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Description
Clé hoped with all his might that a one-ton pile of bricks would fall from the sky and crush La Grande Faucheuse. He sulked furiously, threw a raging fit in silence-- even tried to shout out his desperate desire in sign language-- but to no avail. The lack of falling masonry was of little surprise to him because he knew, of course, that he had no control over his own dreams-- especially when it came to the reaper. At that very moment, in fact, the reaper was being completely obnoxious and no one had any hope of stopping him.
"You actually said-- to that crazy monster Amarok, no less-- you actually said, 'you can have my hair or my foot, but the rest is spoken for'? Good Lord, I'm amazed you're still alive and standing!" La Grande Faucheuse laughed so hard he nearly spilled his coffee. "Seriously, Gregory, can you believe that?"
"Oh, shut up already."
"And then-- it gets better-- and then he goes on to say that I can't put a claim on him, but he can! That's classic!"
Clé stalked towards the reaper, his expression murderous, when Gregory decided this had gone on long enough. "All right, you two, either cut it out or I'll bury you both. L'Faucheuse, shut the hell up. And Clé, for chrissakes, just try to ignore him."
Clé shouted foreign curses that no one could hear. Someone asked whether it was French.

"Quoi?" Clé rolled over groggily, not daring to open his eyes.
"Oh, sorry, I guess you were sleeptalking. Go back to sleep." Clé thought this to be excellent advice, but a sudden jolt awakened him to a loud rumbling. Something train-like. He opened his eyes to find Nelly lounging on the seat across the car, reading.
"I just had another weird dream." He stretched and shifted to face her. "At the grave. With Gregory and La Grande Faucheuse."
Nelly put her book down. "La Grand Who?"
"The reaper."
"Oh, right. Was he trying to kill you this time?"
"Nah, he was just being obnoxious. I told you about Amarok, right? He wouldn't shut up about it."
Let's be honest-- Nelly found the dreams as amusing as Clé found them annoying. She doubted there was any value in the dreams prophetically, but they made for excellent narratives. She was intrigued by how differently Clé appeared: he was not the passive, flighty, somewhat strange man she had grown to know in her travels; rather, he was disgruntled and hot-tempered, jumping to fight anything that crossed him. She found La Grande Faucheuse to be hilarious. And though she would never, ever tell Clé, Gregory was her favourite character of the three. She could not tell what he was all about, but whatever it was, it was clear he was all about it.
"Now, wait, how could I be sleep talking if I can't talk in my dreams?"
Nelly shrugged. "I don't know. But you do talk in your sleep a lot. Mostly things I can't understand."
Clé shrugged, lacking an explanation. "Did you sleep any last night?"
"That's a silly question." She scribbled a few things in her notebook. "But... no actually, I stayed up all night writing."
Clé blinked. "How did you manage that?"
Nelly gave a short laugh and stuffed the notebook in her pack. "Writing is the only thing that can really keep me awake. Reading, walking, talking, I'll fall asleep. But writing..." she paused, trying to frame her thoughts.
"Narcolepsy can be really suffocating. Struggling to stay awake when all the world is still bright and in motion, it feels like a struggle to stay alive. But writing is like pouring my life out on the pages." She smiled with a touch of resignation. "That's why I keep trying to get my work published. It's important to me."

"Writing to stay awake is all nice and good," Clé sighed, wondering how far the inn was from the train station, "but you shouldn't stay up all night if you're only going to fall asleep during the day."
"Mmhmm," Nelly murmured, gripping his arm tightly to keep from falling over. "Clé, I just... need to go to bed... I think... I'm really tired."
Yeah, he sighed, I noticed. "C'mon, you at least have to walk until we can find a bed."
He held her tightly around the shoulders and guided her down the street. After a few yards, her steps slowed and her grip loosened on Clé's arm; he barely managed to ease her onto a park bench before she fell completely asleep. He sunk into the seat next to her, trying to think what to do next.
"Why don't I find the inn and get the room, and then I'll come get you." He didn't like the idea of leaving Nelly asleep in a park on her own, but it seemed the only option, unless he dragged her. But that might look a little suspicious.
"Don't worry 'bout it," Nelly mumbled. "I'll watch the bags an' stuff." Clé decided that was definitely a bad idea.

The inn, though less than a block away, had proved to be a challenging find, and after dragging all of their worldly possessions up and down the boulevard, Clé himself was feeling rather exhausted. Once the porter relieved him of this burden, he returned to the park bench. To his puzzlement, Nelly was nowhere in sight. A note on a slip of paper was left in her stead. All the writing was gibberish.

"All crew mates present."
"Check."
"Hostage."
"Check."
"Ransom note left at the scene."
"Double check. I even wrote it in code, so the police won't be able to track us."
"Captain, if you wrote the ransom note in code, how will they know to give us the ransom?"
"Oh. Dammit."

Description
Clé hoped with all his might that a one-ton pile of bricks would fall from the sky and crush La Grande Faucheuse. He sulked furiously, threw a raging fit in silence-- even tried to shout out his desperate desire in sign language-- but to no avail. The lack of falling masonry was of little surprise to him because he knew, of course, that he had no control over his own dreams-- especially when it came to the reaper. At that very moment, in fact, the reaper was being completely obnoxious and no one had any hope of stopping him.
"You actually said-- to that crazy monster Amarok, no less-- you actually said, 'you can have my hair or my foot, but the rest is spoken for'? Good Lord, I'm amazed you're still alive and standing!" La Grande Faucheuse laughed so hard he nearly spilled his coffee. "Seriously, Gregory, can you believe that?"
"Oh, shut up already."
"And then-- it gets better-- and then he goes on to say that I can't put a claim on him, but he can! That's classic!"
Clé stalked towards the reaper, his expression murderous, when Gregory decided this had gone on long enough. "All right, you two, either cut it out or I'll bury you both. L'Faucheuse, shut the hell up. And Clé, for chrissakes, just try to ignore him."
Clé shouted foreign curses that no one could hear. Someone asked whether it was French.

"Quoi?" Clé rolled over groggily, not daring to open his eyes.
"Oh, sorry, I guess you were sleeptalking. Go back to sleep." Clé thought this to be excellent advice, but a sudden jolt awakened him to a loud rumbling. Something train-like. He opened his eyes to find Nelly lounging on the seat across the car, reading.
"I just had another weird dream." He stretched and shifted to face her. "At the grave. With Gregory and La Grande Faucheuse."
Nelly put her book down. "La Grand Who?"
"The reaper."
"Oh, right. Was he trying to kill you this time?"
"Nah, he was just being obnoxious. I told you about Amarok, right? He wouldn't shut up about it."
Let's be honest-- Nelly found the dreams as amusing as Clé found them annoying. She doubted there was any value in the dreams prophetically, but they made for excellent narratives. She was intrigued by how differently Clé appeared: he was not the passive, flighty, somewhat strange man she had grown to know in her travels; rather, he was disgruntled and hot-tempered, jumping to fight anything that crossed him. She found La Grande Faucheuse to be hilarious. And though she would never, ever tell Clé, Gregory was her favourite character of the three. She could not tell what he was all about, but whatever it was, it was clear he was all about it.
"Now, wait, how could I be sleep talking if I can't talk in my dreams?"
Nelly shrugged. "I don't know. But you do talk in your sleep a lot. Mostly things I can't understand."
Clé shrugged, lacking an explanation. "Did you sleep any last night?"
"That's a silly question." She scribbled a few things in her notebook. "But... no actually, I stayed up all night writing."
Clé blinked. "How did you manage that?"
Nelly gave a short laugh and stuffed the notebook in her pack. "Writing is the only thing that can really keep me awake. Reading, walking, talking, I'll fall asleep. But writing..." she paused, trying to frame her thoughts.
"Narcolepsy can be really suffocating. Struggling to stay awake when all the world is still bright and in motion, it feels like a struggle to stay alive. But writing is like pouring my life out on the pages." She smiled with a touch of resignation. "That's why I keep trying to get my work published. It's important to me."

"Writing to stay awake is all nice and good," Clé sighed, wondering how far the inn was from the train station, "but you shouldn't stay up all night if you're only going to fall asleep during the day."
"Mmhmm," Nelly murmured, gripping his arm tightly to keep from falling over. "Clé, I just... need to go to bed... I think... I'm really tired."
Yeah, he sighed, I noticed. "C'mon, you at least have to walk until we can find a bed."
He held her tightly around the shoulders and guided her down the street. After a few yards, her steps slowed and her grip loosened on Clé's arm; he barely managed to ease her onto a park bench before she fell completely asleep. He sunk into the seat next to her, trying to think what to do next.
"Why don't I find the inn and get the room, and then I'll come get you." He didn't like the idea of leaving Nelly asleep in a park on her own, but it seemed the only option, unless he dragged her. But that might look a little suspicious.
"Don't worry 'bout it," Nelly mumbled. "I'll watch the bags an' stuff." Clé decided that was definitely a bad idea.

The inn, though less than a block away, had proved to be a challenging find, and after dragging all of their worldly possessions up and down the boulevard, Clé himself was feeling rather exhausted. Once the porter relieved him of this burden, he returned to the park bench. To his puzzlement, Nelly was nowhere in sight. A note on a slip of paper was left in her stead. All the writing was gibberish.

"All crew mates present."
"Check."
"Hostage."
"Check."
"Ransom note left at the scene."
"Double check. I even wrote it in code, so the police won't be able to track us."
"Captain, if you wrote the ransom note in code, how will they know to give us the ransom?"
"Oh. Dammit."