Sick Bacchus
an excerpt

[[**cries** Am so far behind! Wahhh! This excerpt is for Elizabeth Rose, for the much-appreciated feedback ;) ]]

Noir tucked his notebook and pen into a pocket and gave her a lop-sided sort of smile. She slipped and arm about his waist, and he rested his across her shoulders. They walked slowly down the cemetery path towards the gate that they had entered through that morning.
“Let’s eat at Sacre Coeur,” Eulalie suggested.
“That sounds agreeable. Any particular reason?”
She was silent for a moment, her eyes fixed unseeing on the path as they walked. “I… I was thinking of visiting the Louvre.” Noir was silent, quietly accepting and waiting for elaboration. Eulalie looked up at him, smiling in unspoken thanks for his stolid support. “I thought perhaps… well, Sacre Coeur has that marvellous mosaic, ‘Christ in Majesty.’ Better to start with a little art, just in case…”
“The Sacre Coeur is a work of art in itself,” said Noir, his normally impassive voice taking on a slight trace of reverence for the beauty of the basilica.
She nodded. “You are right. It is.”
An astounding number of steps led up to the garden of Sacre Coeur, and more led up to the basilica itself. Noir and Eulalie, like millions before them, stopped as they reached the garden and turned to take in the incredible view of Paris. Rooftops stretched as far as the eye could see, stunningly beautiful beneath the bright blue sky.
They sighed softly, unaware of doing so, so natural was the reaction. Then they turned, arms still wrapped around one another, and climbed the stairs to the great white basilica that shone at the top of the hill, an image from countless postcards, movies, and photographs.
They decided to eat first, and explore the church afterwards. From the store-filled alleyway behind it they bought a couple of chocolate crepes and took them to the top of the green slopes of the garden.
Mmm, chocolate.
There was something indescribably delicious about Parisian chocolate crepes. They were a delightful treat of no compare, and the artists savoured them, watching the visitors to the basilica as they climbed the stairs or sat together on the hill.
“So many people come here,” Eulalie said softly.
“It is a beautiful place.”
“Does it touch everyone’s soul quite this much?”
Noir shrugged, putting down his food and dusting his hands. “I don’t think so. It depends on the place, Eulalie.” He leant back on his elbows, wincing slightly in the midday sun. “In all Paris, what place touches you the most?”
She hugged her knees, looking out over the great expanse of the city. There were so many places, many of them unfortunately frequented by throngs of braindead tourists as well as honest seekers of beauty and sublime.
The Eiffel Tower, Notre Dame, Les Invalides, the Catacombs, the cemeteries, the Opera, the Louvre, the Arc de Triomphe… there were so many, each beautiful in their own way.
“I cannot choose,” she admitted at last. She looked down at her companion, who was shielding his face with one hand. “Which place is yours?”