Title: Nuances Du Rouge (Shades of Red)
Author: Lisek16
Disclaimer: I don't own Alias, but somehow I find it hard to believe you actually thought that I did.
Feedback: R/R or email Lisek16@yahoo.com
Author's note: I'm sorry if the French translations were marred or incorrect…I know online translators are not perfect but they are better than nothing.
French patols pumped and pulsated through the stone walls of the Parisian club. Well dressed French whores and businessman alike jived to the French rap, and drank expensive wine. "Swank" was how Marshall had described it; I chose to think of it as a bad dream. Smoke from cigars and stylish cigarettes invaded my senses and I found it difficult not to display a disgusted glance at the scene around me.
I walked to the bar trying to forget that the dress I was sporting was about 2 sizes too small. Short, red, and cut about 5 inches too high…was not my idea of an appropriate outfit. Perhaps it was Sloane's intention for me to come across as a whore.
I slid onto the suede stool and tried to grab the bartender's attention. It wasn't difficult because he couldn't help but look down my dress and ogle me before he allowed me to order. I ordered a Martini. He offered it on the house, claiming he'd 'never let a beautiful woman worry about money'. I declined his 'generous offer' and paid using the francs SD-6 had funded me with. I excused myself from the bar and sat at a small café style table positioned near the dance floor.
A few men walked up to me, they asked me if I'd like to dance and I somehow managed to refuse. I sipped my martini disinterestedly and searched for my contact.
Sloane had called me in early Monday morning to explain my latest mission. I was to visit a Parisian night club and locate 'Brigitte', a French whore with Intel to holdings of Chester Nimitz, a shady art dealer and the latest enemy of SD-6.
A few minutes into my Martini, and my vacant stare, a woman approached me and speaking Rapidly in French asked if I was looking for Brigitte…I nodded and in equally rapid French I managed to explain that I was. She directed me to a woman standing by the stage and I muttered "merci" under my breath as I made my way through the throng of dancing drunks.
"Brigette?" I managed to get out. She sipped some champagne and smiled a coy smile, "not here, outside" she smoothly cooed in a deep French accent which marred English with French. She escorted me outside and I asked "Avez-vous Intel? (Do you have the Intel?)" as soon as she closed the door to the club.
TBC
Author: Lisek16
Disclaimer: I don't own Alias, but somehow I find it hard to believe you actually thought that I did.
Feedback: R/R or email Lisek16@yahoo.com
Author's note: I'm sorry if the French translations were marred or incorrect…I know online translators are not perfect but they are better than nothing.
French patols pumped and pulsated through the stone walls of the Parisian club. Well dressed French whores and businessman alike jived to the French rap, and drank expensive wine. "Swank" was how Marshall had described it; I chose to think of it as a bad dream. Smoke from cigars and stylish cigarettes invaded my senses and I found it difficult not to display a disgusted glance at the scene around me.
I walked to the bar trying to forget that the dress I was sporting was about 2 sizes too small. Short, red, and cut about 5 inches too high…was not my idea of an appropriate outfit. Perhaps it was Sloane's intention for me to come across as a whore.
I slid onto the suede stool and tried to grab the bartender's attention. It wasn't difficult because he couldn't help but look down my dress and ogle me before he allowed me to order. I ordered a Martini. He offered it on the house, claiming he'd 'never let a beautiful woman worry about money'. I declined his 'generous offer' and paid using the francs SD-6 had funded me with. I excused myself from the bar and sat at a small café style table positioned near the dance floor.
A few men walked up to me, they asked me if I'd like to dance and I somehow managed to refuse. I sipped my martini disinterestedly and searched for my contact.
Sloane had called me in early Monday morning to explain my latest mission. I was to visit a Parisian night club and locate 'Brigitte', a French whore with Intel to holdings of Chester Nimitz, a shady art dealer and the latest enemy of SD-6.
A few minutes into my Martini, and my vacant stare, a woman approached me and speaking Rapidly in French asked if I was looking for Brigitte…I nodded and in equally rapid French I managed to explain that I was. She directed me to a woman standing by the stage and I muttered "merci" under my breath as I made my way through the throng of dancing drunks.
"Brigette?" I managed to get out. She sipped some champagne and smiled a coy smile, "not here, outside" she smoothly cooed in a deep French accent which marred English with French. She escorted me outside and I asked "Avez-vous Intel? (Do you have the Intel?)" as soon as she closed the door to the club.
TBC