Tintin & Alph-Art: Part 1
THE 'H' AND THE 'E'
Disclaimer: Tintin and all characters and stories, even the ones that remain in sketch form, belong to Herge and no one else.
Summary: While investigating the mysterious death of an art expert who wanted to meet him, Tintin and his friends are drawn into the controversial worlds of modern art and New Age spirituality. However, in the process, he's also thrown in the path of an old quest for vengeance. May include OCs and a few story elements borrowed from Rodier (Disclaimer for that: ALSO NOT MINE!).
Prologue
The young woman paid rapt attention to the bearded man standing in front of her, as he mumbled sentences in an alien language. She decided that it may be special for having been granted a one-on-one audience with him, however unexpected it may have been. But she couldn't help wondering if...Oh, never mind, she thought.
One outstretched palm, complete with trembling fingertips, was faced in the direction of his other palm, where a curious pendant, connected to a loop of black string, rested. It was coloured yellow-gold and shaped into what the man said was a reminder of his name, where his first initial mirrors itself.
She had nodded in understanding, watching interestedly as he whispered to it in what seemed like Greek to her and other people, but she personally knew that it was only Old Hollandic mixed with a little Latin.
Martine Lenore Vandezande smiled weakly when he finally finished, then bent slightly so he could put the talisman over her head. The colour of the pendant complemented her bespectacled green eyes and light auburn hair. She paid and thanked him politely, to which he said, "Go forth, dear sister, may your future be bright, always."
She did go forth, her eyes brimming with tears as her gloved fingertips touched the pendant ever so slightly. There was a smile on her face, but it was a thin one. She half-walked, half-ran home, her handbag clutched tightly to her chest, her tears threatening to spill out. She bit her red-lipsticked lower lip slightly to prevent this. No, she won't cry, not now. It's been so long...
She finally found herself at home. The landlady, Mrs Lark, had left the door unlocked, so, once inside, she locked it with the key hanging nearby, then tiptoed upstairs and entered her apartment, locking herself inside. Martine sighed and took off her glasses to wipe the few tears that had rolled silently down her cheeks.
Martine went into her little kitchen and poured herself a glass of water. She sat at the table, took off her new bling and inspected it cautiously. Suddenly, after a few moments, she abruptly dunked it into the glass, threw her spectacles on the table and dashed into the bathroom to throw up into the loo. Afterwards, she washed her face and congratulated herself on not having a breakdown.
As she looked at her reflection in the mirror over the sink, Martine finally understood that her luck had changed.