While walking down one of the roads of Paris, Christian paused to watch a young girl pretend she was in a play with her friends. The children had stacked up boxes and crates to make a stage, and had nailed curtains to poles. The girl was on the stage alone, as the other children watched her. She was reading a part from a book, though Christian didn't know which.
Christian watched for a moment more before continuing his walk. He got out of the Montemarte and sat down at a small cafe. As he settled into his chair, he pulled out a pad of paper from his bag.
He leaned back, placing the tablet on his knee, and began watching the people go by. He recognized a few people; mostly women who had been one of Zidler's Diamond Dogs. None looked his way. They simply looked at the ground as they practically ran to the Montemarte. Christian frowned at this, and scribbled a note on the paper.
Christian also thought this dangerous: sitting out in the open. If the Duke were still in Paris, and if he still would recognize him, it could turn out to be a very big mistake. But Christian was tired of hiding: hiding in his room, hiding in London, or in shabby Montemarte cafes. He wanted to be in the open, somewhere where he would not suffocate from cigarette smoke, among other things.
He looked up as a woman set a steaming cup in front of him. She smiled and continued to go to the other customers, knocking the cup over with her tray. It spilled onto Christian's leg, and he jumped out his seat, cursing as quietly as he could. The tablet on his knee fell to the ground, and a few stray pieces tore from it and were blown down the road.
Christian snatched up the remaining paper and began to chase after them, for he had already written stuff on some of them. He scooped up most of the pieces, then realized he was missing one. One of the most important ones too, he thought.
"Excuse me sir," a small voice said. "I believe you dropped these."
Christian turned to see a young boy holding out two sheets a paper. Christian looked at them and saw that they were his.
He took them and smiled at the boy. "Thank you. You saved me from a lot of grief."
The boy smiled and scratched the back of his neck, and Christian saw something fleetingly familiar in it. "You're welcome sir."
Christian felt him pockets and took out a coin. After deciding that it wasn't an insultingly small amount, he handed it to the boy. But the boy refused it. "I won't take your money sir. It was no problem. I also don't like to be paid for doing something for someone. It makes it feel wrong."
"Well, I should like to give you something. You did save my work."
"Your work, sir?"
"I'm a writer."
"Oh! That explains it. You still don't have to give me anything."
"Surely there must be something you want?"Christian looked around and smiled. "Would you like to get something from that bakery over there?"
The boy's eyes widened. "Well, I...um...maybe...well." The child was struggling to decide. He didn't want to take anything from this man just for grabbing some paper, but the bakery did have some of the best cakes. He normaly wasn't able to go into that bakery; his mother could hardly afford it. And it was much better than the ones in Montemarte.
Christian's smile widened and he steered the boy in the direction of the bakery. The boy didn't resist, so he began walking with him.
"By the way, my name is Christian." He looked down at the boy and met a pair of startling blue eyes, also so familiar.
"I'm Ryan." the boy said proudly, as if it were a huge accomplishment.
Christian watched for a moment more before continuing his walk. He got out of the Montemarte and sat down at a small cafe. As he settled into his chair, he pulled out a pad of paper from his bag.
He leaned back, placing the tablet on his knee, and began watching the people go by. He recognized a few people; mostly women who had been one of Zidler's Diamond Dogs. None looked his way. They simply looked at the ground as they practically ran to the Montemarte. Christian frowned at this, and scribbled a note on the paper.
Christian also thought this dangerous: sitting out in the open. If the Duke were still in Paris, and if he still would recognize him, it could turn out to be a very big mistake. But Christian was tired of hiding: hiding in his room, hiding in London, or in shabby Montemarte cafes. He wanted to be in the open, somewhere where he would not suffocate from cigarette smoke, among other things.
He looked up as a woman set a steaming cup in front of him. She smiled and continued to go to the other customers, knocking the cup over with her tray. It spilled onto Christian's leg, and he jumped out his seat, cursing as quietly as he could. The tablet on his knee fell to the ground, and a few stray pieces tore from it and were blown down the road.
Christian snatched up the remaining paper and began to chase after them, for he had already written stuff on some of them. He scooped up most of the pieces, then realized he was missing one. One of the most important ones too, he thought.
"Excuse me sir," a small voice said. "I believe you dropped these."
Christian turned to see a young boy holding out two sheets a paper. Christian looked at them and saw that they were his.
He took them and smiled at the boy. "Thank you. You saved me from a lot of grief."
The boy smiled and scratched the back of his neck, and Christian saw something fleetingly familiar in it. "You're welcome sir."
Christian felt him pockets and took out a coin. After deciding that it wasn't an insultingly small amount, he handed it to the boy. But the boy refused it. "I won't take your money sir. It was no problem. I also don't like to be paid for doing something for someone. It makes it feel wrong."
"Well, I should like to give you something. You did save my work."
"Your work, sir?"
"I'm a writer."
"Oh! That explains it. You still don't have to give me anything."
"Surely there must be something you want?"Christian looked around and smiled. "Would you like to get something from that bakery over there?"
The boy's eyes widened. "Well, I...um...maybe...well." The child was struggling to decide. He didn't want to take anything from this man just for grabbing some paper, but the bakery did have some of the best cakes. He normaly wasn't able to go into that bakery; his mother could hardly afford it. And it was much better than the ones in Montemarte.
Christian's smile widened and he steered the boy in the direction of the bakery. The boy didn't resist, so he began walking with him.
"By the way, my name is Christian." He looked down at the boy and met a pair of startling blue eyes, also so familiar.
"I'm Ryan." the boy said proudly, as if it were a huge accomplishment.