10,000 Words Part 76: Plume

The resources afforded her were limited, but listening to a scratchy vinyl voice asking “Oú est la plume de ma tante?” was better than nothing.
She didn’t know where the plume of his aunt was, why his aunt even had plumes. She imagined a stately French comtesse, half woman, half peacock, pecking comptemtuosly at the ear of her hapless nephew as he fumbled and stuttered before her about the whereabouts of her finest of her evening feathers. “Oú est ma plume, idiot? Tu es betes comme tes pieds!” She pitied this hapless pigeon of a nephew, his hopeless, monotonous incompetence.