Chapter IX: Involuntary Muscle Response
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The next morning, Poète blinked awake, still half asleep, his vision blurry.
He whimpered slightly, beams of sunlight streaming through the window and into his eyes.
As he slowly regained consciousness he was suddenly aware that he was still on the floor with his back pressed up against the hard, smooth surface of the oak footboard of his bed.
Then there was a soft gasp as a fuzzy figure came into view.
“Oh thank goodnesses you’re awake! We thought you were dead!”
“Personne! Leave the poor boy alone. No we didn’t. Only he thought you were dead…”
Vide sighed.
“For thirty one minutes.”
Poète opened his eyes fully, now aware of the situation.
“Wasn’t I breathing?!”
“Yes, you were-”
She started to respond.
“It could’ve been an involuntary muscle response!”
Personne piped up.
Vide pinched the bridge of her nose.
“‘Involuntary muscle response,’ my foot.”
She muttered, her right eye twitching.
“Personne… where did you even hear the words 'involuntary muscle response’ in the first place?!”
Poète asked, his voice rising in concern.
“I read it in a medical pamphlet!”
He said, confidently straightening up and putting his hands on his hips.
Vide raised an eyebrow and glanced at Poète.
Personne glanced between the two in slight confusion for a moment before realization dawned on him.
“Yes, it wasn’t the most reliable source… and there were quite a few spelling errors… but I wanted to be informed!”
Vide let out a raspy cough to hide her laughter.
Personne grimaced up at her.
“I am very knowledgeable!”
He cried, gesturing vaguely.
Vide wheezed into the palm of her hand, leaning on the doorframe, her shoulders shaking.
Personne stomped his foot on the floor, crossing his arms like a protesting child.
“Oh goodnesses, Vide!”
He huffed.
“Oh dear…”
Poète chuckled, rubbing his eyes.
He grabbed the top of the foot board and pulled himself up.
“You’re both insane.”
He muttered a bit playfully.
Personne pattered over to Vide, his eyes narrowed in confusion and curiosity.
“Oh goodnesses… are you… ill, Vide?”
“She’s not ill, Personne. She’s just… laughing… I think.”
“What do you mean ‘I think’?!”
Personne shouted, turning to face Poète.
“Oh dear… I mean I don’t know because I’ve never heard her laugh before!”
Poète replied, gesturing vaguely at Vide’s shaking shoulders in the doorway.
“Oh goodnesses… that is dreadfully tragic.”
Personne murmured, fiddling with a button on his vest as he meandered over to face Vide.
“Vide… are you laughing? Or do I need to fetch Dr. Escoffier?”
He asked, tilting his head just slightly too far to the right, a small grin plastered on his face.
Vide was hiding her mouth behind her hand, her index finger pressed against the bottom of her pointed nose.
“I am not laughing!”
She protested.
“I am merely… coughing. Indeed, yes coughing. The air is quite dry in here, isn’t it?”
She murmured.
“I think you’re a liar.”
Personne chirped in a sing-song tone of voice, gently tapping the tip of his rounded nose with his middle and index fingers.
Vide rolled her eyes, hiding a small ghost of a grin behind her spindly fingers.
Personne trotted away, giggling smugly to himself.39Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡPlnLjWMzAN
and then Add to home screen.