Let Me Pretend I'm Somewhere Else {Chauvelin}

[PAUL CHAUVELIN]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style,padding-left:5px; padding-top:5px; padding-right:5px; padding-bottom:5px; background-color: #575766; border-radius: 100px 0px 100px 0px;] CHAUVELIN "what did they aim for when they missed your heart?" Tell me more about yourself. Whenever he was asked that, Chauvelin's first instinct was to lie. Because that's what he did, and had been doing for a very long time. So long that sometimes he felt like he was made of lies, and if he told the truth he would simply unravel and blow away on the wind. But that wasn't entirely metaphorical. There were truths about 'Paul Chauvelin' and the things he'd done that, if they were known, would mean his death. Hell, they started with his real name. Still, he was very tired of lies. Here and now -- with Marie -- more acutely so than ever. Though he couldn't admit it to himself in so many words, he wanted her approval, her affection. It meant nothing, even less than nothing, if those feelings were for the mask he wore, and not the real Chauvelin ... but she would be appalled and repulsed by the real Chauvelin. Absolute truth was impossible, unfamiliar territory. But if he dared, he could skirt around it, even venture a pace or two across its borders here and there. The ruthless, pragmatic part of him warned against it. It was foolish. Pointless, self-indulgent, and incredibly risky. But he already knew in his heart that, sooner or later in this strange, magical interlude, he was going to. "Not much to tell," Chauvelin said, with an elegant, self-deprecating gesture. "I'm boring, I'm afraid, makes me uniquely suited to fading into the background. Talk of me would only bore us both to tears." He paused a moment to top up both their glasses. "The story of Marie must be far more interesting. Life on a country estate, a family?" 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;]703 WORDS FOR chauvelin notes: thought I'd spice it up a little bit to make it easier for Chauv to respond!. 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 lifted her glass forward when Chauvelin topped both of them off with a little more to drink. A part of her thought that as this was now her third glass of wine, perhaps she ought to stop. Some said that it was unseemly for a woman to drink anything stronger than tea. However, Marie had a penchent for fine wine and had done ever since she'd started what could only be called her renaissance ever since Jean-Claude had died and she'd started to come into her own a little more and do and experience things that she enjoyed and wanted to do. She did not agree with those who might have said it was unseemly and clicked their tongues, for wine was good and it was enjoyable and she did not see why she should deny herself that pleasure of enjoyment. However, being fairly lithe of body and slender, she had also found out what could happen when she overindulged. She had, before, gone quite far enough to make herself ill - though without intentions of doing so - and she knew that she was not yet at that point. However, that said, she was getting to the point where her judgment was ever so slightly cloudy and, with as much as she was hiding, that could be dangerous indeed given the current situation. And yet. She enjoyed wine, and since this was a nice night and she was enjoying herself in it... she might as well enjoy herself totally. And so she took a sip of the wine, feeling deliciously heady and wonderful and -bold-. She also felt -full-. Whoever had arranged their beautiful nine course meal had certainly done a good job. She didn't think she could eat another bite - but the eclairs and chocolate covered strawberries were far too good to pass up. Thus, she put a few strawberries and an eclair on her plate and took her glass of champagne. For a moment she let him think she'd forgotten the chosen topic, while trying to decide what she would tell him about 'the story of Marie.' She took the plate and carefully rose, brushing her skirt down. "Come and sit by the fountain with me?" She invited with a small smile. "it seems like it would be nice." She added by way of explanation as she moved toward the stone edge of the fountain. She kind of wanted to put her feet in, but wasn't sure about pulling her skirt back enough to do so. For now she would wait. "The story of Marie isn't as interesting as you might think." She said looking at the ripples in the water which the fountain spraying up created and the light of all the fireflies blinking. "I was an only child. I had older parents. I was a girl. That meant that the estate I'd grown up with as home.. that should be mine... and the title.. that is mine... would technically no longer be once I was married. My father was nervous about it being taken by the government if he were to die and therefore ...." She paused, having been about to say he'd pushed her into a marriage she wasn't ready for - well meaning but still. "I married early. I had a fairly happy life between Paris and the estate... which is not far from the forest near Barbizon and we had one son who is now grown and off.. doing things of which I do not approve." she sighed softly. "But.. that is how boys are.. you know.. all of them do that.. go off and.. do things their mothers dislike just to prove they're men. And then a few years ago, my husband died.. and.. that's that." She said simply. "Now I manage the estate on my own." Another pause and she scooted slightly closer toward him. "Your turn. Have you ever had a family? You can tell me anything you know." She wasn't sure why she added the last except for the fact that it had felt like he'd been hesitant with her so far, and as she was coming to like him a good deal she didn't want that to continue. [/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: #575766; border-radius: 100px 0px 100px 0px;] CHAUVELIN "what did they aim for when they missed your heart?" Chauvelin might have been a republican at heart, but he'd been born and raised a gentleman. When Marie shifted, clearly intending to stand, he came quickly to his own feet. Deftly collecting her glass to leave one of her hands free, he offered her his own to help her rise. Even that small touch, her slender fingers against his palm, sent a thrill through him. He nodded at her words, though in that moment he might have nodded just as agreeably to sitting just about anywhere with her. "Indeed," he said, a bit of huskiness in his voice. Picking up his own glass, he sipped to smooth it away. "The evening is warm." He'd said it more to have something to say than for any particular reason, but it happened to be true. It was summer, and despite the gently gusting breeze, some of the sun's heat still lingered in the air. As he took a seat beside her on the fountain's marble rim, he was struck by a whimsical desire to pull off his boots and culottes and cool his feet in the sparkling water. Glancing at her, he had the sudden wild idea that she was thinking just the same, but that was madness. She would have to lift her skirt halfway up to her knee, and a 'proper' lady scarcely allowed a man a glimpse of her feet, nevermind her ankles. Then again, he thought with a flare of hope, a 'proper' lady didn't talk about studding. Watching her watch the fountain, he listened to her story. It wasn't a remarkable or unusual one -- he'd heard dozens ranging from similar to virtually identical -- but it was interesting and unique because it was her. She told it matter-of-factly and, though she clearly resented the restrictions and injustice that came simply due to her gender as much as his long-ago wife, she had just as clearly come to terms with them. Still, he had a hunch she had never truly accepted them, and though she wouldn't rant and rave and threaten to turn society inside out as Hermininie always had, she would skirt them whenever the opportunity presented itself. He'd always been drawn to spirited women, he realized, though he buried the thought as quickly as it came to him. Then, suddenly, it was his turn, literally, and Chauvelin drew in and exhaled a long, slow breath. "I wasn't my parents's only child," he said, feeling his way through the minefield of truth and lies. "But I was the only survivor. The grippe took my brother and sisters when I was just a baby. My father had passed away soon after I was born, and my mother always blamed Paris, so she took me out to the country to raise. I, too, married young," he flashed a sudden grin, "a woman of which my mother would not have approved." Then the grin faded and was replaced by a wry, bittersweet smile. "It was the time of the first revolution. I sent her and our daughter to America, to safety." He sighed. "I never saw either of them again. After that … no more family." Tags: Marie | Notes: Marie moved with player consent. 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;]825 WORDS FOR Chauvelin 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 smiled at Chauvelin for a moment as he helped her stand and even took her glass to give her a free hand. In the moment that their hands met it felt like an electrical shock fingered its way through her body. It went first through her long, slender fingers, through her delicate wrist, up her arm, and - it felt like - right into her heart which was beating frantically. It was as staccato as music notes now. Her heart was beating so hard it almost hurt against her chest - like a bird trying to escape from a cage, but yet wanting to stay there too. She didn't want to let go of his hand - in fact, she wanted to keep holding onto it. But would it be too obvious? She hated that, even now, she was still thinking about rules. Rules. Rules. And the evening was warm just as he'd said. And there was a note of something in his voice that she couldn't quite understand, but yet liked. It was somewhat low. No matter what, she liked the sound of his voice resonating and the touching of his fingers and hers. She'd never felt in such a manner, and it made her head spin and her breath catch. And she was sick and tired of doing what she was supposed to do when everything in her body was screaming otherwise and she didn't even know why. And then she wondered... why follow them? There was one thing to be said for following rules in public. It was another, she thought quietly, to follow them in front of someone who, though was acting the part of a gentleman, she could sense something else beneath the surface - something virile, alive, something that preferred rule breaking, wrecklessness, and danger. Something that preferred daring over common sense... She was willing to take the daring. Four years ago she would not have been, but being alone had changed her - had made her realize that for the first time in her life she was going to live for herself now. However, she didn't get the chance to follow through on her determination before he began to tell his part of the story. She looked over at him with a very small, amused smirk when he announced he'd been the only one to survive influenza as an infant out of his brothers and sisters. Trust him to be the lone survivor. She listened carefully to him talk about his wife of which his mother would not have approved. For a moment it made her mind go back to what she'd thought of doing before - and made her that much more determined. Clearly he liked that kind of thing... and she was willing to play into his desires. But when had she decided she wanted to impress him? When had she decided she wanted him to like her? And when had this evening turned into more than an amicable evening between two people? Truth be told, she didn't know... but there wasn't time to question it... it was done. It had happened. But her compassion was also raised when he talked about what had been the end of the wife and the daughter who she suspected had been no more than a baby and how he had never seen either of them again. "I'm sorry." She whispered very softly. Slowly, she reached over and took his hand, slipping her fingers through his. For she knew just as well as he did that it had been a very long time since the first revolution. She'd been a child. Now she was a woman, a widow, with a grown son of her own... and in all that time Paul Chauvelin had heard nothing from the wife and daughter he'd sent to safety. That amount of time meant that she was dead or had found someone else - though the former was most likely. Neither of which were pleasant thoughts. From somewhere inside her she felt the insane desire to shout 'I'll be your family!' ... but she tamped it down quickly in horror, trying to figure out where -that- had come from. She didn't even know him. No.. definitely not. She leaned over slightly, however, and pressed a soft kiss on his cheek. Her lips barely touched his skin, in fact, and were gone a fraction of a second later. She resisted the urge to giggle at the roughness of the five-o'clock shadow on his cheeks against her lips. "Let's not talk anymore tonight of sad things. And if you'll excuse me.. it's getting much too warm." She said, peeling her slippers off her feet and slipping them into the fountain, trying to carefully maneuver her dress out of the way so it wouldn't get wet but also to avoid exposing her legs much past her ankle. There would be time for all of that later on. [/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: #575767; border-radius: 100px 0px 100px 0px;] CHAUVELIN "what did they aim for when they missed your heart?" At the touch of Marie's lips against his skin, Chauvelin's heart and breathing stopped. Even his brain froze, though it lurched into motion an instant later with the bizarre thought damn the boy, I didn't know to shave. Hygiene wasn't a concept much embraced even by the upper class – some even considered bathing immoral or unhealthy – but a gentleman keeping exposed areas free of dirt and stray hair when associating with a lady was another matter. And for the old spymaster, who was practically Roman about cleanliness, it was especially distressing, doubly so given the lady involved. Paul took a couple of deep breaths. Then, just when he'd begun to regain his equilibrium, Marie doffed her slippers, hitched up her skirt a fraction, and dabbled her feet in the water. Paul closed his eyes. Then he took another deep breath before opening them again. He was no stranger to women's bodies and had seen hundreds of them in far greater stages of undress, all the way up to completely naked. But he was also a sensualist, for whom less was more, and slower was better. It was the work of a minute or two for a man to throw a bawd's skirts over her head and relieve his needs, but he knew there was so much more that could be achieved. True pleasure came from taking your time and savoring a woman's body the way you savored a fine wine. You didn't gulp it down all at once, you took little sips of glimpses, reveling in the slow unveiling and the aching anticipation of more. In response to Marie's remark that it was warm, Chauvelin merely smiled at first, not quite trusting his voice to speak. Passing her back her glass, he raised his own in semi-toast, making a magician's wave of dismissal with the other. "Sadness is hereby banished from within these walls," he said. "Sadness and the past. We shall speak only of happiness and hope." 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;]476 WORDS FOR Chauvelin Take it away, Paul.... 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 liked the split second of brushing her lips against Chauvelin's cheek. She thought about it while she was putting her feet in the water. It was almost a fantasy in some ways to be able to remember it while she dipped her feet in the cool water. It had been a warm, muggy day and she was relieved that now it was dark out and, thus, less warm out, but the cool water still felt good lapping around her ankles and against her skin. She was glad she'd worn a cool dress which allowed heat to escape but still looked beautiful. She was doubly glad that she had dressed up as nice as she'd done. She was glad she was able to be at least a little impressive for him. It had been a while since she'd felt that way about a man, enjoying fixing up her hair and picking out a nice dress and accessories to go with it - since her husband had been alive. It was wonderful to be able to do that again. His cheek was a little rough with stubble, but it was forgiveable. The two had been set up and they hadn't known what for or how long they'd be away from home. It was likely he hadn't had a chance to shave before leaving. She didn't mind as much as she would have expected herself to. She could merely accept that this night had been thrust upon them and enjoy it. She could even be a little cheeky. "Well, are you going to join me?" She inquired, nodding to her bare feet in the water and then at his feet. "It's very nice." She pointed out, in almost a teasing manner. She sloshed her feet around slightly causing the water to splash his legs with a sneaky-like smirk. She stopped splashing once he handed her glass back however, and took a sip before sitting it beside her on the edge of the fountain after she'd raised it in agreement with his statement on sadness being banished from the place. She liked how he spoke so eloquently and even how she thought perhaps it could be true and he, unlike most men, really meant it. A part of her wished she could move that kiss from his cheek further, but she did understand that some social conventions were not to be broken even while she was bucking off others. He would need to make the first move in that direction. If he was even interested. she cautioned herself. "To happiness." She whispered, her voice slightly low with her previous thoughts. She could not resist, however, moving slightly closer to him, close enough that their shoulders nearly touched. She turned her face toward him, head slightly cocked in order to get a vantage of his face to see his reactions. [/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: #575767; border-radius: 100px 0px 100px 0px;] CHAUVELIN "what did they aim for when they missed your heart?" "To happiness," Paul said, his voice as low and husky as her own. Then his lips curled upward a little in a quick impish smile. Chauvelin was not completely without whimsy. He merely kept his locked up tight in an iron-wrapped box in the back of his mind, with a big heavy stone resting upon it. Even that, though, didn't always work. Maybe it was the warm summer evening, or the wine, or the free-spirited beauty he was with. Or maybe it was just that he'd always had a thing for women's feet, but suddenly he found himself pulling off his own shoes and stockings and swinging his legs over the fountain's edge to let his feet join hers in the cool of the water. His, sad to say, did not fare well in the side-by-side comparison. They were fully as pale, but far broader and more solid, with thick, stubby toes. One bore a thin, old scar that ran from just above the arch to end near his ankle. And both were furred along the top with a springy tangle of curly, grey-white hairs. Looking away quickly, Chauvelin poured them both more wine. Somewhere in his maneuvering, he'd slid a little closer, and his sleeve brushed hers as he refilled her glass. Then he turned his gaze to the fleur-de-lys formed by the jets in the center of the fountain (though he snuck an occasional surreptitious glance at her feet). "Did you know," he said, "that of all the groves of Versailles, this is the only one said to be designed from 'the King's own thoughts?' Le Nôtre created it in 1677, for Louis XIV. He had terrible gout," the old spymaster added, "so painful he often used a sort of wheeled chair. The ramps," he tilted his head toward the gently sloping paths running along both sides from the top fountain to the bottom, "were so he could get around." Much as the sheer profligacy of the palace chafed his republican soul, Chauvelin had to admit this was a place of beauty. "Sorry," he said with a rueful smile. "We agreed no past and here I am wandering off into a century and a half ago. Let's wander into the future, instead. What sort of gardens would spring from your thoughts?" 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;]807 WORDS FOR Chauvelin notes: finally. 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;]He swung his feet into the water next to hers and she stole a glance downward, finding that the picture of their feet next to each other somehow amused her. At the very least he didn't have feet like some men - dirty and the like. They were much larger than her own feet. She had notably long, thin toes that she wasn't sure she'd ever quite liked the appearance of because they looked like too short fingers rather than toes (though they were good for grasping things and picking them up!) while his were stubby with somee old scars that she found herself wondering what had caused them. Perhaps unpleasant thoughts of the realities of life which she had sealed her mind against considering on this most excellent of nights. Those realities would be there waiting when the evening was finished; surviving three revolutions had taught her that much. No need to rush it. She was distracted by his telling her about the history of the fountain on which they were now sitting. She wondered how he knew about it, though it did interest her hearing about it more than it usually might have given their proximity to the masterpiece sculpted fountain. She smiled slightly again when he admitted his tendency to wander off into the past when they had said they weren't going to speak of the past - though she supposed lessons on classical art maybe didn't count given they -had- been speaking of their own pasts before. "What sort of gardens would spring from your thoughts?" he inquired. She mused at the question for a moment, trying to decide if there was a certain answer or direction he was guiding her toward. She couldn't entirely tell. He sounded serious, though his expression still seemed impish. There was no reading Paul Chauvelin - that much she had already figured out early in their relationship. At least not easily. She did enjoy the puzzle of trying to figure him out, however. She thought about what answer she could give.. the truth was that the gardens of her thoughts ran along the veins of things like how enjoyable a time she was having here with him, how much he piqued her curiosity, how she was already in some ways dreading the dawn when she suspected it would be prudent to find someway out of this stranded bind they were left in, and how drawn to him she was - more than any man in her entire life. Including.. she realized with consternation.. her late husband. The knowledge stopped her cold in any utterance she might have made. Instead, she had to stop and think about that, turning it over in her mind for a time before she could accept its truth. Were her feelings about him friendship? Could she be truly honest with herself about that? If she was being.. the answer was no. She had many friends. She even had friends that were men - Percy, Victor... others.. none of them felt like this or ever had. Her own feelings for her late husband also paled in comparison as she'd just realized. Mon Dieu. she thought to herself, sweeping her hand across her forehead for a moment. Was she falling in love with Paul Chauvelin? A man she barely knew who she sensed she'd barely begun to tap the depth of.. whose... loyalties and history and mysteries were far from all revealed to her... That.. couldn't be happening... well more like shouldn't be happening. It felt like an explosion inside her head. Wander into the future? What did he mean by that? Their future? He thought they had one? She didn't know how to answer and her mind was incredibly overwhelmed rushing with a million thoughts and shutting out reason for the moment because it was so overwhelmed. She could blame it later for the act of forwardness she was about to commit without her brain's own consent it seemed. For later on she never remembered any decisive moment in which she consciously decided what he was going to do and then did it. It just sort of.. happened. She leaned more against him so that their shoulders touched and she reached gently for his face, brushing her fingers along the line of his jaw and tipping his face slightly toward hers and kissed him softly. It was more forward than she would have ever -considered- being if her mind had been calm enough for reason. But it wasn't. And so she kissed him. It was a strange sensation, different than what she'd expected.. and good too. She let her lips linger for a second longer than perhaps she should have, not that she hadn't already broken propriety enough for one evening! - hoping he'd wind up returning it, her mind having slowed to nothingness. [/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: #575767; border-radius: 100px 0px 100px 0px;] CHAUVELIN "what did they aim for when they missed your heart?" At first, Marie was silent. She said nothing and did nothing, simply sat there totally motionless, barely even seeming to breathe. In fact, she was so still that his own heart nearly stopped beating before he glimpsed again the slight but steady rise and fall of her chest. Still, that only abated his sudden panic a fraction. What had he said? What had he done? What had happened? How did he fix it? She was staring straight at him, wide-eyed. No, he realized, she was staring straight through him. With a jolt of fear, he threw a quick glance over his shoulder, but there was no one there. Yet as quickly as that fear vanished, another took its place. Who was she seeing? Or what? Or when? He looked into her eyes, as if he could see the images of her thoughts reflected there, but he might as well have been studying the back of a mirror. He couldn't even tell what emotion had so caught her up. An enemy had once whispered that Chauvelin must have sold his soul to the devil for the power to read minds, and at that moment Paul would have seriously considered the bargain. He opened his mouth, about to ask he knew-not-what, but then she leaned against him, took his face in her hands, and suddenly her lips were upon his. Soft, slightly-parted, and sweet with the taste of summer wine, they took his breath away even as he inhaled her own. As much yielding as demanding, they swept away conscious thought as easily as a gale scatters autumn leaves. And then they were gone. He went after them without hesitation, as swiftly and instinctively as a falcon stooping on a fleeing rabbit. Tenderness of a sort he hadn't known in so long he'd nearly forgotten rose up to meet it and checked the violence, but there could be no mistaking the strength of his grip as he caught Marie and drew her into his embrace. 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;]444 WORDS FOR Chauvelin notes: hehehe nice.. 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, for an instant, shocked by her own actions. She realized what she was doing after it was already happening and far before she'd given her body permission to do it. She hadn't even been thinking when it had happened. It had just happened. Was happening. And she didn't want it to end, but at the same time was horrified with herself. What would he think of her? Women didn't -do- things like this. Not of their own choosing without any kind of invitation. Women were supposed to reciprocate kisses - not initiate them - and certainly not the first one.. not the beginning of things. It wasn't hurt place and, yet, here she was kissing Paul Chauvelin before she'd really even given a thought to it. It had just.. happened. Her mind was more blown by that, perhaps, than anything else. Mostly because she'd never been moved to just have something 'happen without her consent' in this way. She wasn't normally a spontaneous person or instinctual. She was thoughtful, careful, planned, calculated.. and now all of that was scattered to the four winds it seemed. And, perhaps what was crazier... she didn't care right at the moment - which was even more dangerous. She should care. She should want to stop this. But she didn't. She wanted more for it to just continue and not stop - not anytime soon. Proper or not, it was exceptionally enjoyable. Far more enjoyable than other options currently available anyway. She was surprised, though not entirely sure she was off the hook, when she felt him follow her retreat pulling her into a tight, though not unwelcome, embrace and kiss her in return. He was holding her particularly tightly, but she didn't mind in the least. In fact, she liked being that close to him. She brushed his hair from his face and out of her way gently as she returned his kiss with slightly parted lips, wrapping her arms tight around the back of his neck and clamping her fingers together. "Paul.." She whispered in a breath but followed it with another kiss. Saying his name felt nice.. felt like it was making him hers. A second later she found herself sliding off the edge of the fountain and into the water when her feet failed to support her to stay on the ledge anymore. And still she managed not to let go of him which would likely bring him tumbling into the water after her. She lifted herself toward him on her elbows to kiss him gently again, not much caring about the fountain at the moment. The water felt nice. He felt nice... [/style]

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