I apologize, I meant to get this out over two weeks ago, but I just haven't gotten around to it until now
So this is the story that my friend Briana requested. Only the first chapter will be posted here in my regular story, and subsequent chapters can be found in its own story, which is under the title "A Day In Paris". The next chapter will be from Luka's pov, and each chapter will switch pov (possibly with some exceptions). A shout out to Briana, thank you for supporting and reading my writing! This is for you, Bri.
Edward: is she short?
Author: ummm, well, I uh
Allen: Ed, why would you ask that?
Skrillex: because to us, it is important. So is she short?
Author: um, she's taller than me...
Edward: well, you're pretty short, so that doesn't mean much. So C'mon, tell us is-
Author: - well I think it's time we got on to the story!
All vocaloid characters and ideas belong to their respective companies.
Len's pov
The sun was almost directly overhead. It was about noon, and I was glad for the snapback that I was wearing. The cobblestone walkway below my feet posed no threat as for a sprained ankle or stumble. The sidewalks here were always kept in well repair.
Flowers hung in baskets, from window boxes, in planters, and in cracks in the sidewalk. White wildflowers. They reminded me of the complexion of my companion.
She had her arm linked through mine, and the other hand held a small bag, which contained various things such as some fruit, a small cat toy for her kitten back at her apartment, and the new scarf she had just purchased today.
We were headed for a small café up ahead. In Paris it was common to be charged extra if you sat outside, but the café in question kept the upped prices as low as they could, making it a popular place with the locals.
A gondola passed near us, out on the canal we were walking next to. A few adults, probably tourists, sat inside, gaping at their surroundings. The cameras around their necks confirmed my suspicions.
Before they could snap a picture of us, I pulled my hat lower and hurried us to the café. I didn't really want a commotion to start. The people of the area had accepted us a famous music artists, but on previous accounts, tourists have been known to recognize us and clamour for a photo.
It gets really tedious sometimes.
"C'mon, Luka, I see a table open." I said to her I hurried us towards our destination.
While there was a table open outside the café, my cover rang empty, as the Walter outside had seen us from down the block and stuck a RESERVED sign on said table.
Luka cast a glance around us and caught sight of the tourists on the canal. She raised her eyebrows, but sped up as well.
We got to the table and set our stuff down next to our chairs. Our waiter turned from where he was next to an adjacent table and smiled. We came to this café multiple times a week, and he knew we preferred the tables outside.
Once he was done with the other table he came by to take our orders.
Luka went first. "I'll get a white mocha, please." She said without even glancing at the menu. Likewise, "a chai latte as well," I said.
The waiter finished writing on his paper and went back inside.
I turned back to Luka.
A/N well, that was a brief chapter, yes, but for a tangent from my story, I didn't want to make it too long. There will be new chapters of this out eventually, again found in its own story, "A Day In Paris", by me, pinemartin.k. However, my main story, Life With The Vocaloids, is my priority. I expect to have a new chapter out for that within the next two weeks.
Skrillex: where's the rum gone?
Author: we gave the rest to the condo manager back in Mexico.
Skrillex: but why?
Author: because we didn't have time to drink the rest,and we couldn't bring it back with us.
Edward: so essentially, it's gone.
Allen: yes.
Skrillex: but why's the rum gone?
Author: because it is a vile drink that turns even the most respectable men into complete scoundrels.
And on that note, I leave you. I 3 pirates of the Caribbean.
(Ok the spellcheck service here keeps marking things with "passive voice" and "hidden verbs"... So is my style of writing slightly detached or confusing?)