PRP: Affairs [Paul x Marie]

[and be blue]

For Paul, it is not the show -- a somewhat overly dramatic but well-liked romance, touched with false intrigue and tragic death -- that brings him around the theater every night this weekend. True, he enjoys the dressing up, enjoys the posturing, the clusters of important people, likes being noticed and having people look at him. He even enjoys watching the acting, whether he understands it all or not, with his arms draped inappropriately over the seat in front of him and his eyes too bright.

But no. That's not why he's here, not this weekend, at least. He's been working so much that the small things melted away, that socialization fell behind, that he has indeed been his father's son. It was only this weekend that the young actor swung by Plumb's to advertise the show and met up with Paul.

Tonight is the second night taken off to follow blue eyes and golden curls. The show is over and Paul turns, for once hunting a quick escape instead of lingering to be admired. The crowd thins and he goes sideways, not toward the front exit like most of his peers but toward the side, coat tucked in and legs stretched out...  

[LoveByLetters]

" .. if you leave again without allowing me a moment to speak with you, I shall be most vexed." The female voice pipes up from just ahead, as if someone plotted his path and made certain to place themselves upon it. In fact this is exactly so: having intended to present herself to him the night prior, Rosemarie Tumbriel had instead been unable to cross the delicate swirls of the social gathering before Paul had disappeared in this very direction. Her disappointment then had only made her more determined, so tonight she had made certain to position herself between him and his mysterious exit.

If he means to bring one of the little singers flowers, to present himself to her for an evening, he shall simply have to wait: Marie believes herself much more important, and men who have outright refused her are few and far between.

Her dress is immaculate tonight, and new -- and rather than golden, her carefully styled curls are deep chocolate brown, and rather than blue, her eyes are a cooler green. But at least she cants her head to one side and smiles, and seems cheerful and silly rather than stupid and mean -- it is hard to imagine her doing anything crueler than pout, no matter whether he 'vexes' her or not.  

[and be blue]

For just a moment, Paul is flummoxed -- not exactly a rare sight, but neither is it an entirely calm one. Usually he can pull off a smile and a cheerful greeting even if he doesn't have the first clue who his new friend is, and this time he is even familiar with the young woman settled before him. Faintly. Peripherally. He knows who her father is, he thinks, though the name eludes him, and for this moment his eyes flash past her to the cast door like someone who is watching happiness escape through it.

He's not holding any flowers.

At least he recovers quickly, the smile sliding across his handsome features. His hair, this evening, is unruly in a way that will likely be trendy before the end of winter, a single tumbling curl that falls into very green eyes. His clothing is just on the daring end of fashionable, if a bit overdone. His posture is tense.

"Oh, well, I want very little to vex young women..." The wink and the bow are carefully executed. Graceful. Brief.  

[LoveByLetters]

If she sees that ghost of dismissed happiness in his eyes she has no sympathy for him, no pity: his little singer, whoever it may be with winsome curl and piping voice, will simply have to wait. He will have simply years to explore and exploit the graceful darlings of the stage, but one is eligible for marriage for only a relatively short time. Of course, almost none of this calculated cruelty shows in her expression: her eyes are bright and seem quite empty of intention or plot or anything else but simple interest in him.

"I'm very glad; I almost believed otherwise. I wished to make myself known to you yesterday, do you know, but you had quite simply disappeared. I was quite crushed." Her painted lips turn down in a small, artful pout, her lighthearted tone trying to coax him out of his tenseness and into a more playful mood. "But then, I suppose you are every bit an admired star here as the actors; there must be many young women competing for your time."  

[and be blue]

"That, ah." He is used to a certain degree of flattery, yes, but not quite like this; her boldness, combined with that childish pout, is surely what has thrown him off. It is not that he has never had female attention turned on him before. Some, even, have had the backing of wealthy and powerful fathers behind them, and were his own still alive, he would likely already be well and thoroughly chained down...

"That can be true, though usually here..." He sweeps an arm around them, gesturing to the small stage, the relatively mixed company. Less upscale than many might expect from him. And, as he does, Paul pulls the smile more comfortably across his features, lets it go daring, a bit teasing. Make himself look like less of a good match. "...I feel less like the low-hanging fruit than at, say, one of Lord Tinkerton's parties..."  

[LoveByLetters]

That startles a sudden laugh out of her, so bright and breathless that she seems to embarrass herself. She blushes and covers her mouth with one gloved hand, though her eyes still twinkle merrily at the thought. "I should well imagine! You should not let those brutes at Lord Tinkerton's think you are any less charming than you are. They are simply inflated with their own self-importance. I must say, if the good Lord adds any more gold buttons to his apparel, I fear that he shall one day fall and not be able to stand again." She keeps her voice a good bit lower at this, so as not to be heard to say something so indelicate; Paul's own indelicacy does not seem to disturb her -- apparently she finds it incredibly entertaining.  

[and be blue]

It is too late for Paul to try a different tactic, though -- so, resigned, he settles, turning his back more toward the actors' door and trying not to think about the night he had planned versus what he now can expect. He is still...well, not terribly young, but young enough to leave him with opportunities.

"That or he'll fill his belly so that each one will pop off in sequence, like riflemen in a line..." He says it with a quick gesture, fingers spread away from his own stomach. But he doesn't let it go on, instead smiling at her again and shifting in place. Politeness should draw him in a step closer. He doesn't take it.

"I can't imagine quite what you wanted to speak to me about, however." The task at hand. A slow breath out. One than he has been holding it in. But not intentionally, at least...  

[LoveByLetters]

"Oh, there is a great deal I think I would be interested in discussing with you, again you do not give yourself enough credit!" Her lashes flutter, as if she is shocked he would think so little of himself, when she apparently thinks much more highly of him. At least she does not step after him, though a swish of her skirts seems to threaten such a pursuit. "Really, sir, I begin to wonder about the quality of your friends, and whether they pay you any compliments, for truly they are not giving you ample fare on that score." And Marie would like to make up for that lack: oh, yes, she would be very happy to pay him any number of compliments, again and again.  

[and be blue]

His evening is slipping through his fingers, and Paul can see it go. He draws in a breath, thinking for just a moment, and then offers her another bow: just slightly teasing, a bit inappropriate, and hopefully enough to amuse while he slights her. Just a bit of a slight.

"Give me one minute, then, and we can meander our way down into the crowd." His smile is bright, wide, a wink, and he steps away before she can object to catch someone by the elbow, a young actor with makeup half off, to press the gifts into his hands and speak softly into his ear. They will be delivered to their proper recipient.

It only takes him two or three minutes before he comes back to offer her an arm. Unencumbered, now.  

[LoveByLetters]

It is a small victory, but a victory nonetheless. Perhaps she does not notice the slight -- or she has ample cause to ignore it, which may be troubling to him. Why should she have any reason to pursue him with such determination? Having allowed his brief escape, she is happy to curl her arm through his own with as delicate a touch as can be imagined. "Thank you. I know I have come upon you unexpectedly, and I pray that you shall forgive me, but you have proven a most difficult gentleman to locate." She frowns slightly at him, though for just a moment her amusement remains -- one lifted brow conveys that she is fully aware that he may be committing some sort of indiscretion with one of the dancers, or a young choral girl perhaps. Just as plainly she does not care, but then it would be quite hypocritical of her to do so.

"Will you take a turn of the park with me? The cool air will be so pleasant, I think, after the stuffiness of this place; sometimes I think it is all the gossip circulating, crowding the air and making it simply too heavy to bear."  

[and be blue]

They can, then, take a turn in the park: less pleasant than his original plans for the night, perhaps, but he will be surprised by how tolerable it actually turns out to be. He can talk about poetry, about his estate, the revamp, and when there walk comes to a halt -- well. If she asks, they can arrange another walk, with escort, and another after that.

Over time, his conversation will become less light and more serious. It will linger, on Samael. Not the usual careless bragging, but instead some of his concerns. How much time they spend apart. How little Samael seems to tolerate the city. How he wishes they could talk, like some of the others did.

Four meetings, perhaps, and he'd hesitate. "I could probably arrange it, if you were interested in meeting him..."  

[LoveByLetters]

It has been almost a week since the last time they met, she pleading an illness that kept her from him for a time, and certainly on this meeting she seems a bit thinner, as if the brief sickness took something out of her. But she will not speak on it, more than apologizing for her absence; she would much rather hear him talk about Samael -- listening intently to every detail. She always listens to him, no matter what he talks about; she is very good at it. He makes it easier, in some ways, by liking the sound of his own voice so much; there is no knowledge she has to counterfeit, no change she really has to feign in herself. All she must needs do is listen.

He will see her answer in her green eyes, which open wider with a sudden brightness even before she speaks. She is able to keep her tone relatively even, though there is a breathlessness to it which she rarely has. "Oh, yes. I would like that very much. I would consider it an honor to meet him, I think, having heard so much about him."  

[and be blue]

"He doesn't come into the city." It's offered, mostly, as an apology -- his chin up so that he can look down his long nose at her, take in that thinness, that muted edge to her voice, to her posture. His eyes, green and narrowed, hold something thoughtful behind them. Of course, knowing Paul, this might well just be simply wondering 'what will I have for dinner?'

"But he would likely meet us, were we to go to a ride outside its borders...?" An offer, surely, slow and carefully, his hands curled at the small of his back. "Assuming you can find a suitable chaperone."  

[LoveByLetters]

She does not question his thoughtful look, nor wonder for long what thoughts might be behind it, shallow or deep. She pauses only to admire it, for it is a handsome expression on an attractive man, and with a smile she smooths down the lace on her gloves. "I can manage a chaperone well enough, if you will forgive her presence; have you the good fortune of knowing the younger Lady Talico?" There is a bit of mischief to the curve of her smile, for Marie thinks it a great coup to be even a casual acquaintance of this formidable personage; she is well known for being beautiful, daring, and that greatest of crimes -- out-spoken.

"I am not certain of her riding ability," she says, glancing away from him with a thoughtfulness of her own which causes her to press her pink lips together. "But I cannot imagine that there exists anything which she could not do, at least adequately enough to hold an opinion upon it.  

[and be blue]

There is a pause before he replies, distracted, Paul trying to place the name in his mind. He is, in fact, usually rather good at this one thing. He remember people. He knows families [the ones with money, at least] and their status. It's just recently that things have fallen out. He wonders, absently, if he's losing his own status some --

"I don't recognize the name, but, ah." A blink. He doesn't like admitting it, but it's too late now. Anyway, it's just a woman, not like he's forgotten someone terribly important. "Whoever you think best. we can ride slowly, if needs be, and I'm sure Samael will be grateful for some people around."