You were talking like it was the end of the world...

[unbellegeste]

The world has ended.

“Il est mort,” Jean-Louis says, and just like that, Marie could swear she can feel the earth crumbling into dust beneath her feet. Her stomach drops somewhere into her feet, except that it's also trying to leap out of her mouth. She's shaking, she thinks she's going to throw up

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[number_unlucky]

Of all the things I expected this afternoon--I didn't really feel like going near the clinic yet, not after the other day--this was not one of them.

Swimming, yeah. Surfing, possibly. Reading under a palm tree with a good (maybe cheesy) book, probably. But not a screaming, sobbing, sodden French brunette on the beach.

She was gorgeous, or would be if she weren't upset.

"Um," I said, approaching slowly. This woman, from the looks of her, didn't need any more freaking out than she already was. I grasped at my language skills, such as they were, and was grateful for Mme Desjardin and Tante Anne. "Uh, it's actually a little complicated. Just...take a deep breath or two, okay?"

Remy's speech is seriously accented Acadian French.

[unbellegeste]

The accents throws her, but at least Marie can understand what the hell the woman's saying. She tries to do just that, heaving a deep hard angry breath from the bottom of her gut, trying to quell the tears and hysteria and anger all bubbling over. "What's complicated?"

[number_unlucky]

She sounded very much French-From-The-Nation, at least as close as I could figure it out. Sort of like people from films. I cleared my throat and phrased my words carefully, something I'd learned to do without thinking in English but had to consider and plan out in French. "The situation you're in now, or...'what the fuck is going on'. In fact, it's going to sound crazy, and I'm sorry in advance."

[unbellegeste]

Marie doesn't think it can sound any crazier than it already looks. (She's wrong, of course, but won't know that until she's had the explanation.) She tells herself that gorgeous women wading out into the sea for her has to be kind of a perk in itself, but it feels like the metaphoracle world is slipping out from under her feet as much as the real, actual sand.

"Okay. Let's hear it."

[number_unlucky]

I was more than a little dubious about explaining the situation to someone who had been screaming to high heaven and was standing in the ocean, in French, but there wasn't exactly any other way around it.

I got the vague feeling she wouldn't appreciate or tolerate much bullshit.

"You've been brought to an island. A..." I fumbled for the right word and decided on 'une île déserte'. "A desert island...by what seems like magic. It's not something anyone has been able to explain. There are other people here besides myself, and food and shelter, but it's not somewhere that people can leave. I know this is fucked up, but please believe me. I've been here for nearly three years."

And that was a little stunning. Hotel California, for three years.

[unbellegeste]

And with that, Marie decides she's probably hallucinating. She's in shock, or whatever, or maybe she's just been dreaming the whole vacation and this is just the latest thing her fucked-up subconscious has come up with. Which would be great, amazing, because if she could come to and realise none of the last week had happened? Perfect.

In any case, hysterics in front of strangers isn't going to help, so she swallows all that back and just says, as calmly as she can, "I need a cigarette."

[number_unlucky]

It's pretty obvious that she didn't really believe me, yet; that was okay, considering that, if memory served, I showed up with a hangover, then nearly hauled off and hit Adam. (And I missed Adam terribly if I thought too much about it.)

"Someone might have some back at the compound," I said, running out of French for a second. "That is, the main building here--I don't have any, I'm sorry. My name is Remy, by the way--did you want to come out of the water?"

[unbellegeste]

"I should have--" Marie begins, but she fishes in her pocket and of course the papers are all wet. It figures. "Remy? I'm Marie. And yes, I'd better." She looks around once, though, longing--just in case Jean-Louis' house decides to make a sudden reappearance.

It doesn't.

[number_unlucky]

Remy and Marie was sort of funny, but only from a geeky point of view. Not to mention that there was...well, other Remy.

"Damn. They'll dry out," I said, "just not right away--someone else might have some, though. Marie--are you hungry or anything? I should probably try to get you some clean clothes, it'll be a mess when those dry."

I was trying to keep it from being too overwhelming, too...well, OTT was really the only term that worked. The one thing I didn't want was to freak her out with overcaring. I'd always hated when that happened towards me.

[unbellegeste]

It's such a weirdly ordinary question for such a fucked-up situation. Marie shakes her head. "I'm fine." She's not, really, but she's not hungry, and she's used to being wet. "Just--well, I'm not really sure what to do? My friends were over there," she says, gesturing vaguely toward where she thought the dock and the house had been. "And then they weren't. It's a lot to take in."

Because it's been a hell of a morning.

[number_unlucky]

"I understand," I said. "I woke up from a long night..." My smile was wry, so she'd know what I meant, generally speaking. "And I wasn't in bed, I was here. It was fucking twisted. Look, it's not going to make sense at all for a little while, and it's going to be very--" Shit, I didn't know the word for 'overwhelming'. "So we should probably just go have some coffee and find you some new jeans. If that's okay. Or you can stand in the water while I read under that palm tree..."

The last was the gentlest teasing I could muster. I figured Marie would appreciate at least something less messed up.

[unbellegeste]

Marie shrugs, a 'what the hell?' sort of gesture. "Lead on, then," she says, because what else is there to do? "...Coffee would be good, actually. You know, I'd think this was a joke one of my friends was putting on, but even he's not that sick."

[number_unlucky]

I led her up out of the water and along the beach, picking up my sandals on the way so I didn't burn my feet. It took a minute for me to remember not to carry on the conversation in English. "My boss was like that. He still is, though he's got less opportunities to do that kind of shit here."

House was, frankly, that sick--and always had been, even the different House I knew here on the island.

[unbellegeste]

"Eric might be," Marie admits. "But not today. And he know I'd kill him." He pulls a lot of stupid shit, but even he gets that there are limits.

She's not sure what to think, when the beach keeps going and there's still not a sign of an oyster boat. So she tries hard not to think about it at all. New subject. "You're Canadian?"

[number_unlucky]

I wasn't certain what was so special about today that she'd be treated better by her friend, but at this point, I wasn't going to push it. "American, but my mother was Canadian, une Acadienne dans les Maritimes. I spent a lot of time with her family when I was growing up, over summers. What part of France are you from?"

I could tell Acadian from Quebecois, and proper French, but that was about as far as accent detection went for me.

[unbellegeste]

And Marie doesn't volunteer the information, because she's still feeling like if she doesn't say it out loud, it's not real. Since clearly reality is acting a bit suspicious at the moment. She's grateful for the subject change, anyway, and hates that she feels a bit helpless, just tagging along with no idea where she is.

"Paris," she answers. "Originally. I do most of my work in the Amazon." Which has been both pick-up line and escape route, in the past, but right now is neither one.