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------------------------------Lyra--------------------------
Understand this. Ayesha and I had never liked each other much. In fact, we hated each other. I was just as jealous of her as she was of me. We had reached a peace years ago, though, to make Father happy. Whenever he was around, we pretended to be the best of friends. That is, we were never openly hostile. When he was gone, though, the fur would fly - literally. I had decided long ago that at least this particular cat was evil.
Perhaps this is why I was not surprised to see her, and about seven half- grown kittens, crouched around the corpse of the Comte. What surprised me, is that they seemed to be attacking it, in a kittenish way. One might take it for playful batting at the clothes, but it left the clothes in tatters. If de Changy had still been alive, he would have been bleeding. As it was however, the macabre tableau was completely bloodless.
-Why would they do this?- I wondered vaguely as I stooped to pull them away, aquiring many kitten-scratch marks on my hands as I did. -Well, that's obvious.- I answered. -Ayesha told them to.-
The lady herself was watching me, contentedly. She had every right to hate the Comte. (I couldn't think of him as anything else or I would go insane, I was sure.) If I was sure of anything, it was that she loved Father as much as I did. This man had hurt him, so why shoudn't she have some fun with her new battalion. We regarded each other for a moment, and as I met her crossed, blue-green eyes, I was sure that I saw her nod, almost regally. I nodded back. Then, the moment was over and I turned back to the kittens.
-------------------Ayesha---------------------------------
Perhaps I had misjudged the kitten. She had helped the master, as I could not. The least I could do is help her. With a brief meow, I brought my kittens to my side. She looked up at me, surprised, and bared her teeth in that strange way humans have, as a gesture of friendship.
Perhaps I had misjudged her.
---------------------Lyra--------------------------------
I was looking at the body, rather at a loss, when Father finally came out. The reason for his tardiness was tucked under his good arm, a tuba case. He must have gone all the way up to the band pit for it, tubas were one of the few things I had not learned from him.
"For the body?" I asked.
"Yes."
I'll spare you the details, but it eventually came about that the body was fitted, rather uncomfortably and with a few sharp cracking sounds, into the case.
I stood up, brushing off the legs of my pants, as Father did the same.
"Now what?" I asked.
"Now we go for Nadir."
%Scene Change%
Nadir lived in the one part of Paris that was inhabited totally by Muslims. It was a fine place, a patchwork of the different nationalities who lived there. You were as likely to see a Persian Mansion as a house of apartments.
Nadir lived in a one-room apartment in one of the tallest, and dingiest, buildings in the entire place. I had never seen it before, but Father appearently knew just where it was. I merely followed.
The door to the room was a splintered, holish mess, as if someone had tried to kick it in and it had simply crumpled under their foot. Father's pounding alone was enough to make the poor thing shake and loose even more wood.
"Alright!" came a voice from within the room, in Arabic, "Alright! I'm coming already!"
---------------------------Nadir------------------------------
When I opened the door, the first thing I saw was Erik, with a tuba case set on the ground behind him.
"This had better be important, Erik. I'm a bit busy." Darn right I was... Darn right.
"It is, daroga."
"Shh! Don't call me that! There are other reasons for me to be in Paris than you, and I don't need everyone to know who I am! What do you need?" I stepped into the hall and pulled the door almost-closed behind me. Really, the hall shouln't move so.
"I need your help. I'm wounded, and I need to get rid of a body, an important body, in a way that will not make anyone too worried."
"Whose... Lyra!"
She had just moved out from behind him, in a cheap outfit that showed off her knife and lasso on her hip. I could feel her eyes peel into me as she surveyed me. She stood still, not seeming to notice the floor bucking and twitching beneath her.
"Hello Nadir. Really, if you want the whole story, you should invite us in. This is not a private place, and it's a long story."
----------------------------------Erik---------------------------
Because it was the middle of the night, his attire was not surprising. A tattered dressing gown, thrown over, well, not much. However, I knew his wife was still in Persia, so the dulcet voice that called from within was surprising.
"Ali? Ali where did you go?"
"Or, Ali," I said, amused, "We could wait out here for a few minutes."
"Perhaps that would be best, Erik, Lyra. Excuse me." He turned and staggered back into the room.
-----------------------------Lyra---------------------------------
Father leaned up against the wall, resting, as we waited. Personally, I wouldn't have trusted it with my weight. We didn't have to wait long. There was a semi-muffled conversation, a few loud exclamations, the sound of coins hitting each other, a slapping sound, and the door opened to let out a beautiful girl, wrapped in her clothes, with a fistful of coins clasped in her hands. She looked at us, gave a gasp-scream in some half-garbled language, and ran down the stairs. (I had seen my mother drunk enough times to recognise it.) A few seconds more and the door opened again, this time to eject a rumpled, but thoroughly clad, Nadir, with the white imprint of a hand on his cheek. Father was barely able to cut off his own laughter, instead giving off a very fake sneeze.
"D--- you Erik. Alright, come in." His voice had an unusual lilt.
We came. There was very little in the room. A cot, quite rumpled and a bit wet, leaned against one wall. Beside it was a tattered, dirty prayer rug. Beside that was a clutter of drug paraphanalia, which Father took in, and hurredly turned away from. I could make out a hooka, several syringes, and innumerable bottles and packets. In the last remaining bit of space was a pile of clothes, dirty and rather fetid.
I looked at Nadir again, this time seeing what I had missed before. His eyes were glassy and rimmed with a yellowish substance. The pupils were small, and the whites were nearly red. His face was so pale that it was almost yellow. I was amazed that the girl would sleep with him, even if she was drunk. He was obviously sick, and even more obviously stoned. I hadn't seen anyone this badly off for years.
------------------------Erik--------------------------------
Nadir looked like Death himself, and the room reeked of it. The smell of the room was almost enough to send me out of it. Opium, excretement, semen, and beer mixed to form a smell that would make a pig gag.
"Good grief, Nadir, this is..."
"This ish my home. 'T's changed a bit, eh Erik?"
The hookah was still smoking slightly, and a syringe was laying on the prayer rug, half full. I stared at the room for a few more seconds, letting it sink in. Then Nadir collapsed.
"Overdose?" Lyra asked, trying to hold him up.
"No, worse. Leave the body, we'll come back for it. He's mixed drugs, and he's sick. We've got to get him out of here."
"Will he die?" Her voice trembled.
"Probably. Come on."
-----------------------------Lyra----------------------------
The smell in the room left me a bit light headed and detached. It seemed as if I was watching us take Nadir out of there, running down stairs and through alleys with him stretched between our shoulders. We were half way home before I realised where we were going. I felt like throwing up, the whole situation turned my stomach. In fact, that seemed like a good idea. As soon as we were at the house, I stumbled outside, pulled off my mask, and quietly released my dinner, which hadn't been in there long enough to do any good anyway. I felt it splatter against my pants and shoes and had enough time to be disgusted at my aim before another wave came. And another. It had been just like mother. It had been just like Grimmerie Street. I would never escape. Everything caught up with me then, and I cried as I heaved, dryly.
Finally, it stopped. By then, I was on my hands and knees, covered in it. I rocked back, sitting down and still crying. Then, a furry something butted my hand. I looked down, and it was one of the kittens. He was completely black, it looked as if Father had been right about his parentage. I patted him, and then realised just what was on my hand. I wiped it on the ground, and patted him again. He purred, and looked up at me. Some freak of nature had decided that he inherited his father's coat, and his mother's eyes. I stopped him from climbing up on my shirt, as he seemed determined to do
"No, fellow. I need to get cleaned up, again."
He butted my hand.
"Alright then. Come if you want." I picked him up, sure that I would get yet another set of kitty-claws dug into my hand. Instead, he just sat there, mewing up at me. I smiled. "Right then," I said, turning back to the house.
In one window, the one that looks in on the parlor, was Ayesha, looking satisfied. (Did she ever look anything else?) I would almost swear that she had sent the kitten out to comfort me. I smiled at her, and I'm still sure that she smiled back. Then she ignored me again, and scratched her head.
-That's it!- I thought, -The headaches! The loss of balance! Delerium! Christine has a brain tumor!-
A/N: (Don't know if brain tumors were recognised back then, but at least she isn't a complete nut case! Really, she isn't that bad, and I couldn't bear for her to be that. So, my friends, what do you think? Tell me! Review!
------------------------------Lyra--------------------------
Understand this. Ayesha and I had never liked each other much. In fact, we hated each other. I was just as jealous of her as she was of me. We had reached a peace years ago, though, to make Father happy. Whenever he was around, we pretended to be the best of friends. That is, we were never openly hostile. When he was gone, though, the fur would fly - literally. I had decided long ago that at least this particular cat was evil.
Perhaps this is why I was not surprised to see her, and about seven half- grown kittens, crouched around the corpse of the Comte. What surprised me, is that they seemed to be attacking it, in a kittenish way. One might take it for playful batting at the clothes, but it left the clothes in tatters. If de Changy had still been alive, he would have been bleeding. As it was however, the macabre tableau was completely bloodless.
-Why would they do this?- I wondered vaguely as I stooped to pull them away, aquiring many kitten-scratch marks on my hands as I did. -Well, that's obvious.- I answered. -Ayesha told them to.-
The lady herself was watching me, contentedly. She had every right to hate the Comte. (I couldn't think of him as anything else or I would go insane, I was sure.) If I was sure of anything, it was that she loved Father as much as I did. This man had hurt him, so why shoudn't she have some fun with her new battalion. We regarded each other for a moment, and as I met her crossed, blue-green eyes, I was sure that I saw her nod, almost regally. I nodded back. Then, the moment was over and I turned back to the kittens.
-------------------Ayesha---------------------------------
Perhaps I had misjudged the kitten. She had helped the master, as I could not. The least I could do is help her. With a brief meow, I brought my kittens to my side. She looked up at me, surprised, and bared her teeth in that strange way humans have, as a gesture of friendship.
Perhaps I had misjudged her.
---------------------Lyra--------------------------------
I was looking at the body, rather at a loss, when Father finally came out. The reason for his tardiness was tucked under his good arm, a tuba case. He must have gone all the way up to the band pit for it, tubas were one of the few things I had not learned from him.
"For the body?" I asked.
"Yes."
I'll spare you the details, but it eventually came about that the body was fitted, rather uncomfortably and with a few sharp cracking sounds, into the case.
I stood up, brushing off the legs of my pants, as Father did the same.
"Now what?" I asked.
"Now we go for Nadir."
%Scene Change%
Nadir lived in the one part of Paris that was inhabited totally by Muslims. It was a fine place, a patchwork of the different nationalities who lived there. You were as likely to see a Persian Mansion as a house of apartments.
Nadir lived in a one-room apartment in one of the tallest, and dingiest, buildings in the entire place. I had never seen it before, but Father appearently knew just where it was. I merely followed.
The door to the room was a splintered, holish mess, as if someone had tried to kick it in and it had simply crumpled under their foot. Father's pounding alone was enough to make the poor thing shake and loose even more wood.
"Alright!" came a voice from within the room, in Arabic, "Alright! I'm coming already!"
---------------------------Nadir------------------------------
When I opened the door, the first thing I saw was Erik, with a tuba case set on the ground behind him.
"This had better be important, Erik. I'm a bit busy." Darn right I was... Darn right.
"It is, daroga."
"Shh! Don't call me that! There are other reasons for me to be in Paris than you, and I don't need everyone to know who I am! What do you need?" I stepped into the hall and pulled the door almost-closed behind me. Really, the hall shouln't move so.
"I need your help. I'm wounded, and I need to get rid of a body, an important body, in a way that will not make anyone too worried."
"Whose... Lyra!"
She had just moved out from behind him, in a cheap outfit that showed off her knife and lasso on her hip. I could feel her eyes peel into me as she surveyed me. She stood still, not seeming to notice the floor bucking and twitching beneath her.
"Hello Nadir. Really, if you want the whole story, you should invite us in. This is not a private place, and it's a long story."
----------------------------------Erik---------------------------
Because it was the middle of the night, his attire was not surprising. A tattered dressing gown, thrown over, well, not much. However, I knew his wife was still in Persia, so the dulcet voice that called from within was surprising.
"Ali? Ali where did you go?"
"Or, Ali," I said, amused, "We could wait out here for a few minutes."
"Perhaps that would be best, Erik, Lyra. Excuse me." He turned and staggered back into the room.
-----------------------------Lyra---------------------------------
Father leaned up against the wall, resting, as we waited. Personally, I wouldn't have trusted it with my weight. We didn't have to wait long. There was a semi-muffled conversation, a few loud exclamations, the sound of coins hitting each other, a slapping sound, and the door opened to let out a beautiful girl, wrapped in her clothes, with a fistful of coins clasped in her hands. She looked at us, gave a gasp-scream in some half-garbled language, and ran down the stairs. (I had seen my mother drunk enough times to recognise it.) A few seconds more and the door opened again, this time to eject a rumpled, but thoroughly clad, Nadir, with the white imprint of a hand on his cheek. Father was barely able to cut off his own laughter, instead giving off a very fake sneeze.
"D--- you Erik. Alright, come in." His voice had an unusual lilt.
We came. There was very little in the room. A cot, quite rumpled and a bit wet, leaned against one wall. Beside it was a tattered, dirty prayer rug. Beside that was a clutter of drug paraphanalia, which Father took in, and hurredly turned away from. I could make out a hooka, several syringes, and innumerable bottles and packets. In the last remaining bit of space was a pile of clothes, dirty and rather fetid.
I looked at Nadir again, this time seeing what I had missed before. His eyes were glassy and rimmed with a yellowish substance. The pupils were small, and the whites were nearly red. His face was so pale that it was almost yellow. I was amazed that the girl would sleep with him, even if she was drunk. He was obviously sick, and even more obviously stoned. I hadn't seen anyone this badly off for years.
------------------------Erik--------------------------------
Nadir looked like Death himself, and the room reeked of it. The smell of the room was almost enough to send me out of it. Opium, excretement, semen, and beer mixed to form a smell that would make a pig gag.
"Good grief, Nadir, this is..."
"This ish my home. 'T's changed a bit, eh Erik?"
The hookah was still smoking slightly, and a syringe was laying on the prayer rug, half full. I stared at the room for a few more seconds, letting it sink in. Then Nadir collapsed.
"Overdose?" Lyra asked, trying to hold him up.
"No, worse. Leave the body, we'll come back for it. He's mixed drugs, and he's sick. We've got to get him out of here."
"Will he die?" Her voice trembled.
"Probably. Come on."
-----------------------------Lyra----------------------------
The smell in the room left me a bit light headed and detached. It seemed as if I was watching us take Nadir out of there, running down stairs and through alleys with him stretched between our shoulders. We were half way home before I realised where we were going. I felt like throwing up, the whole situation turned my stomach. In fact, that seemed like a good idea. As soon as we were at the house, I stumbled outside, pulled off my mask, and quietly released my dinner, which hadn't been in there long enough to do any good anyway. I felt it splatter against my pants and shoes and had enough time to be disgusted at my aim before another wave came. And another. It had been just like mother. It had been just like Grimmerie Street. I would never escape. Everything caught up with me then, and I cried as I heaved, dryly.
Finally, it stopped. By then, I was on my hands and knees, covered in it. I rocked back, sitting down and still crying. Then, a furry something butted my hand. I looked down, and it was one of the kittens. He was completely black, it looked as if Father had been right about his parentage. I patted him, and then realised just what was on my hand. I wiped it on the ground, and patted him again. He purred, and looked up at me. Some freak of nature had decided that he inherited his father's coat, and his mother's eyes. I stopped him from climbing up on my shirt, as he seemed determined to do
"No, fellow. I need to get cleaned up, again."
He butted my hand.
"Alright then. Come if you want." I picked him up, sure that I would get yet another set of kitty-claws dug into my hand. Instead, he just sat there, mewing up at me. I smiled. "Right then," I said, turning back to the house.
In one window, the one that looks in on the parlor, was Ayesha, looking satisfied. (Did she ever look anything else?) I would almost swear that she had sent the kitten out to comfort me. I smiled at her, and I'm still sure that she smiled back. Then she ignored me again, and scratched her head.
-That's it!- I thought, -The headaches! The loss of balance! Delerium! Christine has a brain tumor!-
A/N: (Don't know if brain tumors were recognised back then, but at least she isn't a complete nut case! Really, she isn't that bad, and I couldn't bear for her to be that. So, my friends, what do you think? Tell me! Review!
