Welcome to the Wakefield Doctrine (the theory of clarks, scotts and rogers)
This is a Six Sentence Story
Denise is the host
This Six is a continuation of the serial story, ‘the Whitechapel Interlude‘. When last we saw Brother Abbott, he’d just reaquainted himself with an old friend, from the days when he was both a performer and impresario. But, literally the last time?, here’s where we left off.
(ed. note) We have taken the liberty of crossing over storylines for the interaction in our Six. Ford, one of the Proprietors from the Six Sentence Café & Bistro (and an artist of breadth most extraordinaire) has created a fictional world so period-detailed, that I could not resist! If you enjoy our Six visit to Paris here, be sure to head over to ‘the Mage’s’ (To get you started with M. Magnifique, click this).
The prompt word:
CONFETTI
“Si le verbe aimer n’existait pas, je l’aurais inventé en te voyant,” Brother Abbott’s smile freed the serving girl from the bonds of her blush, allowing a hasty return to the kitchen of the café and the task of convincing the cook she needed to leave work early; turning back to his lunch companion, the erstwhile principle instructor of the Whitechapel chapter of the Order of Lilith asked, with the slightest of self-conscious laughs, “What?”
“Mon ami, forgive the baseness of my innuendo, but had I any in my bag of tricks, I would be tossing confetti in the air,” Monsieur Magnifique’s face glowed with approval; as one friend to another thought to be lost from the rarefied life of show business, one which all denizens will liken to that experienced by war veterans and star-crossed lovers, pain and exhilaration intermingled so closely as to make the distinction virtually impossible.
“While the Order of Lilith has never indulged in the patriarchal hypocrisy of your more upright religions,” the former instructor of novitiates put italics to his comment with a twist to his newly restored goatee, a facial adornment more rapier than the broadsword of the full beard he left behind upon his return to Paris and the stage.
There was a sudden clatter of utensils from the café’s kitchen, immediately followed by voices, one as stolid as the other passionate; turning back, Brother Abbott watched in horrified fascination as the focus of his friend’s eyes shifted from, ‘two old friends catching up over a coffee on an eventful Saturday afternoon’, to a puzzled concentration on something in the distance approaching with lethal speed.
Clutching his lower abdomen. the ventriloquist rolled out of his chair and on to the beige tile floor, like an octopus with ptomaine poisoning.
Pushing his chair back, and almost knocking over the returning waitress, Brother Abbott moved to his friend’s side; kneeling, he heard from the direction of the battered leather valise resting on the only chair still in it’s proper position, “Pourquoi restes-tu là, va chercher un putain de docteur !!”
About clarkscottroger
As always wonderful imagery.
Thank you.
I would wish to use an expletive as first reaction, lol, yet I shall refrain.
Suffice it to say, excellent Six. Nice bit of slow burn of fright culminating in the last sentence.
written from some personal experience with exploding internal organs
Multiverse(d) you are; literally & figuratively!
well, you know how our people tend to be*
*famous quote from a long-ago clark: “What I want to know is, what do real people do with all that time in-between sentences?”
Bravo, mon ami! (meanwhile I’m looking for the ghosts that haunt that brasserie)
Well and smartly done.
Excellent. I was just thinking of my good friends (good fiends?) Monsieur Magnifique and Petit Pierre… when up popped your Six. Bravo!
The line: “Clutching his lower abdomen. the ventriloquist rolled out of his chair and on to the beige tile floor, like an octopus with ptomaine poisoning.” it particularly resonates from my recent stint in hospital, lol.
Thanks, Ford
I quite enjoy M. Magnifique as a character, grounded not only in the era but the location (which, alas, I am but a Google street-walker). Exploring the character of Brother Abbott’s former life is totally aided by such ‘solid’ company.
(I have, unfortunately been to that place… though I did not slump to the floor, I did spend several hours levitating in an emergency room between visits from the god of Demerol (All Hail Demerol!) This was pre-blogging days, so I kinda envy your being able to write about it (in whatever form the experience manifests).)
Cheers, Clark.
It’s funny, because I have more vivid memories of surgery aged six than I what I do of what happened last week… like the mind of the child was more perceptive to the strange things happening me to on the operating table. This time round I was out like a light then no sooner done I was awake again, one hour and a half surgery.
It hasn’t ‘clicked’ yet, how I want to write about my experience, but as you say (in whatever form the experience manifests) I know I’ll write something!
yeah. (the one thing I recall in the operating room was a disappointment in how small and ordinary the room was… I was expecting, like big semi-round room with gallery lol)
but, in terms of ’emotional content’ (for me) there is nothing more inspirational than trauma*
*I agree, good thing I didn’t get into this writing thing any sooner in life
Leave us in suspense, why don’t you? So well built up, Clark. And it was good to see a visit from M Magnifique, even if it does seem it’s taking a sinister turn for him. Thank goodness for his trusty companion shouting out on his behalf!
scary puppet or not, Petit Pierre is not going to lay around while his other half is at hazard
Well said. I have a WIP of these two where the roles are somewhat reversed regarding peril. Their working relationship is strong, but their companionship (and a kind of love) is stronger.
Look forward to it.
(We all started with the open mic metaphor for the SSC&B, I’m tending to remind myself to ‘stay flexible and try and keep up’ lol)