Bois de Boulogne

[blueeyeddevil]

OOC: Oh man!! You poor thing! I hope you get some rest soon! THe post was perfectly fine by the way.

Reese Cordova

Really, it was hard to be friends with Santiago sometimes. It wasn't as though he was mean to her or got on her nerves or anything. But he had a tendency to show up with cuts and bruises, busted lips or sprained shoulders...this combined with his typical refusal to allow anyone to help him made her worry about him far more than any of her other friends, despite the fact Santiago was probably able to take care of himself better. Today it was a mysteriously injured ankle that had her worried and she had tried to hold as long as possible in asking about it, knowing he would just brush it off as usual.

“Messed it up at work. It comes with the territory when you’re running after criminals.” he said with a shrug. “I’ll live. I usually do.” He gave a reassuring smile and Reese sighed...she'd been right. Still, if her worrying did anything, she hoped it at least let Santiago know she cared what happened to him.

“Tell me about the opera house. When do you go back?” he wanted to know, switching subjects as he leaned against bench. Why he didn't just sit down, she wasn't sure.

"I go back to rehearsing day after tomorrow," she said. "The Opera House is great! Getting another performance ready now...Romeo and Juliet. Auditions are soon." Her blue eyes watched Lola in the distance for a moment, smiling. She placed a small hand over Santiago's affectionately. "Still, it isn't quite the same without you there. I miss having you around, she said.

She moved her hand from his now. "But I know you're enjoying your new, more exciting job," she teased. "I want to hear about it. What's a day like for you as a Detective," she asked curiously. She glanced down at his ankle. "We can sit if you'd like..."

[The Exodus]

Santiago Ortiz

Santiago was a masochist. A pain junkie. He wasn’t into whips or beatings, but he craved news of the Garnier and its productions. He’d even looked at buying a season ticket after resigning his position as stage manager, before slipping out of the lobby so that MaCarthy didn’t catch him hanging around the place. He might still buy a season ticket, under the guise of supporting Reese. With Las Gardunas revenue under his command, Santiago could afford a seat—even a whole box—if he really wanted to. The opera house, despite its baroque trappings, was as natural a home for Santiago as the streets. For now, he’d get his fix listening to Reese talk about her work in the ballet.

"I go back to rehearsing day after tomorrow," she said. "The Opera House is great! Getting another performance ready now...Romeo and Juliet. Auditions are soon."

His chest knotted at that. Auditions had been his favorite part of the season. Santiago was on a constant quest for perfection and his veins tingled when he helped cast productions perfectly. He had also gotten a kick out of telling those who didn’t meet his standards exactly what he thought of them.

Reese reached for Santiago’s hands and she pressed them gently in hers.

"Still, it isn't quite the same without you there. I miss having you around,” she said.


Santiago smiled thinly. Reese was probably the only person in the Garnier that missed him. It was MaCarthy’s domain now and Santiago was sure everybody else was happier with that arrangement. Reese let go of his hand and mischief found a home in her blue eyes.

"But I know you're enjoying your new, more exciting job," she teased. "I want to hear about it. What's a day like for you as a Detective?" she asked curiously. She glanced down at his ankle. "We can sit if you'd like..."

Santiago sank onto the bench and crossed his left leg over his right knee. Without his weight on it, the ankle stopped throbbing. He cast a pair of soft eyes Reese’s way before speaking.

“It’s not so bad,” he said.

He shut his eyes and thought about how his most recent case had closed. Armand Rosseau hired him to track his supposedly unfaithful wife, Eloise. But when Santiago followed her to a dive bar in Le Peripherie, Eloise approached him with a proposition. She’d pay him to kill her husband. Armand, she said, was a jealous and possessive lover and had even raised a hand to her. She’d been so desperate and afraid, with big brown eyes that were hard to say “no” to. If he thought hard enough, Santiago could still remember her rosy scent under the dirty smell of sweat and smoke. He had pretended to be a contract killer for her long enough to get her to talk. Then he told her the truth—and offered to help smuggle her out of Paris. It had been madness, as the local police were quick to tell him, but it led to Armand Rosseau’s arrest. Maybe his work as a private eye could off-set his work as a gangster.

“I closed my first case on Tuesday,” he told Reese, opening his eyes. “The money is good, even if there’s a lot of sitting around waiting for something to happen.”

Sometimes, in tracking Eloise, Santiago would wait for hours before she left a building. Any time he missed her, he missed an opportunity to catch her doing something incriminating. You never got those opportunities back. Santiago hadn’t missed a thing where Eloise was concerned, but to say he wasn’t surprised that a thirty year old housewife, with no connections to the streets, had gone three months without being suspected of criminal intent would be a lie.

“I’ve got a new commission,” he said, remembering with dull horror that he had a new job to perform. “This kid—a couple years younger than you, I guess—thinks he’s being stalked. So I’m supposed to do a background check on the guy and get him to stop if he isn’t secret service.”

[blueeyeddevil]

Reese Cordova

Reese wasn't stupid. She could be flighty and naive and sometimes a bit clueless, but she wasn't stupid. She knew how often Santiago omitted things in conversation, especially with her. It was his way of protecting her. Ever since she had found out a while back that he'd been involved with gangs, she'd learned not to question him about certain things. And right now that included asking about his injured foot. His vague explanation had her wondering, but she knew she was probably better off not knowing the exact details. Though not knowing didn't stop her from worrying about him on an almost constant basis...she'd half expected to come back from her trip to England to find he was dead or severely wounded in the hospital. An injured ankle was far better, though she still suggested they sit for his sake.

“It’s not so bad,” he assured her with a gentle look. She only gave a nod and smiled weakly in return. She sincerely hoped he was right though it wouldn't be unlike him to down play it; again, for her sake.

He then began to answer her question about how his new job was going for him. “I closed my first case on Tuesday,” he said. “The money is good, even if there’s a lot of sitting around waiting for something to happen.”

Reese frowned and wrinkled her nose. She had never been good at waiting. She'd never make it as a detective if that was a lot of what she would have to do. She would get too easily sidetracked.

“I’ve got a new commission,” he told her. “This kid—a couple years younger than you, I guess—thinks he’s being stalked. So I’m supposed to do a background check on the guy and get him to stop if he isn’t secret service.”

Reese's eyes were wide as she listened. This was much more exciting. She half wondered if Santiago was even suppose to be telling her about the case, but she forgot to care in light of her interest. "Oh wow..." she whispered breathlessly. "I've only ever seen stuff like that on television show and here you are, living it out." Her gaze turned curious and she coaxed her head to the side in a question. "Does the kid have any ideas why this guy might be following him? Does he recognize the guy at all?"

Oh yeah...she was definitely curious now.

[The Exodus]

Santiago Ortiz

It was actually really strange being a private detective. Here he was, tracking a guy who was tracking his client. During the first week of Dahl’s case, Santiago had given the boy several revised schedules and routes to deter the stalker. That hadn’t worked. So now that the man was following his client, Santiago was following the man. Everywhere Dahl went, you could see (if you looked) an older redheaded man with a notebook and a darker man with a motorcycle jacket. If Santiago wasn’t careful, there might be a fourth guy behind him, watching Santiago’s every move.

This was a big mess. And Santiago still didn’t know who the redheaded man was.

Actually, it was a bit odd that Dahl and his stalker were both gingers. Santiago just couldn’t escape redheads.

Oh wow..." whispered Reese. "I've only ever seen stuff like that on television show and here you are, living it out. Does the kid have any ideas why this guy might be following him? Does he recognize the guy at all?"

“That’s the thing,” Santiago said, mouth twisting into a grim smile. “He said he met the guy once. Here, actually. In the Bois. And since then… It’s just too f*cking weird.”

He didn’t mention that Dahl said he was adopted. If the redheaded stranger had been blood-related to Dahl, wouldn’t he have made contact sooner? Or gone through legal channels? Or… something? Santiago didn’t know much about adoption. It might be worth looking into for the case. He shrugged his shoulders.

“Other than that,” said Santiago. “My cases are pretty boring. I keep getting job offers from insurance agencies about fraudulent claims. You’d think they screen people before giving them money, but…”

The again, Santiago had long held the belief that most people, if given the chance, amounted to little more than petty criminals. He had a dozen reasons. Most of them had tattoos similar to his scarring up their left ankles.

“… That’s about it. The ‘exciting’ life of a private eye.” He half-laughed. “It’s a far cry from the Garnier. Tell me if you get cast in Romeo et Juliet. I’ll be there if you do.”

[blueeyeddevil]

Reese Cordova

Reese had never been a fan of the cop dramas or police procedural shows. A lot of it seemed too scary and too gross to her. She knew stuff like that happened in the world, but she would rather not have to watch it unfolding in front of her. But now that she was hearing about it from a first hand source; now that her close friend was closely involved with stuff like that, she was suddenly very interested. She listened as he talked about a boy who had reason to believe he was being stalked and had employed his help. Reese asked if the boy had any idea who the man stalking him even was, curious and inquiring.

“That’s the thing. He said he met the guy once. Here, actually. In the Bois. And since then… It’s just too f*cking weird.” he told her and Reese's eyes were even wider now, if possible. She couldn't believe stuff like that really went on! It was a scary thought. “Other than that my cases are pretty boring. I keep getting job offers from insurance agencies about fraudulent claims. You’d think they screen people before giving them money, but…” he went on to say.

“… That’s about it. The ‘exciting’ life of a private eye." he said with a small laugh. “It’s a far cry from the Garnier. Tell me if you get cast in Romeo et Juliet. I’ll be there if you do.”

She smiled at him, pleased with the news. "I'd love to play Juliet! We'll see though," she giggled. She thought briefly on his words as she petted Lola's head, scratching her ear. Santiago had loved the Opera House and it seemed like he still did. She had never truly understood his reasons in leaving and taking the detective job. She bit her lip before finally speaking what was on her mind...something she had avoiding asking in the past. "Can I ask you something? Why did you resign as Stage Manager? Not that MaCarthy isn't doing a good job, but I never did understand why you left."

[The Exodus]

Santiago Ortiz

Reese smiled at him. It was enough to turn the volume down on Santiago’s noisy thoughts. He’d worry about Dahl later. And he’d try to enjoy himself now.

"I'd love to play Juliet! We'll see though," Reese said.

Santiago said nothing. If Madeleine de Chandon had a hand in casting, it wasn’t likely. The woman had favorites who fawned on her like spaniels. Reese fawned on no one; instead, she did her job well and with a quiet pride that Madeleine overlooked. Humble talent was overlooked in favor of grasping ambition. Santiago wished he would have thought to promote Reese while he’d been stage manager. That would have given her a better shot now. But professionalism had gotten in the way somehow.

Santiago wondered what kept him from flipping off the hierarchy of the Garnier during his last week there. Why he hadn’t made sweeping, permanent changes just for the hell of it. Hindsight: twenty-twenty.

Lola trotted back to them, seeking Reese’s affection. Santiago itched for a smoke to occupy the silence. He reached into his jacket for his lighter and cigarettes.

"Can I ask you something?” said Reese. “Why did you resign as Stage Manager? Not that MaCarthy isn't doing a good job, but I never did understand why you left."

Santiago shrugged. He’d left because of Catalina’s will. He’d left because he thought it would cure his melancholy. He left because it was too tame.

Instead he lit himself a cigarette and took a pensive drag. He shut his eyes. It was better he’d left the opera when he did. If he stayed there, he’d have a hell of a time leading Las Gardunas secretly. But he couldn’t say that, either.

“I’m a shark, chica,” he said instead. “I die if I stop swimming. Can’t stay in one place for too long.”

[blueeyeddevil]

Reese Cordova

She watched with curious, wondering eyes as Santiago only shrugged in response to her question, lighting a cigarette and taking a long drag of it. She wished she knew what was going through his mind as he closed his eyes. And then she thought it was better she didn't know...and then she wanted to know again, and then she didn't. It was a tug of war if she really wanted to know what kind of things were going through his head at the moment. She trusted Santiago completely, but the things he was involved in scared her.

“I’m a shark, chica,” he finally answered. “I die if I stop swimming. Can’t stay in one place for too long.”

She wondered at what this meant. She knew what he was referring to, but what exactly did it mean for him? He had left the Opera House because he got bored...because he couldn't stay still. Was this his way of telling her that he was thinking of leaving Paris? He had been here for several years now...surely that was more than enough time by his own standard that it was time to start moving again!

She gazed up at him with a devastated expression. In no way did she imagine that he would stick around simply because she asked, but she wanted him to know she cared. "You...you aren't leaving here, are you? Paris, I mean..." she asked softly. She gave a weak little smile. "You haven't stayed still too long, have you?" She didn't like to think about Santiago leaving. Things wouldn't be the same without him.

[The Exodus]

Izzy Richmond

Charisma Richmond leaned against a tree in the Bois du Bolougne. The night was bitter cold. All Paris predicted an early snowfall, which Charisma was really, really not looking forward to. It was bad enough that she lost out on money in December when the park was all but deserted after dark. Izzy was in for a dismal fourth quarter. That was all she knew about the weather.

Well, that and that the cold was going to make her lips freeze right off if she didn’t find someone to warm them up on soon.

A chill ran down Izzy’s spine. She had to find at least two johns tonight to get a new coat for winter as it was. There was this perfect little number in the boutique down the block from her apartment she had her eye on. Like her mini-skirt, it was covered in leopard spots. Unlike the skirt, which stretched across her backside and made her feel like a stuffed sausage, the coat would leave a little more to the imagination. Not that Izzy much minded flaunting her goods. It was better for business to give a little sneak preview. An advertisement. And the coat would do wonders for her legs—short as they were—so it would be a good investment. You had to spend money to make money, right? Besides, she had to keep warm somehow and her current coat was flimsy and ragged from years of use. It wasn’t bold and soft and warm like that leopard print beauty in Madame Gavaroche’s shop…

She could not get her mind off that damn coat. Already, a group of drunken college boys had passed and paired off with other ladies of the night. Izzy swore and readjusted her bra. She bent at the waist and pulled out a tube of lipstick from the top of her high-heeled boot. In the dark, she had to guess what her make up looked like. By light of day, it would be garish—winged eyeliner and devil lips—but in the dark, Izzy hoped she looked good enough to take for a spin. She coated another layer of red onto her lips and slipped the lipstick back into her shoe. She licked her teeth clean and looked around.

And then in the distance, she spotted him.

A man, tall and thin, made his hurried way through the Bois. If Izzy was any good at trigonometry, she’d say he was headed perfectly in her direction. She grinned. If she could convince him to go with her for the night, maybe she’d be a couple francs closer to that jacket.

“Where d’ya think you’re goin’ in such a hurry, monsieur?” she called to him as he got closer. Izzy pushed off of the tree’s side and sauntered to him. Her lids and voice lowered when she saw how handsome he was. “And all alone, too. Maybe we could keep each other company tonight.”

[Lets_Eat_Paste]

Alexis Beauchamps

Somehow, it was incredibly fitting how cold it was tonight. The bitter wind nipped away at Alexis’s angular features as he made his way through the Bois tonight. He took Blaise here often to look for bugs and to bird watch. He had even taken Carine here for a proper marriage proposal when his hand written, snail mail version of popping the question didn’t seem to suffice.

Usually, when walking through the Bois, Alexis didn’t think about his wife living in that facility, rattling around like a memory. But tonight was a different story entirely. As Alexis kicked a stone with his every step, he replayed tonight’s events in his mind.

All he had said was “how are you feeling?” to which she replied “I don’t love you anymore.” Alexis was shocked. Though he had been saying the same thing for years now in the privacy of his journal, it somehow burned when it came out of Carine’s mouth. Alexis suddenly felt hollow. It was different when his love for her died. It was a gentle, gradual death. Painless. Like a bullet to the brain or carbon monoxide poisoning. But when Carine said it, Alexis could have sworn his life was draining out of him, ounce by pitiful ounce. Maybe it was the unexpected bluntness of the statement. Maybe it was the fact that Alexis had spent the past six years seeing to it that she was getting some kind of treatment only to hear that earth shattering news. Or maybe Alexis still had some miserable scrap of love for her, some old, faded memory of what she used to be that he clung to like a safety blanket.

He told himself over and over, as his nose burned red from the cold, that next week, she’d be fine, that by his next visit, she’d want to renew their vows and honeymoon in Glockamara. But he couldn’t ignore the way the wind sounded like it was laughing at his naivety, and the feeling of dread he felt returning home. Clarice always asked about Carine and his visit to her as Alexis paid her for babysitting Blaise, and tonight, he wouldn’t know what to say as he doled out the bills and checked on his sleeping son.

The wind seemed to grow louder as he picked up his pace, but it chased him until, winded, he stopped to catch his breath. Hands on knees, each breath sent waves of pain through his chest, and Alexis didn’t know if it was from jogging in the cold, or from some late form of heartbreak that had built up over the past six years. He began again, just as quickly as before, but stopped this time when someone called out to him.

“Where d’ya think you’re goin’ in such a hurry, monsieur?”

Alexis looked around. Was the cold looking woman talking to him? He surely hoped not. All sorts of shady characters came out to play when the Bois closed for the night. Alexis turned to go, but the stich in his chest stabbed him further and his legs felt like cold jelly. And there he stood, stuck, as the woman came nearer and nearer to him. Alexis was incredibly confused. As he squinted into the night, he could make her more clearly, and was thrown by her outlandish make up job. Either she was a hooker or a lost circus performer looking for a warm place to sleep. Either way, what she wanted was something Alexis couldn’t exactly give her.

“And all alone, too. Maybe we could keep each other company tonight.”

Alexis really had rather not. The only company he wanted was that of his pillow and tomorrow of his son and students.

But the woman really did seem cold.

“You mean, like, grab a cup of coffee?” Alexis said dumbly. He knew what she meant. Of course he knew what she meant. No one got that stupid in 35 years. But somehow, he couldn’t bring himself to realize that this was actually happening. The only woman he’d slept with was Carine. He wasn’t about to bring a possibly diseased woman into the same house where his young son slept. And he couldn’t help but to hear the annoyingly soothing sound of that priest’s voice ringing in his head. This happened to other people. Not him. Not Alexis. Never Alexis. And Alexis preferred to keep it that way.

[The Exodus]

Izzy Richmond

In the scant moonlight, Izzy could see the man had a chiseled chin and a jawline that would make most women go weak in the knees. Izzy held her ground. He certainly would be better than her last. Cleaner, too. His blazer and scarf didn’t scream wealth, but he seemed like a healthy middle class man. Izzy didn’t want to know more. When she started imagining lives for her johns outside of the bedroom, she started to think of them as people and that was a problem. No doubt this man had a life. Izzy just didn’t want to know about it.

What she wanted to know was how much he was willing to pay for her company.

“You mean, like, grab a cup of coffee?” the man asked.

Izzy stared at him, dumbfounded. One of her thin hands was outstretched, ready to grasp the stranger’s shirtfront, but she stopped short. He couldn’t be serious?

No, of course he wasn’t serious. He was playing with her. He just wanted a game. Maybe he was the type to need a little persuasion. Izzy smiled and pressed her hand on the man’s chest. He was firm and fit. Better than the usual client.

“You’re a clever one, dearie,” she said. Her voice was a low and raspy contralto, rich but somehow thinned from years of abuse. “I was thinking something hotter, if ya catch my meanin’. You look like you could use some warmin’ up.”

[Lets_Eat_Paste]

Alexis Beauchamps

In the darkness, Alexis could see the woman stretching out a hand and images flashed through his mind: images of Carine being wheeled into a room for electroconvulsive therapy. Her hand, just like this woman’s, reach for him, shaking and pale as she screamed in the brightly lit hallway. This woman pleaded for a nameless tumble in the sheets and couple hundred euros, and in his head, Carine pleaded, somehow simultaneously, for love and death. It was maddening seeing two things at once, so he squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, pretending that the cold air had dried them out.

When he opened them, the woman was smiling coyly at him, a glint of mischief in her eyes lighting up their vicinity. “You’re a clever one, dearie,” she said and Alexis smiled in spite of himself. She wasn’t trying to compliment him, but his intelligence was the one thing next to his son that he took pride in. “I was thinking something hotter, if ya catch my meanin’.” Oh, he caught her meaning. He caught her meaning the way someone caught the flu (or an STD, come to think of it): it was going to stay with him for a while and he felt sick to his stomach. But if he could stall for just a moment longer, maybe, just maybe, they’d both go home with what they wanted. She wanted money, he wanted to get home with a peaceful mind. “You look like you could use some warmin’ up.”

Just over her shoulder was the light of a café. It was a welcome glow, and a welcome exit. “You know what?” He said, attempted to play along. “I could. And it looks like you could, too. Come with me.” Awkwardly, he put an arm around her frozen shoulder and walked with her in the direction of the café. He would buy her that cup of coffee, vow never to walk through the Bois after 9 o’clock, and get home as quickly as he possibly could to relieve Clarice and forget about tonight.

“So,” he said as they crossed the desolate street, not sure of what the exact protocol was, “do you have a name?”

[The Exodus]

Izzy Richmond

Already, Izzy wondered what would make this one tick. What he’d ask her to do. The Bois wasn’t exactly a private place; she usually preferred working Le Peripherie because of the by-the-hour motels there. But a quick shag against a tree or on the damp leaves would do. The pay would run about the same.

“You know what?” the john said. “I could. And it looks like you could, too. Come with me.”

The john put his arm around Izzy’s shoulders. She snuggled up close to him. He smelled good; clean. She was suddenly aware of her own scent—heady rose-scented perfume to mask the smell of cigarette smoke and sweat. The john’s arm was stiff and it touched her as though he was scared to catch something from her. Izzy was clean at last check. Well, healthy. And washed. But not “clean” per se.

But that was another story for another night. If she could hold out, stay clean a little longer, she’d buy that coat instead of…

“So,” he said as they crossed the desolate street, not sure of what the exact protocol was, “do you have a name?”

“Baby, you could call me anything you want,” Izzy purred. Her lips danced along the man’s neck and her tongue slid out for a taste. The john’s skin was like any man’s skin. “What about you?” she murmured, nibbling at his ear. “What do you like to be called?”

[Lets_Eat_Paste]

Alexis Beauchamps

“Baby, you could call me anything you want,” the woman said from under the crook of his arm. Alexis’s eyes widened in the darkness from surprise. It was the quintessential prostitute response, that Alexis almost laughed. Almost. He still some amount of wits about himself that he wasn’t going to make this woman into his enemy on an abandoned street in the dark. Alexis was never one to believe in strict gender roles and he believed from the day that Carine threw a vase at their infant son, that women could be just as dangerous as men and he wasn’t about to test that hypothesis. But even a fleeting thought about Carine’s erratic, often violent behavior had his mind flitting from the present to the past. Tonight, she said she didn’t love him, and last month she knocked his head into the wall until the room spun as she kissed every visible part of his body, telling him between breaths for air how much she wanted a child. And as the nurses pulled her off of him, Alexis felt his stomach churn as he wondered if she even knew about the child she had left behind, the one that Alexis loved with every inch of his life, the one that was likely building words like “cyclophobia” with his alphabet soup at home. And Alexis got to worrying about Blaise in the now. Was he sleeping? Was he up for the sixth time that night, asking Clarice for yet another glass of juice? Was he spiking a sudden fever or crawling into Alexis’s bed as he waited for his papa to come home?

But a tingle coursed through his body as sharp teeth and wet tongue made contact with his cold neck and the present moment came crashing down around his ears (which the woman began nibbling on). Here he was, outside a café now, still with the prostitute he met in the Bois. How could he consider for even a moment, bringing any stranger into his bed when he son slept just upstairs? “What about you? What do you like to be called?” Alexis sighed, almost exasperatedly and turned to face her.

“By my name,” he said. “I like to be called by my name. Alexis. And I’d like to call you by yours, please.” Was he being too polite? Too bold in asking her name? He pushed the café doors open and sat them down in a booth. “What do you drink? Coffee? Tea?” he asked, wiping gravy off the tablecloth. He was very clearly stalling now and was wracking his brains for his next move. “Get anything you like. It’s on me.”

[The Exodus]

OOC: Open scene, if anyone wants to take it! BIC:

Samara al-Jabiri

There had been a protest outside of the hospital this morning. Women with signs, wearing headscarves and veils, stood outside the Hospital Georges Pompidou, calling for reform, calling for change. Samara hadn’t known about it, absorbed in a telephone conversation with a mother of triplets who was desperate to get them all seen for their flu shots at the same time. But one of the nurses on duty had sought her out, had said, “Sammi, did you hear what’s going on outside?” before filling her in on the details. The women were protesting the ban on veiling of hospital staff. Police officers not-so gently pushed the women back, made national news. Not for brutality, not for anything particularly unsettling. Merely for its place in the “dialogue” about veiling in France.

“Don’t you have an opinion?” the nurse had asked, leaning over Samara’s desk, staring at her with concerned, green eyes.

“No,” Samara said. “I don’t.”

Her parents had died in a riot a few years ago. The only people at work who knew that were Georgette and Gerard. Samara was determined to keep it that way. But it wasn’t as though it was a big secret that she was a Muslim. Or had been. These days, Samara knew it was just safer to be a French humanist. She’d rather profess to have no faith than to have her home burned by angry mobs. She observed Ramadan quietly; made no fuss about her call to prayer. Her cellphone alarm beeped when it was time, the same way it beeped when she had to take her medicine or when it was break time. Sometimes, she observed the ritual; more often she didn’t. Instead, she’d send a “I’ll take a rain-check” towards God and get back to punching someone’s insurance number into the computer. She had a life to live, a hospital to keep spinning. And she was doing her part saving lives, so really, no one – not even Allah Himself – could fault her for that.

But today, she’d been allowed to leave work early. Asked. It wasn’t like she was crying or a visible wreck or letting it affect her job. But someone – probably Gerard or Georgette – put in word to administration that Samara might be “triggered” by the crowd. And she’d been walked to her car by another hospital administrator. She’d driven herself home and now, she was out in the Bois with her sparring dummy set up. Her hands flew out at precise intervals, making contact with the limbs of the dummy, pushing it and sending it spinning on its axis.


Who were they – the hospital staff, her coworkers, her friends – to pity her? To worry? She was capable. She was strong. She wasn’t upsetting anyone; she didn’t even take the veil anymore. Hadn’t since before college. And yet everyone was treating her like she was fragile. Like she was made of spun sugar and would break at a touch, melt at a few tears. Please. She could defend herself; she didn’t need anyone babying her.

She kicked the dummy – hard – and the sound of the limb snapping shocked her. Samara scuttled backwards to avoid the backlash of the broken exercise equipment. These things were made to last. And yet now, a piece of her old sparring dummy sailed through the air towards the path.

“Heads!” Samara called out to anyone walking near where it might land. Today was just not her day.

[blueeyeddevil]

Nikolai Tarasova

Rarely did Nikolai get the chance to see the daylight hours. He worked at a bar which was typically open at night since they didn't exactly serve a lunch menu. They served cheap beer and bar food and Nikolai was usually working the graveyard shift. He got off work at around 5:30 when the sun getting ready to come up and he went him and slept until after it had gone down again and he needed to get ready for work. It wasn't the greatest gig in the world, but it paid the bills well enough.

Last night though, he'd had off, meaning he actually had a fairly normal sleep schedule for once. He didn't have to be in to work until around 10 tonight which left him with basically an entire day with nothing to do. He had decided to take advantage of actually seeing the sun for the first time in weeks and decided to take a stroll around the city. He had been here for a few months and was still trying to get to know his new home. He figured the touristy part of Paris had to be better than the darkened allies he was use to seeing.

He had been walking through the Bois, taking in the sights and enjoying the sunshine. He was passing by near the lake when he heard a voice call out “Heads!” He stopped where he was and glanced around, wondering if the voice was calling at him. Suddenly something was flying at hm and he held out his arms and caught it. He glanced down to find a stuffed, faceless head from some kind of dummy. Apparently the voice had meant 'heads' in a much more literal sense than he'd been thinking.

He looked around and saw a young woman standing near what looked to be a sparring dummy....and it was missing a head. With a small smile, he approached and handed her the head. "I'm thinking this belongs to you," he said as he placed it in her hand. He glanced at the headless dummy and shook his head. "Damn...you really did a number on it, didn't you?"