Let Me Pretend I'm Somewhere Else {Chauvelin}

[MARIE EVANGELINE ROQUEFEUIL]

[style=font-family: times; font-size: 12px; letter-spacing: 1px; text-transform: lowercase; color: #989898; font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;]1445 WORDS FOR CHAUVELIN Surprise Chauv. Hehehe. Picture that was my inspiration Here and picture of the Grotto Here and picture of the bed Here. AMOUR [/style]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=width,450,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,true][atrb=style, background-color: #6d6d6d;] [style=padding: 10px; text-align: justify; font-family: arial; font-size: 10px; height: 475px; overflow: auto; color: #1e1e1e;]Marie stared at the note resting in her lacy, gloved hand for the thousandth time as the carriage trundled its way out of the lights and busy streets of Paris and into the quiet countryside as the sun fell heavily and quickly toward the black horizon where it would drop out of view leaving the world to the blackness of the night for a time. It was almost gone from the sky now - coming ever closer to that dark line of earth beneath which all was black looking even though it actually wasn't. The inside of the coach in which she was riding was surprisingly nice, and it even included tiny candles along the sides which lighted the interior in the darkness. On the outside, it was merely a simple black coach, but on the inside it was luxurious. There were the usual two seats but they were covered in plush cushions that were gold covered in black embroidered and velvet designs. There were pillows of black with gold embroidery thread - the exact reverse of the seats and throw pillows of white lace with gold and black ribbon and braiding around the edges. The whole inside plush interior of the coach was made of soft, black velour as well and wood paneling. It had been a while since she'd ridden in such high style and was extremely curious about why this carriage had been sent for her and about the note in her lap. Its contents made little sense.. she'd been asked to meet a friend of her family's, Captain Victor D'Anthès at... the location the King's Court would soon be moving for summer to discuss something important? She felt bewildered as she looked at the note. For once, why and where was the court going to move. She knew that Victor had been appointed as the new riding master to King Henri - but that didn't exactly explain why an acquaintance wanted her to meet him - and - as if that wasn't mysterious enough - the note had come with clothing in a box in exactly her size. How strange! Victor's mother was a friend of hers of course. They'd grown up together... and she'd known Victor since the day he was Christened.. but they weren't such particularly close friends that she didn't find it odd that he'd sent her a note in fine calligraphy on vellum asking her to meet him at a new court to.. discuss something? Or why? It was so horribly confusing and, at first, she'd considered not going at all, just simply throwing the note away and forgetting about it - but something deep down wouldn't let her do that, and she didn't know why. So, dutifully, that night she had begun the routine of getting dressed up. She had taken a milk bath - a secret she used to keep her skin looking young and wrinkle free - and then gone into a proper bath with the hottest water she could procure and sat in it for the longest time full of rose petals and delicious scents which she let soak into her skin and gave herself a good hair washing as well before styling it up elegantly in the new fashion - parted down the center with curls on either side pinned back to her head and a jeweled comb holding it all together in the back. Once she'd finished her hair, she allowed her maid to help her change from her dressing robe into her chemise, corset, and such. Over all of this slipped the dress which had been in the box. It was a gorgeous pale powder blue color which set off her gingery red hair nicely. The dress itself was a nice empire waist with a very long skirt, and a narrow waist and an a-line skirt which puffed out just slightly around the ankles. The sleeves were short with a square cut neck. Over the top part of the dress there was a soft, filmy gauze material into which had been embroidered patterns. This material overlay continued down the skirt of the dress with a split down the center of the skirt - though it was so light in color it didn't change the color of the dress. Once dressed, she slipped onto some blue cloth slippers with a demi heel embroidered with white roses on them and a pair of wrist length lace gloves. To accent the outfit, she used earrings with a simple wire drop at the bottom of which there was a pearl followed by a tear-drop shaped aquamarine. In her hair, she studded a few hairpins which were stubbed with aquamarine in the end. Around her neck, a strand of small pearls made up the chain portion of a necklace which had a single teardropped shape aquamarine pendant. Simple, yet pleasing to the eye. The color in her cheeks was definitely heightened now - but at least she had been ready to go in time to meet the carriage which the note had said would come for her. And finally the carriage was pulling to a drop in front of a sight which both shocked and amazed her - the lit and glowing gates of Chateau du Varsailles. Lights blazed from inside at each of the windows and all along the gates which swung open to admit the carriage in which she was riding. However, it did not, as she'd expected, pull up to the front of the palace but, instead, followed a path towards the grounds and along one of the paths in the gathering darkness - the sky now an inky blue color. It was several more minutes before the carriage ground to a halt. The footman opened the door of the carriage and handed her down onto the walkway into what Marie was almost sure must be a wonderland. She was in what the footman told her was The Grove of the Three Fountains. This landscapped area held a fountain on each of three levels with slopping Elizabethan grass steps between each of the layers and a natural cascade waterfall. The fountains seemed to somehow glow with lights which floated on the water - a reality which seemed impossible but yet was before her very eyes. The bushes glittered with the light a hundred thousand fireflies blinking on and off on and off in the warmth of a beautiful May evening with the splashing and trickling of the water in the background - nature's harp. In a convenient location, safely tucked away in the reclusive spot near the grotto, there was a white gauze room of sorts - a tent on three sides with the fourth rolled up and tied with white silk ribbon. Inside this little room was what looked to be a large day-bed type mattress with a little rolled pillow on each end and several pillows against a coffee table which it rested against to make a dining surface. The mattress was blue and white with a rich pink-red blanket drawn across it and tassles of gold at the corners. On the back of the table sat an explosion of pink and white roses in a dish and a candalabra and what seemed a hundred white tapers providing light. Also on that table was an array of silver dishes, covered with lids. Beneath those lids one could find the greatest delicacies of a nine course meal fully awaiting them. Under the first plate oysters on the half shell with wine, under the second fresh baked baquette and bisque, under the third salmon and caviar with crackers, the fourth fresh coq au riesling (little did she know, Henri had heard that in Alsace it was meant to be Riesling rather than Vin) and whipped potatoes - Truffade, green beans, and truffles over fied eggs - the very best way to get the flavor. The fifth held mixed vegetable salad with iceberg lettuce and raspberry viniagrette dressing. The sixth fruit crepes and petit fours, the seventh chocolate covered strawberries and champagne. The eighth held an amuse of cheese, fruit and nuts and last, but certainly not least, creme brulee and tea. Marie stared at the scene before her in absolute shock. "What.. on earth.." She breathed, slowly turning around on the path between the grotto and the little bed with the meal on the table beside it. When she looked again, the carriage was gone and she was totally alone... She shook her head in disbelief as she turned another full circle trying to take it all in and sort it out in her mind. What could possibly be going on here.... [/style]

TABLE BY CALIFORNIA DREAMING @ CAUTION 2.0

[PAUL CHAUVELIN]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style,padding-left:5px; padding-top:5px; padding-right:5px; padding-bottom:5px; background-color: #575757; border-radius: 100px 0px 100px 0px;] CHAUVELIN "what did they aim for when they missed your heart?" Chauvelin didn't like not being in control of events -- especially events that directly and closely affected him, personally. He liked knowing what was happening even before it happened, so he could be prepared to react when it did, if he couldn't stop it from happening in the first place. He liked deciding where he was and where he was going, and being able to change his mind about either. None of which applied to this evening. His misgivings had begun when the carriage arrived at his door to collect him, and had only intensified when the driver declined to acknowledge questions or even engage in conversation. Even as he climbed aboard into the plush interior, he cursed having, in a moment of utter folly, promised the boy, but promise he had. However nice a carriage it was -- and it was very nice -- given his preference, the old spymaster would very much rather have simply ridden Abraxas to a pre-established destination. Instead, he'd had to content himself with figuring out where he was being taken. That hadn't been especially difficult. Though the sun was low in the west, casting long shadows as the carriage left Paris, there was still enough light to see. And given the gate they'd departed via and the road they'd taken from there, he'd worked out their destination fairly quickly. Granted, it was strange to see the Palais du Versailles, essentially abandoned since the end of the misbegotten Bourbon Restoration, lit up almost as it had been in the time of Louis XVI. The sight had also brought with it some darkly bittersweet memories, but Chauvelin pushed them firmly to the back of his mind as he stepped out of the carriage at the mouth of a flagstone path. There, another sight had met his eyes, no less spectacular, but rather less fraught with nostalgia. It was the Grove of the Three Fountains, the trio from which it drew its name not just filled but restored to working order, filling the air with water song. Hidden away amid a cloak of hedges and trellises, it was a private space designed by Louis XIV and used as a personal retreat from the demands of state and even family by him, his son, and grandson. And now, it seemed, Henri. Chauvelin smiled at the boy's cleverness. When he'd been that age, like many others there'd been uncounted summer nights when he'd hauled a pillow and whatever he could filch from the kitchen out into the garden to enjoy the breeze and sleep beneath the stars. This would seem to the Chouannerie as merely a rather more elaborate and lavish version of that. Caught up in his reverie, the old spymaster was taken by surprise when the carriage pulled away with a cluck of the driver's tongue and a snap of the reins. He felt again the twinge of the lack of Abraxas ready to hand, and remained puzzled by the insistence on the carriage, but wasn't alarmed by its departure. Strolling down the path, which was smooth and gently sloping to accommodate the rolling chair the gout-ridden Louis XIV had often employed, Chauvelin went in search of the King. Also at Henri's request, the old spymaster's clothes were of a finer cut and quality than he'd normally wear for a simple clandestine meeting. Still, they were his favored sable in color, and he moved like a shadow across the stars of fireflies and candles. He walked quietly and didn't call out, half thinking it might be an impromptu game of hide and seek and half hoping he might take the boy by surprise. Chauvelin's search was rapid, thorough, and -- to his increasing puzzlement -- completely unsuccessful. Ending at the tent with its bed and groaning board, he noted that the table was set for two. That was understandable, as was the folded letter that had 'Paul' written on it in the boy King's distinctive hand sitting on one of the plates. What was rather mystifying was the fact the other plate also held a similar letter, that one labeled 'Marie.' Who was Marie? the old spymaster wondered. And as if in answer there came the sound of a carriage. Born of four decades of a life of espionage, his reaction was instinctively clandestine. Plucking up the missive that bore his name, Chauvelin slipped out of the pavilion and faded back into the shadows. From behind the lights, he watched as a woman was handed out by a footman who spoke with her briefly before swinging back up to his place on the carriage. Making her way down the path Paul himself had trod only a few minutes earlier, he could only see her in silhouette, but her gaze appeared fixed on the Grove, and she didn't seem to notice the departure of the coach behind her. Then she stepped into the light and the old spymaster's breath caught. She wore a gown of pale, almost grey, blue that complemented the fairness of her skin. It was a shade that would have made many women look washed out, but there was nothing faded about her. In the candlelight, her hair was the the red of the sun on autumn leaves, yet it wasn't just that. There was a quality to her, an aura around her, that was vibrantly, vividly alive. She was younger than he, but this was no slip of a girl, pretty but insubstantial. This was a woman. And Chauvelin knew her. No, he corrected himself, he knew her name. She was Marie Evangeline Roquefeuil. Mother of Henri Roquefeuil-Blanquefort. He'd seen her once from a distance, after he'd left her son battered and bloody on her doorstep. And he'd met her at the ball, he realized now. He hadn't known it at the time, but this close there was no mistaking her hair. Had he been a more mystically-inclined man, he might have read something into the way fate seemed to keep bringing them together. Still, while he as skeptical of coincidence as any professional spy, in this particular instance, he had the growing suspicion that the part of fate was being played by a certain 13-year-old boy King. None of that answered the question, though, of what he should do now. She was turning in a circle, staring wide-eyed at everything around her, clearly lost at sea. It invoked a surge of protectiveness that surprised him, making him want to explain and reassure her. But that same protectiveness also made him reluctant to surprise and frighten her by springing at her suddenly out of the shadows where he made his home. Clearly, he thought with a mental smack to the back of his head, the solution was to be as non-sudden as possible. Moving as stealthily as he could, he circled back behind the pavilion, getting as far away from her as he could without crossing into the light. The last part was the most difficult part -- the cascading water help mask any sound he might make, but there were candles seemingly everywhere, and the fireflies were celebrating the warmth of the night with their own tiny lanterns. Keeping behind her as she turned -- and silently hoping she wouldn't suddenly stop or, worse, reverse direction -- Chauvelin managed to get back to the path. Then he stepped out onto it and headed down it toward Marie in plain view as if he'd been coming from there all along. Tags: Marie | Notes: none at present Credit: 156zcm of Caution Lyrics: "Shot in the Dark" by Within Temptation

[MARIE EVANGELINE ROQUEFEUIL]

[style=font-family: times; font-size: 12px; letter-spacing: 1px; text-transform: lowercase; color: #989898; font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;]938 WORDS FOR CHAUVELIN no notes at present. AMOUR [/style]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=width,450,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,true][atrb=style, background-color: #6d6d6d;] [style=padding: 10px; text-align: justify; font-family: arial; font-size: 10px; height: 475px; overflow: auto; color: #1e1e1e;]Marie was still turning around in shock, disorientation, and slight alarm when her carriage unexpectedly pulled away from its place on the path where she'd alighted from it just moments earlier. Her concern and shock was, she thought, likely paramount and obvious on her face had there been anyone there to see it. She had not expected to be suddenly stranded her at Versailles - and stranded she was. There was no getting back to Paris - a whole twelve miles away - tonight. It was already late given that the sun was setting and the summer hours meant that it was already quite late even though the sky didn't look fully dark yet and was still that pretty inky blue color. It was probably nine o'clock or nine-thirty by this point and it would be hopeless to get back there tonight. In fact, Marie thought to herself.. it might be hopeless to get back in the morning too, if the coach never returned. She could not begin to imagine why Victor D'Anthès would have set her up on this wild goose chase. She knew that Victor had a reputation for being a little bit of a rake hell.. - and not just in Paris either. She thought it true, the charming, handsome young cavalry mount certainly had a reputation with the ladies and enjoyed their company immensely. Practically every other weekend - at least if you listened to society's gossip columns - he was spotted with a different girl. Marie was not narrow minded enough to fail to realize it was clear that Victor liked women. However, she was closer to his mother's age than his. It seemed totally unrealistic that Victor would want to meet her for something other than the discussion of .. perhaps horses or something of the like. To put it plainly, everything that had happened tonight didn't make sense, and her keen mind was quickly trying to find a solution - an explanation for this. She had been friends with Victor for a while - ever since she saw his ease and manner, his true talent, for working with horses. Her husband had maintained a fairly active breeding program of fine horses - ones so fine that the government by way of the military frequently purchased them. She felt she owed it to the estate to find some way to keep producing the horses which supplied part of the income as well as helped them run their estate and produce their crops. And she needed someone at her side who knew more about the breeding and training of horses than she did. She wasn't totally inept - but most of her skills and knowledge lay in riding if anything - and some day to day care of horses from when she'd had her own hunting mount as a girl - that horse had been sold at her thirteenth birthday - one other ugly reminder of the transition that had rended her from her childhood fancies and happiness and into the world of adult behavior for a woman from a high class family urgently looking for a marriage prospect. From the day she'd been fourteen - it was like her life, her wants, her needs, had mostly ceased to exist save when she could sneak away into the woods. She was a comely young lady dressed in the finest of clothes meant to impress... the selling of her horse had only been a testament to the changes people expected of her - and got. But now she was back in charge of the estate and needed to run things on her own brains - she'd needed help. And Victor had offered that help - and he was talented. They'd become friends and had a good working partnership so what...was this? And then, suddenly, she caught sight of a man coming down the path. Somehow, he seemed vaguely familiar to her - someone she should recognize.. but she couldn't place the face.. or the name. It felt very much as if she should know him.. but she did not. She also had a feeling she should be alarmed that she was here, apparently utterly alone, with a man she did not know but felt she should for some reason.. Where was he so familiar from? And why was he here? And where was Victor? She was beginning to become increasingly concerned about the extremely strange development of the evening. So, for a long moment, she just stood, staring at him and backing up slowly as he came closer - until she knew a little more about him. Her blue eyes fixed on him pointedly, staring him through as if she dared him to make a move against her. She carried a knife in her boot and she was not afraid to use it should she ever need to - not that she'd ever had to but... it was the principle of the thing. It was one of the many things her father had taught her over the years - how to defend herself. "Come no closer, Monsieur." She murmured, her eyes glittering in the semi-darkness, her voice hardened mostly from fear. "Who are you? What have you done with Captain Victor D'Anthès? I was meant to meet him here this evening. I suggest you not lie to me.. I dislike dishonesty." Her voice resonated with a low, husky note which it usually possessed - but also with the tone of a woman who felt more than a little uncomfortable and trapped. She stared at him, not looking away and not blinking, refusing to flinc [/style]

TABLE BY CALIFORNIA DREAMING @ CAUTION 2.0

[PAUL CHAUVELIN]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style,padding-left:5px; padding-top:5px; padding-right:5px; padding-bottom:5px; background-color: #575757; border-radius: 100px 0px 100px 0px;] CHAUVELIN "what did they aim for when they missed your heart?" Chauvelin slowed when the lady began backing away from him and stopped when she bid him, keeping his hands open and empty in plain sight. Despite his best efforts to seem non-threatening, she was clearly frightened, and understandably so. She was in an unfamiliar place at night, alone with a strange man, . Along with fearing for her life and her honor, it was basically an extremely compromising position for her to be placed in, and the old spymaster made a mental note to have a stern word with Henri later. The boy doubtless meant well, and Paul himself could take it, but Paul was a man. It was different for women. "Milady," he said with a perfect formal bow. The first thing he needed to do was to reassure her that despite the abnormality of the situation, the normal social rules still applied. In addition to being comfortingly familiar, here miles from any friends or family and without even a gendarme or servant to defend her, they provided her protection. No matter his 'baser instincts,' a civilized gentleman didn't molest a lady. Of course, that didn't mean that, in the absence of more concrete restraint, it never happened, but it held largely true because it was a polite fiction that everyone agreed to pretend did. "I apologize for addressing you when we haven't been properly introduced," he continued, meeting her eyes openly, "but it seems we've been left little choice." He was aware that he had a rich, pleasant voice, and he used it to its fullest extent. "Chevalier Paul Chauvelin, at your service," he said with an inclination of his head, an echo of the earlier bow. "I regret I haven't seen Captain d'Anthes," he answered her half-question, half-accusation, filing the name away. Apparently the King had enlisted the Royal Riding Master in this scheme. "But I, too, expected to meet a friend -- who also isn't here." Though 'friend' might be stretching the meaning of the word, he had nothing better, and it wasn't really a lie. He held up the note. "I found only this. If your name is Marie, believe there's one for you, as well." And he nodded in the direction of the letter on the plate. Tags: Marie | Notes: none at present Credit: 156zcm of Caution Lyrics: "Shot in the Dark" by Within Temptation

[MARIE EVANGELINE ROQUEFEUIL]

[style=font-family: times; font-size: 12px; letter-spacing: 1px; text-transform: lowercase; color: #989898; font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;]674 WORDS FOR CHAUVELIN Hehehe this should be fun. Let the games begin. AMOUR [/style]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=width,450,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,true][atrb=style, background-color: #6d6d6d;] [style=padding: 10px; text-align: justify; font-family: arial; font-size: 10px; height: 475px; overflow: auto; color: #1e1e1e;]Marie felt her heart rate begin to slowly - though only gradually - as she saw the strange man across from her dip into a formal bow and his title for her was honey on his tongue and on her ears. Her breathing began to slow as well. Surely, someone who intended her harm wouldn't address her as 'milady' and bow first - would they? Marie had never considered herself a particularly nervous woman. She'd always thought she had good nerves and a not particularly high-strung dispostion when push came to shove. She was, after all, running an estate all by herself without much help from anyone at all. She supposed you could count Henri for help, as unreliable as he was. If she ever urgently needed him she'd have no way to get in contact with him while he was out there in the godforsaken woods around the estate - and there were miles of them. Miles and miles.. It wasn't so simple a thing as going out into the yard and yelling for him to hear and him to come running. No.. if she ever needed him, he wouldn't be able to be relied upon. Knowing that, it hd changed how she'd handled some things about the estate - namely security concerns. There had been things like the addition of a fine wrought iron gate with the initials RB intwined upon it for the family and there had been the addition of a male valet who served as chef and personal attendant - as well as her two female maids. She knew it was a fairly small household staff, but she didn't mind that. The one person didn't need all that much - other than company. That she sometimes craved. She'd made up with her maids rather well.. but it was different.. she knew it and they knew it. All of them could be friendly toward each other.. but she couldn't ask them in to have tea with her.. Well she wouldn't be opposed, really, but it would be a little awkward for all involved in the situation. So.. as it were, she did have some loneliness and some worries about her security as a rich, titled, privileged woman known not to have a husband living all alone in the middle of nowhere. The man about did help though. He was a wonderful cook and seemed quite reliable. She knew he was someone she could call on in the event that she needed a hand. Except for right now. Right now there was no one to call on.. so she'd have to handle it herself. Luckily the threat didn't seem to virulent.. considering.. Hesitantly, she stopped backing up as she listened to the man talk. However, it wasn't just his words which were helping her to calm down.. but his voice. It was as familiar as the face she couldn't place. She had heard it before - though where she was unsure. She had definitely heard it before. She likes its resonate notes and surprising softness even though that softness did not match the tall, stocky man in front of her as far as size or build. But somehow, he was reassuring her that she wasn't going to need to draw her dagger or anything. A Knight. All right.. she could manage that... She breathed a slow sigh of relief. "Vicomtesse Marie Evangeline Roquefeuil." She managed to respond, offering him a slight curtsy. "My pleasure to make your acquaintance... have we met.. before.. your voice is so familiar" She arched an eyebrow still trying to place where she'd heard his voice. She looked at the note he was indicating and nodded becoming now more curious than anything else. The last of her alarm had faded when she saw the handwriting on the note which , she felt sure, was Victor's. "So.. I was to meet Captain D'Anthès. I take it you were to meet someone besides him? The better question then perhaps is.. have we been set up?" She looked vaguely amused. [/style]

TABLE BY CALIFORNIA DREAMING @ CAUTION 2.0

[PAUL CHAUVELIN]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style,padding-left:5px; padding-top:5px; padding-right:5px; padding-bottom:5px; background-color: #575757; border-radius: 100px 0px 100px 0px;] CHAUVELIN "what did they aim for when they missed your heart?" At Marie's questions, Chauvelin's blue-green eyes lit up and crinkled a little at the corners as he smiled his kindest, most charming smile. It was an expression he often used for effect, consciously slipping it on or off like a mask, but this was one of the rare times it was spontaneous and genuine. That surprised him and, on a level that he was only obscurely aware of, it saddened him that it was such a novelty. Marguerite had once said he was always probing, always hurting, but that wasn't entirely true. He was always … playing, but it was never a game. It was a match, or a duel, and the only winner was the one who walked away when it was over. The old spymaster observed, oriented, decided, acted. Being constantly alert to how others might be of danger or use to him meant relaxation and enjoyment didn't enter into Chauvelin's interactions with people, but he found himself feeling at ease with this near stranger. It was an odd sensation, not unpleasant, though a little alarming if he thought about it. His whimsy, however, in a rare moment of ascendancy decided he wasn't going to think about it. However it had come about and whatever might happen after, here and now was fountains and fireflies. It was a soft summer night in a palace garden, with fine wine, good food, and a beautiful woman. "Perhaps we have met," he said slowly and thoughtfully, then added with a chuckle, "And we have most assuredly been set up. But," he made a sweeping gesture that took in the surrounding paradise, "Trickery or not, it seems our friends have gone to some trouble for us and mean us well. Perhaps we should accept their gift in the spirit in which it was intended." Tags: Marie | Notes: sorry it's so short Credit: 156zcm of Caution Lyrics: "Shot in the Dark" by Within Temptation

[MARIE EVANGELINE ROQUEFEUIL]

[style=font-family: times; font-size: 12px; letter-spacing: 1px; text-transform: lowercase; color: #989898; font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;]758 WORDS FOR CHAUVELIN notes can go here. this will scroll. notes can go here. this will scroll. notes can go here. this will scroll. notes can go here. this will scroll. notes can go here. this will scroll. notes can go here. this will scroll. AMOUR [/style]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=width,450,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,true][atrb=style, background-color: #6d6d6d;] [style=padding: 10px; text-align: justify; font-family: arial; font-size: 10px; height: 475px; overflow: auto; color: #1e1e1e;]Marie considered Chauvelin's response to her suggestion that they had been set up. He looked.. could she place it? Amused. She was tempted to be a bit annoyed at that. She didn't find it quite as funny or amusing as he did that now she was stuck alone, apparently for the night if the disappearance of her carriage and the appearance of the bed was anything to factor in when she judged for how long a time they were to be marooned at Versailles. It wasn't, she had to admit, the worse place to be marooned. There were far worse places. She knew it and admitted it full well - but.. she just didn't like being twelve miles away from Paris, a place that the few peasants around were none too friendly to aristocracy and stuck alone with a man she had barely known for five minutes. And, yet, here he was, brash as anything suggesting that the two of them merely enjoy the night as if they themselves had planned this impromptu rendez-vous and had known each other for years rather than moments. And even if, she thought tartly, I had known him for years, that does not mean I would consider it appropriate or desirable to be out with him all night long! However, that seemed to be what she was going to do - and in much less desirable circumstances than if she had known him for years - for there didn't seem to be a way to leave. Even if she made a great fuss, there would be no one there to hear her but him, and she would look exceptionally foolish indeed. No, that was out. She would just have to survive the evening. She could merely hope that, first thing in the morning, there would be a coach returning to collect the two of them. And -then- she would get an iron-clad explanation from Captain Victor D'Anthès once and for all about what he was doing playing games like this. Her internal torment and external bluster was cut off more rapidly than she might have expected when the man confirmed that they 'might have met' before and that perhaps they should merely enjoy the evening in the manner it was intended by two good friends. She semi-sighed as he suggested this, though not in a bad way. It was as if her tirade had been cut off and it was as though there as little point to finish it. She suddenly realized how ridiculous she was being in a common sense kind of way. The man was hardly going to rob or rape her - or he'd have done it already. And, whatever Captain D'Anthès might be - it wasn't someone who was out looking to cause trouble for others. He would not have set her up with someone who wasn't trustworthy. He was right, her mystery man, it was silly not to just enjoy the immaculate night that they'd apparently been set up for (in a civilized fashion only of course.

[/i])

It was then that she realized - it was that word civilized that cleared it up in her mind. The ball, la volte; it all came back in a second. This was the man she'd danced it with - the dashing charmer who'd whipped her around as easily as anything and whispered things in her ear each time he lifted her that she couldn't quite make out, but that hadn't been what was important. It had been the tickle of his breath and lips against her ear and the whirl of the room and the roll of the ground beneath her feet.. and she knew in an instant.

"La Volte..." She said simply, remembering now and hoping that he would too so that she didn't sound like an utter fool. "We danced it together." She went quiet again, thinking about it for a moment before she forged ahead, looking for something else to say to make this situation less awkward.

"I suppose you're right. Well.. in the spirit of things, bon appetite, right?" she inquired, with a slight smile, nodding over at the dishes of food. "But I'm afraid I don't understand why they've set us up..." Well.. the why part - or at least why set ups happened wasn't her question.. it was more.. why them? She shook her head in slight consternation as she moved to sit next to the food, carefully folding her legs up beneath her in a lady-like fashion as she reached for a plate. [/div][/style][/td][/tr][/table]

TABLE BY CALIFORNIA DREAMING @ CAUTION 2.0

[/center]

[PAUL CHAUVELIN]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style,padding-left:5px; padding-top:5px; padding-right:5px; padding-bottom:5px; background-color: #575763; border-radius: 100px 0px 100px 0px;] CHAUVELIN "what did they aim for when they missed your heart?" "Yes," Chauvelin said. "La Volte." They had danced it at the Masquerade. Though in a sense it hadn't been together. He'd gone through all the moves, lifting her and spinning her and swinging her around, but she'd been just a prop. He'd needed a woman in his arms to stay close to Margot on the dance floor, and she'd fit the bill. At the time, she hadn't really been real. Now, looking at her as he began serving the food and preparing to open the wine, he wondered how that could ever have been so. Then her question sent him off on a related line of thought. He could guess why Henri had done it -- the boy was basically good-hearted and thought Paul needed a friend. And, King or not, he had reached an age where girls were very much on his mind, so naturally enough assumed it must be so for Chauvelin as well. But -- why her? She was complicated, and possibly very dangerous. Her late husband had been one of the Chouannerie, but her son was a republican rebel. Which did she favor? How deeply in the Chouannerie's councils was she, if at all? If she learned he was connected with the King, would she tell them? Even just mentioning it in passing could have fatal consequences. "Well," the old spymaster said aloud, speaking slowly and thoughtfully as his mind raced ahead. "Perhaps our friends decided we both work too hard and needed a break." He had to deflect her from wondering about his still-nameless friend. Given where they were, it wouldn't be difficult to figure out if she thought about it -- there was only one person who could command Versailles this way -- and she was far from stupid. So he had to keep her from thinking about it. He also had to keep her from thinking about what his 'work' might be, which should be easy enough, he just had to ask her about hers. Employing the corkscrew with strong, deft fingers, he set to work on the first bottle of wine as he continued. "So, what is it that so occupies your mind that Captain d'Anthes believed you should have a respite?" He knew essentially what she did, of course, but he couldn't say that. And it wasn't difficult to feign interest. He had an estate of his own, albeit one he almost never visited. It had been quite ably managed for years by a man named Adhémar, whose family had been in service to his own for generations. Still, while he had no reason to distrust Adhémar, he had always found it best to know at least a little about how one's subordinates did what they did. The cork came free with a soft pop, and he picked up her glass as he regarded Marie with a smile and an eyebrow arched in question. Tags: Marie | Notes: sorry it's so short Credit: 156zcm of Caution Lyrics: "Shot in the Dark" by Within Temptation

[MARIE EVANGELINE ROQUEFEUIL]

[style=font-family: times; font-size: 12px; letter-spacing: 1px; text-transform: lowercase; color: #989898; font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;]980 WORDS FOR Chauvelin Attracted yet, Chauv? Eat your heart out. AMOUR [/style]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=width,450,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,true][atrb=style, background-color: #6d6d6d;] [style=padding: 10px; text-align: justify; font-family: arial; font-size: 10px; height: 475px; overflow: auto; color: #1e1e1e;]Marie wasn't sure whether she should feel flustered or relieved when Chauvelin admitted to her that she was correct - they did know each other from dancing la volte. This, once again, sat her to wondering why he'd been so insistant on dancing it with her. She had been trying very dilligently to back out of the line of people who were dancing La Volte, and yet he had not let her. Even when she'd said she didn't usually dance this dance - which was more than enough of a response for any gentleman to back off.. he had not. He had insisted. What had motivated him? And yet.. she did not fear him despite the fact that his insistence had -not- been acting like a gentleman. It should frighten her; it did not though. If anything, it drew her too him almost in the way that a light attract a moth to it - And kills it Marie thought, her face never betraying her quandary of thoughts. She hoped desperately that she, like the helpless moth - or maybe the hapless Icarus - wouldn't find herself burnt by the sun and regretting it. She was certainly drawn to him in an unmistakably strong way. She couln't explain it for, truthfully, she'd never felt like that about anyone at all. Ever. Not even about Jean-Claude. She wondered vaguely why she was thinking about Jean-Claude and why she would think of this near stranger and him and her pull towards them in the same comparison. It was unseemly and completely inappropriate! Yet, it had happened even without her permission. However, it was not La Volte on which her mind stayed. It was back to thinking about Victor and what he had been thinking with this set up. It was an easy tangent when she thought about how Chauvelin had not acted the part of a gentleman and, yet, Victor had set her up with him. Why? And.. more to the point... Who had Victor collaborated with? Clearly someone had made Chuavelin come here. Why him? He was involved in the French government - she did know that much about him - though little else. One other person she would need to be wary of... who could not find out about Henri's sympathies. She looked around her vaguely. The answer to her question was obvious.. Versailles was the property of the current King of France, whoever that might be. It was currently not in use.. had been shut up.. which meant only one person could declare it lit and the fountains begun again - even for a night.... only one person could give permission for them to be here or arrange a coach to take them there. And it wasn't Victor D'Anthès.. and as there was only two of them there.. it had to be Chauvelin's friend... King Henri... Interesting. She would keep the revelation to herself for the present moment. She smirked slightly at the working too hard explanation. She doubted that was the reasoning. If he only knew the half of what occupied her mind and kept her up at night. Worries about Henri out there alone in the woods whether some creature would maul him, or whether his sympathies would come to light, whether she'd be caught playing the Chouannerie - pretending to be loyal to them while not really liking him all that much now that she knew the specifics of their secrets and how they behaved from the inside, about her keeping triple books on her estate - the real set for her another set for the Chouannerie to keep them from tapping the funds out of her beloved home, and another to Henri to keep him from tapping them for his damned revolution. The law wouldn't understand.. but this was her home before it was his, and she was not going to take it out from under her to support a cause she despised. Yes, she agreed the government needed reform; not the way he wanted it, though. He was still young and radical and inexperienced - someday he'd learn that these radical new methods didn't work. If all of those things weren't enough to keep her mind busy with worries, there was the day to day running of her estate, making sure her servants and peasants were happy and well cared for, and dealing with her own loneliness in her life now. "Oh.. nothing of particular consequence." She smiled wanly. She know they both knew this wasn't true. She knew he was hiding things too - every one did - as a matter of course. It was just a question of what things they were. "Truth be told, it's not exactly easy to manage an entire estate... People who don't have to do it don't understand the amount of work involved. I have to.. run it all and.. try to make sure all the peasants and servants are as well provided for as I can provide for them . Of course, this time of year, it's time to think about studding the horses because the mares are in season..." It was a prod at him to see how she'd react - she knew it was something 'ladies' didn't mention - but she got the feeling he didn't set much interest in 'ladies'.. - but why did she care if he did? That puzzled her. There was no reason for her to care. Yet, she found herself trying to play into what she thought he would like - and it came to her more easily than she wanted to admit! "And you? What did your... friend... think you needed a respite from. Ah. Merci. That looks very nice." She said. Pausing, she realized, "I'm starving... I haven't eaten all day..." Now she was really pushing the boundaries - a woman admitting she had bodily needs. Shocking. [/style]

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[PAUL CHAUVELIN]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style,padding-left:5px; padding-top:5px; padding-right:5px; padding-bottom:5px; background-color: #575763; border-radius: 100px 0px 100px 0px;] CHAUVELIN "what did they aim for when they missed your heart?" Chauvelin quirked an eyebrow at the mention of studding, then hid a smile. Marie reminded him of his mother – which was a compliment, albeit one he could never speak aloud of course. Agnés Thérèse Mazade, Marquise de Chauvelin, wife of the late François Claude, had been a study in contrasts. When she chose, she was utterly and impeccably a lady, her dress, speech, manner, even the way she moved elegant and refined. But behind that genteel mask had been an eminently practical woman with a razor sharp mind, a will of steel, and a sense of humor that was both wicked and earthy. She'd respected tradition, but possessed little fondness for mindless adherence to ritual and empty formality. Like Marie, Agnés had been a widow managing an estate on her own. And, like Marie, her only son had become a republican revolutionary. Another of Agnés' qualities had been that she'd never suffered fools gladly, and Paul suspected that was true of Marie, as well. Out of the blue, he was suddenly nervous, only a lifetime of practice keeping his hand steady as he finished pouring the wine. As given as he was to masquerading as a vaguely ineffectual bureaucrat of mediocre intellect, he found he very much wanted to avoid this woman thinking him a fool. It was a strange and confusing sensation, and one of surprising strength. It also limited his options for lies, and as the truth had always been out of the question, meant his answer to what he did for a living had to be very carefully crafted. Making sure the lady had been adequately supplied with food and (especially) wine before he began to serve himself, Chauvelin laughed. "Perhaps that's your own fault. Perhaps you're so good at it, you make it look easy, so everyone thinks it is." As he spoke, he was applying a hint of lemon and sauce to one of the smaller oysters. Then, with a deftness that belied the muscular breadth of his hands, he used a tiny fork to pry it free of its shell and tipped it into his mouth. It had been masterfully prepared, and the bit of salty liquor that flowed onto his tongue with it combined with the oyster, lemon, and mignonette in a subtle mix of flavors. For a time the old spymaster simply savored the taste before finally swallowing and coming obliquely to the answer to her question. "I have no experience of managing an estate myself, of course," he said, mostly telling the truth. "But I'm all too familiar with the principle that anything is possible for the person who doesn't have to do it him- -- or her -- self. I'm ... something of a protocol officer. I make sure visiting dignitaries are comfortable, that their needs and preferences are seen to, that rivals or clashing personalities are kept apart, that sort of thing. If I'm doing it well, I'm practically invisible." Smiling, he selected another small oyster. "I'm blessed with an extremely competent staff, however." That much was certainly true -- Fumier was a very capable throat-cutter. "Have you no one to help you? Trusted retainers? Or, preferably, a son old enough and responsible enough to learn money must be carefully planted, grown, and harvested like any other crop?" Now it was his turn to mention matters usually avoided in polite conversation, especially with women. One didn't discuss money, especially means of its acquisition, which smacked of ... trade. It simply wasn't done. And women were generally considered to have no heads for such things, at any event. Eyes twinkling just a little, he started on the second oyster, watching his tablemate and awaiting her response. Tags: Marie | Notes: I now know more about eating oysters than I ever wanted to Credit: 156zcm of Caution Lyrics: "Shot in the Dark" by Within Temptation

[MARIE EVANGELINE ROQUEFEUIL]

[style=font-family: times; font-size: 12px; letter-spacing: 1px; text-transform: lowercase; color: #989898; font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;]879 WORDS FOR Chauvelin hehehe I couldn't resist. AMOUR [/style]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=width,450,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,true][atrb=style, background-color: #6d6d6d;] [style=padding: 10px; text-align: justify; font-family: arial; font-size: 10px; height: 475px; overflow: auto; color: #1e1e1e;]Marie watched the reaction of her companion carefully at her mention of studding and was pleased to see a quirked eyebrow and, if she was not much mistaken, the hiding of a rogueish smile. She wondered what he was thinking about. It was a strange feeling she'd never had before and did not quite understand - a compulsion to know what the man across from her thought and felt at each moment in regards to anything she said or did. She wished she had the ability to see into his mind right now and understand him. She'd never felt that way about another person before - save perhaps her frustration with Henri and his preoccupation for Republican ideals. However, this was not, she realized, exactly the same at that. That was guided by fear, frustrations, motivation as a mother. This was something else entirely. This was.. not motherly-like.. it was.. much deeper, much more emotional, much more curious, much more... poignant. She watched his face, her eyebrows quirking and her blue eyes sparkling. It was as if his face was a set of moving photographs which should could hardly ignore. Her eyes were glued onto him, looking at him.. but it wasn't a bad look.. it was one of earnestness... of something deep inside her that she didn't understand as of yet. More frightening and alluring still was that she didn't -want- to resist it. There was no sense in her that made her want to pull away from the strange feelings he evoked inside of her. Her heart was pounding as if she'd just run a foot-race. Her palms were sweating and shaky making her relieved she'd removed her lacy gloves in order to eat and not soil them. Her face was flushed as well. Control yourself, Marie. She warned herself sternly. Don't let him know you're this.. well.. what was it? She didn't even know.. far be it from her to be able to explain it. She didn't even want to try right now.. She didn't want to question it. Not yet. She accepted the plate of food gracefully, settling down across from Chauvelin on the bed. She found herself sliding her feet out of her slippers and leaving them beside her so she could tuck her feet beneath her comfortably in her favorite way to sit. She wasn't entirely sure it was proper, but as they were going to be there for a while she ascertained she might as well make herself comfortable. "Well.. our friends certainly provided a veritable feast. And good wine..." She murmured, pleased as she took the glass and plate handed to her and settled them beside her. "As to your claims for my estate managing skills.. who knows.. we're not bankrupt yet, according to the books." She was joking and the humor was evident in her voice. "Really though.. I have a son, but I'm afraid he couldn't be less interested in estate affairs.. unfortunately." It was only a half lie. He was -not- in fact interested in estate affairs. He only feigned interest for what the estate could provide him for the Sacred Heart - and that, in Marie's mind, didn't count as 'interest.' Not for her precious estate. "But.. I feel personally responsible for it - you know.. I grew up there." She was giving him a rare glimpse of her true self - without any barriers - about something that meant a lot to her - a rarity for a woman. "I am attached to my servants, though. Many of them have worked at the estate since I was a child - they're like a family. Thank God for them.. " She smiled softly, not knowing how much she had in common. "Your job, though, sounds very interesting." Her eyes met his for a long moment. Confidence. "I'd enjoy hearing more about it sometime." A small smile. "Oh!" She exclaimed in surprise, as the gentle wind picked up one of her gloves and blew it into the air and out of reach. A moment later, her plate was beside her, her wine glass on the small table and she was running across the grass, her dress flowing out behind her as she attempted to grab hold of the runaway piece of fabric before it found its way into the fountain. It took her a moment to grab the glove and return, this time placing the both of them in her shoes where they would stay. "My apologies." She murmured, her color high and her breath slightly off from the run as she reached for her plate again and chose one of the oysters. She prepared hers for consumption in the same way he had done - with lemon and sauce and then used the little fork deftly showing comfort with the food. Against the backglow of the last of the setting sun and the fireflies, she placed the oyster on her tongue, savoring, her chest still rising and falling at a slightly rapid rate as she had not yet fully regained her composure. Her chest continued to rise and fall as she swallowed, the wind blowing her hair just slightly now - the strands which had come loose during her run and were falling gently around her face. [/style]

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[PAUL CHAUVELIN]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style,padding-left:5px; padding-top:5px; padding-right:5px; padding-bottom:5px; background-color: #575763; border-radius: 100px 0px 100px 0px;] CHAUVELIN "what did they aim for when they missed your heart?" When a sudden gust of wind guttered some of the candles and stole her glove, Paul was about to set his napkin aside and go after it, but she beat him to the draw. He wasn't as young as he'd once been, and his body was no longer shaped to go leaping to his feet and bounding after an elusive bit of lace. On the other hand it gave him the opportunity to enjoy the impromptu show, and enjoy it he did. There was folklore going back to Roman times that claimed that oysters were an aphrodisiac. Chauvelin, a practiced cynic, had long been as skeptical of that as he was of Church 'mysteries' and a significant part of what passed for medicine. He suspected Henri thought it true, though. The young King had little experience but a great deal of book learning, and besides, there were certain things a 13-year-old boy wanted to believe. Of more interest to Paul was whether Marie knew of, or believed, the legend. It wasn't something a proper gentlewoman would be expected to have heard, but in the old spymaster's experience that only meant it was something no proper gentlewoman would admit to having heard. Women had their own secret counsels, the gender comprising a shadowy cabal no man could penetrate, not even him. He found himself wondering, too, if she knew, how she felt about it. Did she hope, or fear, that it might be true? And what about himself? Was that where he wanted this night to go? Oysters aside, there was plenty of wine, and he could be, in all modesty, a very charming man. He delighted in women and had a great deal of experience in giving and receiving pleasure, which women sensed and responded to. She was younger than he, but the wry truth was that these days all of his seductions were. He was confident he could make her one of those seductions … but, oddly, he didn't want to. Oh, he wanted her – seeing her flushed cheeks and heaving bosom, he wanted her very much – but he realized suddenly that he wanted more than just her body. Shying violently away from that thought, Paul downed half of his wine in a couple of gulps before getting an iron grip on his composure once more. Topping up both of their glasses, he made a casual waving away gesture. "Think nothing of it," he said, with total sincerity. He was quite aware that he hadn't been much of a gentleman in the situation – just as he hadn't been at the Masquerade – and picturing her thinking about that brought a chill to his heart. "No," he said with a laugh, "I'm afraid my job isn't nearly as interesting as it sounds. It's mostly just trying to keep a lot of pretentious and spoiled aristocrats happy. It's not like what you do, making people's lives and livelihoods better. It's not … " Paul searched for the right word, "real." Tags: Marie | Notes: Too, too short. Maybe my muse needs oysters. Credit: 156zcm of Caution Lyrics: "Shot in the Dark" by Within Temptation

[MARIE EVANGELINE ROQUEFEUIL]

[style=font-family: times; font-size: 12px; letter-spacing: 1px; text-transform: lowercase; color: #989898; font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;]576 WORDS FOR Chauvelin no notes at present. AMOUR [/style]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=width,450,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,true][atrb=style, background-color: #6d6d6d;] [style=padding: 10px; text-align: justify; font-family: arial; font-size: 10px; height: 475px; overflow: auto; color: #1e1e1e;]Marie settled carefully back down onto the bed, her feet still comfortably beneath her and bare, as she hadn't bothered to put her shoes back on as she was running after her glove - there had hardly been time as a matter of course for her to grab her shoes and catch the glove. She now took its mate off, sliding both of them safely into a small compartment on the little table. She hoped she'd remember to fetch them in the morning before leaving. However, she didn't want to risk them winding up lost again this evening. The wind brushed across her face again, and the back of her neck, bare from where she'd pulled up her hair save the strands which had fallen down. The fresh spring air was like a live spirit rushing into her, filling her, giving her energy. She loved that about spring.. and.. oddly enough.. it wasn't only the breeze which seemed to be awakening the inside of her.. there was something else.. a totally different feeling coursing through her veins now. It was something she was slightly afraid to realize or admit, that she wanted to shy away from but couldn't bring herself to do it - drawn to it irresistibly and yet frightened of it at the same time. She was not wholly unaware, either, that it was him, the man sitting across from her, who engendered this strange thing in her that she never quite remembered feeling anything like it in all her life. She looked up at Chauvelin after a long moment, the wind still ruffling her hair slightly as she watched him, a soft expression on her face - something between happiness and contentment with the moment. She suddenly felt the need to fan her face, as if it was too hot. She could feel that it was certainly making her cheeks pink enough. Her gaze went surreptitiously to the oysters. No. That was just an old wive's tale.. wasn't it? She didn't really believe that a mere food had that kind of power. Did it? Absolutely not.. that was foolish.. Foolish for certain. And yet she couldn't help eyeing them suspiciously. She'd only eaten one tiny oyster and she was flustered. It could not possibly be those, and she was relieved with the distraction of Chauvelin topping off her glass of wine. She was amused to see him nearly down his in two quick sips. He was nervous... it was the only thing she could deduce from his gulps of a drink that was meant to be sipped - needed something to calm his nerves... but why? The reason eluded her. It didn't make sense what had put the man who seemed so remarkably unflappable ... off.. She would have to keep that in mind and try to sort out what it could possibly be later on. She nodded as Chauvelin explained about his job, figuring she too would be dissatisfied with a job that didn't feel very 'real'. It -would- be disheartening to do a fake kind of work every day. "Well then.. let's not think about work this evening. Perhaps we can just enjoy ourselves." She suggested, risking another oyster and a long sip of her wine. She looked over at him for a moment before doing something she, later, could not entirely explain or understand.. scooting her hand over just slightly so it was brushing against his, so close to touching... [/style]

TABLE BY CALIFORNIA DREAMING @ CAUTION 2.0

[PAUL CHAUVELIN]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style,padding-left:5px; padding-top:5px; padding-right:5px; padding-bottom:5px; background-color: #575764; border-radius: 100px 0px 100px 0px;] CHAUVELIN "what did they aim for when they missed your heart?" Chauvelin had the strangest sensation, like he was splitting in two, into an inner and outer self. He kept smiling, an expression of genuine happiness, not the automatic smile he wore like a mask. And now she was so close, but not … quite … touching. At her proximity, his skin was suffused with a pleasantly prickling tingle and the fine hairs on his arms and the backs of his hands stood on end, as if they yearned for her, too. Because yearn for her Paul did. Of course, wanting a woman was nothing strange to him. He'd never been a monk by any stretch, from the time he was young taking a healthy interest in the fairer sex, an interest which even his advancing age had not abated. And women reciprocated. For many years, he'd been protege to Charles Maurice de Talleyrand-Périgord, a man whose legendary talents for charm and persuasion had by no means been confined to mere diplomacy. Talleyrand had rarely slept alone. While Chauvelin couldn't match his mentor in either field, he had no doubt of his ability to seduce a country widow. The woman beside him at the table was no experienced court jade and would never see him coming. And yet, ironically, it was that very innocence that made him hold back. He was afraid -- terrified, though he wouldn't admit it to himself -- that come the morning, she would be ashamed of what she'd done. While she might not realize he was the architect of that shame, she would know he was participant in and witness to it. She wouldn't be able to look at him, even think about him, without feeling it all over again, and just imagining that made his heart clench in his chest. Still, he couldn't just ignore her hand, or yank his own back. Then she would think he was repulsed by her, which was far, far from the truth. He had to acknowledge it somehow, but without being overly forward. With a gentle smile, he placed his hand over hers, just for the briefest of moments and with the lightest touch. His palm, slightly calloused and scarred by the demands of his life and work, was not the soft, smooth skin of a pampered aristocrat, and he didn't want to seem some thuggish brute. Then his hand was gone, moving on to the second platter, the one bearing the soup course. As he drew the china and silver closer, he glanced at Marie sidelong. "An excellent idea. What would you like to talk about?" Tags: Marie | Notes: None at present. Credit: 156zcm of Caution Lyrics: "Shot in the Dark" by Within Temptation

[MARIE EVANGELINE ROQUEFEUIL]

[style=font-family: times; font-size: 12px; letter-spacing: 1px; text-transform: lowercase; color: #989898; font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;]519 WORDS FOR Chauvelin She's quite taken with him! Congrats. lol. AMOUR [/style]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=width,450,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,true][atrb=style, background-color: #6d6d6d;] [style=padding: 10px; text-align: justify; font-family: arial; font-size: 10px; height: 475px; overflow: auto; color: #1e1e1e;]Marie smiled at her .. well.. what was he? A .. suitor? A beau? She wasn't entirely sure. This was such odd circumstance, being sent a letter by Captain D'Anthès whom she wasn't all that personally close to, being asked to meet him.. but finding out that it was a set up. A set up for a dinner event.. which the King of France had also participated in and had asked Chauvelin to meet -him- there for.. also as a setup. What an -exceptionally- odd situation it was! She couldn't get over how strange, but then she saw Chauvelin and she somehow felt she couldn't walk away from him, she was too intrigued by him and this whole situation - and how she felt when she was around him, which was a whole other story. She liked the rushing feelings and the thudding of her heart against her chest whenever he came near. It hadn't been there at first, she realized. When had it started? Certainly not when they'd first met, and not when they'd had their first course of the meal, but then it had started. And she liked it and feared it at the same time. It was strong, much stronger than anything she'd felt before around a man - and that was the scary part. Stronger than Jean-Claude, whom she'd been married to for years. But was it romantic? That was ridiculous. She did not even know this man. She couldn't possibly feel something for him. Right? But the rushing of her heart, the quick breath that she couldn't seem to curb... What were those supposed to be then? It was how Margo had described feeling about Percy wasn't it? But did she have to sort it all out in her mind tonight? Couldn't she simply enjoy the evening? When she put her hand near his, she was surprised to feel him put his hand over hers with just a gentle pressure for a few seconds. His hand wasn't soft - it was calloused, but it felt nice over hers, like it fit with hers and he didn't put too much weight on her hand. Just enough for her to enjoy it. She looked over at him with a soft smile, regretting when he let go. Her first impulse was to reach back over for his hand once he took it back.. but.. she didn't want to seem too forward and they did need both hands to eat their soup. Instead, she ate her soup and, every once in a while swept her blue-eyed gaze over at him for a few seconds at a time. She knew she shouldn't stare at him, but couldn't seem to help herself. "I'd like very much to get to know you better. Maybe.. more about yourself? and.. I'll return the favor.. if you would like, anything you might want to know.." She murmured, catching his gaze and trying to hold it, hoping her eyes would convey what her words couldn't say because it would be too forward. I want to get to know you, because I'm quite attracted to you. [/style]

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