My World of 1x1s discussion

Name: Mathias Antoine Chastain
Age: 26
Race: Human
Appearance:

Personality: Gentlemanly and articulate, Mathias has all the qualities of his aristocratic upbringing. However, he only pretends to be pompous and arrogant in social circles while when there are no eyes on him, he's fun-loving, mischievous, and daring. He can be bold and stubborn, though he is clever, which helps him get out of most situations.
Background: The second son in the House of Chastain, Mathias was raised by a governess and groomed for social life. Often when he was young, he played little pranks, though he never hurt anyone. Eventually he grew bored and he entertained himself by flirting with many women, earning him quite a reputation as a philanderer. While he spent his nights around, by day Mathias pays a lot of attention to the revolution and though it disturbs him, he has no idea how he could help or what role he could play.
Other: He has an eye for the arts of any kind, be it painting, music, or dance. But surprisingly, what interests him the most is science. He likes to explore nature and read scientific journals.

Name: Natalia Royer
Age: 23
Race: Human
Appearance:

Personality: Playful, adventurous, and kind, Natalia enjoys her freedom. Ever since the aristocrats started to keep money away from the poor while they ate like pigs, Natalia felt it was time to take matters into her own hands. She can be brash, but she is passionate and she is willing to lend a hand to anyone in need.
Background: Her father left her mother when she was young and for a time, she was raised by her single mother while they struggled along. When she was a teenager, her mother died from consumption of the lungs. From then, she was on her own.
Other: Of course, she likes a soft bed and nice clothes, but in addition to that, Natalia likes to eat fruit and sweets, and having picnics on the grass.

Name: Etienne Courfeyrac Grevioux (Real name ?>!@#$)
Age: 32
Race: Protean
Appearance:

Personality: Street smart and outspoken, Etienne is in many ways a man of the people, never having tasted the sugared manna of the rich, nor indeed supped from the maggot-riddled swill of the poor, he is a man of mediocre means, but what he does possess he is liberal with. Something of a champion of the defenceless, this adopted human will not abide abuses done to his new skinlings or his own people. Charismatic and self-possessed he is always considering a solution, appealing to the goodness of man, but punishing his evil when the need calls for it.
Background: The leader of one of the last few surviving Protean colonies hailing from a now completely subjugated homeworld, the man known as Etienne Grevioux chose France for two reasons, firstly because the way of life made it very conducive to the Protean lifestyle, given that they flourish where there are a great diversity of native species. Generally preferring to go about their lives unnoticed except by their own kind, multicultural Paris seemed ideal. The second reason, which was the most uncanny, was that their language oddly paralleled that of the native Parisians, French sounded the same, and in many ways meant the same thing as it did in Protease. Fostering good ties between the native population and themselves has always been part of Protean culture, and their leaders tend to be chosen based on their diplomatic skills, and ?>!@#$ is no exception. Protean leaders lead for life, but they traditionally take no spouses and sire no children, their purpose is to lead their people until death, or infirmity. Hardly concerning himself with such thoughts now, ?>!@#$ is immersed in his role as ambassador/leader, with his second in command (Bernice Epaulette AKA Bernadette) and chief intelligencer (Jean Michel Lafayette AKA Jondrette) to support him. Relatively young, but tried and tested in the trauma of survival, he has the unequivocal trust of his people. As a man amongst men Etienne Grevioux's origins are not known, which given the miasma of humanity that clog up the works of a dazzling but decrepit city such as Paris, is hardly a surprise. He makes his living as something of a slum doctor, philanthropist and publican, a well known and highly regarded benefactor to the city's teeming poor.
Other: Politically naturally inclined, Etienne has made himself something of a gutter politician, rejecting the empty promises of the bourgeoisie and bringing real difference to the poor and undeserving.

Name: Lisette Elodie Moreau
Age: 23
Race: human
Appearance:

Personality: Growing up a daughter of a servant in one of the more celebrated aristo houses in Paris was not something to look down upon and even though she was among the class required to be seen at the right times and not heard at all unless spoken to, she never felt it ate into or defined who she was. Effusive, warm, and bubbly, he training shaped her into an amiable, efficient and pleasant young woman, seeing to her tasks with a minimum of fuss, and always with a smile on her face.Knowing that fraternising with her master's two sons was either a recipe for great joy or great sorrow, her preference of staying central facilitates a balanced approach that sees her neither accused of putting on airs, or debasing herself excessively.Eager to please when she can without compromising herself, her awareness of her attraction has her on something of a dilemma as she plays her part but maintains her honour.
Background: Born in a small village on the outskirts of the greatest city in the known world, Lisette, of Lizzie as she was soon called by the other children with whom she grew up with, lived a life of practical comfort. Her mother's position as personal maid to Madame Chastain herself provided for her needs, and with her father, who ran, owned and maintained a small but reputable boarding house and bar, she was never wanting for a touch of elevation of a splat of practicality. What was not spent on necessities such as food and drink and the like, was set aside for her education, which she received from a modest ecole largely funded by her mother's master. Monsieur Chastain was a gracious, if grave man, and he saw to his legacy well. Entering his service at the age of twelve, she learned quickly, under the careful eye of her gentle, if sometimes sever mother, rising to hold the enviable position of chambermaid that she now occupies.
Other: She both adores, and tries writing, the operative word being tries,poetry. Her curiosity was piqued upon finding a small book of poems seemingly forgotten as she was cleaning. Impaled by guilt and fearing for her livelihood, it did not occur to her that the book's absence would not be commented upon and she has kept her guilty secret since then.

Curling her body in her coat, Natalia's footsteps tapped lightly as she walked down the cobbled streets. An early morning fog had fallen upon Paris and the people she passed where its ghosts, their faces gaunt from hungry and the tri-colored pins on their person looking wilted. There was something in the air, something that felt as if the city was holding its breath, its focus trained on something. The clopping hooves came behind her and she huddled in a doorway quickly as a carriage passed. Through the window she caught a brief glance of a blond young man, his face shadowed by a hat before they were swallowed up in the thick white. After a pause, she continued on her way.

***

Mathis shrunk back in his seat as the carriage clattered through the streets of Paris. Though most of the aristocracy had left the city at this point, some still remained such as himself, of course he wasn't considered an aristocrat anymore. He was a citizen and despite the fact that he was a citizen using a carriage, Mathias still received hungry glares from the walking shadows they passed. If his face was spotted, there would surely be some price to pay and most likely unpleasant. Recently he had been living on the borders of the city, closer to the country than anything else. For a time he was untouched by the revolution, mostly because of the regard his servants held towards him. But when his brother sent him an unexpected letter, Mathias packed his bags and headed off. Now as they were approaching their townhouse, Mathias wondered if he made the right decision. Though he cared for his brother, he was often seen as a nuisance and a source of scandal meant to be dismissed. Yet, in times like these, with hostile citizens around, it was no longer safe to be alone. The carriage came to a halt and before the coachman could open the door, Mathias did and stepped down. The fog made the air damp and cold. Walking up to the door, Mathias knocked and gestured to the coachman to take down his trunk as he waited for an answer.

As a parlour maid, it was not strictly speaking her prescribed role to respond to a clattering upon the front door of the outwardly modest but internally decadent Chez Chastain, but such had become the state of the once meticulously tended domicile that she remained one of a skeleton crew of servants, performing other duties in addition to those they had been trained and subsequently hired for. Lisette had just been in the process of airing the guest bedroom, and she had no illusions as to who the individual she was at that very moment destined to greet. Mathias's golden hair and chiseled good looks almost took her breath away, had it not already been commandeered by the light veneer of dust that had until moments before taken up residence upon the young master's bedclothes. "Welcome, Monsieur Mathias, I hope you had an, uneventful journey here?" she enquired politely after rising from the curtsey that had been one of the very first tests to determine her worth to the house.

Blowing a cloud into his gloved hands, Etienne pulled his hat lower over his left eye, obscuring the jagged scar he had obtained from of the now deceased proletariat fools who had attempted to be funny with him a few hungry months back. As per usual, it was a month of small favours to the man on the street, which made it something of an ironic blessing that the arsonists were in fine fettle, fire meant heat, and heat meant warm enough to ignore the biting impatience in his gut that made every fouth breath an icy dagger if he wasn't already splintering his lungs on the acerbic air. She was here somewhere, she had damned well better. The looks on the faces of Bernadette and the other women had been stark and plain. "We're in need bad, sire." she had told him plainly; she hadn't had to say it, he knew, he always did, his fingers gently on the pulse of everything that went on, or almost anything. Tugging his tattered dark blue coat around his broad shoulders, he stumped forward, cursing the slimy carpet of God only knew what as he made his way grimly towards the meeting place. She had better be there, please let her be there.

A friendly smile lit the young man's face upon seeing the familiar maid. Often in his visits to his brother the maid, Lisette, was someone he chatted with, though of course with discretion. Despite the sudden past turn of events, his parents still held the standard that the help should remain separate from the elite. Taking off his hat, Mathias gave a nod to her, something other gentlemen wouldn't deem necessary for a maid. "Good afternoon, Lisette. My travels thankfully were quite boring. Is my brother away on business or is he home?"

***

Her pale face peeped out from beneath her cap, strands of stray hair falling to tickle her cheeks. Natalia popped up the collar of her jacket and tapped softly down an alley, one that was more dry than usual and there was a light coming from a back door that was opened so that the stranger she was supposed to meet could spot her well enough. Taking her cloth wrapped hands to her mouth, she breathed softly on the digits, trying to bring warmth to them as she waited.

Lisette was in one of those positions where one either considered her entrenched or part of the family. Born to the personal maid of Madame Chastain herself, she was entered into the household at a relatively early age, at first in the capacity of kitchen assistant in between attending formatory school. In a way, she had been, and indeed still was, a contemporary, give or take three years, of the younger Chastain sons, and her years long camaraderie rose to the surface, as she returned his radiant smile, still unable to forbid the ghost of a blush from dusting her cheeks. "A shame, but boring is good, no?" Truly, she was very glad that he had made it. Jean, the errand boy had been regaling the depleted house staff of what he had seen and heard across Paris, as the threat of revolution grew, seemingly more and more malevolent each day. "Your brother, yes he is in, last I saw of him, he was going to confront Madame and Monsieur about... something." She didn't say what that something was, though she knew full well; a kind, but stubborn man, Monsieur Chastain had adamantly refused to relinquish his petit chalet, as he liked to call it; the relatively modest manor was by far the least provocative dwelling this close to Paris proper, but as Robespierre's cancer spread, fears were coalescing before their very eyes.

"'In the shadow of the flame', that's what he said, meet her there, Merde! This is cold!" So muttering to himself as he contemplated placing his fingers one by one into his mouth and sucking them for warmth, but immediately rejected the idea out of hand, not even pausing to consult his hands, black with grime and God only knew what else. A spasm of hunger forced him to quicken his pace, his swift stride morphing into a loping run; she had to have the forged passes, she just had to; the livelihood of seven people depended upon it. "She's the best, relax, she'll have them for you mon ami With the words of Jondrette in his ears, he rounded the corner. "You came! Merci beaucoup do you have them?"

As the head butler took away his hat, he offered his usual frown (albeit with some fondness) upon seeing Mathias who had often caused the man grief when he was younger with his spelunking and adventures. Giving a small nod, he commented lightly, "Indeed it is good. I'd rather suffer from boredom than let death fall upon me." He began walking across the foyer when he paused and glanced over at Lisette. With his brow crinkled, Mathias asked, "Which room are they in?"

***

Her body automatically became tense at the sound of approaching footsteps but upon seeing the face of her client, she relaxed. Nodding, she folded her thin arms across her chest and managed to smile despite the shivers that wracked her small frame. "Of course I did. We had an agreement, right? I have the papers in my pocket."

Dialling her familiarity down a little in the presence of Jean Francois, the by the book manservant come butler who was about as old as the manor itself, Lisette was about to speak when the sound of a door slamming open and determined footfalls announced the entrance of the man she was about to inform Mathias of the whereabouts of. "Ahh, little brother, good to see you have arrived unmolested, perhaps you can be the one to talk some sense into the old man before the rabble come hanging on the doorbell!" Wanting to find out what would happen next, but not wanting to be found dawdling like an idler, Lisette made to turn and leave, only to hear her name being called, whereupon she obligingly turned, her expression neutral but willing, curiosity flickering in her eyes."

"Thank God," Etienne smiled, the first real smile to have spread his lips in two days, or so he loosely estimated. It was not that he had had reservations about involving her, an unknown street sneaker with a reputedly impeccable reputation for pulling her weight, but rather it was the fact that the livelihood of those he cared most about had been in the hands of a person he would not have been able to tell from Eve. Casting a quick, careful eye upon the petite woman, he felt a liking for her understated effectiveness, which prompted him to say, " Bon, perhaps you would care for something to chase away this chill, a drink, inside, a fire, perhaps?"

Turning on his heels, he saw the young man approach that was his older brother. He seemed no worse for wear, his golden locks shining more than usual. Whereas Mathias had dirty blond hair and chocolate brown eyes, his brother was as princely as his name meant. There was always some bit of jealousy in him, but was always pushed aside because of the greater amount of affection he held. "Ah, Armel, it is good to see you too," Mathias said with a smile, stepping forward and shaking his brother's hand. Laughing, he shook his head. "I don't know if I can persuade the old man. He trusts you more than myself."

***

A small smile flickered across her face. Though she had taken to pickpocketing at a young age, she had also learned the art of forging papers eventually so that she may gain more freedom. When she heard her services were sought for, at first Natalia wanted to refuse. However, she heard it involved a family, which needless to say, the orphan felt that it was necessary to help. Then her eyes narrowed at the offer and she looked the man up and down appraisingly. "In all honesty that offer is mighty tempting, but I assumed this meeting would be brief one. You ought to return to your family soon with those papers."

"Then it would seem we are doomed, because his exact words were 'over my dead body!'" there was a fierce light in Armel Chastain's summer sky blue eyes as he regarded his younger brother with a look that spoke half of amusement and the other two parts annoyance. "You've seen what it's like out there, mon frere the people, the streets," here he cast a careful frown in the direction of the girl who was busying herself with the feather duster, attacking the constellation of spinner's homes in the crevices hidden from the eye of day. "Bah, but you shall see, I have to see a man about a new vintage, I shal be in the jardine should you want me." and with that, and a pat on Mathias' shoulder, he was gone, leaving the maidservant and her young master in the exquisitely turned out room. Lisette risked a look at him, sympathy eating away at her as she unobtrusively watched his reaction.

Etienne, nodded ,gratified by her apparent lack of self- aggrandisement, his instincts about the girl had been right, talented but with a rare decency about her, the likes of which he found precious among the sorts of people he had to deal with on an almost daily basis as one of the more secretive information traders in the city. Regarding her with a quizzical look, he said. "A favour for a favour then, is there something I might be able to help you with?"

"Of course I have, dear brother," Mathias replied with a smile, silently adding in annoyance to himself, Probably have seen more than you. But the young man was used to the annoyed exchanges with his brother and his training as a nobleman was good for nothing except for times like these when he had to be pleasant. At his brother's departing words, he called over to him, "I'll speak to Father, though I doubt he'll listen." Then he was gone and Mathias sighed softly. Glancing over to Lisette, he smiled and strolled over, a slight swagger in his steps like he often did when he was younger. "I trust you are well, Lisette?"

***

Shaking her head, Natalia gave a small laugh. "What favor could I ask of you? In what way could you give something in return, especially in these troubled times?" The lightness in her grey-blue eyes faded slightly and she wrapped her coat tighter around her body, her cloth-wrapped hand brushing a stray lock of auburn hair back behind her ear. "It would be better that our business ends here for now. It would not do to linger."

For most of her station, being privy to the conversation of her betters would have been something akin to theft or some other such offence punishable by whatever their master deemed fit; it was, as the phrase went, 'the peril of the help'. Here in Manse Chastain however, such concerns had been relegated unceremoniously by the brother of the young man who approached her with a calculated gait; Armel Chastain had begun it as a display of waggish youthful defiance, revelling in including servants in on his dialogues with his brother, secure in the knowledge than none of them would dare divulge their hearings to the master, or risk being dismissed for flagrant impropriety. Looking up from the bust of a rather hook nosed gentleman she had been pretending to dab away at, the gently blushing Parisienne inclined her amber head, "I am, quite well monsieur," she said, the formality of her tone offset by the playful flutter of the soft, silky laugh upon her voice; it was difficult not to have her defences breached by mirth around the younger and more genuine of the two brothers. "May I enquire how you have been? Your sojourn abroad has made Madame pine for you, mother says she speaks fondly of her petit Matthie."


Ah but he knew of her kind, Etienne smiled a thin lipped smile; so she was to be one of those would she? The sort of woman that would not be beholden to anyone least not some man. There was a cool pride in her look she fixed him with, he could see it, having made the human face a particularly intense area of study; they were not like his kind, these fleshlings, their faces made of a slippery putty that served as a light veneer over an ocean of emotion undulating, warping beneath. he inherent irony of the Proteans was that while they shifted form with the ease with which a bravo take offence, or indeed, a fop takes and breaks a whore, their expressions remained inflexible, which made tone and utterance that much more important. "Well suffice it to say that if you are ever in the vicinity of the Thrice Struck Bell tavern down over by the dips of lowtown, a mention of Etienne Grevioux to the innkeeper will earn you as much ale as you would care to avail yourself of, otherwise," here he dug a slender fingered hand into his left trouser pocket and produced a length of lavender chalk, "If you're ever in need of the services of the," he mentioned his nom de plume which she must surely have heard of, "leave a lambda on the wall of the rue brave, and I shall meet you by the steps of the Sacre Coeur that very night."

"She still thinks of me as petit?" he sighed and shook his head, though smiled anyways. "Well, as you might have heard, I've been travelling about. I was in England mostly, though once there have been a steady flow of nobles, they have not been too happy. I might have stayed if it were not for the house in the country requiring my attention and so I have been there for the past five months. I would say it was relaxing, but one can never forget the sight of the people in the nearby town," Mathis told her, adjusting the cravat around his neck as it had become a little wayward.

***

Fingering the chalk, Natalia couldn't keep the suspicion from her eyes as they narrowed with the frown that furrowed her brow. Indeed she thought the man of good intention, however, as a young woman, she was always aware how easily she could be assailed and taken advantage of. Though she never was of noble birth or of great social status when she was younger, her pride of remaining untouched by the filthiness of men kept her chin up in the air as she fixed the man before her with her gaze. "I would certainly consider it, good monsieur, if the need ever arise. Though, on this night, it has gotten late and I often have to be cautious on my way home. So, if our business is done, I shall make haste so that I may avoid what may lurk in the shadows."

"Well I remember petit Mathi," Lisette would not have dared such familiarity were anyone else in the vicin ity, but as he fiddled with his cravat, she playfully slapped his hand away, doing the necessary for him, ensuring that it's placement was, as befits a gentleman of his stature, impeccable. It seemed only yesterday when, looking up from her set duty of skinning apples, the newly installed kitchen girl had met the eyes of a little boy, reaching for a handful of delectable treats Monsieur Flaubert, their then pastry chef had newly retrieved from the oven. "You may be an internationally travelled gentleman, but you will always be the little cookie thief to me."


Etienne found it somewhat hard to believe that such a savvy practitioner such as she displayed herself to be would have much trouble upon the mean streets of Paris. Not that she had that certain city rat look that had become something of a trademark for most penniless Parisiens, but there was something of an electric awareness to her that spoke of a carefully manicured operational confidence. "As you say, though perhaps I could offer to see you safe, times like these are never best travelled singly, if you don't mind my saying so." It was not as though the others were in such dire need of what he held tucked securely in his inner pocket, they would keep, and after all, not just anyone could have gotten their hands on what she had managed to, ergo her importance, not just as a person, but as a purveyor of salvation ranked her somewhat higher on his list.

A playful smirk twitched along his lips as he watched her eyes as her fingers made quick work on his cravat. Her familiar face was like soothing water passing over parched lips and Mathias was surprised at himself for the strength of the feeling. However, it was something he seemed to have grown used to, though for what reason for the feeling he did not know. Giving a soft laugh at the memory, Mathias caught hold of her hands before she could step away and he looked down at her with amusement in his eyes. "A cookie thief? Me? Oh, I daresay I am more than just that. I seem to recall a little Robin Hood-esque actions as well involving a dear maiden who has been my friend since that incident."

***

Not in the mood for insisting further and wanting to avoid the possibility of an argument, Natalia sighed and her shoulders dropped slightly in a relaxed manner. "Very well, though I trust that you will attend to your business soon as it would ruin not only my reputation but also those who rely on you," she said, tucking the piece of chalk into her hidden dress pocket. Digging her hands into her pockets, she nodded further down the alley. "It's down this way."

The sharp intake of breath could have easily been mistaken for a gasp so favoured by the buxom maidens of popular rustic French romance romps through the countryside, and indeed it was no fabrication of fiction to say that Lisette's heart was not galloping like a determined mare conveying a messenger through the silver kissed swathes of the hot, humid Southern European nights. "Oh, Monsieur," she exclaimed softly, a laugh as soft as silk and as thick as chocolate rippling forth between her lips, "if you are referring to that spectacular theft of four pasties smuggled into the coat, I had to wash later, hmm, well I still blame you for the tummy ache I had afterwards!" Her eyes shone a muted light as she harked back to those days, the two of them, perched up by the roof, staring into the vault of heaven above them, mouths slick and sticky with savoury pork, laughter fogging the air around them. "Perhaps if you could dodge your responsibility we could have a little something to eat ourselves later?"

Smirking slightly as he laced his fingers together momentarily, and blew upon them to ward of the inhospitable chill, Etienne nodded wordlessly, and fell into an easy step beside her. Catching snatched glances at her profile as they alternated from murkily firelit windows and back doors to lingering stabs of darkness as alleyways yawned hungrily to either side inconsistently. Plucking up his courage before the cold dried his mouth as to make his words a consumptive croak, he hazarded a question, "You've made quite a reputation for yourself in certain, ah, mutual circles, as I hear it spoken , quite an achievement. What set you this unprepossessing path, if I may ask?"

"Alas, if I was told of your uncomfortable stomach, a cure would have spared you sooner the trouble." Mathias patted her hands with his, holding hers between his larger ones. Her gasp made him want to laugh, but he managed to reign himself in. His parents always found a way to suspect when he was merry and chose those times to interrupt him. Raising a brow, he leaned forward, purposefully edging into the maid's personal bubble. "Oh, an invitation? You know it isn't necessary as I always dodge responsibility. Though, I suppose today might be different. In any regard, after I speak with my father, who's to say what happens when you run into me in the conservatory?"

***

Walking along, Natalia resisted the urge to hunch her shoulders against the cold. Sometimes she got an idea in her head that if she acted as if she was cold then she would feel colder, so most of her mind was to avoiding such a thing. In the alternating light and darkness, she almost was lost in her thoughts that she barely managed not to jump as the man's voice broke their surprisingly companionable silence. Turning her blue-grey eyes on the man, she raised a brow. "Hunger, mostly. Nothing greater as motivation than survival on the streets," Natalia answered bluntly and honestly.

She knew that it was incredibly forward to suggest such a rendezvous, but it was Mathi after all, the little boy she had grown up with, had shared misdemeanours and giggles with in a manner unbecoming of their distinction in class. Slightly flushed, Lisette smiled up at him, her hands deprived of volition, utterly content to be in his, to feel his fingers, his warm reassurance. "Well what else would it be but an accident, n'est pas?" she replied sweetly, blushing in spite of herself; she was sure she wasn't the only woman to suddenly feel her knees were made of marshmallow before him, the gossip she had overheard had been of his coveted person, sought after by the debutantes, lusted over by the rest, but what of her? Casting a quick glance towards the double doors that opened out into the inner sanctum which served as his father's study, Lisette exerted what will she had left, and extricated herself, reluctantly from his hold. "Till lather than, petit Mathi, your father does not like to be kept waiting."

Discerning the guarded honesty of her words, Etienne nodded, indeed, hunger was something of an intimately familiar bane for most of Paris, the coming winter looked to be one of the more trying ones in recent times, times which for their ilk was never really swollen with plenty. "Privation is often wasted on many, and I may hazard a guess that that is much the case with you. Given better circumstances, the resolve and ingenuity you display now would certainly be for the betterment of the people of France, a pity the blinkers of class have caged us."

Mathias' brown eyes watched her as she spoke, looking for her reaction. Perhaps it was from years of flirtatious behavior that made him blind to the rosiness of her cheeks, but he found her eyes fascinating with their dark blue color. Then her hands disappeared from his and there was a sense of loss, his hands feel empty and only the ghostly warmth of her hands. Sighing, his hands dropped to his side as he nodded. "Yes, you're quite right. I've pushed my luck as I'm sure my father has caught the sound of my voice by now. Until then, I'll see you, Lisette."

***

Though he was complimenting her, quite obviously, Natalia frowned even more. Maybe she was just in a foul mood and more stubborn than usual, but she found his words to be irritating as they seemed to have neglected some factors. "Given better circumstances, my resolve and ingenuity, as you call it, would not have resorted to thievery and forgery and never would have to gone to such lengths in the first place," Natalia replied.

As soon as she divested herself of his presence, Lisette felt an odd cold seep into her heart, almost as though some unseen spectre of foreboding had trespassed through the mechanism of her person. Giving herself a mental shake, dismissing such foolishness, she watched his retreating back with a soft whimsical longing; the way he looked at her, after not seeing those prowling eyes hiding behind his happy go lucky visage, it made her unconsciously tug her skirt in place, almost as though to reassure herself of her reality. The day had begun as one of routine and similitude, but now, "now everything changes," her whisper, taut with an eagerness she had not recently felt, surprised even her as she made her way downstairs into the dimly lit servants level, a smile playing upon her heart as her face fought a losing battle, pretending nothing was amiss.

Something had her on edge, that much seemed apparent just by looking at her. Responding to her rather sharp repartee, Etienne sounded apologetic, "Er, of course, I mean to say, you do what you must with the gifts you have in any given situation, I didn't mean to imply that your skills had been...misdirected." Perhaps striking up a conversation had been a mistake, he chided himself mentally, trying not to steal too much from her stark profile. He was about to take another step, when he felt his legs taken from under him, and a gruff voice leapt at them out of the dark, "gimme wotcha got, or die!" The rusty click of an ill-maintained gun seemed to echo in the silence like the impact of hammer upon gavel, pronouncing a sentence.

Taking a small breath, Mathias rapped his knuckles on the doors to his father's study before he heard the word "enter" and then he slipped inside. It was gloomy as usual, even with the light streaming through the windows opposite the door. The book shelves were an ebony black and his father's desk was made out of rich mahogany in a unique design that looked fit for royalty. After his experience at their country house, it sickened Mathias to think that the desk probably was worth at least a month's worth of meals for three families. His father's back was to him as he approached and he came to a stop a few feet away. Giving a bow despite being out of his father's side, Mathias said in a more even tone, "Good day, Father."

***

Her mouth opened to protest and clarify her meaning when she caught the sound of fluttering fabric behind her. With wide eyes and years of incident on the street, she quickly whirled around while her companion fell to the ground. She immediately took in the gun and the poorly dressed man. Slowly raising her hands, she smiled slightly, though there wasn't any warmth in it. "No need to be so hasty, my good monsieur. I'm poor and all I got in my pockets is a piece of chalk," she said truthfully.

From the reaction of the straight-backed velvet coat clad patriarch, one would perhaps not have guessed that he had been awaiting the arrival of his younger son. "Oh, yes, Mathias, good, please take a seat." intoned the craggy faced man who removed his attention from the bookshelf behind his desk upon the arrival of the young man. Casting an austere eye upon the frivolous young man, Armand Gregoire Chastain resumed his lordly posture within the restriction of the high-backed leather panelled chair opposite his son. "Tell me, boy, how has your fondness for gallivanting kept you?"

Not a stranger to being accosted in such a manner out on the rude streets of the best city in the world, Etienne quickly discerned that it was the long, knobbly cane in the vagabond's other hand that had done him a mischief. Threaten a woman indeed, the nerve of the scoundrel! The fact that Etienne was wont to walk among them, and even champion their paltry cause, did not translate completely to his utter subscription of their every action, and while the rogue's attention was fixed, rather suggestively upon his undeniably feminine companion, a deft flick of his left wrist brought the custom made hidden firearm to bear, and with a deceptively loud disruption of the air and a cursory flash, the would be ne'erdowell collapsed backwards with a gently smoking, spreading redness in the vicinity of his upper left chest. "Privation turning men into mindless beasts, while the aristocracy fattens itself daily, despicable." he muttered, resuming his feet, dusting off what he could of the filth that insisted upon leaving its mark upon his trousers. "An unavoidable, if regrettable encounter, my apologies, are you alright?" he asked, regarding her with an air of anxiousness.

Straightening up, Mathias walked smoothly to one of the two rich, leather armchairs facing the desk and sat down. Crossing one leg over the other, he gave off his usual casual, aloof air, finding it the best front whenever he had to deal with his father's disappointment. His eyes flashed briefly at his father's question, but soon his face smoothed out to a polite smile. "I has kept me a way well enough. It has made sure I have avoided these last, less than harmonious years. And if you may recall, it wasn't all gallivanting as I have helped out at the country house."

***

The man seemed about to say something, his hand shaking slightly as Natalia watch. She was just on the verge of moving, whether forward or backward, she couldn't tell. Then there was a bang that bounced off the narrow walls of the alley and she let out a small scream, one that gained more strength when she saw the man crash to the ground dead. Whirling around to face her companion and see his nonchalant manner, anger blazing through her. "You didn't have to shoot that man," Natalia said, ignoring his question. "Why did you shoot him?"

"If by 'help out' you mean exercise the staff by having your disreputable layabout friends come over frequently, then yes you've been an immense 'help'." Reaching for a crystal decanter, and pouring a measure of amber liquid into a pair of small glasses, Armand nudged towards his fashionable son. "In any case, that does not concern me as much as the state of things there." Taking a cursory sip, and grimacing slightly, the lord and master of Manoir Chastain continued. "If, as your brother is so keen on apprising me, that the situation grows ever more... intolerable among the proletariat, can we rely upon our demesne further afield to sustain us?"

She was upset, naturally she would be Etienne considered, dusting off his coat sleeves with an abstracted expression on his face; while the man had brandished a weapon it was doubtful whether he had constituted a threat, indeed, Etienne highly doubted if the weapon pointed so decisively in her direction had even been loaded, powder and shot not being particularly cheap or available since the King's men had taken control of the gunpowder stores across the city. "He could have shot you," he replied gruffly, gazing from her face, florid with passion to the lieless reprobate. "I erred on the side of caution and chose not to grant him further license to molest us further... I did not want to kill him, but if it came to a choice between him or you, well..."

Mathias' jaw clenched tightly and the hand he casually rested on the armrest tightened ever so so slightly. "If you haven't noticed, Father, those layabout friends all left the country quite early. Ah, thank you." Forcing a brilliant smile, he took the offered glass and took a big sip. Rolling the liquid slightly around in his hand, Mathias raised his chin, not wanting to show anymore weakness in front of the elder man. "It can get us by, but not for long. It would be better to decide whether we're keeping the estate or not. There have been some...disagreeable people eyeing the place for some time and have resorted to strong forms of violence to state their dislike of current affairs."

***

Stepping further up to the man, Natalia's eyes stared at him hard, her finger pointed accusingly at him. "Yes, he could, but that still doesn't condone yourself. We could have talked first. Did you see how feeble he was? I doubt he'd shoot me. If anything, he'd more likely try to sell me off as a woman," she hissed at him. Slowly, she stepped up to him again, her finger now pressing into his chest. Her face remained furious for a couple more seconds before her hand dropped and she turned her face away. In a more subdued voice, she added, "Though, I appreciate the thought. Thank you."

"As I suspected," what sounded like pride had entered the old man's voice, and the look he fixed upon the occupier of the chair directly opposite him was one of vindication. "Foppish wretches the lot of them, my son, the only one of substance, persevering in the face of insubordination of the masses, your mother's regard of you appears justified, come," refilling Mathias's glass, Armand, did the same for himself, raising the crystal structure with a steady, resolute hand, "to forgiving an old man his foolish pride, and to the future of the Chastain line." In the aftermath of the lingering sting of glass upon glass, a crackling laughter like a sequence of brittle bones breaking one after the other was heard. "You thought I despised you did you not, ma petit Mathi?" the old man chortled, regarding the youth with a twinkle in his eyes, eyes that stared widely back at him. "Disagreeable people? Feh, France is full of those these days, nothing like the land of progress and civilisation we looked forward to when I was your sge!" A slight cloud of nostalgia passed over the elder Chastain's dulled eyes, "but asnwer me this, if we were to sanction a sale, where then can we go? Your brother counsels me flee to the country, and here we have opposing counsel, a Chastain is no rat in a trap, a new course of action perhaps."


The mugger in prospect had not been the first man Etienne had killed, it was not even the tenth. Killing members of the foundation race was something his people had always frowned upon, death led to discord, and discord birthed discovery, discovery erupted damnation, that had been the observable pattern for other such surreptitious types as they, hiding among people, hoping to disguise their inner demons in the hope of eking out a particular place among them multitude. "I am... sorry, he should not have had to die, but the threat was something I would not, nay could not leave to chance." He would have to expose himself to confession once more; a leader's soul must be clean of every deed, every misdemeanour acknowledged and subject to the scrutiny of his people. What he had done, had been necessary, given the circumstances and limited insight he had been privy to, but it had not been right, and there would be a price to be paid. "I placed you over him, if there is fault, I admit it to be mine," turning he said, "if you want nothing further to do with me, I understand." Silently, he made to go.

The sudden change in his father's tone bewildered him and he moved absently for when his father went to refill his glass. For a moment, Mathias speechless. Then the clinking of glass brought him back to the present and he let out a surprised, relieved laugh. "Oh, um, yes, Father. To the future of the Chastain line," he stammered slightly afterwards, then took a sip of alcohol to steady himself. Regaining his composure, he felt he could settle back into himself, loosing the trained arrogant look in his eyes as he listened to his father. Nodding slowly to indicate he was listening, wondered if the man before him was always like this or perhaps he changed in the past few years as he had. When his father finished, Mathias scooted forward slightly, looking his father in the eye. "For once, I agree with Armel. It would be better to flee. Things are still on the brink of more violence and this'peace' is more like the quiet before a storm. But I have a proposition that makes it so that we can retain one of our estates and also find safety out of this country."

***

Just as quickly as her anger flared up, Natalia reached out and took hold of the man's sleeve. Her eyes still won't meet his and it took all her efforts to swallow her pride. "Which I have acknowledged, good monsieur." With her free hand, she reached out into her pocket and held the chalk out to him. "And in the thought of saving my life, I say that the favor you proposed of earlier has been paid. You should take this, in any case. It seems that a link between us might cause you more trouble than I thought and it wouldn't do to have my business find its way to you," Natalia said softly, her hand shaking slightly which she hoped he would miss. It still felt as if her ears were ringing from the shock and she shivered, whether from cold or the memory of blood spilling, she couldn't tell.