Challenge #01144-C047: Oh, Francoeur...

Francoeur & company, 2 open ended prompts for double story day

  1. Blood

  2. Trombone -- Gallifreya

[AN: This puts the overlap down to 23.]


Everyone knew that fleas drank blood. The ex-chief Maynott certainly screamed it so often and so loudly that he had been moved to a quiet asylum in the country, and wasn't allowed to go near sharp things any more.

The first time someone cut themselves in Franceour's presence, there was an unearthly hush throughout the room that spread as fast as people realised what was happening.

Every set of eyes in the room oscillated between Raoul and his injury and the motionless giant flea. Except for Francoeur, because he was staring solidly at the wound.

Someone screamed, but quickly fell silent when they realised that nothing worth screaming at had happened.

Raoul, ever unaware of danger, finished muttering, "Augh... look at that..." and then noticed that one of the stars had gone... peculiar. "You okay, big guy?"

And then Francoeur fainted dead away.

Paris learned one important lesson, that night. This flea does not drink blood.


One of the players in the musician's gallery had forgotten their instrument. Francoeur, moving tables and heavy furnishings around for Carlotta, saw the shine of the brass and cooed appreciatively.

"Oh! Francoeur... Francoeur, no," clucked Carlotta. "You leave that alone, it's not your-- Oooh!"

She was too late. The giant flea had already leaped into the gallery and picked it up. A shiny, brass trombone. Francoeur shucked his jacket and gloves so he could investigate with all four hands.

"Francoeur..." Carlotta sighed. "Please leave that alone, sweetie... Those are very expensive."

Francoeur had all his attention devoted to the new thing. His curious humming and chirping was a clear indicator of that. He played with the trombone, investigating its possibilities before he brought the mouthpiece to his lips.

"Francoeur... No..."

He produced a gentle note. Weak and cautious. Emboldened, he took a deep breath.


Francoeur dropped the trombone back into the musician's gallery and leaped away, finishing by clinging, trembling, to a chandelier.

"You see?" Carlotta clucked. "Do you see? Learn to leave things alone, Francoeur. It's better in the long run. Now come on down, I still need some help with the chaise..."

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