Sara and Francouer.
{Pop!}
“Aaaaaah!”
Francoeur caught the falling form with two of his arms and a startled chitter.
In show business, there were many opportunities to see unclothed humans, but this was the most unclothed he’d seen any human. And she was green. Sort of. Somewhere between green and blue. And the top of her… garment… had no visible means of support.
“Ow,” she complained. “Sorry about that. Did I hurt anything?” She complained in English. Francoeur had a hard enough time speaking in French.
He struggled to set his palps right. “Pardonnez-moi?”
“Oh! Vous parlez Français. Excusez-moi, m'seur [I’m very sorry about my sudden entrance, there was a mishap with a cross-dimensional transit device and ever since…]” she trailed off as he set her upright. “[Omigod, are you Francoeur?]”
He nodded.
She did an excited little dance that ended in an exuberant hug and an, “[I love your work! Do you suppose we might… duet? Does this theatre even have a harp?]”
*
Lucille found them, later, jamming between the flats. Her with the harp that nobody had used as anything more than set-dressing, and him with his perpetual guitar. As if it was the most natural thing for a giant flea and a… whatever she was… to be making beautiful music together.
“[Alas, my time is up. Goodbye, Francoeur. It’s been marvellous.]”
Francoeur, never a big talker, managed a heartfelt, “Adieu.”
And then the green woman faded softly out of reality.
“[I was right],” Lucille sighed. “[Chaos does follow you. And it’s really telling that I’m getting too used to these things happening.]”
Francoeur shrugged helplessly as he chirred an apology.
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