[30 Days of Fic - Day 17] "Abroad"
"God damnit," Kyle grunted as he sent the English-to-French dictionary skittering across the cobblestones that lined the square, collapsing exasperated into a wrought iron bench, ignoring the little plate that proclaimed something in French.
"You are American?" A thickly accented voice called from behind him, interrupting what was already promising to be an impressive sulk.
Kyle all but jumped to his feet and turned around, wondering after the fine levied for littering. Instead of a police officer, he found a sultry woman in a black pencil skirt and burgundy blouse. She was statuesque, built with dangerous curves in all the right places. She reached up and carefully adjusted the black hat and veil pinned into her blonde hair, a small smile creeping across her face.
He forced his eyes away from her, lingering on the book while he looked for words and tried to keep his hormones in check. After what seemed like an eternity, he lifted his eyes back to the woman, running his hand through his hair. "What gave me away?"
"Well," she murmured, leaning on the back of the bench, looking up at him, "If you were British you would know better than to let the French bother you." Her accent was thick, and between that and her choice of words, he found himself wondering where she was from. "If you were Canadian you'd have enough French to pass and wouldn't get as much attitude, and if you were Australian, well, you wouldn't let anything get to you that much."
He grinned sheepishly, "All I wanted was to get something nice to give my mother when I got home."
"Such a good son," she purred at him and he was finally able to place her accent.
"You're German?"
"Ja," She leaned further down on the back of the bench, her smile growing. "My name is Greta. Who are you?"
"Kyle." He swallowed, trying not to look as nervous as he felt. "It's a pleasure to meet you, ma'am."
"Ma'am!" She shouted in dismay, wheeling around the bench to swat him on the shoulder with her handbag, "Am I so old to be called ma'am?"
"No!" He exclaimed as a bright blush spread across his face and neck, "I just..."
"Call me Greta." She smiled and reached a perfectly manicured hand out to him.
"Alright Greta, as long as you call me Kyle."
"What else would I call you, schatzi? Come," she murmured, insisting with her hand, "let me show you how a European finds Paris."
==
Today's '30 Days of Fic' task was to write a scene with a character in a foreign land, unable to speak the local language
Click Here for rundown of tasks that are part of the "30 Days of Fic" challenge, including a link to all completed works!
"You are American?" A thickly accented voice called from behind him, interrupting what was already promising to be an impressive sulk.
Kyle all but jumped to his feet and turned around, wondering after the fine levied for littering. Instead of a police officer, he found a sultry woman in a black pencil skirt and burgundy blouse. She was statuesque, built with dangerous curves in all the right places. She reached up and carefully adjusted the black hat and veil pinned into her blonde hair, a small smile creeping across her face.
He forced his eyes away from her, lingering on the book while he looked for words and tried to keep his hormones in check. After what seemed like an eternity, he lifted his eyes back to the woman, running his hand through his hair. "What gave me away?"
"Well," she murmured, leaning on the back of the bench, looking up at him, "If you were British you would know better than to let the French bother you." Her accent was thick, and between that and her choice of words, he found himself wondering where she was from. "If you were Canadian you'd have enough French to pass and wouldn't get as much attitude, and if you were Australian, well, you wouldn't let anything get to you that much."
He grinned sheepishly, "All I wanted was to get something nice to give my mother when I got home."
"Such a good son," she purred at him and he was finally able to place her accent.
"You're German?"
"Ja," She leaned further down on the back of the bench, her smile growing. "My name is Greta. Who are you?"
"Kyle." He swallowed, trying not to look as nervous as he felt. "It's a pleasure to meet you, ma'am."
"Ma'am!" She shouted in dismay, wheeling around the bench to swat him on the shoulder with her handbag, "Am I so old to be called ma'am?"
"No!" He exclaimed as a bright blush spread across his face and neck, "I just..."
"Call me Greta." She smiled and reached a perfectly manicured hand out to him.
"Alright Greta, as long as you call me Kyle."
"What else would I call you, schatzi? Come," she murmured, insisting with her hand, "let me show you how a European finds Paris."
==
Today's '30 Days of Fic' task was to write a scene with a character in a foreign land, unable to speak the local language
Click Here for rundown of tasks that are part of the "30 Days of Fic" challenge, including a link to all completed works!