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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[1000_cranes]

Charlie hears the woman before she sees her. She's out for a run, sweat-dripping, her earbuds around her neck but not in place and she hears the shouting and, ever foolhardy, heads straight towards it. She breaks the tree-line and squints, shading her eyes.

"Is that French?"

[unbellegeste]

The question seems so ludicrous that it throws Marie for a second, and she just stares. "Bien sur," she says, trying to get her breath back, trying not to choke on her own voice. "Of course it is French!" She's never minded tourists on Cap Ferret, but that seems a little clueless even for--American? English? It doesn't matter.

[1000_cranes]

"That was the most clueless thing I've ever said," says Charlie, wandering closer. "But we don't hear a lot of French around here, honey."

She puts up both hands in a gesture like surrender.

"I can explain all of this."

[unbellegeste]

It takes a moment for Marie to shift, the cogs of her brain switching slowly from French through Spanish and into English, summoning little-used vocabulary. "What is...'all of this'?" she asks, hysteria still edging her voice.

[neither_a_nor_b]

It was a matter of course. When you were learning a language in high school, some of the first stuff you looked up were swear words. Bay recognized putain and wondered just who the hell was being called a hooker (and if that was even a problem around here), but didn't understand the second curse.

"Uh..." she said slowly. "C'est une île mysterieuse et..." Bay frowned and said under her breath, "And that's about where I stopped paying attention in French class." Figuring it couldn't hurt, Bay raised her hands and signed We're on crazy island. Although, if the woman didn't speak English, she wasn't actually sure how far American sign language would actually get her.

[unbellegeste]

The combination surprises Marie, but doesn't calm her down, and she waves her hands back in frustration, letting out a string of (mostly but not entirely obscene) rapid-fire French.

[neither_a_nor_b]

Bay held up her hands, shaking her head. "Whoa. Whoa. Whooaa. Seriously, I only got a C in my last French class. But uh...I'm Bay and we're on a magic island and...I don't speak much French."

[unbellegeste]

Marie stops speaking, her brain adjusting for a moment, working its way to the right language. "I think," she says, because things like 'magic island' just don't parse, "I may not be understanding, quite."

[provenhumanity]

George had been distracted lately. For the past month or so, in fact, and most of his free time had been spent planning, making lists, and worrying about making sure everything was set and perfect for Nina. In fact, walking along the beach, George was planning dinner in his head, only taken out of trying to remember the complete list of ingredients he'd need when he heard a woman's yell.

It was always something, wasn't it?

Still, he hurried in the direction of the voice, hoping to be of some help.

"Are you okay?" he asked, in French.

[unbellegeste]

"Non!" Whatever else is going on, Marie is really fucking sure that she's not okay. She can taste vomit in the back of her throat, and her eyes are stinging with tears, and she has no fucking idea what's going on. "I'm not, I'm NOT!"

[provenhumanity]

He realized how ridiculous the question was as soon as he said it, doing his best not to wince as she shouted.

"It's going to be okay," he replied, "Is there someone I can call? Someone I can take you to?"

Oh god, he really hoped that she wasn't new. He was rubbish at welcoming new people.

[unbellegeste]

She stares at him. The words make sense, but why he's saying them takes a bit of parsing. "My friends," she says, trying to stay calm--she's a professional, she can be calm, of course she can--"were right there. Just a moment ago. What's happened?"

[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."

[trytobegood]

As comfortable as I was speaking other languages, Cruithne being the one most oft used on the island, there was a familiarity in speaking my native D'Angeline that seemed to put me a bit more at my ease. I spoke it with Phedre and Alcuin, of course, but encountering another that spoke the language named French here was always a bit heartening.

The woman on the beach, however, seemed far from calm, and it was clear to me she was not there a moment ago. Not long in this place myself, I was unsure as to how much assistance I might provide, but I could at least try. "You are on an island, my lady, and safe," I assured her, assuming as non-threatening a posture as I could manage.

[unbellegeste]

Oh, she's not afraid of him--she's so angry right now that being afraid wouldn't occur to her. But he's not making any sense, and she stares at him for a second, trying to figure out what the 'my lady' business is and why the hell she wouldn't be safe.

"...What?"

It's not eloquent, it's just what comes out of her mouth.

[trytobegood]

"A moment ago, you were somewhere else, and suddenly you were here, correct?" I said gently. "This is the isle Tabula Rasa, a place remaining thus far a mystery in origin and nature to those of us who find themselves brought here suddenly, as you have."

I spread my hands. "I cannot tell you what brought you here, only that each of us is equally stuck. And we do what we may to make the best of what we have here. My name is Imriel."

[unbellegeste]

It's part of Marie's job to keep her mind open to all possibilities. So this--that she's suddenly been transported to this Tabula Rasa Isle where gorgeous young men call her 'my lady'--is one option, sure.

A more likely one is that she's finally cracked and all this is happening in her head. "I'm Marie," she says, stalling for the three seconds it takes to say her name. It doesn't help her know what to do or say next. "I was--my friends were just there." She points, but they're gone, and Jean-Louis' house and Max's boat are gone too. "I only looked away for a second." To throw up and cry.