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F.A.Q. ♦ RULES ♦ PLOT ♦ FACE CLAIM ♦ CANON SPECIFICS ♦ BIO FORMAT ♦ CANONS ♦ DEATH TO MARY SUE! ♦ BELIEFS ♦ EVENTS |
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JOLY Technicolor-Werewolf SISTER SITES  
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| At the Opera Tonight!; Meg/Aveline/Bahorel | |
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| Topic Started: Aug 7 2009, 09:28 PM (180 Views) | |
| Lena | Aug 7 2009, 09:28 PM Post #1 |
This s**t is Lenanas: L-E-N-A-N-A-S
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Marguerite Giry was not exactly fond of all the chorus girls. In fact, she tended to belittle the other chorus girls simply to show her authority, perhaps a bit of friendly joust. There were a select few that were her close friends, girls she had known and liked for some time . . There were a few who were considered her enemies. The rest were considered companions of a sort. Constant, trying companions that strained her patience whilst her mother's absences and snored at night. The other row leaders (there were but three others) were not her friends, nor were they her enemies. They were but competition and they joyed in trying to perfect their rows performance so that they were better. Meg, regardless of her age, lead one of the better rows that she was rather proud of. Among these row girls was Aveline who, though a mediocre dancer, was supposedly on her way for better things. . Supposedly. She only heard the whispers amongst the orchestra and the dancers themselves. Either way, she was to befriend Aveline and figure out exactly what the girl was all about. Certainly, they knew one another, but they had never been out to tea with one another and so she had charmingly invited the older girl to a nice outting for the day. ll Muto could wait. Gossip could not. So in her delightful new dress that made her feel like she was twenty instead of sixteen, she was now on the streets of Paris, her 'friend' in tow. She planned on learning everything about this young woman. If not today . . Then someday in the near future. "Oh, isn't it pretty today, Aveline?" she asked in a light voice, looking up at the heavy-bearing sun. "Much better than last week. . . It rained horribly last week, didn't it?" |
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| Lucinda | Aug 9 2009, 01:19 PM Post #2 |
If you were you leave, you would be lost. They would kill you, and I should die.
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"Hn..." Aveline replied softly, grimacing somewhat as the sun bore down on the back of her head, as though a stove were behind her at all times, and practically leaning on her back, hitching a ride. "Honestly, I prefer the cloudier weather...not necessarily rainy, but...overcast, let's say...not too hot, yet a pleasant mixture of warm and cool...breezy." To be quite honest, Aveline was more than just surprised that her row leader, although she was a bit younger than her, was inviting her out to tea...she was also a bit suspicious. Before now, the two of them had not shared more than a passing comment, or maybe discussed how her dance practice was coming along. They weren't really friends, putting the term lightly, more like...acquaintances, they tolerated each other. However surprised, it had been pleasant...so far, anyway. "But yes, the sun does indeed make the streets look a bit livelier," She commented, glancing about at the various persons passing by them, though not the faintest of smiles on her pinked lips. On this outing, she went for something rather simple, yet equally elegant: a simple summer dress, made of a pale yellow fabric with white trimming, her long and coppery hair pulled back into a half bun, her bangs pushed casually from her eyes as she looked back to Meg. "So, this tea house you've told me about...I hear it's rather nice," She stated as she looked over to her; although older, Aveline was not much taller than Meg, maybe by a scant half inch. |
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| Alandree | Oct 2 2009, 08:17 PM Post #3 |
 
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"Why yes, Meg, I hear it's rather nice." An arm was draped over each young lady's shoulder, as Fabian wormed his way between them, careful not to trod on feet. "After all, what else do ladies drink? Not wine or absinthe like those horrid little boys..." He raised his voice up a few octaves for this, "Why, I can't even think about a bottle of spirits without going into a swoon! Ohhhhh!" He tossed his head in a poor imitation of a feminine collapse, letting it hang bowed low, shoulders sunken, gloves cupping each shoulder cap for either girl. "Now really. You ought to come drink with me, mes filles." Did they allow women in the pub? Whores, maybe. These two would make dismal whores. "But then again, I assume you'd faint, and I shudder to think of the dangers an unconscious young lady would be in were she to collapse in a den of iniquity or some lakeside tap house." A little pout, for certainly he must be remorseful of something here. Whether it was the bit about their being horrible excuses for prostitutes or the fact that they'd daren't intoxicate themselves ever was quite a thing to try and sort out. Especially in such a brain. There were other things he supposed should worry him more, but bandaging it with dalliance among hot-headed chorus girls was anything but a painful wrap. "Teahouse indeed..." |
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| Lena | Oct 2 2009, 08:35 PM Post #4 |
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This s**t is Lenanas: L-E-N-A-N-A-S
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Not that she cared much for Aveline's opinion on the weather, but she nodded nonetheless. Her light colored dress not giving her any agony in this weather, she found it all rather pleasant. Not unlike the day in which she had talked with Miss Turpin and rather unlike the day in which she had skipped about with Herbert, looking at outfits and costumes and dresses. She was wearing that dress, regardless of the fact that she was not to see him today and as such, could not cause a fuss about it. Marguerite was about to reply that, yes, it was an awful nice teahouse, when someone draped his arm over her shoulder. She jumped, startled, and looked at fellow chorus member, Fabian. What was he doing out and about this morning? "M. DuChamps, are you alright?" Meg asked quickly, looking at him with only a hint of a smile. Not as much concern was in her voice as it should have, perhaps, but she found herself thinking that perhaps he had dipped into a tavern already that morning and did not need to accompany them into another. "And we are ladies, after all. We drink tea." Nearly wishing she could slap him then, she continued, "And to even suggest acquaintance into such a place! Dear Lord in Heaven, monsieur, I'd think you mad if I weren't convinced otherwise." "Yes, we are drinking tea today. . . Aren't we, Aveline?" she said, looking past Fabian to her companion. Perhaps her anger and amusement would subside once the older girl opened her mouth to spill out some nonsensical dribble that was most probably another bit about the weather. She hoped so. . . At least then she could have an excuse to dismiss Aveline as an imbecile. Unfortunately, Meg did not think this to be true and was rather disappointed. Edited by Lena, Oct 2 2009, 08:46 PM.
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| Lucinda | Oct 4 2009, 03:14 PM Post #5 |
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If you were you leave, you would be lost. They would kill you, and I should die.
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"Yes...we are drinking tea," Aveline's eyes narrowed somewhat as Fabian draped his arm over her shoulder, body visibly tensing at the very proximity at which he stood with her. She didn't like Fabian much, at all really. He seemed...frivolous, unnecessarily flouncy to her. In other words, he was ridiculous. Flamboyant and just irritating, she took his hand, pinched between her thumb and forefinger, and dropped it away from her person, holding her chin up high and looking ahead of her as they walked along. "So, where is this tea house of yours anyway, Mademoiselle Giry? We've been walking for quite a while, and we're quite far from the opera house..." Not that this bothered her of course. It wasn't like it was night time, and they were in the slums or anything, but she could only imagine the wrath they'd faced if they were late for practice. Then again...would being with Meg grant amnesty from trouble? God could only know, and Aveline could only pray. |
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| Alandree | Oct 4 2009, 03:25 PM Post #6 |
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He pursed his lips, paying attention to only one particular set of words Meg had said. The redhead, what was her name again? She didn't seem to like him. He pouted visibly as she plucked his arm off, and committed himself fully to Meg, instead, his arm now able to reach round her to the full, and he placed the free one on her other shoulder. As one might console a crying woman. There, there. Do not fret over my handsomeness; nothing you can do do alleviate those buckling knees of yours. "Ah, so you are convinced of otherwise, Mam'selle." He didn't bother to ask for specific proofs, however. "Far, far away!" He said in a harsh whisper into Meg's ear. Not so much flirtatious as taunting, gaze shifting two and fro, as if he were suddenly in unfamiliar territory, lost in the woods perhaps. "You should have left bread crumbs, chou. You could take a wrong turn and get eaten by a wolf!" |
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| Lena | Oct 4 2009, 04:23 PM Post #7 |
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This s**t is Lenanas: L-E-N-A-N-A-S
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Meg looked harshly at Aveline for but a moment before turning back to Fabian with a look of equal displeasure. "If only because you aren't frothing at the mouth," she told him, walking a bit faster now in hopes that it would make the annoyance in her voice go away. To Aveline, "We will get there when we are there and not a minute earlier." It was not Aveline's fault she was flustered but to lash out was hard to resist. Especially. . . She felt her blood begin to boil. Where did he get his reasons to taunt her? Especially with such chasses. The boy needed definite work on his leaps as well and he was trying to taunt her? Ridiculous. "I know where I am going, M. Fabian," Marguerite snapped. "I've been there several times with my mother." She hoped that, perhaps, bringing up her mother would snap him into line. He would've never acted this way if Madame Giry were present. He would practically be licking her slippers. "We will be there soon. You can join us or not. I care little either way." |
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| Lucinda | Oct 4 2009, 04:41 PM Post #8 |
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If you were you leave, you would be lost. They would kill you, and I should die.
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She could only roll her eyes at Fabian as he taunted Meg, fortunately able to ignore him just as easily as he did her. It was however when Meg snapped at her did she start to pay more attention. Was the younger girl really getting that flustered? She couldn't help but smirk to herself a little bit as she walked along, hands folded daintily in front of her as a breeze lightly ruffled her coppery hair, it glinting in the sun with each small movement she made. "Temper, temper, Mademoiselle Giry," Aveline lightly, playfully scolded her before her pale green gaze turned back on Fabian, eyes narrowing significantly and becoming steely as she watched him. "Perhaps it would be better if we left him behind; he doesn't want to come, obviously," She scoffed and held her head high again, looking back ahead of herself, an unwarranted air of regality about her. "Not that he's welcome." She muttered, looking back to him from the corner of her eye. |
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| Alandree | Oct 4 2009, 04:51 PM Post #9 |
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"Ah! But I have a feeling it is because you and I think more fondly of each other than you wish to think, Meg Giry." But with a final jovial pat on the shoulder he let her go, free and walking between them now, though customarily dusting off his sleeves, where there was incidentally no dust to be found at all... "I certainly won't be passing up an opportunity, Miss." He waved a hand at the redhead, who gave off the aura of a child with little intelligence, and still littler room for leaping around the cant of her time to live like the woman she ought to be. "Meg and I did once go for tea together." Though he neglected to mention that he couldn't actually pay for it. But he had money today. "I trust you won't mind a third party. It would be such a shame to waste this unlikely happenstance of our meeting in the streets like this, wouldn't it? And besides, it's terribly improper to be milling about without a chaperon. Especially in such frightening times as these." |
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| Lena | Oct 4 2009, 05:56 PM Post #10 |
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This s**t is Lenanas: L-E-N-A-N-A-S
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Marguerite would've had half a mind to glare at Aveline once more, a warning for her delicate taunts that were rather getting to her enough with M. DuChamps. She would, perhaps, be a bit more harsh in her critic of the girl's somewhat lacking technique from now on. That would be appropriate punishment. She found his familiar addressings to be somewhat demeaning and altogether insulting. "M. Fabian, I assure you that it is because you act like you have a sane mind for the most part." For the most part, anyway. She had not spoken to him for an especially long time, but he had acted acceptable before. "Almost, anyway. M. Fabian had to leave, am I correct?" she said, smiling a bit now that the topic was off taunting. "Now is his chance to fufill his original promise! It would be better if you learned not to speak for a group without knowing the opinion, Aveline," she added, a bit snippily but it could be forgiven. |
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| Lucinda | Oct 17 2009, 10:07 AM Post #11 |
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If you were you leave, you would be lost. They would kill you, and I should die.
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Aveline just glowered at the both of them and scoffed; it was like she could never win with people. Obviously, the boy was bothering them, why not get rid of him? Why was she the one getting snapped at for trying to get rid of a rather blatant annoyance. She'd play along for now, though. After all, Meg was Madame Giry's daughter, right? She didn't exactly need more problems when it came to practice and parts...so she bit back on her tongue and smiled, rather strained though, as they walked along. "Forgive me, Mademoiselle Giry...I did not mean impudence on my part..." She stated through her teeth and kept walking, eyes ahead so she wouldn't have to look at Fabian. God, she hated him...and here she thought she was going to have a nice, peaceful cup of tea with just one other person. |
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| Alandree | Oct 17 2009, 01:30 PM Post #12 |
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He sniffed, goodnaturedly, and adjusted his hat with the pretence of trying not to make it so completely obvious that he knew he was intruding. And liked that he was intruding. Delighted. Danced around a fire of triumph. Beat a drum of impending DuChamps overthrow! Keeping such smiles behind his lips for now. "Upon my honour as a Frenchman, I shall take you to tea, as promised." And he chose to evoke sincerity in his tone, without a flick of deception, which he very well might have shown did he actually have a plan of deceit to follow through with. Alas, one can only plan these trysts out so far before the fun is lost upon rigid structure. Rounding a corner, he decided to take the lead, stepping up a few paces, the horseman backwards leading his nags. Lovely nags with such amusing tempers! A fitting table turn. A carriage passed by then, and he paused so as not to jostle the make-believe one of his own. It was with some misfortune however, that he chanced to spy the open window, from which he saw a face as yet unseen for approximately seven years. Monsieur DuChamps went white as a ghost. Though had no luck with turning transparent. So little was his luck. A painful voice said, "Stop!" and the Marquis DuChamps stepped out to ogle his son, and the two young ladies. "Papa..." |
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| Lena | Oct 17 2009, 02:33 PM Post #13 |
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This s**t is Lenanas: L-E-N-A-N-A-S
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Meg smiled, somewhat smug and somewhat sure that Miss Aveline and herself were going to be splendid friends if this sort of thing continued. "Then it is final! Monsieur Fabian shall join us in our mission to find the little teahouse," she said with a smile, ignoring the carriage passing by even as it seemed to slow down. She wasn't fond of walking on the streets with carriages. Always feared a horse would suddenly decide to go feral and parade about until the hooves had found her face. She was about to say something that would grant the girl a bit of grace before she noticed out of the corner of her eye, M. DuChamps turning an awful shade of white. Normally, seeing someone in mild social distress made the girl laugh internally but this seemed to be rooted in some sort of deeper trauma and as such, remained silent for a moment. "M. DuChamps," she whispered. "What's. . . " Oh my. 'Papa'? She could hardly imagine Fabian with a mother or a father, or even a family. Yes, she knew he came from a rather nice one. . But they were but faceless shapes in her mind's eye. The father but a blur and the mother a generic copy of every illustration known to man. There was no such thing as a 'Marquette DuChamps' or a 'Marquis DuChamps.' Only the Fabian she had known in every rehearsal for some time. Be introduced. Stay silent and be introduced. That was all she could do. Wait. |
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| Alandree | Nov 1 2009, 08:05 PM Post #14 |
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"Léopold informed me of your presence at the Opera House." The Marquis, who resembled his son in an strange way that was difficult to behold, a sharp twist of fate, a forbidding image of how young DuChamps might be in due coarse, spoke hesitantly, if hesitance can be seen in such a person. The uncomfortable dissonance between estranged father and child. Where love is staple, but apropos candour is lost. Fabian bowed his head gravely, with the cool sweat and hinging embarrassment that could not rightly be triggered within him on any other occasion, from any other singular person. "Yes, I was otherwise engaged." And his tongue nearly formed the word 'sir' as a buttoning, but he closed his mouth. The Marquis surveyed the young ladies. "As you seem to be now." "Yes..." He straightened up almost immediately. "Yes, I would not wish to deviate from my duty to these young ladies." Duchamps the elder squinted at each, trying to discern for himself. "You see, Miss Giry," And he gestured to her, careful not to give a hearty pat on the shoulder or God forbid a good goose, "Is the daughter of Duchess Dorée Giry. We are to...be married." Edited by Alandree, Nov 1 2009, 08:08 PM.
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| Lena | Nov 1 2009, 09:39 PM Post #15 |
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This s**t is Lenanas: L-E-N-A-N-A-S
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Meg's lessons in being a woman came from the opera house and the opera house alone. It seemed, at times, as if her mother had not even tried to prepare her for a life outside the opera. There were no courters that had been presented, no schoolings as of lately. . . Not even a proper occasion in which the two went out to tea. Not for the past season, anyway. So she tried, oh sweet Lord she tried, to paint a picture of a casual outing with him. The Marquis intimidated her. . Both because of his status and also because he was Fabian's father. The two looked so much alike that she wondered if his mother was, in fact, the blank template she had imagined her to be. If they were so similar, what could he have gotten from his mother? Perhaps he had an odd toe he had gotten . . . But nevermind that, for a new truth had entered her world and it was not that of ballerinas and chorus or her mother, the dowager ballet mistress. No, this was a new truth entirely and it stung her to believe that M. Fabian would tell an untruth, a lie, a downright false. Her blush she had taken on during the Marquis examination turned into that of shock and curiosity as she turned towards Fabian, her mouth agape. A series of sputters came out first until something seemed to connect in her mind that suggested that, perhaps, she should begin to act. Ah, the daughter of the dowager Duchess. How tragic her tale. . Mother wearing black constantly due to her father, the Duke Giry, dying at sea in transit home from some far off land. And her courter, M. DuChamps. She had been looking forward to meeting his father for some time. Inherit the land and become a proper bride. Yes. This was the Honourable Marguerite Giry and she closed her mouth slowly. Meg inched closer to Fabian and smiled at his father as if to agree, for she could not speak. Her tongue had been captured and taken away by some imp, some devil. She dared to glance at Aveline for a moment and then back at Fabian and his father. |
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| Alandree | Nov 2 2009, 05:24 PM Post #16 |
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Upon his face, firmly placed, was a nearly grotesque smile. He took Meg's hand and raised it a bit in his own, rather like he was proposing a toast. The Marquis looked rather as if someone had just recently died. "Engaged." And perhaps someone had. Or was going to, very soon. This had not been the expected reaction from his son. "Y-yes..." If DuChamps knew his boy, he would identify this as a farce. But he had a small hope that perhaps Fabian had seen the light, as it were, come to his senses and taken up with a woman as he ought. The girl seemed handsome enough. Fabian himself wished to hurry up this event to its end. "Yes, this is Marguerite Giry. She and I are to be married. We were just on our way back home from the place in which I had proposed to her. Is that not right, sweet Meg?" |
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| Lena | Nov 5 2009, 09:30 PM Post #17 |
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This s**t is Lenanas: L-E-N-A-N-A-S
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And yet Meg did not take her hand away from his. The stage had been set, the props in place and the audience had been seated. The Marquis had been a good patron and bought a seat. . . So the show must go on. Instead, she smiled, a bit embarrassed and whispered to him, just audible for others, "M. DuChamps, we weren't to announce it for another week!" Her eyes stayed on the side of Fabian's head the entire time. "Yes," she agreed softly. "And we were to celebrate with an afternoon tea." She looked up at Fabian as if to ask permission to ask his father to join them for tea. She hoped she was blushing and, indeed, she was. But it was not a gentle bride-to-be blush, more like a dancer who was pushed out upon a stage without knowing the choreography. |
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| Alandree | Nov 6 2009, 09:20 PM Post #18 |
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Fabian entered into quite another shade of whiteness. One perhaps only reachable to those having long been dead. "Tea. Y-yes. We were. Best get going then." And he made to pull Meg to go round the corner, forgetting all about the other girl, whatever her name was. "I do hope your journey back to Versailles will be pleasant, Père." He added, stiffly. Toting Meg as if she were perhaps a child, or a dog. "God forbid I bar you from hastening out of Paris." Though the animosity was apparent, the Marquis felt it only right to question further, raising his voice to shout after his retreating son and would-be bride. "You will inform me of the wedding date, I trust?" Fabian froze in place, which was easy enough to do, considering the ice which pulsed through every vein. "Certainement." |
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| Lena | Nov 18 2009, 06:57 PM Post #19 |
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This s**t is Lenanas: L-E-N-A-N-A-S
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Marguerite was practically dragged away, but once they were out of the eyesight of the Marquis, it was Meg who grabbed Fabian to stop him. “Monsieur DuChamps!” she exclaimed, pulling the two out of the way of traffic. “If you don’t mind me asking: what on Earth was that about?” she snapped, her voice tinged with sarcasm. “You father believes me to be someone I am not, Fabian!” Meg cried, her voice now a shrill whisper. “What in the Good Lord’s name have you done?” She smoothed out her dress nervously and stared up at him. Had he honestly done what he had just done? And had she not played along as if they were standing upon a stage? She regretted her actions now that they had been carried out. She was no Dowager Duchess’s daughter! Then another possibility came up: what if her mother found out? Oh, it would be a definite beating for Fabian but her own fate was uncertain. There would be disappointment and perhaps a lesser role in the next opera. . Perhaps she would not even be in the next opera! The very thought brought chills to her spine. . . . . But what if it didn’t have to work out that way? Marguerite was young, rather pretty. . Perhaps this was not so much of a damning decision after all? It would be just like playing pretend. Fabian and herself could attend a few goings and then . . . The engagement could be called off! Yes! Then, she could go about her merry way, as could he. The smile that had slowly begun to show on her face was frightening in how it came silently, but it came nonetheless. . . Maybe this wasn’t so bad of an idea. |
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| Alandree | Dec 1 2009, 01:43 AM Post #20 |
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Upon rounding the corner, Fabian plastered himself against the wall, removing his hat to cover his face with it. Heart beating like a soldier's drum. Panting, a few times, into his hat, he said to Meg, "I will most likely...never see him again. He does not know my address." But he immediately knew that this was absurd. "He could call on the House for my address." At that he began to speak solely to himself, and assumed a good pace from the corner of the street to the nearest hatshop entrance. "Does he know I work there? That little wretch, that little...he's probably told him." He raised a finger, cursing René in an absent stab at the sky, coat tails whipping out, as if to put an exclamation point on this. "They'll know all about me now. But the flat, they won't know where that is. Would they ask? Who would tell. Riollo. What an absolute cad. If it were not quite against the law to skin a man alive... "Miss Giry!" He threw his arms in the air, at last acknowledging her. "You, you, Miss Giry!" clasping her shoulders with vehemence. "Brilliant, shining little star in such a turbulent sky. Oh how magnificent an angel." A firm kiss on the cheek. "Truly a saint among ladies." and he whipped round again just as quickly. "I swear, if ever there is a time where one needs a lady to err from fact..." beginning in more non sequitur. "I must change the locks on...change addresses. Find a flat down Champs Elysées. Perhaps grow a moustache!" How dreadful a concept. But of coarse none of this would work. Not a whit of it. He was doomed to live in more shame than was already accumulated. "But with that...I mean good Lord how farther along can one go?" At this he paused and tapped his cheek thoughtfully, "If one's already been disowned, what more could one possibly have to lose from such family affairs? "Yes, it's perfect. Shall we go to tea?" |
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