LUNÈ ARGENT [L.S]

ONE

March, three years ago,

Louis Tomlinson- a young boy freshly entering his twenties looking for something to do with himself. He has always had a passion for performance and elegant writing, stupidly over the top outfits and bright stage lights, lights that stun your eyes and fill up a room.
What better career to pursue than to become a sort of director? Inserting his poetry into the scripts he intends to create, install the illuminant lights onto the majestic stage that he dreams of every day, in which he will place his actors and make them perform his art.
God, is that the dream.
However; we all have to start somewhere before we reach this goal of stardom, and Louis Tomlinson figures where better to start than the City of Lights itself- Paris.

That's how Louis Tomlinson finds himself being whisked away in a short journey from England to France, travelling on the Channel where he finds himself unpleasantly seated next to a coughing man and a sweaty old woman. The gratitude he felt when exiting that barge was not exaggerated.
Eager to cleanse his nasal cavities of sweat and to disinfect himself of potential whooping cough, Louis immediately takes off- in search of his future, heading towards the lights.

It takes many nights in a worn down hotel room and a congested pub for Louis to find his footing in the foreign country. Learning to switch from Great British Pounds to Euros, teaching himself the basics of the annoyingly flirtatious language, and discovering the area of Paris. Louis eventually begins to get his wits about him and shift his focus towards his dream, and not worrying about whether he knows the word for 'tea' in French. Louis cannot live without tea, but has failed to correctly learn the term in another language. He figured this is the case for most non-French speakers here in Paris as the barista usually scoffs before assuming Louis meant 'tea' in his botched pronunciation and will talk to him in English.
Louis is thankful for that...but clearly the barista isn't.
It's actually not very different from the English, to say tea in French, but this is a new city and Louis is pretty nervous, okay?

Continuing, on his fifth night in Paris, Louis is sitting in a cheap pub and drinking his feelings in alcohol- somewhat sorrowful his move to Paris hasn't immediately resulted in ultimate fame. He is watching the stars in the deep night sky, contently listening to the nearby insects and late night bustle of the city. For any pretentious, independent author or coffee shop owner, he is living the dream right now; however, Louis would much rather prefer lying on a chaise longue, being fanned with leaves and eating grapes, knowing that he has one of the biggest show performances of his life the next morning, but he and his actors and cast have perfected the show beyond anything in the world.

But hey, at least he has a small independent authors dream life.

Resuming his self-pitiful drinking and staring into oblivion, Louis is interrupted by an inconsiderately loud commotion by the front of the bar.
God, what more French bullshit is Louis about to experience now?

"It won't work, I'm telling you!"

Huh, a British accent. Not French bullshit then, British bullshit.

"Maybe if you actually cared about our project it would work!"

"Maybe it's not good enough for me to care about!"

"Bullshit, if you got someone who had actual passion for this career you'd see how much better it would be! Your lack of passion is the problem!"

"Hey, maybe you're right. Maybe I just do not care. But I think it's just a lost cause overall, okay? This project will be just like the last. It won't get us anywhere."

"You're wrong! This is the one! You're just giving up!"

God, these people should probably sort out their clearly personal issues elsewhere. It's making Louis' beer taste bad.