On the ground floor, where the Six-Sentence-Café-and-Bistro were busy getting things done, the red-headed writer, aka the Raconteuse, had been up in the flat roof were she was sitting writing – it was going pretty well, although she could do better; she needed more inspiration…
She had been really pleased with her new hairstyle, it had been cut and coloured again, not just the usual bright red, but also three foils on the front of her hair, which were almost white; she had another look in her tiny mirror, as she smiled happily, then she settled down to write again.
But then she heard something wonderful – she had raised her head and then stood up, and looked down, and then she laughed out loud; it was the Gatekeeper who was crouching next to Hūnga as they both howled together.
She picked up everything as she descended quickly, running down the fire exit to the bottom; she almost bumped into the tall, thin man, ‘gosh, sorry about that,’ she said, ‘well, it looks like almost all of us are here,’ – ‘shall we go together?’
They were back in the bar, sitting around the long table and chatting, it was lovely to see them, but now she needed something else and suddenly she thought; she had her big bag and and things stowed into it.
The Raconteuse decided to get into a taxi, then she will alight and then descend to find a train, but where she will go she’s not certain… yet.
she’s moving again how many times, she’s lost count where will she go next?
the custom manager threw the rest of her things out ‘good riddance,’ he shouted
her method is the same she will find another place it’s a tradition
a man’s there.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Image credit: Bernhard @Unsplash
For the visually challenged reader, this image shows the view of a street where a stack of old luggage (suitcases) is piled one upon another, the lowest one resting on a wooden box. There’s a bicycle parked next to this pile, along a no parking sign.
The red-head woman was walking around the Montmartre Cemetery, wondering what she could do, since she was running out of cash – although of course she could sell, or maybe pawn, her lovely ruby ring, as she fiddled with her finger.
She had turned left when suddenly she spotted the two gargoyles who were standing next to one of the dead poets graves, as they were busy working on two large easels, wearing artists’ smocks and berets, and both of them were scoffing and bickering (as usual); but then stopped and said, ‘ah, there you are,’ as they grinned back at the red-head woman.
Meanwhile the old vampire appeared, opening his arms and smiling: ‘to you like my outfit,’ as he whirled around; ‘yes, I know, I’m doing my best, although, I know I’m a relic, but I suit and boot quite well, don’t you think.’
‘Now, down to business and stuff,’ said the old vampire, as Joan, Francis and Scatty popped up and join them, ‘okay, we all know about the old building just around the corner,’ as he pointed, ‘and now I can reveal,’ he paused like a drum roll, and winked.
‘It began with the lovely red-head woman who opened that old safe, and then later the two gargoyles managed to read those antique deeds, and then they sent it via courier to me – and that’s where I got it.’
‘You see, it seems I own it out right – and we can do whatever we want!’
The full moon leaked across the balcony as the red-head woman looked out into the sky; suddenly she saw Joan, Francis and Scatty, who were hovering on broomsticks: ‘one for you too,’ said Scatty, ‘they are all made with hardwood and jute, and strong and light,’ – ‘come on, hurry,’ said Joan, ‘time to party – we are going around the moon – you’ll see,’ and off they go.
They were flying down the Seine and then the ocean appeared, ‘let’s go to New York,’ shouted Francis, ‘you can see the Café and Bistro, and I think you’ve been there haven’t you?’ – ‘well, kind of,’ muttered the red-head.
They crossed the water keeping with the moon, and then they landed: ‘well,’ said the red-head, ‘I’m going in and quickly skirted around the room,’ – at that moment, the Bartender was wiping a cloth on the sparkling table, as she looked up and smiled, and Mimi also waved happily as she when back to the kitchen; ‘I think I got away with that,’ muttered the red-head.
‘Come on let’s fly to the West Coast; here’s the bridge now, and let’s sit,’ – then the red-head woman hugged her warm fabric as she watched the moon rising again.
But now it’s time to go – and this is the clever bit… ‘widdershins, widdershins, widdershins’ shouted Scatty.
***
Did she fall asleep? thought the red-head… did she dream all of this? but no; she looked in her pocket – it was a napkin from SSC&B!
The red-head woman had woken up, had thrown off her quilt, stood up, walked across and opened the handle into the little kitchen where she spooned some strong coffee into the jug, as it percolated; she stared out into the grey and dank morning, it was wet, very wet, completely different from yesterday.
She got dressed quickly, drinking her coffee, and as she sat down with the three new and ancient books that she had only just bought from the bookseller, she opened all of them.
The first thing she realised was that all of them were in English (phew), and the second thing she realised was that she had known right from the start, these were written about Joan of Arc, Comte de Saint-Germain, and Scáthach: her three friends (and vampires) Joan, Francis and Scatty.
She delved down, looking around all of them, piecing and putting markers everywhere, what seemed particularly interesting was that the two historical tomes were similar, but the folklore one was poles apart; but everything was good.
Then she remembered about the little book which she’d found – the one in the safe; she would get that now.
Meanwhile, it was all very well to read these old books but the red-head woman still needed to hatch a plan (and soon, and then stick to it) since she had little dosh left after doing everything else, but it was raining so hard, like cats and dogs, it was better to stay at home, just for now.
The red-head woman had been still smirking as she got into the taxi, she had rather a lot of euro coins as earlier she’d won at table-football with several people in the lounge in the Hotel St Germain, and she’d pocketed it them in her big bag, meanwhile the helpful concierge had been dialling one of the taxi ranks from the lobby.
The taxi pulled out and it seemed very busy, she craned up looking around – and then it had dawned on her: she’d completely forgot about the Olympic Games in Paris, and it was already happening, it was so interesting and massive, and right here too (she’d been distracted for several weeks), but now she was very excited.
The taxi had drawn up, almost right at the door, as the red-head woman opened her big bag and digged deep into her compartment, unearthing her money and got rid of most of her coins; she gave him saying – ‘keep the change’ – while he grumbled and then smiled.
The red-head woman heaved up her bag and hurried up to the top of her tiny flat, she deposited her bag, then opened the little balcony; she saw the two gargoyles who were hovering over her, ‘can we come in?’ – she nodded.
‘We’ve been busy for the past two weeks, as we have a temporary job, helping the climbers in the Olympic sport,’ they started, and stopped…
‘Gosh, sorry, got to go, we’re going to watch the final of women’s beach volleyball (ooh)!’
The red-head woman had her great big bag again, as she trudged around as usual; she had been walking around the streets of Paris, while her head was swirling still; where had she been? – she paused: she just saw a rather nice café, and the menu outside looked tempting; she sat down while deciding what to pick, and then she ordered.
On the other side of the street, she craned her head, looking at the rather magnificent and old hotel, and next door was a book shop, and she would have to go in.
After eating and paying, the red-head woman felt fortified, as she entered the book shop where there were so many books, from the floor to the ceiling; it was rather dark and dusty, but it smelled interesting.
The man appeared: ‘I will help you, I know exactly what you need – please sit down – I will track them down, very soon,’ and a moment later, the man had taken three books from the shelves, ‘I think that you want these, they are very old, and useful.’
‘I will also help you over to the Hotel Moderne, (now it’s known as Hotel St Germain, by the way), you’ll find out something else later there – trust me; but meanwhile go past the lobby and go into the lounge.’
And so the red-head woman had a great time, playing table-football and listening to the jukebox, while a young man mixed a cocktail for her – what could be nicer?
Posted for The Unicorn Challenge, a magical challenge hosted by Jenne Gray and C E Ayr, where they provide a photo and we, in turn, provide up to 250 words.
It was a busy night with the various vampires who were drinking and singing, rushing around, jumping over the tables and running up and down on the stairs; although not all of then.
Joan had brought her husband, Francis, he had long, thick and jet black hair, a very dapper gentleman; next to him was Joan’s best friend, Scatty, she had bright red and spiky hair – just like the red-head woman – she grinned happily, offering a little cache of magic around the three of them.
The old vampire had only appeared just now, he had opened his kitchen so that nothing was hidden in the stores, although almost everything had been eaten already; he had thrown open the huge French doors and welcomed everyone – ‘do you love my outfit – so modern, don’t you think?’ – ‘which century was it’ – said one of them, as he giggled.
‘This is the 20th century: platform shoes, very wide trousers and a lovely shirt and lots of medallions (they’re real, by the way),’ as the old vampire started to dance.
Everyone joined in, as the party became even more raucous; a couple of the vampires started to eat just-dead rats and that was too much for the red-head – she swooned.
She woke up at noon, someone must’ve put her to bed, she looked out, everyone had gone, only her car remained; she ran down and out, looking up at the window, was it a statue? but no, it was the old vampire, and he waved.
She had been looking at her smartphone many times, but there was nothing there, the two gargoyles had not moved at all and the cemetery was also silent in the moonlight, apart from a couple of young people who had almost shed all their clothing; the red-head woman had looked away, and up over the city into Montmartre, as she sighed and got into bed.
The next day was the weekend and it was particularly busy: the bells had been ringing around the two cathedrals and there was music everywhere, there was even a very tall clown wearing bangles, bows and buttons, and he was playing a tambourine; the red-head looked down from her tiny flat, she rubbed her head, as she decided to go out and down.
Meanwhile the two gargoyles laughed out loud as the red-head woman walked away; they knew that this would only work if she went on her own.
Too much noise still, thought the red-head woman, as she began to walk down one of the cobble streets; the music was strident and strange, as the frequency began to build like a big beat on the drum – faster and faster – the noise was unbearable, and then suddenly… it stopped.
‘Who is this?’ – she looked around, and then she saw a high window in the old house, she looked again to see a young girl.
Suddenly she remembered what the gargoyles said, and she realised this was a vampire – but she was not expecting this one.
Posted for The Unicorn Challenge, a magical challenge hosted by Jenne Gray and C E Ayr, where they provide a photo and we, in turn, provide up to 250 words.
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