I Solemnly Swear I Am Up to No Good (Jeanette)

[The Exodus]

OOC: Madeleine and Jeanette! BIC:

Madeleine de Chandon

It was utterly surreal to be in the Opera Garnier. Largely because Madeleine probably shouldn’t have been in the Garnier. Before quitting her position as the ballet mistress to take a job at the Moulin Rouge, Madeleine had painstakingly made copies of all the keys to all the doors in the building. So being in the Garnier might have been considered trespassing. But in all fairness, Madeleine was at the Opera Garnier for totally selfless reasons. Aryeh was writing an article on tonight’s ballet performance and he’d forgotten to preorder his tickets. Madeleine was here to work some magic with the box office, cajoling her former coworkers to secure two seats next to one another.

Of course, Madeleine had been waylaid about thirty times since arriving. She kept running into former coworkers, who wanted to catch up. She’d been here at least an hour, talking to ballerinas she’d once supervised and learning about the state of the ballet program she’d once overseen.

It was a total bloody disaster.

The woman they’d hired was a Soviet Era ballerina with iron colored hair and a mole at the base of her neck that was truly grotesque. She apparently believed in strict rehearsal times and traditional costuming. She was also a temp. Madeleine wanted to find Bill MaCarthy and ask if no one else had applied for her old job or if Ortiz had shoved a stick up Bill’s *ss as a parting gift. This was not the direction of the Opera Garnier as Madeleine could recall.

She’d finally gotten away from the girls who wanted to gossip and chat and take turns b*tching to her. And it was just Madeleine’s luck; the box office was closed. She looked at her watch and at the sign. The office should have been open. Madeleine peered into the dark window.

“Hello…?” she called into the void. No one answered. Madeleine scowled. “Oh f*cking hell… Does anyone do their job around here anymore?”

[Marley]

For at least the third time that day, Jeannette's mouth dropped open. The opera house was so glorious, she could not quite believe it was a place for shows and plays, as she'd been told, instead of a church. With its high, painted ceilings, plush velvet seats, and enormous chandelier, it looked more like a beautiful cathedral. Neck aching from continually craning it up to see everything, Jeannette wandered the halls, ducking out of the way whenever anyone got too close. Surely she was too plain for a place like this.

So far, no one had ran her out. But perhaps that was because they couldn't find her. She had gotten a lot of strange looks when she asked what the big building was. And she hadn't gotten anyone to tell her what an opera or a play was. Everyone had simply stared at her, till she finally stopped asking. Perhaps the good father could tell her later, after she was done exploring. Jeannette nodded to herself. Yes, she'd go by his flat and ask him. Surely he wouldn't mind explaining it to her.

Rounding a corner, the girl bit back a startled yelp. The hallway wasn't empty, as she'd supposed. Instead, a woman stood almost right in front of her, peering inside a little glass window and muttering to herself. Jeannette frowned as she heard the stranger's words. Swearing was a sin. Not that anybody in Paris seemed to know that. Or care, if they did. Except the priest of course. Stepping closer, Jeannette cleared her throat. "You shouldn't talk like that. It isn't right." She tried not to stumble over her words. Her Voices were always telling her to be bold, after all. They'd certainly be proud of her for this. The thought made her smile a little, as she watched the woman and waited for her reaction.

[The Exodus]

Madeleine de Chandon

Madeleine rapped on the glass with a balled fist. When she got ahold of that stupid ticket taker…

"You shouldn't talk like that,” a young woman said. “It isn't right."

Madeleine turned and looked to see a young woman with plain, but pretty features staring at her. She was skinny. Very skinny. Probably a new ballerina or something. She didn’t quite have the musculature of a dancer, but… The girl was lucky Madeleine wasn’t ballet mistress here anymore; she would have snapped her in half for telling her how to talk. Madeleine’s eyes narrowed and a sneer sprung to her lips. The girl was plain-dressed and unmade. She looked like she was fresh out of conservatory.

“I’m sorry,” Madeleine said, widening her eyes to look more innocent. Sarcasm shone brightly through her words. She relished the swear word on her tongue this time. “I had no idea there was a right way to talk. Should I have formed my sentence as a declaration? “No one in this f*cking building does their f*cking job anymore.” There. How was that? Better for you, princess?”

[Marley]

Jeannette narrowed her eyes at the woman and drew herself up as tall as she could. "It isn't right to make fun of people, either." She may not know much, but she certainly knew when she was being mocked. The village children teased her often enough. And she'd heard the whispered words, muttered when those around her thought she couldn't hear, since she'd come to Paris. Though she didn't often understand their meanings, the tone was clear enough. People had always thought she was odd. Different.

Back home, the other children had teased her for how much time she spent in the church, on her knees in prayer. How could they not understand? She heard the voices of the Saints. Of course she had to be very good, or perhaps they would leave her. Though she knew she couldn't, she had to try to be worthy of them. Or at least, not make them sorry they had been sent to her. But of course the others didn't understand. Their minds were too small, too petty, too full of themselves, to really see, as she did.

Just like the people of Paris, with their oaths and sharp words for anyone who seemed different. Anyone who didn't quite fit. Didn't belong. Just like the woman who stood before her, trying to look innocent, with her wide eyes and harsh voice. Well, she wasn't fooled. Though she did wonder--just for a moment--why the woman should call her a princess, as she certainly wasn't royalty. Glaring, Jeannette shook her head. "No, it isn't better at all. What's the matter with you? Didn't your parents teach you anything?"

She could not imagine saying those words. Her father would have beaten her bloody, and probably would've washed her mouth out with the lye soap they used for the clothes, besides. He had slapped her once, hard enough to bruise, because she'd asked if a word she'd heard one of the boys using was a curse or no. And if Father John had heard her...She shuddered at the thought.

Jaques, one of the sons of a Councilman, and the boy she'd heard the word from, had a nasty habit of swearing--though Jeannette could never figure out where he heard the words, only that he was forever being punished for saying them. One day, Father John made the boy go about all day with his mouth taped shut because he refused to stop cursing. That had cured him of his habit quick enough. Perhaps the same ought to be done with this woman. Jeannette continued to scowl. It would certainly make her think about the words that came out of her mouth.

[The Exodus]

Madeleine de Chandon

Madeleine chuckled at the girl’s plucky attempt to pull herself to full height. Madeleine didn’t exactly tower over her, but she didn’t exactly care about that, either. She wasn’t intimidated by some goody-two-shoes nobody. She wasn’t intimidated by much at all.

“It isn't right to make fun of people, either," the girl said. For the first time, Madeleine noticed the provinciality of the girl’s accent. She was French, but not Parisian. Princess Pollyanna was definitely new to Paris. And to the opera house. "No, it isn't better at all. What's the matter with you? Didn't your parents teach you anything?"

“My mother taught me that word,” Madeleine said coolly, leveling her gaze at the girl. She neglected to mention that she didn’t have a father, since a prim puritan like Princess Pollyanna would probably die of shock if she thought what Madeleine had already said was indecent. And, really, Madeleine just wanted to pick up a pair of ballet tickets, not commit accidental manslaughter in the foyer. “Didn’t your folks teach you to mind your own business?”

[Marley]

Jeannette matched the woman's frown with her own. "Your mother is very wicked, then, to teach you such vile words." How dreadful. No wonder the woman didn't know any better. Her own mother had been a horrible example. Pity stabbed at Jeannette. How could someone do that to their own child? That had certainly not been the case with Jacques. His father was just as mortified as the rest of them when his son swore. No one really knew where he heard the words, but he had accompanied the men on their infrequent trips to town, and Jeannette had always wondered if he hadn't learned the words there. After a few days in Paris, she had her answer. nearly everything she heard was one obscene thing or the other. For not the last time, she was thankful that no one from home knew where she was. Especially her family. They would die from the shame of it.

A snort escaped her as the woman spoke again. "My parents taught me to be good. To stand up for what's right." Peering past the woman, she stared into the little window, squinting, but couldn't make out anything through the darkness. Momentary curiosity replaced some of her earlier hostility. Did someone, or something, live back there? "What's in there?" Jeannette asked, pointing to the square of glass.

[The Exodus]

Madeleine de Chandon

As little goody-two-shoes launched into a spiel about how her parents had taught her to be good, Madeleine rolled her eyes. All she could think was: Bla-bla-blah. Her mother hadn’t exactly been a prize parent, but at least Blanche had taught her a few useful things. How to dance, how to hold her liquor, how to make the most of her assets. Usually by leading by example. Little Miss Prude’s pin-straight hair would curl if she knew the half of it. A lazy smirk pulled at Madeleine’s lips. This was a flashback to the years she was taught in a Catholic school, really, where the other girls were oh-so-scandalized by Madeleine’s behavior and the nuns were more than happy to smack her across the knuckles.

Thank God she’d converted.

Little Miss Prude suddenly seemed a little less hostile. She pointed to the box office.

"What's in there?"

“You’re joking,” Madeleine said flatly. “Look up.”

She indicated the sign that said “tickets” before she pulled out her key ring and began ticking through them, trying to find the one that would unlock the box office. When she found it, she went to the door to open it. She looked back over at Little Miss Prude. She was probably the whistle-blowing type. Madeleine had to think fast.

“I just need to inspect the box office,” she lied. “So, if you don’t mind…? I need to get cracking.”

[Marley]

Jeannette followed the woman's finger and stared up at the sign. She frowned, squinting a the letters, as if somehow that would help. But of course it didn't. They might as well have been written in Latin for all the sense they made. Gritting her teeth, she simply frowned at the other woman's sarcastic comment. Of course she wasn't joking. She wouldn't have asked, otherwise. But she kept the thought to herself. Someone who had as few morals as this woman did wouldn't think anything of going to the gendarmerie about matters which didn't concern her. And the authorities absolutely could not get involved.

Before Jeannette could come up with a proper retort, the woman spoke again. Swallowing a smug smile, Jeannette simply nodded at her words. So, the little room was a box office, was it? That wasn't much better than the sign. Why should boxes have their own office? "You're an inspector, then?" Jeannette asked. That was odd. The woman certainly didn't look like the other police she'd seen prowling about the city. Of course, she tried to stay out of their way, so perhaps that was why she didn't recognize the woman. The rest of what she said made absolutely no sense. One could only crack nuts--or belts or whips--and the woman had none of those things. Jeannette swallowed a sigh. It was probably another strange expression, like most of the odd things she'd heard come out of people's mouths since coming here. At least it wasn't an oath. Probably. "What are you inspecting it for? Has it done something wrong?" She giggled at her own joke.

[The Exodus]

Madeleine de Chandon

Madeleine flicked the light to the box office on and looked around. The file cabinet gleamed in the fluorescents. She hated the newer lighting fixtures in this place. They buzzed and ruined the otherwise otherworldly feel of the Garnier. Then, Madeleine made her way to the computer and sat down in the desk chair. She booted up the machine.

And then she realized that Little Miss Priss was still hanging around.

"What are you inspecting it for?” the girl asked. “Has it done something wrong?"

“Don’t you have rehearsals or something?” Madeleine asked, swiveling to face her. “I know the stage manager hates truants. He’ll probably flay you alive if he finds out you aren’t where you’re supposed to be.”

A total lie. Bill MaCarthy was strict, but sweet. His predecessor hadn’t been; Madeleine had often seen Ortiz fire late-comers without bothering to hear reasons or excuses. Bill had a heart and would probably go easy on this girl. Especially if it was her first time. Madeleine would have to tell him –

And then she remembered with a pang of longing that she no longer worked here.

The log-in screen came up and Madeleine typed in the general password for employee access. Success.

[Marley]

Frowning, Jeannette followed the woman into the office. If she really was an inspector, it would be good to know what she was inspecting, after all. She winced, blinking, as the woman made the strange lights come on. Tipping her head back, Jeannette stared at them, frowning. How on earth did they work? Why didn't they simply fall down? She winced and looked away. Why were they so bright? Perhaps she could ask Father Maurice about it sometime. If she could come up with a plausible reason for the question that didn't involve lying about why she wanted to know, that is. The woman sat down before a large black box and pressed a button. With a quiet hum, the box began to glow. Jeannette gasped and crossed herself. Was this more sorcery? Before she could ask, the stranger spoke again.

"Don’t you have rehearsals or something? I know the stage manager hates truants. He’ll probably flay you alive if he finds out you aren’t where you’re supposed to be.”

Jeannette turned to stare at the other woman, her mouth slightly open in shock, though she couldn't begin to imagine what rehearsals were, or why she should go to one. The stranger's threat drove out any curiosity Jeannette might have had about the strange new word. She had heard of people being flayed alive, of course--many of the saints and early martyrs had nearly met their end that way--but surely no one did that anymore! Then again...Jeannette's teeth closed over her lip, as she swallowed a rising whimper. Her father had often threatened to flay the skin from her back when she'd done something that displeased him--or hadn't done something she'd ben bid to--and very nearly had, several times. Maybe that was what the woman had meant. That the stage manager, whatever that was, would come after her for poking about in the building. Perhaps rehearsals were something all the visitors were supposed to go to. "I...I'm not supposed to be anywhere," Jeannette blurted out. "I was only looking about. It's so pretty, is all." Her voice took on a slight edge. "I wasn't doing any harm."

[The Exodus]

Madeleine de Chandon

Fear instantly overtook Miss Priss’ face. So, MaCarthy had toughened up, after all. What a fascinating turn of events. Madeleine grinned a little sadistically and leaned forward. She wondered just what attendance policy looked like these days.

"I...I'm not supposed to be anywhere," the girl blurted. Madeleine leaned back, surprised at the sharp and watery sound of the girl’s voice. "I was only looking about. It's so pretty, is all. I wasn't doing any harm."

“Look,” Madeleine said, turning back to the computer screen and scrolling through the programs list to find the one used for ticket sales. “I won’t tell if you don’t. I’ve never been one to condemn a girl for having a little fun. Just don’t expect me to vouch for you if you do get caught playing hooky.”

She clicked on the program titled “TicketTaker” and it pulled up a complicated spreadsheet type of screen.

“Oy vey,” she muttered. This was much more complicated than booking your tickets on time. Aryeh had better appreciate all the hard work she was about to do for him. Madeleine shook her head. Then, turning to face the stranger she asked, “Hey, kid. You know anything about computers?”

[Marley]

Jeannette sighed in relief, slumping against the wall. Perhaps the woman, for all of her swearing, wasn't such a dreadful person after all. She wrinkled her nose slightly as the stranger continued to speak. What on earth was hooky and how did one play it? Perhaps it was some sort of game that was only found in Paris. Or some sort of unusual musical instrument. She would have to ask someone, though not this woman. She probably wouldn't welcome questions. Maybe Father Maurice would tell her. If he didn't get tired of her endless questions before then.

As the box began to glow again, odd pictures, full of words, flashed across the screen. Half holding her breath, Jeannette crept forward, ready to jump back should the box do anything dangerous. She reached out to poke the glass covering the front, when the woman spoke. Jerking her hand back, Jeannette shook her head. "no," she said. "What is a computer? And how are you doing that?" She narrowed her eyes. "You aren't a witch, are you?" For once, concern for herself overrode her worry about the others. If the woman was a witch, surely Jeannette didn't need to be in the same room with her. Suppose the woman tried to cast some sort of spell on her, or turn her into something horrible? Jeannette crossed herself, and took a few steps away from the glowing box. Better to be safe than sorry, after all.

[The Exodus]

Madeleine de Chandon

The girl’s finger collided with the computer screen. She didn’t even have to say “no” to tell Madeleine she had no clue how to do anything with computers. Madeleine stared at her. Weren’t teenagers all about Tweeting and Facebooking these days? What was she? A luddite?

"What is a computer? And how are you doing that?" the girl asked. "You aren't a witch, are you?"

“Yeah, you caught me. I’m a witch. Don’t worry, Dorothy,” she said to the girl. “I’m a good witch.”

She looked back at the computer screen and kept looking through TicketTaker. She wanted a pair of seats together for her and Aryeh. She didn’t want to say it, but sometimes, she worried that he wouldn’t be able to find her in the crowd of people otherwise. She didn’t want to say as much, since he’d see it as a shot to his pride. Madeleine puckered her lips. If she really had magical powers, she’d use them for good. Selfish good, but good nonetheless. She’d restore Aryeh’s memory, his health, and maybe keep herself looking young and beautiful forever and ever. She would definitely use any magical powers to find seats for her and Aryeh tonight. She might track down an ex or two and turn them into tadpoles, but otherwise? Madeleine would surely have been too harmless a witch to be considered wicked.

Well…

She might have a little wicked fun. But all in good spirit. It wasn’t like she’d be a psychotic murderer witch. Was that even a thing? What a weird thing for the girl to say. Usually, when someone wanted to name-call, they flat out called Madeleine a witch, or, more often, a b*tch. What an odd person.