A/N - I don't know what dialect Père Fauchelevant used, but I thought it
would be fun to type in cockney for a bit, so that's how he talks now. If
you have a problem, call me at 1-800-CHARTER. Leave a message.
Tattered sparrow - I don't think I've ever seen a DeLorean in person before. But I do keep telling my mom I want one. And she roooolls her eyes and says "Erin, I don't think you're even going to /get/ a car."
FreakyFairy - here ya go. Have you never seen Back to the Future, you poor, poor dear?
Sweet775 - Read "Bobette"! I wrote it, and it stars Cosette, and she locks Marius in the cellar! Okay, that was her twin sister, Bobette. Oh, and it has Parnasse in it. God, I love that man.
Ai-Ai - Better than the real Back to the Future? Wow. High, high praise. I thank you.
Disclaimer - Well, I don't own anything but the Polish terrorists. Wait, I own the location indicator and the whole Polish refuse idea! YAY! And you know what else? There's a marathon of Family Ties, the show starring Michael J. Fox, on TV Land, and my dad won't let me watch it because he has to watch some Army-Navy Football game. ARGH!
*Takes deep breath*
I'm okay, I promise.
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
Cosette climbed out of the car, looked down at herself, and screamed.
Her dress was torn and dirty!
Frantically, she tried to brush off some of the dirt, but even if she had been able to wash the dress it would not have been able to get the awful tears out. The lace that had lain on her shoulders and around her collar had been ripped off when she climbed out of the car and now was hanging limply from the door. She glared at it, then turned away.
Cosette wandered out into the dead cornfield and towards the nearest road, following the path of destruction the car had made. In the distance she could see the glow of streetlights. She must be somewhere near civilization.
It was a cold night. When Cosette had been in Paris, it had been April, and the weather had been much warmer. Her shoulders had been bared when the lace had torn from her dress, and now she was getting horribly cold.
When Cosette finally staggered into town, the first people she saw were a group of suggestively-dressed women. Leering at male passersby, the ladies made rude gestures and cried obscene things. Cosette flushed to hear it.
She knew who these women were. Once, when she had stood in the garden of her house in the Rue Plumet, a handsome young lieutenant had taken to flirting with her. He called himself Théodule, but called her several things she had not understood. When asked to explain what a "lovely lady" was, Théodule came up with even more things Cosette had never heard of. Again she asked him to explain. Thus Cosette Fauchelevant learned about the birds and the bees.
At the time she had not believed Théodule, but here was her proof.
That was when Cosette noticed another woman standing in the shadows.
She had once been beautiful, but her blonde hair was cut short and her front teeth were missing. She was even thinner than the other prostitutes, and stood a distance away from them, quietly enduring the snide remarks of gentlemen passing by. Great troubles had hollowed out her cheeks, and she let out a horrible cough from time to time. Cosette was moved to pity this woman who had even been shunned by whores.
Cosette was not aware how long the journey from the old barn had taken until she saw the sky lightening to the east. The group of women on the other side of the street also saw this, sighed, and turned to go home. Cosette had been leaning against a cart when suddenly a man's voice spoke directly behind her.
"I'll 'ave none o' your type sellin' outside my place, y'hear? Go on! Go!"
Cosette whirled around, panicked. "What do you mean, monsieur?"
"You know jus' what I mean, miss. You'll be solicitin' them types o' men to my part o' th' town. Call th' cognes on you, b'God I will!"
Cosette's eyes widened in fear. "Monsieur, I was just-"
He grabbed her wrist rudely. "I know th' type. Bare shoulders, tatt'red clothes, showing yer ankles t' th'whole town. Well, I won't 'ave it, b'God!"
"Père."
This word was spoken by another man standing a few feet away, just out of Cosette's line of vision.
"Monsieur le maire!" cried the cart owner, stunned.
He released Cosette's wrist. She glared at him, then turned to thank the man who had rescued her.
She gasped.
The mayor spoke calmly to her. "I am sure, my child, that you were not the type of lady that monsieur assumed you to be. For those women always clear out at the first sign of dawn."
Cosette was frozen to the spot. "Monsieur . . . Fauchelevant?" she asked.
For indeed, the man who stood before her was her own father, Ultime Fauchelevant. He was younger, his hair dark, but it was unmistakably him.
Yet he did not seem to recognize his own name.
"Fauchelevant? No, mademoiselle, that would be Père Fauchelevant, the man standing behind you."
Cosette slowly turned to the man leaning against the cart. He scowled at her. He was certainly not her father. This Fauchelevant was old, and apparently crippled. His cart was broken and there was no sign of a horse anywhere. Cosette turned back to her father.
The mayor smiled at the older man. "I have made contact with the convent on the Petit Rue Picpus. The nuns have agreed to take you on as a gardener."
The other Fauchelevant bowed until he was bent quite in half. Cosette was afraid that, what with his crippled leg, he would fall right onto the pavement.
"Please," the mayor said calmly, "stand. I am not a king or . . . " he paused for a few seconds, staring into the distance, "or a bishop," he finished so quietly that Cosette had to strain to hear. Turning back to Cosette, he pressed a gold coin into her hand. "God has not abandoned you. I, Père Madeleine, am only his humble servant. Take this and use it to begin another story," he murmured.
A/N - Murmured is one groovy word. Groovy. That's a groovy word too. Hee hee. Oh, and you know what? I saw a few seconds of an episode of Family Ties! And Michael J Fox! And it was his 18th birthday, and he was being all snotty about it, and he went to this restaurant and told these foreign girls he was a general or something, and his mom showed up. But the point here is, is that one of the boys who was at the table with him and the foreign girls was (dum da da-dum!) George McFly! OMIGOSH, right? And he said to Michael J Fox's mom "Don't tell my mother I was here." EEP! Okay, sorry, back to the fic.
Madeleine turned and walked away.
"Wait, monsieur . . . um . . . le maire?"
"Yes, mon enfant?"
"Do you know of an Emmett Brown, an American, living here? He has really . . . pouffy . . . white hair?"
The mayor thought for a moment. "Ah, yes!" He exclaimed suddenly. "Doctor Emmett Brown! He lives in a house with a large old barn down the road," Madeleine said, pointing in the very direction from which Cosette had come.
"With . . . a cornfield?"
"Yes, that's the one. Good luck, mademoiselle."
Cosette raised an eyebrow. Suddenly a thought seemed to strike Madeleine. He looked at her bare shoulders and tattered dress, glanced in the direction of the barn, and suddenly turned a violent shade of crimson. "I do apologize. I did not mean that to be . . . well . . . "
He trailed off. Cosette just thanked him again for the directions and set off in the way she had come.
Tattered sparrow - I don't think I've ever seen a DeLorean in person before. But I do keep telling my mom I want one. And she roooolls her eyes and says "Erin, I don't think you're even going to /get/ a car."
FreakyFairy - here ya go. Have you never seen Back to the Future, you poor, poor dear?
Sweet775 - Read "Bobette"! I wrote it, and it stars Cosette, and she locks Marius in the cellar! Okay, that was her twin sister, Bobette. Oh, and it has Parnasse in it. God, I love that man.
Ai-Ai - Better than the real Back to the Future? Wow. High, high praise. I thank you.
Disclaimer - Well, I don't own anything but the Polish terrorists. Wait, I own the location indicator and the whole Polish refuse idea! YAY! And you know what else? There's a marathon of Family Ties, the show starring Michael J. Fox, on TV Land, and my dad won't let me watch it because he has to watch some Army-Navy Football game. ARGH!
*Takes deep breath*
I'm okay, I promise.
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
Cosette climbed out of the car, looked down at herself, and screamed.
Her dress was torn and dirty!
Frantically, she tried to brush off some of the dirt, but even if she had been able to wash the dress it would not have been able to get the awful tears out. The lace that had lain on her shoulders and around her collar had been ripped off when she climbed out of the car and now was hanging limply from the door. She glared at it, then turned away.
Cosette wandered out into the dead cornfield and towards the nearest road, following the path of destruction the car had made. In the distance she could see the glow of streetlights. She must be somewhere near civilization.
It was a cold night. When Cosette had been in Paris, it had been April, and the weather had been much warmer. Her shoulders had been bared when the lace had torn from her dress, and now she was getting horribly cold.
When Cosette finally staggered into town, the first people she saw were a group of suggestively-dressed women. Leering at male passersby, the ladies made rude gestures and cried obscene things. Cosette flushed to hear it.
She knew who these women were. Once, when she had stood in the garden of her house in the Rue Plumet, a handsome young lieutenant had taken to flirting with her. He called himself Théodule, but called her several things she had not understood. When asked to explain what a "lovely lady" was, Théodule came up with even more things Cosette had never heard of. Again she asked him to explain. Thus Cosette Fauchelevant learned about the birds and the bees.
At the time she had not believed Théodule, but here was her proof.
That was when Cosette noticed another woman standing in the shadows.
She had once been beautiful, but her blonde hair was cut short and her front teeth were missing. She was even thinner than the other prostitutes, and stood a distance away from them, quietly enduring the snide remarks of gentlemen passing by. Great troubles had hollowed out her cheeks, and she let out a horrible cough from time to time. Cosette was moved to pity this woman who had even been shunned by whores.
Cosette was not aware how long the journey from the old barn had taken until she saw the sky lightening to the east. The group of women on the other side of the street also saw this, sighed, and turned to go home. Cosette had been leaning against a cart when suddenly a man's voice spoke directly behind her.
"I'll 'ave none o' your type sellin' outside my place, y'hear? Go on! Go!"
Cosette whirled around, panicked. "What do you mean, monsieur?"
"You know jus' what I mean, miss. You'll be solicitin' them types o' men to my part o' th' town. Call th' cognes on you, b'God I will!"
Cosette's eyes widened in fear. "Monsieur, I was just-"
He grabbed her wrist rudely. "I know th' type. Bare shoulders, tatt'red clothes, showing yer ankles t' th'whole town. Well, I won't 'ave it, b'God!"
"Père."
This word was spoken by another man standing a few feet away, just out of Cosette's line of vision.
"Monsieur le maire!" cried the cart owner, stunned.
He released Cosette's wrist. She glared at him, then turned to thank the man who had rescued her.
She gasped.
The mayor spoke calmly to her. "I am sure, my child, that you were not the type of lady that monsieur assumed you to be. For those women always clear out at the first sign of dawn."
Cosette was frozen to the spot. "Monsieur . . . Fauchelevant?" she asked.
For indeed, the man who stood before her was her own father, Ultime Fauchelevant. He was younger, his hair dark, but it was unmistakably him.
Yet he did not seem to recognize his own name.
"Fauchelevant? No, mademoiselle, that would be Père Fauchelevant, the man standing behind you."
Cosette slowly turned to the man leaning against the cart. He scowled at her. He was certainly not her father. This Fauchelevant was old, and apparently crippled. His cart was broken and there was no sign of a horse anywhere. Cosette turned back to her father.
The mayor smiled at the older man. "I have made contact with the convent on the Petit Rue Picpus. The nuns have agreed to take you on as a gardener."
The other Fauchelevant bowed until he was bent quite in half. Cosette was afraid that, what with his crippled leg, he would fall right onto the pavement.
"Please," the mayor said calmly, "stand. I am not a king or . . . " he paused for a few seconds, staring into the distance, "or a bishop," he finished so quietly that Cosette had to strain to hear. Turning back to Cosette, he pressed a gold coin into her hand. "God has not abandoned you. I, Père Madeleine, am only his humble servant. Take this and use it to begin another story," he murmured.
A/N - Murmured is one groovy word. Groovy. That's a groovy word too. Hee hee. Oh, and you know what? I saw a few seconds of an episode of Family Ties! And Michael J Fox! And it was his 18th birthday, and he was being all snotty about it, and he went to this restaurant and told these foreign girls he was a general or something, and his mom showed up. But the point here is, is that one of the boys who was at the table with him and the foreign girls was (dum da da-dum!) George McFly! OMIGOSH, right? And he said to Michael J Fox's mom "Don't tell my mother I was here." EEP! Okay, sorry, back to the fic.
Madeleine turned and walked away.
"Wait, monsieur . . . um . . . le maire?"
"Yes, mon enfant?"
"Do you know of an Emmett Brown, an American, living here? He has really . . . pouffy . . . white hair?"
The mayor thought for a moment. "Ah, yes!" He exclaimed suddenly. "Doctor Emmett Brown! He lives in a house with a large old barn down the road," Madeleine said, pointing in the very direction from which Cosette had come.
"With . . . a cornfield?"
"Yes, that's the one. Good luck, mademoiselle."
Cosette raised an eyebrow. Suddenly a thought seemed to strike Madeleine. He looked at her bare shoulders and tattered dress, glanced in the direction of the barn, and suddenly turned a violent shade of crimson. "I do apologize. I did not mean that to be . . . well . . . "
He trailed off. Cosette just thanked him again for the directions and set off in the way she had come.