Caution: What Happens In France... {closed}

The gods certainly had a cruel sense of irony for leading her to, of all the possible cities in France, a city called Arras. To make matters worse, the trail had gone cold. She seemed to have reached a complete dead end when it came to any further information about her brother. She'd lost the actual, physical scent trail weeks ago; a Scottish deerhound wasn't built for tracking anyway, especially in populated, urban areas where so many feet walked over the same routes that all the smells became tangled in one giant inextricable mess. But now, even the merest hints and whispers had ebbed away, leaving Sonia with nothing but her doubts and the relentless, creeping sense of despair.

Wandering the open-air marketplace, she clung to the vain hope that her mobile phone would go off, with one of her contacts' voices at the other end telling her they had found a lead. Or perhaps one of her other siblings would call with far better news than she had to offer. Or she might casually strike up a conversation with some stranger who just happened to have the information she sought.

Or maybe she would spend all morning staring at the little potatoes they were selling here and wondering whether she should buy a fresh loaf of bread so she could make a sandwich for lunch.

Cradling a jar of local honey in her palm, she stared at the label, not really seeing the drawing of the happy bee or the elegant French lettering. It wasn't that she couldn't read the words--she remembered enough of high school French to at least make out the word miel--but she was too distracted to really care about whether the jar she was holding did indeed contain the best honey in all of France.

The seller's enthusiastic chattering was all but nonsensical. She must have been standing here too long to have passed off as a vaguely interested passerby, she realized. The man was saying something about quality, and about lavender, and--oh, all right, it would be rude not to buy it since she'd been examining at the jar for a full three minutes, by her guess.

Weighed down a bit with a jar of honey, Sonia continued to navigate the marketplace. A large flower stand, pots brimming with striking colors, caught her eye. She meandered in, nose wrinkling immediately at the sweet scent. It was one of the disadvantages of having a canine talisman; even in human form, certain smells that would be enjoyable to most people came off as cloying or simply too strong for her liking.

She nearly collided with the man standing near the back. "Ahshi-- I mean, sorry," she quickly corrected herself. A quick glance at the man: tall, Asian, and with an air of all-too-familiar guilt and misery. Had she not felt pretty much the same way, she probably would never have noticed.

Sonia's smile was forced, but her intentions could hardly be said to be malevolent. "Awful day, huh?"

Ah, so he spoke English. The possibility that he might not have been able to hadn't crossed her mind until now. Sonia was rather thankful that he could; she could do with a distraction, and she didn't feel quite up to nodding cluelessly as she tried to puzzle out a string of French words spouted at her by a stranger.

Her smile remained plastered in place. She was well aware that it looked unnatural, but at the moment she couldn't figure out how to make her cheerful expression look genuine. She never fancied herself a skilled actress, anyway; sternness seemed to be her default expression, and if her smiles were fake, people tended to notice.

"Guessing you're not feeling too dandy yourself, eh?"

Like this guy.

Her laughter was brief, with a harsh edge. "You could say that."

Her eyes fell on the pot in his hands. Yellow hyacinths. She knew a giver of purple hyacinths was asking for forgiveness, but what did yellow ones symbolize? Yellow wasn't a very common color for hyacinths, either.

A quick scan of the multitude of blossoms on display was enough to show that this stand had quite a generous variety of flowers. Come to think of it, what was this man doing in here? Sonia knew she was stereotyping, but a flower shop wasn't exactly a place where young men tended to hang out. Not without looking bored out of their minds, at any rate. And not when they were feeling downcast.

He had a firm, steady grip, Sonia noted as she shook his hand. "And mine's Sonia."

She ran her fingers over the soft ruffled petals of an orange marigold. "Are you buying flowers for someone?"

Reyes' expression darkened, and an internal struggle seemed to take place before he finally turned away from her. Sonia felt a sharp pang of guilt; she knew immediately she had asked the wrong question. She might be having an harrowing time as of late, but that didn't mean she had license to make someone else's day even worse. And by the looks of it, this man didn't need anyone's help in depressing his mood even further.

“…No.” There was a certain bitterness to his tone that spoke of a pain that Sonia thought she only knew too well. He had someone important, then--someone for whom he would have spent the time and thought and effort to buy flowers. Had. Whoever it was, Reyes no longer had her, or him. Sonia had to blink back tears when she thought about how easily her story could be juxtaposed with his. Except she wouldn't have bought her brother flowers. A novel, maybe, but not flowers.

Still rubbing the petals of the marigold between her fingers, she used her other hand to wipe her eyes dry. It wouldn't do to shed tears in front of a stranger. He seemed the type who would worry over people he barely knew, and he definitely had more than enough on his mind right now. Besides, it would be embarrassing, to say the least.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to pry." She stared blankly at the rows of flowers, the vivid blots of color on a green-and brown backdrop. The scent still bothered her. Her talisman sneezed.

“And how about you? You looking for something?”

"For someone," she said tersely, mentally chiding herself for the way her voice caught. "I... I'm not having much luck."

What a gross understatement.

"If there's anything I can help with..." The faint hint of a smile appeared on the man's face for the briefest of moments before it faded. He sounded so sincere, though, that Sonia had to return the smile. At least this time, it came more easily and was actually more of a smile--albeit a rather sad one--than a grimace.

"I don't think there's anything you can do. But it was very sweet of you to offer." Finally moving away from the marigolds, Sonia examined the pimpernels. Scarlet ones. They were lovely, but the blossoms were small; they would have been lost among the green of their leaves were the petals not so vibrant.

A bouquet in hand, Reyes was speaking to the shopkeeper, leaving Sonia alone for a minute or two. Without the distraction he had afforded, it was difficult to keep her mind clear of its recent turmoil of thoughts. It wasn't usually in her nature to worry, but she had had more than enough reason to as of late.

Thankfully, he didn't take long. "Heathers for luck," he said as he held the bouquet out to her. "So good luck."

There was a moment of astonished silence on Sonia's part before she graciously accepted the flowers. The petals were a soft, creamy pink-purple, and the fragrance was light enough that it didn't irritate her sensitive nose. "Thank you," she said softly, and her face lit up in the first genuine smile anyone had seen for weeks.

"Hold on." Choosing a different bouquet--it was somewhat smaller, but she had the feeling that Reyes wouldn't mind at all--Sonia paid the shopkeeper and gave the flowers to the Asian man. "Chrysanthemums. For hope. And for being a wonderful friend, even to someone you barely know."

Though he didn't smile, Sonia had the feeling that Reyes appreciated the gift as much as she had. He brought the chrysanthemums close to his face and took a deep whiff, savoring the fragrance in a way she couldn't. She probably would have sneezed for ten continuous seconds if she'd tried that.

They both took one last look at the flower stand, both unwilling to part ways. Reyes' presence took her mind off of far more unpleasant things; while he was around, she could more easily stave off the sensation of powerlessness that threatened to overwhelm her at this dead end. By his hesitation, he evidently saw her in the same light. They had a mutual understanding of sorts.

"Sonia, you want to get some lunch or something?" he queried, glancing at his watch.

"Yes," she said with more enthusiasm than was probably necessary. "I saw a few crêperies around." Yes, they would do the proper tourist thing and eat a couple of crêpes while they were in France.

They left the stand, walking to the edge of the marketplace, dodging tourists and locals and their pets alike. Sonia clutched the heather bouquet tightly to her chest, working to keep up with the taller man's strides. At least it wasn't easy to lose sight of him; she was not short herself, and he towered above the majority of the crowd.

The cafe they selected was fairly small and rather cozy, decorated with calming pastel hues. Only one other table besides theirs had any seated customers. Here, they had some privacy without utter solitude, the way Sonia preferred.

Gently setting her flowers and the bag containing the jar of honey on the table, she flipped through the menu. "Cider. Crêpes are supposed to be eaten with cider, I think."

Small talk. Anything to keep her focused on this temporary illusion of a normal day between two friends.

Perhaps it was the scent of the flowers and the recollection of the jar of honey she'd purchased this morning, but Sonia had a craving for something sweet. Fruit would do nicely. She was glad for the English on the menu; the moment she had entered the cafe, she'd realized just how ravenous she felt, and she would have been rather irate had she had to decipher French while her stomach protested. You haven't been eating right for the past few weeks, her talisman chided, not unkindly. It was true. She hadn't had the time, the energy, or the mood to do anything remotely enjoyable recently.

She was fairly certain she pronounced all the words more or less accurately when she ordered. At least, the waiter seemed to understand what she was saying--or maybe he was just the patient sort. Either way, he took their order with a slow, almost lazy nod (were Europeans always this relaxed?) and meandered off to the kitchen.

"So... You live around here?"

She snorted but instantly felt abashed. Reyes did not deserve her sarcasm. Despite his own difficulties, he was going out of his way to keep her company and therefore lift her spirits. The least she could do was respond with courtesy and honesty, even if she left her answers vague.

"No, my French isn't nearly good enough." And there was no way in hell she was going to live in a city called Arras. "My family has French roots somewhere along the line, but we live in the United States." Please don't ask my why I'm here, she pleaded silently but fervently. Please.

"What about you? I can only assume you're a foreigner too." She gave him a teasing smile. As if his obviously Asian heritage wasn't enough of a clue.

Sonia was surprised to hear that he had never been to the States before. His English was practically flawless and only slightly accented; if he had not lived in the States, she would have thought that he'd at least studied there at some point in his life. Maybe he lived in England for a while--but he didn't speak like an Englishman. Or perhaps he simply had a natural penchant for languages.

"It's a great place to live." She had been born and raised in the States, and Sonia couldn't imagine living anywhere else. She supposed she had the ability to adapt to life in any other country, but she would forever consider the U.S. her home. "And to visit, I imagine. New York's a must-see, of course, but the national parks are gorgeous, if that's your thing. But I'm curious: where did you study your English, if not the States?"

Reyes began to tell her about someone with whom he'd been traveling in Europe, but he trailed off. A distant look came to his eye, and he brushed off his earlier words. Recalling his sharp response when she'd asked him if he was buying flowers for anyone, Sonia thought it best not to pry. Not only would it have been inconsiderate, but it would also have ruined the fragile, peaceful mood they had managed to achieve in each others' presence.

The cider was cool and sweet on her tongue, refreshing in the warm noontime air. The crêpes might be a while in coming, she thought idly. The people here rarely ever looked like they were in a rush, and it seemed as if they expected their customers to be as laid-back as they were. Today was the only day since she'd left home that she discovered she didn't mind.

“Today might be a good day after all, hm?”

A cautious smile. "It just might." It wasn't difficult to say that it had been one of the best days she'd had in a long while. She wasn't superstitious by any stretch, but the past hour or so had been so surreally pleasant that she did not want to say anything that could possibly jinx their time together. It felt like the world operated on irony these days.