Les Champs Elysees

[Lets_Eat_Paste]

Penny MaCarthy

It wasn’t every day that Penny ended up on the Champs. It was loud and frivolous and quite possibly the farthest thing from Castle Combe in existence, but this was the likeliest place away from William that Penny could think to find Victorine.

Victorine was Bill’s former fiancée. “A first class bint” Benjamin called her. But her brother Benjamin called everybody from bad-mannered wait staff to their kindly Aunt Agatha “bints”, so Penny didn’t really see anything wrong with Victorine. Sure she didn’t dress conservatively, sure she had a bit of a feisty air about her, but Penny knew that Bill always seemed really happy around her. She also knew that Bill wasn’t on drugs when they were together. She vividly remembered the phone call she got from her parents when they told her about Bill’s addiction to prescription narcotics, about his rehabilitation, and about his days in court. It was awful and Penny was appalled. Sure, Bill was reckless, sure he smoked and swore. Sure he had a bad attitude and his idea of fun was late-night car chases and gate crashing. But she never in a million years thought he’d become an addict, a mere junkie. She didn’t care that he was “recovered” or that he was what they called an “accidental addict”. She cared that there once was a time when he wasn’t a slave to a substance. And she knew that that time was when was with Victorine.

She had called the woman, hoping her phone number was still the same and asked her to join her. It was an inconspicuous enough spot, but Penny couldn’t shake the feeling that what she was doing was suspicious—meeting her brother’s ex-girlfriend in the evening and giving her his information.

But really, all of this was for his own good. Right?

[almostparis19]

OOC: SO EXCITED TO BE BACK, YOU HAVE NO IDEA. BIC:

Victorine Delavent

For the past several months, the words "why am I doing this" ran through Victorine's mind. A lot. She was coming to the realization that she was quite good at putting herself in situations that provoked the thought, most of them having to do with Bill. In this case, it had to do with Bill's sister, and if it had to do with her, it had to to do with him. It wasn't like Penny would just call her and ask to see her to catch up and just get together. She knew that when she confabulated with Penny that day that she'd be having a conversation about her darling Bill. Bill. Bill, Bill, Bill. That was another word that was constantly in her head.

The real Victorine, the one hidden away deep down inside, would do anything to find her way back to Bill. She'd love to just be able to go see him, and have him encase her in his strong arms, and just talk to him like nothing was ever wrong. But things were wrong, and the real Victorine pretty much never showed up to any gig in life. Instead, the Victorine that the rest of the world knew was present. The aloof, carefree, independent Victorine. The one that was hurt by no one, the man eater, the heart breaker, the queen of her own realm. The girl who didn't need anyone, the girl that other people needed. The one that was going to act completely fine when Penny MaCarthy arrived. Maybe.

So there she stood, waiting for Penny's face to show. Typically, Victorine preferred being fashionably late, but today she made an exception. When she finally picked out Bill's sister in the sea of faces, she took a deep breath and made her way toward her, praying that she'd keep her cool and not make a complete idiot out of herself.

[Lets_Eat_Paste]

Penny MaCarthy

Maybe this was a mistake. Maybe Penny would wake up tomorrow, nauseated with regret. Could she go to hell for this? Was Bill going to hate her? Scream at her? Kill her? Penny didn’t know how break-ups and relationships worked, but she knew what happiness looked like when it was imprinted on someone’s face. She knew that Bill once looked at Victorine the way their father looked at their mother. She knew Bill had gotten his jaw broken once after he punched someone for calling Victorine derogatory names. And she knew that the strongest fix Bill was ever going to get could only be provided by Victorine Delavent.

Penny walked through the streets, keeping her eyes peeled for the French girl, banking on the possibility that she wouldn’t even show. But then her eyes fell on Victorine’s slip of a frame. She looked different than Penny remembered, but it was undisputedly her. Penny offered her a smile, small and friendly as she made her way over to her.

After dealing with politicians and diplomats all day, civility was second nature. “Hello,” she said with a wave. It was awkward social interaction, but Penny could only find out how this would turn out by living it. “Thank you for meeting with me today.” She cleared her throat. “How have you been?”

[almostparis19]

Victorine Delavent

“Hello,” Penny said, waving. It was such a polite, innocent, friendly wave. Victorine only knew how to wave flirtatiously. She’d have to work on her normal wave. “Thank you for meeting with me today. How have you been?”

It almost hurt Victorine to look at her. If she stared long enough, she could see Bill’s face in hers. Their eyebrows had the same angle, their eyes had the same shape. If she listened hard enough, she could hear him, too. Same dialect, same suave. They stood the same way, with postures that radiated confidence. Victorine got that feeling in her stomach—like butterflies, only not the kind she got when an audience roared after she danced, whenever Bill smiled at her, whenever his lips met hers. These butterflies more so resembled moths.

And how had she been? Anymore, she only found herself truly happy when she was with Bill. And when was the last time she’d been in his embrace, let alone with him at all? Every time she got a chance to have him forever, she let her defiant, I-Don’t-Need-Anyone side take over and she’d push him away. She always managed to screw things up. So she lied. “I’ve been great,” she said smoothly, offering a smile. Lie. Victorine had been lost ever since she last saw Bill. “And it’s no problem at all meeting you here.” Lie. Seeing her only made her think of Bill. “It’s great to get away from training and pointe shoes for a while. “ This was true.

She stepped toward Penny, gesturing to a bench on the sidewalk with potted flowers on either side. She didn’t plan on standing for the remainder of their time together. “And how have you been doing? Well, I trust?”

[Lets_Eat_Paste]

Penny MaCarthy

In truth, Penny cared less about how Victorine had been and more about how she was going to be. Being here with her was like sneaking around behind someone’s back to break a promise. It was the dirtiest, most rotten thing she had ever done in her life, and in the seconds she stood there with the blonde, she hated herself. But she knew tomorrow she would wake up feeling like she had made some good impact on the world, having done this for Bill. But the more she dwelt on it, the less she thought it was for Bill’s good, and more for her own. Someday, she was going to be in a major office in England, and word would get out that she had a glue-huffing brother. No one would vote for her!

“I’ve been great,” Victorine said with a smooth smile , her tone cool. Penny found herself watching her lips, and the way they moved, full and bright. “And it’s no problem at all meeting you here.” Penny watched her eyes, lively and blue with their long lashes and gently curving lid. “It’s great to get away from training and pointe shoes for a while.” Penny looked at Victorine’s jaw, clenched but pointed in pretty proportions. Victorine was beautiful dressed elegantly in ethereal clothing, and here Penny was, coming from work with the natural beauty of a walnut. No woman could capture a man with brains alone. It was a sad truth that Penny lived with and she bit back the envious bile that crept into her mouth. Victorine should have no problem winning Bill back, that was for sure.

Victorine moved to sit down and Penny followed in suit. “And how have you been doing? Well, I trust?”

“I live in Paris now, working at the Embassy. Stapling papers and running coffee. It’s not much, but it gets my foot in the door.” Penny stopped herself. She wasn’t here to talk about work with Victorine. “But you don’t want to hear all of that. I’m actually here to talk to you about William. Do you mind?”

Regardless of Victorine’s answer, Penny was intent on talking about her eldest brother. That was why she was here, and she wasn’t leaving until she had results.

[almostparis19]

Victorine Delavent

“I live in Paris now, working at the Embassy. Stapling papers and running coffee," Penny said as she seated herself next to Victorine. When she looked at Penny, she saw prim and proper.  But when she really looked, she saw potential.  If she let loose, she could really stun a guy. Victorine payed particular attention to the way she seated herself.  She sat up so straight.  She probably had to, with her outfit...and of course, with her job and everything.  It seemed like such a formal job.  Victorine couldn't imagine having Penny's job.  She wouldn't like the conformity, the requirements, or how strict it was. She couldn't imagine why anyone would want that job.  But if it made a person happy, kudos for them. "It’s not much, but it gets my foot in the door.”. Victorine knew how it felt to have to get your foot in the door.  She remembered the years of training to work her way up to the top.  But ballet was certainly different than politics.  

Maybe Victorine was wrong.  Maybe Penny actually wanted to talk about their careers.  Not that politics tickled her fancy...and not that Penny was interested in ballet. "But you don’t want to hear all of that. I’m actually here to talk to you about William. Do you mind?” Or, maybe not.

Even though she saw it coming, her stomach flipped when Bill's name was mentioned. Did Victorine mind? Well, yes and no. Yes, because wasn't a relationship between two people? Victorine Delavent did not need help from other people, especially with relationships. Especially from the man's sister.  Victorine never had relationship problems, she causes the problems. Not since Louis.  Right? Outwardly, of course.  As far as the rest of the world was concerned, definitely.  But otherwise, Victorine needed so much help. She had no idea what she was doing, and inwardly, she wanted to talk about it with Penny, to open up and to cry on her shoulder. Not that that was about to happen.

Victorine gracefully slumped back in the bench a little, not changing her aloof facade.  "Not at all," she replied, holding Penny's gaze. "What is it, exactly, that you wished to discuss?"

[Lets_Eat_Paste]

Penny MaCarthy

Penny wished she could read Victorine the way she read other people. Are they lying? Are they nice? But in the world of politics, Penny had to become accustomed to stoicism, to straight-faced bluffing. It was a skill she had yet to master, but one that she hoped would come with time. If only there was some kind of magnet invented that could attract and scoop up all the true feelings, double entendre, and hidden meanings and bring them out.

Penny watched Victorine carefully, trying to peel away at the surface with her eyes. But Victorine was a trustworthy woman, right? There was no need to be wary. So why was William?

"Not at all," Victorine said, locking her eyes to Penny’s. "What is it, exactly, that you wished to discuss?”

“Well,” Penny cleared her throat again. “I’ve been worried about him. Not to bring up unpleasant things, but ever since you two broke up, he’s been different… changed. He was so happy when he was with you, but now he’s this addict and he’s ruining his life. Victorine, my brother’s broken, and…” Penny almost reached for the other woman. “I think you’re the only one who can fix him.”

[almostparis19]

Victorine Delavent

"Well," Penny said, clearing her throat. Victorine noticed that she must do that when she's nervous. "I've been worried about him. Not to bring up unpleasant things, but ever since you two broke up, he’s been different… changed. He was so happy when he was with you, but now he’s this addict and he’s ruining his life." Victorine winced. Different, changed, addict, ruining his life...the words buzzed around in her head. They were unpleasant things, indeed. She imagined him as Penny described him...it made her feel sick to her stomach. Why hadn't she just stayed with him the last morning she woke up beside him? None of this would be happening. They would both just be happy; together. Whole. William and Victorine, the way it should be. "Victorine, my brother’s broken, and I think you’re the only one who can fix him.”

Victorine just shook her head slowly, staring at the ground. "Bill..." His name tasted sweet on her lips, even now. She thought of all the times she'd sneaked out of his apartment after a long, passionate night together. All the times she'd ignored him, all the times she'd played hard to get wtih him, all the times she'd flirted with other men in front of him to make him jealous. "Bill doesn't want my help. Quite frankly, I don't think he wants anything to do with me."

[Lets_Eat_Paste]

Penny MaCarthy

When played this scene in her head, she had envisioned Victorine jumping to her feet, ready to save Bill from his nadir of despair. She envisioned the blonde to be so overwrought with grief at the thought of Bill sitting on his bathroom floor covered in sweat and sick as he struggled with withdrawal. And then Penny would have to walk the crying girl home. Or call her cab (which seemed more likely). But Victorine did neither of these things. Instead, she hung her head and shook it slow. Penny was reminded of all the times her mother would catch Bill and Ben doing some reckless teenage activity and she’d sigh, exasperated and say “Those boys…”

But this was not a moment for exasperation and as Victorine said Bill’s name, Penny felt a sudden pang rush through the core of her chest. Victorine was hurting and it showed in her voice. Maybe it would be easier to convince her than Penny thought.

"Bill doesn't want my help. Quite frankly, I don't think he wants anything to do with me."

“He says he doesn’t want your help,” Penny assured her, patting her hand awkwardly. Physical interactions and platitudes always seemed superfluous to Penny, but if they helped her get what she wanted… “But he says he doesn’t want anyone’s help. Help is what he needs. He needs you specifically. He was happy with you, always smiling, but after you, he hit rock bottom. There was a time we thought he might die,” (that was an assumption.) “Please, Victorine. Don’t just do this for me or for him. Do this for you. You love him, right?”

Penny was rather impressed with herself. If she could win over the cold and distant Victorine who never really quite got on with her, she could win over the whole island of Great Britain easily.

[almostparis19]

Victorine Delavent

"Hey says he doesn't want your help," Penny said. She patted Victorine's hand. Her hands were warm compared to the dancer's. Maybe they were always warm because of all the hands she had to shake, being a politician, and all. "But he says he doesn't want anyone's help. Help is what he needs. He needs you specifically." Victorine raised an eyebrow as if to say, I'm listening. "He was happy with you, always smiling, but after you, he hit rock bottom. There was a time we thought he might die." Victorine felt her gut twist. She wanted to ask why, but Penny continued. "Please, Victorine. Don't just do this for me or for him. Do this for you. You love him, right?"

"Of course I love him," Victorine said, almost a little sharply. She had always loved him. When she was with him, when she wasn't, when they talked, when they embraced, even when she was sneaking out of his apartment bedroom early in the morning. She sighed and slumped her shoulders exasperated. She was starting to give in. "What do you suggest I do?"

[Lets_Eat_Paste]

Penny MaCarthy

"Of course I love him," Victorine said in a tone that could have sliced Penny’s throat. She jumped at the sound of it and looked around to be sure no one else heard the loud, defensive exclamation. No one had. Just a few startled birds scurried away, wings flapping erratically. Penny didn’t know what there was to be so defensive about. Wasn’t the fact of love a joyous occasion? Ben only screamed about love when he was drunk, her parents were very quiet and subtle about their marriage, and she always knew Bill to express his love for Victorine softly. What was so threatening about asking for the truth about her feelings for Bill?

"What do you suggest I do?"

Penny smiled, victorious. “Well, I would suggest going to his apartment. You know, on his turf. Probably on a Sunday because he has off and won’t be stressed out about work,” Penny reasoned. “Bill’s great and all, but he’s a guy, and like any guy, I’m sure he’d listen to you more if you dressed…” Penny couldn’t believe she was saying this, “… appealing. Just be gentle with him. That’s really all the advice I can give you. He’s still Bill. You know him better than I do. I think you can take the reins from there.”

Yes. Pep talks. This one seemed to be successful. If she could give a good one to the “heartless vixen” that was Victorine (to use Ben and Damien’s words), she could give one to an entire country about a financial crisis. In fact, after today, Penny was certain she could beat out Churchill for the most charisma prize.

[almostparis19]

Victorine Delavent

“Well," Penny replied with a smile, "I would suggest going to his apartment." Victorine inwardly moaned. "You know, on his turf. Probably on a Sunday because he has off and won’t be stressed out about work.” Victorine knew that. She knew the Sunday-Bill, the one that could actually sit back and relax for a little while. “Bill’s great and all, but he’s a guy, and like any guy, I’m sure he’d listen to you more if you dressed...appealing." Victorine almost laughed. One, because it came out of Bill's sister's mouth, two, because it was true, and three, because she could and would do it. "Just be gentle with him. That’s really all the advice I can give you. He’s still Bill. You know him better than I do. I think you can take the reins from there.""

"So just--" Victorine threw up her hands, exasperated, "--toss on some skimpy outfit and show up at his apartment? What if he just slams the door in my face? Honestly, that's what I deserve," she muttered the last part. "But I might as well, right?" She was talking more to herself than Penny at this point. "If he rejects me, I'll just have to be more persistant. Or naked, whichever works. Ugh, you're right, Penny. I have to go see him."

[The Exodus]

OOC: Jeanette/Maurice! BIC:

Father Maurice Mowbray

Maurice was well aware of how silly he must have looked to other people on the streets of Paris this evening. He was dressed head-to-toe in the somber, black robes of a priest, yet slung over his arms were several large, brightly colored shopping bags. In his arms, there was a stack of books that piled almost to his nose; books that hadn’t fit in the shopping bags. Coveting was frowned upon in the Church – a sin, in fact -- but Maurice was compelled by a powerful urge, more powerful than his own will, to buy more books for his home library.

To be fair, his home library and the parish library had somehow become one-and-the-same over the years. Parishoners were forever stopping by Maurice’s flat to borrow this book or that. And somehow, the parish book club had taken to meeting there on Tuesday nights. It was middle aged and older women and Maurice.

“Our token man,” one of the women – Leonilda Dupree – said, sounding disappointed that their token man was the local priest and not some attractive college professor.

He enjoyed his book club though. And he did think of it as “his”, since they were meeting in his home. They were part of his larger, Church family, but also his own, personal community of friends and likeminded individuals. Well, not always “likeminded”. Maurice was more progressive than some, less radical or liberal than others. But they all muddled through happily, infatuated by the texts they had in common and that was a deeper connection than most people had in this world. For that, Maurice was thankful.

And he couldn’t wait to see the look on those book club ladies’ faces when they saw the selection Maurice had picked up for them for the coming weeks. Bronte and Austen would no doubt make them gush; Lewis and Dumas would get them talking. There was a reason Maurice thought of the book club as his own. He got a certain joy out of giving to them that few other things had made him feel as he crept into middle-age.

He simply had to get all these books home, which was easier said than done. Without a car, Maurice was made to walk on foot. That was no problem; the Lord had walked on foot all during his time on Earth. But Maurice doubted that He had to carry a total of fifty-six books from the Champs Elysees, to the metro, and then up several flights of stairs.

Of course, fifty-six books paled in comparison to the Cross. Maurice would gladly bear his little-c cross with a smile.

The wind, however, had other ideas and it blew hard on the teetering stack of books until, finally, it was strong enough and Maurice weakened enough for the top half of his stack to go sailing through the air. Maurice stumbled blindly forward, hoping to catch them. But instead, he ran into something quite solid and lost his balance, falling over and landing hard on the pavement. The few books left in his arms flew up into the air and landed with loud thumps all about, one even hitting him on the head. And then Maurice looked to see what he’d run into. Or rather, who.

Because in his blind hurry, he’s run smack into a young woman.

“Oh dear,” he said. “I’m terribly sorry, mademoiselle.”

[Marley]

Jeannette Day


The sights and sounds swirled around her, crashing over her like waves from the ocean. People were everywhere, surging around her as if she were a boulder in the midst of a stream. The buzz of conversation hurt her ears and her eyes ached from trying to see everything at once. Shop doors opened and closed behind her, startling her each time. The funny machines called cars zipped up and down the street, their metallic sightless eyes--some sort of odd lights, really--seemed to watch her as they passed. Jeannete fought off a shiver. She still didn't believe they were simply machines, no matter how many times the people she'd asked had told her that they were. To her, they were still demonic creations, twisted glass and metal brought to some semblance of life by a dark, evil force.

Jeannette crossed herself and stepped back from the sidewalk's edge, nearly colliding with one of the buildings. She glanced up and down the sidewalk, peering into the buildings behind her. The bright lights--weird, long candles that somehow hung from the ceiling without falling--burned her eyes and she quickly looked away. Lamps lined the streets, though they hadn't come on yet. Soon they would, as the sky had turned the deep yellow-blue of evening.

Jeanette studied the lamp nearest her, tipping her head to the left. It would come on of its own accord shortly. Like the lights in the building, this lamp had no candle inside it. Instead, a small round ball would suddenly begin to glow. In the morning, when the sky grew light enough, it would stop. Even after watching this strange ritual for several weeks, Jeannette could not explain it. Once, she'd dragged a chair, and then a table, over to the lamp post to better see it. Yet even with the chair perched on top of the table, and herself standing on the chair, on her tiptoes, she couldn't see the wick in the ball, or anything else that told her how it worked.

Eventually, she'd had to abandon her post, as a passing policeman--she'd learned the term within hours of arriving in Paris--had ordered her brusquely down from her perch. He hadn't bothered to answer her questions, only scolded her for climbing on furniture that wasn't hers, and then went on his way, leaving Jeannette to puzzle over it. And puzzle over it she had till, tired of thinking about it, she had simply added it to the ever growing list of Things She Didn't Understand About Paris. Already lengthy, the list seemed to get longer with each day that she spent here.

With a sigh, she slid her hand into her pocket, running her fingers over the change collected there. A few crumpled bills and several handfulls of coins met her searching fingertips. Perhaps she had enough for some supper, and maybe breakfast the next morning, but she wouldn't know for sure until she asked someone. No one in New Harmony had used regular money, bartering goods or esrvices for the things they needed. Only Father John and the Council ever had any use for the stuff, and then they tended to use it to buy supplies in the towns they traded in.

Once or twice Jeannette had seen one of th village boys with a coin or two, but she'd never been close enough to see them properly. Now here she was with probbably more money than anybody in New Harmony had ever seen. A little thrill went up her back. Whatever would they think of that? Probablynot much. Jeannette laughed to herself. They wouldn't be impressed, and why should they be? They had no need of it. With another sigh, she leaned back against the wall of the building directly behind her and closed her eyes. Homesickness gnawed at her. Lost in thought, she stepped away from the wall. Paris was too big. Too loud. Too bright. Too--The person slammed into her, drawing a startled yelp of surprise from her before she stumbled back.

Her eyes flew open at the voice and she stared at the priest, confused for several moments. No one had told her there were priests outside of New Harmony. Her heart gave a little thump of joy and she grinned at him, barely hearing his apology. As she stared, still in shock, she noticed the spilled bags and the books scattered around the sidewalk. A quiet gasp escaped her. She'd only seen that many books one other time---her family had gone to dinner at the home of one of the Council member's and his son had shown Jeannette their library. "Goodness, that's a lot of books you've got there, Father. Here, let me help you." Kneeling, Jeannette gathered the books nearest her into her hands and held the pile out toward the priest. "Here you are."

[The Exodus]

Father Maurice Mowbray

In the dim, evening light, Maurice could see that the though surprised, the girl was relatively unharmed. She looked more surprised than anything else. And though his own palms stung from hitting the ground, they were fine. He couldn’t quite say the same for all of his books. Some were scuffed by the cobblestones, others a little dusty. But none were unsalvageable.

Nothing ever was.

"Goodness, that's a lot of books you've got there, Father,” said the girl. “Here, let me help you."

Together they scooped up the books, which Maurice began to precariously pile back up. Einstein had once defined insanity as doing the same thing and expecting different results. At this point, however, Maurice didn’t care if he was a little crazy. There were few other options except buckling down and buying a personal shopping cart. Some of the elderly in his parish had them; he’d see them at the farmer’s market, dragging wire-framed carts over bumpy sidewalks. One woman had both a cart and an oxygen tank for her emphysema. If she could manage, so could Maurice. He resolved to ask next Sunday where she’d gotten her cart.

But the young girl here and now with Maurice was who he ought to think of. She had a kind, unmade face that contrasted sharply with the girls her age who grudgingly trudged into church on holidays. Her eyes were wide, her mouth sweet. Maurice felt rather bad for nearly milling her over in his hurry home.

"Here you are," she said, offering him the remaining books. Maurice smiled at her.

“Thank you,” he said, bending at the knees so the girl could set them down on the top of his stack. “You know, most young women your age wouldn’t have stayed to help an old geezer like me with all of this.”

A self-deprecating smile touched Maurice’s lips. He was over forty, but hardly old. Compared to the other priests in his parish, he was quite young. It didn’t stop teenagers from calling him that, though. “Old geezer”. One boy had said it when his mother brought him in for confession. “How is an old geezer like you gonna do anything good for me, eh?” the boy had asked from behind the confessional grate. If they’d been face-to-face, Maurice had no doubt the young man would have spat at him. And while that was not the norm for the new generation, neither was this kind young woman.

“What’s your name, my girl?” asked Maurice, sounding much more like an “old geezer” than he meant to. Maybe there was something to the term, after all.