Papillon Venimeux

Subject: Papillon Venimeux 2011-02-13, 2:31 pm

First story, oui~
I'll post the chapters one at a time omnom.

Prologue

“Tell me a little something about yourself.”

A question I could never answer.

I said nothing, walking with him down the cobblestoned street, carefully picking my way across in the near dark. Little puffs of white spiraled down on and underneath my black boots, catching on the laces.

“Oh, come on. You must have something to hide. If you were to look into the mind of every living body on this good Earth, each one would have a secret.”

I hesitated.
You see… I have this curse.

“Well… what is there to tell?” I looked up, trying to smirk but ending up offering what seemed like a bitter half-smile to the sky.

It’s hard to explain.

“Where did you grow up? With whom did you grow up with?”

“A rather plain family in the heart of Marseille. I had a sister and two older brothers.” I spoke primly, hoping he would get the message and stop bothering me. I was still deciding whether or not to…
When I trust someone with my heart…

“France! Why, Noelle, I hadn’t the slightest idea you were foreign.”

“With a name like Dupont, how couldn’t you tell?”

With my soul…

“I suppose I hadn’t stopped to think about it. Race doesn’t matter all that much to me.” He had. He knew. Race did matter to him. I hadn’t done it yet, and yet I already read his thoughts like a book. I contemplated it; cursing another…

He allowed me to walk peacefully for a moment, before stopping me again.

There’s something I need to do, to… Verify it.

“Come on, there must be some sort of a secret you’re hiding from me! You just have the sort of aura, you… you never look me in the eyes, you never talk about your past, Noelle, I love you, and you know I will only be happy when you are.”

I look the other person straight in the eyes…

And right then and there I knew it would be the very last time. No more after this. I am quite certain this man is the one. Correct?

And it creates a sort of bond.

I looked toward the yellow glow of the streetlamp behind him, making up my mind. The snow glowed golden when it passed the light’s range, fading back to the bluish-white the moonlight made it once it landed.

People were starting to hole themselves back up into their homes. Quitting time was upon us. Window after window began to blacken as I turned to him.

Sort of. The only problem is…

“Are you sure you’d like to know my secret?” I folded my hands behind my back, my eyes cast down, as is a habit now.

“It’s all I ask.” His voice had an amused lilt to it, but with a bit of disappointment; I’m sure he wanted to be staring reassuringly into my eyes as he professed his love for me. Things must not be going as planned.

I frowned. I’ve trained myself to not look up; breaking the habit was hard.

It’s… Hard to undo.

I managed.

“You’re my secret now,” I said, looking up, gauging his reaction to my eyes, eyes I cannot see but other boys I’ve enchanted described as swirling pools of hot pink and deep purple, navy blue and blood red. Blood that has been shed by my past bonds.

And suddenly, on that night, another man was cursed.

They called me Le Papillon Venimeux back home.

I wonder what they call me back home now.

Now that I’ve left them.

I plastered a smile onto my face, wondering how he will react to his task.

Yeah so the idea for this kind of half-spiraled out of the Scott Pilgrim comics {LOL}
Hopefully I'll get myself to keep this up, unlike all the other stories I quit on mid-way D8...

Subject: Re: Papillon Venimeux 2011-02-13, 2:33 pm

Chapter One

I looked in the mirror, inspecting my reflection.

My hair was brittle, little bleached blond waves cascading down my shoulders. That had to go. My complexion was sullen white, dark bags dipping under my blank, dollish eyes. Blank white marbles staring back at me.

I’m the only one who can’t see their colors. ~~Sometimes it even happens by accident~~

I squinted closely at the mirror. I looked ghoulish, like a demon you’d see in a horror film. All I needed were horns and blood red fangs and people would scream when I walked down the street...

Scratch that. I would scream at my own reflection. No one else would see. Only I would. Because that’s what’s supposed to happen, right? ~~At first it always happened by accident, then I got smart enough to look at the floor all the time~~

I distracted myself by running my fingers through my hair. What color this time? I supposed I should cut it first. Opening one mildewed drawer, I took out a rusty pair of scissors, squeezing my eyes shut as I chopped at least a foot off of one strand. The scissors cut into my fingers more than my hair.

I opened my eyes to see the difference. It doesn’t even reach my shoulders…

This was the only fun part about running away; changing my appearance. I’ve gone through this more times than I could keep track of ~~okay so maybe I’ve kept track of it but~~ and every time it’s hell. I had to do all that I could to cover my footsteps, find transportation, gather enough money to live off of, keep from getting kidnapped by creepy men in trench coats ~~it’s happened before~~. That’s not even counting finding a place to live. America is so vast; so many different states, extending to each sea. France was so much simpler, so compact. It’s hard to decide where to go in the States. However, it’s also hard to be found; why I moved in the first place.

Chopping off the last piece of hair, I shook out my new hairstyle, the shortest I’ve cut it this century. This would look much less gross if I washed it…

Going to work on my bangs, I hoped he was planning on working late tonight.

~

Our bedroom looked dirtier than I remembered it. His pillow was heavily indented, the navy blue sheets tossed back; mine was neatly made, pillow frequently puffed for reasons I’m not sure of; not like I ever really sleep there. Not like I can get myself to fall asleep anymore. The dim light made the walls look grayer and the floor look dustier. His desk was covered in papers, with certificates hanging above it that reassured him of his genius mind. If the academy really wants to know how ‘gifted’ he is, they should try living with him.

I stepped around the clothes and books lying on the floor and dug into the closet, pulling out an old, ripped duffel bag already packed with clothes, books, money and essentials. The corners and stitching implied that it used to be mahogany, but the sun has faded it so much it’s turned into an ugly off-white. In the corner in black ink, faded and rewritten many times, are the words: Trente-cinq.

Slam!

“Noelle? NOELLE! Get over here, I got your message, I am NOT letting you leave-“ Steps thundered up the stairs as I straightened, shimmying the window open. I suppose I’d been staring at the words on the bag for too long. It always happened. ~~Time is nothing when you’ve lived this long~~

I expertly slipped out of the window as he came through the bedroom door. “WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING?!”

In my state of distress I'd forgoten the roof was wet from the spring rain that morning, slipping and sliding down the slant of the roof, the heels of my blue converse catching in the gutters. “I—I’m sorry, I…”

“No! No, no, don’t, you can’t, you… NOELLE, GET YOUR SKINNY ASS BACK HERE!” His hand stretched out, trying to grab onto my duffel bag, my arm, anything that would save him from his fate. His ring finger caught on one of the duffel's holes, and I yanked it away, falling back and plummeting down…

Subject: Re: Papillon Venimeux 2011-02-13, 2:35 pm

Translated to English; found crinkled and yellowed in the bottom of the suitcase of a murder victim. The suitcase was on the man at the time.

2/5/87

Dear Guillaume,

First let me inform you, I rarely write letters to my loves- often just a quick note- but for special cases I choose to take the time. You are a special case.

However, not in the usual manner. Most of my letters are meant to apologize for their certain demise, sent to those who did nothing wrong that I just happened to tire of. Your case is the exact opposite.

Did you think I hadn't known? I have been courted and proposed to by every sort of liar, addict, psychopath or utter idiot without a single polite bone in his body. Despite the long list of men, I have never actually had a man cheat on me before. A spell as strong as mine can be placed on you, and yet you still cannot keep your eyes from drifting? Will you ever find a woman you are satisfied with enough to settle down with her?

I have to wonder whether or not my absence will upset you. Probably not in the sense of you missing me; extra space in your bed means more ladies may fit, correct? But I know you will be sad in one sense; you understand there is a good chance you are about to die. That is also incorrect. I am sorry that you cannot die. In fact, I just may go back and kill you with my own two hands. Your ignorance will kill you eventually. However, I will not do it indirectly, hiding behind a man. I will not move on from this. I do not need a man, I will not curse another man, I swear to God, you will be my last.

-Noelle.

Subject: Re: Papillon Venimeux 2011-02-13, 2:37 pm

{Beware of the sudden change in POV}

Chapter Two

"Mike! Hey, man, how's it goin'?"

"My name's not Mike."

"Mike, Michael, whatever, come on in!"

"It's Daniel."

"Whatever man, come on in."

I rode the same bus every day at the same time and Louie still couldn't remember my name. Dumbass bus driver, I bet all you need to get a job like that is a driver's license and a vaguely clean background check. It's guys like him you figure are secretly closet stoners.

...Christ, what am I saying? I'm a cashier. To a health food restaurant. Who's the stoner again?

Nodding to the douche at the wheel, I climbed the grimy metal steps up to the motherboard of public transit; the 917. This bus, out of everyone other one that stops here, just happens to attract the weirdest people you can imagine, from all over the entire city. The people you wind up sitting next to on this thing are so weird and so... interesting that I just have to walk the extra mile from my apartment to get to this particular bus stop.

The matted gray carpet in the aisle muffled most of my footsteps, my ratty Converse occasionally crunching a dropped potato chip. Taking the window seat of an empty row, I took out my sketchbook and waited.

~

I decided after 5 minutes or so that the day's ride was uneventful, but before I put my sketchbook away, well what do you know? A hot chick with wraparound sunglasses steps onto the bus and hands Louie a ticket.

I peeked over the seat in front of me to get a better look. She had her hood on over her hair; a yellow raincoat, even if it hasn't rained in the city for a month. She was very short, but skinny, with gray skinny jeans and blue sneakers.

And just my luck, she sat right next to me.

I didn't say anything, just pretended to stare out the window as I watched her reflection pull down her hood. Her hair was cut to the middle of her neck, falling in perfect little sprouts with choppy bangs that ran across her forehead. Whatever color her hair was naturally it was now a frosty shade of lavender.

I wish I had colors with me, I thought as I picked up my pencil. Some people just aren't captured by black and white shading. I sketched out the profile line of her button nose, pouty lips, pointed chin. Her sunglasses bothered me; I couldn't even see her eyes. I skipped that part and moved on to her hair, curving over her ears, the tips waving out like each strand had a mind of its own--

"Um, monsieur?"

I jumped, snapping my head in the young woman's direction. The black glass covering her eyes made her face devoid of any expression.

She tilted her head to the side. "Is that me you're drawing?"

My face burned red. "Uhm, well, kind of. I mean, I..." How does one finish a sentence like that...

She stared a little while more, eventually deciding I had nothing more to say.

To my surprise, she smiled.

"It's very good."

Wait, what?

I looked down at my sketch. What was she talking about? I've done better than this.

"Well I... had a pretty good model..." I smiled sheepishly, hoping she took it as a compliment and not a lame pick-up line.

She sat bolt upright in her seat. When I opened my mouth to apologize, she got up and immediately switched seats next to a quiet Asian woman in the back of the bus.

I sighed and, turning back to my drawing, began to shade the hair from memory.

Subject: Re: Papillon Venimeux 2011-02-13, 2:38 pm

Chapter 3

Once the bus stopped at my workplace I'd completely forgotten about my encounter with the girl with the purple hair.

Veggie Monster: an extremely lame name for an extremely lame store. We had salads, baked potatoes, sandwiches, anything that can possibly be soy-based. Every speck of grain was 100% whole wheat. Every egg popped out of a cage-free, hormone-free chicken. Everything corresponded with a vegetarian/vegan-option diet to the point of obsession.

So why did I get a job here despite my carnivorous diet? For one thing, it was the only store that would hire a high school dropout like myself, and some people have rent to pay. Mostly, though, it's for the same reason I take the 917; entertainment purposes. Some of the craziest people on the planet happen to be vegan health nuts. I remember an old, interracial couple {still equipped with afros after all these years} who remembered woodstock like it happened that morning. They rambled on for 15 minutes about Janis Joplin while the rest of the line looked like they were about to break out of their pacifist ways for half a second to knock their curly heads off. They made an excellent edition to my sketchbook, standing relatively still as they talked; no one noticed my pencil moving.

I tied on my dirt-brown apron and stepped behind the counter, resting my elbows on the glass countertop. And so it began; the dull wait for crazy customers.

I must have dozed off for a second or something, because I didn't hear the doorbell ring. When I looked up, the purple haired girl was standing right in front of me, across the counter.

"Monsieur?"

I jumped. "How'd you... I mean, when did you..?"

She turned her head toward the door, then back, her expression unreadable behind those sunglasses. "I have no home, monsieur... I have no place to stay. No money to spend. I was only wondering, just for a night... May I stay in your residence? Just for a night. I could sleep on the ground, for all I care, I just need a roof over my head."

And so I asked a question only a socially awkward dumbass like myself would ask.

"...Are you inadvertently asking me to sleep with you?"

As I should have expected, I was slapped across the face.

"You listen to me, monsieur." The short girl pursed her lips into a straight line. "I am only asking this of you because you seem fairly nice. Do. Not. Trust. Me."

"Uhmm..." I blinked. "Okay."

"Do you understand?"

"Sure?"

"Good." She looked down, then back up, slamming her hands on the counter. "This is for your own good!"

"Okay, okay, jeez!" I noticed a slight French accent came out when she was angry, so her words came out like zees is for. It was sort of cute.

"Very well." She stood up straight. The awkward silence that passed between us for the next few seconds was almost painful. I decided to finally break it.

"I get off at six, so uh.."

She nodded her understanding and flipped the hood of her neon raincoat back up over her hair. Without looking back, she strode out of the store.