Elizabeth The Ouiaboo

“Booker, catch!”

Booker’s head quickly whipped around to meet the distressed girl’s voice, his arm instinctively flexing, ready to catch whatever was about to be thrown his way.

Instead, he felt something soft poke his cheek. Looking down he saw that it was one of those long loafs of bread from France. He then saw that the loaf was being pointed at his face by Elizabeth, who was looking at him with a smile. Booker gave her a look, and she let out a jovial laugh.

“Look Booker, a baguette!”, she said, nudging his face with the bread.

“I…can see that.” He mentally catalogued the name for future reference. He knew how much she loved raving about any and everything Paris related.

“Go on, take a bite Booker!”, she said while beaming at him.

“I’m not really hungry.”

“Just the tip!”

“No thanks," he answered curtly before turning his face away from the bread and the disappointed look on Elizabeth’s face. “Not really that hungry right now.”

Elizabeth pouted at him, but it only lasted half a second before her smile returned. “More for me then!”

“That’s nice Elizabeth, but we should really get going…," Booker said. As he started walking he noticed he did hadn’t received one of Elizabeth’s usual chipper (or sarcastic) replies. Turning back around he saw she was gripping the baguette like a sword and wildly swinging it around. He signed. “Elizabeth, what are you doing?”

“Isn’t it obvious Booker? I’m a musketeer!”, Elizabeth said, before swinging the baguette around a few more times with a mock serious expression on her face. She then struck a dramatic pose and pointed her weapon at Booker. “Now, Monsieur DeWitt, fight me in a duel of honor and fate!”

Booker looked at her for a second, then chuckled softly to himself. Picking up his own baguette from a nearby stall, he also posed and pointed the loaf of bread at his dangerous advocatory, smirking the whole time.

“En garde!”