Fabula Rasa

...But Ricciotto wasn't in a mood for flying much tonight. He had already flown to the airport in the morning and had enjoyed the early spring scenery in the French countryside.

So he quickly landed in front of a bar called "Gay Lureed". A friend had told him that they had a new bartender, Gavin, and the guy was ready to wow his clients and give the place a fresh name in town. Re-brand it, as it were.

He instantly disliked the fellow. His plucked eyebrows had been replaced by two exaggerated arches drawn in heavy black liner, which gave him an owlish air. His eyes were scornfully scanning the scarce attendance, with visible dislike. His clients were all smiles and gentleness, for some unfathomable reason, though. And then Ricciotto remembered: they were all French and they had their own rules.

In France many people are working in positions they have been forced to accept by dire economic circumstances and high unemployment rates. Millions feel that they should be much higher on the social ladder, and if they are supposed to provide services to the public, then... Hell! They'll do it, but only because they HAVE TO! Otherwise, they'd all be famous artists and shit.

Ricciotto had to remind himself of all this before he picked up and looked at the redesigned drinks menu. Featured in prime position was what looked to be Gavin's speciality. The laminated photo showed a cocktail glass the murky content of which came in red, yellow and blue, in rather gaudy shades that didn't suggest natural ingredients. Some strange shapes seemed to float inside and instead of your typically kitschy paper and wood umbrella, there was
a really bizarre little object, like someone had gathered a bunch of wires in one's hand, given them a cabbage roll shape and then somehow attached them to the side of the glass.

"That's intriguing. After all, maybe this guy IS some frustrated artist", thought Ricciotto.

He sat down at the bar. A highly mimetic being, Ricciotto had to try his damnedest not to frown back at Gavin.

"Bonjour! Une "Fabulous Spirit", s'il vous plaît!"

And then he waited, and waited... The scornful bartender who hated his job kept busy for a really long time. Ricciotto looked on the back of the bar menu. There was an extensive presentation, much like an essay, really, for the "Fabulous Spirit" concoction! The way some châteaux place those gushy paragraphs on their wine labels, only Gavin's was considerably lengthier and even more intent on telling consumers what their taste buds should experience, if at all educated and aware of the chance of coming in contact with the topic of their branding. Ricciotto suspected Gavin of having dabbled in advertising at some point in his career. There was a deeper story behind that apparently innocent, endless piece of... copy.

""Fabulous Spirit" n'est pas une boisson. C'est une "template de communication"".

"C'est vrai, ça? On ne boit pas votre..."

"Do you speak English?"

"Yeah", lightened up Ricciotto.

"It's way more. It's not just spirit... Just... alcohol! It is pure spirit! L'essence! C'est du Brancusi! De l'esprit!"

"Oh." Ricciotto became slightly suspicious. What was up with that shamanic talk in a gay bar? What if some of the ingredients were less kosher? Like, drugs? He had to fly back, he couldn't afford to get entangled in some high voltage wiring, he had stuff to write back home tonight.

"Totally new across Europe! I'm gonna conquer the world with this thing!" Then, getting his face closer to Ricciotto's, Gavin whispered ominously: "And it's PERENNIAL!"

Ricciotto nodded, transfixed. "I hope he's not violent, at least", he thought to himself, and carefully looked around for a place where he could safely dump the "Fabulous Spirit" menace. Uncomfortably, he was now watching Gavin meddle with a bunch of wires that looked like those in the picture.

"Why did you choose wires instead of an umbrella?" he asked mildly, trying not to annoy the artist.

"They are the symbol of the undying DIY spirit, greatly revered in France, under the name of "Bricolage"... But you should see what they do in Eastern Europe if you only gave them a snippet of wire! "

"Oh, I'm familiar with the role of wire in Eastern European environments... But I'm not doing anything myself, I'm not good at bricolage, and it's just a drink..."

Even more disgusted than Ricciotto thought a human could ever look, Gavin's reply ensued warily.

"Yes, it's true, but I have DONE IT MYSELF! You're just a stupid consumer."

Nonplussed, Ricciotto just stared as Gavin was arranging the wire ends just so, preparing to hand him the "Fabulous Spirit" elixir.

"It's now or never", thought Ricciotto, and without warning, zoomed by the tables towards the door, burst out in the street, where he quickly unfolded his wings and shot up towards the evening sky. His coat got caught in the sign of the "Gay Lureed" bar, but he gladly left it behind, figuring that it was a small sacrifice. And besides, he had neither paid for his elaborate drink, nor left a tip for Gavin's spiteful conversation.

He had no means of knowing it yet, but this was to be just his first close encounter with the FaBuloSpirit...