Chapter 11 #3
That all left her mind the moment Monty moved her hand, causing several foam cubes to fall from above her onto her face.
Chicot thrashed, swatting one away and causing it to bop Monty in the nose.
Monty laughed harder, trying to sit herself up as Chicot wiggled under her.
They were both only succeeding at getting more stuck, the foam cubes encroaching on them as they inched toward the bottom of the pit.
“Okay, no fair, you’re on top!” Chicot grabbed another foam cube, using it to hit Monty on the top of her head.
It squished and bounced away, and Monty rolled over, her laughter higher, bubblier as she landed in the foam next to Chicot, finally giving Chicot the chance to sit straight up.
That was easier said than done as the pit continued to try to swallow her.
She did manage to swing her hand, knocking several cubes into Monty’s face and chest, starting to bury her.
As she did, Chicot’s lips curled into a content smile.
Monty’s expression no longer held any of those worry lines or pinched muscles from whatever Brewhilda had said.
Instead, she was laughing uproariously with her hands crossed over her stomach.
God, she was cute.
It took them several minutes—and help from Elijah and Elvis—to finally escape the pit. They panted and both lay out on the mat near it for a while before they started practice. This meant they were about nearly twenty minutes late, but there was still plenty of time for them to work.
Elijah and Chicot went first this time, since they had their routine down pat already.
They ran it twice, neither of them stumbling over a single line or mark before Elijah said they should work on The Pirates Three.
In the meantime, he settled on the floor with his lute, writing up new songs.
He was always doing this, and Chicot hoped that the next jar they made could be for studio time so Elijah could record some of his music.
It was a ways off still, but he had supported her through running away from home, and she wanted to help him live out his dreams.
Chicot, Elvis, and Monty started their practice by running the whole show once.
Since they were coming into their second weekend doing this, they wanted to be cleaner, sharper, and more precise.
This meant Chicot had to bring her A-game, which was easier now that her headache from the hangover was truly waning.
“Oh no, you don’t!” Chicot yelled, pointing her sword at Elvis and being as campy as she possibly could. That was the key with most Renaissance faire performances: you had to be kitschy. It was like a drag show in that way. The more over the top and exaggerated, the better.
She threw herself into a run and hopped as Monty stepped between Chicot and Elvis, Monty catching Chicot as if she weighed the same amount as a water bottle.
Chicot held her sword out, easily moving into a pigeon hold with Monty looking up at her.
Monty held Chicot with such ease, her strong hand settled on Chicot’s hip making her feel like she was floating.
Chicot flailed her sword ineffectually, looking down at Monty.
“Put me down, Middle!” Chicot shouted. “He’s got the treasure.”
They’d reworked the show to involve them arguing over a small, fake treasure chest instead of the ship flag.
It wasn’t super different from what it had been before.
In this version, Wee and Middle were not sister pirates.
Instead, Monty, Chicot, and Elvis put on a Three Stooges act as they fought over the chest, and they did some more acrobatics and juggling of the supposed treasure, which led to them dropping it into the “ocean.” Which meant they dropped it off the front of the stage.
It was pretty funny, a lot of pretending to clamber up and down each other and just missing the chest.
“Oh.” Monty was putting on a fake, confused tone of voice. “But Wee, can’t we just share the treasure?”
“No, get him!” Chicot yelled, and Monty quickly but carefully dropped Chicot from the pigeon hold she had her in.
They then both turned their swords on Elvis, which led to a series of them doing goofy hops and leaps over each other as they bickered.
However, for just a moment as Monty set Chicot down, her gaze lingered on her face.
Chicot blinked up at her, only just them really noticing the closeness before she pushed that all down.
She pointed her sword, Elvis dramatically pressing his back against an invisible wall as he yelped.
They then ran for him, Elvis leap-frogging over them, and they went after him again.
This time, Elvis and Chicot began to juggle the swords they were holding with the treasure chest mixed in.
It was cartoonish, the two of them pretending to struggle catching the blades wrong while also pretending the treasure chest was basically falling between them rather than being controlled.
As this happened, Monty slipped herself between Chicot’s legs, throwing her sword into the juggling mix and crawling under like she might try to grab the treasure out of the air.
When that didn’t work, she turned to “help” Chicot by getting her to step on Monty’s shoulders while Chicot protested loudly.
This usually got a few good laughs, and once Monty stood to her full height, Chicot and Elvis now juggling three swords and the treasure chest, Chicot would knock the box just right to send it flying onto the stage, where it would then tumble off usually.
If it didn’t, Elvis would continue juggling, slowly shuffling his way over to the box to kick it off.
There was some bickering between Chicot and Monty, then they caught the swords and joked about how silly it was that they were fighting in the first place.
Lyza and Elijah clapped for them when they finished their run-through of this new iteration.
They discussed all the blocking again, just to make sure it worked for them still, then they talked about what lines were working and what felt awkward.
After some deliberation, they decided not to change it again.
Otherwise, it might get too confusing and someone could get hurt.
Instead, they ran each of the lifts another time, to make sure there was no chance that Chicot got dropped.
It did, however, mean that Monty and Chicot were working on their own, since Elvis wasn’t on any of the lifts now.
Instead, he mostly acted as a base for their acro holds.
“Hup, hup,” they said in unison. Monty held her hands out for Chicot as she stepped into her space.
They moved together as a single unit, Chicot hopping so she could lift her into the air.
Each time Monty did, Chicot found her breathing quickening, the moments of weightlessness leaving her mind to wander toward the feeling of Monty’s hands on her ribs or waist.
“This still good? No pain?” Monty’s voice drew Chicot from the racing thoughts.
“Yeah, still good,” Chicot said.
“Good,” Monty chirped and shifted her hold.
Chicot found herself falling, which was the point of this move, but it caught her off guard this time.
When she landed in Monty’s arms, her hands went to her shoulders, gripping her tightly like Duchess digging in her claws if she felt like she might get dropped.
Her eyes darted to Monty’s face, their noses almost touching as Monty smirked.
“Sorry.” Chicot wasn’t even sure what she was apologizing for. Monty’s eyes shifted to Chicot’s lips, which normally Chicot would convince herself was happenstance, but Monty was not being subtle at all. It was like she was goading Chicot, wanting her to see the way she was looking at her.
“It’s okay.” Monty wet her lips, her mouth opening just as she looked at Chicot. Then she smiled, setting Chicot on her feet. “I should have warned you I was letting you go.”
“It’s fine.” Chicot wobbled, trying to ground herself on the spring floor, but that seemed to make her vibrate from toe to head.
The smell of Monty’s skin lingered in her mind, eyes on the floor as she tried to right herself, but her mind was replaying the image of Monty’s tongue playing over her lips like she wanted Chicot to linger on thoughts of it.
Where it could go and how nice it would feel during other applications.
“Ready for the standing pit hold?” Monty’s voice was normal again, cool and even like she hadn’t been teasing Chicot a moment ago. Chicot bit her lip because she couldn’t rightfully ask for a moment to go take a cold shower.
“Yeah,” Chicot replied and got into position.
Monty spared her the heated looks this time, and soon Chicot was free to go run lines.
She sat on the floor for a moment first, stretching her legs out and using her it as a cover so she could press her face directly into the mat.
After a few deep breaths, she sat up and asked Lyza to start reading the script to her.
“Hey.” Lyza nudged Chicot’s shoulder. She was doing her best not to zone out, but Chicot was tired from the hangover and her mind kept wandering right back to Monty’s lidded eyes and fuchsia tongue. “By the way, thanks for whatever you did earlier.”
“Huh?” Chicot turned to look at Lyza, her hands around her ankles as she sat with her legs pressed flat to the floor.
“You know, whatever you did to make Monty feel better after Brewhilda,” Lyza said. “Thanks.”
“Oh, that was nothing.” Chicot shrugged. Lyza hummed, looking at Monty now.
“Well, still.” Lyza patted her shoulder. “I’m glad you two are becoming friends again.”
Chicot’s gaze clouded over for a moment, her eyes loosely on Monty’s form as she helped Elvis carry a staging block.
She tilted her head to one side, turning to look at Lyza, but she’d stood up, so Chicot couldn’t ask why Lyza had said “again”.
After all, her and Monty had never been friends before, and they hadn’t had some sort of falling out. Not that Chicot was aware of at least.
She thought back to that first night in the car with them on the way to the restaurant, to Monty’s narrowed eyes and pinched expression whenever Chicot had tried to talk to her about music.
Things had changed between them, of course.
They were better friends now than they had been at the beginning, but still.
Something about the way Lyza had said they were becoming friends again didn’t seem like just a mix-up or accidental phrasing.
She seemed confident, and Chicot needed to know what she meant.