clayforthedevil | Needlessly Dramatic Bodyswap!

Right, a second ago Bahorel was definitely not out walking Feuilly and/or Harry's dogs, but now apparently he is.

...in Feuilly's body, apparently.

There's a brief moment of confusion with the dogs and issues of legs and balance, a while spent cheerfully rolling around on the ground and convincing the dogs that he is, while not Feuilly, someone they know. After that there's some time spent running, tumbling, and trying out the basic limits of his current body in general.

When he's figured that out well enough, he calls the Hector and Lady and saunters back toward the Bar, where he spots Kazul's sign.

... This body isn't used to sauntering. Well, it's going to have to get used to it, because Bahorel apparently isn't going into another one for a couple of days.

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The Bahorel that comes shuffling uncomfortably into the bar later, is dressed in the most understated clothes available in his closet, and a murderous expression.

A fiercely indignant expression?

His hair seems to have gotten itself stuck up in points, moreso than usual, and the points are definitely indignant.

As soon as he spots himself, he stalks over. "--Are you--are you always naked in your room?"

The Bahorel who's actually Bahorel is currently sprawled upside down over the back of a chair, spoiling Feuilly's dogs with scraps from dinner. He answers Feuilly without pulling himself upright, "Of course not. I wear an apron when I cook."

--And other clothes sometimes! But it's his room, after all.

" Believe me, if I'd known we were to change residences, I would have outfitted you properly before leaving." Feuilly couldn't totally dress badly with anything in Bahorel's wardrobe, but it's a blatant waste of aesthetic potential, all the same.

Bahorel himself is, at the moment, rather less dressed than Feuilly might normally be, waistcoat and cravat off to the side, shirt belted loosely with a sash. It's all still well within the decency guidelines for Milliways, if a bit risque for their own era.

What? The dogs have their paws all muddy, and they've been climbing on him. He's being thoughtful! You're welcome, Feuilly.

He thrusts his hands into his hair and pulls. "And meanwhile, you've done your best to--to--" Ugh. He's lounging around practically half-naked, in Feuilly's body.

Right. Feuilly sits down cautiously (banging a knee in the process, these legs are too long) and takes a deep breath in Bahorel's lungs. "The dogs don't seem to notice any difference. They weren't any help when Harry was a football player, either."

Bahorel gives Feuilly an almost sincerely reproachful look. " They notice. They were very confused when it first happened. But now they know it's me, and I'm feeding them. Call them over, or you feed them--" he gestures to the plate "-- you'll see."

Don't malign the dogs, Feuilly. It's not their fault.

There's an oddly plaintive note to Feuilly-Bahorel's voice as he calls Hector over. But the old hound comes, even without the lure of food, and Feuilly hugs him and rubs his ears. "So what is all this? More Halloween strangeness? Some new business?"

....he really is short, isn't he. It's hard not to think it, looking over at his own body.

Bahorel pulls himself into a sitting position with a wince and curse. He waves at the notice on the board. " Some sort of spell from the dragon's forest. It'll wear off in two or three days. Until then--" he shrugs, and grins indecently at his own usual body. "Have fun with it."

Cue the brief strangled noise of a Feuilly who is not having fun with Bahorel's body.

Then the narrowed eyes.

"......All right. I will. I might start with shaving."

Oh, really.

"And I've always wanted to try my hand at tattooing." Just try it, Feuilly.

"Anyway, I don't know what you're so upset about. You have a body in excellent working order, there, and what are you and Harry even doing with this one? --No, don't answer, what a man does with his own body and his companion of choice is his own business, but really--" he gestures at the location of a bruise that, in his considerable experience, feels like it might be cracked ribs " --how have you managed to avoid Joly? I was starting to think this sort of thing was a summoning spell for him."

Feuilly looks relieved at the clarification. "Oh, that--it's just from practice. I wasn't paying attention. It's not anything I'd need Joly for." This isn't machismo, it's just--it's not something that would keep him from work, so he hasn't thought to see anyone.

He bends down and slips Hector and Lady something from Bahorel's plate. Good dogs. "Have you seen anyone else? Enjolras? Combeferre?"

"No one else yet--no fear, you haven't been perjured." So far. " Don't know how far this might reach, or what sort of sense it's using-- I was in my room and you were outside, so it seems to have a pretty good range. I expect it's caught a few of them."

He shakes his head impatiently at first. "I didn't mean I was worried about--I was worried that they might have been, been affected. You haven't tried to get in touch?"

Feuilly finds he doesn't like the thought of someone else in Enjolras's body. Then his mind turns to the variety of people in Milliways, the variety of people who might now be anywhere--might have Enjolras's face, might be in Combeferre's room or Courfeyrac's, might be going through Joly's papers.

A glowering frown on Bahorel's face looks a good bit more alarming than it does on Feuilly's.

Edited Date: 2015-11-08 02:53 pm (UTC)

Bahorel snorts, but he's not displeased. It's a good frown! "You've had as much chance to reach them as I have.--They're all grown men, Feuilly. And they've been in Milliways as long or longer than we have." Well, except Jehan. But Jehan's hardly going to be thrown into turmoil over something like this. "They'll be all right. -But here--" He tosses Feuilly's waistcoat over. " You have your watch, right? I don't suppose you found mine."

Edited Date: 2015-11-08 03:12 pm (UTC)

He doesn't quite make the catch, and has to snag his waistcoat off the corner of the table. Dammit. "--No. I guess I should have taken the opportunity to rifle through all your drawers, but--no."

So. many. jokes. to make. But Bahorel's curious about their friends too, so he just says "It's on the bonsai tree anyway. --Try Jehan. He won't ask tiresome questions."

"Why is it--" No, never mind. Feuilly shrugs and fiddles with the watch until he gets an answer.

It's not a very productive conversation. There's a bit of Oh--um--Prouvaire, is that you? I'm sorry to bother you--um--no--it's not Bahorel, that is, yes it is but--here let me--, and then he worldlessly thrusts the watch at Bahorel. "You talk to him. He's saying something about--Vesuvius?"

Edited Date: 2015-11-08 06:51 pm (UTC)

Bahorel is cracking up, but he manages to take the watch and master his voice enough for a conversation. "Jehan! -- No, no, that's Feuilly you were just talking to, I should have warned him. We're borrowing each others' outfits for a bit, you'll see if we run into you. Listen, are you still entirely yourself? Only there's a spell going around.--Like Halloween, right. Right,then! Tell any of the others if you see them."

He raises an eyebrow for a moment, then laughs and closes the watch. "--And he's off. But everything's fine on his side."

Feuilly shakes his head and raises his eyebrows, but he looks somewhat happier for the message having gone through. "--So. Um. I--probably won't really shave your beard."

Probably.

Bahorel laughs (and he's going to have to get used to that, the way this body wants to pace it) . "Backing down from the challenge?" He shakes his head and waves it off. "Go sparring, get yourself drunk, whatever. You're not likely to do anything to it I've not done before, and if you do then I salute you. We're like this for a few days; may as well enjoy it." This time he says it without the Implications. He waves broadly; go on, go on. "I trust you, you have my entire permission; don't worry about it." If Feuilly was really going to do anything horrible to him, there have been ample opportunities.

"And I probably won't practice tattoos."

...Probably.

Feuilly scrubs his hands through his hair, resulting in further tuftiness, but it seems to help him find a rueful smile. "If you do practice tattoos, there's some excellent books in my room to look for patterns. Just--don't break too many of my bones, right?"

He bites his lip, then reaches over and nudges Bahorel's arm. (His arm.) "At least it's you. It could be someone I don't trust."

Bahorel reaches back to press Feuilly's--his--...well, arm. Apparently. How old was he when he was last this small? 11? "I'm not the one breaking your bones--" but he's laughing again, at Feuilly's hair, this time. His hair. "--Fair warning, you do that with my hair and you'll end up looking like a wild man. Which may be the style you're trying to set, but--ah!" Right.

"Come on, let's grab clothes for the next few days while we're both here."

"Oh--right--clothes. You're not going to tailor a new set? Everything I own speaks of hard work--or petit-bourgeois respectability."

Sorry, Bahorel. You'll just have to deal with it.

"Horrors! --You're right, I'll just take in some of my own things. Spare us both the confusion."

Actually, he's getting ideas about that. None of his suits will fit, not by acres, but he has other outfits...hmm.

It's a project! He tosses the last scraps of his breakfast to the dogs, and bounces out of the chair.