In the Pale Moonlight [Mylie]

[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 Sylvie St-Cyr detested this part of town. Unlike the Fauberg that she called home whenever she was in Paris, the Latin Quarter was ... messy. There were no meticulously-kept gardens and the streets clearly weren't swept. The buildings, such as this 'cafe' she was lurking near, were ramshackle. The air was filled with a miasma of garbage, sweat, strange and unfamiliar spices, and who knew what else. The people were badly dressed and variously sullen or suspicious looking. And it was noisy! That was the worst of it. Even at this hour of night, when the paysans* should be abed resting from their labors, here they were drinking and carousing. A constant din of music and talk came from the cafe and she could even catch occasional snatches of their debate. Their laughter assailed her ears and grated on her nerves. Despite the light of a full moon throwing everything into sharp relief, the Marquise was shrouded in a hooded black cloak and stood in a doorway, completely hidden by its shadow. Unconsciously, she drummed impatient fingers on her thigh. It was had to say which was more galling – having so much depend on some street girl, or having to pussyfoot around like this. Still, the wench was the only lead to the Falcon, however tenuous, and if he got word that St-Cyr had been in contact with her, she would be no use as bait. So Sylvie would wait, skulking about like some criminal all night if need be, dreaming up punishments for when the trollop was of no further use. || tagged: Mylene || notes: * none at the moment || lyrics: "Black Unicorn" by Heather Alexander

Table made by Satara of Caution 2.0!

[MYLÈNE LACOQUINE]

There were nicer things to do as a barmaid than to have to accompany the completely wasted outside the door. Usually they couldn’t even walk properly, so they were leaning heavily on you, with their sharp stinking breath too close for comfort to your own nostrils. And then there were those not drunk enough not to recognize they were escorted by a girl, and they would take advantage of that fact. Clumsy fondling of certain parts was the most harmless of reactions then. Gladly Mylène knew the man quite well she was helping outside, even though she still swore to herself she would kill Pierre, the menial, when he EVER showed his face again. This should have been HIS job tonight!

“Shooooo shaaaad my shweeet”, he slurred and looked at her pitifully. “Shuusht ooone more sheen I would’ve gon an’wayy. Oooh, loook ashattt!” His eyes had rolled upwards and detected the full moon that shone over the street, bathing the Latin Quarter in an eerie light. “Shwooo moons, an’ full. Wanna shtaay a bit an waatshh she moonliight wisssh me my sshhweeet Co-Coqu… aaww ye know yer name shwweeet.”
Mylène stiffled a groan and resolutely pushed the man’s arm off her shoulder, helping him to steady himself and turn him into the direction where she knew his house lay. Hopefully he would find the way from there. Jacques was alright, in a way, an intellectual and poet, just that he was convinced he needed a certain level of wine to get his muse.

“Get ‘ome, poète! Yer poor wife awaits ye!” she ordered him strictly, pointing down the street. Jacques looked at her confused for a long moment, then looked up at the moon dreamily. “I… I shaall make a sshonnet out o’ shish", he declared then. ”Shwoo moons o’er Parishhh. Shaats good… yeshh, I sshhall do…” And with mumbling that he started to totter down the alley, gladly in the right direction, while Mylène herself heaved a deep sigh and quickly wiped her brow. It was late and she was bone-tired. Not to mention that she had a lot to think about these days. And she so didn’t like thinking. Thinking turned you into a brooding type, and that was the last thing she wished to be. Maybe she should call it a night soon. Just that sadly both the customers and the landlord decided when the night was through.

Taking a deep breath, she took a moment for herself, trying to push away the worries. Once she had had this meeting with the man Gus had promised she would meet, things would be better. Then there would be answers, not just questions.

[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 Finally! Sylvie wrinkled her nose at the sight and smell of the drunk, further confirming her opinion of the lower classes. Of course, it wasn't as if members of her own social stratum didn't get well and truly hammered from time to time, but she chose not to think about or remember that inconvenient detail. She was good at that. What she didn't want to acknowledge she simply didn't. He didn't matter anyway. What mattered was the girl. The girl and the man she was going to lead him to. That man -- the Falcon -- wasn't something Sylvie could just imagine away, but she looked forward to making him cease to exist. First, though, she had to find him. Waiting until the drunkard had staggered off down the alley, the Marquise stepped forward. Closer to, the girl looked tired and somewhat bedraggled, but maybe that was normal for her. Poor people couldn't afford the best fashions, after all. "M'lle Lacoquine?" Sylvie said. || tagged: Mylene || notes: * none at the moment || lyrics: "Black Unicorn" by Heather Alexander

Table made by Satara of Caution 2.0!

[MYLÈNE LACOQUINE]

She was deep in thoughts, too deep perhaps, far too deep for a girl that had been used to be on constant alert for most of her life. Therefore when she was suddenly approached and called out by a voice she did not recognize, every muscle in Mylène’s body tensed. It was the typical flight or fight mode, the one she had been subject to for too long, and in that moment in the dark, she was ready for both, just not for any reasonable explanation for this sudden approach. Why would anyone even know her by THAT name? She was Mylène to most, Mylie, or Coquine to those who knew about her cheek, but adding a Mademoiselle to it?! It almost made her laugh, hadn’t she been so off guard and tense in surprise. She was by no meanse a demoiselle… that’d be the day! So whoever wanted something of her now either did not know her well, or was of far more distinction than Mylène herself so a titulation like that would seem normal to her. But… who of a higher class would even want to seek her out?

There was not much to see from this point, the voice had been that of a woman, with that sort of posh accent you just couldn’t hide, the very distinct and almost exalted pronounciation of the French language. Mylène couldn’t speak that way even if she tried to mock it. Just like this woman probably would never be able to speak in the street slang without being found out. Other than that, the figure was concealed by a dark cloak, you couldn’t even see much of her face. It was all highly peculiar, and for a quick moment the tired girl actually asked herself if she had been falling asleep and was either dreaming or hallucinating this. But the night air still was cold against her face, and her feet still ached – and you did not feel any pain in dreams, so she had to be awake at least.

“Who wants te know?” she retorted sassily, crossing her arms in a slightly challenging and also defensive manner. She didn’t like those stuck up high classies, they usually didn’t care for people at all, and if they did, it was with some ulterior motive where the cost outweighed the gain by far. At least that she had thought until she had met Courf and the other higher born ABC friends. So, if the woman wanted something, she better be quick or it should be worth the trouble Mylène might be getting into for staying outside for too long.

[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 Sylvie gritted her teeth. Though her face was concealed, the guttersnipe couldn't have failed to hear the breeding in her voice. But instead of showing the appropriate deference, keeping her head down and asking respectfully how she might be of service, the monella* tried to look the Marquise right in the eye. And then demanded to know who she was! As if they were equals! It was appalling. These republican notions were really getting out of hand, and they needed to be stamped out firmly and decisively. They were a disease, an infection, and should be dealt with accordingly – cut out and the wound cauterized so thoroughly they would never take root again. Lamarque had been far too soft on the rabble. He'd dragged his feet about handling the problem, and now he was dragging his feet about dying and getting out of the way of younger, more capable leadership – someone more like Victor d'Anthes. Not for the first time, the poisoner considered speeding the process along. The general was old, sick, and feeble. It wouldn't take much, and would look as if he'd succumbed to his illness. Still, that was a matter for later. For now, to get what she wanted, Sylvie needed to deal with this wench and do so on the wench's terms. Soothing herself with the mental image of the girl whimpering on her table, the Marquise spoke sweetly, without a hint in her voice of the animosity she felt. Instead there was only sadness and sympathy. "My name is Elise," she said, lying without batting an eye. "I'm seeking a man known as the Falcon, who murdered my family. I understand he took your friend the Crow, as well." || tagged: Mylene || notes: *urchin, brat || lyrics: "Black Unicorn" by Heather Alexander

Table made by Satara of Caution 2.0!

[MYLÈNE LACOQUINE]

Mylène had expected some form of opposition or indignation coming from the high born one for her insubordinance and her directness, but either that woman was of a better breeding than most of those high up who thinked the world belonged to them, or Mylène just had her lucky day. Either way, it was pleasing, which didn’t mean of course she would drop her own opposition anytime soon. What would a gonzesse like that want with her anyway, and how would she know her name, even? She wasn’t exactly known amongst the higher classes, even if it would be hilarious and pleasing of course! There was something afoot here, and she better found out what it was soon. After all, she couldn’t stand out here all evening… Mon Dieu… she really was in a bad mood tonight, wasn’t she?

But what the woman said next – giving her name first, but that hardly was recognized by Mylène since names were not worth much were she came from, not birth names anyway – caused her brows to furrow and her muscles to tense as she was leaning forward slightly on her foot balls. Alain?! This was about Alain?! She couldn’t help her heart starting to beat faster at she sole mention of his name, the name that had served as a code name for so many of his operations he had kept her more or less in the dark about. And now this woman this… Elise, was telling her that someone TOOK him? Someone named the Falcon?! What was it with all the bird names?! This was highly confusing, but she would not let herself be irritated by such minor details now, How twisted the ways of fate could be! Two years of running again and again against walls of silence and secrets concerning Alain’s whereabouts and suddenly people were flocking her way with new revelations!

“I am sorry to hear about your family”, she said, almost hastily to get the formalities out of the way. Mylène was not without compassion, but if the woman was high born, she could almost guess when the lives of her family members had been taken. And she was definitely on the other side of that conflict! “But… how do you even know about A… I mean, the Crow?! And how do you know I am looking for him? Who told you all that?” Yes, even though she wanted to find out more about Alain, she was stil wary. Maybe The Hammer had really asked a few more people than he had promised… but… doing so without telling her what to expect? It was a little peculiar to say the least!

[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 That got her attention, Sylvie thought with some small satisfaction, watching the girl practically tripping over her words to try to ask several questions at once. For a few long moments the Marquise made her wait, savoring the feeling of power it gave her. But Sylvie herself wasn't a patient woman and her own eagerness to get this done and get out of here soon urged her on. "I've been looking for this man, this 'Falcon,'" Sylvie let a hint of anger creep into her voice, "for a long time. I talked to people who said they knew who said they knew people who were said to know him, comprenez-vous?" In point of fact, she'd tortured them to death squeezing every scrap of information out of them, but there was no need for this street girl to hear that. Yet. She'd find out in due time. "They led me to your friend, Crow, and I tried to go to him, but," she let sadness and regret color her words, "I was too late. The Falcon had already taken him." Sylvie sighed. "So, when I heard you, also, were seeking the Crow, I thought ... I hoped ... " She trailed off for a moment, a catch in her voice. "In truth, I also feared for you. The Falcon is a vicious and dangerous man. He hasn't dared to move against me because of my station, but you have no such protection." Sylvie let the implication -- and the invitation -- hang there, hoping la Cocquine would pick up on it. || tagged: Mylene || notes: none at present || lyrics: "Black Unicorn" by Heather Alexander

Table made by Satara of Caution 2.0!

[MYLÈNE LACOQUINE]

Mylène gave an understanding, almost sympathetic nod as the woman told her about her search for that man, the Falcon. “Know how THAT feels”, she murmured, referring to the ardous work of trying to find a needle in a haystack – for nothing else was the search for a single person in the whole of Paris, and even more so when all you had was a code name. They weren’t used for nothing after all. With Alain at least she had had his first name, and she had had the vast network of travelling folk, but still she got nothing. How would this woman possibly cope? Then again, already she had found out something Mylène hadn’t. She had found out that Alain was in some way affiliated to this Falcon, and that, if she was right and not lying, Alain had been made vanish by this same man!

“That was two years ago now”, she replied sternly. “And ever since I’ve been looking for the same clues. Up until recently there was no real trail. Now you’re the second person giving me a clue…” Then she just couldn’t hold up her resentful air any longer, her playful and optimistic nature breaking through in a chuckle. “Lord knows I deserve a lucky week once in a lifetime!” Though of course she would prefer not to run out of luck quite so soon. But now, what was that? A masked threat?! Or was it really this woman would be concerned for her? No one ever really had been concerned for her, despite Les Corbeaux maybe. Mylène was rather used to just be left to her own device, and she had been in so many tight spots in her life she had long since stopped counting. Therefore, when that woman suggested the Falcon might be after her, she dismissed it with another chuckle.

“Hasn’t gone after me in two years, why would he now?! Although…” A frown flickered over her face as she cocked her head. “’m pretty close to sumthin’ right now. An… acquaintance told me to meet a man who would know more 'bout the Crow’s whereabouts. Maybe I’m finally gettin’ closer.” She cocked her head, eying this Elise closely for a second. Mylène had operated alone for so long, she hardly knew the concept of alliances from personal experiences, except for her little band of thieves. Thanks to Thénardier, that hadn’t lasted too long anyway. But maybe now was the time to try new things? What did she care about the woman’s motives in wanting to find this Falcon, but she might be a valuable resource, if Alain really had been taken by him.

“If that man knows sumthin… I could pass it along, ye know”, she offered cautiously. “So we both find wha’ we’re lookin’ for.”

[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 A thrill ran through Sylvie when Mylie revealed that she was not the first to recently come to the girl with information about the Crow's disappearance. With a little gasp, she clasped her hands together in excitement that she didn't have to feign. Though she held no fellow feeling for Mylie, like her she'd seen frustrating months turn into frustrating years, watching all of her best efforts come to nothing as she hit a seemingly endless series of dead ends. Of course, the Marquise's 'efforts' likely bore little resemblance to the lowborn thief's and her excitement was not unmixed with a flare of irritation that the other had succeeded where she had failed, but she could put that aside for now. The thought that her thirst for vengeance might finally be slaked let her ignore a great deal ... at least temporarily. Besides, soon she would be able to take out some of her frustrations on whatever fool had not only kept information from Sylvie St-Cyr, but decided to share it with the likes of this urchin instead. Indeed you will, the Marquise thought with cold and secret pleasure at Mylie's offer to share what she learned from her mysterious source. Whether you will or no. But outwardly she maintained her subterfuge of weakness. "Oh," she said a little breathlessly, as if she hardly dared hope. "Would you, please? I'd be forever in your debt. It won't bring my family back, but if I can spare even one other soul from suffering such loss, it would be worth whatever I can do." Then Sylvie unclasped her hands she'd been pretending to wring and offered them to Mylie as if in friendship. "Oh but please do be careful," she said, nothing but concern in her voice, though her skin crawled at the thought of being touched by the doubtless verminous and diseased street girl. "My little brother was barely old enough to walk, if he would murder poor Leon he wouldn't hesitate to come after you if he knew you were getting close. Do you wish me to provide some men to protect you?" || tagged: Mylene || notes: none at present || lyrics: "Black Unicorn" by Heather Alexander

Table made by Satara of Caution 2.0!

[MYLÈNE LACOQUINE]

Sometimes these high borns could be particularly peculiar in Mylène’s eyes, but then, she never had stayed around one long enough to define their ‘normal’ ways, except maybe for Courf, but there was nothing normal about him anyway. This woman seemed very exuberant almost too accostable for one of her kind towards the kinds of Mylie herself, but then… let them behave like they want, as long as there was no real danger involved for herself! Maybe the woman had never experienced hardship before, and therefore the actual tragedy of seeing her family wiped out by the say-so of one man would cause her to change, or be at least open for any kind of way that would lead her to what she wanted to have. Hm, maybe the world was really changing, with also the high and mighty suddenly suffering their share of grief. Oh, she knew it was not the way the world should work, and she would get severely scolded by a a certain someone if she ever voiced such thoughts, but Mylène knew herself she was no saint. A little payback before the world became a better place never hurt anyone, right?

And then… collecting a debt one day from such a high class lady… you neve knew when that could come in handy. Someone not as opportunistic and more saintly than Mylène was might have declined and denied that offer of debt, but she did no such thing, only shrugged: “Seems we both suffered at this man’s hand, so it’s only fair you get what you want. If he’s really such a devil, then who am I to protect his backside? Such people need to learn their lesson. After all… isn’t it said that no one should hold forceful and fearful dominion over another?” she couldn’t help but add almost sassily, her republican influences shining through. No doubt the woman would take offense to that, even though she might not show it so openly. Oh well, what was it to Mylène?! While she was sympathetic towards the woman’s losses, she didn’t strive to make her her best friend for life.

Starting a little at first, she then took the lady’s hand and grasped it firmly to secure their little deal. That had come as quite unexpected, but … whatever that gonzesse fancied. She would probably never see her again after their deal was through, unless of course Mylie came to collect the debt. Maybe, with the revolution on the brim of spilling over, this could come in handy? You never knew what tomorrow would bring after all. Well… there was hope of course, but she had never been that kind of dreamer to envision the world turning into rainbowland overnight.
“It seems like no matter what status, some sort of men like to hurt and kill children”, she muttered. “I’d know of one this Falcon would probably get on with swimmingly.” Yes, Thénardier and little Pépin. He had not been Mylène’s brother, but a companion with shared history and pain. She had viewed him as a brother by heart, and Louis had killed him in front of her eyes. And one day he would pay for it, no matter what she owned him!

Cocking her head in thinking, she pursed her lips and exhaled through them slowly. “I doubt that’d be wise … I mean, that man I’m gonna meet up with expects only me. And no offense, I doubt that men you could offer me would be particularly fond of the concept of subtlety. I’ve never seen a subtle guard in me lifetime.”

[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 Finally! Hidden beneath the hood, Sylvie's cold smile widened. She had never fished, but despite that, she would have understood the concept of 'setting the hook' just fine. The girl seemed to believe 'Elise' was genuinely a fluttery little twit, the sort of helpless, harmless aristocrat who couldn't put on her gloves without the assistance of two maids and a footman standing by. But however it might annoy the Marquise to be taken for such a useless piece, it suited her purposes fine. She could take her revenge later for that along with everything else, such as those silly notions about fearful dominion. Only a peasant or one of those republican madmen could think such nonsense. Of course some were meant to be subservient, that's why they were peasants, after all. It was when people started thinking otherwise that the natural order was upset and the country plunged into chaos. For a moment, Sylvie considered offering to provide money for bribes, but decided against it. She'd seen how the street girl's eyes lit up avariciously at just the mention of 'debt.' No need to give her the chance to put an actual price tag on it. Sylvie wanted to appear anxious and eager, but not desperately stupid. That would only encourage the little vixen to try to take advantage of her. "Of course," Sylvie murmured at Mylie's refusal of the offer of guards, while inwardly she thought, More foolishness -- if you see them, they're not being subtle. With permission would have been easier, but she hadn't really expected it. She didn't trust the trollop not to double-cross her, and would have her followed regardless. "You'll need a way to reach me. Just leave word at the Swan & Sword and it will be passed along." || tagged: Mylene || notes: * none at the moment || lyrics: "Black Unicorn" by Heather Alexander

Table made by Satara of Caution 2.0!

[MYLÈNE LACOQUINE]

Mylène did not like to speak with people who concealed their face under a hood, and she had a right mind to tell this woman to stop the dramatic air of mystery, but she bit it back with all her force, knowing that to alienate the wrong people could land you in more trouble than the knowing of her face would be worth. Leave her that little vanity perhaps, she had come here to issue a warning after all. Even though… maybe that woman was smarter than Mylène had given her credit for for now, since she so eagerly had accepted her offer of giving information. Maybe that was all she was after, but then, what would it change in the end? Every living soul in this world had ulterior motives, as long as they BOTH got what they wanted in the end, Mylène would not care much. Equal right for everyone, yes? That was what the change was all about. That the high and mighty would lose power and be handled like everyone else… but not WORSE than anyone else either. Or else it would end like it had last time… the bloody reign of the Guillotine…

Shuddering not only against the cold night air, Mylène shook her head as if to clear it, focussing again on the woman before her. At least she accepted that she did not want to be followed by some goons that would chase off the man she wished to meet. There was no much use in explaining these things to a high society lady after all, she would not understand the laws and customs of Mylène’s world. It was its own set of rules to follow, the rules of the street, and those who grew up on them imbibed them with infancies. They learned their lessons,or perished early enough to not matter.

She had heard of the Swan &Sword and so Mylène gave a nod of confirmation, though added after brief consideration. “The meeting is on Thursday, so don’t expect word from me before Friday. I’ll get back to you as quickly as I can.” She would honour this promise alright, it was no skin off her back after all. Hopefully after Thursday she would be one step closer to the fulfilment of the vow she once had taken, not to rest until she found out what had happened to Alain. If only this mysterious Falcon did not thwart her plans! Maybe it would be best to… leave a note with someone, explaining not all, but at least saying where she had went off to… so she would not simply vanish without a trace.

[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 "Bien," Sylvie said, the smile concealed beneath her hood genuine and audible in her voice. She was eager, as well, but she kept that well hidden. It wouldn't do for this little trollop to find out just how much the Marquise wanted the Falcon. She might get ideas about trying to hold out on her. It wouldn't alter the street girl's eventual fate, of course, but it would be rather ... annoying. Careful to let none of those thoughts be heard, Sylvie continued. "I shall await your word then," she murmured, beginning to draw away in an indication that the conversation was coming to an end. Then she paused, as if caught up by a sudden worry, "But do be careful, ma amie," she said. "The Falcon is a dangerous man, and I would hate to see any harm come to you. My offer of protection remains open, should you change your mind." The monella would not, of that much Sylvie was sure. The lower classes were often stubborn and contrary to their best interests -- especially when one couldn't easily apply the lash. But the Marquise had another, more subtle means of getting what she wanted. She would arrange for the pretty little viper named Montparnasse would follow the girl, and then Victor and Lucien could seize both her and her mysterious contact. The men could then amuse themselves with 'La Coquine,' a mental image which brought a shiver of pleasure running up Sylvie's spine. If she had the contact securely in hand, she might even stay to watch for a time. She could hardly wait for Thursday. || tagged: Mylene || notes: finis, I think? || lyrics: "Black Unicorn" by Heather Alexander

Table made by Satara of Caution 2.0!