La Vie En Rose
Scarlet closed her eyes. She can feel her pulse thrumming in her veins to a slow steady rhythm. From jumping off the ledge and nearly slipping off the train, to having Wolf in such a close proximity being pressed on top of her –like a paperweight to keep her from fleeing off the train's roof, was more than enough to have her nerves on the edge. But the spike of adrenaline was short lived and it is now waning off her system leaving this odd buzz in her head.
The maglev tracks were humming beneath the floor of the train. As the scenery moved fast outside, she can hear the wind whipping and lapping on the nearby trees. She had her back on the train's wall surrounded with all the crates Wolf had put aside to free some space. She can hear the click of Wolf's heel on the floorboards pacing back and forth, unable to diffuse that bundled up frenetic energy. And then he stopped. She can sense that he was looking at her with those shrewd and calculating eyes of his. And then slowly, as if he was sizing her up, he took cautious light steps toward her.
He placed himself beside her both their arms brushing against each other. He shuffled his weight from one hip to the other looking for a comfortable spot -and failing, she guessed, since there were still a lot of unnecessary movements to keep him from being still.
She exhaled from her mouth letting all her unused energy dissipate. The buzz in her head continued, making her woozy and almost sleepy. The hum of the maglev tracks didn't seem that it's going to stop any time soon. And in the back of her head, that strange hum of tracks turned into something else. A memory five years back.
The voice of her grand-mère, singing.Des yeux qui font baisser les miens
Unrire qui se perdsursa bouche
Voilà le portrait sans retouche
De l'hommeauquelj'appartiens
She was on the porch's steps, her chubby chin resting on both the palm of her hands. She was watching the chickens pecking on the gravel. Her grandmother was near the table on the porch arranging flowers on a vase.
Scarlet looked to the direction of her grandmother, tired from all the farmlands she could see.
"Grand-mère?" said Scarlet.
"Yes, darling?" Her grandmother didn't look up busy in arranging leaves at the lip of the vase.
"I'm bored. Is there something else I can do?" Scarlet whined and immediately she regretted what she said. She didn't want to be send doing chores.
This time her grand-mère looked up. She smiled sweetly to Scarlet, her eyes crinkling, little crow's feet forming on the edges of her eyes. "Come," She patted the seat next to the table.
Scarlet jumped on her feet. She ran the short distance between her and her grand-mère, her short red hair whipping wildly against her ears. She tackled her grandmother softly on her waist and her grand-mère wrapped both of her arms around her and seated her on her lap.
"Scarlet, don't run like that. It's very unlady-like." Her grand-mère smoothed the tresses on her head.
Scarlet pouted and looked away to the vase on the center of the table. It was already finished, the bundle of flowers neatly arranged on top of the other. Her grandmother was always like that, delicate on things but she puts weight on the really important parts.
"Grand-mère, what was that song you were singing?" asked Scarlet picking up a fallen rose petal fiddling with it on her little fingers.
Her grand-mère tightened her hug around her. "It's a song from a memory long time ago," her grandmother whispered as if telling her a secret. "Do you want your grand-mère to tell you a story?" She kissed Scarlet's forehead.
Scarlet brightened up, suddenly excited. She nodded briskly.
"Well," her grand-mère began, "back when I was young, I met a man." Her grandmother's eyes crinkled again, shining, like all the youth never left her eyes.
She proceeded on caressing Scarlet's hair and Scarlet nuzzled warmly on her grand-mère's chest, the perfect combination of soft and firm made by years' worth of gardening. Scarlet listened intently suddenly aware that her grand-mère's voice was more amplified coming from inside her chest.
"It was a long time ago… Ages," she looked down at Scarlet. "He asked me out for dinner all of a sudden. And I have to wonder because we rarely talked. We passed each other in the halls, we were practically strangers. But there we were that night, sitting in front of each other trying to talk.
There was a laugh hidden somewhere in her grand-mère's words. It's almost imperceptible but Scarlet could feel it. And to feel what her grand-mère feel, it's comforting, fuzzy and warm, all kinds of good things.
"He was a man with few words to say. He only talked when it was important and needed. He was serious. But unlike people of his kind, he has a kind heart. He wouldn't show it straightforward but he was the kind of person who would willingly help others when they are in need.
Scarlet thought about the person her grand-mère was telling. A silhouette of a man formed in her mind, she randomly thought of features he could have but couldn't quite put it together. She saw a lock of her ruby red hair her grand-mère was absently twirling. And she thought that maybe this man could have red hair like hers. That idea fits in well and she settled to that.
"The first time he asked me out it was awkward. We didn't have the slightest idea what each other was like. Our sentences were jumbled, we couldn't concentrate on the food in front of us, -everything was a mess, it was all out of place. I accidentally spilled wine on the suit he was wearing!" Her grandmother covered her eyes, massaging her temples trying to shake off the embarrassment that suddenly resurfaced from her. "I tried fixing it. I dabbed my handkerchief on the stain but he swatted my hand away. I thought he was mad, I was pretty sure he was mad. So I stood up from the table and I told him, 'You shouldn't have asked me out.' I saw his eyes narrowed. He was still seated on his chair, he wasn't making any move to stand up. He angled his chin to me, he looked haughty. I began to seethe internally, I couldn't make out what he wanted from me asking me out for dinner. Am I some form of amusement to him? I looked at the glass of wine I accidentally spilled on him, there's still some left and in the back of my mind I was half way splashing it across his face. Then I heard him snicker.
"It was a lighthearted one. He didn't expect he would laugh. Both of us didn't expect that he would laugh, nothing was laughable as of the moment. I was mad at him now, so looked squarely into his eyes, 'I am leaving,' I announced. I didn't care if people at the other table heard what I said. Then I stormed out.
"He was quick to his feet. I heard the feet of his chair scratching the tiled floor. Panicked steps ran after me. And I didn't care, I wasn't going to let him make a fool out of me. He grabbed my wrist. Some of the people nearby were watching our little spectacle now. I resisted his hold. I looked up at him, his face was calm. I couldn't read what was going on in his mind and that made me even more furious. I wrestled away from his grip but he held tighter. Then he smiled at me, it was placid, it managed to diffuse the attention of the onlookers. It managed a blush to creep up my cheeks. For the life of me, I didn't know why that happened.
"'We are leaving,' he said to me. He stuffed his hand in his pocket and threw a few paper bills on the table. 'I never really liked this place anyway,' he said and he pulled me out towards the door.
"When we were outside, he led the way and I tagged along behind him. I was unsure what to do. I thought about running off silently without him noticing but it didn't seem right. We walked past an avenue of antique shops while I was watching his back, his arm was still stretch back to me pulling me along. Then the words just came right out as I thought of them. 'Why'd you asked me out for dinner?' When I didn't get any answer I sped up so that I could walk in step with him. He couldn't look me in the eyes. I was frustrated, he was really hard to figure out.
"'I…,' he mumbled. 'You…?' I pressed. Then I noticed he was looking at something from across the street. We had stopped walking. I swiveled and found an antique shop its glass front was illuminated in cream colored light displaying various collectibles native of Luna and some I recognize was from Earth, I swiveled back to him. At least this time his eyes wasn't darting from one place to the other just to avoid looking at me, so that's a development of the date. 'You plan to take me here all along?' I finally said to him. He smiled guiltily and he caught my eyes. 'I'm a man who plans things, so naturally I want things to be done right as it should be. But since the dinner didn't go well, this part of the date was rather pushed up early in the schedule.'
"My eyebrow rose. 'Ha! You call this a date?' I yelled at him incredulously. He didn't reply he simply lifted his hand and opened it, waiting for mine to place it on top. When I didn't comply, he told me, 'You don't want me to drag you again across the street right?'
"I was suspicious at first but my curiosity got the better of me. I placed my hand on his and felt his fingers closing in on it. As we walked toward the antique shop, I noticed that his hand was rough and callused the kind that endured years of writing too much. But he held my held my hand gently, it seemed lighter inside his, like a radiant warmth was emanating from the inside. For the first time that night I thought about who he is. And I finally admitted to myself that I willingly and wanted to come with him.
"The antique shop was larger than I thought it was on the inside. The shelves were lined with fist-sized gemstones that were excavated underground Luna when it was founded centuries ago, paintings, sculptures and busts littered every corner and almost all the available space on the floor. A sword was hanging on the wall beside a huge framed blueprint of the very first hover craft, lanterns and chandeliers were hanging above the rafters of the ceiling. I wandered off on the side of the shop where this enormous tapestry was covering an entire wall. It was bright and glittery all over the place but I couldn't help but be mesmerized by it. It was woven by the same material that was only naturally occurring in Luna. The luster on every thread was blinding it was almost too painful for the eyes to see the whole picture. Minutes must have passed as I gawk at the tapestry. I was started when he tapped me on the shoulder. I blinked a few time refocusing on him. He gestured his head toward the backend of the shop and I followed him.
"He opened a door at the back and there was another room. It was larger than the front of the shop, the air was stuffy and the lights were dim. It housed more antique collections, but these came from a much earlier era. Everything was covered with a thin layer of dust. I looked around and saw crown jewels and scepter encased in glass. Chalices, ornamental tea sets and porcelain china, stacked on top of each other. Ban books are stockpiled from the floor climbing to the wall along the shelves all the way up the ceiling, religious scriptures and scrolls are cramped on one table. A gigantic statue was lying on its back spanning the whole length of the room. My hands went to cover my mouth, I gasped. The Statue of David, a crack was running along on its side and the hand that was holding his slingshot was missing, bits of its shoulder was blown with it but aside from that it was in marvelous condition.
"'Aren't all these things contraband? These are from the early decades of the Second Era and some of these are spoils from the Fourth War. How did these get in here? Isn't this illegal?' I turned and asked him. 'Yes. Yes. Yes. How did these get in here? Through a spaceship and hover to answer your very simple question. Are these illegal?' He gave himself time to think, 'A definite, yes.'
"'So what now?' I suddenly felt constricted being surrounded by illegal goods. 'Ah, that brings me. What are these?' he pointed at a row of barrels on the floor. 'Those are wine barrels,' I replied at him. 'Wine barrels?' He digested the idea, "What do wine needed barrels for?' He questioned me like a fish out of water.
"I sighed and explained it to him. 'Well, back then when wines did not yet come from pressurized cans they made it in here,' I pointed the barrel at him. He made this expression on thinking. I can see the cogs moving in his head. 'It helps with the fermenting process. It tastes better.' I added.
"A spark of recognition crossed his face. 'Ah, because you're from France, that's why you know so much about wine. What do they call you then… a connoisseur?'
"When he said that that put the suspicion right back in my mind. 'How did you know I was from France?' I asked him. 'Um, I looked at your bio,' he said to me in a rather innocent and matter-of-fact tone.
"'Well, I'm from France but I'm not on the regions where the chateaus are. I'm from Rieux.' I pointed it out to him. 'They said all the parts of France have a trademark product. What do people in Rieux have?' He asked.
"'Um… Farm produce.' I didn't know what to say to him. It was very anti-climactic, I think his excitement deflated. Then he neared on a table. 'Might I ask what this contraption, er… machinery is for?' He gestured, his arms flailing compensating for the lack of a better word. 'It's some sort of a musical instrument, right? It's a trumpet! Is it?' He looked at me expectant. I looked at the object on the table. It was a square box with a bell attached to it flaring on one end. 'It's a phonograph.'
"'A what?' He exclaimed. 'It plays music,' I replied to him, 'It's from the early decades of the Second Era.' I saw a couple of vinyl records beside it. I pulled one at random. I patted away the dust and placed it on top of the player. I cranked the lever beside it and put the needle on the disk. A scratchy music began to fill the dusty air.
"Des yeux qui font baisser les miens/Un rire qui se perdsursa bouche/Voilà le portrait sans retouche/De l'hommeauquelj'appartiens
"'How on Luna…' He was astonished. I supposed anyone would be surprised hearing music coming from a box. It must've looked like magic to him. He scrunched his hair messing its perfectly comb strands. He was wearing this boyish smile coupled with a surprised expression upon seeing that such a thing exist. He paced to and fro the table debating on something. He hesitated at first but he lifted his hand, the same hand that he offered back on the street.
"I eyed at the hand, my mind was blank, the hand looked alien to me. A look of dejection was slowly forming on his face. He offered the hand again, shaking it as if the action that would follow was as easy as common sense.
"Then I got it. My mind snapped. I felt like the wind was knocked off of me when I realized what he was trying to ask. I raised my head and laughed. I didn't mean to laugh at his attempts but that was the last thing I thought he would do in that place.
"I still acquiesced. He pulled me and placed his other hand on my waist. I was laughing internally. 'Really?' I mocked on him lightly. He twirled me, the trotting of his feet was in perfect sync. 'Isn't this what Earthens do on their dates?' His smile was lopsided, I hated the fact that I willingly put some of the confidence in there. So I smirked at him equally not letting him defeat me, 'I thought we were past that when I decided to walk out on you at the restaurant.' He barked a laugh, 'Touché.'
"I know I was consciously flirting with him. But I didn't want to admit it openly. Instead, I closed my eyes and focused on the music."
Michelle looked down to her granddaughter.
"He made me remember about home, Scarlet."
Scarlet's cheeks were puffed and a small smile was on her lips. "Who is he grand-mère? Who was that man?"
She nuzzled Scarlet and pressed her below her chin smoothing her red locks again. The question was lost. Instead, she thought about her grand-mère as this new person, who she was before.
Her grandmother's gaze was faraway, pass the clouds and the entire sky to a single distant point in space.
Scarlet looked back at arm's length from her. And she tried to etch the vast cornfield in her memory, their sunny porch on that midday and her grand-mère on her gardening smock, the edges of the jumper pants stained with earth. And she tried so hard to imagine her grandmother living in this peaceful place throughout her life.
TBC
Author's Note:
Um, hullo. I'm new in here, —I mean, in the TLC fandom. You still call it like that, right? Ugh, I haven't been in fanfiction for years now. But here I am. Tadaaa! But before you go, I would just like to point out two things: 1. Is that on the TLC series I have only read Cinder and Scarlet so far (so if you're going to comment/review. Please. And this is heavily implied. NO SPOILERS! On Cress or the other side stories); and 2. Is that I haven't written in a while so yes, forgive my grammar errors, and any other errors aside grammatical ones, I'm still picking up my bearings (if I have any bearings to pick. Haha).
So, bye for now. I'll see you on the next chapter. Don't forget to leave a review. I NEEEEed it! Thanks!
I almost forgot. The inspiration of this fic came from the song La Vie En Rose. Here's the link for that song:
www. youtube watch?v=3Ba_WoSZXvw
It's a cover. The original is in French by Edith Piaf
-esp :D