Vidal Funeral Home and Crematorium

[blueeyeddevil]

Solange de Grace

As Tristan made his way through the mess of his embalming room, Solange became even more convinced that whatever it was was not a rat. Unless the rat was was roughly the size of a house pet, she doubted that it could have caused this much destruction. But, rat or not, it was still loose in the funeral home and they needed to track it down. It had headed into the garage and there was always the possibility that it might cause more damage to the hearse they couldn't afford to have it out of use for whatever reason.

Tristan picked up a scalpel from the overturned container on the floor, holding it in his hand as a sort of make shift weapon. She raised an eyebrow at him. “Just in case,” he said and shrugged. Then he went on to rummaging through the filing cabinet and handed her a penlight. She supposed it was the best they could do at the moment and she made a mental note to buy actual flashlights in case there was ever a power outage.

“All right,” Tristan said. “Let’s go check this out.”

She nodded and took a deep breath as the two of them made their way to the garage together. Approaching the door she could hear the the creature scuttling around in there. She exchanged looks with Tristan before they both went in. She was a little surprised to find that the garage door was slightly ajar.

She crept on ahead, penlight in hand to lead the way. She made her way very slowly around the front of the hearse. She could hear the creature moving around over there in the far corner. Very carefully, she shone the penlight in that direction. The shape of a cat came into the light, which reflected off its eyes as it hissed at her loudly. Startled, Solange screamed and stumbled back, instantly hitting something solid and warm which made her scream again until she whirled around to see Tristan.

Letting out a relieved sigh, she leaned forward, resting her forehead against his should for a moment before looking back up at him. "It's a cat! A damn cat!" she exclaimed. "It must have slipped in when you brought the hearse back after the last service and gotten trapped." She took a deep breath and shook her head, rubbing her eyes. "This is why I don't work late!"

[The Exodus]

Tristan Vidal

The scratching sound of claws against concrete skittered through the stillness of the garage. Tristan looked over at Solange; she looked back at him. It felt like the still before a big fight; a battle, maybe. Of course, not many people marched into a fray with only a penlight and a scalpel for defense. Solange took the first, brave steps into the dark garage. Slats of moonlight crept in from somewhere, which was odd, since the garage didn’t have windows. The concrete shone bluish and went white wherever Solange pointed the penlight. Tristan followed her once his eyes adjusted well enough to see without tripping. They rounded the front of the hearse. And then an angry hissing broke the silence. Solange screamed; Tristan dropped his scalpel and it clanged on the ground. And then something solid and warm collided with his chest. Despite the blur of activity, Tristan knew instinctively it was Solange.

He brought one hand up between her shoulderblades and rubbed lightly. She sighed and looked up into his eyes. In the darkness, he could make out the contours of Solange’s face, if not the details. He didn’t need to; Tristan knew well enough what she must have looked like right now.

"It's a cat! A damn cat!" Solange told him. "It must have slipped in when you brought the hearse back after the last service and gotten trapped." She took a deep breath and shook her head, rubbing her eyes. "This is why I don't work late!"

“Hey,” Tristan said. “This kind of stuff only happens when you work late. Usually, it’s not this exciting around here after dark.”


Tristan grinned at her and then looked past her shoulder at the cat. It had yellowish eyes that practically glowed in the dim lighting. But it wasn’t so scary. Not really, not since it was just a cat. Tristan released Solange and crouched down on the ground. He didn’t have a lot of experience with cats. Laurence never really let him have pets when he was a kid. Some of his friends had inherited cats when they moved in with their girlfriends or got married; Tristan had narrowly avoided being landed with a kitten a couple of years ago. But it didn’t take a cat whisperer to know that this cat was probably more scared of Tristan and Solange than they had been of it. Now that Tristan was on its level, its hackles went down.

“We’ll have to call animal control in the morning,” he said to Solange. “But what are we gonna do in the meantime?”

[blueeyeddevil]

Solange de Grace

Now that they had figured out what the noise was and it had turned out to be nothing scary at all, she was starting to get back to normal. In the end, all it had been was a cat. Sure it had startled her when she first saw it, but coming across anything in the dark would have probably startled her. The cat had probably slipped into the funeral home through the garage door that didn't shut right half the time. After that it probably slipped into the embalming room and got scared when it had gotten stuck there.

She watched as Tristan knelt down to the cat's level, which obviously calmed it down a little. The arch in it's back was straightening out and the hissing had ceased. “We’ll have to call animal control in the morning,” he said to Solange. “But what are we gonna do in the meantime?”

She sighed softly and knelt down as well, inching a little closer to the cat. It looked to be fairly healthy shape. It obviously hadn't been a stray for very long. She held out her hand which the cat cautiously came and sniffed at. Very carefully she let her fingers scratch it's head lightly, making her smile when the cat purred slightly. She waited a moment until it seemed to decide she wasn't a threat and walked it's front paws up on her leg, stretching to get a better look at her as she continued to pet it.

"I don't think animal control will be necessary. It looks pretty healthy to me...I can take it home for the night and then take it a shelter in the morning," she suggested. She smiled at the cat now. "You aren't so scary, are you," she murmured affectionately.

[The Exodus]

Tristan Vidal

The cat relaxed even more once Solange knelt down to its level. She outstretched her hand to it and the cat butted its head up against her fingers. Tristan smiled at the pair of them. He wanted to still be angry about the broken equipment, about the mess in his embalming room. But Solange looked enamored by the cat. Tristan tilted his head to the side, content to observe for a moment. The cat pawed up Solange’s leg playfully. Solange’s smile deepened. Tristan’s eyes crinkled up; he couldn’t term the squishy feeling in his chest with usual words. Affection sounded almost too clinical; love too serious. But, God, Solange was so freaking precious when she wasn’t too busy being efficient and no-nonsense.

"I don't think animal control will be necessary. It looks pretty healthy to me...I can take it home for the night and then take it a shelter in the morning," Solange said. She was still looking at the cat as she spoke. "You aren't so scary, are you?"

Tristan reached for his scalpel, stood up and put it in the back pocket of his jeans.

“Don’t let the purring fool you. You saw the embalming room; that little ball of fur is a hellcat in disguise,” he teased. “I’m gonna see if we’ve got a bowl or something we can put water in for it. I mean, if you’re still sticking around for a bit.”

[blueeyeddevil]

Solange de Grace

Solange had said she was going to take the cat to a shelter in the morning but the longer she looked at the cat and petted it, the more she doubted she was actually going to follow through on that. She had a feeling that this cat was probably going to be sticking with her for a while. And why not? It certainly seemed to like her well enough. She found herself liking it more and more as well.

“Don’t let the purring fool you. You saw the embalming room; that little ball of fur is a hellcat in disguise,” Tristan joked as he got to his feet. Solange just gave a little glare and turned abck to the cat. “I’m gonna see if we’ve got a bowl or something we can put water in for it. I mean, if you’re still sticking around for a bit.”

Solange nodded. "Sounds good. I still need to get my work done. I sort of got interrupted," she playfully scolded the cat. She scooped it up in her arms as she got to her feet as well. She could see now that it was a female cat. "Come on Lilly," she said as she followed Tristan back out of the garage. "Lets go see if we can find some water for you while you wait."

OOC: END SCENE

[The Exodus]

OOC: Tristan + Gwen + Solange = Entertainment. BIC:

Tristan Vidal

When Gwen called Tristan’s personal cell phone this afternoon, Tristan had thought for certain that it was about official business. The service for her and Torben’s unnamed daughter was scheduled for two weeks from today – listed as Tristan’s day off, actually, so he could justify performing the service free of charge – and there was still a lot to be done in preparation for it. He’d taken a big breath and put on his calmest, most reassuring funeral director voice.

Only to find out that Gwen was in a somewhat chipper mood and intent on bringing him lunch.

It was a nice surprise; no one did that kind of stuff for him, ever. More often than not, Tristan forgot to pack a lunch or he would reheat leftovers from the night before in the small microwave in his office. Even when he was growing up, Tristan had been responsible for his own lunch, since Laurence was hopeless in the kitchen and just as forgetful as Tristan was when it came to things like eating and sleeping on a proper schedule. Gwen was going to spoil him rotten at this rate and he’d told her as much on the phone. She’d made a skeptical noise and told him she’d be there in a few minutes. This, of course, sent Tristan into clean up mode, the same way a college kid might attempt to clean up his dorm room on parents’ weekend.

Right now, he was spraying the curtains in the lobby with Febreeze. Febreeze, in Tristan’s experience, was the most genius invention since the wheel or electricity. It was the only thing that almost blotted out the stale smell of latex, decay, and incense that hung around the funeral home. It made the lobby, with its neutral couches and rock-hard throw pillows feel more like a living room. As opposed to a dead room.

It was an otherwise normal day. There had been a service in the morning and a rosary that let out fifteen minutes ago. Tristan had spent most of his time inventorying decedents – removing their jewelry, their valuables, and placing them in labeled Ziploc baggies so that no one could file lawsuits against him or his business. Apparently, it was a hot-button issue in the industry lately, which Tristan found kind of pathetic. A couple of creeps had been busted pocketing wedding rings and fillings from decedents in Lyon. It made the news a few weeks ago and Tristan made it a point to let clients know that the funeral home he ran was a legitimate business, based in service and in care; not in grave-robbing. It had never occurred to him that someone might – that someone actually would – pickpocket a dead person. Least of all someone in his line of work. Disgusting.

He had more important things to worry, anyways, bigger and better goals to achieve than to become an oddity on the nightly news. For one, Tristan planned to grow his business. Not right away, obviously, but within the next few years. He liked it being just him and Solange most days. But lately, Tristan felt like he was falling behind. A bit more distracted than normal. Lately, his mind wandered off, his brain would go fuzzy, and Tristan was pretty sure that was stress catching up to him. Years of insomnia paired with too much caffeine. Or something like that.

And since they’d passed inspection, the thought of taking on an apprentice or two rolled around like a loose marble in the back of Tristan’s mind. He could probably use the extra hands in the embalming room. Someone to help pick up the slack, since he didn’t want to ask any more of Solange than he did already – he relied on her so much, maybe more than she even knew, which was saying something. It just seemed like an odd thought. Tristan didn’t like to ask for help; he didn’t like being in a position where he needed it. But more than that, he didn’t want to upset the delicate balance of workplace politics. The very, very delicate balance at Vidal Funeral Home could easily be upset. Tristan and Solange got along great. Well, they were doing better. A lot better. And they had a good thing going. It wasn’t perfect, but they were almost friends.

No, Tristan thought. We are friends.

After all, there were some things people couldn’t do together and walk away anything less than friends. And running a funeral home just so happened to be one of those things.

Of course, if Tristan even tried to say that out loud, Solange might karate chop him into next week. It was that kind of friendship. He called himself the boss; she actually wore the pants in the relationship. They struggled for power over each other and Solange won every time. His friendship with Gwen was easier. Affection came freer there than it did with Solange. With Solange, Tristan always wondered if it was okay to hug her, to hold her hands. No matter how badly he wanted to hold her, Tristan usually refrained from touching Solange. Workplace etiquette. With Gwen, Tristan didn’t have time to worry because Gwen was pulling him along. And of course Tristan didn’t have an elephant-in-the-room crush on Gwen.

Such a stupid word, thought Tristan, attacking the throw pillows with Febreeze. Such a stupid feeling.

He just had to tell himself that whatever he felt for Solange would pass. He would mellow out and stop thinking about her laugh, her teasing smile, or the way her legs went on for miles. None of those things were allowed to be the reason for his recent distraction. It was just the job getting to him, not Solange. And Tristan just had to screw his head back in place and think of Solange only as his secretary. At least, long enough to have lunch with Gwen without letting her walk away with the satisfaction of knowing that she’d seen this coming months ago when she would ask little questions like, “Is Solange treating you right?” with a little, knowing half-smirk.

Gwen was not allowed to get an “I-told-you-so” in edgewise today. Today, would be about anything and everything but the two biggest elephants in the room: Tristan’s “crush” (Still a stupid word) on Solange or Gwen’s up-and-coming memorial service.

That was the other thing Tristan had to avoid: donning his funeral director hat. It was a good way to avoid focusing on his personal feelings most days; a good way to pretend they didn’t exist. He’d been doing that more and more during the work day and it was creeping into his personal life, too. He’d spent last weekend at Laurence’s apartment, listening with a semi-soft expression and speaking with gentle, hushed tones until Laurence said, “You’re creeping me out, kid. This isn’t the funeral home.” And he didn’t need to do that with Gwen. Especially since he’d be doing enough of that for her and Torben in the coming days. Arranging their ceremony, helping them tend to their grief and to their lost child. Tristan was hesitant to even talk about work with Gwen, even while they were both here, just in case they veered off-topic and began talking about ash dispersal and words like “stillborn”, until they were talking about Gwen’s baby and she was crying and Tristan felt like the worst friend in the history of the world.

No one was dealing with sticky feelings of any kind today. Not on Tristan’s watch.

And then the bell over the front door of the funeral home gave a little ring, signifying someone’s arrival.

[Lets_Eat_Paste]

Gwendoline Fontaine

When Gwendoline checked the mail this morning with a morning breath yawn that reeked of tedium and oversleep, she expected the typical credit card bills and advertisements from customer-hungry magazine companies. Likely, these things would find their way into various drawers and trash bins throughout the week until either she or Torben decided to do something about it. But in the dark corner of the small metal mail box lay a forgotten letter that Gwen wouldn’t have noticed if one of her superfluous rings hadn’t caught its corner in her habitual hastiness.

Curious, she felt it between her fingers before she pulled it out, feeling its rough paper edges and patterned ink indentions argue with her fingerprints for a brief moment. At last, she procured it from the dark depths of the inbox and flipped it over to read it. The cursive, though neatly penned, glared up at her in a language she could not read. But something in her stomach knotted with anxious anticipation as the rest of the mail fell to the floor with the sound of a million crashing waves. She didn’t have to know what the Dutch letters said to know what the letter contained. Simultaneously sick and giddy, she ran up the stairs as her discarded bills and magazine advertisements lay helter-skelter on the foyer floor.

Torben jumped when Gwen swung the door open, barreling into the apartment with force great enough to shake the floor. “Look!” she cried, holding the letter high in the air like a golden ticket to a long abandoned chocolate factory. Torben plucked the letter from a breathless Gwen and looked it over, his face reflecting the very feeling Gwen had in the pit of her stomach.

“Already?” he asked, feeling it, checking it for an imaginary existence, validating its tangibility. “That was faster than I thought it would be.” He slipped his large hand into her small one, and he slipped his finger under the lip of the envelope until Gwen couldn’t tell if it was eating his finger or kissing it. “Are you ready to open it?”

Without hesitating, she nodded. Their fate hid in the snug little paper folds in Torben’s hand. It would take three seconds for their entire world to change. Gwen took in a deep breath and she felt Torben do the same. “Just know,” he said softly, “that no matter what’s in here, I love you.”

Anxious and speechless, Gwen gave no answer, but squeezed his hand lovingly as she closed her eyes and listened to the sound of paper ripping with nervous caution.
Torben let the paper fall to the ground and Gwen bent to scoop it up and press it to her heart. “What? What did it say?”

Torben looked morose. “Well, they reviewed our application…” He hung his head and Gwendoline felt an ocean of tears catch in her throat. But then, a wide smile broke onto her boyfriend’s face. “They’ve accepted it and want to interview us!”

Gwen let out a scream that could set the neighborhood dogs howling and Torben bundled her in his arms and they danced around the living room, each moment spent in long intervals of laughing, kissing, and crying. They were getting a baby. After seven years of failing, they were getting a baby.

And suddenly, there in Torben’s arms, the maternal instinct that Gwen swore had died and was buried in the flowerbox with her daughter began to burgeon once more. Her heart fluttered alive from its unknowingly dormant state as she spun around and around the hardwood floor with her husband.

Or maybe it had never left her, maybe it just waited until now to spring forth from its slumber, sending her mind into a tizzy at the best moment possible. She thought about the nameless daughter that lay in the dirt and of the countless other children she lost to the unspoken paradise of fate. And then her mind wandered once more from the child in the ground to the child who would set her free. Tristan. He had prepared her for this and she was forever in his debt.

So that was how she found herself calling up Tristan Vidal and insisting on bringing him lunch. It in no way paralleled his favor to her, but she could certainly try. So with a tray full of lobster thermidor and coffee, she made her merry way to the funeral home while Torben phoned his parents.

With a broad, bright smile, she pushed open the door. “Tristan!” she sang loudly, not sure if such behavior was acceptable in a funeral home. “I come bearing gifts!”

Today was going to be a great day.

[The Exodus]

Tristan Vidal

Tristan stashed the Febreeze bottle underneath one of the arm chairs in the lobby just in time to see Gwen swing into the funeral home, with the brightest smile Tristan had seen on anyone walking through those doors. In her arms, she carried a steaming tray of something and coffee. Tristan had no idea what Gwen had made, but it smelled delicious.

Or maybe that was the Febreeze.

“Tristan!” Gwen called his name out in a way that sounded more like singing than anything else. And though he knew he didn’t have the right to be, Tristan was a little embarrassed. He doubted he’d ever get used to Gwen’s flamboyant tendencies. Still, a sheepish smile pushed at Tristan’s lips. He’d never get used to her mothering, either, for that matter. “I come bearing gifts!”

“I see that!” Tristan said, walking over to her. “What can I help with?”

[Lets_Eat_Paste]

Gwendoline Fontaine

“I see that! What can I help with?” Tristan asked with his usual chivalry and Gwendoline turned away from him. She didn’t want his help. He was already doing so much for her. The least she could do was set up lunch for him.

“Eating. You can help by eating this.” She set the meal on the nearest flat surface she could find and opened her arms for him to come hug her. “I love bringing you food, Tristan. Besides, I won’t be able to for a while and I want to do it while I can!”

The letter meant she and Torben had to go to the Netherlands for an interview and mandatory classes. It would be three whole weeks before she would be able to cook for anyone what with being cooped up in a hotel room with no stove to speak of. Honestly, a microwave only got you so far. It would be a romantic, hectic, and life-altering experience and she couldn’t wait to tell Tristan about when she got back. “Dig in!” she demanded as she settled herself down on the couch. She took a sigh and choked on a strong scent that entered into her nose and clung to the walls of her nostrils. “Do you smell… springtime?” she asked, coughing. It was the dead of winter and yet Tristan’s place of work spelled like May fifteenth. It was uncanny and overpowering.

[The Exodus]

Tristan Vidal

Gwen insisted that the only way Tristan could help was by eating. He watched as she set down the giant platter of food on Solange’s desk. Tristan looked at it and was flabbergasted at what he saw. Gwen had made a whole bunch of lobsters. It was probably the best looking, most expensive meal anyone had ever made him.

This is lunch?!

He almost flopped into the hug Gwen offered him, a little too surprised and distracted by the lavishness of “lunch” to do much else. Gwen really would spoil him rotten one of these days.

“I love bringing you food, Tristan,” she insisted. “Besides, I won’t be able to for a while and I want to do it while I can!”

“While you can? What does that mean?” Tristan asked, finding his voice and his legs at the same time.

He stood up straighter and held Gwen at arms distance, looking at her seriously. He didn’t like the sound of “won’t be able to for a while”. Not only because it meant no more lobster dishes on random afternoons, but because it implied that Gwen wouldn’t be around or she would be somehow out of commission. Sick. On leave. Something. And that was news to Tristan.


But in her typical Gwen fashion, Gwen didn’t answer Tristan’s question. Instead, she sighed and started to gag.

“Do you smell… springtime?” she asked.

“No…?” Tristan said.

He knew instantly that she meant the Febreeze, but his sense of smell was more than a little warped. Maybe it was better to let her think this place always smelled like “fresh linen” or “spring rain” or whatever it said on the bottle. He didn’t want her to think he let this place fall apart or something. He knew how to take care of his funeral home.

“This looks delicious,” he said, turning his attention and hopefully Gwen’s back to the food. “What is it called?”

[blueeyeddevil]

Solange de Grace

By the time the rosary had dismissed Solange had been absolutely starving! She had decided not to bother with her usual long lunch hour because she needed food right away or someone was going to end up in Tristan's embalming room. Instead she had decided to make a run down to the corner bistro and ordered a quick sandwich to go. A delicious Tuscan chicken melt on chibatta bread that should couldn't wait to get back to her desk to eat. Honestly she was surprised she was waiting that long, but she wasn't going to eat while walking like an animal.

The whole thing had taken maybe 20 minutes tops. Though she was surprised to see an unfamiliar car in the parking lot. That was certainly strange. She didn't think that she had scheduled any appointments for Tristan at the moment. She certainly wouldn't have scheduled at lunch time either! Tristan hardly ate lunch as it was! She had been trying unsuccessfully to get him to take some kind of break during the day by scheduling appointments at further intervals. Of course he just used the extra time for more work.

She walked in and was pleasantly surprised to see Tristan's friend, Gwendoline Fontaine sitting with him in the lobby. She recalled Gwendoline and her husband Torben stopping by not all that long ago. Something about a body...watch? She didn't quite understand but she had found Gwendoline and Torben a little strange but incredibly sweet and funny.

"I'm back!" she said, carrying a wrapped sandwich and paper cup of tea. "Gweondline! Hi! I didn't know you were stopping by! Good to see you," she said with a bright smile. There was a small pause as a whiff of something caught her nose. "Does it smell like spring in here," she asked. There wasn't any other way to describe it!

[The Exodus]

Tristan Vidal

Before Gwen could explain what the lobster dish was, the door gave another little jingle to signify someone else’s arrival. He looked up to see Solange balancing a paper cup in one hand and a sandwich in the other.

"I'm back!" she announced. Lately, she’d sounded happier – or at least more at peace – with being in the funeral home. Only a few nights ago, she’d stayed late to catch up on work. The more comfortable Solange was here, the tighter Tristan’s heartstrings pulled. He caught sight of her smile and he leaned against her desk, smiling back.

“Welcome back.”

"Gwendoline!” Solange said, still cheerful. “Hi! I didn't know you were stopping by! Good to see you."


Tristan shot Gwen a look. He really hoped she wasn’t going to say or do anything to make it less-good to see her. If that made any sense. Somewhere, in the back of his head, he could hear her voice asking questions like: “Tristan isn’t working you too hard, is he?” in the same, almost teasing tone she asked questions like: “Is Solange treating you well?” Tristan was going to make sure the two of them didn’t get talking too much; it would eventually degenerate into a pit of embarrassment for everyone present. Except maybe Gwen, who probably didn’t get embarrassed by anything.

"Does it smell like spring in here?" Solange asked. She looked around, confused.

“No, it’s lobster,” Tristan said. Solange would probably make fun of him if she knew that he’d just spent the last ten minutes spritzing every cloth surface with Febreeze. “Gwen made lobster. See?”

[Lets_Eat_Paste]

Gwendoline Fontaine

From beneath the loud smell of fresh outdoor air, the soft jingle of the bell above the door chimed and Gwen looked up to see Solange. She looked far different than Gwendoline remembered. Granted, the last time she saw Tristan’s leggy secretary was on the stark white pages of Torben’s notebook with that telltale abstract, cartoonish aesthetic of his. This was followed by a very stern talk from Gwendoline about why Torben wasn’t allowed to immortalize his dreams and fantasies in the pencil and ink forms in his sketchbook. ‘What would Tristan say if he found these?’ Gwen asked, motioning to what suggested their friend’s lips pressed to Solange’s. ‘Nothing understandable’ was Torben’s response. ‘He would just string together sounds, I’ll bet.’

Sometimes, there was no getting through to Torben, especially when it came to his art. But sometimes, she could convince him to lock away pictures they did not want to be seen by the wrong eyes.

But this Solange was very real and appeared to be very happy to see Gwendoline (much to the contrary of what Torben claimed would happen) with a "Gweondline! Hi! I didn't know you were stopping by! Good to see you.” Gwen smiled at her as she made her way inside.

“Hello, Solange! It’s great to see you, too! How are things?”

But Solange, apparently perturbed by the onslaught of a new season didn’t answer her question and instead stopped dead in her tracks. "Does it smell like spring in here?"

Gwen’s face lit up and prepared herself to affirm Solange, but Tristan’s voice piped in before Gwen’s own could even make an appearance.

“No, it’s lobster. Gwen made lobster. See?”

Gwen scrunched her lips in irritation. She was not used to being cut off. But a wicked grin unfolded itself onto her face. “Yes. I did. For you, too, Solange.” She slid the other woman a plate. “Enjoy!”

Few things were more textbook romantic that a lobster dinner for two. Okay, so it was lunch, but that was really just picking nits.

“You kids have fun. I have a phone call to make.”

There was no phone call to make. Instead, she clicked a surreptitious picture of the two of them and sent it to Torben. He’d get it when he was finished with his long distance phone call to Austria. And Gwen would return to the company of Tristan and Solange (“Tristange” as Torben called them at home) shortly, once she finished voyeuristically observing them from the sidelines.

[blueeyeddevil]

Solange de Grace

Solange found it a bit strange that Tristan hadn't mentioned that Gwendoline was going to be stopping by. When Gwendoline and Torben had stopped by last time he hadn't talked of hardly anything else the whole day, like a little kid all excited about going to a friend's birthday party. She also half wondered if Gwendoline's appearance had anything to do with the sudden spring fresh scent that filled the lobby area. Normally the funeral home did not smell like this...no funeral home should!

When asked about it, Gwendoline got a suddenly triumphant look on her face but Tristan interrupted. “No, it’s lobster. Gwen made lobster. See?” he said, motioning to the elaborate lunch laid out in front of them. Solange gave a skeptical look. She knew what lobster smelled like and it did not have a pine and fresh air scent.

But Gwen spoke up again. “Yes. I did. For you, too, Solange.” she insisted. sliding a plate in her direction. “Enjoy!”

Solange blinked in surprise for a moment. "Oh! That's really nice of you," she began, discreetly hiding the sandwich behind her back. "I wouldn't to intrude if you and Tristan were..."

“You kids have fun. I have a phone call to make.” Gwendoline insisted as she headed out, leaving her and Tristan by themselves.

Solange shook her head, still not quite sure what had just taken place. She went over and sat at an empty seat, placing her drink on the coffee table and still trying to hide the sandwich a bit. Gwendoline's lobster looked like a much better option and anyway, she could always have the sandwich for dinner later.

She pulled the plate into her lap and gave Tristan a look of "Well?" She felt dangerously close to a wife whose husband had failed to mention his mother was coming for dinner, which was an odd sentiment to have in regards to Tristan.

"Tristan?! Why didn't you tell me Gwendoline was going to invite me to lunch," she said exasperatedly. "I mean, you let me go out and grab a sandwich an everything!"

[The Exodus]

Tristan Vidal

The second Gwen grinned, Tristan knew it was game-over. There was a glimmer of something not-so-nice in her eyes. Somehow, things weren’t going to go his way. She would undoubtedly exact some sort of wicked revenge on him for something that he must have done wrong. What, he couldn’t say. He telepathically tried to tell Gwen “I don’t know what I did but I am very, very sorry”. Tristan couldn’t remember the last time he could come this close to reading a friend’s mind, but whatever Gwen was thinking was not good for him and he knew it.

“Yes. I did,” Gwen said about the lobster. And then, “For you, too, Solange.” She slid the other woman a plate. “Enjoy!”

"Oh! That's really nice of you," Solange said.

Tristan looked over at her and she had put her hands behind her back, as if she’d been caught doing something wrong. Maybe – just maybe – Solange had done something to cause the weird flicker of irritation in Gwen’s eyes and not Tristan.

He doubted it.

Which just meant that he was standing between what could be a potentially terrifying tennis match between his best friend and his… well… Between his best friend and Solange. Maybe he was the tennis ball in this case…

"I wouldn't to intrude if you and Tristan were..." Solange continued.

“You kids have fun. I have a phone call to make,” Gwen said in her absent minded way.

And then Tristan got it. He watched, dumbfounded as Gwen began to walk off. There were only two options here. Either Gwen was irritated beyond reason with Tristan or this was her way of helping him out a little. A strangled, sputtering sound passed over his vocal cords, but nothing of any use came out. He owed Gwen. He owed Gwen so much right now.

He went into the seating area where Solange already was, plate on her lap. She looked at him with such utter exasperation that Tristan didn’t know what to do. It had been a while since she looked at him like that. He’d just gotten used to her smiling at him and their occasional hugs. Now, they were back to glaring.

Maybe he didn’t owe Gwen anything, after all.

"Tristan?!” Solange hissed his name in an all-too-familiar way. “Why didn't you tell me Gwendoline was going to invite me to lunch? I mean, you let me go out and grab a sandwich and everything!"

“I didn’t know,” said Tristan. “I didn’t even know she was coming over until after you’d left. And I really didn’t know she’d be bringing lobster…!”

He poked at the shellfish with his fork. It looked decorative; would probably be to-die-for. But Tristan was suddenly not very hungry. Gwen was mad at him; Solange was mad at him. And lobster was supposed to be this big affair, for special occasions and impressing people.

“We could get candles and flowers out of the viewing room,” he said suddenly, laughter bubbling over his voice, a smile upturning his lips against his better judgment. “I mean, we’ve got a lobster dinner made by one of Paris’ best chefs. It feels weird to be eating this in the lobby of the funeral home.”