Flowers, Flowers everywhere(open)

[maximiliennoelvier]

[atrb=border,0,true] [/style][style=width: 450px; background-color: ffffff; text-align:center; padding: 8px; line-height: 10px; font-family: verdana; font-size: 9px; color: 000000;][style=background-image:url(http://i47.tinypic.com/33capw3.jpg); width: 252px; height: 138px; float: left; margin-top:10px;] WHEN'S IT GONNA END, HOW WE GONNA LIVE, SOMETHIN'S GOTTA HAPPEN NOW, SOMETHIN'S GOTTA GIVE [/style][style=width: 252px; height: 26px; float: left; margin-top:10px] made by historyofus of caution Max did not know what to think; neither did he know what he was thinking either. One thing was certain this day was going to be a blast and those flowers on that stand just oh well, they held such beauty, and that you could just stare at them for hours and not even realize you were doing it. It was rare to see such beauty such as this, it was breath taking to see something as wonderful as these near the streets of Paris, it easily made you forget about the suffering of poor and just get yourself lost in festivities of the day, Max was finding himself just as excited as everyone else around here. The Young gamin fool had come not as his aristocratic event for this but dressed as his street self, but then he had not been sleeping at home so there was that, he had not had a chance to go and get changed but neither did he want to. The Young lad was feeling less and less connected to his real life, his home and family, he found himself waking up deciding that where he was now was much more of a home to him. Maybe it was his meeting with his new friend Courfeyrac that had made him feel like this, it seemed right to him, he would not be surprised if that was one of the many reasons why. I wonder where Courf is, maybe he's around, and I’d like to meet up with him. The boy thought to himself as he watched people come and go to the flower stand, some picking up and buying the flowers others just browsing or chatting to the person who was manning the store. He wished he himself could get a flower but you know he had no money no him right now and who had he to give it to anyway. Maybe he should go home and get some, NO there was no way he was going to do that not right now at least, right now the boy was content to sit here and watch. He liked it where he was at the moment, while not quite it was the perfect view, he was very resolved to get in on the festivities at some point, and the boy would when he wanted to, for now however the boy was resolved to stay here, he would join in at a later time. Maybe someone the boy knew would appear that would be great.

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[SYLVIE ST-CYR]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, width: 400px; background: url(http://i12.photobucket.com/albums/a223/Achillea/black-silk-repeating-background_zps22606a56.jpg); border-radius: 30px 30px 30px 30px; padding: 10px;] . i am the nightmare of your own desire i am the song that the devil sings For short trips in Paris, Sylvie St-Cyr usually didn't take her four-in-hand. Luxurious as the coach was, it took an age to harness and was difficult to maneuver through the narrower streets. Especially when those streets were choked with human vermin, as they were today. By preference, she wouldn't have gone out at all, but she needed one more piece to complete her costume for the masquerade and none of her servants was competent to select it. So it was that the day found her out and about in her remise. Like her coach, it was enclosed and roofed to keep the sun from her pale skin, and it bore her family crest proudly displayed on the doors. But it was smaller and pulled by a single horse, managed by her coachman standing on a platform at the rear so he didn't block her view through the extravagantly expensive glass windows. Not that there was much to see today, beyond a large number of people reveling in idleness … and probably far too much drink. Still, looking out was something to do on this tediously slow trip. The streets were so congested even her small carriage was having trouble getting through. The Marquise was just contemplating having her driver begin using his long coachwhip to clear the way when something outside caught her eye. Through a break in the crowds there was visible a flower stall. Most of its wares were predictable, daisies and dog roses and the like for lovers to buy. But to one side there was a good-sized cluster of lily of the valley, its snowy white blooms glowing almost like a beacon. It was a beautiful flower, viewed by most as a symbol of purity, hope, and humility. It was commonly believed to have sprung up from the tears shed by Mary at the Crucifixion, but such puerile imaginings only reinforced Sylvie's contempt for her fellow man. Trained by the Borgias, she knew that every part of the plant was poisonous, and there were half a dozen brews and powders she could make from it. Sylvie's smile was just a cold upward curve of her lips as she rapped sharply on the remise's roof to signal a halt. Well trained, the driver reined the horse in promptly, but not sharply, bringing the carriage to a smooth stop. Securing the brake, he jumped down and ran around to hand her out. || tagged: Max || notes: * a flossier version of this || lyrics: "Black Unicorn" by Heather Alexander

Table made by Satara of Caution 2.0!

[maximiliennoelvier]

[atrb=border,0,true] [/style][style=width: 450px; background-color: ffffff; text-align:center; padding: 8px; line-height: 10px; font-family: verdana; font-size: 9px; color: 000000;][style=background-image:url(http://i47.tinypic.com/33capw3.jpg); width: 252px; height: 138px; float: left; margin-top:10px;] WHEN'S IT GONNA END, HOW WE GONNA LIVE, SOMETHIN'S GOTTA HAPPEN NOW, SOMETHIN'S GOTTA GIVE [/style][style=width: 252px; height: 26px; float: left; margin-top:10px] made by historyofus of caution Max had been watching a few customers talking to the flower girl, he had been watching with interest, but that interest would very soon be evaporated when a carriage which originally had looked to just be passing through stopped. Instead his interest flickered to the now parked carriage, he felt as if he had seen this carriage before, like when he had gone somewhere with his father and the rest of the family. It was there in the back of the young lad's mind but not very clear. Max decided he would like to get a better view, maybe if he could see the person inside the carriage he would be able to remember what he had forgotten. He nodded to himself quickly glancing around before not only moving to a better position but getting closer to the carriage, he did not look threatening as far as he knew he either looked a mix of a gamin looking for money or just being nosey, but certainly not a threat. Max had positioned himself close enough to the carriage, obviously not too close he did not want to annoy someone, not all Aristocrats were friendly to those on the streets after all, not like Sir Percy’s wife. He Noticed instantly who it was, the Women was not forgettable, he had certainly seen her and as he watched her he almost shivered, he was unsure why but from what he had seen of her she was not the kindest person around. He had not seen much but he had still seen her Sylvie St-Cyr, he wondered what brought her to the flower stand, there was rumours about her, he was not sure if they were true but if they were he had an idea why she might be here He watched with interest and decided he would rather not get any closer.

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[SYLVIE ST-CYR]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, width: 400px; background: url(http://i12.photobucket.com/albums/a223/Achillea/black-silk-repeating-background_zps22606a56.jpg); border-radius: 30px 30px 30px 30px; padding: 10px;] . i am the nightmare of your own desire i am the song that the devil sings Placing one lace-gloved hand on the driver's, Sylvie St-Cyr emerged from her carriage and stood poised for a moment, head held regally high as she gazed around the square. In her smoky veil and midnight silk beaded with jet, she stood out among the brightly-clad proletariat revelers like a black swan amid peacocks. She drew the eye -- a fact of which she was well aware, and gloried in. Deftly gathering her skirts up out of the dust, the Marquise glided directly toward the flower stand, paying no heed to anyone who might be in her way. Most moved promptly to remove themselves from her path, except for a trio of students, already into their cups. For a few moments they seemed to consider standing their ground, then something in her manner penetrated even their inebriation and they stepped aside, grumbling under their breaths. Without so much as a glance, Sylvie passed them by and went on to the stand, her attention on the lilies. They were beautiful specimens, freshly-picked and not the least bit wilted in the summer warmth, and she smiled. There were several, but as large and healthy as these were, she would only need one or two. Snapping her fingers, she summoned the coachman from his place two paces behind and indicated her desired purchases. || tagged: Max || notes: * a flossier version of this || lyrics: "Black Unicorn" by Heather Alexander

Table made by Satara of Caution 2.0!

[maximiliennoelvier]

[atrb=border,0,true] [/style][style=width: 450px; background-color: ffffff; text-align:center; padding: 8px; line-height: 10px; font-family: verdana; font-size: 9px; color: 000000;][style=background-image:url(http://i47.tinypic.com/33capw3.jpg); width: 252px; height: 138px; float: left; margin-top:10px;] WHEN'S IT GONNA END, HOW WE GONNA LIVE, SOMETHIN'S GOTTA HAPPEN NOW, SOMETHIN'S GOTTA GIVE [/style][style=width: 252px; height: 26px; float: left; margin-top:10px] made by historyofus of caution What type of Flowers are those? lilies yeah that's right he watch the Marquise curiously not knowing if he should maybe attempt to do something, from those rumours he had heard, something told him she was not here to give them to a friend that was for certain. Okay he might be getting ahead of himself the rumours might not even be true, but if they were then someone was in for one hell of a night, someone who if it was true could end up dead. You could say if Max were to do something he would be doing the right think, however he shivered somewhat while watching the women, he was not overly scared of her but her presence seem to just suck the warmth right out of the air, she was not a women to mess with. The Young lad did want to test something so he kicked a few stones in her general direction before glancing over to the stand itself watching whatever was going on. An idea did strike him though, and while he was not sure of it, it might be a good one. He sighed to himself and just committed himself o an observation for now. Though he did notice a child younger than him sneaking up on the Marquise, he frowned hoping the kid did not get herself in trouble. (this is rubbish sorry about that)

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[SYLVIE ST-CYR]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, width: 400px; background: url(http://i12.photobucket.com/albums/a223/Achillea/black-silk-repeating-background_zps22606a56.jpg); border-radius: 30px 30px 30px 30px; padding: 10px;] . i am the nightmare of your own desire i am the song that the devil sings While the coachman handled the plebian business of dickering with the flower seller, Sylvie amused herself by looking around. There were a number of other booths and tents set up to sell various goods and services. Some were food, though there were also toys, scarves, fans, and several small items she didn't recognize. To her jaded eye, they were all quite plain and crude, but vendors appeared to be doing quite well. With an elegant little shrug, the Marquise glanced back at her carriage. The two footmen who normally ran along behind it were there, resting – not that they'd had to do much running today what with the streets being as cluttered with humanity as they were. Still, they looked cautious and alert, which was good. No one on her estate would dare to tamper with anything bearing her mark, but here in Paris was another matter. It was appalling how badly out of control the lower classes here had been allowed to get, with ideas above their station. She wouldn't put it past some malvivente* to try to steal the gilt right off the wheels! And speaking of thieves … a glimpse of motion where there shouldn't be any caught Sylvie's attention and she turned her head to follow it. Spotting a ragged little monello** slipping stealthily up behind her coachman, her eyes narrowed and darkened with fury. Oh, I think not. ~ "'nacio, behind you!" ~ she snapped in Italian, not wanting the thief to be warned and get away. Oh no, child or not, he must be caught and punished. Ignacio whipped around and made a grab for the boy, but the slight figure was too quick. Ducking and eeling away, he jumped out of reach with a smirk that, had the Marquise not already been enraged, would have infuriated her. Then, with a little skip, he broke into a run – only he made the mistake of trying to escape right past Sylvie herself, apparently thinking a lady aristo would be unable to stop him. The Marquise's backhand caught him full in the face and, woman or not, she had a lot of practice in hitting people. She also had a number of rings that added weight and edges to the blow. The unfortunate would-be pickpocket was knocked backwards off his feet, stunned, lip and cheek torn and bleeding. Snapping her fingers to summon her footmen, she stepped forward and delivered a couple of vicious kicks to the boy's side to keep him subdued until they could arrive and seize him. || tagged: Max || notes: * criminal, delinquent ** guttersnipe, brat || lyrics: "Black Unicorn" by Heather Alexander

Table made by Satara of Caution 2.0!