For All The Paris Gold

Un: So This is Where We Start Off

This story takes place in Bordeaux, where the lush green hills overlooked wine vineyards in spring, and the waters gently rocked against the golden laps of sand. Where the buildings were ivory presentations of majesty and looked back upon the arts of the past century the rest of France had forgotten.

To start it off, Bijou Legrand was about to murder someone.

He had been running his mouth into the paperwork for the past couple hours, pulling at his hair and watched as the numbers and inked letters danced in blurs. There was no sense in it at all, not the economics or the very real things that drove him mad.

But alas, that was the fate of the sole male heir of a company owner.

He cursed again, throwing hands. The view outside was marvelous, with the rare sunny days and calm, gentle breeze. Yet there he was, stuck to his desk.

Imagine a room with cold oxford coloring, packed to the brim with remnants of his childhood that Bijou's grandmother never threw away--a wooden rocking horse dusty in the corner, a miniature Eiffel Tower made of iron from the 1889's Exposition Universelle almost toppling off. It was dark and tight, and his desk was cluttered with papers.

He couldn't believe it.

"Hello...?"

Three raps on the door brought him out of his misery. He ran a hand through his hair, tipping his chair back to twist the knob, and was instantly killed by the cheery force that was Maëlle Legrand.

"Ma--Ack!"

Never tip your chair back like that.

He groaned on the floor, sprawled out with the chair under him. His elbow brushed with a blunt throb, his shoulders strained. All he could see was the barren ceiling, and her face peering down at him.

"Brother!" she chirped. Her little hands smothered his face. "Are you alright?"

"Just tired," he answered. He propped himself up slowly, clutching at the edge of the desk. "I'm fine."

She waited for him to sit, her golden hair woven with mud and dirt. It had been three days since they moved into the summer house, and Maëlle had found all of his old playing spots. The child had an adventurer's blood in her veins.

"You messed up your dress," he said, brushing twigs off her. "And is that a scratch?"

"It's just a scratch," she dismissed, swatting his hand from her face. She leaned forward, beaming from ear to ear. "I found something. Look!"

In her hands were lucky four-leaved clovers and small toadstools, red-capped and beautifully carved straight out of fairy tales.

Bijou squinted, picking up one toadstool in hand. "You can't go around picking random plants like that. It could be poisonous."

"But they're so beautiful."

"In the animal kingdom," he said. "Oftentimes the colorful ones are the most poisonous."

At least, that was what the books told him.

Maëlle gasped. "Is it poisonous? I found it in a box in the backyard."

"I'm not an expert." He put it back, giving her a gentle smile. "I must have put that box years ago. I think it's safe...since I'm not dead yet."

She cheered, happily bouncing on her feet. It warmed his heart that at least one of them was having a great time. She resembled their mother so much. "I'm looking for more!"

"Looking for what?"

A man stood at the door, all sharp angles save for the mustache on his face. You might think that looked quite comedic, but he was very much a serious person, thank you.