Short stories of Paris and the Darling Twins being good ol' siblings.
Now including Polakov, the clown, whom I assume to be Paris' older brother.
Art, obviously enough, belongs to Mocha (the creator of The Dummy's Dummy)
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Context: Human AU. Paris, Darla and Dorothy are adopted by Ivan. They are related by blood, though not siblings (except for Darla and Dorothy, who are twins), they're more like cousins. They choose to be siblings under Ivan's care.
Paris is younger than the twins by 2 years; he is 14 while the twins are 16.
>o<
Paris always knew his sisters were possessive of their things. He couldn't even step into their room without getting yelled, and although most times he didn't care, it was honestly annoying.
Regardless, they loved each other anyway, so whenever the twins were tired of dressing their dolls up, they'd dress Paris instead. It often led to him being lugged around for outfit shopping, putting on cute buttoned up shirts, suits, jackets, jeans and shorts. Anything they deemed good enough for Paris, he would have to put it on.
And a lot of things looked good enough for Paris, which made it all the more fun, and all the more annoying for Paris.
It wasn't like he didn't enjoy dressing up, he liked looking handsome, but it was the fact that his sisters constantly fussed over every little detail about his looks that made it a nuisance.
A wrinkle in the shirt? Throw it aside. The bowtie is tilted and can't be fixed? Forget it. Stains the size of a pinky nail? Oh, the horror! The horror!
So he often dressed casually, or dressed his best discreetly.
Which brought him to this current situation he was in:
"PARIS. DID YOU TAKE OUR EYELINER?" Darla yelled from across the hallway, making Paris jump in his seat on the couch.
As he calmed down, he let out a huge sigh before turning around, climbing onto the couch with his knees so he could poke his head out and yell back into the hallway's direction, "NO I DID NOT!"
"THEN WHERE IS IT?!"
Paris took another deep breath, filling his lungs with air so he could shout back, "I DON'T KNOW!"
"DID YOU USE IT?"
"I SAID, I DID NOT!" Paris cleared his throat towards the end of his sentence, feeling it grow sore. He grumbled, vaulting over the couch's backrest so he could make his way towards the kitchenette for a glass of water.
Their home wasn't very big, since Ivan was only just a humble orphanage caretaker that occasionally made a toy or two for the kids, so most things were within a few steps reach. Yet they still chose to yell at the top of their lungs when communicating from different rooms.
He watched the water rise in his cup, the faucet gushing out water at a moderate pace, before he closed the tap and lifted the brim of the glass to his lips. He drank slowly, watching Darla squint at him, as if trying to decipher if he was lying or not, from her room.
She didn't look angry, but she wasn't overjoyed either.
"Stop taking our things," Darla growled, the sound of drawers being opened and closed resounding behind her. The rummaging didn't sound angry too, because his sisters were, if not, delicate creatures ironically.
"I never touch your things," Paris quipped, placing a hand onto his chest in a formal-mocking way.
"Right, like the time you never touched our nail polish," Dorothy dipped her head out of her room to snap back.
"They fit me better than you anyway." Paris mumbled under his breath, loud enough for his sisters to hear. He placed his empty cup of water in the sink, listening to the sound of two pairs of shoes tapping against the floorboard closer and closer to him. Huh, really synchronized.
"Pardon our hearing, but I don't think we heard what you said," Darla frowned, standing next to her brother with her arms crossed.
"They fit me better than you!" Paris shot.
"Well, if you insist!" Dorothy sneered from his other side, pinching his cheek and pulling it lightly.
Paris yelped, feeling Darla push him towards their room while Dorothy pulled. He wailed, sneakers squeaking against the floor as he tried to escape, "No! Not again! For goodness sake, I did not take your stupid eyeliner!"
"Oh, it's not about that anymore." Darla hummed.
"We're just upset, you know?" Dorothy chimed.
"So won't you cheer us up, little brother?" They both grinned widely as Paris continued to pale further.
He gripped the doorframe as they passed it, trying to tug himself free from the twin's grasps, "IVAN!"
His fingers slipped.
SLAM.
>o<
"Dear me, girls, you've really outdone yourselves this time," Ivan hand his hand resting against his cheek, staring at Paris.
The bottom of Paris' eye twitched, hands fisted and resting on his black shorts. He itched to tear the red bow off his black sailor boy shirt, but knew it would not only upset his sisters, but Ivan as well. He'd never hear the end of it from Ivan about "How hard Darla and Dorothy worked on your outfit" and "You shouldn't destroy it".
"I mean, he really looks like he's twelve," Ivan gestured to Paris, properly amazed while Darla and Dorothy grinned and nodded. "Rosy cheeks and all... Wow."
"Can I please take this off now." Paris said through gritted teeth.
"Not until you tell us where you put our eyeliner. You know, if we had it, we wouldn't have to give you this get up," Darla tapped Paris' nose playfully, lips curled.
"For the last time, I don't know where--" Paris rolled his eyes, sighing deeply, before Ivan suddenly interrupted them.
"I threw it out. It was leaking. I bought you a new one. It's on the dining table," Ivan blinked at the three of them in a blunt tone, and Paris' jaw slowly dropped.
"You...You..." Paris held his hands up as if to grip Ivan, but had too much decency to do so. He let them fall back onto the couch where he sat upon, then he raised them to his face to sigh even more.
"Where do you even keep all that air?" Dorothy scrunched up her nose.
"Wouldn't you like to know?" Paris mumbled, his words muffled due to his hands.
>o<
Epilogue
Paris sighed, watching Iris prepare for her next play, and she raised an eyebrow when she noticed him looking her way.
"Is my costume not straight?" Iris asked, attempting to check her back as she tugged the jacket. Paris waved his hand, shaking his head.
"No. I was just...reminded of something." Paris said softly, breaking eye contact.
"Your old family?" Iris asked gently. "You okay?"
"Haha, if you're implying that I'm getting sentimental, then no. The old man has been dead for four years. I've moved on." Paris laughed lightly to reassure the girl, and she tilted her head to the side, brows furrowing.
"What about--"
"They're fine too. With a distant relative. I haven't spoken to them in a while, but they can handle themselves. Tough girls," Paris quickly answered. "The only sister I have to worry about now is Yumi."
Iris studied his face further, but when it didn't falter from its gentle smile, she slowly began to smile back too, "Ah, if you say so. Then...do you like dressing up? Is that why you were watching?"
Paris shrugged, eyes drooping slightly in thought as he brought a hand up to pinch a few strands of hair, "Wouldn't you like to know?"
