Vintage, Part Seventeen opens with a change of pace, shifting to the perspective (temporarily) of a minor character who's a bit on the edge of the fourth wall. It'll make more sense in the context of the full finished chapter, but I think it's a fun bit of business to start with. Fancy a peek, @ellowrites ?
“Passe derrière moi,” dit le pirate à la belle fille alors qu'il brandit son sabre dans le sens de la sorcière maléfique. "Vous ne pouvez pas avoir cette journee, ma dame,” il vanté. La sorcière se mit à rire, et a fait au sol, et tout à coup la terre baratté et cracher hors une légion de squelettes. Leurs os claquaient comme ils grimpé hors de la boue. La fille a crié. “Ne vous inquiétez pas,” dit le pirate. “Je dois plus de cran que tous ces autres réunis.”
Deniel laughed aloud and thumbed at the next page. That part still drew a chuckle no matter how often he read it. And it wasn’t as though he had to worry about disturbing anyone; there was not another human soul within a hundred miles of earshot, just his quartet of geldings pulling the great laden carriage on which he was perched. These languid supply runs offered him plenty of opportunity to catch up on his books, and he could usually make it through two or three between departure and destination. Le Pirate et la Sorcière was his favorite. The horses knew this old road well, so he could let go of the reins and lean back and lose himself in the gripping tale of swashbuckling and magic, even if he did almost know it by rote now. As much as he loved the story, it did sometimes make him a little sad to know that his own life would never see much adventure, at least, not of the battling witches and saving comely damsels kind. He was just a man doing his job, and people like him didn’t even rate a mention in these sorts of books. If they did, it would be merely to help push the plot by delivering an informative line of dialogue to the protagonist. “They went that way, monsieur.” He wouldn’t get a history, or any unique or memorable traits, or even a last name. Deniel’s sort would be a splash of color for the background, granted only a few forgettable adjectives. They’d never emerge as the heroes they might have the capacity to become.
Given the opportunity, Deniel was certain that he could be. He had a sword. It was dappled with rust and he’d only ever used it against a fairly unthreatening wooden post, but he thought he understood the basic principles enough to handle himself if a fight broke out. He’d sometimes imagine being accosted by villains of all shapes and forms, and dream up witty lines with which to berate these spectral menaces, in an appropriately theatrical voice. "Vous ne pouvez pas avoir cette journee!” What he would not give for a pivotal moment like that. What a tale it would make for his colleagues back at the depot who generally paid him as little attention as the peripheral characters in his beloved books. A chance to be a hero, just once. It wasn’t asking a lot.
The full story so far is available on Wattpad.