Brentano's [2]

[Ubaldo Piangi]

http://i238.photobucket.com/albums/ff81/The_Phantoms_Opera/Fancy%20Area%20Thingy/brentanos.jpg
b r e n t a n o ' s
Brentano's, the American bookstore of Paris, is an independently operated boutique that first opened its doors in 1895. Frequented by an elite French clientele, the bookstore offers a wide selection of bestsellers from around the globe and is the leader in Parisian classical, scholarly knowledge. The employees of Brentano's are more than happy to assist you in your search for a particularly rare novel or magazine, so sit back with a cup of coffee in one of the many plush couches and immerse yourself in literature.
No spamming and follow proper RPG rules.
For the time being you may be in more than one thread at a time.
When this thread reaches 200 a moderator will start the new thread.
Have fun and enjoy!

Last post:
Raven Corbett

Raven expected nearly every answer~except the one he received: "And why is it you'd want to know?" After a perceptible pause, she added, "Mr Corbett?"

If one knew the author exceptionally well, the surprise might have been detectable. For others, he appeared as unruffled as ever, allowing a faint smile to play about his lips as he stepped nearer to the woman who, for whatever reason, had captured his attention. Perhaps he would understand why by spending more time in her presence.

"May I?" he indicated a chair across from her, seating himself and resting his arms on the tabletop, fingers weaving together as he contemplated her. "You've read me?" It was an assumption since she simply might have seen his likeness on the back of any number of novels in this and countless other stores. "Or, perhaps you've merely considered purchasing one of my works," he mused, "and perused the jacket? I specify that they give none of my story away on the covers. One must read even a smattering before deciding whether or not to take a chance on whatever tale I've spun. And, do you? Spin, I mean?" The forest-green gaze was direct and unwavering; his expression, a suggestion of amusement. "Or, do you merely plan to do so?"

[witch]

Evea Perry

At her reply did she see a hint of shock or surprise? She couldn't really be sure for it was gone quicker then it came covered by his trying to hide it.

She herself was a little bit surprised thinking that a writer such as himself would be used to strangers knowing him at lest in face for it had been plastered over all his books and posters had always been added to the fray when a new one come out. Still it was kind of funny.

Her blue eyes watched him as he steeped closer indicating a chair just across from her own.

"May I?" he asked not that he waited for an answer for no sooner had he asked the question had he sat down making her wonder why bother in the asking at all. "You've read me?"

A raised shoulder and a shrug maybe she had... maybe she hadn't it all depended on what he called "reading him" she had read some of his work, some of the articles on him as well along with hearing word around the office.

"Or, perhaps you've merely considered purchasing one of my works,"

A smile came to her face as he seemed to try to guess how she knew him wondering why it even so much as mattered. She was a women of mystery why couldn't he just leave it at that?

His guessing went on for a little longer before a change of subject finally arose though it followed another round of guessing games.

"...And, do you? Spin, I mean?"

Now why did he want to know that? And why was she suddenly relucktent to answer, could it be that she had dipped her quill in the ink pot, scribbled more then a line or two and was now worried about someone asking about it or was it something deeper the green unwavering eyes didn't help.

"I dabble" She told him simply "A reporter needs to after all, doesn't she? Though I fear my face isn't so widely known"

Not an outright answer to his questions from before but a small one none the less.

"And once again, why is it that you care?"

[MystMoonstruck]

Raven Corbett

Ignoring her final question, Raven considered the woman before him, doubting that their paths had crossed before, as he generally had a remarkable memory for a certain type of person. "I generally despise reporters," he stated firmly, "but since this is neither an interview nor one of those mixers publishers seem to thrive on, I shan't leave immediately." While his demeanor appeared quite serious, there were more than a few sparkles of amusement in his eyes, which tended to have a mesmerizing quality for people that he was not ashamed to use. "Dabbling is what a great many people do. And, every reporter I've ever encountered was certain that he~or she~had one great novel within him~or her. Is that what you have? Generally, it is a novel, very rarely short stories. Why is that, do you suppose, that few dabblers dream of creating an anthology?" He paused then added, "Poetry... Reporters never write poetry." He brightened, looking somewhat as if he was in the grips of an epiphany. "Curious..." A graceful, long-fingered hand slipped under his jacket, emerging with a tiny notebook and an equally small pen, opening it to scribble reminders of this newest notion, needing to test the truth of the statement.

"Now..." The word filled his returning the items to their proper place. "Why is it that I care about what?" Raven knew he was being difficult. He simply wanted to see her response.

[witch]

Evea Perry

"I generally despise reporters"

Well if that wasn't a kick in the teeth though in some ways she could understand it for most twisted the words they where given to make it a story of far better interest. Yet he didn't have to say it so bluntly, after all he had no idea what kind of reporter she was.

"but since this is neither an interview nor one of those mixers publishers seem to thrive on, I shan't leave immediately."

A roll of the eyes and a let out scoff, and she had once admired his work... well he added new meaning to "don;t judge a book by it's cover."

Don't let me stop you she wanted to say but stopped herself from doing so after all if she wanted to she could just get up and leave she already had the things she needed and she needed need to be around a stuck up snob. She did not see the sparkle in his eyes she had been to taken back.

"Dabbling is what a great many people do. And, every reporter I've ever encountered was certain that he~or she~had one great novel within him~or her. Is that what you have? Generally, it is a novel, very rarely short stories. Why is that, do you suppose, that few dabblers dream of creating an anthology?"

"I dabble to learn more as much as I can about the different styles of writing." She stated aloud at that little shot.

She had tried to write a novel or two not that she'd tell him that somehow she had the feeling he would just cast it aside and think it nothing more the garbage.

"Poetry... Reporters never write poetry."

A raised eyebrow and a slight laugh and here she had thought that writers where meant to be open minded.

"And writers never do reports" she mumbled under her breath listening as he went on.

"Curious..."

She watched as he pulled out a small note book seeming to jot down an idea which would no doubt be about something she had said.

"Why is it that I care about what?"

Looking at him shacking her head a poem came to mind.

"Why is it that you think you know me
When it truth we've only just meet.
Why is it that you stick your foot in your mouth? Saying things you'll only regret.
Just because you think I see with reporters eye,
You think I do nothing but steal and lie.
You a writer of many word
And yet dear sir, you are truly observed."

A happy smug smile came to her face a simple poem but one none the less.

"And quite frankly I don't care anymore why you wanted to know"

She got up to leave then but before she did so she turned.

"You know you'd think a writer would of learnt not to judge a book by it's cover, you'd also think they'd learn to do the same with people."


OCC: yes she is a little p'ed off.

[MystMoonstruck]

OOC: Raven has that effect on people, especially journalists/reporters. Will they be able to continue their conversation? We'll see. By the way, this is my third try at a post; the other two got zapped somehow. BIC:

Raven Corbett

The woman's response was not lost on Raven, and he found himself enjoying this encounter much more than he might have expected. She wanted to say so much yet was resisting, he was certain, perhaps not willing to give him the satisfaction of angering her. He had waxed somewhat whimsical though she did not respond in kind.

"I dabble to learn more as much as I can about the different styles of writing." He nodded his approval, for he had done as much, finding that what he lacked in limericks he made up for in sonnets, while the haiku demanded too much of him, as he preferred the epic. As for short stories: He had found them too limiting, preferring novels. He had not neglected non-fiction either, being a noted researcher. One needed to experiment~to dabble~in order to find one's way as an author. Somewhere, she had a hidden pile of manuscripts just as he had, just as any other writer had. Yesterday's failures became tomorrow's best-sellers if the name on the cover was renowned enough. Such was his philosophy.

He was amused at her expression as he recorded his latest notion, and his smile grew as she grumblingly added, "And writers never do reports." With his dislike for things French, he refused to say, Touche! Yet, it had come to mind.

As for his nudge about the caring bit, she somewhat sniffily informed him, "And quite frankly I don't care anymore why you wanted to know." At which point, she stood and began to walk away but paused to say, "You know you'd think a writer would have learnt not to judge a book by its cover. You'd also think they'd learn to do the same with people."

"Dear lady, I should think that a reporter would be thicker-skinned than to be angered at such light barbs. Often, I have been attacked by journalists who judged the author lacking the humor to be found in his stories, never looking to how it was they approached said author~namely, me. I had thought we might have a cup of coffee, as I hear they have something approaching that here~not espresso, not latte, but coffee. But, if you must storm off..." He sighed wearily, as if very put-upon. "I suppose you must."

[witch]

OCC: Hmm that's strange. Was the site down at the time? Note to self remember to copy and save.
He is making her mad but that's the fun in our threads so it seems LOL.
P.S: Sorry if I get a little cryptic on you but Evea gets that way when she's angry.

Evea Perry

Up start, noise in the air snob thinking that he knew everything about her just because of the reporters he had meet. She would ring his neck if only she could.

Was it a look of approval that crossed his face when she had said that she dabbled in everything? Though her rage she couldn't be quit sure and approval, by him... it didn't mean much anymore.

As she snapped at him his whole face seemed to change was it.. a smile that she saw? Here she was giving him a piece of her mind and he had the bare to smile. It only infuled the flame.

So she had toned it down using a saying he just might understand though that thick skull of his also the thought of read between the lines came to mind.

"Dear lady, I should think that a reporter would be thicker-skinned than to be angered at such light barbs. Often, I have been attacked by journalists who judged the author lacking the humor to be found in his stories, never looking to how it was they approached said author~namely, me. I had thought we might have a cup of coffee, as I hear they have something approaching that here~not espresso, not latte, but coffee. But, if you must storm off..."

A look a shock replaced the one of anger as this words feel from his lips Dear Lady she'd let that one slide. There he was cutting her down and he then had the nerve to call her a Dear Lady?

"And have the risk of saying something that I might snake and thunder upon how could you even dream it? I maybe a reporter sir..." though sir would not be what she'd called him "but I am no elephant and maybe you where attacked for a reason."

She stopped there trying to calm herself down and taking a few deep breathes she finally felt calm again.

"And for your 411 I wouldn't storm I would fire for then I could do as much damage as you seem to suggest I already do."

[MystMoonstruck]

Raven Corbett

Elephants?! Why on Earth was the woman shrieking of snakes and elephants?! Raven struggled to control himself, caught between laughing aloud and voicing his wonderment. However did the woman manage if she must resort to such oddities of expression? The chuckle became a serious clearing of the throat, and he threw in one of his practiced scowls to counter a ridiculous urge to giggle, something he would not have believed himself capable of doing. Yet, here it was, tickling at his throat, forcing him to continue the undoubtedly irritating and suspicious throat clearing.

Yet, she had stopped in her tracks, so it could be that she was considering the coffee, he supposed.

"Fire whom? I am quite lost in your tirade, m'lady. We seem to be having a breakdown in communication. I was merely inviting you to have coffee and perhaps chat. You are a dabbler. I am a dabbler~an extraordinarily successful one, as any bookstore will testify. Or, perhaps we can round up a few of my more-fanatical followers. Bless their enthusiasm." One-on-one encounters with them certainly were trying, but they allowed him to lead a life of as much luxury as he desired. "I've heard tell of 'shoes and ships and sealing-wax, of cabbages and kings', but I must admit to being confused about snakes and elephants~and thunder! How did you arrive at those images~dear lady?" Yes, he had sensed her confusion at the appelation. "I am certain that I have ruined your exit. My apologies..."

[witch]

Evea Perry

Now as she looked at him he didn't seem as smart as he thought himself to be for he seemed to be in a haze of confusion as she forced a cryptic tongue a matter that she was indeed charmed by for now she seemed to have the upper hand.

Though there was one thing she questioned. With the plain repulsion on her face why did he came back for more? Was it that no one had ever told him straight or was it that no one had the guts to cut this man down to size? A factor that would be no more if she had her way mostly now when she could see him trying to hide a chuckle, a cover for his arrogance?

"Fire whom? I am quite lost in your tirade, m'lady. We seem to be having a breakdown in communication. I was merely inviting you to have coffee and perhaps chat. You are a dabbler. I am a dabbler~an extraordinarily successful one, as any bookstore will testify. Or, perhaps we can round up a few of my more-fanatical followers. Bless their enthusiasm."

She couldn't help but role her eyes at this and placing her hand on her heart she fluttered her eyelashes.

"Oh how we must not forget the little people that throw themselves at your feet who marvel in your master." she stopped then looking him dead in the eyes and said: "Maybe it's because you've got your head up so high you don't listen"

But it didn't stop there, oh no for as soon as she said this he seemed to spell out the fact that he didn't see the world for more then what was right under his noise.

"I've heard tell of 'shoes and ships and sealing-wax, of cabbages and kings', but I must admit to being confused about snakes and elephants~and thunder! How did you arrive at those images~dear lady?"

"For whether pig's have wings" she stated that very line becoming a new favourite. "So let me spell it out for you then dear sir Elephants are thick are they not? And snakes lure to the charm yet they twist and have a poison... I'm sure you can figure it out."

For a moment she prayed that he would say nothing more, no such luck.

"I am certain that I have ruined your exit. My apologies..."

"You should be apologizing for more then the exit, but please I won't hold that against you. Though I'm sure you've gotten the idea that I can't stand you why is it that you want me to have coffee with you, can't get enough of someone telling you things straight?"

OCC: Well isn't this a twist from what we first thought their relationship to be?

[MystMoonstruck]

Raven Corbett

Tiring of the abuse and certain once more in his estimation of reporters in general, Raven studied the irate young woman before him, the green gaze as hard as stone now, his smile banished.

"Do what you must," he said, adding a dismissive wave, as he pushed back the chair, stood and walked away, wondering if it was possible that this vaunted store had Julian Symons' The Tell-Tale Heart: The Life and Works of Edgar Allan Poe. His own first edition rested on a library shelf in his home on the California coast, as he had not wanted to risk it in his voyage to France, a place he was wearying of already. Solitude sounded increasingly inviting. The playful mood he had fallen into was shattered, and he felt quite dispirited, recalling other meetings with young women that had begun ruggedly then smoothed into something mellower. He had not encountered them again though reunion was inevitable if he was to make progress on his seemingly ill-fated project. Thus far, Lilith Eytinge had been the only person who had come to his retreat here in Paris. They had never argued, never disagreed, never had anything but amiable conversation. Was this a fluke? Or, did it mean something~something very important?

Disheartened, he attempted to lose himself in perusing an array of biographies, doubting that he ever would qualify as the subject of one. For one thing, he damn well did not intend to tell anyone of his past! A man of mystery he wished to remain. Then, something caught his eye that rid him of any concerns.

"An H P Lovecraft Encyclopedia! Wonderful!" Lovecraft resided next to Poe in his pantheon of authors. This find soothed him after the quarreling. With book in hand, opened somewhere in the middle (a lifelong habit of his) he began reading as he made his way to where he could obtain a cup of coffee~heavy on the cream and sugar, he promised himself, and quite a lot of the stuff if it was properly brewed.

[witch]

Evea Perry

As if she where nothing more then a servant he waved his hand at her.

"Do what you must,"

As if she was nothing more then a dog he had tired with.

She was about to scream her hands already twitching in a want to lash out at him. Luckily for him though he was smart enough to walk away.

For a moment of two Evea sat where she was her eyes watching as the man walked around and pulled a book from the shelf flipping it right to the middle.

To good to read the whole book? she questioned to herself though his idea about coffee now sounded like a good one, she needed something to calm her nerves.

Getting up she marched over to the line tapped the jerk on the shoulder and waited for him to turn around she was not someone you could get rid of that easily.

"And just why is it that you hate reporters so much? Why is it that you can't look beyond the cover? And just so you know I'm not one to be dismissed so don't ever walk away from me again or I'll be one reporter that really gives you a reason to hate."

[MystMoonstruck]

Raven Corbett

At the tap on his shoulder, Raven immediately recognized the "tapper", whose finger was as sharp as her words. Why was he not surprised that she wasn't through with him yet? Bracing himself, book in one hand and cup in the other, he turned to face her, wondering how anyone so lovely could be so abrasvie. Perhaps it went with the territory, he mused.

"And just why is it that you hate reporters so much? Why is it that you can't look beyond the cover? And just so you know I'm not one to be dismissed so don't ever walk away from me again or I'll be one reporter that really gives you a reason to hate."

"My dear lady, I was under the impression that you were finished with me and that I no longer was welcome in your presence. Therefore, I did the gentlemanly thing: I withdrew. Now, you are pursuing me~and jabbing me with that cruelly sharp digit," he reprimanded lightly. No, he was not in good humor, but he had hopes that the situation could be defused before it became embarrassingly public. "I invite you once more to join me in having a cup of coffee and speaking as civilly as we possibly can. I shall try to explain my past with the media as succinctly as possible. As for books being judged: You yourself have judged me as harshly as you claim I have you. You have indulged in eyerolling and other expressions intended to signal to me that I am somehow beneath you or taxing what little patience you seem to have. Now..." He stepped away from her, toward the table previously occupied. "If you would care to join me, perhaps we can smooth the path a bit."

[witch]

Evea Perry

It seemed like a mila second that she waited before he turned to her sharpened tongue.

"My dear lady, I was under the impression that you were finished with me and that I no longer was welcome in your presence. Therefore, I did the gentlemanly thing: I withdrew. Now, you are pursuing me~and jabbing me with that cruelly sharp digit,"

Okay so he had a slight point at the time he was no longer welcome she hoping he would just go away but she hadn't said goodbye or any other thing along those lines had she? As for the jabbing well actions where stronger then words...

"I invite you once more to join me in having a cup of coffee and speaking as civilly as we possibly can. I shall try to explain my past with the media as succinctly as possible. As for books being judged: You yourself have judged me as harshly as you claim I have you. You have indulged in eye rolling and other expressions intended to signal to me that I am somehow beneath you or taxing what little patience you seem to have. Now..."

Evea let out a breath okay so they had both been at fault and in truth she hated fighting with people and now they both knew where the other stood.

"And from the moment I told you I was a reporter you seemed to think you knew me." she told him stating a fact "told me outright that you hated me."

She watched him as he walked over to a table and sat down a little taken back by another offer to join him in a drink.

"If you would care to join me, perhaps we can smooth the path a bit."

Her eyes widened at those words 'smooth the path', now just how did he think they where going to do that?

Maybe it was the flirt in her that made her want to try again and so walking over she sat down.

"Fine, but let's start over again so we can smooth the path. I'm Evea Perry and I'm a interest reporter."

[MystMoonstruck]

Raven Corbett

Had she mentioned what she did in an initial sentence, Raven supposed, he likely would not have spoken to her, so deep was his mistrust of reporters, journalists or whatever name they wished to go by. There was no such thing as "off the record" to the average reporter. Anything heard or even misheard became gospel. But, here he sat at a table with one of the enemy, having a cup of coffee and promising to be civil.

"Interest? Do you mean human interest stories? Anyone in particular? No. I'm certain you did not count on encountering an author at this bookstore. You are here to purchase a volume about writing. That much has been established. But, you are on business in Paris? May I ask about your assignment? Am I allowed that?" Hearing the possibility of that being taken the wrong way, he hurried to add, "Forgive me, but I am accustomed to two types of speaking: at home to my assistant and in public~book signings and occasional interviews. I have failings as a conversationalist though my characters rarely encounter difficulties. Of course they do not. After all, I am writing both sides, true? So, forgive my~eh~brusqueness, if you will. I cannot say that I am out of practice as I seem to have avoided society for much of my life. Haven't you seen the interviews~Raven Corbett: reclusive, secretive, difficult?"

Falling silent, he lifted the cup to his lips, inhaling the fragrance, his eyes closing as he sipped, as if to better appreciate the brew, tucking away details in his cluttered mind to be sorted through when needed. Long lashes swept up, and the forest-green eyes met the woman's gaze steadily though not in a challenging manner.

[witch]

Evea Perry

Could he so much as eve do that? Forget his blind sight for a moment and start again... there was a little bit of doubt in her mind for his already seemed to be made up and it wasn't her job to change his mind... or even interview him, thank god (though she did feel sorry for those that had and would.) Still she had asked for a do over and so being a big girl she tried to forget his remarks from before and treat him like he was a stranger.

"Interest? Do you mean human interest stories? Anyone in particular? No. I'm certain you did not count on encountering an author at this bookstore. You are here to purchase a volume about writing. That much has been established. But, you are on business in Paris? May I ask about your assignment? Am I allowed that?"

A nosey stranger.

"Forgive me, but I am accustomed to two types of speaking: at home to my assistant and in public~book signings and occasional interviews. I have failings as a conversationalist though my characters rarely encounter difficulties. Of course they do not. After all, I am writing both sides, true? So, forgive my~eh~brusqueness, if you will. I cannot say that I am out of practice as I seem to have avoided society for much of my life. Haven't you seen the interviews~Raven Corbett: reclusive, secretive, difficult?"

And once again there where those green eyes looking right into her blue ones.
Well first question was first answered.

"Interest. As in places, shows, movies upcoming stars and ones that no longer are in the spot light but aren't forgotten so yes people to and as for my job right now it's on the history of Paris." She stopped there wondering if he truly thought it would be because she was meant to sort him out.

When he came to the whole reclusive, secretive, difficult part she had to hold herself back. Difficult was not the word.

"I've seen the interviews and I'll agree that they aren't at all flattering." she said aloud then to herself added: but you get what you pay for and you can only make up so much

"So I'm not after you and I don' think any reporter will be until another one of your books comes out."

[MystMoonstruck]

Raven Corbett

"Interest," she explained. "As in places, shows, movies upcoming stars and ones that no longer are in the spot light but aren't forgotten so yes people to and as for my job right now it's on the history of Paris."

He merely nodded his understanding, wondering if she could conceive of how many times he had been tricked as a youth new to the world of publishing, causing a stir not only for exhibiting such writing skill at just 14 but also because of the combination of his appearance~like a medieval angel one critic had written, puzzling him as he compared his reflection to the images in one of his father's books.

"I've seen the interviews and I'll agree that they aren't at all flattering," she conceded, but there was much left unsaid he was certain, for she seemed to be quite outspoken otherwise. Thus, she was making an attempt to smooth that path, as he had phrased it earlier. "So I'm not after you and I don't think any reporter will be until another one of your books comes out."

"Ahh... But, that's just it, m'lady. I am in public, therefore they know. Thus far, I have been successful in dodging the usual seekers. They are aware that I would not be in Paris if I was not doing research on a new project. I am fair prey as far as they are concerned. I have even encountered one of the new variety, a face I was unfamiliar with. If I had not been reticent, I might have fallen into his trap. You see, I admit to being wounded young. I shed my trust for wariness. It has cost me companionship, but I am accustomed to that. It is not that I do not have friends or a shred of social life. It's simply that it is quite limited. Trust, once lost, can be nearly impossible to regain. I am certain that I am a rude beast in your eyes, but I can console myself in that not everyone I have met looks at me as you do."

Having said too much to suit him, he took shelter in the still-steaming cup of coffee, his shadowed gaze falling somewhere between the two of them though he was noted for his direct expression. Somehow, he expected the worst though there remained a faint hope that she would be civil. He was not up to harsh words today, he realized, wondering if he should have remained close to home.

[witch]

Evea Perry

As she explained herself he seemed to nod just why she didn't really know. Was it that he was nodding at his understanding of her project, or was he just doing it to show that he was listening or for some other unforeseen reason? She didn't and in truth she didn't really care. She hadn't been able to pick her project and she was stuck with what she got a rather challenging piece if she said so herself for the history of Paris was great and trying to find a starting point had been murder but once over that little problem it was stopping that she found to be torcher.

It was then that she told him, as politely as she could that it wasn't him that she was after that he seemed to switch back into that... I know everything way of thinking.

"Ahh... But, that's just it, m'lady. I am in public, therefore they know. Thus far, I have been successful in dodging the usual seekers. They are aware that I would not be in Paris if I was not doing research on a new project. I am fair prey as far as they are concerned. I have even encountered one of the new variety, a face I was unfamiliar with. If I had not been reticent, I might have fallen into his trap. You see, I admit to being wounded young. I shed my trust for wariness. It has cost me companionship, but I am accustomed to that. It is not that I do not have friends or a shred of social life. It's simply that it is quite limited. Trust, once lost, can be nearly impossible to regain. I am certain that I am a rude beast in your eyes, but I can console myself in that not everyone I have met looks at me as you do."

"Not the word I would of used pigheaded I would of used" she stated putting words in in her own mouth the replace the one he had thought he had shoved in there. "But your right trust is a valuable thing so here's a little tip. Next time you know your going to be interviewed get a novice they tend not to bend the truth so much or ask to see it first"

She bite her tongue then not wanting to bring her thought about his lack of friends to the light or even so much as ask him if he jumped on them the way he had her.

"So are there any new projects the media of Paris doesn't know about?"

She wanted to make sure she took leave at the time therefore she wouldn;t have to listen to the remarks that came along with it.

[MystMoonstruck]

Raven Corbett

As she spoke, Raven realized that he and this young woman were never going to see eye to eye, as the saying went. They were in enemy camps, and no civility could be expected. Counting to 100~much better than 10 or thereabouts, Raven managed to prevent himself from firing back. The coffee was an excellent excuse not to respond immediately, particularly to the epithet she had chosen.

When the beverage was gone, he gathered his paid-for items and, still not meeting her accusing eyes, pushed back the chair as quietly as possible and stood up, his arms cradling his purchases, which had become a sort of shield for him.

"Very well, Evea Perry... You have had your say. You have delivered your barbs, and I shan't return in kind. I am weary of word wars," he admitted, head bowed. "Thank you for your company, but I must leave now to continue my research. You may count this as a victory. I am..." The sigh escaped him before he could stop it. "I am very tired. Please. Excuse me."

Without another glance at the woman who had wounded him more than he would like to admit, he walked toward the door, no longer wanting to continue the shopping he had planned. He would hail a cab and return to his Paris residence though he longed to be truly home, once more nestled within the walls of The Rookery. Why had he promised such an ambitious project? What would it do to his reputation should he decide to abandon it? Perhaps he could offer a new series of novels. With this now occupying his mind, the distress of the encounter was lessened.

[witch]

Evea Perry

Evea hated it when people put words into her mouth, hated it more then his quick to burn judgement there was something to be said about a person like that and so she had said it and hadn't she the right to speak for herself? She'd be dammed to let anyone walk all over her and so she had voiced her thoughts though now a rude beast did seem to be before her eyes.

"Very well, Evea Perry... You have had your say. You have delivered your barbs, and I shan't return in kind. I am weary of word wars," he admitted, head bowed. "Thank you for your company, but I must leave now to continue my research. You may count this as a victory. I am...I am very tired. Please. Excuse me."

He got up to leave then not once looking at her before or after he spoke and this only rubbed her the wrong way even more.

Just when he was at the door she stood up.

"Barbs?" she questioned yelling after him "You put words in my mouth and then you leave because I tell you the truth and here I thought you where accusing me and my kind as being liers... and yes thank you for your company, I won't forget it."

She waited for a second waiting for a reply but then thought better of it she didn't care either way, let him think of her what he liked but when it came to interviewing him next she would spear the poor soul who had to do it and give them a little insight to the man behind the words.


OCC: Drama, why is it that we always have fights? Still it is fun I don't want to end this one they are both so strong minded it's funny.

[MystMoonstruck]

Raven Corbett

Sadly, Evea Perry was not finished with him, Raven realized as he stood near the door to allow others to enter. He refused to listen to anymore, for he was, in truth, as weary as he had tried to express. He simply wished to be away from her and others~back home in the quiet, with no social demands since his assistant had never been one to press for conversation. He thought sometimes that Ziv, too, must have reason for avoiding people.

Leaving her vitrolic words behind, he exited the shop with not a single word or glance, grateful as he saw a taxi stop to allow passengers to disembark. Swiftly, he took their place, preparing for the drive home, where he would, as a friend described it, hole up.

For some reason, a bit of poetry came to him~Wordsworth:
The world is too much with us; late and soon,
Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers:
Little we see in Nature that is ours...
But, fast on its heels came another~words from Andrew Marvell:
But at my back I always hear
Time's wingèd chariot hurrying near;
And yonder all before us lie
Deserts of vast eternity.

On that bleak note, he opened the top book of the three that rested on his lap, needing words to lull him after the bitterness of what had transpired at the shop.

[witch]

Evea Perry

He said nothing, for once no come back claimed her ear and once again she only shock her head.

"So much for Mr Big Shoot" she mumbled to herself.

Walking back over to the chair she had once sat in she gathered up her stuff and the new book she would be needing. It was only by chance that one of his books court her eye.

"Hmm" she hummed looking at it "Wonder what the know it all covers himself this time"

She walked over to the counter and paid for her things then left herself glad to have the relief of getting away for the biggest jerk she had ever meet.

OCC: Think it's ended.

[angelofthenight]

OOC: Sorry this took so long. I've been sick and busy. Anyway for Fabian and Bella. BIC:

Bella Karina

Bella hadn't thought when she'd left Brentano's almost a year ago that she would ever be returning. Edmund had insisted that she quit working not long after she'd agreed to marry him and hten found out she was pregnant with his baby. She'd had little objections though she was rather partial to the small bookstore and the man who had left it in her care when he'd taken his dying wife to America so she could be near her family in those final months. Upon returning to the store Bella had learned that the man, who had become a friend to her what coudl be considered a father figure to Nicholas had returned and was now running the store once more. Bella had told Xaiver and Rose about this and about their rather close relationship and Xavier and Rose had somehow managed to talk her into going down to the store to see her old friend. Bella hadn't been fond of the idea seeing as it was her first day off of classes and lessons she'd wanted to spend the day with Nicholas, take him to the park maybe... but both Rose and Xaiver had insisted that she take some time for herself... Nick woudl always be there when she came back and besides.. Callie had missed her friend and Rose beleived they deserved a chance to play together for a day.

So Bella had found herself back at the bookstore that she'd worked at while she'd been pregnant with Nicholas and unable to work at the Opea House becasue of her condition. It had been here that Evelyn had read Raniero's reply to the news that she was pregnant with his child. It had been here that Bella had realized that the Italian woudl not be coming back for either of them. It was in this very store that she'd met and flirted heavily with Rafael, a man she hadn't seen for sometime and wasn't sure if she coudl face anyway. At the bookstore she and Fabian had become good friends when he'd come in after rehearsals to help her do things like lift boxes and move shelves, things that she probably could've done but had been instructed not to do. Yes a lot of memories filled the store for Bella and every corner she turend a new memory assailed.. and some had never even occured. Some were fantasies that she'd had.. hopes that she'd spent afternoons dewlling on becasue she had nothing better to do. Dreams that woudl enver be becasue reality had taken ahold on her and was not very forgiving. Yes Bella saw a mixture of memories and dreams and it brought a sad smile to her lips.

As she neared a small couch that sat next to a large winodw which overlooked part of the Jardin des Tulleries Bella felt somethign in her chest begin to ache. It had been early one February morning the last time Bella had sat there. She'd been writing a letter to Raniero, one of over a hundred letters that she woudl write him but never find the heart to send. She'd imagined sitting there, waiting for him everyday and then one day, fate woudl decide that she'd been dealt enough misery and bring happiness in the fomr of Nicholas' father walking through the door. That hope had lasted until she'd met Edmund, and gradually it had faded from her mind as the Irish composer had become a high priority in her life. Then when the masqurade brought some unexpected twists Bella found herself pining after that dream, after that hope. What she'd once believed coudl bring him back had done nothing except drove him into the arms of another woman that was older and much more experienced then she was. Bella had taken Nicholas from Raniero without so much as a word when she'd left for America and now it seemed that the Italian too had left Paris to escape a past that both of them wished coudl be forgotten.

Yet things like that are not easy to forget. Bella was reminded iof her past in the face of her son... who seemed to look more and more like Raniero everday. When Nicholas smiled she saw her older brother Gavriel, when he became seriously focused on soemthing she saw a bit of how his father must look when working on a piece or composition. Yet when he held things, like a small bear that Bella had given him as a little sentimental gift she could see trace of his mother.. she coudl see a gentleness that she coudlnt' place and becasue of her son... she did not truly regret her past. Though she was trying to move away from it she did not regret what Raniero had given her. His son.. his first son.. he had given her apart of himself and even if she never saw him again.. even if she wnet on to learn that he had in fact married the woman from Spain that he'd met in Venice... even if fate kept them from every crossing paths again Bella woudl never be able to forget the composer becasue he'd left something behind that made it impossible... and Bella loved her son all the more for that... becasue deep down Bella still entertained a naive hope that Nicholas woudl be reason for them to see each other again.. if nothing else... Raniero may come back to check on his son.

Bella realized then that she'd been blocking the aisle and quickly stepped aside to allow two small chirdren to run past her with books in their arms. Bella csmiled and then turned her gaze back tot he couch, thoughtful as she walked up to and then perched herself ont he end of it. She turend her gaze to the window and sighed soflty. There were so many emotions in that simple tsigh Bella couldn't begin to name them.a resless contentment, a longing happiness, a sad joy, so many things that didn't go together wre there. Yet Bella was thankful for it all.. thankful that she'd come home to peopel who cared about her.. to place of familiarity andlove where no one could harm her becasue she had people who woudln't allow it to happen and Bella relaxed back against a pillow then was shocked to feel soemthing hard underneath it. She lifted the pillow to see what it was and came up with a rather worn copy of Persuasion by Jane Austen... Bella read the back fo the book.. she'd never been into classics... or reading for that matter.. to involved in her music to fidn time for anything else.. adn now with Nicholas she didn't have much time for any relaxation periods.. except today.. and sow tih a fimr determination to get lost in a world that wasn't her own.. she opened the book and began to read.

[MystMoonstruck]

OOC: Raven will be meeting Julietta Antoinette. BIC:

Raven Corbett

No sooner had the author entered the bookstore than he was greeted by someone he supposed was a sort of junior manager, not that he understood more than a few words among the torrent of babble. "English!" he insisted sternly, scowling, looking rather like a righteously avenging angel about to strike down an offender~if angels wore denim jackets and jeans. The thunderstruck look on the JM's face caused him distress, as it could be taken to mean that there would be no communication here. He knew that his relief must be visible as the man articulated in careful and rather accurate English that it would be their great honor to host a book signing. He hoped the ensuing sigh was not as loud as he would like it to have been~whooshing away this pest so that he could go about his planned shopping. Besides, wouldn't he feel rather foolish, seated at a table, vainly awaiting Raven Corbett fans who might happen along at the right moment? He attempted to explain this to the man, who suddenly seemed to have lost his grasp of a "sensible" language~at least in Raven's estimation.

Finally, he had agreed to spend one hour parked at a table in a conspicuous spot, an array of his novels displayed, with a sign with a picture and his name posted in the front window.

They must have too much of my life's work in their storage room, he fumed while trying to retain a neutral expression. Ah well... While he waited, he would begin reading the volume he had dropped by for: The Minotaur Trilogy by Thomas Burnett Swann, one of his childhood idols, the author who had inspired him to try his hand at fantasy stories. He had read the separate novels~Cry Silver Bells, The Forest of Forever, Day of the Minotaur~but looked forward to a seamless transition between them. Perhaps he would find inspiration there again, as he found himself wearying of endless fact-finding for his latest project. He was ready for escapism.

[inside your mind15]

Julietta Antoinette

Finally, Julietta had arranged for a day off. A day to herself in which she would be spending most of it in her favorite spot in Paris; a comfy chair in Brentano's. Julietta walked down the sidewalk in almost a rush, and opened the door with the familiar jingle of the bell reaching her ears. She had thrown on a pair of jeans and a green t-shirt, nothing elaborate for vegging out in a chair reading all day. She grabbed Othello,Hamlet, and Romeo and Juliet off the shelves without a thought, and sat down with all three of her companions, taking Othello first in her delicate hands and beginning to read.

As she was just getting through with the first act of Othello when she heard someone else enter Brentano's. She didn't pay them much mind at first, being to absorbed in one of her favorite plays to even glance up in the person's direction. She heard the junior manager go prattling on about something or other, then she heard a familiar voice say to him, "English!" The man insisted, and the manager settled down a bit, saying something or other about a book signing. The man turned her way, and she recognized who it was immediately, Raven Corbett. She hadn't spoke with him in ages, since that day at the Cafe to be exact. She had missed their discussions, so in depth and interesting, and he was so willing to listen to what she had to say. Her mouth turned upward in a smile as she peered over her book, where only her reading glasses could be seen.

He sat down over at a table not too far away, and Julietta put down the book she was reading. She walked over to his table, not wanting to disturb his reading, but he was nice enough not to mind since they hadn't seen each other in a while. She sat down next to him, taking off her reading glasses and hanging them on the neck of her shirt. " Long time no see Raven," She said, hoping he wouldn't mind her calling him by his first name.

[MystMoonstruck]

Raven Corbett

Nose buried in book, Raven was unaware of the woman's approach but instantly recognized the voice. Thus, his reserved smile greeted her, softening the usually rather stern expression.

"Long time no see, Raven."

"Julietta!" He uttered her name with unfeigned delight, as the two of them had had pleasant encounters in the past, with no reason to expect anything different now. "Indeed, it has been quite some time. ~ Here." He reached for a chair nearby, dragging it next to his own seat of dubious honor. "I have been cajoled with the promise of free books to do an impromptu book signing. As you can see, I have been less than inundated in admirers thus far." He shrugged, reaching for one of the fantasy-themed bookmarks the JM had hoped would tempt purchasers and tucking it into the book. He set it on the tabletop and rested his hands upon his latest treasure, preparing for a friendly chat that he somehow doubted would be interrupted for a while.

"How have you been? Well, I do hope. Surely you have been more productive than I. Yes, I have been a rather lazy researcher." Uncomfortably aware of the stiltedness of his speech and stance, he hoped that she would not judge him harshly. "Would you like something to drink? Let's have one of those extravagant coffees with the outlandish names." Had he been in a more whimsical mood, he might have produced some fanciful titles to draw laughter from her. But, his mind refused to provide anything particularly amusing. He signaled a clerk, who hurried to the table to take and fill their orders, and he took wicked pleasure in reminding her that there was to be no charge. It was what they deserved for spoiling his relatively carefree afternoon.

[inside your mind15]

Julietta Antoinette

"Julietta!" He exclaimed, calling her by her first name. She smiled, glad that they had avoided the awkwardness of the formalities.
"Indeed, it has been quite some time. ~ Here." He said, pulling a chair over for her, next to his own." Don't mind if I do," she said, sitting down willingly, pushing some stray golden locks behind her ear.
"I have been cajoled with the promise of free books to do an impromptu book signing. As you can see, I have been less than inundated in admirers thus far." He said, shrugging. " Yes, well... free books are worth it... and now you have company, though I really hated interrupting your reading," She admitted. She knew how annoying it could be when you had gotten to the best part of the book, only to be interrupted abruptly.

[B]"How have you been? Well, I do hope. Surely you have been more productive than I. Yes, I have been a rather lazy researcher." He said, and she laughed,"Productive? Yes,well, I've been doing fairly decent, this is the first day I've had to myself in a while, and of course I end up here," She said, gesturing around her." Hiding away behind the bookshelves..." She said, trailing off, looking somewhat sad for a flickering moment. All she ever did was work and read, and everyone thought she was mute, because she would never speak up during practice, and she never talked to anyone other than these chance meetings with Raven or someone else.
"Would you like something to drink? Let's have one of those extravagant coffees with the outlandish names." He said, and she giggled," I'll take you up on that offer," She said.

[MystMoonstruck]

Raven Corbett

With beverage of whatever name it went by~excellent coffee, for what it was worth~in hand and no threat of exuberant fans or even the idly curious, Raven could turn his attention to the pretty blonde at his side.

"There are much worse places to spend one's spare time than a bookstore~this from a man who despises clubbing. The museum I suppose or a film retrspective." He sighed. "What a boring fellow I am!" The shadow of a smile rested on his lips but never reached his eyes, never dispatched the aura of solemnity that clung to the writer. "I tell myself that I am in Paris, with nothing beyond my desires. I should be plunging into life. Where am I? Just as you, I was going to bury myself amongst books. True, I did find a volume that delights me, but then what? I should be researching. I should be interviewing people. I should be attempting to beat my deadline. I should not be losing interest in my project. I should not be dreaming of stories I wish to tell, new characters meeting my old favorites~and those of my readers I hope."

He paused, considering her, attempting to interpret her expression. "Forgive me if this is in error, but..." He took a sip of the strong brew. "You seem somehow unhappy, not so much sad as..." Sighing, he smiled more fully though it took great effort, and tried again. "I am a successful writer, but I do fumble at one-on-one conversation. I am better at putting words into my characters' mouths. Perhaps you are weary, as I am, a general ennui~not a self-destructive weariness." Head bowed, he gave it a shake, as if he could rid himself of whatever was weighing him down.

Setting the coffee aside, Raven then reached out with his right hand for Julietta's free hand, gently taking hold of it. The cool, green gaze was intense as he studied her. "Tell me it is my artist's imagination and that I am reading my own troubled nature into yours."

[inside your mind15]

Julietta Antoinette

"There are much worse places to spend one's spare time than a bookstore~this from a man who despises clubbing. The museum I suppose or a film retrspective." He sighed. "What a boring fellow I am!" He said, smiling, but she noticed that he wasn't thoroughly convinced himself. She shook her head and smiled," You're not boring," She said," I find you very fascinating," She said, then blushed and explained herself," I mean... very interesting, you've accomplished things in your life, me... I'm just a lowly bassoonist going no where," She said, shrugging.
"I tell myself that I am in Paris, with nothing beyond my desires. I should be plunging into life. Where am I? Just as you, I was going to bury myself amongst books. True, I did find a volume that delights me, but then what? I should be researching. I should be interviewing people. I should be attempting to beat my deadline. I should not be losing interest in my project. I should not be dreaming of stories I wish to tell, new characters meeting my old favorites~and those of my readers I hope." He said, and her small smile faded. She knew exactly how he felt. She nodded slowly, letting him know that she was listening.

"Forgive me if this is in error, but..." He took a sip of the strong brew. "You seem somehow unhappy, not so much sad as..." Sighing, he smiled more fully though it took great effort, and tried again. "I am a successful writer, but I do fumble at one-on-one conversation. I am better at putting words into my characters' mouths. Perhaps you are weary, as I am, a general ennui~not a self-destructive weariness. He said, shaking his head. She smiled, letting him continue. He hit the nail right on the head. She was sad, she was unhappy, and she wasn't even sure that she wanted to stay in Paris anymore, it wasn't worth it.
He placed a hand on hers, and she looked down at it, then back at him,"Tell me it is my artist's imagination and that I am reading my own troubled nature into yours." He said, and she sighed," Sadly, no. I am unhappy. I'm only twenty years old, and already I've had enough life shattering experiences to make a person go insane or kill themselves or both." She said, looking into his eyes," I'm serious. I know that we're friends, but you don't really know about all the horrible things that have happened to me," She said, then added," And that's my fault. I thought that the timing wasn't right or something else so that I wouldn't have to tell you my past. I mean, you probably wouldn't want to hear my sob story anyway," She said, looking away, trying to blink back tears." I've been hurt so much Raven... and I have no one to turn to, truly," She said.

[MystMoonstruck]

Raven Corbett

Raven was not in the least surprised when the always-gracious lady assured him, "You're not boring. I find you very fascinating." Her blush was both becoming and flattering, and the weight he bore seemed to lighten. "I mean... very interesting, you've accomplished things in your life, me... I'm just a lowly bassoonist going no where." His faint smile faded at her shift in mood, fine as it was. Perhaps he was seeing a reflection of his own outlook in recent times, especially the sensation of making no progress.

When he had reached out to her, he could not have expected such an open response: "Sadly, no. I am unhappy. I'm only twenty years old, and already I've had enough life shattering experiences to make a person go insane or kill themselves or both." He met her gaze as steadily as he could, his hand tightening slightly on hers to show some small support. "I'm serious. I know that we're friends, but you don't really know about all the horrible things that have happened to me. She paiused, perhaps to focus herself. "And that's my fault," she continued, causing an elegant brow to arch questioningly. "I thought that the timing wasn't right or something else so that I wouldn't have to tell you my past. I mean, you probably wouldn't want to hear my sob story anyway," she continued, now very obviously close to tears, causing him great distress as he had rarely been around anyone weeping~man, woman or child. Tears had been forbidden in the Corbett household. "I've been hurt so much Raven... and I have no one to turn to, truly."

When he had expressed his concern about her, he was honestly startled to find out how young she was since she had an air of maturity about her. He felt suddenly older and wiser, simply given his extra years. He also had supposed he was projecting his thoughts and emotions upon her, but she negated that. And, now, he must reap his harvest by calling upon a part of him rarely used: sympathy, as well as what some termed empathy. He had admitted to her his weariness with his project, now he must "man up", as he had heard it called. But, was this bookstore the proper place?

"Perhaps we should go elsewhere, someplace we can speak uninterrupted," he suggested, reaching into a pocket for the fresh kerchief he knew would be there, thanks to his assistant's thoroughness. He held it out to her, fine linen embroidered with a tiny raven at one corner, rather an affectation but one he enjoyed. "Now, where would be a good place to 'spill the beans', as they say. Well, I'm certain some people say it." It was a feeble attempt at silliness in order to make her smile, if only a little. "Let's blow this popstand and go!" Now, he made himself laugh, recalling the book of slang he had been studying as a break from the research he was wearying of. "I apologize, Julietta. I am not making light of your suffering. I say that I explain to the gentleman that you are a friend who requires my help. I see no one rushing to meet me, thus it is no loss for them if I promise to return another day~if they will do a spot of advertising first to ensure that I do not waste my time waiting for someone to realize that he or she simply must have an autographed novel."

At that, he stood up, releasing her hand but signaling her "one moment" before carrying his book to the register, where he did indeed speak to the supposed junior manager, assuring him that he would be happy to do a proper book signing for such a fine establishment. As agreed, he was allowed to keep the TBS volume, suggesting that, when he returned, they also display these fantasy works along with a selection of his books.

Returning to the table, he held out a hand to help Julietta rise then picked up the coffee that was much too good to leave behind. "Shall we, m'lady?" Smiling in what he hoped was a reassuring way, he asked, "Is there any destination you prefer? Where would you feel most comfortable?"

[inside your mind15]

OOC: Cyn, you don't have to post after this, we'll just consider it the end of this scene BIC:

Julietta Antoinette

Perhaps we should go elsewhere, someplace we can speak uninterrupted," He said, and she sniffled, and nodded, looking into his eyes with gratitude. She felt so vulnerable, so childish. She shouldn't be bringing Raven into her troubles. Though maybe he could somehow shed some light as in a way to go about her healing and getting on with her life. He seemed like an insightful man, someone who wouldn't take advantage of her. A good friend, that was what Raven seemed like.
He held out a handkerchief, and she took it with a small smile, dabbing her eyes lightly.
Now, where would be a good place to 'spill the beans', as they say. Well, I'm certain some people say it." He said, and she smiled through her teary complexion.
"Let's blow this popstand and go!" He said, and she laughed with him, sniffling only every little bit now. "I apologize, Julietta. I am not making light of your suffering. I say that I explain to the gentleman that you are a friend who requires my help. I see no one rushing to meet me, thus it is no loss for them if I promise to return another day~if they will do a spot of advertising first to ensure that I do not waste my time waiting for someone to realize that he or she simply must have an autographed novel." He said, and she shook her head," No, it's fine, laughing is good for you, I love laughing," She said, reassuring him. He released her hand and went over to inform the junior manager of his plans, and walked back over to her.
"Shall we, m'lady?" he said, and she smiled sweetly and nodded, grabbing his hand and standing up, making sure to push the chair underneath the table.
"Is there any destination you prefer? Where would you feel most comfortable?" He said, and she thought for a moment then answered," Well, there is this one gazebo in the Bois de Bologne, it's relatively quiet and no one really walks that way, and it's a nice evening," She said, glancing outside and then back into his eyes," Sound good?" She asked.

OOC: Julietta and Raven have left Brentano's BIC:

[MystMoonstruck]

OOC: Raven has returned to Brentano's for that promised booksigning and will be meeting Evelyn Aldridge. BIC:

Raven Corbett

Raven Corbett had proved himself a man of his word by contacting the management of Brentano's and explaining how he felt that he owed the establishment an appearance because of his previous withdrawal though that had been the spontaneous decision of someone he supposed might qualify as junior management. He was not a difficult man (most of the time), so he was able to set up a time that would afford them the opportunity to promote his presence. He felt certain that such an establishment would approach his appearance without the full-size cardboard figures that had kept him away from many such signings. Seeing one of his characters treated in that way seemed sad enough. To see his somber self was far too much to bear, particularly when they chose to make him more than 6 feet tall, far more than his comfortable 5'9", which was quite tall enough to his way of thinking.

He was secretly pleased at the turnout, but the French had the reputation of loving science fiction, didn't they? For that, he could forgive them some of their other shortcomings. Besides, many of those in line had turned out to be from other countries, none of them surprised that he was here. Ah, yes..., he mused. That Net thing. It seemed that word had quickly spread of his planned appearance, so he supposed he also could forgive computers and their territory to some degree though he still grudgingly held to the notion that they reduced the number of book readers out there. Perhaps they would prove him wrong. After all, he could be a forgiving man, capable of yielding~despite what his critics and enemies claimed.

Today, Raven was smiling, chatting, and signing with ease, perhaps dispelling those persistent rumors that he was unapproachable. He was pleased that he had dressed for comfort*, as the jeans and jacket ensemble seemed to go with his less-formal mood. He was not quite having fun, but he would concede that there were moments he might be enjoying being one-on-one with his fans.

* http://www.robinhood11.narod.ru/1/mpjeans.jpg

[A_Single_Rose]

Evelyn Aldridge

Brentano's was as busy as ever, but today it seemed a little more crowded than usual. Evelyn rarely paid attention to the store's advertisements in the front display windows. When she went to a bookstore, she usually already knew what she was looking for. Occassionally, a visit to the bookstore didn't mean she had any particular book in mind. Today was one of those occassions. It seemed on this occassion, something was happening in the bookstore. Evelyn's gaze followed a few people to a line that was slowly forming on the other side of the store. What was happening? Evelyn put down a random book she had chosen and slowly proceded to the center of the excitement. It had been a while since she had visited this place, so she had no idea what events were going on in Brentano's. The quick, excited chatter of French surrounded her in a mesh of something resembling mounting interest. Evelyn glanced at her watch. It was still afternoon, even though her day had already seemed so long. As she approached the line, she saw a cardboard cutout of a gentle looking man, holding a book in his hand. Her gaze floated from the cutout to a large poster beside it. Book signing today at Brentano's. Satterthwaite's Dimensional Dilemma by Raven Corbett.

Bah. She didn't even know how to say it. The long name in the title sounded German. But she had never heard of the book before or the author. Then again, she wasn't much acquainted with local French authors. By the look of the title illustration, it was a science fiction story. Evelyn had never really been interested in science fiction; it was all too strange for her - too unreal for her. It simply didn't interest her, even though she had never read a science fiction novel. She straightened the collar of her black turtle neck sweater as she watched the people in line with the science fiction book in their hands, waiting to meet the author. Evelyn walked around the shelves to get a closer look at the author. There was a man - the man from the cut out, presumably Raven Corbett - seated behind a small table smiling and signing dozens of books. The fans approached him with smiles, some wider and more excited than others. There were varying degrees of fans: the casual reader who happened to drop by to the ecstatic fan overflowing with joy over meeting the author. She watched a minute longer with an amused smile on her face as she leaned against a nearby book shelf, only a few feet away from the book signing stand.

She glanced at one of the books the author was signing. She picked it up and flipped it over. It looked interesting enough to the passing reader. From what she could tell from the spiel on the back, it was one of a series about a doctor Dr. Malmstein Satterthwaite. She wouldn't dare try to say his name aloud. Certainly, she would hopelessly butcher the unsual name. The cover art was well done and certainly engrossing, but she knew as well as anyone that you couldn't judge a book by its cover. She had read many books with fantastic covers that had less than mediocre storylines and writing styles. Likewise, she had read many books with mediocre covers that had fantastic storylines and writing styles. She wondered which side this novel would fall on. Evelyn glanced at the author, still smiling away and signing with rapt pleasure. Then she returned to the book and opened to the first chapter.

[MystMoonstruck]

Raven Corbett

Raven found himself relaxing and actually enjoying the steady flow of fans, able to separate those who simply wanted an autograph, preparing to ebay his latest book. He had never understood why personalization reduced the worth of an item, for that generally meant that the author or actor had taken the time to inquire about preference, to make some little joke or observation, to actually take note of the person in front of him or her at the time. But, who was he to judge? He was in a good enough mood that it hadn't even bothered him (much) when someone carted in one of those aforementioned cardboard cutouts though this one looked approximately lifesize and was a rather pleasant likeness though he wondered what camera had captured him offguard.

It was when he glanced at the cutout that he noticed the striking woman who seemed to be peering at him then looking elsewhere, as if he was beneath her notice. Well, he was accustomed to those who found science fiction and/or fantasy beneath them. Perhaps she would prefer one of his coffeetable books or even his works about other writers, including Edgar Allan Poe, H.P. Lovecraft and Thomas Burnett Swann. His sidelong glances as he chatted revealed to him that she had picked up a copy of the novel he was signing, and his faint smile in response to that was in time to welcome the next fan. At one level, he was the author meeting his admirers (and others), but he also was a young man who found the attentions of a rather elusive young woman intriguing.

When one of the clerks arrived with more coffee, he whispered to the young man, nodding in her direction, then watched as the clerk made his way to the woman's side to give her his message: "Monsieur Corbett said to tell you, 'I don't bite.'" Puzzling over the strange words the young man withdrew, thinking that this was going to be an extremely profitable day thanks to this obviously very popular author. "Who does not bite," he reminded himself, wondering if it could be some secret code~perhaps between two lovers. He decided that he would keep an eye on those two.

[A_Single_Rose]

Evelyn Aldridge

Evelyn flipped the first page. So far, it wasn't yet too terrible. It definitely started out in an intriguing manner. Though she had never read science fiction, nor had she ever had the desire to, she had an open mind. Like anything, you couldn't judge it before you try it - with the exception of drugs, alcohol, and murder of course. Evelyn was the editor of one of the most popular newspapers in the United States. Without fail, in every edition, there were articles about the consequences of drugs, alcohol, murder or a mixture of all three - usually, they were in that order. Evelyn's mind refocused on the page she was now on of the book, who's title she could not for the life of her pronounce. It was certainly intriguing, albeit somewhat strange, but not completely too farfetched that she wanted to stop. Actually, she felt she would give the book and maybe the whole genre a chance for the first time in her life.

As she leaned against the shelf with the book in her hands, she became absorbed in the reading, giving cursory attention to the buzz around her in the bustling bookstore. So she did not notice the man that had approached her. He walked up to her slowly and quickly got her attention. Evelyn looked up and searched the man's face. He wasn't anyone she knew. She noticed the nametag on his shirt. He was an employee. What did he want with her? "Monsieur Corbett said to tell you, 'I don't bite.'" Evelyn's brow reflexively rose as the man gave a nod and went off, just like that. Those were obviously flirting words. Monsieur Corbett... Her memory grazed over the cover of the book in her hands, remembering the author's name: Raven Corbett. Evelyn quickly closed the book and glanced at the name. Sure enough, it was "Raven Corbett." She looked up from the book to the booth where the aforementioned author sat. She caught a glance of his amiable expression facing her before he turned his attention to the next fan in line. There were multiple choices laid out before her, among them being ignore the invitation and leave or acknowledge it and see what sort of company the author was. She stood with the book limply between her hands. His invitation almost bordered on vulgar, in her opinion, but maybe it was simply playfulness. Though not often, she went to clubs and bars and she had heard her fair share of pickup lines in her life. Why not give it a shot?

Evelyn relented and slowly made her way toward the signing table. She approached him from the side of the table and stopped about a foot from the table. She did not want to get in the way of the fans in line and she did not want to give the idea that she was "cutting" in line or anything. All she was doing was satisfying her curiosity as to the character of this author, this Raven Corbett. Surely, he wasn't a dullard; he was an author of - supposedly - exciting and popular fiction. A man who can come up with these sort of ideas surely can't be uninteresting in person. "Good evening, Mr. Corbett." She spoke with her arms loosely crossed across her chest, her fingers cupping her elbows casually. "Now that you've got my attention, what do you plan on doing with it?" Her tone wasn't harsh, only curious - curious as to how he should reply.

[MystMoonstruck]

Raven Corbett

As soon as he realized that the intriguing young woman had decided to approach him, Raven flashed a signalling right hand to his awaiting fans. "One moment please," he said in his steady, quiet, pleasant voice, one that carried authority without volume. He turned slightly toward the woman, forest green eyes studying her. The solemnity of his expression softened as his lips curved into the faintest of smiles. "Such a defensive posture, Mademoiselle. Have I done anything to warrant such implied fierocity?" The smile increased a notch. Pulling a copy to him, he autographed it, adding above his name To a Lady of Mystery in his elegrant cursive. Standing, he walked over to her, offering the book. "A gift," he assured her, becoming aware of the flash of cameras but choosing to ignore them this time, hoping that other fans might admonish the opportunists, as they could be exceedingly protective of him. "This is the first volume in the series. Should you be interested, I would advise you to~well~begin at the beginning. Perhaps we could discuss it someday~if you would like." His gaze met hers steadily, his artist's eyes gauging her, wondering if she simply would dismiss this as an odd sort of pickup.

"I am Raven Corbett~of course. I imagine the cardboard cutout is a~em~giveaway." He chuckled softly, hoping that he was not making a complete fool of himself. Proffering his right hand, he asked, "And you are...?"

OOC: I'm sorry that this is so brief, but Raven is not one to chatter, and he definitely is not a pushy person. He's also not accustomed to anything like flirtation but has been trying to become more social. BIC:

[A_Single_Rose]

Evelyn Aldridge

When the author stopped the line because she had approached him, Evelyn could not help feeling slightly embarrased. Surely, the people in line were waiting for an autograph and a momentary brush with the author, not to watch/listen to simple, casual conversation between strangers. Evelyn shifted her weight to her other leg and glanced out at the lengthy line. She would make this quick, if he would allow, so that she wouldn't anger the patient fans. She wondered how long their patience would last. "Such a defensive posture, Mademoiselle. Have I done anything to warrant such implied fierocity?" Evelyn's attention returned her gaze to the author and smiled politely. She glanced down and let out a quiet, airy chuckle. She had taken up her posture almost unthinkingly. Perhaps her subconscious was being defensive, however much her exterior self wanted to be courteous. Evelyn relaxed her posture, but left her arms crossed. It helped that the man before her seemed so at ease and kind.

She watched his hand pull out a book and watched a skilled hand sign the inside cover with his name and "To a Lady of Mystery." Evelyn could not repress a widening smile. This meeting could prove intriguing. A short conversation in a book store might not prove to be enough. At that moment, there were a few flashes of what Evelyn took to be photography. She looked up at the crowd, no doubt with a deer-in-the-headlights look. She swallowed and returned her gaze to the man and the book he now held out to her. "This is the first volume in the series. Should you be interested, I would advise you to~well~begin at the beginning. Perhaps we could discuss it someday~if you would like." Evelyn took the book in her hands and grazed the cover with her eyes. It looked interesting enough. Perhaps she actually would read it. Her thumb ran across the edge as she looked over the book.

"I am Raven Corbett~of course. I imagine the cardboard cutout is a~em~giveaway." Yes, Raven Corbett. She was surprised she had never heard his name before. If she had, she did not remember it. Then again, she never really caught up with the genre of science fiction. Raven Corbett extended his hand. "And you are...?" Evelyn took it firmly and shook it. "Aldridge. Evelyn Aldridge. It is a pleasure to meet you, even though I must admit that I have never read any of your work." She said this quietly, as if ashamed to be chosen out of many fans. She wasn't even a fan. It embarrassed her to think that some people in line might actually be jealous. "I must be holding up the line." She said this almost under her breath as she glanced at the long line once more.

[MystMoonstruck]

OOC: I apologize for the delay. I wrote this post three times yesterday, but my laptop or the Net connection zapped each one just about the time I was going to submit! *sigh* BIC:

Raven Corbett

As soon as Raven had commented on the woman's posture, he was rather peeved at himself, realizing that she might take it too seriously, as had the reporter he had encountered during his previous visit to the store. He was relieved to see her glance downward then laugh softly, upon which she seemed to relax~but only a little, the arms remaining crossed. When he autographed the book, a surreptitious sideways glance caught her smile, and he counted it as a tiny victory. She could not know that what he was doing was a rarity, but his fans knew, which was why they were being so patient. After all, they were here to see Raven Corbett, and it was an added treat for many to see him as the romantic figure they considered him, with his castlelike home and fascination with the esoteric.

Raven was grateful when the woman accepted the book, as she could easily have informed him that she was not interested, especially at finding herself a photo op. He was further pleased when she accepted his hand and shook it with admirable firmness that indicated she was a woman of authority, accustomed to being obeyed.

"Aldridge. Evelyn Aldridge. It is a pleasure to meet you, even though I must admit that I have never read any of your work." That drew a smile from Raven, for many others might claim to be a long-time fan simply to earn his favor. "I must be holding up the line," she said so quietly that he had bowed his head closer to hear. At her words, his smile grew in strength, setting off another round of camera flashes since it was well-known that the author generally was rather somber. Here he was, chatting with a beautiful woman, and smiling! What other surprises were awaiting them?!

"My following... Simply put: They are very passionate, very loyal, and extremely understanding of my foibles and idiosyncracies. You have made this autograph session, Mademoiselle Aldridge," he commended, "meaning that you and I chatting has caused a great deal of excitement among my fans. They are unaccustomed to me doing such a thing, just as I am not used to doing this. May I ask why you decided to peruse this volume? Simple curiosity: Did you find what you read intriguing?" With an exasperated sound, Raven waved off the questions. "Forgive me, m'lady, for I am being rude and presumptuous. You happened to glance at my novel for a brief time, and I assume too much. I truly do not do this sort of thing: approach someone to whom I have not been introduced~certainly not at a booksigning. I do not say this as~What do they call it?~a line. I am somewhat socially inept and am uncertain about how one goes about asking a lady for coffee~or wine~or whatever one partakes of while becoming acquainted." At that, the oddest sound heard from Raven Corbett erupted: a chuckle, the sound accompanied by a somewhat sheepish grin~setting off yet another round of flashes. "Feel free to send this bumbling author back to his table, Evelyn Aldridge."

[A_Single_Rose]

Evelyn Aldridge

Evelyn shifted her weight once more from one foot to the other. Even though she had been to many press conferences, meetings and special events, she never got over the unnerving feeling of hundreds of eyes following her every move. Were they examining her body language, looking for her to fumble, or were they even paying attention? She could talk in front of people and not be outwardly put off by them, but on the inside, her heart fluttered and her limbs felt ready to collapse at any moment. She had spoken in front of crowds enough to learn what her tells were and she had grown adept at hiding them for the most part. If a speaker did not act confident, how could the audience feel confident about what the speaker preached? A speech needed to be sold and even that took a bit of acting. Evelyn had never taken an acting course in her life, but she knew how to sell an idea if she needed to. It wasn't exactly in her job description, but she found out later that it had been implied. Negotiations were a part of the game. Thank God she took a minor in Business.

Evelyn again glanced at the line and the anxious looking fans with their books in their arms. She really should be going. People were waiting. She knew that she herself didn't appreciate slow lines, especially when the reason for it was as insignificant as this. My following... Simply put: They are very passionate, very loyal, and extremely understanding of my foibles and idiosyncracies. You have made this autograph session, Mademoiselle Aldridge," Evelyn looked at the author in slight surprise. So this was a rare occurence. She could almost laugh. She was a part of this man's show for the moment. So the fans were getting their time's worth. They would not only get an autograph from their author, but also something to talk about. Being part of a major newspaper, Evelyn knew that people were easily excited by the unusual. Was she a part of the "unusual" now? "meaning that you and I chatting has caused a great deal of excitement among my fans. They are unaccustomed to me doing such a thing, just as I am not used to doing this. May I ask why you decided to peruse this volume? Simple curiosity: Did you find what you read intriguing?"

Evelyn looked down at the book in her hands. Actually, the line of fans had caught her interest. One thing led to another and she was flipping through the first pages of this novel. Then that messenger had sent her that short message that had nearly resembled a pickup line. She didn't get a chance to answer before Corbett began speaking again. Boy, he could get going when he wanted to, couldn't he? "Forgive me, m'lady, for I am being rude and presumptuous. You happened to glance at my novel for a brief time, and I assume too much. I truly do not do this sort of thing: approach someone to whom I have not been introduced~certainly not at a booksigning. I do not say this as~What do they call it?~a line. I am somewhat socially inept and am uncertain about how one goes about asking a lady for coffee~or wine~or whatever one partakes of while becoming acquainted." The way he spoke amused her. She had sort of guessed that this was not something he usually did. He kept excusing himself as if he kept committing social faux pas. She appreciated the almost chivalrous tone that he used and smiled. He used that sort of language in his book. The ideas for his books must flow easily for him onto paper. When the author chuckled, Evelyn could not help noticing another wave of camera flashes from the fans. It seemed there was much she had to learn about this particular "fandom."

"Feel free to send this bumbling author back to his table, Evelyn Aldridge." Evelyn couldn't help smiling at the gentlemanly manner in which this man carried himself. And he was also humble. It was pleasant company. "No, not at all. If your fans truly don't mind the interruption, I feel that this could be the beginning of very intriguing conversation." She let out an airy chuckle and glanced down at his book. "And I think a coffee sounds refreshing right now. That is, when you have the time." She absent-mindedly began running her finger along the book's edge. "Also, you may be pleased to know that I find it very absorbing so far, Mr. Corbett. I don't usually pick up science fiction, but I found no reason not to give it a try today."

[MystMoonstruck]

Raven Corbett

Every fidgeting movement the woman made lured the mystery writer in Raven Corbett. Evelyn Aldridge was somewhat of a walking mystery, as were many he had met, yet he had felt compelled to contact her on a personal level. He was well-aware that she found the attention of his fandom uncomfortable and obviously did not care to be the focus of so much speculation. He surmised that, when she did appear before people, she was accustomed to having a speech ready and answers prepared. Her frequent glances at the lineup of autograph-seekers spoke clearly of her being ill at ease, and it was unfair of him to be secretly amused though he knew how intensely he disliked being placed in a situation where his usual unflappable nature was, as they say, thrown for a loop.

Raven did try to explain his following and why they were acting the way they were. Perhaps she had not experienced celebrity though there was something familiar about her that he had not placed yet. It seemed that he should know her~or of her.

To his delight, he received a positive reply: "If your fans truly don't mind the interruption, I feel that this could be the beginning of very intriguing conversation." He joined her laughter, registering at some level the whispers of "What are they saying?!" "What'd she say?" What'd he say?" "Why are they laughing?" and other questions apparently of grave importance to a number of them. "And I think a coffee sounds refreshing right now. That is, when you have the time." Raven smiled and nodded, pleased that she had accepted. "Also, you may be pleased to know that I find it very absorbing so far, Mr. Corbett. I don't usually pick up science fiction, but I found no reason not to give it a try today."

"Excellent~to accepting and to considering my works worthwhile~at least the one volume. But, I started you with the first. You must let me know if you like it so that I can present you with the complete set~or one at a time if you do not wish to be overwhelmed, m'lady. After all, you confess that you are unfamiliar with this territory. I would be pleased to guide you though I might prove prejudicial considering I am giving you one of my books and not those of H.G. Wells or Jules Verne." Glancing at the awaiting fans, he found himself wishing that he could excuse himself. Returning his attention to the woman, he smiled apologetically. "I do have my duties," he said, sighing. "Perhaps we could meet elsewhere? I would not ask you to linger until I am through here, which..." Once more, he looked toward his fans, estimating that they were nearing the end of their patience, having caught several looking at various timepieces. "... might take some time," he admitted. "Or, you simply may write me off as a writer who took temporary leave of his senses and accosted you for simply gazing at one of his novels. Now that I consider it, I have placed you in rather an awkward situation with which you have dealt wonderfully. Is there any place you prefer~some bistro~a cafe along the Champs Elysees?" He had the sudden thought of his little-used case of business cards, slipping his hand into a pocket to extract a small ebony case with the impression of a silver raven on the lid. Presenting a card, he said, "If this is too much to ask, I understand, Miss Aldridge. Please call me in perhaps an hour's time. If you have the time... If not, feel free to call me at another time. I am told that this is the modern age and that women do call men now~especially if the man is pleading unashamedly."

[A_Single_Rose]

Evelyn Aldridge

The wandering eyes of the crowd didn't bother her quite as much anymore. She tried concentrating on the man before her. He was admittedly charming and had such a laid-back aura about him, Evelyn couldn't help but feel laid-back herself - well, almost laid-back. The excited fans still unnerved her just a little bit. Evelyn absent-mindedly began shifting her heel in a subtle tapping movement. It was something she did when she was nervous. Unless you were close and glancing at her feet, you wouldn't have noticed. It was like a nervous coping mechanism for minor stressful situations. It was better than most nervous coping mechanisms: fiddling with the collar, fidgeting with your hands, coughing periodically... She had learned from years of communication what nervous tells were most distracting. Something subtle and hidden worked for her just fine. Her heel kept secretly tapping away.

"Excellent~to accepting and to considering my works worthwhile~at least the one volume. But, I started you with the first. You must let me know if you like it so that I can present you with the complete set~or one at a time if you do not wish to be overwhelmed, m'lady. After all, you confess that you are unfamiliar with this territory. I would be pleased to guide you though I might prove prejudicial considering I am giving you one of my books and not those of H.G. Wells or Jules Verne." Evelyn turned the book over and glanced at the cover. So it was the first one, different from the one she had been reading over a few minutes ago. She saw the author glance at the audience. She shouldn't keep him away from his book signing any longer. Even though the fans seemed patient, she didn't want to stretch the bounds of their tolerance. "I do have my duties, Perhaps we could meet elsewhere? I would not ask you to linger until I am through here, which..." Evelyn listened intently, truly interested to continue this conversation some other time. "... might take some time," Yes, it was a long line and who knew how many appointments like these he had left. Evelyn was busy herself and didn't know when they would have time to meet again.

"Or, you simply may write me off as a writer who took temporary leave of his senses and accosted you for simply gazing at one of his novels. Now that I consider it, I have placed you in rather an awkward situation with which you have dealt wonderfully. Is there any place you prefer~some bistro~a cafe along the Champs Elysees?" Evelyn accepted the business card and glanced down at his name before returning her attention up at the author himself. "If this is too much to ask, I understand, Miss Aldridge. Please call me in perhaps an hour's time. If you have the time... If not, feel free to call me at another time. I am told that this is the modern age and that women do call men now~especially if the man is pleading unashamedly."

"I would love to continue this some other time, but I am afraid that I don't have an hour." Evelyn lifted the card a moment. "But you can be sure that when I have the time, I'll call. Now, I don't think your fans want to wait any longer. They have been very patient." She glanced at the audience with a small smile. "I'll go now. And I will call." Evelyn extended her hand. "It was a pleasure meeting you. I hope this will not be the last time we meet."

[MystMoonstruck]

Raven Corbett

To his intense relief, the lovely young woman replied, "I would love to continue this some other time, but I am afraid that I don't have an hour." Raven nodded at that, for it was not as if the world was on his schedule. He had never been one to think in that manner, and this certainly was not the time to start being what he viewed as petty. "But you can be sure that when I have the time, I'll call. As the man's smile blossomed, cameras began flashing once more. After all, this could turn out to be a momentous event, and they did love a mystery! Who was this woman?!

"Now, I don't think your fans want to wait any longer. They have been very patient." Raven liked very much how she acknowledged their audience instead of freezing them out as some might have. "I'll go now. And I will call," Evelyn said, extending her hand, which Raven accepted, holding it but not shaking it as might be expected. "It was a pleasure meeting you. I hope this will not be the last time we meet."

"I, too, hope that we shall meet again, Miss Aldridge. I thank you for your patience." At that, left arm behind him, across his back, he bowed, raising her slender hand as he did so that he could press his lips to it in a gentle and gentlemanly kiss. Camera flashes once more heralded this unprecedented (for them) performance, and his mouth twitched slightly as the kiss ended and he stood straightbacked once more. Releasing her hand rather reluctantly, he said in parting, "I look forward to your call, Miss Aldridge."

OOC: I wasn't certain if I could "god mod" and have him watch her leave or if you wished to add a teensy bit. I'll be looking forward to their reunion! BIC:

[masquerading rose]

OoC: For Lucian!!! YAY!!! BiC:

Rafael Lamaroux

Paris, beautiful as it was, had this odd tendency of getting cold. At first, being sweat drenched from rehearsal, standing in the frigid air felt good, but now, Rafael was wishing he had gone home to change out of his leotard, split sole ballet shoes, and footed tights. But it was too late now, as he approached the only English speaking bookstore in Paris.

He wouldn’t have been running if rehearsal hadn’t run over an extra hour. But Hell-Week was here, making its grand entrance which filled all of the dancers with fear and the harsh realization that they needed much more time.
Hell-Week also made Rafael realize that he had less time to spend with Jen. She would be missing him, and he was sure as hell missing her. He felt awful for the lack of communication, so tonight, he invited her over for a romantic dinner. Only problem? Rafael hadn’t the foggiest idea of how to make a romantic dinner, and Chinese take out hardly said “I’m sorry.” Hopefully Brentano’s offered some guidance in cookbooks and “Do it yourself” gourmet magazines.

The warm books and coffee air more or less rushed at Rafael as he walked through the doors of Brentano’s. It wasn’t an unwelcome atmosphere—as a matter of fact, it he was very grateful for it—it was just a tad overwhelming going from the harsh cold air to the warm welcoming richness of the store.
He bought a hot chocolate (he wasn’t much in a coffee-sort of mood) and settled himself in the cooking section. He pulled several promising looking books from the shelf and settled himself at a table. Page followed page of confusing recipes. He couldn’t focus. As soon as he found a recipe that looked simple enough, he got distracted by the colourful pictures of the food on the opposite page. At the rate he was going, he’d have time to toss together a few sandwiches and light candles. Yeah, because that would earn him bonus points.

What were these words anyway? Artichoke dip? Bolognese? Chicken Cordon-bleu? At least they were alphabetized. But what were they? Artichoke. Okay, he knew what that was, but how did you make it into a dip? It was a solid. He knew what chicken was, and he knew bleu was French for the colour of a similar spelling, but how did you make the chicken blue? Wasn’t it, like, pink? And so much of this stuff required wine. Rafael didn’t own wine. He hated all alcohol. Of course, Alexander probably cooked with it, but fooled Rafael into thinking it was something else. God, he wished Alexander could just fly out here and just cook for him. That’d be nice. But Alexander would probably say “Rafael, give a man a fish and he’ll eat for a day, teach him to fish and he’ll eat for forever…” To which Rafael would respond with “But Alexander, you can’t fish for this so-called “artichoke dip” and I don’t want to eat it forever. Just two people for one night.” And of course, Alexander would get irritated while clandestinely finding it hilarious. No. Already, this hypothetical phone conversation wasn’t going well. None of these cookbooks had anything in them that Rafael already had at home. You can’t make something fancy out of tuna fish and copious amounts of peanut butter. Did he have time to run to the store and attempt to make something that resembled food? Probably not. He had already wasted too much time looking at the pictures in the books and hadn’t actually figured out what it was he was going to make.

An hour had passed. A whole hour. And his outcome? Nothing.

Irritated, he threw his hands in the air. “Why can’t food just cook itself?” It was a stupid question that was accidently exclaimed aloud. A few people looked at him as he put his head, exasperated into his hands. A few didn’t even flinch. But thankfully, no one told him to leave.

[Mrs Nadir Khan]

Lucian Michaud

Lucian had his heart set on a house in Paris already. Trouble was it was four bedrooms. He hardly needed all four bedrooms, especially since now there was no one to kick him out of the master suite. Lucian could have hired an architect to come up with remodelling solutions for him. But removing the middleman allowed Lucian greater freedom and gave his days purpose. Today, he stopped by Brentano’s to pick up a few books about remodelling, redecorating, and re-furnishing old houses. The building wasn’t nearly as old as most of the city, but it was built in the 1920’s. Lucian was about 99% sure that there would be certain quirks he’d have to work around if he wanted to make the place his own. And, of course, he had to run the plans by the landlord. Landlord! Lucian had never heard such an absurd thing. He’d never rented an apartment for longer than a few months. He couldn’t imagine paying rent on a place for the rest of his life. No. As soon as he was able, he’d buy the house. Then, he wouldn’t have to consult anyone about changes he’d like to make, colours he wanted to paint the walls, and curfews he didn’t want to follow.

Arms stacked with books, Lucian made his way to an empty table and plopped them down satisfyingly. There was only one other man at the table, and he seemed fascinated by some cookbook or another. Lucian figured it was his best bet of getting a decent seat in the crowded bookstore. He opened the first book in his stack and tried to focus on how to properly take out a wall... Unfortunately for Lucian, he’d read bits of legislation about the global economy he’d found more interesting and less complicated than this book. And that said something, because, economics had never been Lucian’s favorite aspect of politics, anyhow… Suppressing a yawn, Lucian decided that if he could force himself through the first thirty pages, he would reward himself with a steaming mug of whatever they were selling in the in-store café. Now, if only he could avoid dozing off…

Just as Lucian’s head drooped onto his hand and his eyes closed, a human alarm clock jolted him awake.

“Why can’t food just cook itself?”]

Lucian woke with a small start. People around him were staring. But not at him. Thankfully. Instead, the young man who’d practically screamed had many eyes fixed upon him. Some people were laughing; some were gaping; most just rolled their eyes and walked away. Lucian looked down at his own book for a second. He was only on page ten. Well… He’d made it far enough to take a break…

“Because,” he said, his voice low, conspiratorial, and sarcastic, “If food cooked itself, it would all rot before anyone got a chance to eat it. Then the human race would starve and you would not even have the energy to lift your head, much less interrupt others’ reading.”

Not that he’d been reading. But that wasn’t the point. The point was, this boy was either a lunatic, or too lonely for his own good. Lucian decided to give him the benefit of the doubt; after all, a select handful of kind strangers had given him the benefit of the doubt when he needed it most. And if he couldn’t do the same, then he hardly deserved whatever good fortune came his way.

[masquerading rose]

Rafael Lamaroux

He didn't care that people were staring. All he cared about was finding a cook, simple recipe before the sun sank too low below the line of buildings and trees out the window, taking his natural reading light away.
But it wasn't until a man, British in upbringing, and slightly haughty in stance, spoke to him from across the table. “Because, if food cooked itself, it would all rot before anyone got a chance to eat it. Then the human race would starve and you would not even have the energy to lift your head, much less interrupt others’ reading.”
Rafael assumed the remark was made out of irritation at Rafael's outburst, said so Rafael couldn't speak out again, but instead, he laughed. He found this guy funny. No, not funny. That was the word. The cynicism and biting wit that tumbled elegantly from his mouth (tumbled elegantly? How did one tumble with elegance?) was quite hilarious on Rafael's ears.
It wasn't an awkward laugh one usually utters to ease their embarrassment. Nor was it a cruel, "who-do-you-think-you-are" laugh some used when getting defensive. It was an honest to goodness "I find you amusing" laugh.

The man had a point. The food would rot before anyone ate it, then the world would be overly polluted. There would be an epidemic. A plague. So Rafael shrugged and nodded in an understanding way as he thought about this.

Rafael eyed the man up and down. He wasn't sizing him up. He was simply examining him. People watching. The man looked wealthy, proper. He could just picture this man sitting alone at a long table, napkin folded in his lap, forks for every item on his plate around him, waiters and butlers, followed occassionally by a maid. Yes... This man HAD to know something about food. If not how to cook it, simply how to eat it and what to eat.

"You don't happen to know anything about gourmet food, do you?" It was an odd question, and he wasn't assuming he didn't. He just needed help. he was waist deep in confusing cookbooks that helped him less than a blind monkey could've. He hoped the man across the table understood. "I'm Rafael by the way."

[Mrs Nadir Khan]

Lucian Michaud

Lucian did his best to hide surprise when the other man started to laugh. Did the not-so-veiled chastisement escape his notice? Or did the man hear it and find Lucian laughable? Lucian’s pale eyes narrowed as he scrutinised the younger man across from him. At the same moment, Lucian could tell that the man was studying him in return. Lucian didn’t feel like he was being challenged, but he wasn’t entirely comfortable with being eyed by a total stranger. He wasn’t shy. He was just... annoyed for being disturbed from his nap. Lucian tired of the staring contest quickly and took to flipping half-heartedly through another book in his stack.

"You don't happen to know anything about gourmet food, do you?"

Did Lucian look like a chef? He looked up and blinked. Then, silently, raised a brow as if to ask that very question: Am I wearing a toque? He looked back at his book. Yes, it really made for dry and dull reading... Maybe he ought to hire someone to do it for him, after all...

"I'm Rafael by the way."

“That’s…” A sarcastic ‘nice’ almost rolled off his tongue, but Lucian choked it back. Maybe this ‘Rafael’ would prove more interesting than his book. Maybe not. But, if he sat idly by, life would run him over. “Lucian. I mean, I’m Lucian. And what do you want to know about gourmet food, anyways?”

[masquerading rose]

Rafael Lamaroux

“Lucian. I mean, I’m Lucian. And what do you want to know about gourmet food, anyways?”

"Lucian," Rafael tried the name out, extending his hand to the man. It was a nice name, he decided. "Well, I hope to eat sometimes, and why not go gourmet, right?" Rafael laughed almost lamely. It wasn't the truth, obviously. But as the man stared at him, he decided the truth was best. 'What? You want the truth?' he wanted to say, 'Well you can't handle the truth!' but decided against it, even if it did cause a small chuckle to ripple inside him. "Actually, I have to make this romantic dinner for my.. girlfriend, I suppose you could call her. You know, sort of an apology dinner. I never learned how to do anything more advanced in cooking than microwaving soup, and even still I somehow manage to screw that up... Think you could help?" He wouldn't call it pitiful. He'd call it exasperated. He needed solutions and he needed them now.

Someone had once told him that cooking was like chemistry. But he had always pulled an A in that class, and an epic fail in any cooking course he may or may not have taken. If this man could help, he was a life-saver and Rafael worshipping the ground he walked on was a high possibility. And if he couldn't, it looked like candle-lit delivery chinese food and more apologies than he had breath for.

[Mrs Nadir Khan]

Lucian Michaud

Rafael tested his name and extended a hand for a handshake. Lucian accepted it briefly.

"Well, I hope to eat sometimes, and why not go gourmet, right?"

Rafael laughed and Lucian couldn’t help but roll his eyes. Why not, indeed.

"Actually, I have to make this romantic dinner for my.. girlfriend, I suppose you could call her. You know, sort of an apology dinner. I never learned how to do anything more advanced in cooking than microwaving soup, and even still I somehow manage to screw that up... Think you could help?"

“Erm.”

That was possibly the least intelligible thing Lucian had said in his entire life. It wasn’t that he couldn’t cook. He could. Maybe not gourmet food, but… It was the apology dinner that got him. Lucian remembered the last one he’d tried out on Natalie. With disasterous results. For starters, Natalie didn’t show up. When he finally got her to come down stairs for dinner, she didn’t say a thing to him. She didn’t even insult his lasagna. And then he botched the crème brulee. Burnt sugar didn’t really taste good and Natalie went to bed early. And now, he was getting a divorce. Romantic, apology dinners hadn’t worked out so well for Lucian.

“Are you sure an apology dinner is your best option? Isn’t there something you’re good at that she might like?”

If push came to shove, Lucian would help this man. After all, it wasn’t like he had anything better to do. Besides. Lucian had absolutely nothing at stake in this apology dinner. It wasn’t like Rafael’s girlfriend was going to break up with Lucian if the whole thing went up in smoke.

[masquerading rose]

Rafael Lamaroux

“Are you sure an apology dinner is your best option? Isn’t there something you’re good at that she might like?”

Rafael shrugged. "Well, I'm a fair dancer. I could be better, but we are our own worst critic. But she, God bless her, can't dance without breaking something or another. So that idea was kinda squahed. I can't just get up and do a little tap number as an apology. This isn't a frigging musical." he could just see it now. He could stand up, dressed in a leotard and tap shoes, and shuffle on down to buffalo until the cows (or in this case bison) came home. Or at least until she forgave him. No. That wouldn't work. Or he could take her by the waist and waltz her around the bois de boulgne as if they were in Hello, Dolly. And of course, he'd have to hobble away from the carnage with at least one broken toe. That idea was tossed out the window. He of course could teach her ballet. He wasn't sure if it was image of her in a light teal leotard that made him smile or seeing Jennifer learning ballet just please him. Nah. That might make matters worse.

"Oddly," he said, being pulled from his thoughts, "I think a burnt attempt at a somewhat edible dinner is my best bet... I dunno. You ever been in my shoes?" Rafael, of course didn't mean litteral shoes. That would be silly. If anyone were his shoes, Rafael would be rather sad. Shoes her a nice thing to have, espescially if you're a ballet dancer. And besides, Lucian, all decked out in his nice business clothes, would look rather awkward in a nice split sole.

[Mrs Nadir Khan]

Lucian Michaud

"Well, I'm a fair dancer. I could be better, but we are our own worst critic. But she, God bless her, can't dance without breaking something or another. So that idea was kinda squashed. I can't just get up and do a little tap number as an apology. This isn't a frigging musical."

Lucian chuckled and shook his head. He doubted Rafael’s girlfriend could be so bad a dancer. No woman was. And besides, even those who were melted at the idea that their man could whisk them off into a waltz or twirl them into a tango like some suave and bodice-ripping romantic hero. Maybe he should have offered to dance with Natalie more. Then maybe, just maybe, he wouldn’t be contemplating divorce. Displacement was a beautiful coping mechanism.

"Oddly," he said, being pulled from his thoughts, "I think a burnt attempt at a somewhat edible dinner is my best bet... I dunno. You ever been in my shoes?"

Had he ever! Unfortunately for Rafael…

“You’re talking to the wrong man.” Lucian laughed bitterly. “The last time I was in your shoes, a pair of my wife’s high-heels were tossed at my head.”

He gestured to a small, faint scar above his left eyebrow and shrugged. Then he met Rafael’s eyes. The kid looked so… desperate. Desperate enough to maybe accept Lucian’s help, regardless of Lucian’s lacklustre success rate of late.

“But… Back in my day, I used to be a decent husband. A bit of a romantic.” A grin flickered onto Lucian’s lips and he sat up a little straighter. Traces of his Type A personality made a ghostly appearance every now and then, but this was—to continue in the supernatural vein—a full bodied apparition of Lucian’s former self. Suddenly, he was formulating a menu. From appetizer to dessert, with wines for every course. “I’d be willing to give it a go… If you’ll still have my help.”

[masquerading rose]

Rafael Lamaroux

Rafael listened patiently to Lucian's story. He had been married, had been in his shoes. He may not have been some war hero or some daredevil casanova (or he may have been, Rafael hadn't been talking to him that long), but he had really lived. He knew what to do.

“But… Back in my day, I used to be a decent husband. A bit of a romantic. I’d be willing to give it a go… If you’ll still have my help.”

What was Rafael going to say? 'No, no I'll figure this out on my own. I don't need your help'? No. That would be realtionship suicide. "Yes, thank you!" he exclaimed. He would do anything, anything for Jen, and making some grandious dinner for her was just a small scintilla of how he felt. It was the least he could do.

He opened more books, pushing them between the two of them to look over together. "What's a course?" he asked to himself, though he clandestinally hoped for the question to be answered.

He flipped open to a page of a beautiful meal, but it looked far too ambitious, so he quickly turned the page. He didn't have the talent, or the time to make it anyway. "Thanks again, by the way."

[Mrs Nadir Khan]

Lucian Michaud

"Yes, thank you!"

Lucian almost expected Rafael to jump up and hug him. That’s how excited the young man was. A few heads turned in their direction and Lucian smiled and shrugged at them apologetically, just hoping they’d get back to their reading and pay him and Rafael no mind.

"What's a course?"

Just when Lucian was thinking, ‘How hard could this be?’... Very. Apparently, Lucian had his work cut out for him if Rafael didn’t even know what a course was. He fleetingly and foolishly hoped that Rafael was kidding, but, catching the young man’s eye told Lucian that, no, he really didn’t know what a course was and yes, Lucian had really climbed aboard the HMS Dinner: Impossible. Adventure came in many forms, but even Lucian didn’t think Indiana Jones carried an apron and toque in his sack. Maybe, just maybe, Lucian could say he had other engagements… Nothing was set in stone, yet…

"Thanks again, by the way."

No. He wasn’t going to bolt. He looked from Rafael to the book. “You’re welcome.”

He flipped the page. To some, there was nothing more romantic than a French dinner. In France, however, when every dinner was French, that seemed far too commonplace for an extra-special apology dinner. Perhaps Italian would suffice…

“Courses, by the way, are different parts of the meal. Soup, salad, entrée, dessert… That sort of thing. Usually, you serve a different wine with each course. Mostly, it just looks classy.” Lucian shrugged and flipped a few pages. “Perhaps you ought to try Italian food. Women go nuts for it. There’s something romantic about it or something.”

[MystMoonstruck]

OOC: Easy and Eden will be meeting Calvin. Will Parker be with him? BIC:

Easy "Cat" Tanner

Why with a libraryful of books they were entering a bookstore, Easy was uncertain except that the child at his side had asked so solemnly for books of his own. During a previous shopping trip, he had scored points by purchasing a large book about dinosaurs that Eden had insisted on carrying though it made their ensuing progress slow, delaying them each time Eden dropped, nearly dropped or readjusted his burden, unwilling to have it placed in the satchel Easy had become accustomed to carrying most of the time. Today, they both were in casual attire~jeans, T-shirts, light jackets and sneakers, Easy sticking with black, while Eden wore a scarlet Tee and a patchwork denim jacket though he had the notion that the child would have accepted any attire. He was a surprisingly docile boy, which Easy wasn't certain that he was comfortable with, as it reminded him too strongly of himself. He still had difficulties adjusting to the feel of a small hand in his as they made their way into Brentano's, a place he had not visited for a very long time. Had it been when he and Lilith were on their shopping spree? Shaking off the memory, he steered them toward the children's section but imagined they soon would be wandering to some other place as Eden explored his interests.

Soon, Eden had seated himself on the floor near the most-promising spot, making certain that he was out of the way of other customers, like the conscientious child he was~as far as Easy could tell. He had several books next to him~possible purchases, Easy imagined~and one open on his lap, the dark head bowed over it, as if examining something infinitely precious, carefully turning pages as he apparently sized up whether this was a need-to-buy or not. Easy had tried to explain that he could afford to buy him any number of books, but the child persisted in carefully choosing just one~though Easy wondered if he might not relent today after seeing the wealth of prospects. Leaning against the wall, Easy picked up a book, smiling as he found himself staring down at a pictorial book of cats, the black covercat reminding him of Erik the Phantom, the elusive pet which Eden had quickly befriended. It was becoming a usual occurrence to find the two of them sleeping together or curled up in a chair as Eden watched movies or, more often, pored over whatever book had caught his attention.

Easy caught himself halfway through a sigh, glancing sideways to see that Eden had heard the sound, the solemn, golden-brown eyes studying him for a moment before going back to the book. That sent a pang of guilt through the youth, as he did not want the child to feel anymore unwelcome than he was certain he already did. Smiles were so rare that he found himself trying to think of activities that might break through to the boy. He was certain that nothing dire had happened to make the boy act this way, not like what had happened to make him a wary, withdrawn and quiet child. Maybe much of that came to him naturally, Easy mused, wondering if personality traits could be passed along to offspring. Then, why couldn't he have inherited Allegra's rather sunny nature, her friendliness, her openness to people? No, he had to be a miniature of his father, which could not be a good thing.

[angelofthenight]

Calvin Booth

It had been a long strenuous week and Calvin had been forced to work late every night. He'd left the department because it took him away from his kids so much and had started his own practice as PI just as he'd had in New York before the FBI came to him asking for his help with an investigation. It wasn't that he was getting much work but he'd used a vast majority of the money he'd saved up from his checks he'd gotten while he was on leave from the military. He'd saved them for a rainy day and he supposed this was as a good of a time as ever. He liked the fact that he can control his own hours and that he could home in time for dinner to help Parker with his homework and put Olivia down for a nap. She was to the age now where she was starting to sit up and love to sit and put everything in her mouth that she could reach. He told himself that he should be glad she was growing up like a normal child but it made him sad because it reminded him of the passage of time. Olivia had only been seven weeks when Taressa had left him... now close to four months it reminded him of how alone he truly was... Rebecca had also left without a word as well... other then his kids Calvin had lost any solid support that he'd had... he was now on his own in raising his kids.

That wasn't the reason he'd come to the bookstore today. The reason he'd come was because of the phone call he'd gotten two days ago. Apparently Parker had been acting out in class and when Calvin had questioned his son his little boy had replied that hew as bored during reading time. Taressa had started him in school early which put him as one of the youngest first graders. Calvin hoped that if Parker got to pick his own book out he would more entertained when they had to read. Parker rode on his father's shoulders one of his favorite places and Calvin smiled. It was the first father son time they'd had since Taressa had left... all other times Livvy had tagged along but today Cara was watching her... Olivia and Skyla were showing signs of enjoying each other since Skyla was almost two months older then Olivia. The one thing that pained Calvin was the way Olivia was starting to look like her mother... he didn't want to think about it but he saw his former fiance in her a little more everyday. She had her smile and her delicate hands and beautiful blue eyes. Her brown hair was more like Calvin's... Parker always asked why he had blond hair like his mother and Olivia had brown hair... Calvin still hadn't really answered him.

He noticed that his son had stopped asking about his mother less and less. The cop supposed that it was better that way. It was his son's way of coping. He occasionally found himself looking at pictures and newspaper clippings that he'd kept from when he hadn't even been near her. He just wanted to keep tabs on her but now it was as if she'd never existed.. that she was just a memory that was slowing fading with the passing of months. He lowered Parker from his shoulders as they reached the door and Parker opened it and headed in. They walked right back to the children's section and Calvin started helping Parker look for books in English. He watched his little boy as he went around the corner and when Parker started talking to someone Calvin got curious. When he turned the corner he was rather shocked to see another small child who was looking through a book about cars that Parker had handed him, explaining how a fire engine worked and how they could rive super fast through the city and no one could stop them. Calvin's looked up when another figure joined the small group. Calvin recognized Easy. It was then that he made a odd connection and Calvin asked without thought of courtesy. "Is he yours Easy?" maybe it was the fact that he was certain Easy wouldn't care about the forwardness or maybe it was because they looked so similar.. it would seem that Calvin wasn't the only one with family problems.

[MystMoonstruck]

OOC: I lost this post three times~once in Notepad! I hope that fourth time is the charm! BIC:

Easy "Cat" Tanner

Easy had been paying little attention to the book he held, basically killing time till Eden made his decision as to which book or books he would add to his burgeoning library. However, he had been informed by his son that he had many at home, back at his grandparents' place in California. He might have been there now except for Allegra's decision to continue her studies in dance in Paris and to have Jamil Mehmet deliver the child to his unknowing father. It troubled him that she had placed such trust in the man, but he had been informed that she was employed by the Mehmets now, with Jamil taking particular interest in her because of her connection to Easy Tanner. He supposed he would have felt even more uncomfortable if it was Rafe Chancery because that was an unsettling thought for a number of reasons. Let's just say he placed more trust in one than the other.

He caught movement out of the corner of his eye and glanced down to see a familiar-looking blond boy trying to convince Eden that cars were more interesting than dinosaurs. Little chance of that, he well knew, for Eden was not a child to be found crawling around with little metal cars making vrrrrooom! sounds, as he had seen in a movie once though he could not at this time recall what the thing was about beyond some family who had seemed so alien to him that he might have been watching a work of fantasy. Then, Calvin was there, and Easy found it difficult to look up to meet the man's eyes though his gaze flickered nervously about, skimming the man's face and form.

"Is he yours, Easy?" Calvin asked, and for some reason, the sound of his voice made the younger man shiver as he struggled through old memories.

"Ummm... Yeah. His name is Eden." He wanted to say, I didn't know about him. I never knew I had a kid. But, he managed to refrain from that, again aware of how his words might sound to the child, remembering what harsh, callous and cruel words had fallen upon his ears throughout his own childhood. So, he guarded what he said and tried to understand this small stranger who had entered his life so abruptly, wondering once more why Allegra Zahn had entrusted him with the boy. "He's staying with me for a while." At that, he tried very hard to look into the dark eyes that always seemed somehow intimidating though the man had offered him friendship and helped make changes in his life. After all, he wouldn't be in the orchestra if not for Booth and certainly would not be contemplating a leap to the stage someday if he was not now so close to it. "Eden Zahn Tanner," he added. "I don't know if I ever told you about Allegra~Allegra Zahn~back in California. S-she wants us to get to~to know each other I guess." Looking toward Eden, he saw the boy reclaiming his original book though he had yet to say anything in return to Parker. Easy wondered if the boy always acted this way or if this change in his life was too much for him to handle. He knew that he himself had been a quiet, withdrawn child, and he feared that Eden had somehow inherited his darkness. Smiling tentatively, he noted, "He likes to read~'bout dinosaurs 'n' stuff. I don't think he has the car bug yet."

[angelofthenight]

Calvin Booth

Calvin had never imagined himself a single parent. When Taressa had first told him she was pregnant with their second child he had imagined proposing to her, getting married, and raising their kids together. He'd imagined sitting up with her late at night waiting to see that both children were asleep before they dozed off themselves. He imagined taking turns getting up to see why Olivia was crying and taking turns making dinner for their family. It had seemed that was what they had but then when Calvin's hard problem flared up it put the wedding plans on hold so that they could focus on getting the groom better. Then when they'd gone to Utah for some extra help with the wedding and Parker Taressa had gone into early labor, a month early Olivia had entered the world and Calvin had cried when he'd hovered over Taressa and watched her hold their baby girl, Parker cuddled close to his mother's side looking down at the baby sister that he'd been told would be joining the family. They had named her after her grandma Olivia and his Grandma Grace... it had seemed to fit her and Calvin had looked forward to watching Olivia and Parker grow up with Taressa by his side to help raise and support their children.

That hadn't happened though. Without warning he had come home from work to find both kids napping and the house empty. Taressa would never leave the kids without someone there to take care of them. At first he'd wondered if something had happened or someone had come in and threatened her and she'd had no choice but to go with them. Then he'd started looking around and saw all the pictures, or what had been pictures of him and his family cut and mangled, leaving only him inside the frame. The only pictures she hadn't gotten to were the ones inside his wallet. He found himself looking at them every once in a while, thinking about what had been and what might have been if Taressa hadn't suddenly left. He and his family probably wouldn't be eating frozen dinners so much because on top of work and his kids he barely found time to cook them meals, he often had to take one or both of them to work which became a problem when he had to go on patrol of the Opera House but he needed the money so he had to do his job to the best of his ability even if that meant taking his kids on rounds that he would rather not... he'd meant some interesting people around the Opera House... he wasn't sure he wanted his kids to meet them too.

It had been a while since he'd had any one on one time with his son. Now that Olivia was starting to eat solid food it was a lot easier for someone to babysit her and so Calvin had taken advantage of how tired she was to slip out for a couple of hours with his son while Cara stayed around to be there if Olivia woke up, though he doubted it because she'd kept him up all night. Upon coming to the bookstore he'd planned to let Parker pick out a book or two and maybe pick one out for Olivia that she could read when she got old enough. He knew he was thinking very far ahead but Taressa had told him that it never hurt to read to them. She had read to Parker and Parker had started trying to read when he was two... not that he was able to read but he knew his alphabet on sight and knew how to count to twenty.. he supposed it would help. He hadn't thought that he would see anyone he knew... Paris was such a large city it was rare that Calvin ran into anyone he really knew. Yet he'd just run into Easy with a young boy that Calvin assumed was Easy's son.. he looked kind of like his father with a few noticeable differences that Calvin assumed came from the boy's mother.

Calvin asked Easy if the child was his, not wanting to assume something when it wasn't true. "Ummm... Yeah. His name is Eden." Easy siad and Calvin nodded, watching as Parker showed Eden his books about tractors... Parker had alot of interests and the cop laughed when the boy got excited at seeing Eden's books about dinosaurs. "He's staying with me for a while." the boy told him and Calvin nodded, he doubted at Easy's age he would have been ready to take care of a child... it was a good things it had not been his burden to bear. "Eden Zahn Tanner," he explained and Calvin nodded... he assumed that his mother had named him. "I don't know if I ever told you about Allegra~Allegra Zahn~back in California. S-she wants us to get to~to know each other I guess." both of them turned their attention toward the children and Eden had yet to say much of anything to Parker who was now chattering away about how big a T-Rex was.. it made Calvin smile... his son had been needing a playmate for some time.. maybe he'd finally found one. "He likes to read~'bout dinosaurs 'n' stuff. I don't think he has the car bug yet." Easy said and Calvin nodded.. it wasn't a surprise, Parker hadn't hit the care up until a few months ago.. he'd gone through a major ball phase where everything centered sports.. basketball,football,soccer, baseball... that was why Parker was doing T-ball this summer and Calvin was coaching the team.

Calvin thought it interested that he'd never heard about the mother of Easy's son and if he had heard of her he'd obviuosly forgotten when he'd been told. Easy seemed uncertain about what to do about his son and Calvin pitied him, he knew exactly what that felt like. "Parker come here little man..." he called his son over and kneeling so he was at eye level he said. "why don't you show Eden all the dinosaur books both of you pick a couple out okay..." Calvin coaxed and he smiled when Eden followed Parker without saying anything. Calvin slowly followed the kids and gestured for Easy to keep up with him. "Its a hard thing to suddenly realize that there's someone in this world that is completely dependent on you and that you are partially responsible for." he mused and he glanced at Easy. "Taressa left me shortly after she told me she was pregnant.. I didn't know until two years ago that I had a son either.. I assumed that she got rid of the baby so she could continue with her career..." he explained and then glanced at the boy. "It may seem like a burden now... something that you're not ready for but its worth it.. kind of makes you realize that maybe you aren't the only person in this world who matters you know..." Calvin said with a smile as he watched Parker pull out book after book, asking Eden if he liked it... Calvin couldn't tell if the boy was answering at all but he was glad to see Parker's enthusiasm... even if it wasn't necessarily returned.

[MystMoonstruck]

Easy "Cat" Tanner

Easy was edgy, nervous and extremely self-conscious, worrying about how Calvin Booth was viewing him as a father. He was certain his lack of enthusiasm was far too clear, but he could not bring himself to act excited about the situation. But, he was torn because he feared that Eden felt unwelcome, wondering yet again why anyone would think that he should be anywhere near a child, especially his own. It still seemed a completely alien notion: that he had fathered a child, particularly after just one night together, but he trusted Allegra, knowing that she found even "white lies" nearly impossible.

Easy also was painfully aware of how Eden's behavior was at odds with a child who might be near his age. He had yet to see his son exhibit any of the animation that Parker Booth did, only smiling quietly at the sight of books or perhaps when they were watching a program he seemed to enjoy. Had there been any laughter? When he thought of his own childhood, he knew that he had been far too solemn and wary, more like a small animal ready to seek shelter instead of an active, happy child~again as Parker looked to be. Was there something wrong with Eden? Again he feared that the darkness within him had tainted his son, and he wished that Allegra would contact him so that he could ask her about this behavior. All he knew was that Eden was cared for during the day by Mehmet employees and that he spoke a couple of times a day to his mother. He would have been relieved if Eden had cried or was disagreeable or even angry. But, the boy merely delved into a book or stared at something on TV, rarely reacting to it, though he would nod or shake his head if asked whether he liked it or not. Nods were usual, making Easy wonder if he was listening. He could not imagine doing as the man was doing now, calling to his son, dropping to his level to talk to him. He had a sinking feeling as he heard Calvin suggest that the two boys go elsewhere. Was he about to be lectured for his inattentiveness? A glance at Eden showed him the boy's confusion, as instructions were for him to stay near Easy, in watching distance. Easy nodded, signaling that it was all right this time. Then, to his relief, Calvin indicated that they were going to walk with the boys.

"It's a hard thing to suddenly realize that there's someone in this world that is completely dependent on you and that you are partially responsible for," Calvin said, and Easy prepared for the expected lecture. "Taressa left me shortly after she told me she was pregnant. I didn't know until two years ago that I had a son either." Easy's eyes widened in surprise at that, suddenly feeling less alone in his situation. "I assumed that she got rid of the baby so she could continue with her career." When the dark eyes were trained on him, he found it difficult to meet the man's gaze, so he bowed his head, listening quietly. "It may seem like a burden now... something that you're not ready for but it's worth it.. kind of makes you realize that maybe you aren't the only person in this world who matters you know." Easy felt his face flame red in a mixture of suppressed anger and shame, for he still had not come to terms with this change in his life. When there was silence, his curiosity made him look up then follow Calvin's gaze to the boys, seeing Parker animatedly chattering about books and Eden gravely watching him, still unspeaking.

"I think maybe he's~um~shy," the youth suggested. "He doesn't hardly ever talk. When I was his age, I didn't either," he admitted, "but I thought it was b-because of stuff that happened~when I was little." His voice faded, going wistful: "Only, he should be OK. He~he shouldn't be like I was~should he? Maybe he should be with her. Maybe he don't like me." Do I like him? he wondered, knowing that he had never had anything to do with children, even rarely as a child himself. "Not all kids talk a lot, right, or laugh 'n'~stuff," he drifted off. "He seems to eat OK~whatever anybody gives him. H-he doesn't play~not like your kid. He likes lookin' through the little rocks~gravel and stuff~around the courtyard at home. He finds fossils. He showed me them and pictures in the books. That's about all. Maybe some kids don't talk much?" he asked hopefully, wanting to hear verification that everything was all right with the child.

[angelofthenight]

Calvin Booth

Calvin admired his son for a lot of reasons. The litttle was very smart for his age. He seemed to understand a lot of things that adults didn't understand. He was one of the reasons Calvin had gotten through Taressa's abandonment so weel. Parker was really the one who took the initiative. He was the one that had dragged Calvin out of bed the next day and told him that Livvy was hungry and they needed to watch cartoons and eat waffles like they did every Saturday morning. It was Parker who made Calvin smile when he came home from a long day at work. He was slowly getting out of the swing of things at the department and trying to open his own small office working as a private detective as he had done when he'd been living in D.C before th FBI had come looking for him. It was better for his family. He was able to work from home. He'd converted part of his bedroom into a mini office wiht a desk, chair and computer. He had a small filing cabinet under the desk and at the moment he had no cases but then again he hadn't advertised at all. He wondered if he would find it in himself to do that and he knew tha the would.. because he had to provide for his family.

He would never admit it to the boy but Calvin was glad that someone like Eden had come into Easy's life. The cop felt that it would do the youth some good. It would teach the boy some responsiblity and make him realize that he wasn't the mosmt important person in the world. He smiled as he watched Parker trying to get Eden to respond. The other boy seemed content to listen to Parker jabber about anything and everything. Parker had tact though and started talking about hte dinosaur book that Eden had. Interstingly, Parker had gone througha diinasuar phase already and so Calvin knew what it was like. He knew that every booy was different and that what was fun for one child would not necessarily keep another entertained. He folded his arms and smiled at his son who looked so much like his mother. He was noticing that more and nore... how much like their mother his children looked. It was almost painful sometimes when he'd see Olivia smile and he'd realize that he was seeing Taressa's smile and that was why tears were threatening the corners of his eyes. When Parker got mad and pouted it was the way Taresa used to look when they'd get in a fight and he showed no signs of relenting... it was that look that had gotten her practically anything she wanted from him... and it worked just as well for thier son.

Calvin knew how Easy felt. Calvin had been in almost the exact same position aside from being a little older in a better situation to take care of a child. He admitted this to the boy and the young man looked relived. Calvin turned his attnetion back to the two kids and told Easy that one day he woudl coem to realize just how much his son meant to him. Maybe nto right now, because it was all so new, but eventually he woudl come to undertand that he could not imagine his life without the young boy. Calvin noted the color in Easy's face and the cop wondered if his remark had angered the boy. He supposed it could... selfish peole didnt' like being told they were selfish and in a way that was exactly what Calvin had done. On the other hand what he'd said was true. There came a time in everyone's life when they had to realize that they couldn't just live for themselves. For Calvin that time had been had been two years ago when he'd realized that he wanted to be aaprt of his son's life and he'd made a great leap of faith when he'd brought Taress adn Parker back with him from D.C. He had hope things would go okay... now all that he had left of that was one picture which he kept in his wallet... a family portrait, done three weeks before Taressa disappeared... every time he looked at the photo it brought tears to his eyes... so he tried hsi best not ot look at it to often.

Easy seemed unsure fo what to say and Calvin was content to stand there and watach the boys. Parker was now pulling out books about dinasours and showing him pictures.. telling him all about them. Calvin was surprised Eden wasn't trying to throw in his two cents since the book in Eden's hands hinted that he liked dinosaurs. "I think maybe he's~um~shy," Easy suggested and Calvin shrugged, it was quiet possible. "He doesn't hardly ever talk. When I was his age, I didn't either," he admitted and Calvin smiled... like father like son. "but I thought it was b-because of stuff that happened~when I was little." His voice faded adn Calvin glanced at Easy, saying nothing. "Only, he should be OK. He~he shouldn't be like I was~should he? Maybe he should be with her. Maybe he don't like me." Easy said and Calvin wanted to laugh and point out that for a boy not like his father his father is like saying that a bee isn't attracted to a flower. It was just unnatural. Calvin knew what it was like not to have his father in his life. Even though it was different for him since his father was an abusive alcoholic.. Easy on the other hand could be a wonderful father if he wanted to be... Calvin was sure of it.

Calvin had doubted his ablity to raise his son properly. Taressa had always insisted that he woudlb e a wondeful father.. she'd told him on numerous ocassions after she'd come to Paris with him that she thought so. Still he wondered... he wondered if he was good enough for his wondeful children. It was still a fear. "Not all kids talk a lot, right, or laugh 'n'~stuff," he stated mor ethen asked and Calvin shrugged... he'd met all kind sof children through Parker... Eden was better then some kids. "He seems to eat OK~whatever anybody gives him. H-he doesn't play~not like your kid. He likes lookin' through the little rocks~gravel and stuff~around the courtyard at home. He finds fossils. He showed me them and pictures in the books. That's about all. Maybe some kids don't talk much?" Easy asked and Calvin had to smile. The boy sounded like a cocnerned father seeking advice on his child. He wouldn't tell Easy that but Calvinr ecalled the first week he'd had Parker in his life full time and he'd asked Taressa all kind sof silly questions about Parker. 'Should we let him sit that close to the TV?' was one of the questions that made him laugh the hardest now... he didn't let Parker sit right up agianst the screen but he wasn't paranoid that the television was going to fry his brain or anything.

Calvin had been watching the kids for a few minutes then realized tha Easy was wiating for some kind fo reassurance for him that his son was normal. "I think Eden is a fine boy Easy..." he said seriously as he watched the two boys interacting together. "Parker's a little more outgoing then most kids but that's because he spent the first six years of his life around lawyers and law firms..." he said facetiously, he'd intneded as a joke but he didnt' want for Easy to laugh because he doubted the boy would get it. "Just have associate with kids his own age... try to talk to him.. ask him questions that he has to respond to...he'll probably grow out of it..." he assured him and he hoped that was enough to put Easy's concerns at ease. The last thing Calvin wanted was for Easy to stay up at night thinking about what coudl be wrong wiht his boy and then blaming himself for thos emperfections. "Every kid is different... he hasn't been with you that long so maybe he's just getting used to the change.. he's in a foreign country with people he barely knows.. he just trying to figure things out.." he said patting Easy on the shoulder then he grabbed a book about fossils and called Parker over. "Read this to Eden little man... he'll like it..." he said and handing the book to him he watche parker run back over and start to read... the cop could only guess how Eden would react.

[Mrs Nadir Khan]

OOC: Fabian/Madeleine on a rainy day. :D BIC:

Madeleine de Chandon

Ugh. Books. Madeleine had never been the studious sort, nor was she one to curl up fireside with a Jane Austen novel. She appreciated everyone’s rights to be entertained but she found little entertaining about what was between the covers of the book in her hand. Now, between the covers of someone’s bed, at least that’d be warm, cozy, and fun.

Madeleine slammed her fourth book shut and shoved it back on the shelf in irritation. Really, she was only in the bookstore to get out of the rain. And while she was in there, Madeleine figured there had to be something worth her time.

I mean, there has to be one author out there who isn’t a pretentious bore and at least one book that isn’t all contrived clichés.

Or maybe not. Madeleine technically had no way of knowing since she dismissed every book she picked up after the second or third sentence. Her hair was still damp and slick from the rain outside and Madeleine was cursing her foolishness for leaving the house, for wandering the Rue de Rivioli, and for picking the one place filled to the ceiling with books. Why hadn’t she turned into somewhere at least mildly exciting? A bar, a sex shop, a CD store, a jewelry store… Anything else,

And then, she smelled it before she saw it. Coffee. Maybe the bookstore hadn’t been the worst idea in the world after all.

[inside your mind15]

Fabian Reece

From the moment he stepped off the airplane, he felt like he was home. He didn't think that he would miss Paris as much as he did. He had went back to New York for a few months just to go home to the States. With all of the traveling he did throughout his life, he'd never missed any place. Now, it seemed he'd grown attached to his job, his friends, and his life here. The first stop that he made after leaving the airport was his favorite little bookstore, Brentano's. He walked in through the rain, shaking the droplets of moisture off of his head, looking around to see it unchanged as he expected. He smiled a crooked grin, hanging his tan coat across his arm. He went over to the nonfiction section, and grabbed a book about french cooking. He settled into an overstuffed leather chair and started to read.
Only a few moments later, a young woman walked in. He wasn't too engrossed by his book, and his eyes peeked up over the pages. Steadily watching her as she seemed to not find anything interesting. He smirked, she was completely soaked, and he felt sorry for her. It made him pull his sarf closer to himself. She turned towards the coffee, and he smiled wide, again seemingly absorbed in his book. She walked over to it, drawn by the aroma," One cup won't be enough," He warned gently, not looking up from his book. He smiled wide," It's actually better than it smells," He promised, closing his book gently." May I pour you a cup?" He asked, a crooked grin on his face.

[Mrs Nadir Khan]

Madeleine de Chandon

What she wouldn’t give for a hair dryer. No, really. Madeleine didn’t think she was going to melt or anything, but there was nothing even remotely redeemable about smudged eyeliner and rain-frizzed hair. Ah, well. Coffee would suffice. Coffee and maybe a cigarette or two would put her right again. Entranced by the siren call of the in-store café, Madeleine almost didn’t notice the man watching her.

Almost being the key word. You couldn’t have that tousle-able hair and not get Madeleine’s attention.

“One cup won't be enough," he said, getting all of Madeleine’s attention, if just for the cheeky, American accent.

Myron, Madeleine thought with a sudden pang of longing. Seemed to happen every time she heard an American accent lately. But no sooner than Madeleine thought it, did the thought flee. Myron didn’t have cheekbones like that. Of course, Madeleine had to peer over the man’s book just to get a glimpse.

”It's actually better than it smells," He promised, closing his book gently." May I pour you a cup?"

Madeleine took in the sight of him before her. She had a strange weakness for American brunettes. Myron, Maureen… This man wasn’t exactly an exception. But Madeleine’s eyes honed in on the scarf around the man’s neck and a slim eyebrow rose for a moment. Madeleine was French. She’d grown up around French men. And even they didn’t don a scarf in summer, unless gay or “metro” sexual. She was pretty sure that applied to American guys. So, she wasn’t exactly sure if she was supposed to treat this like any other come on.

[i}Ah, what the hell? Don’t judge a man by his cover, right?[/i]

Besides, Madeleine was too wet to care. And she really wanted that coffee. And if it was with a handsome stranger, even better.

“Please,” she said, smiling and joining him. The plush, leather chair conformed to her body almost instantly. “You have no idea what a welcome invitation that is.”

[inside your mind15]

H Fabian Reece

She seemed unsure if she would accept his invitation. Of course, Fabian wasn't one to press a subject, but his book wasn't doing the fine cuisine of french cooking any justice and, she was gorgeous. He couldn't pass up the opportunity.

“Please," She said, sitting on the couch next to him, he smirked, his eyes flitted in her direction,“You have no idea what a welcome invitation that is.”He nodded and got up and walked over to the coffee, pouring two cups of it." Any special preferences?" He asked, looking back at her, though there wasn't much other than some cream and sugar. After he prepared the coffee he sat back down, resting one arm across the back of the couch and the other hand held the coffee.

" I noticed you didn't find anything that piqued your interest on the shelves," He said, and looked down at his book, disappointed," I always try to learn something new from a book, but this one is just awful," He said with a crooked grin, his eyes playful." So I'm wondering what brought you in, besides the rain?" He said, taking a sip of his coffee.

[Mrs Nadir Khan]

Madeleine de Chandon


" Any special preferences?"


“Black is fine,” Madeleine assured him with a smile. She may have looked like some dainty, delicate creature, but black coffee was good enough for her. She didn’t need the sugary embellishments. She needed only two things from her coffee: heat and energy.

When the man returned, Madeleine accepted her drink from him gladly. She could feel its much appreciated warmth radiating through the Styrofoam. Some start to summer today was, what with its rain and gloom. She felt the man sit down beside her and Madeleine looked to him just as he began speaking.

"I noticed you didn't find anything that piqued your interest on the shelves," He said, and looked down at his book, disappointed," I always try to learn something new from a book, but this one is just awful," He said with a crooked grin, his eyes playful." So I'm wondering what brought you in, besides the rain?"

Madeleine gleaned two things from this. One, the man had been watching her for some time which was both good and slightly creepy. Two, he was a reader which meant that he was educated. Madeleine did not want to disappoint as the—what was that?—cookbook had, but she wasn’t much of a book-lover. She nibbled her lower lip and then, a smile spread across her face.

“Fate, I suppose,” she said leaning into the couch and facing him.

[MystMoonstruck]

Calvin Booth

Calvin admired his son for a lot of reasons. The litttle was very smart for his age. He seemed to understand a lot of things that adults didn't understand. He was one of the reasons Calvin had gotten through Taressa's abandonment so weel. Parker was really the one who took the initiative. He was the one that had dragged Calvin out of bed the next day and told him that Livvy was hungry and they needed to watch cartoons and eat waffles like they did every Saturday morning. It was Parker who made Calvin smile when he came home from a long day at work. He was slowly getting out of the swing of things at the department and trying to open his own small office working as a private detective as he had done when he'd been living in D.C before th FBI had come looking for him. It was better for his family. He was able to work from home. He'd converted part of his bedroom into a mini office wiht a desk, chair and computer. He had a small filing cabinet under the desk and at the moment he had no cases but then again he hadn't advertised at all. He wondered if he would find it in himself to do that and he knew tha the would.. because he had to provide for his family.

He would never admit it to the boy but Calvin was glad that someone like Eden had come into Easy's life. The cop felt that it would do the youth some good. It would teach the boy some responsiblity and make him realize that he wasn't the mosmt important person in the world. He smiled as he watched Parker trying to get Eden to respond. The other boy seemed content to listen to Parker jabber about anything and everything. Parker had tact though and started talking about hte dinosaur book that Eden had. Interstingly, Parker had gone througha diinasuar phase already and so Calvin knew what it was like. He knew that every booy was different and that what was fun for one child would not necessarily keep another entertained. He folded his arms and smiled at his son who looked so much like his mother. He was noticing that more and nore... how much like their mother his children looked. It was almost painful sometimes when he'd see Olivia smile and he'd realize that he was seeing Taressa's smile and that was why tears were threatening the corners of his eyes. When Parker got mad and pouted it was the way Taresa used to look when they'd get in a fight and he showed no signs of relenting... it was that look that had gotten her practically anything she wanted from him... and it worked just as well for thier son.

Calvin knew how Easy felt. Calvin had been in almost the exact same position aside from being a little older in a better situation to take care of a child. He admitted this to the boy and the young man looked relived. Calvin turned his attnetion back to the two kids and told Easy that one day he woudl coem to realize just how much his son meant to him. Maybe nto right now, because it was all so new, but eventually he woudl come to undertand that he could not imagine his life without the young boy. Calvin noted the color in Easy's face and the cop wondered if his remark had angered the boy. He supposed it could... selfish peole didnt' like being told they were selfish and in a way that was exactly what Calvin had done. On the other hand what he'd said was true. There came a time in everyone's life when they had to realize that they couldn't just live for themselves. For Calvin that time had been had been two years ago when he'd realized that he wanted to be aaprt of his son's life and he'd made a great leap of faith when he'd brought Taress adn Parker back with him from D.C. He had hope things would go okay... now all that he had left of that was one picture which he kept in his wallet... a family portrait, done three weeks before Taressa disappeared... every time he looked at the photo it brought tears to his eyes... so he tried hsi best not ot look at it to often.

Easy seemed unsure fo what to say and Calvin was content to stand there and watach the boys. Parker was now pulling out books about dinasours and showing him pictures.. telling him all about them. Calvin was surprised Eden wasn't trying to throw in his two cents since the book in Eden's hands hinted that he liked dinosaurs. "I think maybe he's~um~shy," Easy suggested and Calvin shrugged, it was quiet possible. "He doesn't hardly ever talk. When I was his age, I didn't either," he admitted and Calvin smiled... like father like son. "but I thought it was b-because of stuff that happened~when I was little." His voice faded adn Calvin glanced at Easy, saying nothing. "Only, he should be OK. He~he shouldn't be like I was~should he? Maybe he should be with her. Maybe he don't like me." Easy said and Calvin wanted to laugh and point out that for a boy not like his father his father is like saying that a bee isn't attracted to a flower. It was just unnatural. Calvin knew what it was like not to have his father in his life. Even though it was different for him since his father was an abusive alcoholic.. Easy on the other hand could be a wonderful father if he wanted to be... Calvin was sure of it.

Calvin had doubted his ablity to raise his son properly. Taressa had always insisted that he woudlb e a wondeful father.. she'd told him on numerous ocassions after she'd come to Paris with him that she thought so. Still he wondered... he wondered if he was good enough for his wondeful children. It was still a fear. "Not all kids talk a lot, right, or laugh 'n'~stuff," he stated mor ethen asked and Calvin shrugged... he'd met all kind sof children through Parker... Eden was better then some kids. "He seems to eat OK~whatever anybody gives him. H-he doesn't play~not like your kid. He likes lookin' through the little rocks~gravel and stuff~around the courtyard at home. He finds fossils. He showed me them and pictures in the books. That's about all. Maybe some kids don't talk much?" Easy asked and Calvin had to smile. The boy sounded like a cocnerned father seeking advice on his child. He wouldn't tell Easy that but Calvinr ecalled the first week he'd had Parker in his life full time and he'd asked Taressa all kind sof silly questions about Parker. 'Should we let him sit that close to the TV?' was one of the questions that made him laugh the hardest now... he didn't let Parker sit right up agianst the screen but he wasn't paranoid that the television was going to fry his brain or anything.

Calvin had been watching the kids for a few minutes then realized tha Easy was wiating for some kind fo reassurance for him that his son was normal. "I think Eden is a fine boy Easy..." he said seriously as he watched the two boys interacting together. "Parker's a little more outgoing then most kids but that's because he spent the first six years of his life around lawyers and law firms..." he said facetiously, he'd intneded as a joke but he didnt' want for Easy to laugh because he doubted the boy would get it. "Just have associate with kids his own age... try to talk to him.. ask him questions that he has to respond to...he'll probably grow out of it..." he assured him and he hoped that was enough to put Easy's concerns at ease. The last thing Calvin wanted was for Easy to stay up at night thinking about what coudl be wrong wiht his boy and then blaming himself for thos emperfections. "Every kid is different... he hasn't been with you that long so maybe he's just getting used to the change.. he's in a foreign country with people he barely knows.. he just trying to figure things out.." he said patting Easy on the shoulder then he grabbed a book about fossils and called Parker over. "Read this to Eden little man... he'll like it..." he said and handing the book to him he watche parker run back over and start to read... the cop could only guess how Eden would react.

Easy "Cat" Tanner

Easy could not help but voice his concerns about Eden, for he feared that there was too much of him in his son, and that could never be a good thing. Had he somehow tainted the child with whatever it was that he carried? How much was normal and how much a sign of a dark nature? He was fairly certain that Eden did not like him and was simply tolerating him till it was time to return to his mother. Easy knew deep down that Allegra would be a perfect mother, but part of the boy was his father~unfortunately. Calvin Booth's lack of assurance beyond a nod and a smile made him even more fearful of the mess he might be making of Eden's childhood. What boy would want a father like him?!

"I think Eden is a fine boy, Easy," Calvin stated, his attention on the two boys. "Parker's a little more outgoing than most kids but that's because he spent the first six years of his life around lawyers and law firms," he continued, and the tone of his voice and the look on his face suggested to Easy that the words should be taken lightly. However, his experiences with lawyers and law firms had not been at all pleasant, and he could not imagine that being in such an atmosphere would make anyone open and talkative~just the contrary. But, he said nothing of this, merely nodding. "Just have him associate with kids his own age... try to talk to him.. ask him questions that he has to respond to...he'll probably grow out of it. Every kid is different. He hasn't been with you that long so maybe he's just getting used to the change. He's in a foreign country with people he barely knows. He's just trying to figure things out." The pat on the shoulder startled the youth enough that he flinched, but perhaps the man did not notice as he picked up yet another book on paleontolgy and handed it to Parker. "Read this to Eden little man. He'll like it."

As Parker returned to Eden's side, Easy had to speak up on seeing the accusing look from his son, the golden-brown eyes nearly sparking. "He can read~good. Allegra and her parents taught him." A smile played over his lips in response to the faint one he had received from Eden. As if to prove his point, Eden began reading from the volume he still held, his voice as velvety as his father's. At the end of the paragraph, he paused to shoot looks at Parker then Calvin, as if to say, "So there!" Easy had encountered this occasionally fierce spirit during his time with Eden, and he recognized the flares as something in his nature. While Allegra had the legendary temperament of a redhead, she generally was very controlled. To the tawny-eyed youth, that meant his nature was captured in this tiny person who looked like a miniature of him, and he did not want that to be true. Deep down, he feared that something was wrong in spite of Calvin's assurances that Eden was a regular boy, too. "Other kids? We don't know any other kids. He don't go to school, but Mr. Mehmet has a kind of tutor working with him. Questions... Like what? I don't know how to talk to a little kid. We watch a movie, and sometimes he asks a question. Mostly I don't know the answers, so he knows I'm dumb, not like Allegra. She's really, really smart." A wave of frustration seemed to slam into him, and he scowled, turning away to hide his expression. "Why?" he hissed, his voice low. "Why'd she send him here? I'm afraid," he muttered, still unable to look at the man at his side. "... afraid I'll hurt him, do somethin' wrong, mess 'im up maybe more than he already is. I'm scared he's like me, Booth." There: He had expressed his greatest fears, at least grazing upon them. "I was like that when I was his age~just like he acts." Trembling, he was able to glance toward Calvin Booth, wondering if the man ever could understand his terrors. How could he not understand the damage done in childhood, whether intentional or not?

[MysticMasquerade]

OOC: A meeting for Verity Ravensdale and Alexander Sokoll. BIC:

Verity Ravensdale

It felt like ages since Verity had been away from either the Opera Populaire or from Aunt Simone's house. As she gained recognition at the opera house, she grew increasingly busier. In addition to her rehearsal schedule, Alistair had thought a good time to come visit her in Paris. She dearly loved her father, but his presence and sense of parental duty left Verity little time for herself.

Fortunately, Alistair had left a few days ago, and Verity's work grew easier as she learned the material. She deserved to take some time for herself, and she knew exactly how to do it: reading. It had been a good while since she'd had a chance to read anything; a great shame, as she greatly loved to. So, she had left her house and made her way to Brentano's, a place she knew could supply her with books written in English.

The enticing smell of coffee and the crisp scent of paper filled her nostrils as she stepped into the boutique. Yes, this was exactly what she needed. Verity made her way through the rows of books, picking up several that interested her. By the time she reached the store's poetry section, Persuasion, Dracula, and a humorous-looking contemporary novel had made their way into her arms. She set them down as she perused the shelves, a smile lighting her face as she found a collection of Shakespeare's poetry; she had always had a soft spot for the Bard, and hardly cared who knew it. Leaning against the shelf, Verity opened the book and began reading the first thing her eyes settled on. As fate would have it, she had flipped to the end of the poem Venus and Adonis. She relaxed as her eyes ran over the familiar words. She had not felt so comfortable in weeks as she did in that moment.

[Mrs Nadir Khan]

Alexander Sokoll

The November air was getting chillier day by day. It would have had most Californians pining for their mild summers and stretches of coastline.

Alexander was not most Californians.

He identified better with the locals in Paris. He was excited for the impending snowfall; it would likely be a few weeks, but Alexander couldn’t deny the childish, bubbly excitement swelling in him as he walked the Rue de Rivioli, thinking ahead to the holidays. His family didn’t understand why on earth he’d want to be away from them over Christmas… But… Well… His family didn’t understand a lot of things. Alexander’s affection for his adopted hometown was love. His ties to the opera made him at home. His friends were his chosen family. He couldn’t express it to the people who raised him, but it was true. He rewound his scarf around his neck as a gust of wind blew it out of place before pushing open the doors of Brentano’s. He was getting a jumpstart on his Christmas shopping. He’d likely have to send a plethora of presents home to make up for yet another Christmas in Paris, but… well… It worked for his family. Even if materialism didn’t sit right with Alexander, it was some, small consolation to his siblings and parents that he thought of them, even if he couldn’t bear to spend a Christmas with them, avoiding family friends they thrust his way under the mistletoe. A year seemed too soon to Alexander to just forget Esperanza and that was something his family didn’t get. Alexander needed time and space and room to breathe before he considered himself ready for the “good natured” ribbing about being the only single Sokoll and for being an expatriate and a dancer and…

Yeesh. No need to get bitter.

Alexander was not a bitter man. He could be if the wind was just right and the stars were all aligned, but his optimism generally won out. And, frankly, Alexander was looking forward to a Christmas in Rafael and Jennifer’s company. A Christmas in Paris. Who could want for more? Besides. He was a man on a mission. The American came to the bookstore to buy his brother’s gifts. Jeff and his wife Melissa were expecting their firstborn. And what better way to commemorate such an occasion with all sorts of parenting books? Maybe a manual or two on birth defects… Okay, yeah. Alexander was a little bitter. Still, it didn’t stop him from spending a fraction of a second too-long eyeing a book about conjoined twins. Until the word “twins” sparked his memory to his godchildren and Alexander had to walk away from the shelf altogether.

Alexander sighed and his eyes fell upon a brightly colored display of children’s books. A soft smile graced his lips as he filled his arms with Dr. Suess and counting books. Jeff and Melissa would appreciate building their unborn child’s library. And there really was no need for Alexander to take out his familial frustrations on his unborn niece or nephew. This was an exciting time for his family. And Alexander would have been the last person to want to cheapen that. Nostalgia got the better of him as he decided to take a few of them—“How the Grinch Stole Christmas” and “Horton Hears a Who”—to the sitting area to scan over the whimsical pictures and read the semi-made-up words from his childhood.

He made his way through the dramatics section and then through the poetry section, walking, nose in his book and smiling reminiscently when a snatch of red hair caught his eye. Alexander, who had walked past the woman, hazarded a cautious glance over his shoulder. Memories of Rozaylia Donkova, the Russian temptress who had botched Alexander’s romantic relationship with Maureen years ago, had long left him wary of redheads. Even Simone, Rafael’s fiery half-sister hadn’t managed to stamp out the wariness. He peered over the top of “How the Grinch Stole Christmas” to get a better look.

Alexander visibly relaxed.

The girl in front of him was pretty. Her skin was clear, pale. And the red wasn’t quite red enough to be Roazylia. Instead, it was all shades it seemed of orange and red. A smile wormed its way onto Alexander’s face… And then he realized he was probably staring.

“I’m sorry,” he said, automatically, somewhat embarrassedly, slipping into English. “I thought for a moment you were someone I knew.”

[MysticMasquerade]

Verity Ravensdale

It was amazing how easily Verity could get lost in literature. She would be the first to admit that she was a reading geek; no need to hide it, after all. She had moved on to the sonnets, flipping through to read her favorites. It would not have been a bad idea to take her books and find a place to sit, preferably with a latte, but she couldn't pull herself away in that moment. Just one more poem and a few more seconds analyzing it for new meanings, and then she would sit down... perhaps.

Verity was so engaged in her reading that the man who had walked past her moments ago had been barely a blip on her radar... that was, until she felt the heat of his gaze as it rested upon her. Looking up from the poetry, she observed him. He was tall, with brown hair and medium skin. Best of all, however, was the fact that he was peeking at her from over the top of "How the Grinch Stole Christmas." She could barely make out his expression, discovering with careful yet discrete examination.

“I’m sorry,” he apologized in English, embarrassment present in his voice. “I thought for a moment you were someone I knew.”

She shook her head, chuckling. "There's no need to apologize; I seem to get that a lot around here," she told him. "Although I must compliment you on your reading selection. Dr. Seuss is a classic." Verity said. Of course, she was fairly certain that the book he held was a gift, but why pass up such an opportunity?

[Mrs Nadir Khan]

Alexander Sokoll

Alexander was thankful to be mistaken. If he’d been dealing with Rozaliya, he would have lost his somewhat chipper mood. She was one of the few people who managed to extinguish Alexander’s smile. Of course, petty though the thought was, Alexander couldn’t help but think that Brentano’s was a little too classy for the Russian pit player. Rozaliya aside, Alexander was glad to meet new people. Though often quiet, he was by no means an introvert. Alexander Sokoll was as outgoing as they come. He’d discovered that, in Paris, people were generally more willing to strike up conversation than back home. Parisians got a bad rap for being “snobs”, but the expatriate and artistic community of the Populaire had somewhat spoiled Alexander. Few people there were truly ogres.

This redhead, too, was anything but monstrous.

She chuckled and shook her head, prompting Alexander to turn and face her. Though she could very easily be laughing at him, Alexander didn’t mind taking that risk in exchange for his small, social faux-pas.

[ b] "There's no need to apologize; I seem to get that a lot around here," she told him. "Although I must compliment you on your reading selection. Dr. Seuss is a classic."[/b]

Given that Alexander had briefly taught Sophomore English, Dr. Seuss seemed several, academic steps back. It was more akin to Rafael’s typical reading fare. But, frankly, Alexander’s teaching stint had been in order to teach dance until he could secure a job with a well-established troupe. His typical books of choice were classical favorites or science fiction short stories. He had little time anymore for reading, though. Maybe Dr. Seuss was all he could manage between ballet classes, choreography sessions, and meetings with directors, stage management, and set and costume designers. He grinned and lowered the book slightly to reveal his smile.

“Thanks… He’s almost as classic as Shakespeare,” he said lightly, nodding towards her book. “Almost.”

He couldn’t help but to marvel at her reading choice—as well as thank his lucky stars that the girl he was talking to spoke flawless English. Alexander admired studious people. He had, at some point or another, considered himself as such. The recent years and months had robbed Alexander of the free time necessary to immerse in scholarly pursuits, but he still held those who found the time for literature and science and art in high esteem. Especially art.

“Are you much of a poet yourself, Miss….?”

He trailed off for a name.

[MysticMasquerade]

Verity Ravensdale

Verity was pleased to see a grin on this stranger's face as he lowered the picture book. She had been in a similar situation to this in New York. She had been in her university's library, studying for a test on "The Marriage of Figaro," when she noticed that someone was looking at her. That someone turned out to be one of the school's most academically inclined boys, a gentleman that was generally referred to as "Spock." She had been rather shocked to discover that he was staring at her so intently, but had smiled politely at him nonetheless. Spock had blinked once, promptly leaving the room from what Verity could only assume was embarrassment.

Fortunately, however, this encounter was different. The man before her had not fled, and (so far) showed no signs of any intention to flee. Instead, he responded to her.

“Thanks… He’s almost as classic as Shakespeare,” he said, nodding in the direction of her books. “Almost.”

Verity found herself grinning as well. How fortunate that this new acquaintance spoke well; he was just the sort of person that she enjoyed meeting.

“Are you much of a poet yourself, Miss….?”

"Ravensdale. Verity." She replied in introduction. "And I'm afraid not. As a teenager, I certainly fancied myself a poet. Instead, I turned out to be a singer."

She paused briefly, setting down the book of Shakespearean poetry.

"And yourself, my anonymous friend? Would you consider yourself to be a master of rhyme?" Verity inquired, gesturing towards the Dr. Seuss book in his hands.

[Mrs Nadir Khan]

Alexander Sokoll

A grin spread across the woman’s face. Alexander was glad to have taken the risk of striking up conversation, after all. Seldom in Paris, did he get that put-upon reaction he got in Sacramento. Alexander could recall trying similar approaches—approaches he’d successfully relied upon since his youth—only to be reviled. Maybe he had been a tad bit sensitive, but when a woman at the local Laundromat, shoveling quarters into the machine beside him rebuffed Alexander’s small talk or the guy beside him in line rolled his eyes at Alexander’s attempt to engage in conversation, the danseur realized fully that he needed to get back to a place where people were friendlier. In Paris, Alexander could knock into a stranger on the street and end up with the person in a café mere hours later. Or, like now, he could be caught staring at a girl in a bookshop and win a smile in mere minutes.

Paris was definitely a more inviting place.

"Ravensdale. Verity." She replied in introduction. "And I'm afraid not. As a teenager, I certainly fancied myself a poet. Instead, I turned out to be a singer."

A singer. That was the other thing. To be near artists in California, Alexander had to travel to LA. There was an art district in Sacramento, but it was small, secluded. In Paris, they were everywhere. Poets, painters, actors, dancers, singers… Everyone and everything you could possibly imagine. A singer. Alexander wondered, fleetingly, if she was a new face around his base of operation: The Opera Populaire.

Don’t be ridiculous. Verity could work just about anywhere. Or it could just be a hobby thing.

"And yourself, my anonymous friend? Would you consider yourself to be a master of rhyme?"

“I like to rhyme, when I have the time,” Alexander said playfully. Then, shrugging, and pulling a teasing grimace, added, “Maybe not a master, huh? I should stick to my day job…”

Not that that was much a sacrifice. Alexander loved dancing. It had long been his life, after all. And his new position as Ballet Master wasn’t exactly a burden. It was a lot of work, but never burdensome. It gave him a place to practice his craft and ensured him stability. If he ever fancied himself a poet, Alexander would have to get reused to a diet of Ramen noodles a la freshman year of college. No, thanks…

“I’m Alexander Sokoll, by the way,” he said, tucking his book under the crook of his arm so he could extend a free hand for a handshake. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Verity.”

[MysticMasquerade]

Verity Ravensdale

The mystery man was quick to respond.

“I like to rhyme, when I have the time,” he articulated, a certain playfulness in his voice. With a shrug and a teasing grimace, he continued: “Maybe not a master, huh? I should stick to my day job…”

She had to laugh at that. "It was a valiant attempt." Verity commended him. Certainly, it was a good way to keep her interested in talking to him. This man was certainly outgoing, far more so than most people that she had come into contact with as of late; of course, she had interacted primarily with elderly members of her family recently. Perhaps that was why she found their conversation to be so stimulating.

Really, Verity. You must socialize more.

“I’m Alexander Sokoll, by the way,” he said, tucking his book under the crook of his arm so he could extend a free hand for a handshake. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Verity.”

She took his hand, shaking it firmly. If there was one type of handshake that Verity hated, it was a weak one.

"The pleasure is mine, Alexander," she returned. Now, on to different matters. "I hope I don't sound too forward, but as we've established that you are not a poet either, I must admit I'm curious to know if you have something that means as much to you as singing does to me."

[Mrs Nadir Khan]

Alexander Sokoll

She accepted Alexander’s offered hand, firmly. Alexander was pleasantly surprised. He always felt a little stupid shaking hand, truthfully. He always got the impression that people saw him as too youthful for that kind of stuff. But Alexander was realizing, to his mild horror, thirty was swiftly approaching. He couldn’t recall when that had happened, but time flew by and dictated he grow up. Verity’s hand in his was soft, not callused like Rafael’s or the new stage workers’ he’d been shaking since returning to the Populaire. But Verity’s grip was just as firm. Accompanied with her still-bright expression, it made Alexander feel good… oddly accomplished. She wasn’t looking at him like he was a little boy in a grown up’s body—a look he’d gotten until making it as Danseur Noble and one he’d been getting reused to in his hometown back in Cali—and that was refreshing. The handshake broke apart.

"The pleasure is mine, Alexander," she returned. "I hope I don't sound too forward, but as we've established that you are not a poet either, I must admit I'm curious to know if you have something that means as much to you as singing does to me."

Oh, boy.

Alexander had long stopped being embarrassed about his passion for dance. It was a part of him—a vital part of him—and had been all his life. But Alexander had plenty of brushes with the closed-minded kind who instantly dismissed a male ballet dancer as a freak of nature. Again, it was maybe a Sacramento thing. In a town filled with politicians and upper-middle class yuppies, Alexander never quite fit in. Going back had highlighted Alexander’s differentness from those in his childhood home. But he was in Paris. This wasn’t his macho landlord he was talking to. It wasn’t the first, failed blind date his sister set him up on while he was visiting Sacramento. Both had been unimpressed. This was Paris. This was Verity. And she wanted to know what his passion was.

Alexander’s smile, which had faltered slightly in deliberation stretched across his thin lips.

“I’m a dancer,” he admitted. “Danseur—“

He paused. ****. No he wasn’t any more.

“Sorry, former Danseur Noble of the Opera Populaire,” he shook his head with a silent laugh at his mistake. The adjustment was one he was still making and flubs were bound to happen. “I was Danseur Noble for three years there. Still making the adjustment.”

His voice was free of bitterness; the new position as Ballet Master would be better for him, undoubtedly. It let Alexander do what he loved and granted him the stability he craved. He’d miss the limelight, but not the stress and paparazzi.

“So... Singing,” he said, clearing his throat and segueing away from his mess up. “Professional or no?”

[MysticMasquerade]

Verity Ravensdale

A pause passed between them, and for a moment, Verity wondered if her question had been too personal. She had added a disclaimer in the hopes of keeping things light, but not everything could go her way. Perhaps it was time to make a smooth recovery. She gauged his expression before speaking, and found that his smile had been renewed.

“I’m a dancer,” he admitted. “Danseur—“

Verity cocked her head slightly to one side. So, he was a dancer? She took a discreet peek at as physique, and found reinforcement for his statement. From what she could see of him, she could tell that he had a dancer's body.

“Sorry, former Danseur Noble of the Opera Populaire,”

Her eyes brightened. Now that was no small accomplishment. She knew from experience that it was difficult to earn a place at the opera house. But as far as dancers went, she always found herself to be far more impressed with male dancers than with female dancers; something about the combination of strength and grace that men danced with was much more interesting to watch.

“I was Danseur Noble for three years there. Still making the adjustment.”

Verity nodded. Adjusting to change wasn't always easy. She couldn't blame Alexander for referring to himself incorrectly; he had spent three years of his life as Danseur Noble. She had to wonder, though, what the American was doing in Paris now.

“So... Singing,” he began, clearing his throat. “Professional or no?”

"Professional, actually," she told him. "I'm a soprano at the Opera Populaire. I don't believe I've seen you there since I've arrived."

[Mrs Nadir Khan]

Alexander Sokoll

That he occasionally slipped up wasn’t unexpected, but Alexander wasn’t about to broadcast his confusion. If Rafael heard him—God forbid—Alexander would have to do some quick thinking. While he didn’t begrudge his friend success, he did miss the position. Secretly, of course. And not bitterly. Just… Missed it. He watched Verity’s face closely as he spoke, wondering what she thought of his confession. As a singer—a fellow artist—she couldn’t possibly deride him… Right? Alexander got his answer in her shining, green eyes. They seemed to light up as he spoke. It restored Alexander’s confidence and reiterated his point: Paris was a far more welcoming place.

Though, Alexander was admittedly curious about Verity the way she seemed to be about him. A singer? Was she professional? Did she do the nightclub circuit? The opera? Or was she a shower songbird with stage-bound dreams? If her passion for music was truly akin to Alexander’s for dance, he couldn’t imagine Verity content with singing into a hairbrush in front of her mirror at home.

"Professional, actually," she confirmed. "I'm a soprano at the Opera Populaire. I don't believe I've seen you there since I've arrived."

“Small world, huh?” he said, eyes sparking interestedly.

Alexander had a fascination with musicians. His first girlfriend in Paris had been a pianist/guitarist/ex-Broadway star. Even though he and Maureen had long since broken up, he still found her music talent admirable. And Julietta, one of his first friends here, had been a bassoonist. In fact, many of the people Alexander spoke with, hung out with, and admired were musicians in some capacity or another. Occupational hazard, he guessed, from working at an opera house. Still, the opera singers themselves had never been counted among Alexander’s inner-circle. He admired them from a distance, but the competition for prime performance nights between the opera and ballet companies was a friendly rivalry and beyond that, Alexander had no cause to socialize often with them. Still, there was something about the rich, full sounds of the opera that Alexander loved. He couldn’t sing it. God, no. But he could listen, enthralled, from the wings. He could appreciate the hard work that went into a performance of ‘Don Giovanni’ or ‘The Magic Flute’. And the music itself was a familiar comfort he’d come to miss in Sacramento. The ballet house did not share space with the opera house there and that, in Alexander’s opinion, was a tragedy.

“Maybe I’ll get to hear you sing sometime,” he said, smiling and leaning comfortably against the bookshelf beside him. “It’s been ages since I’ve seen an opera.”

[MysticMasquerade]

Verity Ravensdale

It sometimes surprised Verity how many people in Paris had ties to the Opera Populaire. On other occasions, however, it made perfect sense. Paris was an incredibly beautiful, artistic city; of course it would attract writers, dancers, singers, and all other manners of artistes. Not that Verity could complain, as she fit in with them all quite easily.

“Small world, huh?”

"Small indeed." Verity agreed. It was amazing how easily she was conversing with this new man; most guys that she met resisted her easy manner of speaking, making their discussions unnecessarily awkward. That was never enjoyable. This conversation, on the other hand, was.

“Maybe I’ll get to hear you sing sometime,” he said with a smile, leaning against the bookshelf beside him. “It’s been ages since I’ve seen an opera.”

Verity gave a soft chuckle. "That's something that needs correcting, sir," she chided teasingly. "Perhaps you should come and see 'La Traviata.' Of course, I'd be certain to attend a ballet in return."

Verity just realized that she had forgotten one of her initial intentions upon entering Brentano's: getting coffee. She hadn't partaken as of yet that day, and her body was staging its complaint.

"This could seem like a random suggestion, but how would you feel about moving to the cafe area? I'd love to continue our discussion, but I'm afraid that I need a coffee," she said before adding, "If you would care to join me, that is."

[Mrs Nadir Khan]

Alexander Sokoll

It was amazing the things you missed. The opera was by no means Alexander’s personal pet passion. And yet, he’d invested in some opera tracks via iTunes while in California simply because he’d come to miss it. Now, back in Paris, it was dawning on him just how easily accessible the arts were. All he had to do was stay late on a night the opera performed. The prospect excited him, but the prospect of hearing Verity sing excited him more, especially as she chuckled good-naturedly

"That's something that needs correcting, sir," she chided teasingly. "Perhaps you should come and see 'La Traviata.' Of course, I'd be certain to attend a ballet in return."

The invite was more than welcome. Alexander nodded eagerly.

“Of course!”

He didn’t yet have it in him to tell Verity that he was no longer a performer. Truthfully, Alexander hadn’t yet wrapped his mind around the concept that when The Nutcracker went up next month, he would be watching from the wings or—if he understood the way the new management worked—from the audience. That was surreal; sadly so. But Verity was more than welcome to see his handiwork. After all, from here on out, every ballet performance—even the ones where Alexander was sitting in the audience—was his production.

"This could seem like a random suggestion, but how would you feel about moving to the cafe area? I'd love to continue our discussion, but I'm afraid that I need a coffee," she said before adding, "If you would care to join me, that is."

“Definitely,” Alexander said, pushing off of the bookshelf and falling in-step alongside Verity.

He had forgone coffee today, with the hopes to save time where he could to jumpstart his shopping and errands. Once out and about in the city, though, Alexander’s flexibility made a comeback. After all, who was he to pass up coffee in the bookstore café with a new coworker?

“How long have you been at the Populaire, Verity?” he asked as they made their way through the maze of shelves towards the café.

It couldn’t have been more than a year… Could it? Alexander wondered if “new” was the best word for his coworker. She was new to him… But for all Alexander knew, they’d been working in the same building for years without running into one another. It was a huge place and Alexander was always meeting more people who hailed from the Populaire. But, he had been gone for a while and transfers happened all the time. He wondered if she loved the place as much as he did… Or if he would look like a sentimental fool if he mentioned just how rooted he was to the opera house itself. Most artists were comparable to gypsies—wandering, restless, and explorative. Alexander had been like that… until he settled in the Populaire. Until he found his home there. Maybe Verity found the same sense of home at the Populaire… Or maybe she, like so many, was just passing through.

[MysticMasquerade]

Verity Ravensdale

Verity was relieved that Alexander had accepted her proposition. Rejection of any kind was not something that she wanted to run into that day, especially not when she had been so bold as to take a big step in getting to know someone that she had met only minutes ago. She felt quite confident, however, as she and her new acquaintance made their way to the cafe area.

“How long have you been at the Populaire, Verity?” Alexander inquired. Oh dear. She hoped that he wasn't expecting her to have been in Paris for a while, to have had many experiences in her time at the Opera Populaire.

"I've only been living in Paris since August," she confessed. "Though I visited family here frequently since I was a child. I'm not stranger to the city of love."

When they reached the cafe, Verity chose a table, setting her things down on it. "What kind of coffee are you most partial to? I'm buying," she said. Why not? She enjoyed doing nice things for people, even if she had just met them.

[Mrs Nadir Khan]

Alexander Sokoll

"I've only been living in Paris since August," Verity admitted. "Though I visited family here frequently since I was a child. I'm not stranger to the city of love."

City of love. Alexander’s lips twisted into an ironic smile. He’d fallen in and out of love so many times while in Paris, but nothing lasting. The only love he’d found here that didn’t fail him was his love for the city itself. Alexander was not a ladies’ man, though once upon a time, Esperanza joked that he was, simply for the virtue that Alexander always seemed to be pining for some girl or another. Maureen. Lindy. Esperanza. He was sure there had been others who caught his eyes, but no others caught his heartstrings. Three girls in four years. City of love indeed.

Alexander could smell the café before he could see it. The thick, inviting aroma of freshly brewed coffee permeated his nostrils. It brought a smile—a real one—to Alexander’s lips. He followed Verity to a table nearby and both singer and dancer set their books down on the table.

"What kind of coffee are you most partial to? I'm buying," Verity insisted.

“That’s really sweet of you,” Alexander said. “But shouldn’t a gentleman offer to buy the lady her coffee?”

The words weren’t unusual off of Alexander’s lips. He genuinely believed in a code of chivalry. But, frankly, they surprised Alexander. In California, he’d been a bit more reserved. He didn’t make light conversation; he didn’t say anything that could be mistaken for flirting. He was back in Paris and a slight lilt was creeping into his voice. Still, his tone was mostly straightforward. Really, he wouldn’t mind buying Verity a cup of coffee. In fact, he found that he wanted to.

“C’mon, I’ll buy. Think of it as a ‘welcome to Paris’ gift or something.”

[MysticMasquerade]

Verity Ravensdale

In New York, Verity had not met a single man that had rejected the offer of something for free. It just was not something that was done by college students; someone offers you something, and you accept it. You're broke otherwise, so why not? Offering to pay for coffee or for dinner was something that Verity had been known to do on occasion, and she had thought to do it again.

But, as it would turn out, the new guy was having none of it.

“That’s really sweet of you,” Alexander said. “But shouldn’t a gentleman offer to buy the lady her coffee?”

"I suppose," Verity acknowledged. She was a fan of chivalry and manners, but she enjoyed mixing old conventions with modern ones from time to time. A woman could pay, if she so chose to. "But I enjoy being non-traditional on the rare occasion."

Still, that didn't seem to change his mind.

“C’mon, I’ll buy. Think of it as a ‘welcome to Paris’ gift or something.”

Verity heaved a playful sigh. "Oh, very well. But be forewarned: I will try and find a way to make it up to you. It's in my nature to do so."

She took a moment to look at the list of coffees. "I generally get a vanilla latte. What do you prefer to order?"

[Mrs Nadir Khan]

Alexander Sokoll

Verity protested that she enjoyed being non-traditional. And while Alexander could totally respect that… It was also a sign of respect for a guy to buy a girl coffee. Or, at least, that’s what Alexander thought. Besides… He was a male ballet dancer. He had to preserve masculinity in some facets of his life. Plus, there was little harm in buying a coworker coffee. Alexander couldn’t believe he hadn’t suggested it first.

He seemed to convince her, though, as a playful sigh escaped Verity’s lips.

"Oh, very well. But be forewarned: I will try and find a way to make it up to you. It's in my nature to do so."

Alexander grinned. He was growing to like this Verity Ravensdale woman. Self-flattering though it may have been, she sounded like Alexander. Or, at least, she sounded like the kind of person Alexander preferred to spend his time with. So many of his friends had wandered away from the Populaire by now. Rafael, Jennifer, Oçeane, and Maureen appeared to be the only ones left. Alexander felt a warm sensation akin to premonition; he and Verity could very easily be friends. She studied the menu as Alexander studied her, trying his best to shake the feeling somewhat so he could make that thought a reality.

"I generally get a vanilla latte. What do you prefer to order?"

“Hmm…” Alexander’s eyes trailed to the menu and he thought. It had been a while since Alexander had gone out for coffee, typically preferring to make his own drinks. “I think a cinnamon latte sounds good for today.”

[MysticMasquerade]

Verity Ravensdale

Verity always enjoyed guessing what people would order at restaurants and cafes. It was something that she could busy herself with, a private thing she did to keep herself completely focused on whoever she was with at the time. The people that she chose to spend time with deserved her full attention; why would she be with them, otherwise?

“Hmm…”

The sound denoted the obligatory moment of pondering that one had prior to ordering. Even if for a mere second, Verity found that most people questioned their decisions.

“I think a cinnamon latte sounds good for today.” Alexander told her. Well, she had guessed been partially correct. Like her, he seemed to be the latte type. It was strange, but she found herself admiring him all the more for his taste in coffee. Most men that she'd had coffee with thought it prudent to order a very masculine drink, usually ordering an Oliang, Americano, or even a Hammerhead, on occasion. She picked up on this ploy immediately, and she had yet to be left unamused by it. She was very glad to know that Alexander was being himself.

"That sounds like an excellent choice," she commended him. "Thank you for buying me the coffee. I'll come up with some way to repay you."

[Mrs Nadir Khan]

Alexander Sokoll

"That sounds like an excellent choice," Verity praised.

Alexander shrugged and continued to smile, pushing his chair back so he could approach the counter to buy the coffees. His tastes in coffee were varied. He’d take what he could get or make. Caffeine was often a much- needed pick-me-up for the active danseur. However you prettied it up with syrups, creams, or sugars, it boiled down to a need for energy. Besides, Alexander was something of an in-home-Emeril. He appreciated the different flavors, perhaps more than most, because of his relatively strict dietary regimen and his own fascination with cooking.

"Thank you for buying me the coffee. I'll come up with some way to repay you."

Alexander gestured noncommittally, but the word “flattered” was probably written all over his face.

“You don’t have to,” he insisted. “But if you really want to… I’m sure we can think of something. I’ll be right back.”

He made his way to the counter to order and was sent back to the table with two, steaming mugs of latte, which he set down carefully on the table as not to spill. Then, he nestled back into his seat across from Verity.

“So,” he said, picking up his coffee and holding it aloft, just below his mouth. “How’s the Populaire been treating you?”

[MysticMasquerade]

Verity Ravensdale

Alexander made a gesture that told her that she was not expected to repay him for the coffee. She would, however, feel rather guilty is she didn't. She just needed to decide how to do so.

“You don’t have to,” he insisted. “But if you really want to… I’m sure we can think of something. I’ll be right back.”

Verity nodded, relaxing in her seat. Brentano's was such a warm, inviting place. She would have been perfectly content to spend days in there, reading as much as she pleased. She had kept her love of books a secret in high school, but once she had gotten to college, everything had just exploded. She was reading almost everything that she could get her hands on, even content to read from her textbooks when she had nothing better to read. She was lucky not to have been judged; of course, she would hardly have cared if anyone had passed judgment. She wasn't one to trouble with those that criticized her.

When Alexander returned, it was with their lattes. He set them both on the table before settling back into his seat.

“So,” he said, picking up his coffee and holding it aloft, just below his mouth. “How’s the Populaire been treating you?”

"Very well," she informed him. "Much better than I expected for only having been here for less than three full months."

She took a quick sip of her latte, allowing her eyes to shut briefly as she savored the taste. The Parisians really knew how to make coffee. She was being spoiled by their expertise.

"Of course, my father has been very supportive of me. If it weren't for him, I wouldn't be having coffee with you right now," she said lightly. Of course, she owed a great deal to her father. Though it had been Alistair's idea for her to become an opera singer, Verity was thankful that he had pushed her towards singing. It was one of the few things that she was very good at.

[Mrs Nadir Khan]

Alexander Sokoll

Alexander thought back to his first few months at the Populaire as he took a prolonged sip from his latte. Though the place was indisputably home, it had been quite the roller coaster. At the time, Alexander had been the only man living in Dorm Three. Jeez, that had been ages ago. He’d been so much shier then. Those first months had changed him. Forced him to grow up. In that span, he’d fallen for Maureen—only to have her cheat on him with another woman in the orchestra pit. He’d also been reunited with Rafael after the other man’s tour in Iraq. And he’d met Esperanza, become her dancing coach. And he’d met Pieter, not knowing that he would later become Maureen’s boyfriend and Alexander’s own mentor. It had been a lot, but all preparation for things that happened later: Julietta’s rape, the attempts made on Alexander’s life, becoming Danseur Noble, Esperanza’s pregnancy. The Populaire was not always kind to its denizens, but it never left them with a dull moment. He wondered if Verity had yet tasted the opera house’s… unconventional brand of welcome.

"Very well," she informed him. "Much better than I expected for only having been here for less than three full months."

Alexander nodded. Maybe the Populaire had quieted down since he last danced its stage. He was glad to hear that Verity seemed to enjoy it, though. Maybe she’d stick around. The company could always use dedicated talent; its employees could all also benefit from knowing a girl like Verity. Outside the opera’s community was even less friendly than the Populaire. A kind-hearted coworker was something of a blessing in the opera; something Alexander never failed to appreciate. He set the coffee down with a quiet clink.

"Of course, my father has been very supportive of me,” Verity added lightly. “If it weren't for him, I wouldn't be having coffee with you right now.”

Parents. Alexander loved his dearly, even though frustrated with them for their not-so-subtle hints. His mother had been the one who guided him towards the ballet. Even though Jonathan wished his eldest son would have done something a little more manly, they’d never disparaged Alexander’s career choice. His lips tugged upwards.

“I’m glad, then,” Alexander said happily. “Meeting you has been a pleasure.”

He paused to study his coffee for a moment. He looked up, his eyes betraying slight pensiveness.

“We’re blessed, I think, to have generally supportive families,” he said, his tone still pleasant, but far more thoughtful. “I don’t know how some artists manage without good friends and supportive families.”

He wasn’t one for sob-stories. Alexander was generally a sympathetic man and would listen to the problems of others willingly, but really, he found that the pessimism some artists had about their pasts, though rightful, was an extreme downer. In a world where things didn’t always go right, added negativity was unnecessary. Channeling it into your art was one thing, but Alexander had met both those who found an outlet and those who let it weigh them down during his time at the opera. He definitely preferred the optimists to the pessimists.

[MysticMasquerade]

Verity Ravensdale

Verity was having a good time. This meeting was just so... casual. She felt no pressure to behave differently from what she usually did. She was generally a little apprehensive when meeting others for the first time, if only for a few moments. Now, however, she was completely at ease. In this case, that was a good thing... she hoped. She detected no reason for Alexander to deceive her, and she wanted very much to trust him.

“I’m glad, then,” Alexander said happily. “Meeting you has been a pleasure.”

"As has meeting you," she returned with a smile. She didn't meet men like him very often, and when she did, she made a point to enjoy their company.

“We’re blessed, I think, to have generally supportive families,” he told her, his enhanced thoughtfulness clear in his voice. “I don’t know how some artists manage without good friends and supportive families.”

"I agree," she said. "So many people have accomplished amazing things with so little."

She took another sip of her coffee before continuing, "Then again, there are some artists that focus far too much on their struggles. I can't say that it's helped them gain any happiness." Verity thought of several people that fit the bill: Kurt Cobain, Lord Byron, Edgar Allen Poe... each artists that she respected greatly. Too much emphasis on darkness could leave a person hollow.

[Mrs Nadir Khan]

Alexander Sokoll

An artist’s life was difficult enough. From nail-bitingly stressful auditions, to the odd jobs taken to supplement relatively meager paychecks, to the pressure to be in absolute top form at all times, it was a life you had to choose knowing full well that sacrifices were to be made. The world wasn’t even all that sympathetic. A dancer with a bum leg lost their livelihood. A singer with laryngitis was put on vocal rest. An actor between jobs was teased mercilessly about waiting tables. That was why, Alexander supposed, the art community was so open and familial. He’d been blessed to have relative success so young; doubly so to make his way with friends at his side. He couldn’t really imagine how he would have managed with some “tragic, traumatic past”. He probably wouldn’t be Alexander as he was now. The idea of an embittered and moody Alexander was one that had been made a reality every now and then, but never a lasting one. A lastingly jaded Alexander wouldn’t have been functional enough to chat up a stranger at a bookshop, let alone run a ballet company. Verity seemed to be from a similar mold. Alexander couldn’t anything about her past. But Verity-in-the-present was definitely sweet.

"I agree," she said. "So many people have accomplished amazing things with so little."

Alexander nodded in silent agreement. Like Esperanza. Orphaned in her teens, she’d become a ballet soloist by her twenties. Or Maureen, who had lost loved ones through both death and divorce, but who had also been a Broadway star in her day and was now the Populaire’s pianist. Or Rafael, even. The child of divorced parents, whose mother had signed him up for the military without his consent, and who had gone to war. So many of Alexander’s friends had the tragic past thing cut out for them, but it was because they didn’t let it warp them or hinder their art that Alexander was impressed.

"Then again, there are some artists that focus far too much on their struggles. I can't say that it's helped them gain any happiness."

An almost bitter smile twisted on Alexander’s lips as he thought about some of his other friends. Julietta, for instance, had been shuffled around by unloving parents and left her fiancé for reasons Alexander never quite was able to understand—and had given her baby up for adoption to avoid said ex-fiancé. Julietta, who had been raped and shot by Pearce Rowe years ago, always seemed so fragile to Alexander and for a long time, he’d made it his duty to protect her. There were others he’d met in passing, too, who let life’s struggles and tragedies break them down and whittle them away to next to nothing. Few of those empty-shell-people gained much more than Alexander’s condolences. Not that it mattered to them… or even to Julietta. They’d protest gratefulness, but seemed content in their discontent. Some claimed it helped their art; others just seemed to return to melancholy no matter what good came their way. Alexander brought his coffee to his lips with a shake of his head. He took a sip as he thought how best to phrase his thoughts.

“It really doesn’t help,” he said, lowering the cup again. “It’s sad, but there’s only so much you can do. Some people just don’t want to be happy.”

He hated giving up on people—Alexander seldom did—but he knew lost causes when he saw them. And some people actually reveled in the image of a tortured artist.

“Sadness is natural for some things,” he said, leaning forward, a small, confidential grin his lips. “But I prefer not to waste my time with it when I can help it. Life’s too much fun to waste time.”

He was really home, wasn’t he? He’d been moody, sullen almost, in Sacramento. He tried to have fun—would drive out to the beach to surf on the weekends he wasn’t working, went out to the local hot spots some nights, took walks, danced—but it wasn’t until he was back in Paris that Alexander felt compelled to really live up to his creed.

[MysticMasquerade]

Verity Ravensdale

Verity noted that slightly bitter smile that took hold of Alexander's lips. She placed her elbows on the table, folding her hands together and resting her head on them, waiting for him to continue. An expression like that didn't appear on someone's face for no reason. She watched as he took another sip of his coffee before speaking up.

“It really doesn’t help,” he said. “It’s sad, but there’s only so much you can do. Some people just don’t want to be happy.”

"You're absolutely right," Verity concurred. It was true. Verity thought back to her time in America, recalling the term "emo." It was tossed about quite liberally, but for some, it was a lifestyle. These were the people that exaggerated and glorified their misery. Many of them, as she had learned from her friends, changed after high school. Some, however, did not.

“Sadness is natural for some things,”

What could she do but nod? While many an "emo kid" complained about the trivial issues in their life, Verity had experience real loss, real pain. For years there had been a void in her life, left behind by her dear mother. She had experienced her fair share of sadness, and it was not something that she enjoyed. She could never understand the glorification of negative emotions.

“But I prefer not to waste my time with it when I can help it. Life’s too much fun to waste time.”

"Ah, do I detect a personal motto? It sounds like carpe diem to me," she said. It was exactly what they were doing right now: seizing the day, getting to know someone on a complete whim. So far, carpe diem had been working out very nicely.

[Mrs Nadir Khan]

OOC: Sorry about the delay. Internal Santiago-Alexander power struggle. I think I got both my guys under control now. BIC:

Alexander Sokoll

Too much fun to waste time. Like now. If Alexander had been overly absorbed in brooding or hating the world, he wouldn’t be drinking coffee with Verity. He wouldn’t be smiling at her and getting to know her. To Alexander, social interaction was the pinnacle of fun. Whether it was being out with a large group of friends, a first date, or an intimate chat with a kindred spirit was almost immaterial. He was just a social creature. Why waste time alone? Why waste time being gloomy?

"Ah, do I detect a personal motto? It sounds like carpe diem to me," she said, eliciting a smiling shrug from Alexander.

“Oh, dang, you’ve heard the official name,” he said in mock disappointment. “And here I thought I was coming off as a profound, original thinker.”

He was joking, of course. Profound? Original? Maybe compared to some, but certainly not when compared to Socrates or Descartes or something. Alexander Sokoll wasn’t a brilliant mind per se, but he knew a good mantra to live life by when he heard it. He was pretty sure whoever invented “carpe diem” didn’t mind so much that it was his own, personal motto.

“But it seems like you agree… About ‘carpe diem’, I mean,” he said evenly, eyeing her over his coffee mug. “Inviting a stranger to coffee after five minutes? Most people I know aren’t so… bold.”

Alexander wondered if he was that bold. Maybe now, after years of conditioning for social situations. But when he’d first come to Paris, had he been? No. He’d resorted to coy little love notes at one point to ask Maureen to his first, disastrous gala and he’d missed the golden opportunity to win Esperanza’s heart only a few months ago. It had been a slap in the face; a wake-up call. Life was too short to be shy. You had to take chances every now and again or waste away, wondering what could have been. He was impressed that it only took Verity a few months in Paris to develop that attitude… Or maybe she’d had it all along. He wasn’t sure. Whatever the case, her outgoingness was an asset; much appreciated by the ballet master.

[MysticMasquerade]

Verity Ravensdale

Verity was pleased to see another smile from Alexander. They may have met only ten minutes ago, but it was evident that they were well-suited companions. It seemed that they shared a similar view of life: what it meant, what it should be... things that made you feel comfortable around a person. Usually, Verity felt a small twinge of unease when meeting someone for the first time; she just couldn't shake that small feeling of suspicion that she tended to get when she was unsure of a person's motives. With Alexander, she had felt almost instantly at ease. She was certainly surprised at this strange turn of events, but she welcomed it readily.

“Oh, dang, you’ve heard the official name,” he said in mock disappointment. “And here I thought I was coming off as a profound, original thinker.”

She had to chuckle at that. "Carpe diem" may not have been original, but it certainly seemed to apply to him. He was just so full of life; anyone could see it if they looked closely enough, she was sure.

“But it seems like you agree… About ‘carpe diem’, I mean,” he said from behind his coffee mug. “Inviting a stranger to coffee after five minutes? Most people I know aren’t so… bold.”

It was true; Verity was very outgoing in general. She could easily spend her time with countless sorts of people. It was the matter of trust that restrained her, though she believed it wise to be selective of those that she was involved with personally.

"Well, I would certainly prefer to have my own 'original' motto, but 'carpe diem' suits me just fine," she said, pulling her hair over her left shoulder. "It makes life so much more interesting, don't you agree?"

[Mrs Nadir Khan]

Alexander Sokoll

Alexander supposed he’d truly learned how to seize the day after too many close brushes with death. He was not a risk taker by nature. But when your best friend dies in a car accident at seventeen, when your other best friend is shipped off to Iraq, when a man digs a gun in your side because you tried to defend someone else, you learn quickly that every day counts. You have to make the most of the time you’ve got. Enjoy life while it lasts. Make what you do count. But Alexander seldom paused to look at it like that. He didn’t have the time to think of why carpe diem worked for him. He was too busy day-seizing.

"Well, I would certainly prefer to have my own 'original' motto, but 'carpe diem' suits me just fine," Verity agreed, toying with her hair. she "It makes life so much more interesting, don't you agree?"

“And what’s a boring life worth, anyways?” Alexander asked, leaning into a more comfortable position in his chair.

He was not a devil-may-care man. He was cautious. He could even be a little neurotic—folding socks and scrubbing countertops when stressed, thinking of all the what-ifs life could bring—but Alexander pushed his quirks aside to live his life. He took small risks—chatting up strangers in line (or, in this case, in a bookshop), trying new restaurants and bars. The big ones, he let himself proceed with caution. But it wasn’t like every day called for Alexander to make big, melodramatic and life-altering choices.

“It’s the little chances you take that make life fun,” he added. “Like asking your new coworker if she’d be game for hanging out sometime.”

Woah. Alexander was genuinely surprised. He was outgoing, yeah, but that outgoing? It was a change, maybe even an improvement. … If it worked. If not, Alexander would do all he could to play it cool (and, as per usual, fail miserably). But for now, he could cross his fingers under the table that Verity might want to ‘hang out sometime’… Whatever on earth that meant.

Way to go totally high school on her…

[MysticMasquerade]

Verity Ravensdale

Verity had experienced a time in her life where she had been unable to do as she pleased, to "carpe diem," so to speak. Until her fourteenth year, she had been held in a gilded, yet loving cage by her father. She had been living by his will alone. She knew that Alistair had been terrified of losing her as he had lost Lisette, and so he had kept her on a leash. The first summer that Verity had spent with her cousin Marguerite had been eye-opening, and she had learned how to rebel in subtle ways that would not cause her father to worry. Once she had reached college, however, she had done exactly as she pleased, taking her health and safety into account as much as she could while still enjoying herself. She had become the charming, outgoing woman she was today through finally being able to interact with others, and she was so thankful that Alistair had allowed her to be on her own in Paris. It was proving to be a great experience.

“And what’s a boring life worth, anyways?” Alexander questioned, leaning back in his seat. What, indeed? Verity could not imagine returning to her adolescent lifestyle, if you could call it that. She needed freedom, need enjoyment, needed relations. Meeting new people was her preferred sort of thrill; why deny herself?

“It’s the little chances you take that make life fun,” he added. “Like asking your new coworker if she’d be game for hanging out sometime.”

There. That right there. People like Alexander were the reason that Verity enjoyed being outgoing. You could never know what sort of person you might meet unless you put yourself out there.

"Your new coworker would most certainly be game for hanging out sometime," she returned with a grin. "Already looking forward to it."

[MysticMasquerade]

OOC: Double post, I know. New scene with Ramona/Evrard! BIC:

Ramona Ingram

Upon entering Brentano's, Ramona realized that it had been a great while since she had been in a bookstore. She had been quite the bookworm in high school, in college as well. Once she had gotten to medical school, however, it seemed that all of her time had evaporated. When her residency began, she'd had even less time than before, her mind filled with thoughts of psychology and related studies more than anything else. Thankfully, she was now a certified psychiatrist, and had much more free time to devote to whatever she pleased.

And so, she had made the decision to go to Brentano's. She walked down various aisles, eyeing the multitude of titles the sat on the shelves. She passed by the romance novels and new age sections, largely uninterested in what they contained. Ramona had always been a fan of mysteries, particularly murder mysteries; she had grown up watching CSI, and had she been forced to choose an employment aside from psychiatry, she believed that it would have been in the forensics field.

Today, however, she had promised herself that she would not go in search of murder mysteries. Her younger sister, Katrina, was months away from graduating from college with a degree in English, specifically creative writing. Katrina hoped to be an author of young adult novels, and had enlisted Ramona's help: it was her task to read currently popular young adult novels and report back to her sister about what seemed to be trending amonst young people at the time. Ramona had thought the assignment funny, seeing as she was nearing thirty, but she gladly accepted in order to help her little sister. Her only condition was that she not be required to read "Twilight." Apparently, Katrina found the story as annoying as Ramona did.

Finally reaching the young adult section, she went through the books on the shelf, selecting ones from the spots marked with the words "New Teen Fiction" and "Popular Teen Fiction." At that moment, it seemed that vampires were losing their popularity. A tragedy, Ramona thought, giggling privately. It appeared as though werewolves were taking over.

Gathering a selection of interesting looking books, Ramona found an oversized chair in a secluded part of the bookstore. Settling down into her seat, she picked up a book, flipping to the first page. Perhaps allowing her inner teenager a little bit of reading time wasn't such a bad idea.

[A_Single_Rose]

Evrard Ludovic-Marcellin

It had been a long time since Evrard had purposefully set foot in a book store. The last time he had come to a place like this was to use to the water closet. He was in and then he was out, no book in hand. This time, however, Evrard was in here for more than a short visit to relieve himself. This was a different sort of relief, he supposed. He had never hated books, but he had never loved them. In his youth, he more often found himself in an auditorium with the performing arts than in the library with an aged paperback. A change of pace was what he wanted. It was not pre-planned, simply a whim. He had been buying a present a block down on Le Rivoli and had come by Brentano's. He couldn't remember the last time he had come in here, if ever.

For the last half hour, he picked up books, flipped through them, scrutinized their covers, scoffed at their summaries, and he was easing into the slow, monotonous air of the place. There was a din of voices calling to each other over shelves, giggling at pages and carrying on with average conversation around him. He looked on with little interest and was on the verge of ennui. He had wandered through most of the store at this point, skipping certain sections that didn't suit him: the childrens' section, feminine reading sections, magazine racks, etc. That only left about half of the store for him to explore.

In his boredom, to kill time and take a break from looking at the covers of nameless books, he ordered a café noisette and continued traversing the many aisles of hardcovers and paperbacks. This was a rare day - he had actual free time devoted entirely to himself and himself alone. It was thrilling and liberating. His job had a hand in the human resources department, so dealing with people was part of the job description. He was sick of people - annoying people, specifically. However, as he took a seat in one of the quiet reading areas in the store, he took his thought back. He wasn't entirely sick of people. He was simply tired of people who didn't know their left hand from their right and who often created logistical problems for him around the museum. It was often exhausting work.

Evrard drank his coffee, concentrating on the searing warmth flowing down the inside of his throat. His scanning eyes fell on a woman seated two chairs away. There was this woman and only one other person seated here. One was French. The other was not. How could he tell? Well, it was only an assumption based on the covers of the books they were holding. One woman, who looked a few years older than himself, was holding a copy of Madame magazine with some sickly, airbrushed female on the cover. The other woman, who was noticeably and pleasantly younger-looking, was holding... What was she reading? Evrard squinted slightly. Well, this was what had led him to the supposition that she was American. It was an American cover with English printing. He read the title and looked up at the woman's face. She had to be at least in her mid-twenties. What was she doing reading a novel written for people half her age? It was silly. It was amusing. He couldn't stop himself from asking:

"Aren't you a little old to be reading childrens' novels, mademoiselle?" He spoke with a wry smile, the French accent not completely hidden beneath his English.

[MysticMasquerade]

Ramona Ingram

At first, when Ramona had started reading the young adult novel that she was presently buried in, she had wondered why on earth Katrina wanted to write such stories; the writing, though efficacious and enjoyable enough, was nothing astounding. As she continued to turn the pages, however, it became easier and easier for her to see why her little sister was so intent on penning such novels. It became clear to Ramona that teenagers were unafraid to believe in the impossible; to read stories about, strange, magical things; and to accept the idea of true love. Many of the novels that Ramona herself had read were filled with hardened, experienced characters. The characters that she saw in young adult novels were spunky, hopeful, and open. She had to take a moment to ponder the psychological ramifications that were produced from one's choice in reading material.

Quieting her pyschiatrist side, Ramona allowed the teenager within to continue reading. She had a suspicion that the strange, attractive man that the heroine had just met was a the faery king that had been mentioned on the inside cover. Of course, there was only one way to find out, so Ramona turned off her thoughts, letting the words run through her mind without inhibition.

"Aren't you a little old to be reading childrens' novels, mademoiselle?" a male voice asked, his accent hinting that he was French. Ramona glanced up from her book, her eyes settling on the man. He looked to be some years older than her, and he wore a wry smile as he looked at her. Bookmarking her page with the book's cover, she gave him a friendly smile, angling herself towards him.

"Well, I would like to think so," she said. "But I suppose my younger sister doesn't think I am. She's an aspiring writer, and she asked me to help her out by seeing what's popular in young adult novels these days."

Ramona gave a brief look at the books before returning her attention to the man. "It's a shame that I have to 'work' on my day off, isn't it? But, thanks to you, I'm on break now."

[A_Single_Rose]

Evrard Ludovic-Marcellin

The woman wouldn't take it the wrong way, would she? Yes, in the wrong context, it would have sounded blunt and rude. But Evrard had done nothing wrong. The inflection, the smile, the relaxed position he was in all should indicate that he was only joking. At least, he hoped that was how this woman would percieve it. If not, he had just placed himself in a less than ideal position.

She looked up at him from behind her book. Lovely brown eyes... She didn't look offended. Her smile relieved him. The conversation had been initiated. Let the fun begin. "Well, I would like to think so, But I suppose my younger sister doesn't think I am. She's an aspiring writer, and she asked me to help her out by seeing what's popular in young adult novels these days." That was interesting. Evrard couldn't imagine having to suffer through those naive, transparent, annoying stories focused toward teenagers. His brother Gregoire, if he ever bothered to keep in contact with him, would never ask Evrard to do something like that. Actually, when was the last time they had even spoken? For all Evrard knew, Gregoire was dead somewhere or remarried to some other needy woman like his last wife. Hm. Never mind.

"It's a shame that I have to 'work' on my day off, isn't it? But, thanks to you, I'm on break now." Ah, Evrard had made a good choice. This woman was game to his advances and was even reciprocating to them. "Ah, lucky me." He smiled at her and languidly pulled himself up from his eased position against the back of the chair, leaning slightly against the armrest. "Do you actually enjoy those books?" He raised his brow and subtly nodded his head toward the stack of books beside her. "I admit I tried reading one a long time ago and I absolutely could not finish it. How do you do it?" Small talk. Nice and easy small talk.

[masquerading rose]

OoC: Bill and Lucian. BiC:

William MaCarthy

Paris was a big place, much bigger than all of Castle Combe. Much bigger than Chippenham. It was, in fact, bigger than all of Wiltshire. Big places seemed bigger without your family. A minute seemed like an hour, and hour seemed like a day. Which was why Ben had come to visit him. That visit had been a disaster and lasted no more than a week.

And then Damien called, telling him that Lucian was in town. Although Lucian wasn’t really family, he was close enough to it. Bill could remember spending nights there. It had been a safe house, a sanctuary, protecting Bill from his own family when things got too loud, too hectic, too busy.

Bill knew there was a reason he was enduring the turmoil Paris threw his way. Lucian was here, and they were meeting up. There was a familiar face here in the foreign city.

Bill sat, absently stirring his tea, looking out the window almost anxiously, waiting for Lucian to arrive.

[Mrs Nadir Khan]

Lucian Michaud ( http://www.jasonisaacsphotoalbumsonline.com/movies/Friends_w_Money/Screencaps/PDVD_022.JPG )

It was funny, the people you ran into in a foreign country. When you were lost and frantically shuffling down the street, you stumbled into the one police officer who spoke flawless English. When you went to the local theatre on a lark, you came across your son’s fiancée doing a chair-dance. And when you moved to Paris and were an ocean away from your only son, you learned that said son’s best friend was the assistant stage manager at the opera house you sponsored.

Or maybe that was just Lucian’s life.

He was oddly relieved to hear that Bill MaCarthy lived and worked a few short blocks from him. Lucian had watched the MaCarthy boys grow up right alongside Damien. They’d all attended the same private school in Wiltshire and the families had become oddly blended by the children. They couldn’t be less alike in structure. The MaCarthy parents—Mildred and Artie MaCarthy—were parents to a small army. Every time there was a school function—a rugby game, a school play, whatever—it seemed that their brood had either expanded or that the kids had grown another foot taller. Perhaps it was the stark contrast that drew Damien to the MaCarthys. There had been a few times when Damien innocently asked for a brother or sister in the same adorable, straightforward way he had asked for a puppy or a bicycle. “I’ll even take Gimpy,” he said once, offering gallantly to “adopt” the youngest of the MaCarthy brothers. And in a way, Lucian supposed, the MaCarthys served as surrogate siblings for Damien’s lonely, younger years. And just as the door to the MaCarthy’s rambling, Castle Comb home was open to Damien, so too was the Michaud’s door for the MaCarthy children. And in that unrestrained way of children, all of them said “yes” willingly. Though, admittedly, it was more common to see Damien rushing out the door with Ben or Bill to go somewhere, it never surprised Lucian to see the three boys lounging in the parlour, putting their feet on the coffee table (to Natalie’s horror and Lucian’s mild amusement). The children’s respective growth spurts overlapped and there were plenty of afternoons when Lucian couldn’t get into the kitchen because two, three, or four of them were crowded around the microwave. Penny—the oldest of the two MaCarthy girls—sought refuge with Natalie. It had been a bit of nepotism on Lucian’s part to hire the girl when she finished school and sought government employment. They were not his own children and Lucian would never pretend they were, but he had a soft spot for the MaCarthy children.

Lucian spotted Bill’s motorcycle outside the bookshop. He would recognise Bill’s old Harley anywhere. It had been parked on his lawn so many times and he’d never forget the night Ben and Damien took the bike for a joyride and tried to park it in Natalie’s rosebushes. Lucian grinned and shook his head before turning into Brentano’s. He walked to the in-store café and spotted Bill by the window.

“William MaCarthy,” Lucian said, smirking a little facetiously. “My God, you’ve gotten tall.”

[masquerading rose]

William MaCarthy

“William MaCarthy,” Bill looked up, a smile spreading across his face. He stood, pushing his chair out with ease. “My God, you’ve gotten tall.”

Come to think of it, Bill couldn’t remember a time he could look Lucian in the eye. Not recently, anyway, no directly. Lucian always seemed to be this tall, powerful man that Bill looked up to, could trust, and could put on his references for résumés.
But now, Bill stood at five-foot-eleven, and could look easily into his face. He could remember a time when he came up to the man’s chest, and then later, his shoulder. He could remember going to his house after a few months and being told how tall he had gotten. He never appreciated it then. At the age of sixteen, he knew how tall he was. He didn’t need another person to tell him. But now, he appreciated it, not because he was feeling short, but because it gave him a sense of familiarity, it returned him to home. It took him back to driving Damien home, sneaking Damien out of the house, and leaving skid marks in the drive. It took him back to sleepovers and loud music. It reminded Bill of home, of talking and casual get-togethers between the Michauds and the MaCarthys. It took Bill back to all four seasons of Castle Combe, all of which held their own special memories that tied to Lucian and Damien.

Bill laughed, taking his hand firmly and pulling him in a hug. “Lucian Michaud,” he said suavely, releasing him. “My God, you’ve gotten old.” Bill smiled, assuring him of the jest in his words. He motioned to the seat across from him as he sat down. “It’s so good to see you again, Mister Michaud.”

Bill picked up his tea, still hot and steaming. “How’s Paris treating you?”

Sipping his tea, Bill hoped Lucian was finding Paris to be a good place to live and forget about the divorce. He had read in the paper. Lucian had been the biggest celebrity in Castle Combe during his visits to Bill’s house since Dr. Doolittle was filmed in the 1960’s. The divorce wasn’t quiet, especially not with the hoard of MaCarthys in the know. Bill felt bad. He couldn’t say he was shocked, but he felt bad; for Damien and Lucian both. But somehow, it filled Bill was a sense of hope, knowing that he wasn’t the only Brit in the café today with relationship problems.

[Mrs Nadir Khan]

Lucian Michaud

Bill laughed and rose to his feet. Lucian’s smile only widened as the younger man took his hand and pulled him into an embrace. It was no lie; Bill had grown. In fact, had the two men stood shoulder to shoulder, it would have been difficult to say who was taller.

“Lucian Michaud,” Bill said, mimicking Lucian’s tone as they broke apart. “My God, you’ve gotten old.”

Lucian barked out a laugh and took the seat opposite Bill. Under the unruly hair and sleepless eyes, Bill was still very much the cheeky little boy Damien introduced as his “super awesome best mate” over a decade ago.

“It’s so good to see you again, Mister Michaud,” Bill said in a more honest tone. Lucian’s smile softened and he nodded.

“Good to see you, too,” he agreed quietly.

Lucian watched Bill pick up his tea and Lucian wondered if he’d have to ask a waiter or go up to the counter himself. Though fond of books, Lucian was scarcely familiar with the upscale bookshop—much less its café. He far preferred the tucked away, family-owned bookstores that lined the streets in his artistic neighbourhood. He’d learned to love the natural flavor of Parisian culture over the mass-media empires that were slowly taking it, London, and New York City over. He felt at home in the City of Lights and he thanked his lucky, bicultural stars that he had a French father and English mother. Lucian was sure that was what made him so adaptable.

“How’s Paris treating you?”

It was better than England right about now. But to say so would sound beyond bitter. Lucian certainly couldn’t tell Bill that the one thing making his stay so enjoyable was Ashton.

“I’ve always loved it here,” he said with a shrug. “What about you? I bet you’re relieved you didn’t take the job in Cairo these days.”

[masquerading rose]

William MaCarthy

There should have been something awkward about having tea with your best mate’s father. But too many dinners to count at the Michauds’ or at the MaCarthys’ told Bill that this was normal. Close enough to normal as Bill had been privy to for past several months.

In the past several months, his gay best friend got engaged to a woman, Bill was taking prescription pills, Ben was breeding Tasmanian devils in his basement, the love of his life was on and off more than a light switch and he was in Paris.

He was having tea with Lucian Michaud. That was the most familiar thing in his life.

“I’ve always loved it here. What about you? I bet you’re relieved you didn’t take the job in Cairo these days.”

“Yeah.” Bill said, setting his cup down. If there was one thing he learned in the fifteen years of knowing Lucian, it was never a good idea to talk politics with him. “In hindsight, taking this job was better, blighter boss and all.” Growing up, Bill could go to Lucian’s house and curse and not get scolded. Lucian was used to it. Besides, Bill was an adult now and could really say whatever he wanted. His mother was always really the only one who cared about what came out of his mouth.

Bill took another sip from his cup, changing the subject. “Have you, by any chance made it out to the opera house? The Populaire, I mean.”

There were two opera houses in Paris. There was a fifty percent chance that Lucian offered his patronage to Bill’s. They did Tristan und Isolde recently, with lighting designed by Bill, children wrangled by Bill and clean up crew assigned by Bill. Though he complained about the menial jobs of an assistant stage manager, this was still better than Cairo. Paris, at least wasn’t in a revolution, and there was the odd occasion when Bill could design lighting.

[Mrs Nadir Khan]

Lucian Michaud

Lucian shuddered to think that there might be yet another Middle East war brewing. He’d considered switching to diplomacy once, but Natalie vetoed him. She’d been right to do so. Lucian wouldn’t want to be responsible for negotiating peace in such a sticky situation. He was also thankful for Bill’s sake that the younger man turned down a position there. Damien mentioned that Bill might be going to Cairo a few months ago and bemoaned the idea that he would become Ben’s go-to whenever things with the other man’s boyfriend, job, or cache of (possibly illegal) Tasmanian devils drove him berserk. Damien grumbled for days that it would “suck bollocks anyways if Bill was in France… But at least that’s not reckless abandonment”. Damien’s theatrics somehow paid off—although Lucian was sure Bill picked Paris for more reasons than those enumerated by Damien. Lucian cocked his head and waited for Bill to say something.

“Yeah.” Bill said, setting his cup down. “In hindsight, taking this job was better, blighter boss and all.”

Lucian chuckled. Bill was savvy enough to avoid discussing international affairs with an ex-politico. Penny would have taken the bait. So, too, would Ben. Penny, because she enjoyed a good verbal spar and opportunity to show off her insight. Ben because, well… Lucian was sure that Ben had been the kid who touched hot stoves until age fourteen.

“Have you, by any chance made it out to the opera house? The Populaire, I mean.”

“Of course,” Lucian said enthusiastically. “I haven’t had much opportunity to attend, but I did see Tristan und Isolde a few weeks ago.”

It was best not to mention that he’d had Ashton in tow and that the pair of them snuck off to the cellars to feed fish half-way through.

“Wonderful work,” he said, assuming that Bill had a hand in the production. “It was quite possibly the best Wagner production I’ve seen.”

[masquerading rose]

William MaCarthy

“Of course. I haven’t had much opportunity to attend, but I did see Tristan und Isolde a few weeks ago.”

Bill’s face lit up at the sound of this. His family and his friends were the most important people to him, and it meant the world that one of those people had made it out to see a performance he helped construct. Although Bill was mature, grown man, he was still very much a child where his triumphs were concerned. He wanted to see his family and friends glow with pride at Bill’s hard work.

“Wonderful work. It was quite possibly the best Wagner production I’ve seen.”

Bill’s smile widened. “You really think so? Did you notice anything particularly cool about it? … Like the lighting, perhaps?’

Bill wasn’t one to boast, but he was excited. This was the proudest of himself he had felt since he got the job. His brother embarrassed him, Victorine shot him down, Bill had hit the lowest of the low, the nadir of desperation. He drank, he popped pills, he hardly slept; it was the longest suicide in history since Montgomery Clift. And here was Lucian, who didn’t know about it. Here was Lucian who was making him feel like the old Bill, the better Bill. He was glad he met him there today.

[Mrs Nadir Khan]

Lucian Michaud

For a moment, Bill went from being the young stage manager the rest of Paris probably saw to the little boy who seldom knocked on the Michauds’ door before entering and whose face lit up at the plethora of ice cream toppings laid out on the granite countertops for a night spent over. Lucian smiled. He missed those days. Parenting had been a joy Lucian hadn’t quite matched with other pursuits. And those days when Damien and his friend’s childish footsteps pounded against the floor would not be replicated in Lucian’s own home until the day Ashton and Damien presented him with his first grandchild. Lucian pressed his tongue to the roof of his mouth at the thought. He always felt queasy when Damien and Ashton’s future entered his mind. He refocused on Bill’s enthusiastic grin.

“You really think so? Did you notice anything particularly cool about it? … Like the lighting, perhaps?’

Lucian smiled.

“I think that lighting can make or break an entire show,” he said honestly. “Yours was subtle, but it more than did its job.”

[masquerading rose]

William MaCarthy

Bill didn’t know if Lucian knew anything about opera other than how to enjoy it. Hell, Bill only knew the technical theatre things that took place in every hidden nook and cranny of the opera house. Bill didn’t know where opera singers kept all that air any more than Lucian knew the difference between a gel and a strobe light. But he tried, and Bill always enjoyed his constructive criticism, constructive or not.

“I think that lighting can make or break an entire show. Yours was subtle, but it more than did its job.”

Bill smiled, almost impressed with his knowledge. “Well thank you. I aim to please.”

That was a lie. Bill aimed to please himself. No one else mattered. If it made people mad, Bill was the last one to give a rat’s ass. But family was different. Lucian was family.

“Why don’t you get some tea, Mister Michaud?” Bill asked, feeling awkward for having tea with Lucian there, drinking none. “On me. I insist.”

[Mrs Nadir Khan]

Lucian Michaud

It wasn’t exactly a fib. What Lucian had seen of Tristan und Isolde had been wonderful. The lighting had merely accentuated the performance—which was its job. Lucian knew that much. It was an opera; not a pyrotechnics show. But knowing that lighting was one of Bill’s specialties helped Lucian to know what he could say to brighten the younger man’s day. Sure enough, Bill’s face lit up… No pun intended.

“Well thank you. I aim to please,” Bill said happily.

Lucian smiled and didn’t contradict him. Bill never said just who he aimed to please, but Lucian didn’t suppose it was the general audience whose approval Bill sought. Unless, of course, things had changed in the last stretch of time since Lucian last saw Bill. Always a possibility…

“Why don’t you get some tea, Mister Michaud?” Bill asked, “On me. I insist.”

“Don’t be absurd,” Lucian said gently. “I’ll pay—for yours and mine… if I can figure out just where the end of the line is….”

[masquerading rose]

William MaCarthy

Bill knew the Michaud family and their money too well. He knew that any offer to pay would be turned down.

“Don’t be absurd. I’ll pay—for yours and mine… if I can figure out just where the end of the line is….”

Bill frowned slightly, bringing the corners of his lips closer together. Some things really hadn’t changed; like the Michauds’ need to pay for everything. Bill could remember days when the families would go out together and Lucian or Natalie would cover the bill. But those were the days when Bill lived at home. Bill’s family had no money. They had a roof, food, and clothes. But money was always tight, like wearing a sweater four sizes too small.

But Bill was on his own now and making very good money where he was. He was no millionaire, but he made so. He had an apartment wasn’t lavish on purpose—it was only him and occasionally Victorine, and Bill would be crazy not to let her sleep with him. Bill had money. He didn’t have nearly as much as the Michauds did, nor did he think he ever would, but he could pay for two bleeding cups of tea.

“No, Mister Michaud. Allow me. I know where to pay…” Bill already had his wallet out and was standing. “Come on,” he said, nodding as if to pull Lucian toward him. “I’ll show you. For next time.”

Bill figured there would be a next time. There always was. It would have been weird if there wasn’t.

[Mrs Nadir Khan]

Lucian Michaud

In Lucian’s mind, Damien was still his little boy. Bill was still the crazy, fun-loving pre-teen he’d met fifteen years ago. They were frozen in a time for Lucian in many ways. It was a little surreal at times to think that Damien was getting married. His blue-eyed baby boy… engaged. So, too, it was strange to look across the table and realize that the curly-haired young man was Bill MaCarthy, the kid who liked louder guitars than Lucian and who made age-inappropriate jokes ever now and again just to shock the adults. A frown etched on Bill’s face and Lucian quirked an eyebrow.

“No, Mister Michaud. Allow me. I know where to pay…” Bill insisted, pulling out his wallet and standing. “Come on, I’ll show you. For next time.”

Lucian smiled and shook his head, pushing to his feet.

“All right, fine,” he said, giving in and following Bill. “But next time, my treat.”

---

OOC: New scene. Lucian/Scarlett BIC:

Lucian Michaud ( http://www.jasonisaacsphotoalbumsonline.com/TV/Brotherhood/season2/CW%2011NY/Snap11.jpg)

If there was one room Lucian missed from his Wiltshire home, it was his study. The room wasn’t overly large, but it had the distinct smell of books. Paper and ink blended together for a clean scent that enticed a person to enter another realm. Here in Paris, he had four bedrooms—only three of which were filled— and no study. He missed his large, oak desk and the antique maps inherited from his maternal grandfather. In time, Natalie would ship them out... If she didn’t sell them.

Don’t be unkind, Lucian reminded himself often. She’s your ex-wife, not a monster.

In time, Natalie would ship Lucian everything he needed to make a study in the fourth bedroom. Lucian would have a desk and maps and boxes of books and a home renovation project. There was little Lucian could want for once he had all that. But that didn’t mean he was content to wait idly for Natalie to send him all his things. The woman had yet to send the bloody divorce papers, after all. And though Lucian could do little about that he could create a study all on his own. Well, all right. Maybe he’d enlist Ashton or Rachel to help decorate it. He didn’t exactly have an eye for interior design. It was moments like this that Lucian selfishly missed his son. Damien would have known what to do and how to do it. The boy had an eye for colour and shape. An artist by nature and training, Damien would have taken on the project with childlike enthusiasm.

Of course, Lucian thought, grimace twitching into place, He wouldn’t take to kindly to your dating his fiancée.

He batted the thought away and turned down one of Brentano’s many aisles. Though everything was labelled, none of it was done up very clearly. Nor were there helpful salespeople abound as Lucian would have hoped. This was his third wrong turn on his way to the home improvement section. Distracted and a little lost, Lucian knew when he was out of his element. He certainly was not a shy man. At the end of the aisle, he saw a brunette woman who seemed to know what she was doing. Granted, everyone in the store seemed to know what they were doing, save Lucian. He shook his head, smiled and approached her.

“Pardon me,” he said, not wishing to be rude. “But do you have any idea where I could find a book on home renovations?”

[inside your mind15]

Scarlett Beaumont (http://www.swotti.com/tmp/swotti/cacheBGLZYSBLZGVSC3RLAW4=/imgLisa%20Edelstein4.jpg)

Sanctuary! Sanctuary! Well not quite. Brentano's was one of the only places Scarlett could go to get away from everything in her hectic life, pick out any novel and unique book, and read to her heart's content. The familiar bell welcomed her as she strolled into the store.

The smell of books, leather, and rich coffee instantly made her mood lighten as she perused the shelves for one or two that migh suit her fancy for that days reading. Her eyes scanned the shelves and chose Machiavelli's "The Prince", and a biography on Bach. They had absolutely nothing to do with each other, and she felt like reading both for different reasons.
As she was reaching for "The Prince" on a high shelf, someone asked,“Pardon me,” he said, not wishing to be rude. “But do you have any idea where I could find a book on home renovations?” She turned, looking at the man who had asked her the question. He seemed to be a little older than her, good-looking, well-dressed. She decided she would help him out." Umm," She said, stepping down, grabbing her book off of the shelf, "I believe if you take a right at the end of this aisle and then... honestly, it will be easier if I show you," She said, tucking the two books underneath her arm and motioning him to follow her." They don't make it simple to find anything here," she explained, walking beside him then taking them to the right.

OOC: Really cruddy post, Sorry! BIC:

[Mrs Nadir Khan]

OOC: Psh. You’re fine! BIC:

Lucian Michaud

The woman turned to look at Lucian. The Englishman hoped she spoke English, but prepared himself to make the slide from his native tongue to that of his forefathers. The words formed somewhere in the back of his mind, but Lucian’s eyes studied the person he just approached. Roughly his age—falling gracefully into that gulf of time called “middle aged”—the woman was pretty. No obvious frown lines etched into her face... It was a good sign. Dark-coloured waves hung to her shoulders, looking well-groomed and sophisticated. She, like Lucian, had a strong nose, but on her it looked aristocratic. And then, Lucian met her eyes. He swallowed. Cornflower blue accosted him and for the fleetest of seconds, Lucian would have sworn he was staring into Natalie’s eyes. They were the same shade; a similar shape. There was something positively alarming about that, especially if this stranger somehow got annoyed by or angry with Lucian. Most days—even today—Lucian could handle the tiny reminders of Natalie lurking about in the world. He had yet to remove his wedding band for any length of time. And dozens of people he met in his daily life had blonde hair or blue eyes. It was nothing, Lucian decided, that he couldn’t handle. He brushed away internal panic in favour for a charming smile. He didn’t have to tell the woman before him what he thought, as long as it didn’t show. Perhaps, more importantly, he didn’t have to tell her that he was not a lost tourist, but a semi-native to Paris, who just had a poor sense of direction. She would point him in the general direction or tell him to get lost. That would be that.

"Umm," she said, climbing down from the ladder, book in-tow. "I believe if you take a right at the end of this aisle and then...”

She paused. Lucian cocked his head, waiting.

“Honestly, it will be easier if I show you," the woman admitted. “They don't make it simple to find anything here.”

Lucian shook his head knowingly. They really didn’t. It seemed that the designers of Brentano’s sought maximum storage space for their wares; not ease for their customers. Lucian didn’t mind so much. Now a businessman, he understood the motives. The woman came beside him and the pair began to walk. His ice-coloured gaze flickered to the stranger’s book selection. He blinked in surprise when he saw two of his own passions mirrored in her arms: music and politics.

“A wonderful selection,” he said, nodding to her books. “Bach and Machiavelli, I mean. I must admit, “The Prince” is perhaps one of the most instructive books I’ve ever read.”

A former politician, Lucian had devoured the classic. It had been required reading in school and later, readily applicable to the political arena. Sadly—and maybe a little frighteningly—it was just as informative when it came to Lucian’s divorce. Natalie was certainly using it as a guideline. Where Lucian’s focus was on avoiding contempt and hatred, she seemed to firmly believe it was better to be feared than loved by her ex-husband. Threats of alimony payment and leverage she held over him regarding their properties in England and regarding their son’s affections had Lucian willing to give her whatever she asked, so long as he was allowed to live out the remainder of his days in comfort—and far, far away from the woman who had cheated on him. Sometimes, it was a wonder they both hadn’t become politicians. He shrugged.

“In college, I thought it was a manual for politicians,” he said with a not-quite nostalgic smile. “But I suppose it applies to more than that. Any particular reason you chose it?”

[inside your mind15]

Scarlett Beaumont

Scarlett walked in step with the gentleman next to her, knowing exactly where the man needed to go and would promptly show him. This was just a sidetrack to her day she supposed, a bump on the road to mindless reading. Even though her book selection would be deemed anything but. Though Scarlett missed casual interactions, which seemed few and far between these days. Tending to her workaholic nature, she kept to herself and focused on what was important. Or what she used to think was important.

“A wonderful selection,” he said, nodding to her books. “Bach and Machiavelli, I mean. I must admit, “The Prince” is perhaps one of the most instructive books I’ve ever read.” He said, eyeing her small bundle of books stacked underneath her arm.She threw him a small, questioning look. Instructive? That's interesting, he must be or have been, some kind of politician. She didn't recognize him from anywhere, and his accent was British.
She immediately cradled the books to her chest, switching them for comfort.“In college, I thought it was a manual for politicians,” he said with a not-quite nostalgic smile. “But I suppose it applies to more than that. Any particular reason you chose it?” He asked, and she smiled. So he was a politician. That made her like him a little more, and made her more wary. The stigma of politicians and lawyers was true until proven different: they were smooth.

She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear," Well, honestly, there a few reasons," She started," I've heard that Machiavelli gets a terrible reputation from this book, and I'd like to see if the rumors are true," She said smiling. " Also he seems very... pragmatic, and concise. I like that." She added, stopping next to the shelf he was looking for." By the way, this is your section."

[Mrs Nadir Khan]

Lucian Michaud

Something sparked in the stranger’s bright, blue eyes. Interest or confusion? Lucian couldn’t say. He just knew that it surprised him, if only because he couldn’t recall inspiring that look in Natalie’s same-coloured eyes in so long. He staved off a somatic expression, but a twinge of retroactive irritation snapped in Lucian’s stomach. Why could he elicit favourable reactions from strangers, but not his wife? There was nothing to be done about it now. And Lucian didn’t want to, anyhow. He had people in his life-- Ashton, Rachel, Damien, Bill—who didn’t hate his guts after knowing him for a stretch of time. That was something. And he was making pleasant small talk with others, like the American woman he now walked with. Nothing was wrong with Lucian, but—maybe—something had been wrong with his relationship. Something he overlooked...

No need to dwell, he reminded himself. You can’t live in the past, so don’t even try.

Still, when a smile drew up the American woman’s lips, Lucian still felt a surge of justification. He was still likable, somehow... He wasn’t less of a man after his divorce. He returned the expression. This had potential. Whether it blossomed to a deep discussion or a casual how-do-you-do, it had potential.

“Well, honestly, there a few reasons," the American woman began. “I've heard that Machiavelli gets a terrible reputation from this book, and I'd like to see if the rumours are true."

Lucian chuckled quietly. Many thought Machiavelli’s work to actually be a satire of sorts—something he learned back in his younger days—to promote the installation of a republic by making the codes for a prince so vile. Political theory aside, he’d just revealed his past career. He really ought to have picked up on Bach instead...

“ Also he seems very... pragmatic, and concise,” the woman added, still smiling and still talking Machiavelli. “I like that."

Lucian nodded. Perhaps that was why Machiavelli’s work survived into this century. Pragmatism was always valued, even if conciseness didn’t always equal eloquence in Lucian’s eyes. He and the woman came to a halt beside rows and rows of shelves.
“By the way, this is your section."

“Thank you, Miss...” Lucian trailed off, extending a hand in hopes for a name in return. Proper introductions might as well be made, after all...

[inside your mind15]

Scarlett Beaumont

This is exactly what being a social hermit for so long will do to you. It will make you incapable of meeting someone and continuing to hold a meaninful conversation! Scarlett mentally chided herself for her workaholic-based solidarity. Now that she wanted to talk with someone, she felt herself almost incapable of doing so. What had happened to the socialite Scarlett Beaumont? Who knew everyone and everyone knew her? She must have died when she broke up with Eric. She noted sarcastically, still hurting from the way he left her, broken and feeling used.

So she led him to the section he was looking for, hoping she could do something to become the old Scarlett again. Although, by the looks of things, is was a long shot. “Thank you, Miss...” He said, prompting her for her name and extending his hand." Beaumont. Scarlett Beaumont," She said, smiling and shaking his hand lightly." The pleasure was all mine," She said, her smile fading a bit. Now what? She'd done what she was asked to do." So I'm guessing you're a fan of Machiavelli then?" She asked, trying to keep the conversation alive. She didn't want to leave just yet, to go hide in a corner and read alone." Sometimes I like to tell myself I'm an idealist, but honestly, realism seems to win out."

[Mrs Nadir Khan]

Lucian Michaud

She accepted his hand lightly. It wasn’t a limp handshake, but rather, much gentler than those exchanged in Lucian’s working life.

“Beaumont. Scarlett Beaumont," she introduced. And before Lucian could offer up his name in return, she continued, “The pleasure was all mine."

Pleased already? Lucian quipped internally. Either the woman was easily impressed or Lucian had done something right. Or she’s quite the flatterer…

Lucian was always wary of charmers. He was one. Even his most heartfelt compliments often fell on deaf ears because of his position in society. In turn, he regarded others with the grain of salt. His lips parted for the perfunctory thanks and introduction, but Scarlett continued her end of the conversation. Lucian tilted his head, curious.

“So I'm guessing you're a fan of Machiavelli then?" Scarlett asked. “Sometimes I like to tell myself I'm an idealist, but honestly, realism seems to win out."

Lucian smiled. He was the same way, he supposed. An idealist turned pragmatist by circumstance. Years in Parliament wised you up. Life as a husband and father brought you down to earth. A loss of favour chipped the ego. Soon, you were left with the reality of your world: a wife who cheated, a son who dove in and out of the picture, a lover who was twenty years your junior, and a house and business in a foreign city you didn’t know what to do with. You weren’t Prime Minister. You weren’t on-top of your game. The balance you’d struck was precarious at best. You sacrificed your artistic and lofty ideals for just trying to survive.

“You have to be,” Lucian agreed, his smile sobering to a fervent, but pensive expression. “It’s wonderful to have ideals, but applying them gets tricky at times. I think Machiavelli is wonderful, but he misses the mark when it comes to tempering realism with idealist principles.”

And maybe, Lucian, too, had missed the mark. He still held fiercely to the hope that he and Ashton would get their happy-ending, when he knew full well that when Damien came to Paris to claim her, their affair would have to end. Ideally, he would have had the moral decency towards his son never to pursue Ashton. But, frankly, Lucian knew he could only self-deny for so long before it broke him. Ideally, he would never have found himself in the position of loving his future daughter-in-law. Ideally, Natalie would never have left him. Ideally— Forget “ideally”. Lucian woke up every morning to Ashton for the time being. The consequences would come and he would handle them as best as he could.

“I’m Lucian, by the way,” he said, realising he’d never given Scarlett his name. He smiled again. “And I do believe, Scarlett, that the pleasure of meeting you is mine.”

[inside your mind15]

Scarlett Beaumont

Scarlett hoped that she was not overstaying her welcome, since the man was perhaps busy and in no need of idle small talk. Though he seemed mild- mannered enough, though with politicians, they knew exactly how to be polite and then before you know it, they brush you off for something, or someone else. She knew all too well. Having dated a few, and from connections through her parents, she had observed enough to know how the typical politician made his or her way through a crowd in record time. Though she wasn't about to compeletely put this man into her political schema. It wouldn't be fair to him.

“You have to be,” He said, responding to her comment about realism,“It’s wonderful to have ideals, but applying them gets tricky at times. I think Machiavelli is wonderful, but he misses the mark when it comes to tempering realism with idealist principles.” He commented, and she nodded." Most definitely, however, it's his harsh use of realism that is so interesting," She looked down at the book in her hand, her smile fading a bit. It reminded her of how far she'd come from being carefree and fun-loving. She now could answer the question that people do change. Because she felt like a completely different person. She looked back up at him and tried to fake a smile.“I’m Lucian, by the way,” He said, introducing himself,“And I do believe, Scarlett, that the pleasure of meeting you is mine.” He finished, and she smiled wide, but her eyes were wary. Flattering words from a stranger, a stranger who was a politician. Good God Scarlett, let your guard down for once and relax! She screamed at herself, and her gaze softened." Hmm, I guess so, since you would have been terribly lost without my assistance; good help is hard to find these days." She teased, a smirk playing at the edge of her lips.

[Mrs Nadir Khan]

Lucian Michaud

Retirement was—on some levels—a beautiful thing. Though Lucian had inherited a business from his uncle since abdicating the political arena, he found that most days, he was a free man. His days were spent sorting through his divorce, but also playing his guitar, reading, exploring Paris, visiting the Populaire and Rouge, and getting reacquainted with himself. It could have been an intensely lonely time for the Englishman. But Lucian was not the sort to let opportunity slip through his fingers. Upon arrival, he was largely without social connections. Pierre. A few other friends from childhood. An expatriate or two from his hometown. A social creature by nature, Lucian was more than willing to stop and get to know perfect strangers. He had time to spare. Perhaps that was why he didn’t merely thank Scarlett and dash off. He was still networking. The American woman’s smile faltered though. Lucian instantly kicked himself mentally. She didn’t want to hear platitudes of “the pleasure is all mine”. Few people did, regardless of truth, if it fell of a politician’s lips.

You really ought to have talked about Bach… Lucian bemoaned. At least that would have been harmless.

But Lucian wasn’t playing it safe these days. He moved to Paris after a fight with Natalie, ready to plunge into divorced life without much trepidation. He was living with not one, but two young women, which could hardly look chaste in the eyes of others, even though only one of them was his girlfriend. And, of course, Lucian’s girlfriend just happened to be his son’s fiancée. Lucian was nothing if not a risk-taker these days. Besides, a little chat about Machiavelli with a stranger wouldn’t be the worst thing to happen to Lucian. If she thought him an incorrigible snake, it was no worse than anything former rivals had to say. And Lucian survived all that just fine.

Still… You’re at the mercy of strangers these days.

Because when Ashton left, Lucian would be alone again in the City of Lights. It would just be him in that big, empty house. He’d have to make friends and carve out a satisfying life for himself with that in mind. Thing was, he hadn’t been a savvy, backstabbing Machiavellian in years—if ever. He admired the man, yes, but when you got to the heart of Lucian Michaud, he meant a lot of what he said in earnest. He just knew how to phrase it eloquently. If that made him unpalatable to some, that was fine. If it endeared him to others, even better. But what Lucian couldn’t abide was not knowing where he stood with someone. And Scarlett’s smile that didn’t meet her eyes had Lucian wondering just what sort of impression he’d made thus far. Her gaze softened momentarily, though, and Lucian wondered if—somehow—she’d decided to like him after all.

“Hmm, I guess so, since you would have been terribly lost without my assistance; good help is hard to find these days."

Even better; a sense of humour.

Lucian, too, relaxed, smile becoming a grin and he leaned against the nearest bookshelf comfortably with a laugh.

“Where were you when I was in office?” he teased back. “Educated in Machiavelli, helpful and clever... God knows I wouldn’t have stuck around Parliament a bit longer if the company had been so good.”

In Lucian's language, that conveyed multiple things: he was enjoying the conversation and he was not a threat to the physically-guarded Scarlett. Maybe, just maybe, it would come across....

[inside your mind15]

Scarlett Beaumont

She could see the uneasiness in his eyes as she kept her guard up, not letting her smile reach her bright blue eyes. He knew that she had presumptions, and why wouldn't she? It's not like everyone didn't have prejudices they had to mentally abandon in order to judge a person clearly. She just needed to get around hers. He didn't know her past, and every thing that went with it. Just like she didn't know his.

She finally tried to relax and let her guard down a bit. She needed this interaction; the last thing she needed was come across completely guarded, or scared, or bitter. It was time for a change, a change for the better.
“Where were you when I was in office?” He teased back, leaning against the nearby bookshelf, “Educated in Machiavelli, helpful and clever... God knows I wouldn’t have stuck around Parliament a bit longer if the company had been so good.” He finished and she laughed, the amusement reaching her eyes this time. She shook her head smiling," Oh no, politics was never for me. Though my parents probably would have preferred that path," She said, " Music is more my speed...violin preferredly," She said, holding up the book on Bach. " Almost contradicts my pragmatic tendencies... I guess that's why I love it," She said, a small smile on her face. She didn't mean to go into so much detail. She crossed her arms loosely, almost defensively, feeling somewhat vulnerable. She averted her gaze, tucking a strand of dark brown hair behind her ear. She met his gaze again, feeling stupid for retreating," Besides, I don't think a musician would do much good in Parliament," She added, smiling sheepishly, trying to bring the humor back into the conversation.

[Mrs Nadir Khan]

Lucian Michaud

In any social situation, Lucian had a goal. Mostly, it was to walk away well-liked or at least respected. He had primarily succeeded since arriving in Paris. Lucian couldn’t think of a person yet who hated him here. Back home was another story and Lucian hoped to keep it that way. He found himself hoping his latest attempt at humour would win his companion over. And finally—after multiple attempts at eliciting a genuine smile from her—Scarlett’s face lit up. A laugh; a small twinkle in her eyes... Either the American was amused or good at faking it. Either way, it assuaged Lucian’s worries.

“Oh no, politics was never for me. Though my parents probably would have preferred that path," Scarlett assured him, still smiling. "Music is more my speed...violin preferredly."

She indicated her book on Bach and Lucian smiled, nodding in recognition. She was a musician, then? Lucian surrounded himself with musicians in Paris. Musicians and artists. It was like college all over again. Lucian didn’t fancy himself much of a musician now that he was grown. He played a decent bit of guitar and piano, but not professionally. More of an admirer than anything, Lucian left the stage to the likes of Ashton, Rachel, and Scarlett. People who had passion and once-in-a-lifetime talent when it came to music.

"Almost contradicts my pragmatic tendencies... I guess that's why I love it."

Instantly, Lucian was reminded of Damien. Looking at Scarlett again, he realised that the blue in her eyes was just as akin to Damien’s as Natalie’s. And, clearly, she was more in-step with Lucian’s son than his ex-wife. An artist—by training and nature—Damien almost gave his mum a heart attack when he announced he was reading for art history. Lucian would have objected, too, but he knew his son. Somehow, Damien would temper his artistic goals with the reality in which he lived. Lucian had at least that much faith in his own parenting skills. The corner of Lucian’s mouth twitched affectionately. He rather liked this Scarlett and—fleetingly—hoped Damien would meet her or someone like her to help him sort his goals out. But before Lucian could comment, Scarlett’s arms folded across her chest and she tore her eyes from Lucian’s. Her long fingers pushed hair from her eyes, tucking it neatly behind her ear. Was she nervous again? Was Lucian really that scary? She looked back up at Lucian’s quizzical gaze.

"Besides,” she added with a sheepish smile. “I don't think a musician would do much good in Parliament.”

Lucian chuckled and shrugged.

“You never know,” he said. “I play a bit of guitar and piano in my spare time and no one much minded.” He paused, bit his lip playfully and made a self-deprecating sound. “But... Then again, I’m sure my opponents would agree with you. Musicians in Parliament are absolutely ineffectual.”

[inside your mind15]

Scarlett Beaumont

Scarlett liked where this was going. She had finally come out of her reclusive stage that had lasted so long, and into the marvellous light of social interaction. Well, sort of. She was working on that, and it seemed to be going fairly well with Lucian. As long as she could keep up her witty banter and smile, she should survive.

“You never know,” he said. “I play a bit of guitar and piano in my spare time and no one much minded.” He said, and she nodded. A fellow musician. Which would take them to another shared topic of interest. She really wished that she didn't analyze things so meticulously, maybe then she could just talk to this guy without having to contemplate her every move in the conversation.
“But... Then again, I’m sure my opponents would agree with you. Musicians in Parliament are absolutely ineffectual.” She smiled, the corner of her mouth rising a bit more than the other." They'd never tell you that though," She pointed out, smiling." But honestly, musicians aren't looked at as the most... practical of all career paths," She said. Something her parents had told her when she wanted to pursue violin as a profession, that it wasn't practical." But I was really good at it, so I guess it's okay," She teased, smiling geniunely.

[Mrs Nadir Khan]

Lucian Michaud

Scarlett smiled at Lucian’s light joke. In truth, it wasn’t too far off the mark. Lucian could recall his earliest days in Parliament. He had a relatively spotless background—save for conceiving Damien out of wedlock—and besides the attacks on his family life, the only thing Lucian heard at first was the disapproving talk about how he was still so young and had been in a band in college. Laughable stuff, really, but his opponents were sure to point out that Lucian had no room to condemn recklessness and would likely infuse some of his clearly radical ideas into his politics. A load of bull, really, given how economically traditional and moderate Lucian was. The talk died down, but good-natured ribbing never did. Lucian always countered with an argument in favour of the arts in education and its value. That usually did the trick. No one wanted to be caught condemning arts programmes for children.

“They'd never tell you that though," Scarlett protested lightly. “But honestly, musicians aren't looked at as the most... practical of all career paths, but I was really good at it, so I guess it's okay.”

Lucian smiled. God, she was reminding him of Damien.

“Mum, Dad... I’m going to be a restoration artist.”

“A what?”

“An artist.”

Natalie had just about fainted at that revelation last year. Lucian, too, had been concerned about where Damien would get his next meal and how he hoped to have a roof overhead.

“No, no, Dad. It’s actually really practical. I’ll work for a museum restoring old paintings and do my bit on the side,” Damien assured him. “I’m really good. You know I’m good. And it’s what I want to do. Unless you’d rather me stay in school for another decade, working on my dissertation...”

Lucian smiled, a certain fondness creeping into his features. Vaguely, he wondered if Scarlett’s parents ever adjusted to the idea of her becoming a career musician or if they—unlike Lucian and Natalie—chose to sever ties with their artistically inclined child. The only thing that could ever possibly come between Lucian and Damien was at rehearsals now. Lucian tried to push aside the thoughts of Ashton bubbling beneath his mind’s surface. But Lucian knew how her father reacted to her artistic goals. He’d seen the way she discounted Henry, tried to brush him aside, but also the twinge of hurt gleaming in Ashton’s eyes whenever she spoke of her father. He didn’t want to tread that shaky ground with a next-to-complete stranger. He would stick to the safer questions, instead.

“Where do you play?”

[inside your mind15]

Scarlett Beaumont

Scarlett felt horrible for being so guarded, and yet she knew that she needed to take a cautious approach. She had been hurt by too many people, especially men, before and she didn't feel like getting in the same position again. Although he had made no notion of any sort of advancement, she still wanted to be cautious. If he knew all that she had been through, he would understand. Though she would probably never see this man again, so intimate details of her personal life would be excluded from the conversation.

“Where do you play?” He asked, and she smiled, glad that the topic had turned away from something she could accidentally spill her soul about. Not that it would be accidental at all. I really need to get more friends, She thought, and then answered his question." The Paris Opera House," She said flatly, but knew this wouldn't be enough to keep the conversation going," If that doesn't keep me busy, I'm also a patron there," She said, laughing. " Mostly helping the orchestra," She added, " I thought it would be a good idea to have a person that knew the goings-on in the orchestra to help with financing the things they need," She said shrugging, as if it wasn't that important. She loved her job, both of her jobs, and it helped to have her as a spokesperson for the other members of the orchestra. She would never think about giving up playing violin. Music had been there for her when she had no one, and it would always be there. She leaned against the bookshelf, " What about you?" She asked, " What brings you to Paris?" She added, " Though the city itself is enough of an answer," She said laughing. This was the longest conversation she had had in a while. Other than the brief, courteous greetings she would give to another patron or a fellow violinist, she missed just... talking with someone. How silly it seemed, but yet it was an important part of her life she had been missing. Maybe she would finally become the socialite Scarlett Beaumont that everyone used to recognize.

[Mrs Nadir Khan]

Lucian Michaud

There were a million artistic venues in Paris. Well, maybe not a million, but almost. The city was revered as the core of the artistic community in Europe. Culture thrived here. Travel agencies insisted that Prague was up-and-coming in the artistic scene. ‘The new Paris’ some touted. But Lucian was a traditionalist. Here in the City of Lights, there was plenty of art and artists abound. Scarlett was hardly different, it seemed. An expatriate herself, she’d come all the way from America (the accent was obvious) to be in this musical Mecca. But a violinist could play anywhere in the City. From the Populaire to the street corner just outside the Bois du Bolougne, opportunity for music was everywhere.

“The Paris Opera House," Scarlett said flatly.

Lucian’s eyes sparked in recognition. He patronised the place. He’d yet to see Scarlett there, but the Opera Populaire was huge. In the future, Lucian would make it a point to seek her out in the pit.

“If that doesn't keep me busy, I'm also a patron there," She said, laughing. "Mostly helping the orchestra," She added, "I thought it would be a good idea to have a person that knew the goings-on in the orchestra to help with financing the things they need."

Lucian nodded. That made plenty of sense. Too often the other patrons he’d met were not artists themselves by any stretch of the imagination. A few, from Lucian’s understanding, were funneling donations to court dancers or local office. A cheap tactic, if you asked him. He was instantly in admiration of Scarlett for being above all that. She supported the place out of genuine love.

“What about you?" She asked, "What brings you to Paris?"

“A multitude of things, really,” Lucian admitted. “Recently, I inherited my family’s vineyards... Couldn’t exactly oversee them from Salisbury.”

He omitted the fact that he had done just that through Pierre until his divorce from Natalie.

“And, like you, I support the Paris Opera.”

He didn’t mention that he also wound up patronising the Moulin Rouge, thanks to Ashton.

“I’ve always loved opera, so it just made sense...” He shrugged. “I’ve not met many other patrons.”

He wasn’t about to tell Scarlett that he skipped budget meetings because too much of his life in England had been spent in an office discussing economics and finance.

“I really ought to socialise more, if they’re all as good company as you are.”

[SocialMisfit]

Amorette Cheuvront

How long had it been since Amorette had found a new good read? She had a few favorites that were starting a little rough around the edges because she read them so often, but it had been a while since she had picked up something new. Besides dancing and cooking, Amorette's favorite pastime was curling up with a good book.

When your mood swings had a tendency to freak people out, sometimes books were your only company.

Amorette stepped into the shop, her flowing, brown skirt swishing around her legs as she walked over to one of the many shelves, browsing through the rather wide selection Brentano's had to offer. She chose one that interested her, and lightly skipped over to a group of comfy-looking chairs, and sat down, cracking it open to read a few chapters to see whether or not she liked it. However, she found it boring, and stood back up to put it back, when a collection of cookbooks suddenly caught her eye. Smiling, she began thumbing through one of them.

Amorette stood there and after a while, her legs began to grow tired, so she shifted her weight by stepping back slightly, and was startled when she accidentally bumped into someone behind her.

"Oh! Pardonne moi, Monsieur!" she apologized, a blush painting her pretty cheeks.

[Daroga]

Jean Sauveur

It was not something that many people knew about the dark man of even more shaded life experience, and something even fewer would guess. But one of Jean's great passions in life was cooking. It almost ranked higher in his esteem than his well-documented passion for the arts. Except unlike singing or dancing or even painting, cooking was not only something he could do but could do exceedingly well.

On his father's side Jean's family had always been more than modestly comfortable and with that had come all of the perks of wealth. For as many generations back as could be recalled the Sauveur family had employed the services of a cook along with the perfunctory maid and gardeners that were requisite among their tier of society. But that tradition had ended the day his parents were married. Jean's mother had come from less endowed background and had always presumed, like normal people, that she would have to learn a trade to work her way through life. For her there had been no choice other than the culinary arts. Sabine Sauveur, before she was a Sauveur, had excelled in her studies and her skills in a kitchen had been more than merely noteworthy. And though she had married into the position where she needn't worry about things like paychecks and careers, it had never once occured to her to stop what she loved.

While he was growing up Jean had taken more than a small amount of teasing from his classmates over the fact that while their mother's were solely employed with the business of running households and staffs and organizing functions and luncheons... his mother was actually out working in a restuarant three nights a week. But Jean didn't care, because as he was quick to point out it was Michelin rated restaurant. And anyone of their mothers would have been beside herself for the honor to eat his mother's food. His pride in her skills, though, extended well beyond being able to counter school-yard taunts. From a very young age Jean had been mesmerized watching his mother prepare family meals. She was always trying new things and encouraging him to sample food he had never even heard of before. And once he had gotten older she had even began teaching him how to do it himself, teaching him the joys of cooking and the delight in presenting a delicious meal made with love to one's family.

These days Jean cooked mostly for himself, a side effect of his rather solitary existence. But he seldom missed an opportunity to invite friend to his home for a meal. Still without the benefit of being able to share his creations a bit of the joy had gone out of his kitchen. Thus he had decided it was time to add some spice back, and the best cure he could think of was his mother's favorite trick. Try something he never had before. With that goal in mind Jean had made his way to the bookstore in search of a new cookbook, hoping to find something that would challenge and entice him.

Jean was deep in concentration, a small mountain of cookbooks forming over his arm as he had yet to begin the torturous process of weaning them down to the few he would actually purchase. The pictures off every page he flipped through made his mouth water while each title seemed to promise something new or different. He knew in the end he would only purchase one (or perhaps two) of the books he was juggling as he flipped through one more. But for the moment he was content just to imagine the possibility of everything availible to him while in his head he was already make corrections and alteration to the recipes to tailor them to his own highly refined palatte and tastes. Jean was running his finger down the ingredients list of a recipe from a book on Indian cooking, losing himself in the exotic poetry of the spices list alone when he suddenly felt himself propelled forwards towards the bookcase.

"Ughf!" he grunted as he was forced to throw his hands up in front of him to catch himself before hitting the shelf. All the book that had been previous tucked carfully under his arm thudding to the floor, looking like colorful carnage of pictures. Jean's head whipped around ready to unleash a verbal tirade over the perpetrator of his clumsiness.

"Oh! Pardonne moi, Monsieur!" came the quick apology from am angelic voice. As Jean's gaze landed fully on the face of his assailant he was pleasantly surprised that it matched the sweetness of her voice. Perhaps some, if not most, would down apon a man of his age admiring the beauty of a woman young enough to be his daughter (if not even younger than his son). But Jean had been a fan of classical art long enough, and spent more than enough afternoons wandering through the halls of the Louvre, to be of the mindset that the appreciation of beauty should never be taboo. And she was in fact quite gorgeous. More than capivating enough to quickly quell the temper of a mildly irrate old man who was quick to forget any transgression on the chance it wod illicit a smile rather than a scowl from her radiant countenance.

Jean waved a dissmissive hand at her apology and smiled kindly, not wanting to appear too captivated for feat of crossing that narrow line between friendly stranger and lecherous old man. "It's quite alright," he assured her, "I was trying to figure how I was going to get myself to part with most of these anyway. You have merely helped me pry myself away from them," he joked lightly as he stooped to begin picking up the books he had dropped.

[SocialMisfit]

Amorette Cheuvront

Her victim turned around, and by the annoyed look on his face, Amorette was prepared to be raked over the coals for her clumsiness, but was taken by surprise when the aggravation in his stance turned into a rather forgiving expression.

He waved off her apology with a kind smile. "It's quite alright," he assured her, though Amorette's face was still flushed from apologetic embarrassment. "I was trying to figure how I was going to get myself to part with most of these anyway. You have merely helped me pry myself away from them," came the good-natured joke, as the man stooped down to pick up the books he had dropped.

Being raised by a mother who was very strict in teaching Amorette to respect her elders, she gracefully dropped down to quickly help him pick up his books. After all, she had knocked them out of his hands in the first place. She saw that they were cookbooks, and it made her smile. With her hands full, she rose, and gingerly handed them back to the man.

"I am truly sorry, Monsieur. I did not see you," she explained, before falling silent again, looking once more to the collection of cookbooks in his arms. "Do you enjoy cooking as well, Monsieur?" she asked curiously. She shouldn't be surprised if he was. This was France, and one of things France was famous for was the food. Yet, Amorette always had this silly notion that she was one of the few with a passion for cooking.

[Daroga]

Jean Sauveur

Jean glanced up briefly as the young woman dropped grace down next to him, quickly moving to help him collect the books he had inadvertently scattered across the floor. He smiled benignly at her as between the two of them they had quickly collected the dozen dropped cookbooks. As they stood she timidly handed them back to him and he noted the way she was scanning the title on the top copy. "I am truly sorry, Monsieur. I did not see you," she said apologizing unnecessarily once more. Jean chuckled lightly to himself as he bent his head slightly once, accepting it this time lest she continue the ritual. "Do you enjoy cooking as well, Monsieur?" she asked in a small yet curious tone.

Jean shifted the stack of books in his arms, extracting one which promised hundreds of new recipes on inventive sauces (his weakness) and the one covering Indian cooking which he had yet to try. “Moi?” he said absent-mindedly as he shuffled the remaining tomes attempting not to once again deposit them in the floor. “I’m afraid it is my weakness,” he said with a small grunt as he deposited the books he had excluded from purchase for the day on the shelf nearest. At the exorbitant rates this bookstore charged, presuming they were capable of re-shelving themselves was not extraordinary.

Jean tucked the two books he had settled on under his arm and pushed his hands into his pants pockets taking a relaxed posture. “Well,” he said in a teasingly confessional tone, “it’s one of my weaknesses,” he teased with a wink. “But truly is there anything more delightful that the satisfaction of a well prepared meal savored and shared with friends,” Jean commented with an almost dreamy smile. “Except perhaps an masterful sopranic aria before a full house…” he commented mostly to himself in the same faraway tone.