Part:1/?
Distribution: I just like writing this stuff , but it’s put somewhere else , please let me know…..I like to keep an eye on my baby
Summary: Willow spends a summer in Paris following graduation.
Spoilers: NONE . Nil. NON!
Rating:PG I think.
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Joni Mitchell – ‘ California’ "Sitting in a park in Paris, France , reading the news and it sure looks bad , they won’t give peace a chance that was just a dream some of us had"
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Willow shifted slightly , getting more comfortable under the weight of her newspaper, currently on an expedition out of her small Parisian guest house and into the wide world. Whatever France was to be for her , it would be better than spending another summer bored in Sunnydale. ‘ Not that I don’t love my friends’ she corrected herself, but somewhere in 18 year old Willow Rosenberg , something had told her to rise up out of everything she was afraid of. So she took up the surprise offer of reporting on the new art galleries as part of a ‘Student Experience’ programme the State had put forward and funded for the ‘most promising’ students following graduation. An opportunity to go out into the world and find what they yearned for , apart from the desperation for independence that is.
The redhead moved to stretch her arms as she rose from the bench pondering both the subject of third world dept.- from a newspaper article - and equally distracting , the argument whether to have a buttered or a *chocolate* croissant for breakfast. Certainly not a decision to rush.
Since arriving in Paris , Willow had made a point to explore the cafés as much as possible ‘as well as the food’ her internal monologue reminded her as she strolled past streets littered with small shops and promises of fresh glorious food , breathing in gratefully both the fresh morning air and the warm freshly-baked-bread aroma. ‘Something I could really get used to’ she whispered to herself.
That was another thing she was enjoying – the solace and independence that Paris was giving her . Not that she didn’t love trying out her French or discussing the Vermeer’s with the gallery guides , but being such a babbler it was kind of refreshing and calm to have such quiet.
Two weeks into her trip , Willow had been to many exhibits and famous sites , but it was as she started to become familiar with the whole area that she dared to manoeuvre the smaller back streets in the early evening , to follow the advice of her Landlady – ‘Madame Georgette’(possibly one of the greatest eccentrics ever) . She was a powerful lady whose red velvet dresses matched the rouge she layered onto her aged face .
Externally she appeared as mad as a bat , but Willow had known better than to judge a stranger by their shovelled-rouge alone. Certainly Georgette had become a freeing influence , as she directed her young guest to the gems of exploration she knew – of small clubs , exhibits and romantic scenery located around Paris – “my darling , a woman without love crumbles like de cheese in David’s han’ fighting Goliath” she had told Willow in her idiosyncratic opinion , albeit four glasses of wine past sobriety at the time.
She wondered what she would be in three months , who she would become for she was sure she was changing more every time she stepped out of the door of ‘Madame Georgette’s’ , or maybe that was just her conscience’s way of telling her that she was beginning to believe Georgette’s tales of the former role of the guest house. Willow had not been too sure what she meant by a ‘good time house’ but ‘brothel’ was most probably a better way to have described it.
Perhaps it was her morals slipping away under the influence of Georgette , or maybe it was just the freedom , good food , sun…….and well everything in Paris accompanied by the soundtrack of Gigi’s old jazz records. (Willow felt quite privileged to be able to use Madame Georgette’s nickname , something she said she has always reserved for “close friends and paying customers” , the latter probably referring to the ‘good time’ days….the redhead cringed at the thought….)
As she past another café she agreed with herself to stop in the next one that looked most full of sugary goodness , one had to be careful of one’s diet when one was independent after all….or something like that…..although Willow didn’t know quite why her internal monologue had suddenly become a Giles-esque proverbial diatribe. ‘Hunger is really going to my head….better get some sugary goodness soon before this obsession with verbose grammatical comment gets ugly’…and with that the red head strolled briskly with a grin into ‘Le Chaton’.
A small but hip looking café filled with 30-something-honey-mooning couples confronted Willow. ‘Suffice to say ‘Love is in the air’’, she thought ‘ anymore love and I wouldn’t be able to describe it without going into the gutter’ and with that she took a table next to the open windows , noting with a pleased thought her developing sharp wit.
Humour ,independence and some good clothes – the three main aims of Willow’s summer in Paris. However , it was not without a slight twinge of jealousy that she looked upon the love-struck couples. Resisting romance in Paris was about as useless as resisting the allure of…….the indescribable joy of chocolate croissants. ‘Except love is probably less fattening’ she pondered.
A cool breeze hit her thankful neck , whispering over the collar of her small , white , linen shirt , finding it’s way under the hem of her thin , dark jeans , sweeping past her ankles.
The breeze was not without a hint of humidity and assured intensity that it carried as a warning or promise of the day ahead.
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hey
this is my first fic , so be gentle - do tell me if you like it Sweetjane
"Say i'm weary , say i'm sad , Say that health and wealth have missed me ,
Say i'm growing old but add; Jenny kissed me"
it's a definate possibility
I liked it very much. And I'm curious how they gonna meet each other in the "city of luuuve"...