Quelqu'un m'a dit [ouvre]

[AIMÉE ÉLODIE BERTRAND]

「 A I M É E 」

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AIMÉE ÉLODIE BERTRAND

Quelqu'un m'a dit...
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At least the gardens weren't so bad. That's about all Aimee could say so far about school.

They were grown her native French style, with the plants allowed to grow naturally rather than in unnatural, geometric shapes as seen in traditional English gardening. She much preferred it this way.

The weather was going to take some getting used to though-- it was much warmer, and much dryer this time of year than in her home back in Paris. Actually, Paris was a lot like London in terms of weather. Wet, gray, and windy. And she didn't mind that-- it was still a beautiful city, and the weather gave it atmosphere; character. But here? Too hot, too dry. It was wreaking havoc on her skin-- she'd need to have some more moisturizer imported, and soon. Even flying express it would take a few days to arrive, maybe a week... the price of having beauty supplies shipped from France. But it was worth it. Well worth it.

So far, her experience wasn't the most enjoyable. From the outside, the school wasn't all that bad looking-- castle like, really. But built more in the German style than French. But it could be worse. The inside wasn't so horrible either-- she would have furnished it a little differently, but then again, it would be wrong to blame the poor, ignorant Americans.

It was a little... lonely, though. Back home she had tons of friends. And not just the fake leechy kind either-- for all her standoffishness, she really did have a few close, true, meilleure amies...plus a really hot boyfriend. Being away from them was just torture-- especially when she had yet to meet anybody she could actually communicate with. Not that she didn't speak English-- actually, she was fluent. Meme just didn't want to.

Sighing, she sat down on one of the pretty stone benches and leaned her head back, eyes closed, into the sunlight...maybe she could get used to this warmth after all. And she did have a really cute summer wardrobe...maybe teach these American girls a little about real French fashion.

She had yet though, to sample the Brookshire food. Meme had, until now, been living off some stuff she packed... but it was running low. And it was no way to eat-- food was important to her people, and she should be eating real meals...

Hopefully it wouldn't taste too bad, and she wouldn't be leaving the country weighing 500 kilograms. Because everyone knows what they say about American eating habits...

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[DORRIEN SYNCRAME]

GIVE ME YOUR HEART AND YOUR SOUL...


Danny likes the gardens.

He can 'see' them clearly, the sounds unblurred by the bustle of echoes and noise that plague confined spaces. And there's a lot to observe. The trees are full of life, whichever birds can survive in this dry heat seem to be happy... Oh, and it's away from students. That's good too.

He sighs softly to himself as he strokes a few strings on Sheba. She murmurs to him in comfort, her acoustic tone gentling his regret. His mother had been hoping that he'd make friends. He'd sort of hoped so too. But, with his reserved, shy nature and, of course, the obvious problem, he was sliding in slowly but surely to the place he always went. The back of the crowd. Unnoticed.

It's not as if it's destroying his life, this lack of friendship. He's never liked kids his age. Hell, he's never really liked anyone that much. He can hear their feelings too clearly. It unnerves him. He's happier on his own with his music. As if to affirm this, Sheba coos in his arms, too soft for anyone but him to hear. A small smile, too tiny to show his dimple, flicks across his face. She's a good make of guitar, by an unknown, but crafted with skill. She'd been a great find. He might as well let her use her voice.

The boy does a quick scan for company. There's a girl not far away, but she sounds too wrapped-up in her own business to notice an unpopular, awkward blind guy melting into the shade. Thus soothed, he takes Sheba's neck in his hand, and begins to pluck at her vocal chords. She sings for him, soft and clear. He gains confidence, she sings louder. His fingers strum, pluck and caress faster, he laughs once out of enjoyment.

He's got Sheba. Maybe this won't be so bad after all.