Les Champs Elysees

[Lets_Eat_Paste]

Is there any street in all Europe as mythic as the Champs Elysees? Its tree-lined sidewalks are busy and bustling by day, but by night they light the whole city. There are dozens, if not hundreds, of shops, cafes, and landmarks to be visited. Take a stroll. You never know what you'll find!

[Lets_Eat_Paste]

OoC: Ashton and Lucian!!! <3 BiC:

Ashton Greene

The soft pastels of cottony linens welcomed the couple happily as Ashton watched in fascination, wondering where to start. She felt her hand grow warm in Lucian's as she smiled, her pulse quickening as they walked slowly, taking in every sight and feel of the store aisle. Her fingers traced along the soft blankets that they would maybe one day wrap their baby in. Ashton rested her hand on her abdomen, round and smooth and still. It protected a heartbeat, a brain; a whole living person. A living person who didn't talk, didn't move, but was always there; a living person who was half her, half Lucian, but looked like something out of a science fiction silent film on the snow-stormy sonogram screen; a person who was created out of an act of love on a terrace. And Ashton hoped, as she ran through a list of boy names in her mind's eye, that he, their baby, knew he was loved.

"What about Edmund?" Ashton asked, turning to face Lucian, offering up a name suggestion. "It means 'to protect' or something in, like, Polish." Throughout the week, she and Lucian had been throwing names back and forth, rolling the ones they liked around in examination and tossing the ones they didn't like in the dustbin.

"We could call him Eddie, or--" But Ashton didn't finish her thought. A feeling, hard to explain, started inside her. Like a goldfish swimming around in a glass bowl, there was a tickling twitch, a flutter. "Oh!" she exclaimed, startled, gripping Lucian's hand in surprise. Years of dance told her that was no muscle spasm; years of living told her that was no hunger pain.

A smile spread slowly onto her face again. "Lucian," she said, her words drawn out. "Guess what?"

[The Exodus]

Lucian Michaud

Lucian wouldn’t admit it, but shopping for baby things was a guilty pleasure of sorts; one he’d only indulged in twenty-four years ago. He’d forgotten how exciting it could be, running your hands on fuzzy pastel blankets and loading up the shopping cart with dizzyingly colorful toys. He’d forgotten the surge of god-like power, knowing that there was a little person on his way into the world because of you and that you were about to become his whole world, just as much as he was yours. Infancy was the one time a father could guiltlessly spoil his child. Babies had no notion of haves and have-nots. Babies didn’t develop complexes if they had one mobile or five. They didn’t know the difference between a mummy and daddy who had been married for ten years or a mummy and daddy who were still just dating. They didn’t care if you had a past, riddled with divorce, failed engagements, or jarring job changes. A baby didn’t care if his parents were twenty, fifty, or somewhere in between. Because all babies understood was whether they were born into a family that could provide for them or if they weren’t. And it wasn’t that sophisticated of an understanding, anyhow. Lucian and Ashton could buy their son the world, or give it to him through time and affection and either way their son would just be in awe of everything around him because the whole wide world was new. Doing the prep-work—the nursery set up, the toy-buying, the clothing selection—was as much for the baby as it was for Lucian and Ashton, though. It made up for the botched plans of single-parenting, for the fact that Lucian wasn’t going to be like the other dads at the PTA, for the accidental nature of their child’s conception.

Lucian was determined to prove to his son—and his girlfriend and himself, for that matter—that this would work. That their family was his top priority. That he could do this whole parenting-after-forty thing.

There was actually a lot more at stake than whether the new cradle matched the nursery’s paint job.

Lucian knew that, somehow, he’d failed Damien. He hadn’t been emotionally or physically or mentally there enough. Or something. Because otherwise, coming out would not have been a big production for his eldest. Lucian was determined not to make the same mistake twice. His and Ashton’s son would know how much he was loved from day one. He would be born into a world of plenty, with a mummy and daddy who didn’t have escalating shouting matches or cold, silent treatments. He would grow up in a house where mummy worked on a flexible schedule and daddy worked from home six days a week. There wouldn’t be financial struggles or rollercoaster romance or blind selfishness in the Greene-Michaud household. Lucian was doing all he could think of to make a better start with his second child. It was as ideal as he could have hoped for. But Lucian wasn’t going to say as much. Not with Damien and Ashton both watching him, waiting for him to proclaim all this some sort of “do-over”. He loved his eldest and he loved his girlfriend, but there were some things that Lucian couldn’t tell them—or anyone. He seldom even told himself that the words “do-over” were in his vocabulary.

Today, milling through the boutiques along the Champs Elysees, Lucian and Ashton were stocking up on things like blankets and toys. They studied hand-carved furniture in all stains of wood, with the piggish and excited eyes of wealthy parents-to-be. All the while, hand-in-hand, they talked about naming possibilities. It was a moment that could have probably caused tooth-decay in its sweetness. Even Lucian had to admit that. When he got old and looked back on today, his gums would probably ache from all the smiling.

Even still, they hadn’t landed on the name. Much the same as they hadn’t picked the crib or the pram that they would hold responsible for their little one’s well-being. Some things couldn’t be left to chance, after all. You needed to pick the right one. Something pretty, but (for God’s sake) not trendy. And above all else, it had to be functional, the right fit.

"What about Edmund?" Ashton asked, turning to face Lucian, offering up a name suggestion. "It means 'to protect' or something in, like, Polish."

“Polish?” Lucian asked. “Ashton—“

Before Lucian could launch into a speech titled: But We Aren’t Polish, Ashton started her counterarguments.

"We could call him Eddie,” she insisted. “Or…Oh!"

Curious, Lucian stopped walking, pulling Ashton to a halt of her own, and stared at his girlfriend. Concern wriggled between his brows and drew his thin lips into a little bow. Ashton’s grip tightened, surprisingly firm for such dainty piano-hands. And then, slowly, surprise gave way to a broad grin.

"Lucian," she said, her words drawn out. "Guess what?"

“Don’t tell me you’ve decided on Eddie,” he teased. “Anything but that.”

[Lets_Eat_Paste]

Ashton Greene

“Don’t tell me you’ve decided on Eddie,” he teased. “Anything but that.”

Any other day, Ashton would have playfully smacked at his arm and laughed good naturedly. Any other day, the name suggesting would become a game, a battle of the the wits. But right now, in this moment, Ashton was feeling the small, delicate drumming from the inside of her abdomen, the shifting and fluttering of her and Lucian's son, reminding her that she was, indeed, carrying precious cargo. And she could only imagine how much damage a few simple pirouettes could do, and she was, for the first time since being told to stop dancing, glad that she had listened to the doctor.

"No..." Ashton let out, slowly moving Lucian's hand to rest on the small, round protrusion of her stomach. It wasn't the first time Lucian had tenderly, protectively rested his hands there, but it was the first time Ashton had placed them there in public, the first time she felt her son move around. She couldn't be selfish. She had to share this with Lucian. She wanted to watch his face as the little person inside her moved around beneath his hand. "Do you feel that?" and the gentle thumping began again, sliding around as if he was repositioning himself in his sleep. Ashton beamed up at Lucian, trying to make herself glow like the books said she was expected to. She wondered if Lucian could even feel it and if it felt the same on his hand as it did on her insides. "Maybe it's a little lower?" Ashton suggested, positioning his hand inches lower to were the thrumming was stronger. "Do you feel that now?"

[The Exodus]

Lucian Michaud

Lucian waited for the grin and banter routine he and Ashton had down. He expected her to suggest they name the baby “Edmund Eddie” just because, laughing the whole time. He expected, at the very least, a quivering smile as she tried to keep a straight face. Instead, Ashton took Lucian’s hand in hers and began to move it.

"No..." she said, placing it delicately against her stomach.

Lucian’s eyebrows lifted, at first surprised at the intimate gesture she initiated. Ashton didn’t draw attention to her pregnant stomach often; it was usually Lucian who wrapped his arms around her protectively; she never suggested he do it. But before he could ask why, Ashton asked, “Do you feel that?”

Lucian shook his head and Ashton slid his hand lower.

"Maybe it's a little lower?" Ashton suggested, positioning his hand inches lower to were the thrumming was stronger. "Do you feel that now?"

Before Lucian could say “no”, he felt the slow fluttering of life beneath Ashton’s clothes and skin. It wasn’t much; it might have been a muscle spasm and not a kick, after all, but Lucian could imagine their still-unnamed son nudging Ashton’s insides with a curled fist. He let out slow, shallow breath, as if noise or movement might disrupt the moment. A smile came to his lips and, gently, he nuzzled his head against Ashton’s.

“I do,” he murmured. The not-quite-rhythmic sensation continued, a little stronger this time. “I think he knows we can.”

[Lets_Eat_Paste]

Ashton Greene

Ashton had read in one of her many pregnancy books that every time a baby moved inside the womb, he or she was creating it's finger print. Each tap, each wriggle from within Ashton was the process of creating a part of his identity. It was an incredible thought, really.

“I do,” Lucian said, and Ashton looked up at him, watching that wide-eyes look of utter happiness overtake Lucian's features. “I think he knows we can.” Ashton reached up and put her hand on the side of his face delicately. "Maybe you should talk to him so he can hear his daddy's voice...?" Ashton suggested. Lucian was her son's daddy. He was his father. It was a remarkable concept to Ashton. This was their family. Though it wasn't picture perfect, it was a surreal sort of bliss. If it weren't for the gentle and very real drumming on her insides, Ashton would have sworn this was a dream.

Their son was awake, that was for sure. She couldn't imagine a slumbering infant moving that much in such a tight space in their sleep. And if he was awake, he could hear. He deserved to know what Lucian's voice sounded like, he deserved to be soothed by it when he was born; and Lucian deserved to have that instantaneous connection with his son, to be recognised immediately just by the sounds that came out of his mouth.

But what if Lucian didn't want to? What if he found it weird or irrational? What if it was too much, too quickly? Ashton lowered her hand and rested it back on her curved abdomen. "Only if you want to, that is..."

[The Exodus]

Lucian Michaud

Ashton’s hand found Lucian’s cheek, but he barely felt her. Instead, his focus was on her abdomen; on their son. He couldn’t help but feeling wonder. They had made this little person, but there was something more than that. Lucian couldn’t explain it. He couldn’t explain the pulsating of excitement coursing in his veins, the certainty that this was right. It was more than right, it was the sort of happiness Lucian had sought for his entire adult life.

"Maybe you should talk to him so he can hear his daddy's voice...?" Ashton suggested. "Only if you want to, that is..."

“What should I say?” Lucian asked lightly. “I’ll want to make a good first impression on our son, after all…”

[Lets_Eat_Paste]

Ashton Greene

Every moment of everyday, Ashton was vaguely aware of the presence of the little person that she and Lucian had created out of love and passion. This, right now, with Lucian feeling along with the tapping and thrumming of their son, it solidified her knowledge and acceptance that they were going to be parents, that the tornado on the ultrasound screen was a living, breathing person.

“What should I say? I’ll want to make a good first impression on our son, after all…”

Ashton slid her hand atop of Lucian's. "Say what you feel," Ashton said sweetly into Lucian's hair. "Introduce yourself. Let him know who you are." Ashton slid her other hand to the underside of her abdomen. "He's listening."

[The Exodus]

Lucian Michaud

Ashton placed a warm, soft hand atop Lucian’s. He bit down on his own smile as he looked for a minute at her. He wondered how she must be feeling right now. How excited she was—or maybe scared. Something shone in her hazel eyes, bright and fervent, and Lucian knew that the horror-stories she sometimes tortured herself with about babies with extra fingers or the pain of natural childbirth were the last things on her mind right now. Right now, there were three people in the world: Ashton, Lucian, and their son. And it was like Ashton was the first and only woman to ever be pregnant. It felt like a warm, special secret. Something so intimate, words were useless.

And yet, that was exactly what Ashton wanted from Lucian.

She wanted him to speak, or at least, she’d asked him to. And Lucian was at a loss for words. He didn’t know how to tell his unborn son everything he wanted to. Especially not with Ashton standing right there. That was the ridiculous part of it. Lucian felt watched, a little itchy in his skin. He’d delivered speeches to thousands and felt more at ease than he did now. Because what he had to say to his son wasn’t all sunshine and rainbows, like what the moment ought to have been. Lucian was instead overcome with the urge to apologize to this little, growing person.

He wanted to tell him how sorry he was that his mummy was so young and his daddy was so old and that his big brother may not be thrilled to greet him in February. He wanted to console his unborn child, let him know that just because he didn’t have grandparents didn’t mean he was unloved. He wanted to ask if their baby was angry that mummy and daddy weren’t married or if he was disgusted with them for starting out as adulterers. He wanted to tell him, more than anything, that he was a wanted child. A baby that Lucian and Ashton had wished for, against the odds, and planned on having even when they thought they couldn’t. But saying all that, in the middle of a store, with Ashton watching his every move, expecting him to be the star model of a parent he so often talked himself up about being, would have been inappropriate. It would have taken all her pastel dreams and turned them to gray-scale.

"Say what you feel," said Ashton sweetly. "Introduce yourself. Let him know who you are." Ashton slid her other hand to the underside of her abdomen. "He's listening."

“Hi,” Lucian murmured, crouching down so that his face was level with Ashton’s belly. His knees bent slightly and he was grateful that, for all his shortcomings as an older dad, he was not yet arthritic or something. “Hi, there, little one. I’m your daddy.”

[Lets_Eat_Paste]

Ashton Greene

Ashton pushed the silver shopping buggy dreamily. Soon, she'd be pushing a pram that carted around cargo far more precious than groceries. She thought for a moment of how different it would feel physically to push her and Lucian's son around from pushing a few groceries.

Ashton's eyes scanned labels and prices. List in hand, she tossed decorations for Damien's pride party into the buggy and turned the corner to acquire things she and Lucian needed for home. But she was confronted with the shock of a lifetime that made Ashton's hackles stand on end and her stomach knot up. Natalie Blackwood was a mere 4 metres away. Ashton bit her tongue as she stood frozen, looking at her. Ashton supposed she couldn't hate her. She had given life to Damien (and though she bruised his heart in the process), practically gave Lucian to her. Ashton felt herself relax a tad. She had what Natalie didn't: Lucian, for one, her former last name, for two, and a heart.

But Ashton felt herself tense up again when she remembered Natalie had hurt Lucian, had set Ashton and Damien up in a relationship neither of them were happy with, hadn't accepted Damien's sexuality.

Ashton burned inside, but walked calmly by, head elevated as she pretended not to see her. She continued with her shopping, using her left hand as much as possible in hopes that her engagement ring would catch the light just right for Natalie to see. She looked forward to the moment when store employees called for a clean up crew on aisle six to pick up Natalie's dropped jaw, shattered from the blow.

She feigned nonchalance as she scribbled items off her list.

[The Exodus]

Natalie Blackwood

Coordinating Damien’s pride party sent Natalie back a decade or two to birthday parties and one pseudo-bar-mitzvah thrown for fifteen year old Damien when he realized he was a “whole quarter Jewish” and that he “missed out on the biggest rite of passage a kid can have except maybe a quincenera and can I have one of those too, Mummy, please?” She was given specific orders from her overly-efficient son, but with the new plea ofs, “Dear God, Mum. Don’t go overboard. I’m gay, not gaudy” and “Pretty please, Mummy, don’t fight with Dad. Whatever happened with you two has nothing to do with my party.”

Natalie was food duty. Damien made it expressly clear, to Natalie’s smug satisfaction, that Lucian was not to be trusted with cooking or working with the caterers. His job was to provide the alcohol and venue. And, honestly, Natalie was almost positive those were the two things Lucian couldn’t mess up. He owned a winery. He had the space and the alcohol. But Natalie still worried that Damien would be taking on an inappropriate amount by handling décor. Perfectionist though he was, he was also under a lot of pressure with a new work schedule, budding love life, and whatever else twenty-four year olds did these days.

Besides, Natalie wanted to do something nice for him. The engagement she’d tried to craft for him, so he would avoid a life of professional and social persecution had blown apart for reasons Natalie couldn’t fathom. From what she understood, Damien “came out” to Ashton and she moved on. A rather heartless thing to do; brazen, too, given how limited the girl’s prospects supposedly were. She ought to have stayed with Damien, supported him through this difficult and confusing phase.

Right now, Natalie looked at a row of special occasion cakes. Surprisingly, there were none with rainbow frosting or sprinkles or sparker candles in the window. She frowned and flipped through the display book. She couldn’t understand why there were trains and bears dressed as cowboys, but no gay pride cakes. Her lips pulled to one side, pursing, as she tried to find a substitute that was “gay, not gaudy” as Damien had put it. But something—rather, someone—caught her eye. Natalie looked over her shoulder to see a very pregnant Ashton Green pushing a shopping cart down the main aisle. She watched, wide-eyed, for a moment, before pushing her own buggy over beside her.

“Well, well,” Natalie said, taking in the rather large whole of Ashton, “I think you and I have some catching up to do…”

She smiled, crocodilian and almost nastily. Maybe Damien had gotten off the hook, after all…

[Lets_Eat_Paste]

Ashton Greene

Ashton tried to distract herself with comparing calories and nutritional value on two different brand crackers, when a very unpleasant sound met her ears.

“Well, well. I think you and I have some catching up to do…”

Natalie.

No matter how much she tried to avoid her, she still cropped up.

Like Herpes...

Ashton felt her heart drop down to her stomach and she was certain Gregory felt it. She couldn't imagine it feeling any better for him than it was for.

"Actually," Ashton corrected her plainly, her breath and words cold, "we don't. Because I have nothing to say to you."

That wasn't true. Ashton had several things to say to Natalie, most of which would elicit either an amused scoff from Lucian or a scandalized look and reminder to be nice. But today, Ashton was going to take the high road, remove herself from the situation and go home to Lucian who would be very proud of her for being civil and not starting a scene.

Who was she kidding? Asking Ashton to not dream up revenge on this woman was like asking the glaciers and ice caps not to melt -- it was going to happen inevitably.

The real question was what should Ashton start with? What about the rude comments? Or maybe she should begin with her cheating on the best man any woman could ask for. What about her belief that Ashton didn't deserve happiness? What about her poor parenting choice when she forced Damien into an engagement with a woman? The list was longer than the one Ashton held in her hand.

[The Exodus]

Natalie Blackwood

No sooner than “understanding” hit her, a wave of awful, real realization smack Natalie in the gut. There was the chance that Damien wasn’t off the hook. “Gay” didn’t mean he hadn’t done some sort of conjugal duty. Dear God, even when Natalie was at the height of her affair with Anthony, she still had sex with Lucian out of guilty obligation for the first several years. It wasn’t until he lost his position in Parliament that she couldn’t bring herself to touch him. If Damien was a proper fiancé, he might have done his duty once or twice. And as Natalie well knew, once was enough. She felt suddenly sorry for Ashton and angry with her son for being gay and abandoning his expanding family. Natalie and Ashton had more in common than Natalie ever realized.

Actually," Ashton said icily, "We don't. Because I have nothing to say to you."

“I understand why you’re mad,” Natalie told her. Her voice was shockingly maternal and sympathetic. It surprised even her own ears. “You have every right to be. I’m sorry Damien takes after his father, too. Do you want me to talk to him?”

[Lets_Eat_Paste]

Ashton Greene

A wave of understanding flooded Natalie's albino crocodile features and Ashton was almost knocked off balance by their force. "I understand why you're mad," Natalie said and Ashton doubted that was true. If she understood, she wouldn't muster up the audacity to approach her, she would have left well enough alone.

"You have every right to be. I'm sorry Damien takes after his father, too. Do you want me to talk to him?"

Ashton shrugged. "You can talk to whomever you wish, Natalie. But I really don't think we're on the same page, here."

Ashton was being careful. She wasn't going to let her guard down because Natalie played nice for a fraction of a minute. It was suspicious and the angry bubbles rising inside her told her not to trust this woman as far she could throw her.

And Ashton wanted to throw her.

What was she accusing Damien of, what did that mean 'takes after his father'? Ashton bit at a fleshy spot inside her cheek angrily until a vengeful sore formed. Through the pain, she forced her lips into a semblance of a smile. Forcing and faking civility was
harder than Lucian made it look.

[The Exodus]

OOC: Natalie is officially my most delusional character. BIC:


Natalie Blackwood

Natalie could feel her insides wrapping around each other. She was going to have a very long talk with Damien. Very long. First, she was going to address the issue of his sexuality. It may have been too late to tell him, but part of being a self-aware adult was knowing what you liked and its consequences. Somewhere along the way, Natalie and Lucian had failed to teach him that. Natalie was mostly blaming Lucian for this one, since fathers and sons were supposed to talk about this kind of thing. Secondly, Natalie was going to give Damien a talk about responsibility. He had better be paying child support, if not still planning on marrying Ashton. That was chivalry and at least Lucian had been responsible enough to try that twenty-five years ago.

And of course, then there was Ashton. Her father would be ashamed and outraged. The poor girl likely didn’t know what hell she was in for. And unlike Natalie, back when she and Lucian were young and reckless and stupid, Ashton couldn’t sob out, “But, Daddy, I love him” and expect everything to be just fine. Henry Greene wouldn’t fall for that. No. Ashton would need an advocate.

"You can talk to whomever you wish, Natalie. But I really don't think we're on the same page, here."

Natalie pressed a hand to her temples. It was surreal, really, to think that Damien and Ashton were having a baby. Her son, a father? Damien was hardly more than a child himself. Clearly, there was something inherent in the Michaud genes that dictated picking the youngest age possible to start a family. Damien, her precious baby boy, was now a selfish grown man. And Natalie was about to be a grandmother.

I’m not ready for this, she thought. Forty-five is too young for grandchildren.

She suspected this was karma, coming back to bite her. History repeating itself and all that. Her hand dropped from her forehead. She’d analyze later. She’d talk to Damien later. Right now, she was standing in a store with Ashton and she needed to tackle one thing at a time.

“There’s no need to be embarrassed,” Natalie insisted. “I’ve been exactly in your shoes, after all. And no matter what he says at the party this weekend, you better hold him fully responsible for your child.”