Rory is working as a journalist, and she has to move to Paris. What happens when the only apartment for rent just happens to be the same apartment that America's favorite author is renting? Sorry if it sounds confusing: Rory needs to rent an apartment and a famous author is renting it out because they barely stay there, so they want it to be put to good use.
NOTE: Jess and Rory do NOT have a history together. They have never met.
Rory stepped out of the plane, exhausted from traveling for a day. She slung her black leather messenger bag over her shoulder and trudged to the baggage claim, hoping that retrieving her luggage wouldn't take more than an hour, which it usually does. It was late at night, yet the airport was buzzing with people of all different countries. She passed by people speaking Spanish, French, German, and Armenian just getting to the baggage claim. Finally, she spotted her bright red luggage slowly gliding along. She sighed happily and heaved it onto the dull carpeted floor and outside.
She almost had to shield her eyes from the amount of light flowing from outside. It was like a beacon outside the airport doors. She finally opened her eyes and froze in her tracks, making a man who was walking behind her run into her. He shot her a nasty look and muttered something foreign in French.
"Oh my, god," Rory uttered in awe. Paris was better than she had ever imagined. Lights were streaming from every corner, the Eiffel Tower was closer than than the nearest McDonald's, and it was absolutely gorgeous. Realizing that she had to move, Rory sidestepped to a bench and collected her thoughts. Every time she blinked she could still make out the vague outline of the Eiffel Tower, ablaze in her mind.
She quickly stepped back into the lambency and whistled, which caught the attention of a nearby taxi driver. He pulled over and motioned for her to get inside. She agreed.
"Erm...4 Tournesol Street, s'il vous plaît," she muttered, using the little French she knew.
"Oui," He said gruffly and took off down the street. Rory nervously twiddled her thumbs in her seat, wondering how long this was going to take.
Rory suddenly was wondering how late it really was and decided to practice her French by asking the cab driver.
"Uh, il et heures?" she asked, hoping her pronunciation wasn't retched.
The cab driver laughed at something, seemingly an inside joke and answered. "You from America, no?" His tone was lighthearted, and he was still laughing at that inside joke.
"Um, oui," she said feebly.
"Il et Twenty heures en thirty-seven," he answered, doing his best with English.
"Merci."
The cab driver looked back over his shoulder. "America they say thank you, no?" Rory nodded her head. "Ok, so in this drive, we American. Thank you, Mademoiselle."
Rory smiled. "Thank you, Monsieur." Twenty minutes later, they arrived at a nice looking hotel.
"Vignt en une euros, s'il vous plaît. Or twenty-one euros, please," the cab driver said, holding out a hand. Rory paid him the twenty-one euros she owed him and stepped clumsily out of the cab. The taxi driver pulled out her luggage from the back, helping her out.
"Merci-erm, thank you," she said, blushing when he bowed. He uttered "Your welcome" in English, but Rory could barely hear it. She idly walked to her hotel, checked in, and unlocked the door to her suite.
What she saw was not as breathtaking as the actual Paris, but was pretty darn cool. The company she worked for had paid for the hotel, but only for a couple nights. She would have to find an apartment tomorrow.
The room was beautiful, in every aspect of the word. A fluffy down comforter dawned the queen sized bed, along with squashy pillows. The armchairs were huge, comfortably sitting her and two other people, with a little room to spare. Last, but not least, a fire was crackling merrily in the stone fireplace.
She dropped her luggage, slammed to door shut, sprinted to her bed and plunged into the soft depths of the blankets. Before she got too sleepy, she forced herself up and unlocked the balcony, taking in all of the city of love. She could see it all, right from her hotel room on the highest floor. The Louvre, the Eiffel Tower, and just Paris at its greatest. She stepped outside into the cool night air, wrapping her sweater closer to her shivering frame. The wind was picking up, it was going to be a stormy night. The clouds were in, all shades of grey covered the once sparkling stars. A wet drop fell on her nose, a clear warning sign that it had started to rain. Rory quickly ducked under the covering as the rain fell steadier. It was breathtaking. Rory loved the rain, and it was twice as fantastic in Paris.
She opened her balcony door again, shivering as she stepped into the warmth of her hotel room. She locked the balcony door and tried to put the fire at as best as she could, and managed to make it glow a little.
She changed into her soft flannel pajamas and got in the toasty bed, snuggling under the covers. The lavender scent of the room was extremely calming and she only had one last thought before she drifted off into a peaceful slumber.
I've got to find an apartment, and fast. Tomorrow.
Haha, yay! I have so many plans for this story! Read and review.
By the way, wasn't sure how far apart the Louvre and the Eiffel Tower are away from each other, but for the sake of my story, she can see both. And also, the Eiffel Tower is huge, so that all is probably somewhat accurate.
How's my French? I only know bits of the language, I did my best. Sorry if it isn't the best. :