Leaving Paris
21 Aug 2008 03:14 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
broadsword_babeWhen: March, 1940
Where: Paris, France
Alias: Jacqueline Valmont
Morning in Paris and the swirling fog had turned the city into a monochromatic world of blacks, whites, and grays. She stood on the bridge, feeling the chill damp soak into her skin through her stylish skirt suit and long gloves. It had only been a week since she'd returned to the city after her ordeal in the desert, and the cool mist was a welcome relief from the glaring heat.
She wasn't proud of what she had done in order to keep a promise that had haunted her for fourteen centuries. But it was over now. The Grail was safely entombed with Arthur on Avalon. Now, it was up to her to get her godson out of Paris.
Quinnleigh Kincaid
Highlander OC
1,000 Words
Charles isa_ghosts_son and Quinn's headmate.
iris_angel mentioned vaguely with permission.
Prompts:
of_the_universe:
10.1 It is a rainy morning. At the periphery of vision, surrounded by fog, something emerges.
10.2.A Write a fic where you are standing in the middle of a bridge.
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theatrical_muse:
#242 Write about a time that you were the bearer of bad news.
Where: Paris, France
Alias: Jacqueline Valmont
Morning in Paris and the swirling fog had turned the city into a monochromatic world of blacks, whites, and grays. She stood on the bridge, feeling the chill damp soak into her skin through her stylish skirt suit and long gloves. It had only been a week since she'd returned to the city after her ordeal in the desert, and the cool mist was a welcome relief from the glaring heat.
She wasn't proud of what she had done in order to keep a promise that had haunted her for fourteen centuries. But it was over now. The Grail was safely entombed with Arthur on Avalon. Now, it was up to her to get her godson out of Paris.
During her time as an Austrian archaeologist, she had been privy to the Nazis' plans for Europe and beyond. Soon, they would begin their march on Paris. Hitler had wanted to find the Grail and use it as a symbol of the unstoppable might of the Third Reich, and further proof that the Aryan ideal was God's one true race. The thought made her sick.
Who was to say that some Immortal wouldn't get roughly that same idea and start slaughtering or enslaving mortals just to prove that point? She shivered and looked down at the Seine. A few moments later, footsteps echoed in the early morning mist. She turned as a figure emerged from the fog.
Underneath the fedora, his dark hair had begun to turn silver at the temples in the five years since she'd been gone. His greenish-hazel eyes looked at her as though he'd never seen her before. She didn't think her blonde locks made that much of a difference. But maybe so.
"Charles?"
"Aunt Jacqueline?"
His smile lit up his face, and suddenly her godson was no longer a man of fifty, but a youth of eighteen. She somehow felt as though she had been gone longer than just those five years. It never failed to amaze her just how quickly mortals aged.
"Is there somewhere where we can go and talk?" she asked, almost effortlessly slipping back into the French instead of the Austrian she had used until recently.
"Of course," he replied. "There is a small café nearby. We can have breakfast."
She let him lead her through the streets to the small restaurant. A small bell tied to the door tinkled as they entered. It wasn't until after the waiter took their orders that they finally began to talk.
"Where have you been?" Charles asked, almost accusatory. There were times when he seemed so much like his father.
"Fulfilling an old promise," she replied simply. "Please understand that I cannot tell you. You probably wouldn't believe me anyway."
Her godson harrumphed as he took a sip of coffee. "Then what is so important?"
She lifted her spoon from her own cup and sighed. "There is no easy way to say this, but you simply must leave Paris."
Charles stared at her. "Why? I've lived here my entire life. You know that. How can you ask me to leave?"
"I've learned of ... certain plans while I was away," she answered. "The Nazis mean to invade the city by the end of the summer."
Charles was speechless. "Then you are a spy," he hissed.
She nodded. After all, it was the most plausible explanation for why she had disappeared and hadn't communicated with him until now. He rested his chin on his thumbs as he thought.
"You are right, we must leave," he replied finally. "If they realize you know their plans..."
She nodded again before he finished. It would be simpler to let him believe he was protecting her when it was truly the opposite.
"I have already arranged train tickets to Marseilles. From there, we take a ship to Casablanca. Once we reach Casablanca, it will be a few days before an available flight to America."
She didn't fail to notice the vague disappointment in Charles' eyes. It had taken more than a little help from a very old friend to make all the travel arrangements, and she would always be grateful to him for that.
"Then, why do you need me?" Charles asked.
"They will be looking for a red-headed woman traveling alone," she answered in keeping with Charles' spy theory.
She could tell he wasn't happy with the idea.
"Why me?" he asked. "Why not find someone else?"
"You don't know what they are capable of," she replied, whispering fiercely. "Do you still want to be here when they march down the Champs Elysees?"
Charles still looked unmoved.
"Charles," she started, deciding on a different track. "I have known you since you were a child. There's nothing left for you here. Besides, there's no one else I trust."
It wasn't entirely true, but that was beside the point. She watched Charles' expression soften. She hated using guilt as a motivator, but sometimes the ends justified the means.
"Alright," he sighed. "When does the train leave?"
"Midnight."
The station wasn't as deserted as she thought it would be. It seemed that other Parisians had read the writing on the wall after the Nazi invasion of Poland and were fleeing the city, if not the country. She had just climbed aboard the train when she felt the tingling buzz of Presence at the base of her skull. Trying not to panic, she slowly turned and scanned the platform.
He was standing about twenty feet away, dressed in a fedora, overcoat and suit. A corner of his mouth quirked upward as their eyes met. A shrill whistle stopped her before she could walk over and say a proper "goodbye" and "thank you." But he seemed to understand anyway.
There was a soft look to his dark hazel eyes that she'd never seen before, but the train began to move before she could question it. He simply gave her a small wave, and there was little else she could do but wave in return.
Who was to say that some Immortal wouldn't get roughly that same idea and start slaughtering or enslaving mortals just to prove that point? She shivered and looked down at the Seine. A few moments later, footsteps echoed in the early morning mist. She turned as a figure emerged from the fog.
Underneath the fedora, his dark hair had begun to turn silver at the temples in the five years since she'd been gone. His greenish-hazel eyes looked at her as though he'd never seen her before. She didn't think her blonde locks made that much of a difference. But maybe so.
"Charles?"
"Aunt Jacqueline?"
His smile lit up his face, and suddenly her godson was no longer a man of fifty, but a youth of eighteen. She somehow felt as though she had been gone longer than just those five years. It never failed to amaze her just how quickly mortals aged.
"Is there somewhere where we can go and talk?" she asked, almost effortlessly slipping back into the French instead of the Austrian she had used until recently.
"Of course," he replied. "There is a small café nearby. We can have breakfast."
She let him lead her through the streets to the small restaurant. A small bell tied to the door tinkled as they entered. It wasn't until after the waiter took their orders that they finally began to talk.
"Where have you been?" Charles asked, almost accusatory. There were times when he seemed so much like his father.
"Fulfilling an old promise," she replied simply. "Please understand that I cannot tell you. You probably wouldn't believe me anyway."
Her godson harrumphed as he took a sip of coffee. "Then what is so important?"
She lifted her spoon from her own cup and sighed. "There is no easy way to say this, but you simply must leave Paris."
Charles stared at her. "Why? I've lived here my entire life. You know that. How can you ask me to leave?"
"I've learned of ... certain plans while I was away," she answered. "The Nazis mean to invade the city by the end of the summer."
Charles was speechless. "Then you are a spy," he hissed.
She nodded. After all, it was the most plausible explanation for why she had disappeared and hadn't communicated with him until now. He rested his chin on his thumbs as he thought.
"You are right, we must leave," he replied finally. "If they realize you know their plans..."
She nodded again before he finished. It would be simpler to let him believe he was protecting her when it was truly the opposite.
"I have already arranged train tickets to Marseilles. From there, we take a ship to Casablanca. Once we reach Casablanca, it will be a few days before an available flight to America."
She didn't fail to notice the vague disappointment in Charles' eyes. It had taken more than a little help from a very old friend to make all the travel arrangements, and she would always be grateful to him for that.
"Then, why do you need me?" Charles asked.
"They will be looking for a red-headed woman traveling alone," she answered in keeping with Charles' spy theory.
She could tell he wasn't happy with the idea.
"Why me?" he asked. "Why not find someone else?"
"You don't know what they are capable of," she replied, whispering fiercely. "Do you still want to be here when they march down the Champs Elysees?"
Charles still looked unmoved.
"Charles," she started, deciding on a different track. "I have known you since you were a child. There's nothing left for you here. Besides, there's no one else I trust."
It wasn't entirely true, but that was beside the point. She watched Charles' expression soften. She hated using guilt as a motivator, but sometimes the ends justified the means.
"Alright," he sighed. "When does the train leave?"
"Midnight."
* * *
The station wasn't as deserted as she thought it would be. It seemed that other Parisians had read the writing on the wall after the Nazi invasion of Poland and were fleeing the city, if not the country. She had just climbed aboard the train when she felt the tingling buzz of Presence at the base of her skull. Trying not to panic, she slowly turned and scanned the platform.
He was standing about twenty feet away, dressed in a fedora, overcoat and suit. A corner of his mouth quirked upward as their eyes met. A shrill whistle stopped her before she could walk over and say a proper "goodbye" and "thank you." But he seemed to understand anyway.
There was a soft look to his dark hazel eyes that she'd never seen before, but the train began to move before she could question it. He simply gave her a small wave, and there was little else she could do but wave in return.
Quinnleigh Kincaid
Highlander OC
1,000 Words
Charles is
a_ghosts_son and Quinn's headmate.iris_angel mentioned vaguely with permission.Prompts:
of_the_universe:10.1 It is a rainy morning. At the periphery of vision, surrounded by fog, something emerges.
10.2.A Write a fic where you are standing in the middle of a bridge.
theatrical_muse:#242 Write about a time that you were the bearer of bad news.
