Working Title: Accounts of My Absurdity

Rating: T for language and themes; rating may go up in later chapters

Summary: The history of the brunette Silly Girl, Georgette de Valois, as she attempts to sort out her mourning over Gaston's death.

Other: Thanks reviewers! In this chapter, you will finally meet the other soon-to-be Sillies… Things will come together shortly. And this is only a little bit of chapter four, but I couldn't wait any longer.

ALSO! We just won the Freddy Award for Best Overall Production of a High School Musical! Yay! Along with Best Actress, Best Scenic Design, Best Lighting, and Best Crew. Celebration time means another chapter for all of you!

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Jacques had one option when his source of sufficient income died of an occupational disease. He had to completely submit the business to its new owner and hope that he could come back as an employee. But, as Gabi announced to us all, Monsieur Gaston (the elder, not the Gaston) died about three days after Colette from… a shockingly similar set of symptoms. Ah, so she can't take the boy, but his father? Fair game. After all, he controlled her husband's work place.

I was stitching up a plain azure dress at the shop when Gabi farther revealed that now she was to bartend at the place. Aside from sewing being the most boring occupation for her, Gabi felt she was better suited to a noisy atmosphere. So be it. She boarded in the upstairs room that used to harbor Colette—she was the only one who could go in there, it seemed. And, as the weeks passed, Jacques was re-employed under the new new owner, Gaston.

Would it be horrible to say that Gabi got what was coming to her? No?

Jacques married her. It was funny; almost as if to compensate for the gap Colette left within us all. But now that Gabi had already married to bar life, it only seemed fit. She was certainly following the footsteps of her sister. Although, she wasn't allowed to say no to Jacques. Monsieur and Madame Valois would not permit otherwise, for Jacques held a bit of land that they wanted for themselves. Everyone was very, very greedy, I noticed.

So, after hearing the hum about Chez Gaston and its first night of new management, I ventured out to see the bar for myself. I told Madame Valois that I would be going to wish Gabi well and to pick up a bottle of wine, perhaps. She consented; she didn't see that I went in one of Gabi's old dresses.

Hurriedly, I walked through the chilled air to get to the bar. Nothing had changed on the outside for the nearly two years that I had frequented it, save for the snow, now. But when I entered, a large fur-covered chair sat in front of a blazing fire. That was new. Jacques also dealt with a few more barrels of foreign wine. And of course, Colette's absence promoted a rowdier, less congenial crowd.

Gabrielle waved to me from a table at which she sat with another girl. This girl boasted rust-red hair, and was maybe at an age equal to my own. She was frighteningly pretty, with big grey eyes and perfect protruding cheekbones.

"Bonsoir, Georgette," Gabi said. I smiled cordially and sat across from her.

"Bonsoir, Gabi. And…?" I prompted.

The redhead stated, "Brigitte. Taquine."

"Quite a name, isn't it? A Tease, which she certainly is," Gabi clucked away. "She is my acquaintance from these past few nights."

"And how old are you?" I queried.

"Fourteen. Only just," Brigitte replied. I was on the cusp of sixteen then.

"How interesting. I happen to have sixteen years myself," I commented. Oh, how utterly superior I was.

"I hope age can't prevent us from being the absolute best of friends! Gabrielle told me how wonderful you are…" She smiled. For the first time I ably detected that someone, namely she, was lying. But I still returned her glow.

"Of course we can be friends," I replied. Truly, I had no idea what I was getting into.

"Shall I leave you two to chat?" Gabrielle asked. Because she was already getting up to leave, I could not be rude. Gabi left me with this false girl while she tried to seduce other men. The bitch, the first-rate whore. But I would be kind to her pretentious-looking friend.

"That would be splendid, thank you," I said. I smiled despite the nagging notion that I should choke down friendly emotion.

A matter of a minute or so passed wherein Brigitte and I only conversed with our nervous eyes. And then she asked, "So, ah… Where do you live? I haven't seen you around before."

"I'm a seamstress at Monsieur Valois's shop." She raised her eyebrows.

"Oh, I see. Are you a niece? I don't suppose you look at all a daughter, like Gabi," Brigitte commented. How ever-so observant. It takes only a child's eyes to note the difference between light and dark, I reminded myself. Brigitte is but a child.

"I know, I'm so dark I can hardly stand it. Yes, I'm his niece," I lied. I watched her expression shift uncomfortably.

"You aren't dark of skin; maybe you shouldn't call yourself such a thing," she suggested. I wondered if she understood that back home we used to call a dark-haired person dark no matter the color of their skin. Light and dark; what a fool. I had experienced such catty remarks at my ballet school. This was a nicer way for her to tell me that she thought I gave myself too much credit, and it had nothing to do with what color my hair really was. Well, I could play that game if she wanted. First I would reel her in. Security would certainly allow for loss later.

"Oh, I suppose you don't call it that here. You must forgive me; you're right," I said shyly, feigning embarrassment. "I didn't know how, really, to say that I don't look as fair as my cousins. You see my mother is insufferably black-haired… you would have thought I would get my father's golden hair since my cousins did!" I laughed, or forced it. "I feel so new here even though I've lived here for two years already."

The latter of what I'd said was true. My mother had a head full of dark hair, like Uncle Nicki's and mine. She said it was from a touch of Italian in our blood. And my father had a cold, northern blonde in his complexion that reflected in Luc, I am told. Really, the only lie in this was that I did not have the Valois family intermingled with my family at all. I only didn't want to tell my whole life's tangled story to this condescending stranger. Yes, let me be Gabi's cousin, and then it won't seem odd that I'm apprenticing in place of a kind dead prostitute.

Brigitte began with a polite chuckle: "So, I guess you're an apprentice to your uncle or something?"

"Absolutely," I said. "What with money being tight at home, Mother sent me to help make a living… But what about you?" I asked. Her face lit up as it had when she revealed her own name.

"Oh, my family does banking, mainly. That doesn't mean money comes easy, though. Actually Father's been thinking about joining some revolt against the King so we can have more rights. Something like that. Daddy's always been thrifty, so I'm sure he'll find a way," she explained enthusiastically.

"Do you come here often…? I mean, is it okay that someone as young as you is allowed in here?"

"You're only sixteen. I see no big deal."

"Right; so why would you come here?" I pressed. Every word with her was a battle already.

"Truly?" she started, her lips at the edge of a pout. "I get lonely. The other girls like to sew or needlepoint at each other's houses, but… they also like to leave me out of it. I don't know why. They let my siblings come over… Maybe it's because they're younger and less sophisticated than tavern-girls."

I was hit with a tiny pang of pity. Tiny, mind you. "That's horrible. Had I known I would have invited you to sew with me." It was tremendously lonely when Gabi and Angelique were running errands and I kept shop alone, or worse, with their parents. "I should have liked your company!"

"Well, I don't much like sewing anyway."

"It's something to do," I said. She twisted her face in thought.

"Yeah, but I'd rather… You know what I wish I could do?" she whispered excitedly. "I've always wanted to learn ballet or opera. I love to dance. I only wish I knew correctly… I saw the Opera once and…"

I was shocked. Not only had she mingled opera with dance, which are generally two separate entities, but she wanted to steal my dream job. Either she was misled earlier in life or we were destined to interact somehow. Dared I bring it up?

"You know, I learned a little ballet from my mother!" I humored her. "I would love to teach you what I know…"

"Really? That would be great!" she exclaimed. She hardly gave her answer a second to think on. It made me wonder if I had a skill for persuasion.

"Yes, yes! We have much more in common than I thought. I love this dancing also."

"—Do you know who you should meet? Geneviève de la Rue is one of my only acquaintances—she loves dance, too—maybe the three of us could meet one day and share our talents! It would be a change from Gene's bar-dancing," Brigitte chattered. I nodded.

"That sounds divine. Pray, when can I meet her?" I asked. I had been desperately searching for a way out of talking to Brigitte all night, after all.

"Generally, she…"

I couldn't listen. Somebody in the corner had cracked open the case to a violin and ran the bow across the strings, fiddle-style. It was so very country, so crude. I was entranced. I had not heard the sound of a violin for years. And to accompany it, it seems a few men surrounded the gay violinist; and a girl emerged from the merry lot who stepped up on a table and swung her skirt around to the song.

"Geneviève! My word!" Brigitte suddenly yelled. The blonde on the table quit clicking her heels and looked at Brigitte. She smiled widely. Blue eyes, probably of German origin, but very cute. An instant crowd-pleaser for her foreign look.

"Bonsoir, Brigitte! Come join me! I told them to play Congo River for you!" she called. Brigitte stood and approached the din.

"Mon D—Gene! I don't think they like it when you stomp around the good plates like that—"

"SHE FIRES HER GUNS, CAN'T YOU HEAR THE RACKER!" a man sang over the other voices. I laughed. I recalled this song about a rowdy crew on their African river. It reminded me of adventure, cutthroat and inspiring.

The blonde girl conceded and grudgingly stepped down from her makeshift pedestal. "Aw, and I loved that song," she lamented. A man patted her shoulder consolingly; oddly enough he was quite a bit older than she. Her father, perhaps? No, they looked nothing alike.

"Gene, just come here, okay?" Brigitte goaded. She held out her hand, which Geneviève took girlishly as Brigitte led her over to me. "This is Georgette, who sews, like, half of the stuff at Monsieur Valois's shop!"

I smiled sheepishly despite the bombastic chorus of "Congo River." "Bonsoir. Enchanté, mademoiselle de la Rue," I said with a slight curtsy.

"Well-met, indeed, mademoiselle de Valois!" she replied. "Come on. You know this song? You must! Let's dance before it's over!"

I nearly followed the ecstatic girl's lead. Anything to rid myself of the droning fourteen-year-old. At least Geneviève seemed my age. We leapt into the circle of men, though Brigitte kept calling after us, "I don't want to dance tonight, Gene!"

"Have some fun for once!" Gene urged. The fiddle raged on, and I did a modest combination with this new friend. Once the song ended, which was very shortly after we'd begun, we weaved our way out to where Brigitte watched lazily.

"Well," she prompted.

"Well what? That was damned fun!" Geneviève exclaimed with a laugh.

"This coming from the lodger of a girl's home above the church," Brigitte joked. I sat down at the table across from the arguing pair.

"Oh, you live above the church?" I asked. Geneviève nodded.

"That doesn't mean I like God. He's like an annoying big brother sometimes, with all those restrictions on dancing and the Devil and whatnot. I'm lucky the Sisters let me out!" she said. "But it's better than living anywhere else. Things are free, and they have this pity for me…"

Brigitte sighed with her eyes big and wide. "Yes… What's the time? Mother needs me to be at home soon," she surely lied.

"Oo! Let me come with you," Geneviève ordered. She smiled, and Brigitte could not help but accept the offer, for no reason other than that Gene had nowhere else to go but back to the church.

"Certainly… But how rude of me! Georgette, would you like to join us?" Brigitte asked me. Honestly, I had no plans; but I had said to the Madame Valois that I would pick up some wine. Yes, that would be my excuse.

"Ah, not tonight, I'm sorry," I said. "I'm supposed to help Jacques in the back and then escort Angelique back home."

"That's too bad. Let's meet up again sometime," suggested Gene.

I returned her exuberant grin. "That we certainly shall! I am here every night."

"Great. Good-night, Georgette!" Brigitte said hastily. She ran off with Geneviève in tow. Meanwhile, I crept upstairs to where I knew Gabi was changing into her work-clothes. If anyone knew the gossip of the town it was Gabrielle Valois. And so, meaning to expand my knowledge of the two girls, I consulted her.

Sitting on the edge of her bed, I proposed, "Brigitte Taquine."

"What about her?" Gabi replied slyly.

I glared. "What's her deal? I mean, what chipped her shoulder that she seemed a vexing shrew to me?"

Gabi sighed, applying a bit of perfume to her wrists. "If you must know, she needs a good beating for her effrontery. But she's just dealing with her father's leaving. She knows he's not coming back, and her mother's going to marry her off or worse when she realizes."

"She seems…" I paused. "She wishes to befriend me, Gabi, but I don't know if I should. She was a perfect imbecile concerning manners, but if you say it's because she's been upset, I believe it. Maybe I could help her?" Yes, perhaps she could be my project. I had never helped anyone like that, much less a person close to my age.

Gabi lifted her eyebrows, then set them normal, then opened her round mouth to speak. "I… Well, Brigitte? I suppose… nobody else is willing to change her. She's got that de la Rue girl to play with, but she only really clings to me." She pulled on her garter and stood up fully. "How do I look, decent?" she posed. I nodded. "Ugh. All right. I gotta go, so don't be stupid."

As she headed for the door, I stood firmly in front of her. "But wait! So, I ought make a friend of her?"

"Be my guest if it pleases you. It'll probably get her off me," Gabi replied curtly.

"—And Geneviève, too, I suppose?"

"Yes, her too—would you get out of the way?" She hitched forward and tried to pass me.

"—And I need a bottle of wine for your maman," I added at last.

"Check the drawer, fool. You know I always keep some in the vanity." With that, she turned and abandoned me. I'm sure she thought nothing of the encounter.

I hesitantly searched her dresser and found just enough vin to head home. I stayed awake a little longer than I should have that night. But I was plotting how I would assertively gain Brigitte.