Discourse of Disagreement (Chauvelin, Margo)

[MARIE EVANGELINE ROQUEFEUIL]

[style=font-family: times; font-size: 12px; letter-spacing: 1px; text-transform: lowercase; color: #989898; font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;]875 WORDS FOR Chauvelin Okay, so I'm thinking to have Paul and Marie go off to have some moments in private where they think they won't be seen, but Margo accidentally run into them kissing and then when Paul leaves her pull Marie aside and them get into this argument and then eventually they part ways and Marie goes to the Grotto and Paul will follow her there.. DISCORD [/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 smoothed a hand over the fine silk overdress with a deep breath as she looked around the boudoir which had been supplied for the ladies' needs during the garden party. A few others were still here touching things up before descending out of the grand palace and into its gardens where there would be a party that evening lasting well into the night. At that party there would be a grand meal, much discussion no doubt, and revelry. She was of multiple minds about the evening. From what she had heard (and seen this night), Paris was in disarray. It was not the time for parties. However, at the same time, she thought tht this party might present her some useful opportunties. She had brought along her son in hopes that she might be able to arrange for him to meet and speak with the boy king. Since he had been at ploy with his riding master to see her up with Paul Chauvelin, she had met the boy king in person twice, and both times he had shocked her with his apparent maturity and knowledge of the political situation. He had been very somber when she had last seen him having just received word of General Lamarque's death, and had been very troubled by the news. She hoped by meeting the king himself, she could persuade her wayward son away from his foolish (not to mention wreckless and careless ) political opinions which were, quite frankly, dangerous and undesirous to her. Then, there was the fact that she knew Paul Chauvelin would be present at the party - at least she was somewhat certain of the fact. Some two months ago they had been set up by the boy king and a friend of hers just happening to be the king's own riding master, Captain Victor D'Anthès - wtih whom she still needed to have a few words about his involvement in said incident! - and since that time she and Chauvelin had become heavily involved with each other. However, there hd been little time for such selfish preoccupations when Paris was practically falling apart at the seams. Paul spent much of his time there working on governmnt things, and Marie preferred to be at her estate being sure that Henri did nothing she did not wish and nursing him back to health after his foolish injury at Essone. She had seen Paul upon only a few occasions since they had become serious about each other and was longing to again. She could not explain it, except to say that when she was with him she felt more alive than at any other time. In fact, when she was not with him it was almost as if she was seeing the world entirely in grey. He brought color like an artist with his brush and palette back into her world. Not to mention, it was likely as not that Marie's closest friend Marguerite Blakeney would be there. The two women had been close since such time as Margo had been acting back when she had been Marguerite St. Juste. Marie had seen her less often recently because they'd spent a good deal more time in Percy's native England since things became less safe. She was anxious to see Margo and speak with her on her feelings about all of this. And to compound it all, these last few days she had not been feeling completely herself. Normally Marie was of good health and spirits, but in the last few days she had been feeling a bit tired and feverish. She did not believe herself to have anything particularly awful or contagious - more than likely just a light summer ailment. However, it was troublesome not to feel at her best at the present evening when there was much to be done. But there would be time to think about such things later. She smoothed her dress again slightly, admiring it. A dress of the traditional evening style with a very large, gathered skirt which was split open over an underlayer and having a somewhat low square neckline with half sleeves and much ribbons. The overdress and bodice were of a deep blue with gold threaded lines. The underskirt was a cream with gold embroidery and gold bows. It matched her red hair to perfection. She'd had her lady in waiting do it up very nicely indeed tonight. Once she was certain that all aspects of her person were in order, she went to search out Chauvelin. She could see him first perhaps, before she became bogged down in other people wishing to converse with her. She made her way down the stairs and into the gardens, quickly locating Paul standing on the outside edge of the circle of people who had already arrived. He was speaking to a man who looked, she thought, oddly familiar but whose name she could not place. She thought perhaps she must have seen him somewhere, but could not remember where it might have been. She made her way through the crowd toward Paul. Once behind him, she placed her hand gently against the back of his shoulder to alert him to her presence, but did not interrupt. [/style]

TABLE BY CALIFORNIA DREAMING @ CAUTION 2.0

[PAUL CHAUVELIN]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, width: 500px; background: url(http://i12.photobucket.com/albums/a223/Achillea/whitesilk_zps07d335a9.jpg); border-radius: 30px 30px 30px 30px; padding: 10px;] Let my heart grow colder and as bitter as A Falcon in the Dive Chauvelin scanned the crowd for the umpteenth time since the party had begun, continuously keeping track of the major players. The King was performing the requisite duties of his station, which in this case primarily involved enduring variously being fawned over by oblivious sycophants, importuned by cowardly snivelers who wanted National Guards for their personal protection, and harangued by pompous blowhards who were up for clearing the streets by any means up to and including grapeshot. St-Cyr was slinking her way toward the assemblage around Henri, which made the old spymaster frown inwardly, but there was nothing he could do about it. And he didn't judge her a danger to the boy at any event. She would be a much greater worry later, when the food was served, and her murderous attention returned to her vendetta against Marguerite St-Just. Margot. Chauvelin's gaze sought her out, quickly spotting her at her husband's side, but he was surprised to find the sight didn't pain him as much as it once had. It still hurt, he still felt her absence from his arm and it still stung to see her with him, but it was a mixture of regret and frustration, not the wave of bitter grief and rage that had threatened to sweep him away in the past. Was he truly getting over her? As if in answer to his unspoken question, a feminine hand touched his shoulder. Caught up in his reverie, he hadn't heard anyone approach, and he jumped a little in surprise, kicking himself for his lapse in attention at such a critical time and place. Nobody had tried to assassinate him in a long time and he'd gotten soft and sloppy. Even without turning, he knew who it was -- knew her touch, her scent, even the sound of her breath -- but what if it hadn't been? And in her own way Marie was more dangerous to him than any bullet, blade, or Borgia. He'd only known her two months, but it had been too late after two hours. She'd padded into his heart like a cat on velvet paws, and now it was impossible to imagine it without her curled up there purring. Knowledge of the target she would become if anyone learned how much he cared for her made his blood run cold. Just the thought of losing her was an icy void that he wouldn't, couldn't begin to contemplate. Chauvelin flicked a glance to either side. Robespierre was the only other person nearby -- the demagogue was staying close, but would be out of earshot of anything spoken quietly. "Vicomtesse," the old spymaster said in greeting. Turning toward Marie, Paul's mask of warm politeness was firmly in place for outside observers. But, gathering her hand in his, he brought it to his lips, grazing them across the sensitive skin there and looking up at her with a far more intimate heat in his eyes. [/style] [style=width: 205px; height: 400px; background-color: 101010; float: right; margin-top: 10px; border-left: 3px solid #353535; border-right: 3px solid #353535; padding: 5px; border-bottom-right-radius: 20px; overflow: auto] [style=border-bottom: 1px dotted #cacaca; width: 30px]TAG: Marie NOTES: Hope there's nothing flammable nearby ... LYRICS: "Falcon in the Dive" by Terrance Mann CREDITS: table made by MADAME MARIANNA of CAUTION 2.0 [/style]

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[MARIE EVANGELINE ROQUEFEUIL]

[style=font-family: times; font-size: 12px; letter-spacing: 1px; text-transform: lowercase; color: #989898; font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;]694 WORDS FOR Chauvelin notes: Us? Flammable? Who would have thought... DISCORD [/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 slightly surprised to feel Paul flinch slightly when she touched his shoulder. She must have managed to surprise him. A rarity. Normally Chauvelin was on guard much more than the majority of people, always looking over his shoulder. She wondered if he had particular reason to fear, but, thus far, had avoided asking him too many questions because her prying seemed to make him a bit uncomfortable. And she supposed that was understandable, some people liked to keep their lives private. She understood that. There were things about her own life that she kept to herself and wouldn't have shared with other people. She understood if Chauvelin wanted the same kind of privacy and, truthfully, it didn't bother her as much as she would have expected it to. Normally, Marie was very curious about other people. She wanted to know things about them and poke her nose in where it didn't really belong. But with him, it was different. She didn't mind letting him have his space, his danger, or his secrets if that made him happy. She just enjoyed being with him, and she wanted him to be happy. Very happy. His being happy made her happy. That was a feeling she had experienced with Jean-Claude, but it had never been this strong. It was a little frightening that she knew she already felt more for a man she'd known a sum total of two months than the man she'd been married to for 20 odd years. She was both excited and scared by what was developing between herself and Chauvelin - and how fast it was progressing. She knew if some people understood the nature of the relationship - especially the physical relationship, they wouldn't approve. But she didn't care; he made her happy. And it had been, she realized, a long time since she'd been truly and really happy. She let her hand continue to rest on his shoulder for a longer moment than she might have done with a mere acquaintance. Her eyes flicked to those who surrounded them. Mainly, it was another man who looked.. uncomfortable.. She couldn't quite put her finger on it, other than that. She ignored him for the moment. Her heart was thudding almost painfully hard in her chest at being that close to Chauvelin anyway. He always caused that to happen - as if anytime she was around him, her heart was making up for that volta they had danced when they first met. He reached for her hand and pressed his lips to her fingers in a polite greeting which made her shiver. She watched his lips graze across her fingers before raising her blue eyes upward to see the intense heat in his eyes. Before, she would have been a little taken aback by it. Now, she knew to expect it. She liked the intensity. It was almost like being in a steaming hot bath which was, at the off, too hot but you then adjusted to and found yourself shivering. It was like that, and she liked it. She liked it a great deal, in fact. She kept her eyes on his for a long moment, not looking awy and not releasing her gaze, which showed just as much intensity as his did. And finally she reached for his free hand and into it passed a carefully folded note which she had written in the boudoir earlier, knowing that she would wish to see him. Meet me behind the tapestry of Diana the Huntress. I am anxious to see you. I miss you. -- Yours. And she had left it unsigned, just in case it should fall into the wrong fingers. It could have been any young lad and girl arranging to meet. It would be private behind the wall sized tapestry which hung decoratively in front of a recess in the wall of the great palace. No one would notice them there. She squeezed his hand once, slightly, before leaving him with the note and heading off toward the place she had asked him to meet her, feeling as excited as a teenager sneaking off without a chaperone. [/style]

TABLE BY CALIFORNIA DREAMING @ CAUTION 2.0

[PAUL CHAUVELIN]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, width: 500px; background: url(http://i12.photobucket.com/albums/a223/Achillea/whitesilk_zps07d335a9.jpg); border-radius: 30px 30px 30px 30px; padding: 10px;] Let my heart grow colder and as bitter as A Falcon in the Dive Smiling, Chauvelin felt and palmed the note with a deftness born of decades of practice, returning the gentle pressure and giving a not-quite wink when he was sure no one was looking. Given her 'rural' life to date, it was amazing the speed -- not to mention the spirit -- to which Marie had taken to such tradecraft. Amazing, and delightful. It was self-centered of him, he knew, but it made her feel more part of his life, more … his match. He'd never been drawn to silly, giggling baubles, at least not for more than a quick romp between the sheets. Even Lissette, the youngest and most innocent of the women he'd loved, had possessed nerve and intelligence in ample quantity. And he did love Marie, he'd finally come to realize, though it had taken far too long to admit it to himself. It was a ridiculous time to fall in love, and woman to fall in love with. It was absurd, inconvenient, and downright dangerous. But it was also undeniable. No matter how hard he tried to pretend otherwise, he knew himself too well. His heart lifted when he heard her laugh or saw her smile. He wanted to make her happy and keep her safe. He wanted to know her, not just her body, but her mind. He wanted to be with her, not just in shadows and stolen moments, but for the rest of his life. Incredibly, impossibly, he wanted to make her his wife. Calling his straying thoughts to heel, the old spymaster tore his eyes from her departing back, where they'd lingered dangerously long. Time for that later. Right now, he had a mask to wear and a game to play. There were lives, perhaps even a kingdom, in the balance, and he needed to focus. Still, as soon as he was able, he carved out a few seconds to slip away and read her note unobserved. Behind the tapestry of Diana the Huntress. Chauvelin smiled sardonically, wondering if he should read too much into the location. Diana was not overfond of men, but she was also a goddess especially protective of her privacy. Either way, he knew he would go, would have gone even if he knew it was only to be set upon by proverbial hounds. Tucking the note away, he returned to the game. With a careful word in the right ear here, an eloquent glance in a particular direction there, he maneuvered even the pieces who thought they were players. An exemplar of harmless, genial charm, he moved easily among the partygoers, never going straight toward his destination, but always getting closer. Though he ached to just throw it all over and run to be with her, he took his time, taking what pleasure he could in enhancing the anticipation. And then, finally, he reached the party's outer edge. A final glance showed he was unobserved, and a final step took him out of sight of the other party goers. Abandoning his leisurely progress, he strode rapidly toward his assignation. [/style] [style=width: 205px; height: 400px; background-color: 101010; float: right; margin-top: 10px; border-left: 3px solid #353535; border-right: 3px solid #353535; padding: 5px; border-bottom-right-radius: 20px; overflow: auto] [style=border-bottom: 1px dotted #cacaca; width: 30px]TAG: Marie NOTES: Hope there's nothing flammable nearby ... LYRICS: "Falcon in the Dive" by Terrance Mann CREDITS: table made by MADAME MARIANNA of CAUTION 2.0 [/style]

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