Challenge #00553 - A178: Monstrous, Not a Monster

(based on your SPG/MiP crossover)

Francoeur’s initial efforts to help with the wounded, being generally scared of the soldiers, figuring out he can carry tons of resources and singing to everyone.

They still ran the cabaret, though it was starting to be more of a hospice and partially a hotel. More and more soldiers came in, and more and more saw him in all his monstrous glory.

Nothing gets a soldier reaching for their weapons faster than a seven-foot-tall flea.

“No, wait,” Lucille tried to shield him with her diminutive frame. “He is harmless. He would not hurt a flea.”

“He is a flea,” added Raoul. “But he won’t hurt anyone.”

“That’s a flea?” said the General. He still had his hand on his gun.

Francoeur cooed nervously and cringed behind both his guitar and Lucille.

“Fleas drink blood,” said the General.

“Not Francoeur,” Lucille shook her head in emphasis. “He eats fruit and vegetables. Not blood.”

He chirped an agreement, adding a nod.

The general finally took his hand off his weapon. “Doesn’t he talk for himself?

Half a smile. A generous shrug. "He prefers to sing.”

Raoul played a few, prompting notes on the piano off to the side of the stage. Francoeur soon joined in with his guitar, singing a melody he had sung hundreds of times before.

“He’s a rum ‘um, no mistake,” said one of the 'walking wounded’ Tommies in the audience. “Hardly speaks a word, but he can sing up a storm.”

The General came right up to Francoeur and poked a chin-palp. “So it talks? Let it speak, then.”

“…please do not do that…” For such a big bug, Francoeur had a tiny voice.

This greatly amused the General. “We can’t enlist 'im. He ain’t human and sending something like him in would just make the enemy angry. He’ll still have to volunteer his services to help the boys.”

Lucille made a face. “Doing what?”

*

“Orange juice,” Francoeur sang. “Seltzer water… Lift your spirits, wet your whistle, have a drink from humble me. Just a giant singing flea… Cool your throat, bless your lips… before you go home in ships.”

Half of the Tommies couldn’t see him. Their heads bandaged. Some were hallucinating. Those who were conscious and still had their eyes, they heard his song before they saw him. Cracked jokes about his size and the usefulness of his large shadow.

As long as they were smiling, they were not a threat. And as long as they were smiling, they didn’t see him as a threat.

And, in a pinch, he could carry a soldier to a hospital in a very big hurry.

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