A/N: Please Enjoy
Wearily, Francis Bonnefoy trudged into the bar and slid on to a stool. It didn't take long for the bartender—a long time acquaintance—to greet him. "Evening Francis."
"Good evening Evangeline." He continued to stare at the wood, but knew from experience that the woman was peering over him, examining his condition. She had told him that she was American during one of their chats, but unlike that "bumbling fool" she had "a sense of culture and subtlety" developed by living in Hawaii. That much seemed to be true, but she still had an underlying obsession with being the hero, shown by her insistence of helping everyone who came to the bar.
"Did you get dumped? Again?"Francis looked up. She looked sympathetic, but her eyes were twinkling. "I didn't like Algeria anyway. Why'd she dump you?"
"She said I was cheating."
"Were you?"
"I was just flirting with others. That's just who I am. I would never do anything serious. I may be a perv, but I'm not bad."
Evangeline smiled. "I know. You only ever grope my behind when your miserably single, not when you're dating. Actually, I'm surprised you haven't done it yet, though you do look rather tired."
"I don't feel like being slapped again today."
She leaned over him, and he could smell her breath, already heavy with alcohol. Being a proper bartender, though, she did hold her liquor quite well—even better than Francis. "Your cheek is rather red. Did it hurt much?"
"The slap, or the break-up?"
"Both."
"Actually, I think the slap hurt more. I had an idea the break was coming. We had started fighting. Though in a way, that makes it worse, because I wasn't able to reconcile."
She straightened. "Your usual?"
"Hm? Oh yes." He reached in his pocket for his wallet.
"I'll tell you what. If you go talk to that girl over there, your drink's on the house." Francis whirled around. He had thought that the bar had been empty, as it usually was Wednesday nights, but at a table in the corner of the room there was a girl, accompanied by a stack of books.
"She looks awfully young."
"Well, according to her ID she's old enough to drink, and I'm pretty good at spotting fakes. Besides, I don't this to be some sort bounce-back relationship. I just want you to provide that girl some companionship. Here." She slid a glass of Bordeaux wine to him.
"Merci." He stood and, taking the glass with him, made his way to the girl's table. "Mademoiselle, might I join you?"
The girl looked up, sleepily, and tucked a strand of light blonde hair behind her hair. "Yes, be my guest."
Francis sat and examined the textbooks littered around the table. They looked painfully large and difficult. He had gotten through college with degrees in Art and Philosophy, but boy had he been a slacker. Not like this girl, surrounded by math and science books. "So you're a college student?"
"Yea. Double major in Chemistry and Calculus with a minor in Geometry."
"Swedish?"
She tilted her head to the side. "He's one of my professors. I guess I do look like him, but my family's lived in Canada since its independence." No wonder he didn't notice her when he came in. "What about you?"
"I graduated a few years ago in Art and Philosophy."
Musingly, she said. "My father got his bachelor's in Philosophy, but he went on to be a lawyer."
"Did he make a lot of money?" Francis was hesitant in asking such a personal question, but he didn't think she would take it wrong way.
"Well, we got by. But I like to think that we were middle class. We certainly were after my step-brothers went to college. They're both ten years older than me and were high maintenance."
"And are you?"
"No. I've got certain creature comforts I can't live without, like expensive teas or beignets, but my current apartment is less than 400-sq-feet." They settled into a comfortable silence.
"That's one strong drink you have there." He nodded to her scotch glass, filled with what he recognized as single malt whiskey.
"Oh. Scotch is my favorite. I've always had a strong stomach for alcohol, even when,"she lowered her voice, "I wasn't, strictly speaking, supposed to be drinking. My brothers—they're both really athletic—would win any competition as I was growing up. But I, a little pipsqueak, could always out drink them. It was a great blow to their pride."
She did look quite small. He couldn't tell for sure when she was sitting down, but he wouldn't put her above 5-foot-2, and her build, though disguised by the large sweatshirt, was obviously petite. "I myself prefer wine."
"Frenchie."
He smiled. "I am French, actually. Je m'appelle Francis Bonnefoy, twenty-eight in July."
She stuck out a hand. "Gabrielle Anderson, uh, I turned twenty-one last month."
"Enchanté, mademoiselle." He took her hand and shook it, resisting the urge to kiss it instead.
"It's good to meet you too, Monsieur Bonnefoy."
"Please, call me Francis."
"Oui" He looked startled at her use of French. She smiled. "Please even Americans know that much French. I would I know more, growing up in Canada, even if I'm not Québécois."
"I take that offensively, you know." Evangeline called from the bar, making Gabrielle jump.
Eyes wide, the girl asked, "Has she been hearing our whole conversation?"
"No, she just has an uncanny ability to hear whenever America is mentioned. I wouldn't be too worried." Of course, Evangeline could be eavesdropping to make sure that he didn't take advantage of Gabrielle, but he hoped the barkeep trusted him more than that.
"Oh." She glanced down at her watch. "I'm sorry, Francis, but I have to be going. I have lesson in a few minutes." She stood and began putting her textbooks into a dark blue backpack.
"May I ask what kind of lesson?"
"Fencing."
"Really, taught by Antonio?"
"I think that's his first name. Why? Did you take from him?"
" 'Toni and I are friends. Though I did fence in my youth." Hurriedly, he added, "I wouldn't ask him about me."
"Oh?"
"He gets the wrong impression easily."
She picked up the backpack and settled it onto her back. Winking, she said, "I'll keep that in mind when I ask him about you. It was nice talking to you, Francis. I'll probably come back next Wednesday. Salut."
"Au revoir."Francis waited for Gabrielle to leave the bar before getting up and walking up to Evangeline.
"So, how was she?"
"Mon amie, she is the cutest person I've ever met, even cuter than dear Arthur."
"You liked her then. And you didn't scare her off."
"Yes, but if she asks 'Toni about me, she may not come back. I better call him and make sure he doesn't say anything too destructive."
"I wouldn't."
Francis looked at Evangeline. "No?"
"Why don't you trust her to make her own decision? If she is discouraged by Antonio, then wouldn't rather not see her again then to have your heart broken when she finally learns what a lecher you are."
"I'm not a lecher!"
A/N: I hope you enjoyed that and that my interpretation of France in this was not far off the mark. Truth be told, I'm not sure where I'm going with this, but I just had to put it on fanfiction. But really, how much harm can one more story alert that never updates do to you? Next week is my spring break however, so maybe I'll be able to some more out.
So please, favorite, story alert, author alert, review, whatever.
I think all of the French is self-explanatory, but if you have any question, just review or PM me.
DFTBA