![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
unluckyeagleAfter a lovely afternoon ensconced in the warm and loving arms that was Musichetta, Joly and Bossuet reeled out into the street, arms around each other’s shoulders. The wine had been refreshing, their mistress doubly so but alas, it was time to return back to the regular world - at least for Joly. Bossuet, who had been rescued from life as a lawyer was still cheerfully looking for his next opportunity.
Unfortunately for the both of them, they will instead make their way not into the regular world, but another one entirely. Joly, who had been considering the possibilities of nuzzling into Bossuet’s neck, looks mildly befuddled. He clears his throat a little and glances around. This is decidedly not Paris. Nor is it Musichetta’s street.
“Aigle? We seem to have misplaced ourselves.”
Bossuet, who had been considering whether he could cajole Joly into dallying a little while longer, perhaps at the Musain, looked up. “Indeed we have! I know I said I’d been transported into Heaven but I only meant it as a metaphor. We have Paris, after all - who needs a fluffy cloudscape filled with angels? … not that I see clouds or angels anywhere. Have we found Limbo instead?”
“I think instead of dans le flou, we are dans les fleurs, my dear,” Joly says, eyeing the nearby gardens with their soft autumn blooms with some trepidation. “Dieu, we should go inside, I shall get allergies.”
“Pauvre petit”, Bossuet said placatingly, knowing all too well what Joly was like when he started talking about illnesses. It was better to humor him while he was working himself up imagining all sorts of horrors and then find something to distract him before he got too carried away. “Let’s find our way inside then, before you catch an allergy and I catch a bee sting.”
As it happened, Bossuet did not catch a bee sting on their way inside but he did trip over the front step and bang his elbow off the welcome table. Madame Fortune was like that and honestly, he was grateful that some things remained the same.
Unfortunately for the both of them, they will instead make their way not into the regular world, but another one entirely. Joly, who had been considering the possibilities of nuzzling into Bossuet’s neck, looks mildly befuddled. He clears his throat a little and glances around. This is decidedly not Paris. Nor is it Musichetta’s street.
“Aigle? We seem to have misplaced ourselves.”
Bossuet, who had been considering whether he could cajole Joly into dallying a little while longer, perhaps at the Musain, looked up. “Indeed we have! I know I said I’d been transported into Heaven but I only meant it as a metaphor. We have Paris, after all - who needs a fluffy cloudscape filled with angels? … not that I see clouds or angels anywhere. Have we found Limbo instead?”
“I think instead of dans le flou, we are dans les fleurs, my dear,” Joly says, eyeing the nearby gardens with their soft autumn blooms with some trepidation. “Dieu, we should go inside, I shall get allergies.”
“Pauvre petit”, Bossuet said placatingly, knowing all too well what Joly was like when he started talking about illnesses. It was better to humor him while he was working himself up imagining all sorts of horrors and then find something to distract him before he got too carried away. “Let’s find our way inside then, before you catch an allergy and I catch a bee sting.”
As it happened, Bossuet did not catch a bee sting on their way inside but he did trip over the front step and bang his elbow off the welcome table. Madame Fortune was like that and honestly, he was grateful that some things remained the same.
