Work Text:
"Prithee! O Meursault, the time is drawing nigh for today's lesson for French linguistics!"
Knock, knock, knock.
So, this is what happens when you're sailing across the Great Lake... the Sinners go mad. Boredom is one thing-- education for fun is another. Just ask Don Quixote.
"Meursault! O Meursault, wherefore art thou stalling?!"
Knockknockknock.
"Oi! Lad, open up! Don has forced me to be here and I can't leave until you teach her--"
"Greetings."
Meursault finally opens the door. "I have been preparing for this lesson extensively, hence my late welcoming. Enter my room and grab your notebooks: today we are reviewing demonstrative adjectives."
"What?" Heathcliff deadpans. "What notebook--"
Don tosses her notebook into Heathcliff's chest. "Take mine, kindred soul! Meursault, I shall require a new set of pen and paper, if you will!"
Meursault stiffly obtains the requested items before motioning to a blackboard, lifting chalk.
"Why does he have this--" Heathcliff begins, only for Don to shush him.
"Don, do you remember the singular demonstrative adjectives?" Meursault writes 'adjectifs: demonstratif' on the board. "If so, please recite them to Heathcliff now."
"Oh! Oh! Good Meursault, I even remember the plural ones!" Don cheers, practically bouncing in her beanbag chair. "Heathcliff, incline thy ears: the feminine version of this or that is... cette! And the consequent masculine versions are: cet or ce!"
"Why's there two--"
"An excellent inquiry! O, what a bright a mind you bear! You use cet if the next word begins with a vowel sound. Allow me to exemplify: Heathcliff, cet homme est heureux!”
”Don, I literally have no idea what you said just now.”
”Very well… then… did the phrase register in thine ears as ‘setome eh euru’ then?”
”Yeah, that’s what I heard Don…” Heathcliff frowns. “You’re not cussing me out, are you?”
”Cuss you out… no! Hark, Heathcliff! Why would I, the honorable Don Quixote ‘cuss you out’—“
”Don Quixote,” Meursault turns away from the board, which is now bedazzled with fancy French words in cursive and drawings pleasing to Don Quixote’s attention span. “Explain the usage of ‘ce’ to Heathcliff.”
”Okay, M. Meursault! Incline your ears to me again, good Heathcliff… there. Now, this sentence uses ‘ce’, which means that the word after ‘ce’ is a consonant! Devious consonant!”
“Devious—?”
”Here is the sentence: ce biscuit est delicieux!”
”So there’s no ‘t’ sound.”
”Because ‘b’ is not a vowel! Excellent comprehension, Heathcliff!” Don cheers, raising her hand so Heathcliff can high-five it.
He reluctantly does so.
Meursault finally speaks again. “Now, the plural version is ‘ces’. You simply put an s to the end of ‘ce’.”
”Wow,” Heathcliff deadpans. “What else is next? You guys use English, too?”
Meursault blinks. After a brief moment of expressionless confusion, Meursault taps the board. “I have listed several nouns related to ‘les fêtes’. You must put the correct demonstrative adjective and work together with Heathcliff, Miss Don Quixote.”
”So shall it be done!” Don raises a fist in the air. Meursault hands her his chalk.
She can barely reach the first line, which reads: ___ gateau.
”A masculine cake!” she exclaims, attempting to get on her tippy-toes to write ‘ce’ in the blank.
It’s barely legible.
”Let me help you, lass…” Heathcliff mutters, striding next to her. “Get on my shoulders and fill out the rest.”
”…Er… there’s no need to trouble thyself, Heathcliff,” Don’s eyes twitches, despite the bright smile on her face. She ignores the offer and reads the next line Meursault wrote:
__ fêtes.
”Ces!” Don triumphantly echoes to herself, getting on her tippy-toes once more.
“Your ankle!” Heathcliff snatches Don’s shoulders as her one of her ankles suddenly rolls to the left.
“Fret not!” Don announces, held aloft thanks to Heathcliff. “A valiant soul must face any peril, including that of a weakling ankle!”
”Get on my back…” Heathcliff gestures for Don to get on his back so she can write the rest.
”Very well then,” Don replies, hopping on the taller man’s back so she can continue her French crusade.
Meursault looks on with no sense of emotion on his face. “There are bandages in my desk, Don Quixote.”
”Not needed!” Don retorts, filling one blank after another, seemingly unstoppable:
‘cette surprise.’ (Next to it is a drawing of Don opening a gift, looking surprised.)
’ces invités (guests).’ (Next to it is a rough sketch of the Sinners in formal attire.)
’ces bonbons.’ (Next to it is a drawing of Don inhaling G Corp. candy.)
’ce cadeau.’ (Next to it is a drawing of a gift with Heathcliff inside, offered to someone with ‘Cathy’ written on her forehead.)
'ces glacons.' (Next to it is a drawing of Don Quixote trapped in an ice cube.)
‘cette glace.’ (Next to it is a drawing of Don slurping up local ice cream.)
“Hey…” Don squints at the next line. “Meursault, pray tell… what is the gender of this word… ‘youngly wed’?”
”Les jeunes mariés,” Meursault says back to her. “Les.”
”Masculine?” she blinks.”
”Oui.”
”Whaa…” Heathcliff curses under his breath, staring at all the lines Don has filled out.
“I’m all done!” Don announces, almost as a signal for Heathcliff to put her down. “Is there anything else for today’s lesson, M. Meursault?”
”Should you order me write more exercises, then yes,” Meursault heads toward the blackboard once more.
“Heathcliff? What say you?” Don nudges the elbow of her newfound studying partner.
”I’ll pass,” Heathcliff rubs the back of his neck.
”But alas! Perhaps that crush of yours knows French— haven’t you to practice it more?” Don quips. “Don’t you know it is told that French is the language of love?!”
”I am unsure as to why,” Meursault does something akin to a scoff.
”I-I know…” at Don’s words, a strange pink flush tinges Heathcliff’s cheeks. “But it’s kind of hard, and—“
”The power of love shall prevail!” Don counters. “Answer me again, Heathcliff: once we traverse ce lac, will you have learned every romantic saying in French to show your dear Catherine the love emanating from every pore of thine body?!”
Heathcliff is stunned.
”Say oui,” Meursault prompts.
”O-Oui,” Heathcliff slowly nods.