“Is this all for me?” she thought, as she opened the car door, and looked up and around. It was huge. She grabbed her phone and several pages of notes, then got out, closing and locking the door. “Habit,” she muttered to herself.”
The key was hidden under a big bush near the main door as the solicitor had said on email. She held it up for a moment, then poked the key in the lock.
It was dark inside, since all the windows had been bricked up. Still there was a large torch somewhere. But then she saw two young boys on their bikes appear.
“Hello,” said one of them. “Do you need some help?” “We can see it’s dark, but we’ve our front lights on our bikes and easy to remove them.”
She grinned back and said, “you’ll be handy, and you two will be my new friends!”
The red-headed woman scooted down from her tiny top apartment as she stopped for a moment at the bottom, she thought to herself that maybe she should be kinder to that concierge, but she was such an earwigging woman, old, tiny and mostly cross too, as she slipped an envelope under her door which contained her monthly euros, then rushed outside to the small road.
It had been such a scorching summer in Paris, too hot she felt, but now it was early autumn, which is so pleasant, as she strolled through the streets, making her way to the beautiful, but slightly rundown house with very tall walls.
She was always keen to try something new, and this was a new project, she rubbed her hands with glee, as she slipped into the side gate using her special key.
And there they were, her best friends: clever Joan and her husband, Francis, who were very rich, well, they were vampires after all, like The Old One too, who still stays there, although he has a chateau in Orleans, France; then there was the athletic feisty Scatty, who was an immortal from Ireland, and finally, it was Mr Cushing, also an immortal who had been an actor in the past.
The red-headed woman greeted all of them with many little kisses – very French, of course, but where were those two gargoyles?
But there they were, and she almost keeled over with laughter, they were doing some painting in the living room!
“Oh, let’s walk past, and quite quickly.” “Why? What’s the matter?” The two of them had been trailing around some small shops.
“Well, there’s nothing interesting anyway. Come on.” “But there is. In fact, rather nice things, I think.” She looks away, while he looks more closely.
Then he says: “don’t you like those colourful bottles? I used to have quite a few of those when I was a kid.” “Oh, that’s fine,” she says. Then she peers at them. “Yes, pretty. Very pretty. You want them?” “Nope, not now.” “On would then.”
“So what was your problem?” “Those dolls…eek!”
~~~
Thanks to Rochelle for hosting Friday Fictioneers Genre: Fiction Word Count: 100
The red-headed writer (aka la Raconteuse) had woken up very early, for a moment she thought there was a huge fire in the distance, but no, it was a fabulous sunrise, more than gorgeous, it was going to be an excellent day – not dreary at all.
She got up and padded to her little kitchen, ah yes, coffee to brew, as she talked to herself as usual, and then she stared at the calendar on the door; gosh, she muttered, it was already September, as she quickly grabbed her diary to make a note for today.
With her mug in her hand, she went to her writing table, and opened her laptop, but what should she write?
Now she felt that her other red-headed woman could have another spin in Paris, with all her friends, especially those two gargoyles.
She pondered a bit, but she was getting hungry now, best to go to the Six-Sentence-Café-and-Bistro, she already knew what she would order – it will be two dippy eggs and toast, since she was pretty certain that Tom would be working that shift.
“Why have we got such a bad press? I mean, we are not deliberately cross.” “No indeed. We live in our group, like aunties and uncles, and we are busy and productive.” “We always do many things each day, although fun is not our normal state.” “No, sadly not.” “However, we can be helpful, and actually pleasant as well. Believe me.”
“So, what can we do, we are wondering?” “A challenge?” “Well, we can say that.”
“So let’s make a statement.” “We’re pretty nice, and most of the time.” “You know, we could have a party?” “What a splendid idea!”
~~~
Thanks to Rochelle for hosting Friday Fictioneers Genre: Historical Fiction Word Count: 100
The red-headed writer (aka la Raconteuse) was grinning to herself – my word, this place is buzzing, really buzzing, as she entered the Six-Sentence-Café-and-Bistro, – there are so many people I know, this is going to be fabulous.
But earlier she’d had such a dithering afternoon, almost a calamity in fact; it started with what she would wear at the Café-and-Bistro later.
She’d opened her wardrobe, and messy it was, as she threw out various things, but what to choose, not that there was much choice, and of course, she didn’t often vary her colours of clothes, her motto being: just black and black, but this was a proper event, so nothing ventured nothing gained, she will wear a flowy and pretty dress, long too.
So that was sorted, as she went to her laptop, opening it up to look at her poetry section, rather vast now, she would have to memorize a couple of those, and that could be a problem.
She wrote three of her most recent poems which she hadn’t yet released, and copied them on some small cards, then she looked to decide which would be best, then the second one for reserve, and finally the last one if required, although she felt it was rather unlikely, still all she needed to do was… practice, practice, practice, and out loud.
La Raconteuse was meeting and greeting, smiling and waving, but the sad news was this, as she held this up – I’ve lost my voice completely, more than hoarse!
“Shall we try that place,” said she. “We could,” said he. So the two of them moved up those rather grand steps. But then they stopped before opening the front door.
“It looks very nice,” she smiled. “It seems pretty posh,” he grinned. They looked at each other for a moment. Then between them they went through the door.
“Gorgeous,” said she. “Perfect,” said he. They both winked together… twice.
“I’ll go this way…” “And I’ll go that way…” They were busy for a little while.
“Okay, that’s enough.” “Indubitably.” So off they went, and quickly. And almost nobody noticed.
~~~
Thanks to Rochelle for hosting Friday Fictioneers Genre: Historical Fiction Word Count: 100
The red-headed writer (aka la Raconteuse) dashed down from her apartment (all six floors), then trotted across a couple of roads to get to the Six-Sentence-Café-and-Bistro; she was about to enter the establishment, and she was sure she could smell the particular aroma of a cigar… she smiled… a lot.
La Raconteuse scanned around the place; it was quite early, so few people were around, but Mimi and Denise, aka the Bartender, were talking about making lunch.
“A lovely selection of tomatoes, courgettes, carrots and lots of spuds,” grinned Mimi, “and all organic food of course,” – “perfect,’ smiled the Bartender, “you’ll use the carrots to make carrot cake?” – “oh, naturally,” as Mimi went back to the kitchen to organize everything.
La Raconteuse sat on a stool opposite the Bartender and said, “what’s happening just now,” as the Bartender slid a flyer, “look at this.”
“See, it’s going to be a function, right here,” said the Bartender, “where there will be music and lights, and then everything will go dark and then the spot light will come up… it will be a slam poets party… see, look it says here.”
“And I will be the overseer,” said the tall, thin man, as he suddenly appeared from the hallway, “you’ll enjoy this a great deal, won’t you,” as he grinned, “we’re starting a list, all those poetry people, either actually here, or on line… it’ll be next week, oh, and don’t worry, our excellent friend, the Gatekeeper, will be looking after the door.”
“Awesome, aren’t they?” “Expensive?” “I guess so, but matters not.”
“All very pretty, and so detailed. Now I need to squint. Hmm, it must be in another kind of language.” “Something like Cyril?” “Can’t be Cyril, Cyril is our President.” “I do know that. I’m going to Google this while you continue to look.”
“All these gorgeous churches, they are called churches, aren’t they? Or maybe cathedrals, seems more… more, well whatever. But have you got some information yet?” “I have. And here it is.”
So they looked together, and that was great. “Okay, what’s next in this excellent museum?”
~~~
Thanks to Rochelle for hosting Friday Fictioneers Genre: Historical Fiction Word Count: 100
