Paris Descartes University

[The Exodus]

Lucian Michaud

Reese giggled. Her choppy, dark hair fluttered about her ears as she shook her head and for a moment, Lucian could see her how Damien had when drawing the flip cartoon—lively, movement-oriented. He understood little about the inner workings of an artist, but he was smart enough to guess Damien’s line of thought where Reese was concerned.

"That sounds like Damien, definitely. It might not be a good idea to tell him we met today or else he might have a heart attack," said Reese.

Lucian laughed. Yes, that sounded like his son, too. Perhaps not a heart attack, but Damien was given to panic attacks. Mild neuroses of an overgrown, only child. Not “only” any more. Lucian and Reese both turned their attention back to the painting of Gregory. Since Gregory’s birth, Damien had mellowed out. It was now Lucian’s turn to worry at the drop of a hat. Although he supposed a bit of the old Damien would flare up, should he find out that Lucian and Reese were having a nice chat at his art gallery without him.

"So this is your son, too...give or take a few years?" she asked with another teasing smile. "I saw him with Ashton a couple months ago! He was the sweetest thing! It’s been a while though! He must be getting so big now."

So Reese knew Ashton, too. And Gregory, of course. Lucian wondered if she also knew Natalie and if Damien was singly ashamed of him. He brushed the thought away with a smile. They were talking about Gregory; introspection could wait.

“Oh, he most certainly is,” Lucian said. He pulled out his wallet. “Let me see if I have a picture.”

In an age dominated by cellphones and iPods and pocket-sized devices, Lucian still vastly preferred paper photographs. Tangible things that wouldn’t get erased at every “upgrade”. Never mind he barely knew what to do with his iPhone except to make calls, check emails, and send text messages with minimal “text-speak”. He’d only successfully used his camera phone a small handful of times. The rest of the photo “gallery” was filled with motion blur.

Lucian pulled out a photograph of Gregory he’d taken the old-fashioned way and had developed the new-fashioned way via ink-jet printer. Or maybe it was laser-jet. He wasn’t quite sure. Lucian’s smile deepened and he held the photograph up next to Damien’s painting.

In the picture Lucian had taken was in the living room. Gregory was crawling—or, perhaps more accurately, rolling in an attempt to crawl—around on the ground. He’d been struggling with his own weight and seemed to be surprised at how much effort it took to move himself when Mummy and Daddy carted him around so easily. In a perfect moment of determined frustration, Gregory looked at Lucian, who snapped the picture quickly. Gregory’s bow-lips were just parted; his blue eyes perfect circles. Tufts of tousled, blonde hair stuck up in various directions.

“Ah, yes. That’s better. Now I see the likeness.”

[blueeyeddevil]

Reese Cordova

Reese had grown up with only her mother, as her father had passed away when she was hardly 6 months old. The closest thing she had to a father figure was her older brother James, who was already in 10th year at school when she was born and went off to college when she was still very young. It had been hard on her being the only little girl whose Daddy wasn't at the dance recitals but had never really known any other way. Still, she had always found she loved meeting fathers, especially really good ones. She already had a great deal of respect for Mr. Michaud for how supportive he had been when Damien had come out to him. And the pride in his eyes as she mentioned how fast Gregory must be growing was incredibly heartwarming.

“Oh, he most certainly is,” he said as he pulled out his wallet. “Let me see if I have a picture."

She found herself a bit surprised that he had an actual picture when most people simply recorded and photographed their babies using their phones now a days. Still, she eagerly looked at the picture of the little boy who was gazing up at the camera with parted lips a mane of wild blond wisps of hair. It looked like the kind of picture any decent parent would have of their child trying to make their first independent movements and Reese absolutely melted at the sight of it.

“Ah, yes. That’s better. Now I see the likeness.” he said, smiling as he held up the photo next to the painting Damien had done.

Reese cooed, looking at the picture again. "He is so precious! Look at that sweet face," she murmured. "Damien did so good with that portrait! I wouldn't be surprised if Gregory looks just like that when he gets to be 4." She smiled fondly as she glanced between the picture and Damien's father. "Looks like Gregory got Ashton's hair but he got your eyes, just like Damien! And I'll bet he's got the Michaud charm to match, am I right," she teased with a grin and a wink at the older man.

[The Exodus]

Lucian Michaud

Already, Lucian was something of a relic within his social set. Everyone else had upgraded to digital photographs and powerpoint scrapbooks. He wondered if Reese could remember a time when parents—perhaps even her own—carted around paper photographs of their children. Reese cooed at the photograph appropriately and Lucian felt a part of his heart swell up with pride. He wondered what she would do if he pulled out one of the half dozen childhood pictures of Damien he carted around.

"He is so precious!” Reese said about Gregory. “Look at that sweet face. Damien did so good with that portrait! I wouldn't be surprised if Gregory looks just like that when he gets to be 4."

Lucian tossed a glance towards the portrait and looked back at the photograph. There was a certain likeness about them. A smile curved Lucian’s mouth. His sons. He half expected Damien to try to convince 4 year old Gregory that he was a time traveler when he got older.

"Looks like Gregory got Ashton's hair but he got your eyes, just like Damien! And I'll bet he's got the Michaud charm to match, am I right?”

Reese winked at Lucian, who found himself rather taken aback. He chuckled and shook his head.

“You flatter me,” he said. Then, not quite as an afterthought, “And my sons. But thank you. Do you have children, Miss Cordova?”

[The Exodus]

OOC: Natalie/Alexis! BIC:


Natalie Blackwood

Natalie walked down the halls of the university in a state of shock. It didn’t seem like twenty-five years since she’d been a student at Oxford and yet today, her only son started his doctoral program and work as a professor’s assistant. The students—his students—all seemed so young. Natalie had sat at the back of the classroom during Damien’s Art History class and she had watched them all come in and pick their seats. A group of girls in slouchy sweaters and high top sneakers sat in the front row, staring at Damien as though he were some sort of movie star. In typical Damien fashion, he remained oblivious to them—and the furtive glances cast at him by a shy looking boy in thick-framed glasses. Natalie had wanted to sneak out of the class then, instead of being forced into the role of voyeur as Damien prattled on about Impressionism (his pet subject) and was deemed “hottest professor on campus” by four of his students. He wasn’t much older than any of them, her baby boy, and yet there he was teaching their college class. It just didn’t seem right.

At Damien’s age, Natalie had been a young mother and wife, doing her best to keep her household spinning while her (ex) husband worked at the local government office, answering telephone calls reporting crop circles outside the city limits. She’d sworn then that things would get better in time. They hadn’t, even though Damien excelled in school and Lucian was elected to Parliament and Natalie attended a dozen charity balls a year. She couldn’t imagine Damien ever living a life like hers now that she’d seen him dressed in a blazer, writing on a chalkboard and assigning reading for the week. She couldn’t imagine Damien’s future at all. He had a boyfriend, whom she didn’t like and an apartment that she did; a job she didn’t understand and more pipe dreams than she could count. And he was twenty-five years old. The world was all his for the taking. And she couldn’t be prouder.

She couldn’t be sadder, either, and that bothered her. Once upon a time she had been him, ready to take on the world. She’d wanted to fall in love, excel professionally, be famous, make the dean’s list, and go to every party thrown by her nearest and dearest five hundred. And for a few years, she thought she’d accomplished all that. But now, looking back at her life, the only accomplishment Natalie could call her own was raising Damien. She’d never gotten that degree. Her fifteen minutes were up. And Natalie wasn’t sure she had ever been really in love. She was forty-five years old and her life still centered on her only son.

Natalie entered the cafeteria. At Oxford, all the girls had worn their best dresses for dinner and boys had worn their suits. But at the Sorbonne, there were plenty of students still dressed like the kids in Damien’s class: ill-fitting sweaters barely covered the girl’s backsides and brightly colored tights peeked out from underneath, while the boys all wore jeans. Like every cafeteria—Oxford’s included—it smelled like fried deli meat and soap. Natalie’s lip curled. She approached one of the lunch lines and bought a pre-packaged salad. She would eat and then afterwards, Damien had promised to give her a grand tour of his new school.

She sat alone at a small table in the center of the room. Her shoulders ached simply from feeling watched. All the tables near windows or electrical outlets were taken by students with laptops and lattes. Natalie wondered if her own alma mater was reduced to this in the digital age. Not even a single student had what she would recognize as a book. She cracked open the plastic container and picked out the pale bits of ham dotting her salad. Lucian was forever insisting she return to university to finish her degree. Now she understood why: he thought she hadn’t gone through enough from the divorce and wanted her to suffer. She pushed the salad aside. Maybe she’d just eat when she got home.

[Lets_Eat_Paste]

Alexis Beauchamps

Alexis rarely got excited. It wasn’t that he didn’t find enjoyment in life’s little moments, nor was he a particularly melancholy person, but between parenting, Carine, and work, he often forgot to portray the smile he felt inside him. But today, he was simply elated. Completely, unrestrainedly delighted. He was taking a select few students to Brittany to study aquatic conditions just off shore, and the university was paying for it. Blaise, of course, would be coming with them. It had been four years since Blaise had been to their ocean-view house and Alexis doubted he remembered it. He was certain Blaise would love it—splashing in the waves and making sandcastles while Alexis slathered him in a surplus of sunscreen. Maybe he was getting ahead of himself. Blaise rarely wanted to go outside to get the mail, much less for a whole weekend. Maybe Alexis would have to re-evaluate his options.

But that didn’t deter his excitement, and as he paid for his pitiful cafeteria tray of jellied meat, he couldn’t wipe the smile from his face. Scanning, the cafeteria for a place to sit, his eyes fell on Madame Boischasse, the professor of Aquatic Ecology. She sat in the middle of the room, uneaten salad pushed away from her, her signature blonde hair was out of her undeniable bun today and fell to her shoulders. He approached her from behind.

“Good afternoon, Manon. Guess who’s going to Brittany next weekend?” But when the woman turned around, Alexis’s face fell. This was not Manon Boischasse, and he felt like a momentary fool.

“My apologies. I thought you were someone else.” He cleared his throat, smiling politely. “No matter. Would it be alright if I sat here, anyway?”

[The Exodus]

Natalie Blackwood

It was incredibly noisy in the cafeteria as students banged trays together and talked without regard to those studying, resting, or otherwise in search of a quiet place. She pressed a long-fingered hand to her forehead to stave off a headache. She would never survive a return to college life. After all, if the music is too loud…

A shadow draped over her suddenly, blocking the warm crossbeams of sunlight from the large windows that lined the west and south walls.

“Good afternoon, Manon,” a man said. “Guess who’s going to Brittany next weekend?”

Natalie turned to face the stranger, intent to correct his mistake. However, when she met his gaze she couldn’t help but smile. He had spiky brown hair and light blue eyes set on either side of a straight nose. And he didn’t look like a student. Unfortunately, as Natalie smiled, the stranger’s face fell. Of course it did. She wasn’t “Manon” (which was an atrocious name for a woman, narrowly outstripping “Ashton” for manliest female name she’d yet heard on a real woman). But since she wasn’t “Manon”, Natalie was certainly not who this man was looking for.

“My apologies,” said the man. “I thought you were someone else.” He cleared his throat, smiling politely. “No matter. Would it be alright if I sat here, anyway?”

Natalie shrugged. “Be my guest. You aren’t the first person today to mistake me for a professor.”

She didn’t flatter herself into thinking “Manon” was a student; and it was true, one of the first boys to walk into Damien’s classroom today has called her “Professor Michaud”, which made her hackles stand on end. Had Damien not jumped in with an absent minded “Over here!” from underneath the podium he was setting up, there was no telling what Natalie would have said to the kid. It was a different kettle of fish to be called “Manon”, though, since it didn’t involve her ex-husband’s last name.

“I’m Natalie,” she said, extending a hand for a handshake. “And you are?”

[Lets_Eat_Paste]

OoC: I know, it reads like an essay. But I took my ACTs today and there were several sections about marine biology and Alexis started kicking at my brain, reminding me I owed you! BiC:


Alexis Beachamps

It was perfectly acceptable if the woman said ‘no’ to his question. He did, after all, have an office he could eat in. He had papers that needed grading and he rather enjoyed the quiet privacy of the small space his office provided. But when the woman shrugged, her small shoulders rising and falling with nonchalance, Alexis smiled. He had to admit, even he appreciated new company. She was a breath of fresh air to the stale conversations with students who fell just short of mature.

“Be my guest. You aren’t the first person today to mistake me for a professor.”

Taking a seat across from her, Alexis smiled softly. He couldn’t really blame the students. She was about professor-aged and seemed to have a learned and intelligent aura about her that would lead anyone to believe she lived in the world of academia.

“I’m Natalie,” the woman said, extending a hand, which Alexis took graciously. It was slender and cold, her fingers daintily sliding in and out of locks with his as they introduced themselves. “And you are?”

“Alexis,” he introduced himself, releasing her pale hand. He laughed, but corrected himself. “Sorry, it’s just nice to introduce myself as something other than Professor Beauchamps. So if you’re not here for work, what brings you here?” His eyes fell on the discarded salad in front of Natalie. He assumed she wasn’t here just for lunch; this was hardly a five star restaurant. “Obviously it’s our gourmet food, right?” he joked.

Come to think of it, Alexis didn’t even want his own. It smelled rank and resembled ocean floor sediment. He poked at it a bit with his fork absently, focusing instead on Natalie. Now that he really looked, there was no trace of Manon left in her, and Alexis couldn’t imagine ever mistaking the two. Manon had small brown eyes, and Natalie had some kind of electric blue color in hers. Manon had a perpetual stern look on her face from behind her red horn-brimmed glasses and Natalie had none. Manon was French, Natalie was British. Really, he could see no resemblance, but he could see himself enjoying this vein of lunch more than his other, less appealing options.

[The Exodus]

Natalie Blackwood

It surprised Natalie when the man took the seat opposite her. Now that some of the students filtered out of the cafeteria, there were plenty of other seats. She had the sudden urge to check her make-up in her compact and preen just a little. Instead, Natalie staved off the urge with a handshake and an introduction. The man accepted and introduced himself as Alexis. Where “Manon” was a manly name for a woman, “Alexis” was a soft name for a man. It surprised Natalie that she liked it all right. The “x”, she supposed, balanced out the “s”. She supposed. After all, Natalie wasn’t a linguist.

And then Alexis laughed aloud. Natalie shot him a puzzled look.

“Sorry,” said Alexis. “It’s just nice to introduce myself as something other than Professor Beauchamps. So if you’re not here for work, what brings you here?” His eyes fell on the discarded salad in front of Natalie. “Obviously it’s our gourmet food, right?”

“But of course,” Natalie joked. “Haven’t you heard? Descartes University is on the forefront of the gastronomic scene.”

It occurred to her that Alexis was younger than her. Not so young as to be half her age, but young and good-looking enough for Natalie to feel self-conscious about having a son who was a professor and doctoral candidate here.

“I came to sit in on one of the art classes,” she told him truthfully. Then, pausing—worried that this might be one of Damien’s mentors—she asked, “What is it you teach, Alexis?”

[Lets_Eat_Paste]

Alexis Beauchamps

When Alexis woke up this morning, he wasn’t expecting to meet someone new at the school cafeteria. What Alexis had expected was to leave the house without spilling cereal all over his front before leaving. But as life had proved to him with the mess of dried milk on his suit front, what you expected wasn’t always what you got. As Shakespeare had once writ, ‘expectation is the root of all heartache’. Come to think of it, Alexis wouldn’t have thought of that line if it hadn’t been Blaise’s repeated phrase of the week. Funny how things worked out.

“But of course,” Natalie joked. “Haven’t you heard? Descartes University is on the forefront of the gastronomic scene.”

Alexis laughed. Her intelligent sarcasm was a much-needed break from his first-year students’ ideas of wit. He knew few people, even at the university, who used the words ‘forefront’ and ‘gastronomic’ in a joke. He pushed his tray away from him until it bumped into Natalie’s own discarded food. Yes, the school was indeed the forefront of the gastronomic scene—if that ‘scene’ was indigestion.

“I came to sit in on one of the art classes,” Natalie said, and Alexis was glad to be passed the topic of the offensive school meals. Art classes were interesting. For a moment, Alexis considered telling Natalie that his son would have loved to sit in on one, too, but past experience told him that attractive women never wanted to hear about children. So instead, he wondered how she had liked it, what she had learned, and what made her want to observe an art class.

But before he could ask any of those questions, she spoke again. “What is it you teach, Alexis?”

After a moment of fluster, Alexis spoke proudly of his work. “I teach ‘Intro to Marine Ecology’ and ‘Cetacean Anatomy’.” he said explained. “So why art classes?”