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L'exécution
souterraine
The Underground
Performance
Chapter 1: A Nap on the
Metro
Today it was Emilie. Her outfit would have attracted the attention of most tourists: a white blouse, a grey vest and black trousers with a top hat (resembling a magician).However, Miss Emilie Dabney's sweet little juggling act of "les batons de fleurs" was shadowed by a boy's magic act. Slowly, she twirled her sticks, performing grand tricks with little heart. After half an hour of being invisible under the presence of another's show, she grabbed her backpack, her empty hat, and began to leave. Her father would be home in an hour, and she had to go to school tomorrow.
Sighing, she pulled her roller blades on and began her way to the Metro. The only reason she took a chance at street performing was in hopes to run away from her alcoholic father. Perhaps she could make enough money to get enough food while living in an abandoned park she found. She had her hopes, but this time, they were set too high. She arrived at the Metro and within minutes, she was sitting on the bench, waiting for her train to arrive. She was about to doze off when she felt someone shaking her lightly.
"Excusez-moi, madamoiselle?" ((Excuse me, miss?))
Emilie rubbed her eyes. "Oui, monsieur?" she replied groggily. ((Yes, sir?))
He hesitated, taking a deep breath. "Ummm.... Parlez-vous anglais?" ((ummm.... Do you speak English?))
Emilie nodded. "Yes, I speak English." She looked up, her vision clear, and silently gasped. The boy was handsome, with floppy hazel-colored hair and vibrant green eyes. His unusually pale skin would look frightening on anyone else but him. She had never seen anyone as beautiful as him, yet he still seemed familiar.
"Oh, I was hoping you'd say that," he said, relieved. "I recognized you from earlier, in the plaza. You were a street performer, eh?"
At that moment, a connection as clear as a bell clicked in her mind. "You were the magician in the plaza, weren't you? The one who took the entire audience away!" she hissed.
The boy chuckled lightly. "Yes, that was me. I'm terribly sorry for that. I didn't know that there would be another performer in the area, especially one as beautiful as you." He knelt down and took her hand, kissing it lightly. "Could you ever forgive me?" he asked.
Emilie flushed a deep red. She was not used to receiving compliments. She was often overlooked, with her boring black hair, skinny body, and boring personality. Or at least, that's what they thought. In her free time, she would become the vibrant Emilie le Magnifique. "That depends, my dear lad. What is your name?" she asked.
"Raphael," he answered. "Raphael McKie, straight from good ol' Edinburogh."
Emilie grinned. "Is that so, Raphael?" she asked, boarding the train. "That's quite a distance from Montreal, isn't it?"
Raphael boarded the train with her. "My mother was Canadian, my father Scottish. My father died three years ago and my mother decided to move back to the rest of her family in Toronto."
"But that's a whole different province!" Emilie exclaimed. "How did you get here then?"
Raphael smirked, leaning in towards her. "I ran away," he whispered.
Emilie's eyes widened in shock. For the rest of the ride, she sat quietly, resting her head on Raphael's shoulder. It was only a matter of moments before she dozed off into a deep sleep...
Before she could say another thing, she felt a pair of arms embracing her, restraining her and relaxing her at the same time. "It's only me," the voice whispered. "I'm sorry I surprised you."
Emilie continued rubbing her eyes while fighting to break free. "When I can see you, Raphael, I swear I'll kick your ass for kidnapping me!!!"
"But I thought you wanted to run away," he muttered.
She instinctively stopped struggling, utterly confused. "H-how did you know that?" she stuttered.
"You were talking in your sleep about running away." He smirked as he continued. "And you were very cute while saying it, I might add."
Emilie blushed, sliding out of his arms. Her surroundings were odd. Her room was quite small, consisting of a bed, a cabinet, a desk, a trash can, a dresser, and a mirror. She noticed her backpack and sticks were by her desk. On her desk was a large basket filled with food and a bouquet of red roses. She frowned, picking up the flowers and placing them in the trash can. She glanced at the basket, noting her favorite kinds of muffins were in there, before turning back to Raphael. "Where exactly am I?" she inquired.
Raphael took her by the hand and led her out the door, entering a long hallway. They reached the end of the hall and entered a small office. There, a young man in his twenties sat at the desk, shuffling a deck of cards. "Good evening, Mr. Dupont," Raphael greeted, bowing slightly. He nudged the girl to do the same. "I have another person to register for a room."
"Wait, where am I?" Emilie muttered.
"My lady," the man interrupted, "you are in the underground city of Montreal. But not the real part. This is a private sector." He tossed her a card. "I like to provide homes for those who need it. You have no rent but to entertain us every month. Is that a possible arrangement?"
"What Mr. Dupont is saying is that he gives homes for performers. He especially likes street performers," Raphael muttered to Emilie. "The rent is replaced by performing in our monthly show. All the performers staying here are in it."
"Yes, Mr. Dupont, I believe that is possible," Emilie replied, curtsying.
Mr. Dupont looked her over, analyzing her. "How old are you, Miss....?"
Emilie blushed. "I'm terribly sorry, sir. My name is Emilie Dabney. I'm fifteen years old."
"Excellent, some fresh material." Mr. Dupont walked over to his bookcase. "You're rooming in room 102, next to Mr. McKie here. That card is your room key, and there is breakfast available in the kitchen every weekday. Welcome to the Underground Performance. Do you have any questions?"
Looking down at the playing card he had tossed her, she found that it was really a room key. She shook her head, letting Raphael lead the way out. As soon as they left the room, Emilie jumped onto Raphael, attacking him with a bear hug. He looked down, looking upon a girl in tears. "Th-th-thank you s-so much," she sobbed.
He smiled, hugging her back. However, they forgot that Mr. Dupont's door had a peekhole that was often used to see who was at the door. And using it he was.
