Paris Photographer – Louis Paulin

The two gargoyles were still worrying about their smartphones, and they were feeling rather hard done by now, as they continued to peer around those dreadful bones and skulls in the catacombs, although the two of them giggled a bit about the time when they would hold an excellent flag known as a Jolly Roger, since they had pretended to be a couple of pirates at the top of a tall steeple at that time.

Meanwhile, Joan had been hammering home a point about what we were supposed to be doing now, since her husband, Francis, had been talking so much stuff he knew to tell it to The Old One, while he, The Old One, had been a bit bamboozled about all of that by now.

“Well, we are women, aren’t we,” grinned Scatty, “and we are headstrong – very much so,” as the red-headed woman smiled, “there’s no pussyfooting around in our group,” as Scatty turned into her black panther for a bit.

“All right,” said Francis, “we are almost there,’ as he looked around everyone, including those two gargoyles, “it’s going to be good… trust me.”

So off they went, and rather quickly, since almost all of them were pretty hungry by now, and also some of them were almost gasping for wine.

And what a wonderful place it was; “see, it had been restored, there was a very tall cinema, a fully stocked bar, and a complete restaurant with tables and chairs, and only for us,” smiled Francis.

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Paris Photographer – Louis Paulin

“Well, at least I can chortle again now,” grinned the red-headed woman, as she also linked arms with Joan, while winking to Scatty, as they continued to walk through the catacombs.

Meanwhile, Francis and The Old One had been having a long and interesting conversation, but it was mostly Francis talking since he was very knowledgeable especially about ancient written things, he was waxing lyrically and said, “you know, the National Archives in the heart of Paris, in fact, almost up there,” as he pointed one hand up, “it’s the largest in the world, I’m sure,” as the two of them continued to talk.

“Fascinating, indeed,” said The Old One, although he felt he should try to move on to less grave things, especially since so many skulls and what not were just down there, and making him rather sick, even though as he thought to himself, I might be a vampire, but at least my head had not been removed, as he was about to grin too much, while glancing to the two gargoyles.

“Curse it, curse it, I can’t get a signal here,” as he poked his smartphone crossly, “gosh, but I mean maybe I’ve run out of data, you must help me… now!”

“My goodness, we’re starting to argue more than usual, we do like a bit of banter, being gargoyles, but this is too much just now, I wonder what it is?”

“Well, we’re certainly happier in the light, and preferably up by a fabulous cathedral!”

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Paris Photographer – Louis Paulin

Joan had told everyone to stop walking, as they looked around in the first magnificent chamber, while Francis consulted his detailed map, but the two gargoyles began to take some interesting snapshots on their smartphones.

Meanwhile, the red-headed woman had recovered her composure, “no more quivering,” she muttered to herself, “and no quitting either,” she continued, “even though this huge underground catacombs place is more than weird and still pretty scary,” as she started to take more notice around the walls.

“There are so many bones down here,” said Scatty, “and all those skulls often don’t match, so many of them don’t belong together,” – “but that seems so sad,” said the red-headed woman, as The Old One joined them.

“I’m afraid we will have to pass all those wretched monarchs,’ said Francis, “there’s no other way,” – “oh well, not to worry” grinned Scatty, “I’m always happy to say this – off with their heads,” as she giggled a lot.

“Quite right too,” agree Joan, “no cakes for her or anyone else any more, you know who I mean, that Queen, Marie-Antoinette,” – “indeed no,” chipped in one of the gargoyles, “actually I believe that Queen has to continue to make quilting things, she must make them every day, and then she must undo them again,” – “well, that’s bizarre but there it is, how did you know about that?” – “no idea, but I do.”

So several of them said about that Revolution: Vive la France! – as Scatty and Joan linked arms and grinned.

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Paris Photographer – Louis Paulin

“Okay, we’re here,’ said Mr Cushing, as he gently stopped his wonderful limousine, and surveyed everyone behind him, apart from The Old One who always rides shotgun, “however,” as he continued, “I’m not sure I want to go down there, not my cup of tea (as I would say), but you can take your provisions – some rather runny brie and some crusty bread – but I think I might feed all those feral cats just over there instead.”

“Is everyone else coming down to this particular place in Montparnasse?” asked Francis – as all of them nodded; so they made their way to the nearest toll gate.

“Ooh,” grinned Scatty, “this is going to be fun, as she pulled a large bell to see who would open the huge gate, and a moment later an ancient janitor appeared.

“You may enter,” he muttered, then pointed to the left, and said, “go past those jailbirds, and don’t look at them, and maybe close your ears too, they are kind of monsters, so just ignore them – they’ve only had some misdemeanours but they’ll stay there, and probably forever.”

So they walked rather quickly, and nobody looked at those strange beings whatever they were, and that red-headed woman became pretty jumpy with all those spooky things around there, still the two gargoyles walked either side of her, and she felt rather better.

“Just a little stop here,” said Joan, “this part of those catacombs will be more than interesting,” as both of the gargoyles grinned.

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Paris Photographer – Louis Paulin

“Magnificent!” said Mr Cushing, “Wow!” said Scatty, “Amazing!” said Joan, “Awesome!” said The Old One, and then the red-headed woman grinned and said, “What a wonderful wall!” as Francis seized his violin and picked several interesting chords.

The two gargoyles nodded and then said, “this is the best way to bring art and music together, as all of them smiled, while several of them did a couple of high fives, then they all looked at that fabulous wall again including the two gargoyles.

“It’s all very well but what are we going to do now?” wondered the red-headed woman, as the two gargoyles were clearly happy to move on to do something else.

“I know, and this will be good,” grinned Scatty, “and I don’t think we have been to this place all together before; it’s great, it’s interesting, and a tiny bit scary, it’s not too far although transport is very useful to go there, but then it goes down… down… down.

“Aha, I’ve got your drift,” grinned Francis, and then he said: “it’s not dangerous but we do need to be cautious, it’s very dark naturally and the walls and the floors will twist and turn, they go huge sometimes and then they go rather small and tight, but we shouldn’t get lost, since I have my very useful compass,” as Francis pulled it out to show them.

So off they went with Mr Cushing with his excellent limo, and the two gargoyles happily sitting at the back.

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Paris Photographer – Louis Paulin

The red-headed woman grinned happily, while backing back from the large living room where the two gargoyles were still busy working to finish painting the walls; they both pretended to be stern to her, but it was only because they wanted to make sure everything would be done later today.

The red-headed woman walked to the wonderful library where there were so many beautiful books, but on this occasion Francis and The Old One were playing chess, and very complicated too, since there were three levels on the crystal board game.

She watched for a little while saying nothing, since they were concentrating so much; so she wandered along the hall, where she found Joan and Scatty who were going to the huge kitchen just a little further on, since this was the place Mr Cushing enjoyed his cooking.

“Aha,” said Mr Cushing, “do you want to watch,” as he indicated some stools by the gorgeous streamline kitchen table, “I’ve already made some soup, and also roasted some baby potatoes which I’ve put them in aluminium foil for now, but then the main event is this.”

“I bought this earlier today, there’s a lovely market only a couple of streets away,” as he opened the fridge and took out a now filleted salmon, “it’ll be just ten minutes, would you lovely ladies want to lay the dining room table?”

And so they did, and such a splendid lunch, they’d almost finished when the two gargoyles appeared grinning, “we’ve done it!”

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Paris Photographer – Louis Paulin

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!

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William Bereza on Unsplash

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?

She had enjoyed that fantastic poetry slam last week, all those excellent poets, like Nick, Misky, Frank, Ange and Reelika, with all their lovely voices; then there was Reena, Aptivi and Len, and also, of course, some particular Proprietors, meaning Mimi, Denise (aka the BarTender), and the top of the list, Clark (the tall, thin man), plus, for the second time, it was the Gatekeeper and Hūnga.

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.

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William Bereza on Unsplash

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!

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William Bereza on Unsplash

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.”

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