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Welcome, readers! I'll get to the point - A Da Vinci Smile is a short story that takes place in the same universe as my other story, The Long Walk. The events occur three years before the main story, and provide an insight into Joshua Cook's character.
The story originated as a response to a writing prompt from The Weekly Prompt thread, which I've spun out into a longer narrative. I don't make any claims to greatness here - it's an idea that was just a bit too vivid in my head not to write. Oh, and all the translation is my work. I don't do Google Translate
Contents
I - Dancing
II - Doubting
III - Denying
Without further ado ...
I - Dancing
Why did I ever agree to do this?
Josh scowled at the dance tutor, who was beginning to get on his nerves. The community centre's main hall was cold and smelled faintly of committees. It was the sort of place that had forgotten armies of rickety plastic chairs billeted somewhere on the premises, probably in a room with painted-shut windows. Today, the hall's creaky floorboards served as a dance floor.
“Come on, young man!” the tutor trilled at him. “It's impolite to keep a girl waiting, you know!”
Josh polished his glasses and took no notice. They didn't need polishing, but there was no point in ignoring the ghastly woman unless she knew he was ignoring her. She probably thought she was being flirtatious, in a wholesome, family-friendly sort of way.
I wish she'd stop winking at all the men.
It was all Aunt Cassie's fault, damn her. His aunt had always been something of a social climber. Not content by any means to remain working-class Cassandra Cook, Aunt Cassie had spent the greater part of her young adulthood pretending to be inoffensively well-off. Finally she'd snagged a fiancé who was just that, eliminating the need for pretence once and for all.
Of course, it wouldn't do for Cassandra Whitford, née Cook, to be seen dancing on a scuffed linoleum dance floor. No, Aunt Cassie had decreed that the dancing would be ballroom, and that meant dancing lessons for the whole Cook side of the family. Damn her. Josh hated dancing. Nothing in all the world made him feel as self-conscious and aware of his terribly unimpressive body as dancing.
The tutor was starting to partner everyone up, matching spouses to spouses, brothers to sisters, cousins to cousins. She bulldozed over resistance, especially from the younger members of the sprawling Cook clan. Josh was starting to wonder if he could get away with sloping off during the confusion when a hand clapped him roughly on the shoulder.
“Best move quick Joshy, else the good ones will be taken.”
“Get off, Grey,” Josh said, shoving his cousin's hand from his shoulder. “You can't possibly be enjoying this.”
“Not as much as I'll enjoy unwrapping a bridesmaid,” Graham replied with a grin. “Two of them aren't related to us. What d'you say, one for you, one for me?”
“Not bloody likely.” Graham was still, ironically, the closest of Josh's cousins. They had grown up as brothers, of sorts, each the only son of their respective families. And like so many brothers, they didn't have all that much in common. Josh remained bookish and nerdy, while Graham was sociable and outgoing. Somewhere along the line he had discovered girls – girls, in turn, seemed to like Graham. It was an excellent combination for him, but an annoying one for Josh. For some reason Graham seemed to think that Josh should – and moreover, could - emulate his college horndog persona.
“Suit yourself, dude. I'm dancing with Natalie,” Graham said, and went off in search of his next target.
Right, time to cheese it. Josh studied the sight lines in the hall for a moment, before smoothly putting a knot of relatives between himself and his dad. Using them as cover he circled round towards the entrance -
“Nice try, young man. Your father mentioned you might try and run.”
Damnit, Dad. A little too late it occurred to Josh that sixteen years of teaching dance to often reluctant classes might have also taught the ghastly woman a few other things. Like how to spot a runner, for example. As she gave him an irritatingly shrewd, triumphant smile Josh knew he was beaten.
“Alright,” he sighed, “who's my partner then?”
“I hope you're good at apologies,” she said with an oddly sly look. “You've kept her waiting. Adele! I've captured him for you, darling.”
Who the hell is Adele? Josh found himself thinking as he was unceremoniously marched back towards the middle of the hall to find himself face-to-face with a girl he didn't recognise. She seemed to be about his own age, perhaps a little shorter, dressed in jeans and a sleeveless white turtleneck. She wore her outfit well, with a figure that tended towards the curvaceous rather than the petite. Oh my. She's cute, Josh thought involuntarily. Adele had large, blue eyes and wore an enigmatic smile beneath a head of loose chestnut ringlets.
“Bonsoir. Adèle Chastain,” she said, holding her hand out. Her voice was flavoured with a soft Kalosian accent. She sounds like the way that fine whisky tastes.
“Er … enchanté, Adele. I mean Adèle. Je m'appelle Cook, Joshua Cook,” he said.
“Tu parles kalossais?”
“Je ne parle pas très bien kalossais. Je seulement étudie le kalossais à l'université.”
“Oh, rubbish!” she giggled. “You speak very well.”
Adèle moved a little closer; Josh automatically stepped back. “Your pronunciation is good, but your accent is so Johto. How is my accent?”
Adorable. “It's, um, it's good. So, er, what brings you here?”
“My mother went to university with Aunt Cass. Well, your true aunt, my uh … adopted aunt. I cannot waltz, so I have been sent here,” Adèle took another step closer. Josh could pick up the smell of the conditioner in her hair – and beneath that, the not-unpleasant scent of her body. He stepped back again, wishing he'd been born with better eyesight and a worse sense of smell. Adèle studied him with her large, blue eyes, that strange smile lingering on her face.
“Joshua, stop retreating,” she said in an amused tone. “If you're going to learn to dance, you're going to have to be used to me being close.”
Josh was starting to feel a bit at sea. He wasn't used to being confronted by pretty foreign girls, pretty foreign girls who smelled of … of cherry blossom and something else he couldn't quite identify. Thankfully he was saved from having to think of a sensible response by the start of the lesson.
“Ladies, gentlemen, now that we're all partnered up!” the tutor twittered. “The waltz starts with the basic ballroom hold. Gentlemen, place your right hand just on your partner's back – see, right there on her shoulder blade – and take her right hand in your left ...”
Ballroom dancing turned out to be both difficult and boring. The steps were actually quite simple. It seemed that most movement happened on the beat. What Josh soon realised, however, was that his feet didn't care what his head knew. They learned at their own depressing pace, taking their instructions from the muscle memory.
Josh wasn't sure whether dancing with Adèle was helping or not. There was something enjoyable about dancing with a cute girl, to be sure, but he wondered whether it wasn't also distracting. “Confiance, Joshua!” she kept telling him. “It's ok, you can lead me!” Still, he rather liked her attitude. Her 'confiances' felt like reassurance rather than mockery; she giggled when he twirled her round only to completely lose the beat. And when the damn lesson finally ended, and Josh decided for some reason to kiss her hand, she had the good grace not to laugh at the ridiculous gesture. Instead, she just dipped a graceful little bow.
“Until next time, sir,” she said as the lesson began to break up. Josh spotted Graham hovering nearby, trying to look nonchalant. Not now, Grey, this is not the time!
“You said that you're here by yourself right?” Josh said, trying to keep half an eye on Grey and look as though she had his undivided attention at the same time.
“Oui, c'est vrai.”
“I was just thinking … perhaps you'd like some company? Maybe meet for coffee or something?”
For a moment Josh felt sure that Adèle would politely decline. She smiled cryptically, and handed him her Pokégear. “Don't call me, I'll call you,” she told him. “Le café johto est vraiment terrible, mais la compagnie sera bien,” she pocketed her Pokégear with Josh's phone number saved to its memory. “Bonsoir, Joshua.”
Graham sidled up as soon as Adèle was out of earshot. “Dude, did you just ask her out?”
“No.”
“Yeah, so what do you call 'meeting for coffee'?”
“Grey, I was just being nice. She's alone in this bloody town, I thought she might want some company.”
“Uhuh, sure,” Graham said, unconvinced. “She fills out that sweater real nice … well, fair's fair, you got to her first.”
“Does it always have to be about the hook-up with you?”
“Josh. Listen to me for a sec, cos. There's nothing wrong with a hook-up if that's what she wants -”
“I'm well aware of that,” Josh snapped.
“- And you ought to try it. You're a shy guy, I'm not mocking you, that's just how y'are. But are you telling me you wouldn't want a handful of her fine, foreign tits?”
She has big, blue eyes. Big, blue eyes and an enigmatic smile. Truth be told, Josh wasn't really certain what he had been thinking when he'd – for want of a better term – asked Adèle out. It wasn't as a date, that he was certain of. Adèle Chastain was quite simply out of his league. Maybe, caught up in the moment, something about her blue eyes flicked off the common sense switch in his brain.
Josh realised that Grey was waiting for him to answer. “Yeah. Yeah, to be sure. Fine foreign tit.”
1.1 : Improved French language - assuré to confiance
1.2 : Josh is now building a longship, not a galley
1.2 : Josh is now building a longship, not a galley
- Moderate suggestive themes - infrequent mentions of sexual behaviour
Welcome, readers! I'll get to the point - A Da Vinci Smile is a short story that takes place in the same universe as my other story, The Long Walk. The events occur three years before the main story, and provide an insight into Joshua Cook's character.
The story originated as a response to a writing prompt from The Weekly Prompt thread, which I've spun out into a longer narrative. I don't make any claims to greatness here - it's an idea that was just a bit too vivid in my head not to write. Oh, and all the translation is my work. I don't do Google Translate
Contents
I - Dancing
II - Doubting
III - Denying
Without further ado ...
A Da Vinci Smile
(Version 1.2)
(Version 1.2)
I - Dancing
Why did I ever agree to do this?
Josh scowled at the dance tutor, who was beginning to get on his nerves. The community centre's main hall was cold and smelled faintly of committees. It was the sort of place that had forgotten armies of rickety plastic chairs billeted somewhere on the premises, probably in a room with painted-shut windows. Today, the hall's creaky floorboards served as a dance floor.
“Come on, young man!” the tutor trilled at him. “It's impolite to keep a girl waiting, you know!”
Josh polished his glasses and took no notice. They didn't need polishing, but there was no point in ignoring the ghastly woman unless she knew he was ignoring her. She probably thought she was being flirtatious, in a wholesome, family-friendly sort of way.
I wish she'd stop winking at all the men.
It was all Aunt Cassie's fault, damn her. His aunt had always been something of a social climber. Not content by any means to remain working-class Cassandra Cook, Aunt Cassie had spent the greater part of her young adulthood pretending to be inoffensively well-off. Finally she'd snagged a fiancé who was just that, eliminating the need for pretence once and for all.
Of course, it wouldn't do for Cassandra Whitford, née Cook, to be seen dancing on a scuffed linoleum dance floor. No, Aunt Cassie had decreed that the dancing would be ballroom, and that meant dancing lessons for the whole Cook side of the family. Damn her. Josh hated dancing. Nothing in all the world made him feel as self-conscious and aware of his terribly unimpressive body as dancing.
The tutor was starting to partner everyone up, matching spouses to spouses, brothers to sisters, cousins to cousins. She bulldozed over resistance, especially from the younger members of the sprawling Cook clan. Josh was starting to wonder if he could get away with sloping off during the confusion when a hand clapped him roughly on the shoulder.
“Best move quick Joshy, else the good ones will be taken.”
“Get off, Grey,” Josh said, shoving his cousin's hand from his shoulder. “You can't possibly be enjoying this.”
“Not as much as I'll enjoy unwrapping a bridesmaid,” Graham replied with a grin. “Two of them aren't related to us. What d'you say, one for you, one for me?”
“Not bloody likely.” Graham was still, ironically, the closest of Josh's cousins. They had grown up as brothers, of sorts, each the only son of their respective families. And like so many brothers, they didn't have all that much in common. Josh remained bookish and nerdy, while Graham was sociable and outgoing. Somewhere along the line he had discovered girls – girls, in turn, seemed to like Graham. It was an excellent combination for him, but an annoying one for Josh. For some reason Graham seemed to think that Josh should – and moreover, could - emulate his college horndog persona.
“Suit yourself, dude. I'm dancing with Natalie,” Graham said, and went off in search of his next target.
Right, time to cheese it. Josh studied the sight lines in the hall for a moment, before smoothly putting a knot of relatives between himself and his dad. Using them as cover he circled round towards the entrance -
“Nice try, young man. Your father mentioned you might try and run.”
Damnit, Dad. A little too late it occurred to Josh that sixteen years of teaching dance to often reluctant classes might have also taught the ghastly woman a few other things. Like how to spot a runner, for example. As she gave him an irritatingly shrewd, triumphant smile Josh knew he was beaten.
“Alright,” he sighed, “who's my partner then?”
“I hope you're good at apologies,” she said with an oddly sly look. “You've kept her waiting. Adele! I've captured him for you, darling.”
Who the hell is Adele? Josh found himself thinking as he was unceremoniously marched back towards the middle of the hall to find himself face-to-face with a girl he didn't recognise. She seemed to be about his own age, perhaps a little shorter, dressed in jeans and a sleeveless white turtleneck. She wore her outfit well, with a figure that tended towards the curvaceous rather than the petite. Oh my. She's cute, Josh thought involuntarily. Adele had large, blue eyes and wore an enigmatic smile beneath a head of loose chestnut ringlets.
“Bonsoir. Adèle Chastain,” she said, holding her hand out. Her voice was flavoured with a soft Kalosian accent. She sounds like the way that fine whisky tastes.
“Er … enchanté, Adele. I mean Adèle. Je m'appelle Cook, Joshua Cook,” he said.
“Tu parles kalossais?”
“Je ne parle pas très bien kalossais. Je seulement étudie le kalossais à l'université.”
“Oh, rubbish!” she giggled. “You speak very well.”
Adèle moved a little closer; Josh automatically stepped back. “Your pronunciation is good, but your accent is so Johto. How is my accent?”
Adorable. “It's, um, it's good. So, er, what brings you here?”
“My mother went to university with Aunt Cass. Well, your true aunt, my uh … adopted aunt. I cannot waltz, so I have been sent here,” Adèle took another step closer. Josh could pick up the smell of the conditioner in her hair – and beneath that, the not-unpleasant scent of her body. He stepped back again, wishing he'd been born with better eyesight and a worse sense of smell. Adèle studied him with her large, blue eyes, that strange smile lingering on her face.
“Joshua, stop retreating,” she said in an amused tone. “If you're going to learn to dance, you're going to have to be used to me being close.”
Josh was starting to feel a bit at sea. He wasn't used to being confronted by pretty foreign girls, pretty foreign girls who smelled of … of cherry blossom and something else he couldn't quite identify. Thankfully he was saved from having to think of a sensible response by the start of the lesson.
“Ladies, gentlemen, now that we're all partnered up!” the tutor twittered. “The waltz starts with the basic ballroom hold. Gentlemen, place your right hand just on your partner's back – see, right there on her shoulder blade – and take her right hand in your left ...”
*
Ballroom dancing turned out to be both difficult and boring. The steps were actually quite simple. It seemed that most movement happened on the beat. What Josh soon realised, however, was that his feet didn't care what his head knew. They learned at their own depressing pace, taking their instructions from the muscle memory.
Josh wasn't sure whether dancing with Adèle was helping or not. There was something enjoyable about dancing with a cute girl, to be sure, but he wondered whether it wasn't also distracting. “Confiance, Joshua!” she kept telling him. “It's ok, you can lead me!” Still, he rather liked her attitude. Her 'confiances' felt like reassurance rather than mockery; she giggled when he twirled her round only to completely lose the beat. And when the damn lesson finally ended, and Josh decided for some reason to kiss her hand, she had the good grace not to laugh at the ridiculous gesture. Instead, she just dipped a graceful little bow.
“Until next time, sir,” she said as the lesson began to break up. Josh spotted Graham hovering nearby, trying to look nonchalant. Not now, Grey, this is not the time!
“You said that you're here by yourself right?” Josh said, trying to keep half an eye on Grey and look as though she had his undivided attention at the same time.
“Oui, c'est vrai.”
“I was just thinking … perhaps you'd like some company? Maybe meet for coffee or something?”
For a moment Josh felt sure that Adèle would politely decline. She smiled cryptically, and handed him her Pokégear. “Don't call me, I'll call you,” she told him. “Le café johto est vraiment terrible, mais la compagnie sera bien,” she pocketed her Pokégear with Josh's phone number saved to its memory. “Bonsoir, Joshua.”
Graham sidled up as soon as Adèle was out of earshot. “Dude, did you just ask her out?”
“No.”
“Yeah, so what do you call 'meeting for coffee'?”
“Grey, I was just being nice. She's alone in this bloody town, I thought she might want some company.”
“Uhuh, sure,” Graham said, unconvinced. “She fills out that sweater real nice … well, fair's fair, you got to her first.”
“Does it always have to be about the hook-up with you?”
“Josh. Listen to me for a sec, cos. There's nothing wrong with a hook-up if that's what she wants -”
“I'm well aware of that,” Josh snapped.
“- And you ought to try it. You're a shy guy, I'm not mocking you, that's just how y'are. But are you telling me you wouldn't want a handful of her fine, foreign tits?”
She has big, blue eyes. Big, blue eyes and an enigmatic smile. Truth be told, Josh wasn't really certain what he had been thinking when he'd – for want of a better term – asked Adèle out. It wasn't as a date, that he was certain of. Adèle Chastain was quite simply out of his league. Maybe, caught up in the moment, something about her blue eyes flicked off the common sense switch in his brain.
Josh realised that Grey was waiting for him to answer. “Yeah. Yeah, to be sure. Fine foreign tit.”
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