Chapter the 17th - Memoirs
We ran back into town, escaping from Mistral temporarily by ducking into a small French Cafe, Le Faucon Noir.
I tried to act nonchalent by whistling casually as we drank our le Moccachinos, (almost inhaling half the cup as a result, and subsequently coughing for ten minutes), but inside I was a torrent of emotions more powerful than the smell of a pair of socks worn non-stop by an accountant from Gore named Timothy Franklin. I felt like we were Bonnie and Clyde: two fugitives, madly in love (one of us, at least), and likely to die in a no-holds-barred shoot-out with the authorities.
Eventually, I looked up at Ciola, wiped the Mocca-moustache from my face, and asked, "So, whats the story, Clyde?"
Ciola sighed, leaned back on le chair, and said, "Its a long story...."
Almost immediately I began feeling the familiar tell-tale signs which meant a flashback was coming; As Ciola continued to narrate, everything began going blurry and dramatic music started playing.
It wasn't until I awoke half an hour later that I realised the dramatic music had been a passing marching band, and that the blurriness was from being drugged.
Once again I had the strangest feeling of having my hand tied behind my back, with Ciola tied up nearby, only this time we appeared to be travelling somewhere in the back of a moving truck, and through the grill into the cab I could see Mistral and the truck driver chatting as they transported us where ever we we going.
Ciola was just waking up, obviously having been drugged as well (from the sounds of snoring on my shoulder, Ned had obviously sucked up some of the drugs too, and was still out cold).
"Where are they taking us?" I hissed to Ciola, as loudly as I could without Mistral hearing us.
Ciola sighed again, and replied "I guess I had better tell you my story now. It will explain everything."
I couldn't wait.
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I tried to act nonchalent by whistling casually as we drank our le Moccachinos, (almost inhaling half the cup as a result, and subsequently coughing for ten minutes), but inside I was a torrent of emotions more powerful than the smell of a pair of socks worn non-stop by an accountant from Gore named Timothy Franklin. I felt like we were Bonnie and Clyde: two fugitives, madly in love (one of us, at least), and likely to die in a no-holds-barred shoot-out with the authorities.
Eventually, I looked up at Ciola, wiped the Mocca-moustache from my face, and asked, "So, whats the story, Clyde?"
Ciola sighed, leaned back on le chair, and said, "Its a long story...."
Almost immediately I began feeling the familiar tell-tale signs which meant a flashback was coming; As Ciola continued to narrate, everything began going blurry and dramatic music started playing.
It wasn't until I awoke half an hour later that I realised the dramatic music had been a passing marching band, and that the blurriness was from being drugged.
Once again I had the strangest feeling of having my hand tied behind my back, with Ciola tied up nearby, only this time we appeared to be travelling somewhere in the back of a moving truck, and through the grill into the cab I could see Mistral and the truck driver chatting as they transported us where ever we we going.
Ciola was just waking up, obviously having been drugged as well (from the sounds of snoring on my shoulder, Ned had obviously sucked up some of the drugs too, and was still out cold).
"Where are they taking us?" I hissed to Ciola, as loudly as I could without Mistral hearing us.
Ciola sighed again, and replied "I guess I had better tell you my story now. It will explain everything."
I couldn't wait.
Previous Chapter ***** Next Chapter
posted by Lark Victory | 8:09 PM
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