Chapter 1
Life had been good to me. I was born into a rich family in beautiful Paris, fully educated, and blessed with my gifts, health, and looks. I was living alone now, but I didn't mind, I barely stayed in my apartment anyway. I was out, hanging out on campus with a few friends. I took my bird, Pierre, pretty much everywhere with me. He sat on my shoulder, trying to appear more like I was his ride rather him being my accessory. He was much like me. I was heading to drama, one of my many art lectures. My teachers allowed Pierre as he was quiet and collected. He made me look good. I had added a few braids to my regular casual ponytail. It was tied back with a silky lapis ribbon. My blouse was only the best, as usual, lined at the hem with lace and buttons made of gold. My tight khakis were designed perfectly for my body shape. My fancy boots lifted me a few inches off the ground although I was already quite tall. The reason for this was the beginning of spring. Rosemary, roses, lavender, lilies, and irises vibrantly dotted the scenery. The stone walls of the theatre building were lined with viciously growing wisteria. It was becoming a big problem but it was just too pretty to kill. I admired its ambition to grow, to expand its courageous vines, curious, and yet so beautiful through all of it. I sang to myself in French as I blithely strutted to my lecture.
"Des yeux qui font baisser les miens
Un rire qui se perd sur sa bouche
Voilà le portrait sans retouches
De l'homme auquel j'appartiens…"
I crooned softly to myself. I've heard the song so many times. I knew it by heart: La Vie en Rose. Sometimes Pierre would sing along. The flower-filled winding pathways were more home to me than anything else in the world, or so I thought. The soft breeze swam through my free locks. I approached the Dalbergia doors, delight lifting my chest. The sounds of Charles Baudelaire and Guillaume Apollinaire's poems filled the air as I opened the heavy double doors. I personally prefer Arthur Rimbaud and, since I had been learning English, Shakespeare. It was quite hard to learn, as the English themselves had trouble understanding it. But I was determined. I let Pierre perch on my finger before mounting him on the crown of my head. He tweeted in satisfaction, getting a better look at the crowd. My fellow peers recited their lines. We were not currently in a play, but ready to audition for whatever daring roll was waiting for them. I had no specific person I talked to, I just alternated between people. I knew everyone's lines and what part would fit them best. I had played a roll in all their inside jokes and gone out for drinks with all of them. I've been to parties and trips, spending nearly every day with them. They trusted me and I enjoyed their company, but I never felt anything too special for each of them. As I removed my coat and placed down my bag I noticed something: something new. A young man was standing there, wearing a neat sweater with a freshly ironed button up underneath it. His slacks overlapped his clean, smoothly shine barkers. He crossed his arms condescendingly as he furrowed his bushy eyebrows. Blonde brushed hair grazed over his deeply emerald eyes. He was not from here, I could tell. I stroked the hair on my chin quizzically as I studied the strange man. I decided to approach him, not realising how it would affect the world I thought I had control of. "Salut, mon ami! Je m'appelle Francis, h-"
"What the bloody hell are you saying? I swear, does no one speak English around here?!" he angrily let his hands roughly fall to his side, his shoulders tense as I made my appearance beyond the pews.
"Excuses, monsieur, my name is Francis, what brings you here on this beautiful spring morning?" I chuckled, observing the strange, almost adorable way his face scrunched up.
"I'm an exchange student from England if you haven't noticed." his arms softly crossed once again. I flashed him a tiny smile, eyebrows raised.
"Honhon, believe me, mon ami, I noticed." I snickered quietly. The Englishman pursed his lips at my comment.
"What is that supposed to mean?!" he stomped his foot.
"Nothing, nothing, excuses, mon ami." I beamed softly while I jokingly put my hands up to prove my innocence. He huffed and looked away at the stage. "Would you like me to show you around?" I offered. He sighed in reply.
"Sure, because it'll stop the future pestering you'd do about it if I say no, which I know you'll do." he didn't look at me and just glared up left at the ceiling light.
"Mais oui, monsieur." I did a little bow, making him scoff. I smirked up at him, wiggling my nose to let him know that there's no reason to get angry. I grasped his forearm and pulled him across the room where my professor sat, preparing himself for class.
"What the hell are you doing?! Get your bloody hands off me!" the Englishman shouted at me frustratedly.
"Professeur, puis-je montrer le nouveau gamin?"
"Oui, Francis, être rapide." my professor didn't look up from the scripts, adjusting his glasses. I flashed the Englishman a daring glance before continuing to drag him through the pews in a beeline. My professor sighed. "S'il vous plait! Francis, faites attention!"
"Je vais!" I yelled back.
"I can't understand a single word you're saying! You are speaking to an Englishman! You hear that? Englishman!" the exchange student stated firmly.
"Excuses, mon ami… encore, follow me!"
"You cheeky, bonkers wazzock," he whispered to himself, loud enough to know he wanted me to hear it. I slowed my pace as we entered the hallway.
"You know, your language is weird as well, monsieur." I chuckled. He continued to grumble. My pace dropped to a steady stroll, my hand slipping from his forearm. My fingers brushed against his palm and he flinched away, wiping his hand on his sweater. "So, what brings you to France?"
"A Shakespearean project I heard you chaps were working on."
"Honhon, we haven't quite started that yet, auditions are soon, next week I believe. You should join us!"
"Well, I… I never! Hmm…" he murmured to himself. "What play are you performing? I say if it's Romeo and Juliet again I'll be absolutely miffed!" his steps became heavier.
"Bon, ben, monsieur, I'll pray you'll get your way." I glimpsed at him with a tiny grin. "What would you like to perform, or, do I say, what is your favourite Shakespearean play?"
"The Tempest…" he mumbled.
"But of course! I should've guessed, mon ami! My favourite is Love's Labour Lost; it's just a perfect mix of love and loss, wouldn't you say, monsieur?" I hadn't even realised that I had been making gestures to my words this entire time. It didn't seem to matter as the Englishman's eyes were fixed on Pierre.
"How did I not notice you have a bleeding fowl on your head? You little Frenchies will never cease to surprise me." he shook his head in disapproval. Pierre was not impressed and chirped quietly as if to whisper forbidden words under his breath. I reached for him to jump on my finger, craning him towards the Englishman. The exchange student winced as I brought my aviating companion in his direction.
"No need to worry, mon ami, he doesn't bite. But I warn you, he judges." I winked with a smirk. The Englishman rolled his eyes and scoffed. "His name is Pierre, I'm sure he'll get used to you… you… mon, mon, I don't believe I caught your name, no?" I patted Pierre's soft white feathers.
"Well, it's Arthur." he hesitated without breaking his staring contest with Pierre.
"Oh! Like the poet! Arthur Rimbaud!" I bounced in excitement.
"Yes, quite, now can we please continue the tour?" he crossed his arms once again, breaking his gaze with Pierre. I patted him on the back as Pierre flew back up on top of my head.
"Honhon, you are quite demanding and impatient there, mon ami, relax a bit."
"Hands off me you frog!" he lightly hit my hand away. I brushed my hair back with a graceful whip, presenting a big, toothy smile.
"I don't think you understood the guidelines to pet names, honhonhon." I guffawed. Arthur squinted at me disapprovingly. "Bien, this is the dressing room, over there are the bathrooms, and here's the rehearsal room." I opened the wide metal door to reveal a cold, empty stone room. There were several chairs lined up at the end room. The lights on the ceiling hung heavily with the one in the corner that was always flickering. A few costumes and props were scattered on the edges, one door in the back barricaded with rucksacks. "The high school often uses this building, excuses for the mess, monsieur." my voice echoed off the walls. Arthur's monotone sweater seemed a lot more saturated compared to the dullness of the room. The carefully knitted sage wool matched perfectly with his periwinkle button up. All he needed were a few real periwinkles in his silky light locks. "I like your sweater monsieur."
"I hope so, it cost a bomb." he held his chin high, making it easier for me to admire him. His stance was very strong and confident. If admiring him was what he wanted, then admiring him is what he'll get. I stared at him for a bit longer, seeing he'd notice. He continued to banter as I got lost in the lush, wild fields in his eyes. It was a very pretty green; it matched his sweater.
"You're very handsome." I blurted unconsciously. He paused, completely shocked. His face burned red, coloring his cheeks like roses.
"Well, I…" he continued to stare, Pierre edging farther off my shoulder to see the expression on my face. Arthur cleared his throat and relaxed as if he was trying to make himself believe it was a casual comment. "You damned Frenchies,"
We finished the tour, returning back to the auditorium. Class was just about to start; we were just in time. I sat in the pews and offered Arthur to sit next to me. He sighed and shook his head, still taking the seat anyway. My professor walked on stage awkwardly, dropping his papers once.
"Euh… countinuez votre- attendre, we have some new English speakers in here. Are both present?" he looked at Arthur and around the room. He was about to write something down before the auditorium doors slammed open,
"Sorry, dudes! I got totally lost in traffic; you crazies drive on the wrong side of the road!" An obviously American man shouted as he entered. His hair was a bit darker than Arthur's, but still blonde, with a floating rouge strand standing up on the top of his head. His sapphire eyes confusingly glared through his rectangular glasses. He was taller than Arthur and I, but his bright attitude was enough to keep him from being intimidating.
"That's Alfred, my… friend." Arthur claimed slowly as if not wanting to admit he knew him. Alfred squeezed in next to him, his brown leather jacket squeaking against the armrests of his seat. To refrain from staring, I studied the posters on the wall across the room. Just the same old inspiring quotes and famous historical playwrights as usual. The chatting continued as I blanked out, exhaling deeply as I relaxed.
"Looks like you got comfortable fast, who's the chick?" Alfred nudged Arthur.
"Sacrebleu! I am not a chick!" I shouted back. He stared at me for a second in disbelief.
"Oh, sorry man, I didn't mean to, uh, make assumptions." he scratched the back of his head in embarrassment. I sighed and chuckled to myself.
"Excuses acceptées." I closed my eyes and bowed my head slightly.
"Alright everyone, just… just practice your monologues." my professor then walked off the stage. I turned to Arthur and Alfred.
"May I help you find a monologue, mon amis?" I offered politely. Alfred bounced in his seat.
"Of course!" he grabbed Arthur's arm in excitement. "I'm talking to a French person!" he whispered loudly.
"Would you stop acting like a ninnie for one bloody second in your entire life and actually act like a normal, decent human?" Arthur violently snatched his collar.
"I say, my American friend, you should try one of Nick Bottom's lines from A Midsummer Night's Dream." I suggested to Alfred. Alfred's eyes lit up as Arthur tried to stifle a little laugh.
"Is he the hero?" he sat up straight, gripping the seat handles tightly. Arthur couldn't help but chuckle out loud.
"I believe my friend here has just called you an ass." he patted my shoulder. I almost felt delighted.
"Hey! That was cruel!" Alfred crossed his arms and slouched in his seat.
"Well, he plays the protagonist in the play he performs for the Athen's wedding," I explained. His big smile returned.
"Whoa! A play within a play? That's trippy!"
"And you, my English friend, you shall play-"
"I will choose my own monologue, thank you very much." Arthur peered in the opposite direction. I noticed he did that a lot. He was bad with holding eye contact. His eyes were like the south pole and he can't seem to find the north.
"But of course, excuses."
"Why do you keep saying that? Excusie?"
"Well, that was not the intention. Excuses means apologies." I informed him. He stared at me blankly for a second before trying to hold back a smile. Alfred didn't seem let anything hold him back, not even common sense.
"Haha! That's golden! Imagine someone was like 'Hey dude, that was kind of offensive' and you replied 'Excuse, excuses' haha!" Alfred slapped his knee in his laughing fit. I gawked at him, slack-jawed in awe. Arthur elbowed him in the gut.
"See, Alfred, you're an idiot. Can't you see that-"
"Sacrebleu, you're right…" I interrupted.
"WHAT?!"
"Hey, dude, I love your cute bird thing." Alfred pointed to Pierre.
"Merci, I love him too." I softly stroked his smooth little feathers. "Say, what other courses do you two have?"
"Well, I wanted to join the football team, turns out it was just soccer, what a rip! Then I took woodworking and programming. Computers are actually really boring. And I guess the rest I can remember is just more boring stuff, but you know what? I didn't even wanna go to college anyway! I wanted to join the military! But here I am, an exchange student at a college in Paris. Well, at least now I look all smart and stuff and-"
"Please, would you just shut your damn mouth for one second!" Arthur growled. He put his head in his hands, rubbing his temples. "At least you're not as bad as that Italian though." he pulled on his hair.
"Bon, ben, monsieur, what about your classes?" I patted his back, relieved that he didn't swat my hand away… immediately at least.
"Well, I joined choir, band, children's media, and literary arts. Shame it's all in French though."
"Incroyable! We have all the same classes, except for children's media. I went for, what you'd say, a more adult-ish form of media."
"Dude, you draw porn for homework?!" Alfred gasped.
"Well, when you put it that way it sounds wrong." I ran my fingers through my hair as I laid back in my seat. "And lately…" I looked at Arthur with a smirk. "I've lost my inspiration, perhaps you-"
"Shut your mouth, you wanker!" he turned away hastily. I snickered then ruffled his hair.
"I kid, I kid, honhonhon." I beamed. "Well, what I was going to say before was you can visit for the answers if you have questions with your classes. I live right outside campus in a stone house with purple shutters."
"Noted." he turned to the stage to see a few students reciting their lines. I stood up and searched through my bag.
"Bon, ben…" I pulled out my monologue. "Au revoir, I should join, good luck mon amis." I waved to them, Alfred too busy on his phone to notice. I began to leave when I felt something latch onto my blouse sleeve. "Euh?" I turned around.
"Wait, I forgot to, um," Arthur glared sheepishly at the floor. "I forgot to thank you, you know, for the tour and warm welcome; I appreciate it." his face flushed red, his ears burning.
"Aucun probléme, monsieur." I smiled brightly. He let go of me and rubbed his arm awkwardly.
"What?" Alfred mumbled, a face full of potato chips he just happened to have. Arthur groaned.
"That bastard,"
That night, I found myself staying up past 0:00 am. I was busy writing; writing something down like my life depended on it. I didn't know what I was doing, I just did what seemed right. Soon enough, I had five pages, from back to front, filled to the brim with description. I read through it again, now knowing exactly what I had done. I tore the pages neatly out of my notebook, stapling them together and placing them in my closet.