Hey hey hey! And no im not dead! here's the new chapter...:D. Enjoy! oh crap that was it? Its never been that short before...ooooooooo
P.s, thanks to all those that reviewed! It was so nice of u to review to such a small chapter...:D. Much love :D
Paradise Raver: glad u like the idea:DI had some doubts about people wanting to read something like this!
greenlobster7878: I hope that u won't be disappointed! I'll work extra hard on this one! . :D
XxRavenxX : thanks 4 the review.! And you r so right about the bb/rae. U must be psychic! Oooooooo. :D
Sorceress of Demon Otters: well, I hope that this chapter will be suffice.! And now that its summer my update shouldn't be so infrequent. :D
ninjamonkey: thanks for the review, I hope my story turns out okay. Lol. Enjoy:D
keri2004: Sorry it took so long thanks for the review :D im so glad you liked it!
HAPPILI INSANE: love the user name :D yeppers, Raven is a little french girl :D now stop spoiling all my surprises lol ..:D
Darkofthenigh: heehee...! thanks for ur comment! Here is the update...! enjoy :D
purplemusicgoddess: eehee, I love that part,. Terra must die eehee! Lol, she's a broomsticks.:D thanks for your comment...! ttys!
Edward Elric55: really? You liked the chapter? Thanks Im so glad, cuz its just the opening.:D
p.s: Eeveeshadows is outwardly sorry for all her annoying smily faces :D dammit not again!
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disclaimer: I am dissing all claims that I own the teen titans. I don't. Meehee.
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His shoes made a sharp clicking sound as he descended from the massive steam boat. Here his was, his dreams on the edge of his sleeve, all hopes riding on Paris . This was his only chance to make a name for himself other than "son of a wealthy banker."So, setting a firm grip on his suitcase , he headed out onto the smooth, paved stone streets; into the massive sea of black suites and horse carriages.
Apartments and corner shops lined the cobblestone walkways and a colorful array of people were seen in all their French glory. Their were flowers, groceries, and baked goods below every second story balcony. Long strings of laundry that had been hung out to dry occasionally caught his eye, showing of clothes of all social classes. Their were corsets, shawls, redingotes and walking dresses. Work clothes, paint suites and petticoats. The buildings, which had the illusion that they were blocking out the sun, were so close that its seemed like the architects cemented them together like the stones that made up the streets of Paris. Soft off-whites, blues, and reds, sometimes greens, made up the color pallet of the exterior design of the towering complexes. Occasionally a darker brown would replace the usual reds and blues of a coffee house.
The signs above store entrances swayed in the wind, as if celebrating his arrival and the rushing water of the Seine seemed to be laughing at the goofy grin planted on his face as he saw...her.
No women in America could make his heart stop like that, it was an instant infatuation. Her long dark hair stop at her mid- back, and the white tailored blouse and deep blue skirt showed off her perfect figure. It was a very common lower class French wardrobe, the long, some-what puffed sleeve on the collard shirt were tight at the wrist. A simple line of buttons ran down the center, stopping at the waist and frilling out above a long, blue skirt with a dirty beige apron on it. Peeping out beneath the bottom of the skirt were a pair of worn out shoes. She looked nothing like the women in America, with their giant dresses that made them look like marshmallows. With all the lace and frill, it looked like the women were about to be swallowed! They were low cut and had a very tight waist, which was apparently suppose to be more beautiful. He liked the look of this better, it looked so much more real.
Catching his breath, he prepared to go over and...talk to her? Oh my...oh no.
I don't know how to speak French! What was I thinking? Oh this is horrible. What am I gonna do? How am I going to live here? How am I...gonna get a job? Where am I gonna live? What was I thinking? Okay Gar, relax. It won't do any good to panic. Im just stuck here in a foreign country with no idea how to speak the language and no job experience. Dammit. I mean, I was educated but will that do any good? Oh crap.
Looking around for anything that might help, his eyes landed on a group of men having a discussion about, something. They were standing in a circle and by the way they were dressed they looked like they owned the country. Also, their sharp suites and black hates were the same ones he was use to seeing on American bankers around his house. It was the most familiar thing so far in the city, which somehow ignited a little bit of his confidence. So, the poor lost American took a leap and approach some very elite French men.
Et donc alors j'ai dit, cela n'est pas de maîtresse, cela est ma femme !
The group emitted a loud laugh, apparently because of what the youngest member of the group had stated. He was of a common height and seemed a little bit muscular. He wore a very dark hat, and from wear Gar was standing, the shadows blocked out half of his face. He had a very dark circle around the eye that was visible that made him look almost like he was earing a mask. He began to approached the group of men.
"Um, excuse me? Do any of you speak English?" It was easy to see that the little bit of confidence that had been "ignited" was not enough to allow Gar Logan's voice to come above a whisper.
"Quel était cela ? "
"Je ne sais pas."
"L'attente, son venir de ce peasant là-bas. Im désolé mendiant mais nous n'a pas d'argent pour l'aime de vous. Loin avec vous ! "
" Im sorry, I don't speak French". The men's tough demeanor did not help Gar's confidence , which was now as low as the men's voices.
"Don't speak French? Well beggar, you won't do too good in this city. It is Paris you know."
Again the obnoxious, higher class men laughed at the simply "hilarious" phrases the youngest member kept emitting. As soon as the laughs died down to snickers, Gar mustered all the courage that was left and again tried to reason with the upper-class.
" I was wondering if you knew were I could find a job? Im looking to be a photographer"
"Really? Well, you see that young women over there? With the blue skirt?"
"Yes."
"Well, she is the hired help in an art studio. The artist is looking to hire a photographer. You might be interested."
" Oh yes! Thank you very much sir! Thanks you thank you! "
"All you half to do is tell her "Combien une heure vous est ? " and she'll know what your talking about.
" Combien une heure vous est ? I think I can manage. Thank you again Sir."
Gar could not be happier. Not only was he getting a job, but he got a chance to work with the same girl that stole his heart away earlier. A job and possible and new wife, if he new Paris was this much fun he'd have left decades ago. His goofy grin returned and his heart was flying through the sky. Soon his brisk pace got him to the flower stand where the dark haired goddess was admiring a group of red roses.
" Um...Combien une heure vous est ? "
His joy was suddenly smashed by the swift slap that landed him a red mark on the side of his face. Since the position of his face was altered enough to see back to where he previously encountered the group of men, he was able to see them burst into another fit of laughter. He may have been naive enough to fall for the trick, but he new what had happened. Combien une heure vous est was probably some French swear word of heinous phrase. Refusing to look the flustered young lady next to him in the eye, he ran from the flower stand and away from the men whose laughter was still ringing in his ear.
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Fresh tears dripped down the side of his face and the grip Gar had on his suitcase tightened. He should have known that a break wouldn't have come so quickly and so easily. What came so quick and so easily was a trick that embarrassed him in front of a beautiful girl and made him the bunt end of another joke from that young bank member. But what hit him hard was here in was, taking shelter in an old alley. He had no food, no house and no money. Inside his suitcase were some mediocre clothes that he took from a servant and his precious camera equipment. Gar Logan had managed to travel from one extreme to the next, a wealthy heir to a beggar on the street. He would probably die here, alone and without accomplishing anything. His family wouldn't care, those French men he just meant wouldn't care. How easily fate had stolen all the joy that had built up in his heart. The scenery, the women, how fast it all changed. And here he was, staring at the built up garbage across from him wondering if he'd ever make it out of here alive. Resting his head on his knees in defeat, Gar Logan fell asleep, hoping he would never wake up.
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A sharp pain in his stomach awoke Gar from his sleep. As soon as his vision cleared he saw about 4 men going through his suitcase. Alarm hit him like a ton of bricks, here he was defenseless while a gang pilfered his belongings! Getting to his feet he didn't notice the tall teenager behind him in a tight black shirt, nor did he prepare himself for the swift kick in the ass.
"Si, votre petit garçon riche, vivant et calme ? "
"Huh? I don't speak French!"
Gar's voice was frustrated and full of panic. The only worthwhile thing in his life was about to be stolen and he wouldn't let it happen.
" Give it back! Give it back! Give it back.! "
Try as he might, he calls did nothing to stop the thieves, and he was greeted with only more pain as the teen in the black skirt continued to beat him up. He was quickly hit in the face, and when the boy saw he was not yet unconscious he was slammed into the alley wall. A few more kicks in the rear, and Gar was knock out after feeling the blood trickle down his face and seeing the group flee with his precious green suitcase.
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Well mes amis? Did u like it ? Huh huh. It you review I tell you what all the French meant...! nah Im just kidding, here it is:
Et donc alors j'ai dit, cela n'est pas de maîtresse, cela est ma femme ! thats no mistress that's my wife! ( I needed a cliche joke...)
"Quel était cela ? ": who's there?
"Je ne sais pas.": I don't know
"L'attente, son venir de ce peasant là-bas. Im désolé mendiant mais nous n'a pas d'argent pour l'aime de vous. Loin avec vous ! " look its that peasant over there. Im sorry beggar we have no money to give you. Now away with you!
"Si, votre petit garçon riche, vivant et calme ? " so, your still alive little rich boy?
And now your all probably wondering what that forbidden phrase meant..well, if I get enough reviews I'll tell you guys :D so go ahead...push the little button ! And I hope you liked it.! Oo what the hell, Combien une heure vous est means how much an hour are you. 0o Ohhh im too nice but I still want a review...! not that your pressured or anything :D always, eeveeshadows.