familiar sights...

...and Paris on the street corner crying?

Yeah, he had to jog backwards after passing her to see what was up with all that.

"Hey," he asked, sounding concerned as he jogged in place in front of her, "you okay?"

Edited 2018-11-19 21:56 (UTC)

"I didn't actually think that would work," Paris said, wiping her eyes. "Hi!"

Which was...no where near the realm of a response Prompto had been expected, so now he felt even more confused, though he didn't let it flag his steps. "Hi?" he offered back. "Didn't think what would work? Is everything alright?"

"I have a class where we got a list of 129 things that were supposed to snag us a husband. Number 40 was standing around crying," Paris explained. "I didn't think it would work!"

"Husband?"

Good job, Prompto. You managed to pretty much trip over your own feet just then while jogging in place.

"Well, it didn't! Err, I mean, I don't know they do marriage where you're from, but it's definitely shouldn't be by asking someone crying if they're okay!"

Prompto had a few issues with that concept, yes.

"What the hell class is that for, anyway?"

Should he be terrified? Why did he suddenly feel terrified?

"Oh, we're not getting married," Paris said. "I'm not a crazy person. After meeting you, to keep you around I'm supposed to--" she consulted her list, "send your mother a birthday card and learn how to scale a fish." She made a face. "Do you even fish?"

"Whaaaat?" asked Prompto, who was no less confused now than he was two seconds ago, but at least this confusion came with more than a little bit of relief for that fact that just being a nice person hadn't inadvertently gotten him slapped right into wedlock. And he had to laugh, but it was the nervous laugh of a man who was clearly so, so lost. "No. No, I don't. I mean, my best friend does, he's, like, psycho about fishing, but you can't marry him, either, he doesn't even go here."

And, a better question: "How is sending my mom a birthday card supposed to help keep me around?"

Even better better question, which he wasn't sure if he should ask or not: why would she want to keep him around anyway?

For not a crazy person, this all sounded pretty crazy, Paris, just sayin'.

Edited 2018-11-20 01:49 (UTC)

"I have no idea," Paris said, looking frustrated. "This is a throw-back to a time where women were apparently supposed to just throw themselves at every man who needed a button sewed back on or something."

She gave Prompto a look. "I can't sew buttons, just in case you were going to ask."

He probably wasn't going to ask, Paris.

"I...wasn't..." Did he even have any buttons? Prompto was kind of more of a zippers and snaps kind of guy, anyway. He stopped himself with another grunt of a confused laugh, shaking his head and just looking at Paris in bewilderment. "I...I'm sorry, what is this class again? Why do all these men need their buttons sewed on?"

....Because not everyone had an Ignis, Prompto, duuuuuh.

"Maybe there's an equally stupid list of 129 ways to find a wife and button tearing is on it?" Paris suggested.

"One hundred. Twenty nine," Prompto repeated. "There are 129 of these...gems??"

Now that it was becoming clear that Paris really wasn't intent on just marrying the first dude who asked about her crying, he was almost a little intrigued.

Morbidly curious might be a bit more accurate.

"...What's another good one?" he ventured, almost a little frightened of what awaited him on the other end of that question.

Edited 2018-11-20 02:30 (UTC)

"Well, it really reads like there are 10 of these gems and 119 that the writer pulled straight out of their ass," Paris said. "Let's see...'wear a Band-aid. People always ask what happened.''Get a sunburn.' 'Stow away on a battleship.'"

"What?" Prompto was going to be saying that a lot in this conversation, he could tell. "No. Nuh-uh. I mean, I kind of like that last one, that last one could be pretty bad-ass, but a sunburn?"

If sunburns got you husbands, Prompto would be FULL UP with them.

"Let me see that list," he held out a hand. "I don't believe that you're not just pulling them out of your ass."

Paris handed over the list. "Read it and weep with laughter."

Prompto was not prepared for this. He knew it was coming, yet he could never truly be prepared.

"Wow," he said, blinking at the paper, wondering if his bad eyesight had stuck around after the weekend, because there was no way he was really reading this words.

"Woooow."

Oh, man, and it kept going.

"Burn it," Prompto told Paris once he managed to make it through the whole thing and handed it back to her. "This list...it's too powerful. How could any man possibly resist husbanding up in the face of every woman who nearly dies because she didn't tell him about the fact that she's allergic to something?

"Also, can we talk about how 'wear heels' and 'unless he's short' should not even count as two separate tips?"

Edited 2018-11-20 03:12 (UTC)

"And learning how to make toupees just to find yourself a non-picky bald guy seems like waaaay too much effort," Paris said, making a face at the list. "I'm hoping the entire class was being punked and there's a camera crew and Gloria Steinem killing herself laughing somewhere?"

"I dunno," Prompto tilted his head thoughtfully, "how's the toupee business, generally? Could help get that 'Make a lot of money' one, which helps get that comfortable, kills, like, three birds with one stone.

"Although," he added after a beat, "that convertable one's not bad. Convertables are pretty sick. Good luck keeping your toupee on for it, though."

And all this hair talk made him subconsciously try to make sure his was keeping nice and swoopy. Hopefully, the power of his perfect JPop Boy Band hair wouldn't be failing him anytime soon.

Edited 2018-11-20 03:22 (UTC)

"It doesn't provide tips on the etiquette of the toupee falling off, does it?" Paris said.

She smirked slightly. "Your hair is fine. Definitely not a toupee."

Prompto snorted, trying to sound offended that she would even suggest it, but he was too busy preening to pull it off. "This is after a good forty minutes of jogging, too," he informed her, pointing to that carefully curated swoop. "This is hair toupees couldn't even dream of touching!

"And it's probably just, 'pretend he totally never lost his hair and fawn over how it great it looks."

Which....sounded exactly like what Paris was doing, but no! He KNEW it looked good, this wasn't even remotely the same thing!

"I would never even dream of making a toupee to come close to the amazingness of your hair that you definitely don't spend an hour on every morning," Paris said dryly.

She thought it only took an hour? NICE.

So help him, evenas dry as that was, he was beaming like an idiot.

"If you ever did, though," Prompto offered, "man, I'm telling you. Boom. Non-picky bald husband like," he snapped his fingers, "that!"

"Well, if my Harvard application is rejected, it's nice to know I have a back-up plan," Paris said dryly.

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Street corner, Monday afternoon.

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