L'exécution souterraine
The Underground Performance

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Chapter 2: I Want to Break Free
(disclaimer: The song is not mine. It's "I Want to Break Free," by Queen)

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Raphael lifted Emilie to her feet. "Are you okay?" he asked.

Emilie nodded, wiping her tears from her face. He took her hand and led her to the room next to hers. 'This must be his room,' Emilie thought. Unlocking the door, he lead her in, leaving her silent in wonder. His room was not bare at all compared to her new room. Every wall was covered in paintings of the Notre-Dame Basilica, the underground city, and of various structures by the buildings of the city. In the corner was his desk, cluttered with everything a magician would need. His bed was quite large, covered in deep mahogany satin sheets and large gold-colored pillows. There was a faint aroma of cinnamon, Emilie's favorite. She walked over to the painting of the Notre-Dame Basilica, admiring it. "Where did you get all these wonderful paintings?" she asked. "They're simply amazing."

Raphael smiled. "Do you like them? I painted them myself."

"Really? You made all these?" Emilie asked. "That's... amazing!"

"If you'd like, I could make one of you," he said.

"I wouldn't let him near a paintbrush if I were you, dearie," a voice taunted. "He's as artistic as a toddler with a black crayon and a nice clean wall. He'll just mess the entire thing up."

Raphael sighed for quite a length, turning away from Emilie and the door, changing into a clean t-shirt. "Now, now Tristan," he said in a mocking tone, "If I told her that they weren't mine, then she might not like me anymore. It's quite clear that she admires your paintings, but one must tell little lies to woo such a fine lady."

Emilie blushed, turning to the door. "So, you're the artist who created these pieces of work?" she asked.

The boy at the door grinned widely. "Yep, and it'll take a century before the bastard over there will stop taking credit for it."

Emilie held out her hand. "I guess not, seeing how intent he is on 'wooing' me. My name is Emilie Dabney."

"Tristan Winters," he replied, shaking her hand. "I haven't seen you around before. Are you new or something?"

Emilie nodded. "Well then," Tristan said, "I'll give you the grand tour!" He pushed her out the door, leaving Raphael to himself. "So, I'm guessing he stole the audience away from you and picked you up when you decided to leave?"

"How did you know?" she asked. "Can you read minds or something?"

Tristan laughed, pulling her along. "No, I was there. In fact, I was trying to find something to draw, but there was nothing that really caught my eye."

Emilie walked silently while listening to him talk. He was very cute, with tousled black hair and brown eyes. He was very skinny and tall, making him look lanky and younger. He seemed very energetic and bubbly, almost daring. She couldn't see why he would take time to show her around when Raphael would.

They turned in the hallway and entered a large room, like a lobby of a hotel. There were couches and tables for people to lounge on, a small bar, and even elevators. "This is the main room. You can practice in here, get help, or hang out."

"Where is everyone?" she asked, slightly disturbed by the odd silence.

"Oh, everyone's out doing performances at this time of day. You know, lunch time is when tourists are most likely out," Tristan pointed out. He led her to the elevator. "I'm guessing you're hungry, seeing that you just woke up. Whatcha wanna eat?"

"Oh, I couldn't possibly ask of you to buy me lunch," Emilie squeaked. "I could buy myself lunch--"

"But that you left your wallet in your room?" Tristan said, smirking. "Relax, I'm going to buy you lunch, whether you like it or not." He pulled out a black beanie hat and shoved it onto Emilie's head. "Watch out, it's windy today," he said, pulling out a cap.

The elevator reached the surface of the earth. She found herself walking out of a telephone booth as he pulled her along. She recognized that they were by the Notre-Dame Basilica. "Oh, where do you sit when you paint?" she asked.

"Um, right over there," he answered, pointing over by a small crepes stand. "Why?"

Emilie giggled, breaking free from him and ran over to the stand. "Excusez-moi, monsieur? Je voudrais un crepe de fraise et un crepe de chocolat, s'il vous plait?" (( Excuse me, sir? I'd like a strawberry crepe and a chocolate crepe, please?))

The man smiled and began his work. By the time Tristan reached her, she had two crepes in hand. "Do you want the strawberry one or the chocolate one?" she asked, smiling.

"What are you doing? You have no money!"

The crepe man smiled, patting Tristan on the shoulder. "It's nothing, my boy. On the house."

"See! It's all happy." She ran over to a bench, sitting down. "So, strawberry or chocolate?"

Tristan, disappointed in Emilie's persuasion (that had actually worked), swiped the chocolate one from her left hand. The two sat in silence, eating their crepes. Tristan watched Emilie as she walked over to the crepe vendor, thanking him. 'She seems cute enough, and if Raphael has taken interest in her, there's gotta be something special about her.'

"Tristan? Are you okay?"

Tristan snapped out of his thoughts, startled by Emilie's voice. "Oh, don't worry, I'm fine," he assured her, getting up. "So, whaddaya wanna do now?"

"Well, we could go watch some of the street performers," Emilie suggested meekly. "It's always interesting to watch them..."

Tristan shook his head. "If you're trying to pick up tricks, it's better to ask them back in the main room. Otherwise, they'll think you're stealing their tricks," Tristan explained. "They may not recognize you, but they all know me."

"Oh, right." She paused, looking up at the sky. "Well, what do you do? I know you paint, but Raphael said that Mr. Dupont offers rooms to performers, so you must be able to do something too."

Tristan crossed his arms over his chest. "Well, I do play the guitar..."

She gasped, barely containing her excitement. "Oh, I love the guitar! What do you play?"

"Well, I could play basically anything," he bragged, "but I prefer to play classic rock, particularly Queen and such."

Emilie dragged him over to the phone booth and pushed the hidden down button. "Could you play something for me, please? I would love to hear you play. I'll even pay!"

Tristan smiled, adoring the look of innocent excitement on her face. Many times he had heard that from fans that simply wanted to 'get some action.' "Oh, all right, let's go to my room."

The two walked down the main hallway, and turned a left (as Emilie noted, the opposite direction from her room). When she entered his room, it was even more decorated than Raphael's. Every square inch of his walls were covered in sketches, paintings, photos, and drawings. On top of his dresser was a variety of sculptures. He walked over to his dresser, pulling out a pair of sweats. "You don't mind if I go change, do you?"

She shook her head, and began looking over his works. Each and every one glowed with radiance. Not one had a dark motif, a hint of black that wasn't outshined by vibrant colors. Even the photos of old buildings with rain pouring down on them still had life in them. She picked up a drawing of Raphael pulling a rabbit out of a hat. Giggling, she placed it back down.

"You like anything in here?" Tristan asked, coming out of his bathroom. Meekly, she picked back up the picture of Raphael, nodding shyly. Tristan looked at it, laughing. "Oh yeah, I was going to give this to him for his birthday next week." He noticed her smile at the thought of Raphael. 'The girl's got it bad for him,' Tristan thought. Sighing, he put the picture aside and grabbed his guitar from beside his dresser. "Well, any requests or should I choose a song?"

"May I request 'I Want to Break Free,' please?" She asked, grinning herself silly. As soon as he struck the beginning chords of the song, Emilie walked over to the wall with a giant landscape picture.

"I want to break free
I want to break free
I want to break free from your lies
You're so self satisfied I don't need you
I've want to break free
God knows, God knows I want to break free."

Where Emilie left off, Tristan continued, as she walked over to him on the bed, leaning against his shoulder.

"I've fallen in love
I've fallen in love for the first time
And this time I know it's for real
I've fallen in love, yeah
God knows, God knows I've fallen in love

It's strange but it's true
I can't get over the way you love me like you do
But I have to be sure
When I walk out that door
Oh how I want to be free, baby
Oh how I want to break free,
Oh how I want to break free

But life still goes on
I can't get used to, living without, living without,
Living without you by my side
I don't want to live alone, hey
God knows, got to make it on my own
So baby can't you see
God knows, gods know, gods know
I've want to break free "

By the time he had finished the song, Emilie had fallen fast asleep. Sighing, he put down his guitar, wondering what to do. 'Do I let her sleep here? Should I take her back to her room? Or maybe Raphael's? No, not his room. He'd end up doing something to her in her sleep. I should probably take her back to her own room.'

Before he did though, he walked over to his closet, lifting up one of the floorboards, hiding a secret stash of art. He picked up the one on the top, sighing. There, on the canvas, was a painting of a young girl full of life twirling her "baton de fleur." So what, he had lied about there being nothing that caught his eye that day. It wouldn't make that much of a difference.

Putting it away, he returned to the dozing girl. Picking her up bridal style and grabbing her key from the dresser, he carried her out of the room into the hallway. Too bad they couldn't move anywhere, seeing that a cranky Raphael was in their way.

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a/n: Well, thanks for reading! I'd love some comments and constructive criticism. However, flames will be put out with my handy-dandy baking soda! I'd really like feedback of what you think of the story so far. And pairings! I always like to hear what my readers think of who will end up with who.

Jodie Sinclair: Oh my gosh, you're probably one of my most faithful and favorite reviewers (that I don't know in reality)! Hugs and cookies for you! I really want to get back onto Everton again, but I just can't let inspiration like this pass me by, especially after my 5-month writer's block (hey, random guess).

blackvespers: Yay, Tenzy! Yes, you sound like a cheerleader when you say it like that. Oui, nous aimons parler francais!