Chapter 4: Gone
I'm free. It's completely done; I'm completely done. I've left that Godforsaken country and everything about it behind. Two days ago I stepped onto that airplane an old, tired, miserable, disgusting man. I stepped off reborn.
Paris has been nothing but wonderful to me since I've arrived.
***
The air smelled sweet at night, like bread and butter. I passed the cafes with the happy couples sharing a cup of coffee. It was the first moment since my arrival that I thought of her. And at that moment I thought that not even thousands of miles between us could get her out of my mind.
Slightly despondent I found an inexpensive hotel and slept for the night. A deep sleep that I didn't think my body was capable of experiencing. When I awoke the next morning, I vowed that I needed something more than a change of scenery. I needed a change in personality.
For the third day in a row, I put on my faded jeans and navy tee shirt and set out to find a new version of myself. I didn't really know what I was looking for, but it turned out what I needed found me.
A sweet looking old Parisian woman was standing outside of a salon when she spotted me. "Zut!" she cried at me. "Vat is wrong vis you?" With a hint of disgust in her eyes she looked me up and down. "You look like you just crawled out of bed!"
"I did," I snarled slightly. I don't take well to criticisms.
"Vell, come vis me and I vill fix you up quickly. Come come!" she cried and, hesitantly, took my hand, dragging me into the salon.
She practically threw me down into the chair and forced my head into a sink. I would be lying if I said that the warm water and gentle hands on my scalp didn't feel like Heaven right then. "Now, you can't peek at vat I am going to do to you."
I smirked slightly. "I'm in your capable hands," I said.
At the end of an hour and a half I had never felt better about myself. She had processed and hacked at my hair, filed and trimmed my finger and toenails, and scrubbed and goo-ed my face until I felt like the king of England.
"Zere you go," she smiled proudly. "You look like a real young man now!" When she held up the mirror, I didn't even recognize myself. I looked twenty, not sixty with a poor dye job.
Then I did the unthinkable. I stood up and hugged the old woman. I hugged someone.
I paid her for her services (and added a very nice tip if I do say so myself) and left for the streets of Paris once again, feeling even more rejuvenated than before.
***
Until today I had never known that a simple haircut and a facial could change someone's outlook on life so completely. I'll tell you that I will be going back to see her, and often.
***
I wondered the streets for an hour or so, taking in my surroundings. I had been holed up in that dungeon for so long that I had forgotten how beautiful Paris was in the winter.
Then it hit me; it was winter. After almost a week of being a numb robot, the makeover had left me feeling alive again, and I must say, quite cold. I even realized that there was snow on the ground. To be honest, I don't know how I could have missed that one.
My job was then to find myself some proper muggle attire. Completely unaware of current muggle fashions, I walked into the first store that looked like it had winter garb. I shivered slightly as the burst of warm air coming out from the store hit me.
A man walked up to me and began to make friendly chitchat about the weather and how I must be freezing without a coat. "I don't generally need a coat where I'm from," I said grudgingly.
"Oh, a sozern (southern in case anyone missed that one.) man!" he said. He looked me up and down. "A little pale?"
I just rolled my eyes. "Nevermind," I said. "Could you please help me find some suitable winter clothing?"
After another two hours had gone by, I had spent almost 400 francs on a new muggle wardrobe. Expensive, yes, but I don't think black is really my color anymore, if you know what I mean.
***
After my "shopping spree," as women around me have affectionately termed spending way too much money, I returned to my hotel and turned on the television. Life is so different in the muggle world. Their problems are so different from ours. I don't know what I want to do now.
I can stay in the muggle world for a while, take a break and rediscover myself. Or I could apply for a job at Beauxbatons. Mdm. Maxime would most likely give me a job, or so I would like to think. As of yet I have still not decided. I guess I'll sleep on it.
I'm free. It's completely done; I'm completely done. I've left that Godforsaken country and everything about it behind. Two days ago I stepped onto that airplane an old, tired, miserable, disgusting man. I stepped off reborn.
Paris has been nothing but wonderful to me since I've arrived.
***
The air smelled sweet at night, like bread and butter. I passed the cafes with the happy couples sharing a cup of coffee. It was the first moment since my arrival that I thought of her. And at that moment I thought that not even thousands of miles between us could get her out of my mind.
Slightly despondent I found an inexpensive hotel and slept for the night. A deep sleep that I didn't think my body was capable of experiencing. When I awoke the next morning, I vowed that I needed something more than a change of scenery. I needed a change in personality.
For the third day in a row, I put on my faded jeans and navy tee shirt and set out to find a new version of myself. I didn't really know what I was looking for, but it turned out what I needed found me.
A sweet looking old Parisian woman was standing outside of a salon when she spotted me. "Zut!" she cried at me. "Vat is wrong vis you?" With a hint of disgust in her eyes she looked me up and down. "You look like you just crawled out of bed!"
"I did," I snarled slightly. I don't take well to criticisms.
"Vell, come vis me and I vill fix you up quickly. Come come!" she cried and, hesitantly, took my hand, dragging me into the salon.
She practically threw me down into the chair and forced my head into a sink. I would be lying if I said that the warm water and gentle hands on my scalp didn't feel like Heaven right then. "Now, you can't peek at vat I am going to do to you."
I smirked slightly. "I'm in your capable hands," I said.
At the end of an hour and a half I had never felt better about myself. She had processed and hacked at my hair, filed and trimmed my finger and toenails, and scrubbed and goo-ed my face until I felt like the king of England.
"Zere you go," she smiled proudly. "You look like a real young man now!" When she held up the mirror, I didn't even recognize myself. I looked twenty, not sixty with a poor dye job.
Then I did the unthinkable. I stood up and hugged the old woman. I hugged someone.
I paid her for her services (and added a very nice tip if I do say so myself) and left for the streets of Paris once again, feeling even more rejuvenated than before.
***
Until today I had never known that a simple haircut and a facial could change someone's outlook on life so completely. I'll tell you that I will be going back to see her, and often.
***
I wondered the streets for an hour or so, taking in my surroundings. I had been holed up in that dungeon for so long that I had forgotten how beautiful Paris was in the winter.
Then it hit me; it was winter. After almost a week of being a numb robot, the makeover had left me feeling alive again, and I must say, quite cold. I even realized that there was snow on the ground. To be honest, I don't know how I could have missed that one.
My job was then to find myself some proper muggle attire. Completely unaware of current muggle fashions, I walked into the first store that looked like it had winter garb. I shivered slightly as the burst of warm air coming out from the store hit me.
A man walked up to me and began to make friendly chitchat about the weather and how I must be freezing without a coat. "I don't generally need a coat where I'm from," I said grudgingly.
"Oh, a sozern (southern in case anyone missed that one.) man!" he said. He looked me up and down. "A little pale?"
I just rolled my eyes. "Nevermind," I said. "Could you please help me find some suitable winter clothing?"
After another two hours had gone by, I had spent almost 400 francs on a new muggle wardrobe. Expensive, yes, but I don't think black is really my color anymore, if you know what I mean.
***
After my "shopping spree," as women around me have affectionately termed spending way too much money, I returned to my hotel and turned on the television. Life is so different in the muggle world. Their problems are so different from ours. I don't know what I want to do now.
I can stay in the muggle world for a while, take a break and rediscover myself. Or I could apply for a job at Beauxbatons. Mdm. Maxime would most likely give me a job, or so I would like to think. As of yet I have still not decided. I guess I'll sleep on it.
