-DISCLAIMER-
Un Monstre a Paris/A Monster in Paris © Europa Films Corporation
Peau de Fleur, Ma Melodie © -M- (Matthieu Chedid)
The Monster of Paris: Monstre, Peau de Fleur (English Translation), Ma Melodie (English Translation) © Kathryn Christine Starcrafter/Lumorean Arts
-MONSTRE-
Scene 1: Flea Fan Fare
The night was still young as the streets bustled with people like a hill of ants scurrying over a crumb of pastry. Within the orange-ish, lamplit glow they all huddled about, eager to enter under the warming wings of L'Oiseau Rare. That name had spread across France like wildfire. That, as well as the stars that had brought its fame, Francoeur and Lucille. It at first had been due to curiosity. Hearing about the girl's connection to the Monstre of Paris as well as the ex-Commissioner's fall from grace granted the singer the recognition she deserved. Then there was Francoeur, her partner and co-star. He was a man of mystery. Not one of the show patrons had ever seen his face without a mask of some sort or another. This lead to gossip which spread all across Europe and gathered names from miles around. Then, when they finally had the privilege to witness an act, it was as magic. That was the whisper on the winds, the poison in the wine. That was how fame was spread, and that was what kept the audience wanting more.
Needless to say the night club and its employees were fairing well.
Tonight was one of those particularly special shows. Through out its rise the Rare Bird had collected plenty of fresh talents to please its ever expanding pallet. Most had indeed originated from France, but not all. Some new talents from England had migrated over, as well as Spain. They had even gathered a singer from Russia and another from Italy. Raoul was amusing in that he had no liking for Raul, the dancer from Rome. The two shared a similar personality, it was just that Raul was more a comic and would often tease Raoul about their names and traits, giving the impression of twins when they looked nothing alike. The dancer had a more bulky frame but was an inch or two shorter. His hair which was a rich caramel lay flat against his scale. Wide, baby blue eyes and freckles only added to the otherwise child-like face.
Then there was also the fact that people never specified at times which one they were speaking about or needed. So it was eventual that they got to defining one as the 'talented one' or 'dancer' against the 'one that invents worthless machines that don't really work.'
It was the haphazard inventor who watched from the private Suite as his adversary preformed on stage. His dance was a strange one, upbeat and almost erratic. Though what most impressed people was the toss-and-catch play with his hat which was different for each performance. Raoul sat back with a huff, arms crossed against his thin chest, eyes turned to the ceiling though their sight was obscured by their owner's exuberant earthen-brown pompadour. The only reason he was sitting through the scene was because of who would come after, one of the two that had brought the theater its new light. It had only been recently that the one known as Francoeur, had begun preforming singular acts. This, and the fact that he both wrote and composed his own pieces, impressing the gangly young adult to almost skimming jealousy. The only truth that kept Raoul under the boiling point came from the fact that the 'Man Behind the Mask' was not a man at all. Otherwise he would have felt highly threatened due to the fact that the performer and his girlfriends of one month now spent an awful amount of time together, both on stage and off.
The curtains closed on Raul's performance and the one looking on reached for his tall glass of champagne, sipping the frothing liquid tentatively in contemplation. It would be a few moments as the stage was rearranged and the singer got into place. It was the weekend and one of L'Oiseau Rare's scheduled multi-nights. Obviously Lucille was with the one preparing, offering last minute comfort and advice. Raoul rolled the alcohol betwixt his fingers, watching the bubbles rise to the rim and fade a bit too intently. He nearly jumped to the ceiling as the lights dimmed, his eyes twitching back and forth as if the occurrence was uncommon but in truth done for most of Francoeur's performances. What was unexpected was the slow strum of a guitar as the curtains expanded, revealing a large -and relatively daunting figure- draped in a suite of a grassy hue, his back to the crowd. Said individual had a tendency of leaning towards more upbeat and active lyrical works for himself while the ones he wrote for his partner were the ones along the milder side.
Francoeur's bulky form swept forward with astounding grace for someone of his size and stature. His mask was green like that of his cloak as well as overshadowed by another wide-brimmed chapeau accented with that of a fan of peacock feathers. His vest as a sun yellow with a similar scarf, both faded to that of a dusky orange due to the diminished lighting. His fingers seemed to dance across the strings of his signature instrument, enticed the audience to look on and listen even more intently than before. Then, when his voice finally rose from his lips it resounded like the call of an angel enticed every soul into heaven.
I grew up
From the roots
That's what I remember
When I cry
Tears
Make me grow
Tears
Make me grow
Just like a flower
I dance in a trance
In transcendence
When my sap dreams
My sustenance
I dried out
I have not cried
For such a long time
I am
Your potted flower
I am
A living flower
If you only knew
I dance in a trance
In transcendence
When my sap dreams
My sustenance
Any critic would agree that Francoeur's words were like poetry brought to life. Women practically drooled over him so it wasn't much of a surprise that a few times during his act Raoul caught the tell-tale signs of high-pitched chattering and longing sighs. The young man glanced down towards the clustered patrons sitting within the main auditorium. The gold-carpeted flooring could hardly be made out due to the mass amounts of bodies packed into the otherwise expansive lodging. They arranged themselves in an unintentional circular pattern like an optical painting due to the rounded, oakwood tabletops scattered about the space. The area where the swoons resounded was near the back where a family of four sat. Raoul could make out an older man and three seemingly exceedingly younger girls. It was two of theses that appeared to be clinging to one another in euphoric glee. He comically gagged in jealous disgust.
Francoeur gave a low bow, shuffling back to default as the curtains draped the prodigious figure from sight. The theater resonated with applause, none so loud as the two girls in the back who sounded as though they were screaming in praise. Officially the caretakers shuffled about to relight the Cabaret's table lamps as the guests began to stand and prepare to leave. As lighting returned to normal brightness Raoul took his cue and stood, stretching his arms above his head till he heard a pop, then relaxed. He glanced to his table and realized he never finished his wine. Oh well, he didn't want to ruin the rest of the night anyway. Those fangirls might have given him indigestion though. Speaking of which, from out of nowhere the two rushed by him like a giggling typhoon. He was knocked forward, prostrate onto his table, causing both glass and bottle to shattered on the floor and drip down over the rail and onto those in the lower hallways. He heard some unexpected yips from below and promptly apologized even though it wasn't really his fault. Where was security when you needed them?
Francoeur calmly walked offstage once his time was done, proud at how well his new piece pleased the ears. However, he felt as always that something was missing. To himself the work was still incomplete and lacking. But he was content in its composition for one reason and one reason only.
"That was beautiful, Francoeur!" Her voice echoed softly against the compact halls of the backstage like the call of the enchanting sirens.
She trotted up to him as fast as possible, her stride limited due to the silken ebony pencil dress strung tightly to her waist and thighs. It fanned out in the back which thankfully granted much more maneuverability than otherwise possible. It was strapless and about her frame glittered metallic ornaments of golden hue. The belt of rings and thin bangles running up her forearms tinkled pleasantly as she made her way to him. A set of pearl earrings and choker complimented the gentle curvature of her face while her emerald eyes appeared as beckons beyond a vale of auburn curls flowing freely down her shoulders.
To Francoeur the Rare Bird known as Lucille was the most perfect being in all existence. He chirped happily and bowed his head. As long as she was happy so was he. Her performance had been done and past, the first of the night.
"Come on." She took hold of his hands and the warmth from her palm radiated through his gloves and up all his arms, making him shiver internally. "Let's get you undressed. I have a surprise for you."
Francoeur purred, following intently. He loved surprises. Though what happened next was not an enjoyable one. A twin set of shrills set both individuals up in arms. They swerved to the source of the screams as two diminutive individuals rushed down the stairs from the royal suite. They both latched hold of the giant's torso, their combined force pushing him from Lucille's touch and into the far wall.
"Oh my god! It's Francoeur!" The first proclaimed.
Followed the second, "Francoeur, we love you!"
Said individual was at a loss, looking down at the girls in stunned unease. They looked as though they could have been twins though there were obvious differences between the two. They were both relatively tiny in both stature and frame. One was rather pale while the other had deeply-toned bronze skin with dimples. The first had eyes pure like fresh water while the darker-skinned girl's were hazel. The blue-eyed child had a very light shade of hair that appeared almost silver beneath the dim lighting, short and stiff in form. The later in contrast had hair hued in chestnut and plastered straight to her scalp, running all the way down to the small of her back. They were both wearing matching apparel, buttery-orange sundresses with spaghetti straps.
Lucille was about to go up to the two and ask them politely to leave. She knew her partner had fans but these were the first who had gotten the gull to jump backstage to ravish their idol.
"Hey, Lucille, Francoeur."
She pivoted around and there following down the stair came Raoul, one arm behind his back while the other waved in greeting. Francoeur himself really couldn't respond in any way due to being suddenly incapacitated, flung into a situation completely foreign to him. Raoul actually didn't pay much attention to his strangled friend, instead he waltzed up to his girl and strung her by the arm, leading her away from the scene.
"Raoul, what-"
"Don't worry, Francoeur will be fine. He needs to spend some time with other people anyway."
Lucille hissed, "you know as well as I do how that may go."
"He's a big boy now, he can take care of himself."
Somehow he managed to wrangle her into her own dressing room before she pulled her arm from his grip.
"What was that all about?"
He still held a smug look on that elongated face of his that told her the gears in his mind were turning -and generally not in a productive way. His freckled cheeks upturned and pink from a grin as well as his sparkling hazel eyes hinted that he was overly happy about something. Must be he wanted to show her a new invention that actually worked. Suddenly he pulled his hidden hand away and presented instead a small, dark bottle of some kind of wine. Lucille never got a look at the label as her beau spun it around and uncorked it, filling two red wine glasses that had somehow been sitting on her vanity with the thick, rose-colored liquor. Raoul set the bottle down and grabbed both goblets by the stem, offering her one. She took it halfheartedly, her mind split between Raoul's kind but unexpected gesture and Francoeur's predicament.
"Drink, my sweet, for tonight the stars and moon are ours for the taking."
It was so romantic and would have captured her heart but for the circumstances at hand. That and the fact that as he took a swig of his own portion he suddenly reeled into a gagging fit and sprayed his wine right across her clean floor.
"Man, this stuff is strong!"
Lucille visibly rolled her eyes at the childish act. At least Francoeur had the decency to admit he did not like alcohol, of any kind. She snapped the thought from her head. There, she was doing it again. She needed to stop comparing the two. Raoul had made a sweet gesture, one he hardly ever gained enough incentive, it would seem, to preform. She should be at least thankful for that.
She set her glass back down on her table, getting a good look at the bottle. It was a Bordeaux, no wonder.
"Thanks Raoul, but I'm really not thirsty. Besides, I kinda have plans tonight."
Lucille opened one of her dresser drawers and withdrew a small length of cloth once white but now so smudged with cosmetics it appeared a musky gray. She handed the material to the still sputtering man who was originally whipping his lips and beakish nose on the sleeve of his tanned leather jacket. He took it without looking and smeared it all over his mouth, which resulted in a blotched patch of dark, waxy coloring coating most of his lower face. She couldn't help but giggle a little. No, she hadn't done it on purpose. Didn't mean it wasn't a little humorous though.
Lucille scrounged around a bit more and recovered a thankfully clean handkerchief and a vile of remover. She dabbed a few drops on the cloth and preceded to clean his face like a mother to a child. He grumbled in protest before gently taking the material from her and finishing the job.
"What plans?" he finally asked.
She shrugged a little. "Not anything extravagant. But I'll be doing something with Francoeur."
"Francoeur?" The way Raoul said the name made her slightly upset. "Lucille, that's all you ever do. You sing at the theater and practice with Francoeur. What about some down time? What about some time with me? What's so important anyway that you can't just put it off till some other night?"
The young singer crossed her arms over her chest, a single hand rolling in the air as if trying to capture the right words. She never looked straight at him when she answered. "Well, you know how I've been saving up to move out of my flat?"
"Yeah." He tossed the soiled linen over the top of a chair leaning in the corner, wondering what this had to do with her singing partner.
"I found a little house near the edge of town. It's a nice place with two floors and a couple bedrooms."
"Kinda big ain't it?" A dark thought was beginning to creep up from the back of his mind.
That was when she decided to get to the point. "I want to move Francoeur out of the theater too. I'm getting the place so that both of us can stay there."
"What?" Raoul nearly hit the ceiling, the rest of his wine spilling onto the wood. "Are you certain that's a good idea? I mean, he likes it here."
"It's not right for him to stay here. He's too kind-hearted to say otherwise and human or not he deserves to have somewhere to call home."
"L'Oiseau Rare is his home, least that's what he sees it as."
"No, he doesn't," Lucille argued. "But that's beside the point. It isn't right, Raoul. I'm moving him in tonight after we leave."
"A bit eager, aren't we? You haven't even shown me the place yet."
"You know, I wasn't even going to tell about any of this. Emile said you would react this way."
"Emile knew about this? Who else?"
The situation at hand wasn't going well.
"Look, I'm sorry, alright? But I've already made my decision. He's moving in with me and that's final."
"Fine, whatever. I can see you're not going to change your mind." He swerved around and headed for the door, oblivious to the glass still handing in his right hand.
"Raoul, wait!" She reached for him but he never stopped or acknowledged that she had called his name.
Lucille just stood in her dressing room, holding herself and contemplating whether or not she had truly made the right decision.
Back with Francoeur however things were debatably a bit less stressful. His two fans still held him firmly in place, snuggling into him as if a pair of kittens. He felt so uncomfortable though he didn't know why -maybe it was just because of not having such close contact with other females besides Lucille. Even so, something was still off. In the back of his mind there was a tiny string of instinct being twanged like a guitar cord.
His senses spit in two as another pair of individuals made their presence known. The first was a lengthy girl with amber skin and hair as black as raven feathers. Much like one of the twins her locks were long and straight, only combed in a style to offset and obscure the left portion of her otherwise soft face. Despite that she appeared relatively stunning, the revealed iris such a bright shade of tea it almost appeared like a pool of swirling blood. As if in compliment she wore a scarlet dyed taffeta dress with ruffles flowing from her right thigh to the left. She walked with both hands crossed behind her back and a look that radiated competence and contemplation. At first glance she seemed to be around Lucille's age but something about her whispered knowledge beyond years.
Beside her was an older woman who Francoeur knew well enough. It was Carlotta, Lucille's 'Auntie.' She was a short and pleasantly pudgy woman around her mid forties. Her dirty-blond, pasta-like hair was always elegantly twisted into a bun to crown her scalp. The rest of her frame was hugged tightly by a velvety dress as dark as the night sky over Paris and accented here and there by pearls. This was a female Francoeur didn't mind. Granted she could be a bit exasperating, but he sensed no ill will from her presence.
It was the younger of the two who first spoke. "There you are," she snipped to the other two girls as they glanced up wide-eyed at their scolder. "You two can be so embarrassing sometimes." She took a bony palm and rubbed it into her right eye as if overcome by a headache. Turning to Carlotta she breathed, "I'm very sorry Madam. Please forgive them on my behalf."
"Oh, it's no trouble dear. No harm done." Lucille's Aunt turned down to the only male in the area. "Now, Francoeur I want you to follow miss Capulet here. I'm going to go and retrieve Lucille."
Thankfully the two weights holding him in place released their vice and trotted away, up the stairs and beyond, seemingly unaware of current happenings. He straightened himself, his attention now fully placed on the girl who had been labeled as 'Capulet.' Carlotta herself had wandered off into the backstage hall, headed most likely for Lucille's dressing room to retrieve said individual.
Capulet bowed, her silken hair flowing from her back like streams of midnight. "Pleased to meet you, Francoeur."
Carlotta took her time for the most part as she waddled down the floor towards the row of rooms left stocked with gowns and props. Most of those who had preformed this night had gone home right after their duty. Even so, there were only a few of said chambers designated for a specific individual. Most notably were Lucille's and Francoeur's. She could see her niece's in the distance but something slowed her approach. She heard voices being exchanged and immediately grew concerned. One was clearly male and the other female, both she could place to a name as well. Apparently Lucille and Raoul had gotten into another spat. Poor dears, it seemed there had to be at least one each week. Truth be told she honestly didn't think the two fit one another, not perfectly like a puzzle any how. They acted more like brother and sister than lovers. She would never say so out loud, mind you. This was a matter she knew the girl that she had raised for over a decade now had to piece together on her own. Despite what others may assume, the woman known as Carlotta did care for her niece as though she had sprung from her own loins.
Suddenly Raoul burst from the dressing door and stomped off towards the back exit, a wide-rimmed wine glass dangling forgotten in his right hand. The owner of L'Oiseau Rare let the man pass with no hindrance. She doubted he had even acknowledged her existence. She took a plump fist and gently knocked on Lucille's door.
Said girl jumped with a start as the soft clunks brought her back from the unreality of her thoughts. Lucille released the brace on her own arms and strolled over to the entrance into the small space that had been designated hers. She half-expected to see Francoeur, he always had a knack for appearing when she or others were in distress of some kind or another. However, when she finally opened the door and seen her aunt in the revealed space her heart felt as though it had truly plummeted from her chest to flop lifelessly onto the floor.
"Come, child. I have some people who would like to talk with you and Francoeur. He's with them now."
Carlotta made no attempt to pick at past events. Whatever had happened was her relative's business and Lucille would handle it like an adult or ask for her Auntie's assistance if need be. The young woman nodded and followed after.
The lounge was devoid of patrons safe for one small table set near the exit. It was always such a strange sensation seeing the place abandoned so quickly after an act. People had to return home to their families and sink into bed. Lucille could sympathize. Now, the only ones that seemed to remain -safe the waiters who busied themselves with maintenance- were herself, her aunt, Francoeur, an older gentleman and three other young girls. Really not an excessive amount of individuals given the cabaret's massive space.
It was a comfort to see her partner in good standing after she felt as though she had abandoned him to the wolves. He sat at the same table as the man, still in dress. He wasn't really paying much attention to anything, just twiddling his fingers in disquieting anticipation. As Lucille drew close she could finally make out the only other male of the group.
He was perhaps in his late forties to early fifties. His hair was graying dove-white and clustered most prominently behind his ears and beneath his nose. His face was a sagging mass of skin with deep-set, auburn eyes penetrating into unseen realms. He appeared to have a high-society scowl permanently engraved into his temples though it was possibly more due to age and stress. The clothes he wore were not truly meant for a night on the town, rather like a worker toiling in a cobbler's shop. An ivory, button-down shirt could vaguely be seen behind a pair of red suspenders and earthen trench coat. In one hand he held a tall glass of a pinkish liquor, the Rosé Carlotta often offered as a compliment to early guests.
Behind him stood a girl of around her own age that she had yet to make acquaintance with. Her hands were clasped behind her back, gaze turned downwards to the carpet as if current events held little to no interest. Then, at either side of the man were the twins that had tackled Francoeur before, their eyes wide like kittens tuned to a saucer of milk.
Lucille pulled out a chair and sat next to her stage partner. Next to her sat Carlotta. The man took a long drag from his glass and smacked his lips before setting the empty container to the table.
He cleared his throat before speaking, clearly taking his time with the matter. "Thank you for seeing me. My name is Marrok Sacheverell. My family and I do a lot of traveling and have met some astounding people. Though I do have to admit that you, Francoeur, certainly top that list." He had a distinct English accent, more prominent than the three girls. However his pronunciation of the French language was near spot-on.
Said individual remained silent safe a petite nod. It seemed like this man and his 'family' all held the same deflective aura. It was because of this that he had hardly acknowledged Lucille's presence next to him, so tuned to these people as he was.
"Ah, the modest type. I like that." His words were drawn as though each had much more meaning than what had yet been revealed. Marrok turned to Lucille. "Carlotta has been a dear to tell me some of his origins but I so wish to hear more. Where did you find such talent as his? Please don't tell me in the back of an alley somewhere." He grinned wolfishly as if half expecting such an answer.
Lucille swallowed hard, forcing a nonchalant smile. "Well, I was holding additions for a stage partner for a particular piece and he had been one of the applicants."
"Yes, yes, as I've heard," he drolled as though not satisfied with the answer. "Well, I'm afraid it's getting late and while I would love to probe more into the mind that is Francoeur I will get to the point. I would like to add my darling eldest daughter to your cast of talents."
The face of the girl standing behind him paled, eye bolt open. She snapped at the man. "What? Papa, you can not be-"
Her outburst was silenced by a simple palm raised upright.
"She will be a valuable addition to L'Oiseau Rare, I can assure you. She has the voice of a skylark, don't let her tell you otherwise. As well, she can preform in a multitude of languages, even in the dribbling tongue used by the oriental people."
The girl being spoken about turned her head off to the side with a flush as if either embarrassed or annoyed.
"Well now, if she truly is as grand as you make her out to be I will be delighted to add her act to a showing," Carlotta twittered. "When can she be ready?"
Marrok stood while speaking, eager to get a move on. "As soon as you will, madam. Perhaps we can meet again tomorrow morn to discuss more appropriate arrangements. As well, she can give you a sample as to why I boast."
"Yes, excellent." Carlotta clapped softly as she brought herself to a stand as well, Francoeur and Lucille following suit. "Let us say, perhaps around noon-ish?"
"That would be splendid." He bowed and so did his three daughters. "Goodnight to you all and many thanks for the wonderful show."
The owner and her two stars did the same, watching politely as the group took their time in exiting. Afterwards, Lucille and Francoeur retreated back into the stage and separated into their rooms. Truth be told, the young singer thought nothing odd about the play of events that had just transpired. This had not been the first. Many a proud parent had offered up their prodigy to her aunt for judgment. This had been the first time that said prodigy had acting in such a way. The girl appeared perpetually stunned, as if the notion her father had crated was preposterous. Similarly, this had been a first that said individual had inquired so pointedly about Francoeur. Which had truly at first been the intention of the conversation.
As Lucille removed her gown and began layering on casual ware suited for late spring she could hear something faint fluttering in the air. She listened hard and began to hear another sound, the soft strum of a guitar. Francoeur.
He was humming. As she listened further, closing her eyes, she tried to place the tune. Maybe he was working on a new piece. She remained for a time just listening to his sweet, gentle voice. How it seemed to envelop her in both comfort and warmth. The young woman could listen to his melodies for hours without becoming blasé. Somehow he could invent a new limerick with merely a single note expressed from his lips. He could play all kinds of instruments, though his favorites were string and ivory. But, his gifts were not restrained to mere song and dance. His skills at learning were impeccable. Whenever he set his mind to something he always saw it through to completion. He had even been gradually controlling the effects of the singing potion that had been needed in order to return him to his humanoid state. Loosening the cords in his voice just so much he discovered allowed him to commune without song. Over the past month he had opened up gradually, only recently hinting at a love for painting, and not so unusually, gardening. That kind of artistic talent for some reason didn't make her envious of him. No, she was truthfully content to be his muse. Her smile widened. She couldn't wait to show him their new place.
Lucille quickly wrapped herself in her favorite blue parka fit for spring before grabbing her bag and heading out.
Francoeur had stripped himself of the costume he had worn and hung the clothy shell up on one of the many mannequins used specifically for that purpose. This small room had become his home, adorned with everything in the world that he cherished. Which in all honesty wasn't much. He had a desk in one corner which hosted much of his works in written form. In the other there was a piano. It had originally been Lucille's but she had given it to him seeing as though she could not play herself and it had been one of the instruments that fascinated him.
He stretched himself out and reached for his guitar which he had rested upon the sofa across from the door while he disrobed. Afterwards he laid himself against the downy-stuffed cushions and began humming a little tune. It was not new, no he had invented it a week or so ago, when he had finally interpreted the emotions that sprang up whenever Lucille was near. At first they had been enigma, lumps of clay in need of sculpting. He had gradually been attempting to put them to words, the scattered feelings floating inside of his chest and around his heart like moths to a street lamp. He strummed the melody, letting the notes hang in the air with thought. How foolish to think of one who brought him sorrow as well as joy. She loved another, and even if not there was no possible way she could find feelings for someone like himself. He was an intruder in her world, a creation not meant for a life, a soul. As he considered this he looked himself over.
His form only ever so vaguely resembled Man. A night-blue carapace encompassed most of his insectile bulk. Long, thin legs designed for jumping scrunched up against the opposite armrest while four segmented arms tipped with three gangly fingers held tenderly to the maple-wood instrument. He knew that even if he were human his size would be abnormal, near seven feet tall and three feet wide at the shoulders. He had seen himself plenty of times in reflective surfaces -most called mirrors. Even his face could hardly be considered humanoid. Eyes dyed a golden-scarlet penetrated unseen realms with minuscule pupils. He had no visible nose or ears, the only protrusion upon his head being a set of 'mandibles' at each side of a lip-less mouth. Yes, the Masked Mystery known as Francoeur had once been nothing but an insignificant flea. Now, thanks to science and fated chance he was neither insect nor man. Just a hybrid of both not fit for either world.
These thoughts saddened him. Still, he understood that his existence made the only individual he cared for in this world happy. And he would continue that happiness for as long as he lived. And as long as she was happy so was he.
I would like to find the words
The right words, the right words
But all the words are so obscure
So obscure
The perfect words
Francoeur lentoly brought the first few verses of the work to life. But his concentration soon severed by a repetitive rapping against his door. He set his favorite artefact down to the floor, leaning it against the couch. He knew already who it was. Francoeur lifted himself and proceeded to open the door. There, standing in the revealed space, stood the Angel of the Rare Bird. Her hair was tied into a pigtail and draped across her form was a light, spring jacket flowing down to her knees. She had removed most of her mack-up and ever still the seemingly immortal entity rivaled the very goddess Venus herself.
He bowed, stepping aside to allow her entrance. Lucille hated having to put an end to his voice but she wanted to get going. Francoeur closed the door behind her and gracefully stepped over to one of the mannequins playing host to a much more plain suit of wares. It was just an ordinary black coat and pants, complete with hat and carmine scarf and mask. In a way this had been a more eye-pleasant version of the similar attire he had procured when first dubbed the Monster of Paris. He knew to go to this one in particular because this night was no different than any other after their job at the cabaret had been fulfilled. Whether he had forgotten about her promised surprise was questionable. If that were true it would make the moment all the more magical. It was every night after everything was said and done that the two would leave, arm in arm. Francoeur acted like a bodyguard, his mere presence imposing to even the most audacious thief.
Said flea dressed himself behind a length of paper screen similar to his partner's in her own room. In truth he didn't need to be as discreet with himself as humans did. Any private parts were obscured beneath thick chitin. Still, he preformed the act out of courtesy and -though he would never admit it to her- to make himself feel somewhat normal in her world. He reappeared all dressed for the occasion to find her petite form close by, a permanent smile already cast resplendently across her cheeks. He couldn't help but smile back.
Carlotta watched as her two growing stars of the Rare Bird appeared from one of the dressing rooms. She had just been passing by after attending to the rest of the workers. She was waiting to head home herself, not able to until all the cabaret's needs had been accounted for. Seeing the two walk calmly side by side down towards the back exit brought a smile to her haggard face. Now she highly doubted her niece couldn't see what her own Auntie saw. She could guarantee Francoeur wasn't some distant relation that Lucille had offered the job to. He had just been some random man on the street that had impressed her with song. Then, as they had spent time together, both personal and preforming, anyone with eyes, blind or otherwise, could have seen the bond the two had developed. Maybe it was just her imagination. But she had never once seen Lucille snap at Francoeur, nor him to her. They were so pleasant together, almost never being seen one without the other. Maybe all it would take was a little nudging in the right direction. All romance novels had their little twist. She should know. The uncomely business woman grinned to herself with a twitter of a laugh before disappearing up another flight of steps.
Lucille led her partner down the hall to the door where first that fateful meeting played so long ago it felt. As she stepped out into the night Francoeur felt no ill towards this alleyway, truthfully he viewed the blackened stretch smelling of decomposing garbage and wet clay as one of his most significant. It was where his emotions had finally sank to the bottom of his soul, so deep that it seemed as though they would never taste fresh air again. He had not understand anything then, being flung into a world of obscurities so distinct from the one he had been born into. Lucille even feared him then. The monster craved for a release that was distantly forthcoming. Having no true means of expression he had simply willed whatever may come its way. He felt a bubble of air raise from within his chest without coherent thought. Then another. For some odd reason it felt good, it felt pleasant, almost like a release of sorts. He willed the new sensation into being, manifesting itself into what he now understood to be song and tears. When his spirit had finally left on the air his lungs expelled with that final syllable he had nothing left. That was until a voice, her voice, beaconed him back.
"Francoeur?"
He hadn't realized his mind had drifted. Before, when he was small, -which truthfully felt now like universes away- he only ever had instinct. His mind had been too tiny to contemplate the meaning of time, to believe in something called faith, too insignificant to even dream. The one dubbed Honest Heart would never go back. If the choice was his to make, he would never, ever go back. He had been forced to once, when the accidental mixture of potions had began to ware on him. But still he had not yet lost his sanity. He had resided on the shoulder of the girl whom he remembered and cherished still. He witnessed first hand her sorrow that plagued her over thinking him lost forever. That was when he truly knew she cared for him, and he for her. So Francoeur called out to her in song -the only thing he had left- to comfort her and as a last resort for them both. The final essence of the botanical extracts were waring off, soon his voice would be gone as well. But Lucille had responded in time, with the help of Raoul and a hyper-intelligent Proboscis Monkey named Charles they were able to convince Professor Louis Auclair, the botanist, to invent a new tonic that would turn the flea permanently into the cross breed that he once was. Granted there had been a few changes otherwise from the original.
And now, here he was, in Paris, staring down at the woman who his very world revolved around. How far he had truly come in this great big world.
"Forgive me," the musician's voice whispered a kind-hearted apology. "I was thinking."
That gentle curve her lips always made when she was content returned. "About what?"
Lucille offered him her elbow and he took it without hesitation. "It is nothing important." He would never have to relive those horrible nights alone in Paris ever again.
Her head dropped from his gaze, leading the way out of the back street and into the main walk. "You were remembering when we first met weren't you?"
At this late evening the roadways were all but lively. Maybe a stray car passed by here and there, a late shopper retuning home with her bundle of purchased goods. The night was not entirely cold though it was late March. The building above them grew black, hosting the only stars thus far made from windows giving light to the swiftly darkening violet Parisian sky. The heavy air still clung to the scent of rain though La Seine had since retreated.
His mild, honeyed voice spoke to the wind, "yes."
Lucille's viridian oculars took a quick glance to her partner, his own golden ones tuned to the dusky heavens above. As a sign of comfort she brought her right hand up to lay upon his two forearms that gingerly hooked onto the crook of her opposing limb through a single sleeve.
"Why did it make you sad?"
Like always he took his time in answering. How had she known he was saddened? He had not cried. Francoeur still was not entirely fluid when it came to simply talking. That was why his voice was so soft. Even still, Lucille liked it like that. It wasn't rambunctious, it wasn't demanding. He preferred to listen rather than speak though that was more due to his character. So it was almost like a playful challenge for her, getting him to openly muse his meanderings.
Finally he voiced, "it was my most darkest moment, before you, before my song. I was so very alone, so very lost. I had no one and no one would have me. I was the Monster of Paris."
Even while just speaking his words sounded like a song. Now though they saddened her. He was such a gentle being. There were so few who could have looked past his appearance and seen his anguished soul writhing beneath plates of chitin. Lucille had never placed much belief in fate but perhaps this had been the exception. If he had sung to anyone else would they have granted him the same kindness as she had? The young singer banished the thought. What did it matter? Somehow they had found one another, two angels of music. It was just meant to be. She didn't know how to bring her thoughts to words like he did. But maybe she didn't have to.
Lucille increased her pace, gently tugging the giant, superhuman man-flea behind her. "Hurry, Francoeur. I don't want it to get too dark yet."
Bemused by her sudden change in pace the one being dragged along could do little more than allow her leadership. A few blocks latter and he realized that they were not heading in the direction of her flat. This lead to even more confusion. That was when he began to wonder where exactly they were headed. The walk, despite Lucille's increases pace, took exceedingly longer than normal. He tried to record in his memory the names of the streets they passed along with other landmarks. He would have to find his way back to the theatre without her guidance once he dropped her off to wherever she was going. He couldn't very well hop back, that would bring even the most stupor eyes to attention seeing a gigantic man-shaped figure traveling by air with no aid or hindrance. Still, as deeper and deeper they delved the names become so obscure that it was hard to remember them. Maybe the buildings themselves could be used. It would seem they had diminish after a certain point, almost as though shrinking.
Then, almost as suddenly, her pace began to slow. They rounded another curve where a dwelling stood off in a corner not so particularly. Even so she seemed to be heading towards it. Maybe she was spending a night with that new friend of hers and Raoul's. He had not yet seen her place. Lucille released him once they had eventually come to a stop in front of a tall, metal gate composed into intricate designs in mimicry of ivy. Lucille retrieved from her coat pocket a ring of keys, circling through them in order to find the right one. She selected it and placed it into the hole of the fence where it needed to go in order to allow entry. They walked through and then up a short walkway of cobblestone.
Francoeur was so mesmerized by the structure that he hardly noticed much else when they arrived at the doorstep. It was such a pretty home, and so unusual too now that he had gotten close enough. Up until now he had assumed all buildings, both private and public, were clustered together. But this one stood a bit apart from the city, distancing others by its wall of bronze curvature. It had a small lawn of plain green grass and an awfully wide doorstep that jutted out slightly above the ground with a wooden fence itself and was covered by a canopy of sorts. At least its roof was somewhat normal. It was flat but lined with more of the tall blackish-brown metal-work that made up the gate. Instead of being tall and rectangular the structure had a kind of smooth attractiveness that appealed to him in a strange way. As far as he could tell in the rapidly diminishing light its whole had been painted a kind of rusty red. Though even if it wasn't dark the fact that the place was in general disarray didn't help with assumptions.
The door itself was actually his height which was kind of nice. Most places had doors too small for him which made the unnaturally tall individual have to bend down uncomfortably to walk inside. It was white but still had some flaking here and there. The knocker placed at the height of his chest had been sculpted into that of a lion biting onto a ring used in the actual knocking. What an odd little device. But Lucille did not use it. Instead she sorted through her keys again, finding another to her liking and inserted it into the door, below the knob. He heard a click and the domicile was exposed for all to see. But there was nothing to see, just a shadowy portal into nothingness.
Lucille stood in the opening, her back against the door. "You're probably a little confused now, humm?"
His gaze drew back to her, chirping in acknowledgment. She still liked it when he was speechless.
"This is my new place. Maude, Emile, my Auntie and Gwenaelle helped me move in a few days ago."
Gwenaelle he knew to be the girl from the flower shop that Raoul often made deliveries for and Carlotta made bouquet purchases form for L'Oiseau Rare. She was oddly enough becoming fast friends with the group mainly due to taking an interest in said delivery boy's inventive prowess.
But hearing those words from Lucille made him a bit depressed. She had moved into her new home with out asking assistance of him. He knew she was looking for a place. She had never told him if she had found it or not. By the looks of things it was so big. He could have helped a lot. Why hadn't she told him?
Lucille noticed a pang of regret suddenly crop up behind that mask of his. She decided to change the subject. With a daft hand she reached inside the door and felt around for a switch inside. Her fingers flicked a small protrusion downwards and a sudden burst of light on the opposite side of the wall came to life. His face immediately cocked towards the source of the miniature sun, a small lantern soldered beside the door. It was such a beautiful construct, a white orb glowing beneath a steel plate shaped into a lacy bonnet design. With the new illumination the shadows collecting along the porch shot off into unknown corners still not graced by the reveal. Some sought cover a bit two swiftly, forcing the ever-alert hybrid's eyes to dart around for a moment with a sense of unease.
He turned back to Lucille as she disappeared for a moment into the domicile. Her fingers glazed yet another switch and the innards of the wooden body were lit in a tender, lemony glow. She went back to him then, taking his prodigious hands into hers and leading him inside. Once done she turned behind him to shut the prying eyes of the night out.
"Well, what do you think?"
When she had asked him that he was already taking in his new surroundings. They had stepped into the main chamber which played host to very little at the moment. There was a set of chairs surrounding a table of glass. The precession set atop a round, crimson-dyed wool carpet set in front of a dead fireplace. The actual floor itself was of a tawny-colored wood, the walls painted just a simple white. The left had a stairwell leading around and up into the second floor. Off to his right he saw another room of which he could make out another set of more dainty furnishings and some kind of blocky machines.
Lucile had taken off her coat and strung it onto a rack set beside the door behind her curious friend. She then appeared at his front, taking his hands into hers once more.
"Come, hurry. You must see why I chose the place."
Once again he allowed her the lead, guiding him towards the steps and up. The second floor consisted of at first a small open room facing the front of the home, looking out through a round window into the yard. A hallway turned to the left with another branching to the right, splitting the second level in two. But she bypassed revealing to him the contents of said rooms, instead guiding him down the hall to a seemingly dead end. He looked on curiously, intent on what she had to show him. Currently a strange and out of place length of rope captured his attention. It dangled from the ceiling where he could see trimming cut into an elongated rectangle. Lucille gave him a warning to back up a bit before she gave a great heave on the thick length of line. The hidden exit onto the roof toppled forward, releasing a rickety old ladder down to the floor like the tongue of some tinder beast. Francoeur nearly jumped straight through to the roof instead.
The child-like girl swerved around to the front of the device and began her climb, still bidding him to follow. He did so, taking his time to ease his body through the hole that was in a way just a slight bit too small for his width. He stood at the very pinnacle of the dwelling. There was nowhere left for his charge to run off to. What a strange roof this was as well.
There was many things that could be said of the male singer of the Rare Bird that called himself Francoeur. One of those things that could only be guessed by a startling few was that he had seen plenty of roof-tops. This one however he had never seen before. Not even when he had jumped so high into the sky to escape the screams of the people who feared him. But that frantic route had been out of fear itself. It was highly unlikely that he could have seen every inch of Paris in his flight.
He was right in guessing that the roof had been gated off, the very same substance and design encompassed the small space, almost to near his height. Off to the back, left corner was a dilapidated pile of musky wooden planks and wire glued together with what would appear to be pigeon feathers and their droppings. Francoeur knew them to be called 'Coops' which were used to keep the actual birds for pets or otherwise.
What had finally drew his attention however, came from a glass shack which sat beside the blackened chimney and overtook most of the space. Its panes were stained a milky gray and here and there browning vines poked through broken panels and twisted its metal frame. Inside he could make out the carcasses of greenery. It was, or at least at one point had been, a Greenhouse.
Francoeur took notice of the door that waved as if beckoning him to enter. Lucille must have gone inside already. He took a step forward, but paused for a moment. A gust of wind passed by and he shivered. His senses had picked something from the air. He could not describe it other that it being 'bad.' He had never encountered such a sensation before. Maybe it was only nerves. He shook his head and hurried inside.
All about the enclosure rested dead flora and broken furniture. The shattered remains of terracotta pots and shards of glass like diamonds sparkled enchantingly in the starlight. She stood with her back to him beneath a stream of moonbeams flicking down through a sheet that had been busted open by a feral vine as thick as an oak branch. Her arms were crossed against her chest as if the frigidity of the dark had finally crept inside of her. She was so beautiful, how anyone could remain upset with her was beyond his mortal understanding. Her chestnut locks road down only a slight bit past her shoulders, curling cutely at the tip in defiance at having to be restrained. She wore just a simple sweater colored in an earthen hue with flannel pants of a bit lighter shade. Her boots were black and laced up beneath the bells of said garment. There were no words he could ever imagine that could describe her at this moment, being so plain as yet so amaranthine all at once. This was exactly the reason why that song troubled him so.
Lucille turned to him them, eyes reflecting the skylight like pools of the deepest ocean. Her voice was what finally broke his trance.
"I'm sorry about not telling you but I wanted it to be a surprise. It has so much to offer but was for a good price mostly due to the disarray that certain parts are in. Money really wasn't that much of a factor anyway seeing as how well L'Oiseau Rare is doing these days. But, I thought that maybe it would be like a nice project for the both of us. The roof was what had truly impressed me. With that fencing outside you could be up here alone and no one could see you. And with this we could clean it up, get some new plants. It would be beautiful."
When he didn't say anything, words caught in his dry throat, she softly walked up to him, hands placed ever so cautiously upon his upper arms as though she were attempting to sooth a true monster.
"I got this place so that you don't have to stay at Carlotta's Club anymore. So that you could move here, with me."
Francoeur took a moment to digest her words. Had she really just asked him to stay with her? She had truly taken into consideration a home that suited himself as well as her? He must have been hearing things, she would never... What would Raoul think if she did?
As if sensing his thought she said, "Raoul already knows about it. He's not happy but I already told him it didn't matter. I don't like you staying at the theater all alone. You work there as do I and I know I could only take so much of the place in one day though I do love it dearly."
She stopped speaking then when she discovered his height had suddenly decreased drastically. Her partner had fallen to his knees, making his stature perfect for a man of his size. He then embraced her ever so gingerly as if fearful that if he squeezed to hard she would shatter to dust in his grasp.
"Thank you, Lucille."
His voice just barely above a whisper brought a shiver as the heat from his breath fluttered past her ear. Shock overtook her, never expecting in a thousand years that he would do such a thing. He had been so moved by her offer that it had in turn moved her. Lucile brought her arms up beneath his and gripped the back of his shirt. She could feel the coarse plates and knobby hairs fighting to break through the surface of the flimsy fabric. She closer her eyes, resting her cheek upon his shoulder, returning his hug with all the emotion he had given her.
-END OF CHAPTER-
I do not read comments. If you wish to contact me about this work please go to my profile.