This is a crossover between Midnight in Paris and David Tennant's Hamlet (2009), so Hamlet will be traveling back in time from 2009 to 1920 and speaking in a more modern voice. I do not own either of these masterworks, obviously, so these characters belong to their respectful owners. I just like to imagine Hamlet, one of my favorite literary characters, traveling to the 20s to rediscover himself and what it means to be human. Somewhat philosophical, completely nonsensical. Enjoy!
He stood at the corner in Montmartre, a timeless being in an even more timeless edge of reality. Just by chance had the Prince of Denmark stolen away with a pirate ship and directed its course to France, rather than Denmark. Revenge was to be had soon, he told himself, even though he himself could not conjure the actions from his bare fists to do the dirty deed.
After writing his letter of return, the prince had slipped it into a mailbox in Calais and taken a train to Paris, where he planned to spend a day to clear his mind before taking another train to Copenhagen.
Clad in a casual suit jacket, button down, and pair of slacks, Hamlet had wandered through the City of Lights, admiring all of the artworks and architecture, then found himself in Montmartre, standing at the mystical corner.
"I could go for a cigarette," he muttered to himself as he glanced around himself, noting that the clock was striking midnight. "Haven't been out like this in years," he sighed, recalling his days back in Wittenberg, before all of his misfortune had struck.
Upon the last stroke of midnight, Hamlet found a cigarette in his back pocket, but no lighter. "Blimey," he grunted, stuffing the cigarette back into his pocket.
"What's the matter, old sport?" an American voice called from a yellow Peugeot.
"Need a light? How 'bout a ride?" another female voice called, also notably American.
Hamlet's eyes landed on the voice's source. A man with a wide smile and a blonde woman with a crazed look in her eyes waved to him from the car window.
The prince instinctively walked over to the window, despite everything in his mind advising him otherwise. "Sorry, I must be a bit drunk or something. What's all this?"
"No worries, old sport," the man smiled at him once more, "hop in and we'll show you a ride, won't we Pierre?" he gestured to the driver of the Peugeot.
The driver gave the American man a thumbs-up, then motioned for Hamlet to get in the car. "Haven't got all night, Monsieur. Nous allons aller chez Porter, quinze minuits. Allons-y."
Hamlet smiled to himself as he stepped into the car, knowing something rather ingenious was about to happen to him, just as they happened to do in his life.
And it all would start with a simple, "I shall paint a giraffe," when Monsieur Dali joined the ensemble at the next stop.