Work Text:
The World War I Flying Ace staggers from the smoking wreckage of his Sopwith Camel. He shakes his fist at the cloud-choked sky, though the Red Baron is long gone. A heavy drop of rain strikes his nose. Another lands on his forehead. Within moments, it's raining hard.
The World War I Flying Ace sighs, defeated for the moment. He will have to seek shelter, and deal with his plane after the storm has passed.
He trudges sullenly along the banks of the River Marne, which is gray as iron. By the time he reaches the nearest hut, he's chilled to the bone and caked to the knees with mud.
"Oh, there you are, Snoopy. Wait – stay. Mom'll kill me if you track mud on the sofa. Stay. I'll get a towel. Then you can sit with me. I'm about to watch a movie."
With a smile, the World War I Flying Ace accepts the tattered rag, offered hesitantly by the simple French peasant. Though they do not speak each other's language, the Ace senses that the peasant understands his gratitude.
"Okay, Snoopy, I guess you're clean enough. Now you can sit with me. The movie's about to start. This is a movie about two people who share an apartment. Physically, they inhabit the same space, but mentally, they live in different worlds."
The simple French peasant offers bread, hot soup, and wine to the World War I Flying Ace. The portions are small, but delicious.
"Have some popcorn, Snoopy."
Someday, he will get the best of his rival, the Red Baron. Until then, thinks the World War I Flying Ace as his eyelids droop, he will be content with the knowledge that happiness is a warm boy and a big bowl of buttered popcorn.
4/28/09