[10 out of 20] Poirot: Gen
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sweetandshortTitle: Crying in the chocolate
Prompt: crying
Fandom: Poirot - Agatha Christie
Rating: Gen
Length: 300
Summary: Poirot suspects someone has been crying into his chocolate.
Poirot sat at a table outside the café and stirred his chocolate meditatively. Then he took his first sip. He did not stifle a satisfied sigh, but one carefully manicured eyebrow rose.
[Poirot’s eyebrows were not, it must be admitted, as well tended as his moustache. Nevertheless, they received due attention.]
Poirot took a second, confirmatory, sip of the chocolate. His sensitive palate had detected the slightest trace of rose. It was not unpleasant, quite the contrary, but it was unexpected.
Poirot’s gaze shifted to the interior of the café. His eyes found the young woman who had served him. He studied her.
What was that curious phrase? It had to do with cats. Cat with the cream? No. Cat got your tongue?
Yes. It looked like the cat had got the poor girl’s tongue—by force.
That little one, thought Poirot, she has been crying, though she does not want anyone to know it.
Poirot tut-tutted and tsk-tsked. It might be a simple love affair gone wrong. Or it might be something else altogether. Something interesting. Something, what was the phrase, nothing about cats, in his line of country.
Poirot finished his chocolate, and, after meticulously ensuring his moustaches were as resplendent as ever, he got to his feet and made for the counter inside.
He bought a box of three chocolate roses and after paying for his purchase, he extended his card to the once-crying young woman.
“If Papa Poirot can be of service, my dear, please do not hesitate to call on him.”
“Oh!” The young woman looked surprised, and slightly flustered, but she took the card and slipped it into the pocket of her apron. Then she nodded and gave him a whispered ‘Thank you, Monsieur.’
Poirot left the café hoping he would see her again.
Prompt: crying
Fandom: Poirot - Agatha Christie
Rating: Gen
Length: 300
Summary: Poirot suspects someone has been crying into his chocolate.
Poirot sat at a table outside the café and stirred his chocolate meditatively. Then he took his first sip. He did not stifle a satisfied sigh, but one carefully manicured eyebrow rose.
[Poirot’s eyebrows were not, it must be admitted, as well tended as his moustache. Nevertheless, they received due attention.]
Poirot took a second, confirmatory, sip of the chocolate. His sensitive palate had detected the slightest trace of rose. It was not unpleasant, quite the contrary, but it was unexpected.
Poirot’s gaze shifted to the interior of the café. His eyes found the young woman who had served him. He studied her.
What was that curious phrase? It had to do with cats. Cat with the cream? No. Cat got your tongue?
Yes. It looked like the cat had got the poor girl’s tongue—by force.
That little one, thought Poirot, she has been crying, though she does not want anyone to know it.
Poirot tut-tutted and tsk-tsked. It might be a simple love affair gone wrong. Or it might be something else altogether. Something interesting. Something, what was the phrase, nothing about cats, in his line of country.
Poirot finished his chocolate, and, after meticulously ensuring his moustaches were as resplendent as ever, he got to his feet and made for the counter inside.
He bought a box of three chocolate roses and after paying for his purchase, he extended his card to the once-crying young woman.
“If Papa Poirot can be of service, my dear, please do not hesitate to call on him.”
“Oh!” The young woman looked surprised, and slightly flustered, but she took the card and slipped it into the pocket of her apron. Then she nodded and gave him a whispered ‘Thank you, Monsieur.’
Poirot left the café hoping he would see her again.
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Date: 2023-05-26 05:36 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2023-05-26 06:13 pm (UTC)