It had been a while since her last cry. She’d done her best to avoid thinking of things to draw those tumultuous tears, dotted all her ‘I’s, crossed all her ‘T’s. The hardest part of Lenna’s life had been avoiding those tears. She’d slipped away from Slate, away from Columbia and Cortez, but as it turned out, no matter how far she ran from her feelings, one little thing could bring moisture rolling back: onions.

She set down the knife on the cutting board with a faint clatter, and raised the back of her hand to wipe at her eyes. An onion sat half-dissected in thin segments on the wood. The moisture from the vegetable gave off a faint, sickly aroma that matched the taste of home. With little regard for decency, she grabbed at the segments of onion and tossed them with one hand into the sizzling frying pan on the burner nearby. They landed end over thin end, layers wrapping in a topsy turvy tango of olive oil and meat.

Lenna jerked her attention to paring down a tomato as the tearful aroma subsided. The knife bore down across the center, dividing the leaves on top into two halves of a star. She turned the red half-moon on its side, and cut at an angle. Each half turned into 6 slices, and before she knew it, the tomato was done. A dozen slices of tomato rained into the frying pan as the brown-haired chef of glass tilted the white bowl over. The bowl clattered back down again as Lenna conjured notes.

“Fry the chicken, fry the onions, add tomato, and…” Her eyes dipped a second as she glanced at the picture on the bottom of the note card. A caricature of a tomato flushed up at her with all the expression of a man who’d just done something entirely foolish and gotten caught. With a smirk, she tapped the cards against her palm and slapped them back on the counter. A few more touches and it was done.

She sat down to her table, one hand balancing the plate full of couscous and chicken, the other holding her brandy. With understated grace, she sat the snifter down. The chair kicked back in place. She was set.

The wind from the street blew in, sending her lavender curtains into a dance. The silver of her fork turned in the light pasta as streetlamps flickered on outside. The smell of freshly-baked croissants and baguettes drifted to her senses as she speared a piece of chicken. Lenna took it in. The scent of Paris was delightful when housing was near a bakery. Even into the night, they prepared bread.

~*~

Eleven hours later, crimson rays of daylight seared through those same lavender curtains, bathing the brunette mercenary in a peaceful shade of blue. Her fingers clenched tightly at the peach-colored sheets of the bed. The fabric raised like waves around her, a silken cocoon. One could almost see the drool on the pillow beneath her face, see the upturned lips caught in a furtive smile. For the first time in a while, she’d slept in, and no dreams had bothered her long into the day.

“So you see, when you boil beets you don’t take the roots off. If you take the roots off, they’ll bleed. What you do is boil them, root and all. Then, when they’re cooked to perfection, you drain off the boiling water and replace it with a bit of cold water. That cools them and allows them to be handled. Then, you can just run your thumb along the skin, like so, and it’ll peel right off. It’s easy. Try it~” The elderly woman held a beet in her palm, fingers digging ever so slightly into the sides. It was fresh, it was tender. Lenna shifted uncertainly, eyes focused on the earthy orange of the beets in the pot.

“Oh, I really couldn’t… I really—”

“Ridiculous,” The hostess of the Bed and Breakfast smiled boldly, pressing the beet into Lenna’s hand. “Eat it. It’ll give you energy to help me with the morning’s shopping.”

Harhar. Lenna’s tenuous smile fired right back. “Always an ulterior motive… okay.” The nail of her thumb dug into the skin, pushing it back. The hostess shook her head, no no.

“Just graze it, you see? Graze.” She repeated, showing Lenna the process. Lenna tried it again with a bit more confidence this time, sliding her thumb along the flesh. The skin shed like magic. A wistful smile slipped on Lenna’s face as she worked it raw. A few moments of work left a naked orange beet in her grip. The hostess held up a finger.

“And now.” With a laugh, she brought her beet to her teeth and crunched. Lenna looked her own beet and followed suit.

“It’s sweet!” She stared down at the bit beet in amazement. The hostess nodded her gray head.

“Indeed. I like to think it’s a bit sweeter than a regular beet. Have another, dear. And finish the first.”

Lenna nodded and did as asked of her. This woman was nice… almost too nice. Here she was, up at noon, way past the breakfast hours for the B&B, and she was still being served. She thanked the lady as she plucked another from the pot, brushing off the skin. Her French accent was flaky, imperfect from lack of practice, but the words came out clean.

She finished eating breakfast and rose. Today, Lenna was wearing a blue sweater and had let her hair down. Where previously, it had been a short bob, now it had grown long and neck-level. A few precious inches stood between her hair and the neck of her sweater. Long black skirts wrapped her legs. The feeling of a blanket cocoon had been so good that morning; she couldn't bear to let it go. A cocoa and coffee bean-colored striped scarf wrapped around her neck as she walked up to the coat rack, grabbing her umbrella and slipping on her yellow and black coat. The forecast stated it was to rain. Lenna turned to face the hostess and extended a questing hand.

“Shopping list?”

A yellow slip of notepad paper crunched into her palm. “Thank you, dear.” The old lady smiled. Her weathered cheeks dimpled gently. Lenna slipped the sheathe into her coat pocket and walked out the door of the Alcove & Agapes B&B with a wave. “Be back later. Take care.”

((OOC: Lenna's B&B is the Alcove & Agapes B&B in Paris. Located at 75000 Paris, France‎ - 01 44 85 06 05, it's only a short walk or car ride away from the Louvre (34, Rue du Louvre, 75001 Paris, France, 01 40 20 53 17) Thank you, Google Maps ))

“Fresh potatoes, lettuce, baguettes, cheese…” Lenna listed as she plodded through the market’s crowd. Around her, people shouted, children scurried, and various things were bought. A bicyclist whipped through a gap in the mob, yellow flag bouncing on the tail of his ride. Lenna’s eyes shifted over the many stands selling green groceries and goods. The market was just teeming with life. She stopped in front of the first stand she saw selling potatoes, and spoke to the man. She told him how much she wanted, and asked which potatoes were freshest. He earnestly helped her to a basket on his display.

“These were just dug up this morning. You can tell, because the starches in these potatoes have yet to set in. Their skin practically slips off with the brush of a thumb,” He beckoned her to try. Lenna smiled through closed teeth.

“No thank you. I’ve had enough vegetable-stripping for today. I’ll just take—” A sudden buzzing from her pocket cut Lenna off mid-reply. “Excuse me,” she raised an appeasing hand and broke back from the booth. A young boy with black hair ran past Lenna as she slid her back against a stone wall. The silver Motorola flicked open. Her thumb scrolled through the menu to bring up a text message. The message’s contents sent her brow to crinkling.

“Your contact information has been received? Please look to the nearest alleyway for animal guidance. Love, The Doctor… the… what?” She blinked at the message skeptically. Just who had she sent contact information to? Who was leafing through her personal data to find this cell? And more importantly… “Dios mío, who the hell is The Doctor?” Doctor who!? Oh god, this had better not be some dumb prank. She’d go to the alley, and there’d be Patrick Troughton wobbling about. Lenna smacked her head backwards to dash the thought—The extent of her British pop culture references bled out onto the wall.

It didn’t help her knowing some mystery doctor out there had her number. No, not at all. Physicians always had given Lenna the squibbly wibbles. Something about a crude physician Cortez had hired once in her youth… he’d turned a skinned knee into an inquisition. There’d been shouting, needles, fingers that pointed, and pain. Before Lenna knew it, she was in bed and crying into Eliana’s shoulder. Cortez always had had the best taste in help. She shook her head, and shed the thought, and flicked the cellphone closed and away.

“So, nearest alley, huh…” She panned across the vegetable vendor, past a shop window as a baker set fresh bread out on display, all the way to— her eyes set on a figure in the shadows, dead-ahead. He wore a black cloak, and fit the bill for ‘genuine mystery’. The real article.

She slapped her forehead. “Cliché! Hey you! Get the hell over here!!”

The crowd parted as Lenna stomped towards the alley. The cloaked figure vanished in a torrent of birds. Pigeons exploded from the alley into the street, scattering Frenchmen and French women alike. As wings beat up to the heavens, feathers and whatnot rained down. People dove to cover their wares.

“…” Lenna wiped a smear of bird excrement off her face. The birds vanished down the street. Lenna’s phone vibrated in her pocket. Grudgingly, she took the text.

Next time, be more discreet. Ciao~!

“…” Ciao… ciao… CIAO!? Letters whipped across the screen as Lenna returned a rage-filled reply.

The Hell? Whoever you are, you’re a dead man. The cell phone snapped shut. Without further deliberation, she broke for the nearest shop.

It was times like these when hot water felt weaker than all the forces in the world. Nothing could possibly melt away the disgrace those birds had done to her. Lenna settled with scouring her face with a hot hand towel and dunking it in the sink. Several times. With soap.

And suds.

And the Hell was that text message about again?! Water soaked in around Lenna’s face as she leaned forward to wash. Later that day, there’d be hot showers and mango shampoo and maybe beer. For now, all she could think of was getting clean and pondering the mystery message from before. The 30th dunking seemed to tell her more thought ought to be put on the latter. The rack wobbled as Lenna ripped free a towel. Cotton patted down bitter face as a sour mind contemplated murder.

The phone in her pocket once again shook.

“… Are you kidding me? She cursed in Spanish, opening her phone to check what new dastardly notice her phone-stalker had sent.

Good. A more discreet location. Good thing these shop bathrooms have windows~ You’re prettier than your description foretold~

“Cut the crap. Who are you.” Lenna’s brow quaked as she typed the reply.

Rage points, building…

Hey hey hey, now that’s no way to talk to the guy sent to help you out. Didn’t you want it removed, little lady?

“… It?” Capital I. What was he talking about? He couldn’t mean— oh god. Her face cracked. The text message came out slow and hesitant. “You don’t mean you’re the contact… you’d better not be the contact. I don’t think I could handle…”

Bingo!

Click click. Her thumb backed through the text message logs, skimming for title and name. The phone shook again and another text message sprang up. Her eyes closed in disgust as she saw it. Everything had just been made disgustingly clear.

Name: Hero-boy
Subject: Saving Your Life
Be free, little dove. Free from your cage. The truth will set you free, you know. Just exit the restroom of the restaurant, go down the street until you come to a building with five stories, go up the fire escape, in through a window, to the back of the darkened front room, up a few flights of stairs, to the roof. This is important~~!!
Ciao~ <3

She felt faint. Lenna staggered over to the porcelain throne, flipped the seat cover down, and sat, brooding. Why her? A serious operation must be dealt with seriously. Why did she have to get stuck with the wannabe hero of the stealthy surgeon world…?

Her phone rang again. This time it was a voice. She placed the phone against one ear to hear a man urging her on like the family’s retarded mongrel.

“Hey, you. Ya’ comin’? Yah yah, ya’ comin’? Big Grin!”

She held her head in her hands. And why was he so cliché?

The rooftop was barren, save the man near the edge and the pigeon coop in the right-hand corner. A stray feather lay here or there, but no litter was present. The whole rooftop seemed far too well-preened for that.

Lenna tugged the gray baseball cap down on her head tighter as she approached the cloaked figure. There was no smile on her face, not even a murderous one, just tight-lipped curiosity. “So you’re the guy,” She muttered coldly. The man’s right arm twitched wing-like across his chest in a formal bow.

“I’m the guy~” He replied glibly. If she’d removed the scarf wrapped around that happy bastard’s face right now, Lenna was certain she’d see a dumb grin.

“Ugh, let’s get it over with then. Tell me when and where I can meet this doctor, how much the procedure costs, and what preparations I’m to make prior to surgery.” She crossed her arms.

“Ah ah ah! Not so fast, Kaiba. You’ve walked right into my trap~”

She didn’t slap her face here, because frankly, she didn’t get the reference. Her hand edged towards the zipper of her coat. “I really don’t have to shoot you in the knee to get a straight answer, do I?” She almost sounded hopeful.

“No no no! That would be most ill-advised! You wouldn’t get your answers then, and I’d be forced to wear little tiny white bandages for weeks and all the others would laugh at me. Besides~” He trailed genially, unwrapping the scarves around his face to reveal a beaky grin. “Who’s to say this trap I mention is a bad thing~? Yes, who.”

“Who, who.” Lenna replied sarcastically, imitating an owl.

“Exactly,” he replied with a cross of his arms and a grin. He struck his right leg out like a chicken, and clucked towards her and around, holding his chin. The look on Lenna’s face spoke volumes of how much she hated this man. How much she… “I can’t even think straight with you clucking around me like that. Quit it…”

“I’m making you lightheaded?” He chirped. “Oh, my my my! This is most fortuitous. For you see, this ‘trap’ of which I speak?” He nodded his head up down up down!! “Is more for me than you. I’m sorry, really I am. You were prettier than the doctor’s description of you by far, and I’m afraid—” He trailed off. The pigeons in the cages next to him flapped rapidly back and forth, expressing his glee.

Lenna stared expectantly at him. “…Yes?”

His face lit up and he flapped towards her heroically. “I’m afraid I’ve fallen in love~! Which is why any and all information you desire will have to be discussed over dinner and a movie, yes yes.” Nod nod.

“Oh god. I feel sick.” Lenna staggered from the shock.

“Oh no! Darling, don’t feel sick! You’re much too beautiful to feel anything other than bliss!!” He rushed forward to fawn over her. Lenna batted his strangely-winglike hands away. She shook her head.

“It’s just that… I fry chicken like you on a daily basis for dinner, and eating with one…” The man’s face fell.

“I see. Well, if you don’t want the information, then I suppose…” He turned towards the edge of the roof. For a moment, it looked as if he was contemplating the jump. Lenna’s mind blanked.

“Wait! Stop!”

Slowly, ever so slowly, his shoulders perked up. Back turned towards her, Lenna didn’t see that beakish grin. “Then you’ll dine with me?” He insisted.

“Fine,” Lenna muttered. If it’d get him out of her hair sooner and get the damned shock chip out of her body, she was all for dining with a creepy bird man. Plus, free food did have its perks.

“Very well, then!” He sang. The cloak over his shoulders fluttered to the rooftop behind him as he cast it off, revealing angelic wings. One flap, two. He listed forward off the rooftop towards the sky, generating lift. Lenna’s eyes widened. He was actually quite the man. “When the moon is full and the winds blow East, you’ll find me. That is to say, when I finish discerning the most palatable restaurant in Paris and text you location details and time, we shall meet again~! Ciao, my love. May the winds of fate beat gently on your back while I am away~”

And with that, he took off into the sky. The pigeons in their cage fluttered skywards to join him. As Lenna watched them fly off, for a moment she forgot the intense creepiness the man had exuded. He was an angel against the setting sun, and then—

“SCREEE!!!” A hawk’s scream pierced the day. The man dove into the cityfare and vanished amidst the crowds. Lenna gulped.

“I just agreed to dinner with a psycho… even worse, he holds my fate in his claws. Could the day get any worse…?”

Realization struck her. She still had all those groceries to purchase. Just great.

((Continued in Paper-thin Walls))