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Name: Christine | Gender: Feminina | Age: 32 | Posts: 1,573 | Roses: 460
Old 10-02-2006 at 05:51 AM
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Frederick Worthington

Frederick could not help but enjoy being playful with Julianna as he gently kissed her pale, delicate skin up and down her slender arm. When his lips pressed against her own, he felt the fire of romance still burning in his heart, and the young gentleman was sure his fiancée felt it as well. The tenor's free hand slowly lowered her arm and moved up, his fingertips lightly touching her jaw, bringing the young dancer's soft lips closer to his. It surprised him, however, when Julianna pulled away and turned to face him fully; what made him more concerned, though, was that she was not happy or smiling, as she usually did when she experienced the euphoria from kissing her fellow opera performer.

"Frederick." There was an uneasiness in the pretty ballerina's voice as she looked up at her fiancé's handsome face. "Stop. . . I cannot do this anymore." Beautiful blue irises became clouded over by tears as they gazed up into Frederick's own grey eyes. All the air suddenly seemed to be gone from the bathroom, as if a vacuum had sucked it out, and the young man was finding it somewhat hard to get his breath.

"Why...whyever would you say that, my dear? Surely you cannot be serious; I know that you still love me, as truly as I love you," replied the tenor as his fingers gently pushed some of her dark tresses from her pale face. "You surely jest, Miss Julianna." However, that was not the case, as the girl then slipped off her diamond engagement ring, presented to her on the small bridge crossing the Seine.

"I cannot marry you, and I cannot live with you. I cannot be with you." Julianna held out the ring to Frederick, and as he looked into her eyes he was slowly starting to realize that she was not joking. The Russian ballerina was being completely serious, but for the moment the young gentleman pushed it back to her.

"Miss Julianna, let us adjourn to the sitting room. It seems there is much we need to discuss. Please, do come, my love," he said in a soft voice, ushering her out of the bathroom and walking with her back out of the master bedroom, down the hall. The tenor re-entered the grand living room with the young girl, his hand gently guiding her to the large sofa; he allowed the pretty, dark-haired dancer to sit first before sitting down carefully himself, his hand sweeping his cloak out of the way. "Miss Julianna, I did not wish I had to ask this question, but...what has possessed you? Why do you suddenly think that you are not fit to be my bride? It is not a wonder that I chose you; from the moment I saw you, I knew that destiny would bring us together.

"Our two hearts...I have always said they have sung one unending, wordless aria, yet it is unheard by human ears and is too sweet for words." The Russian's hands were taken into the tender grasp of the opera singer's larger, yet quite elegant, hands as he gazed at her with hurt and sadness in his steel-grey irises. "My darling love, I fear that by you telling me this...your heart has ceased singing that lovely aria. Please...tell me it is not true. How I wish and pray that all shall be well once more."

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Old 10-10-2006 at 01:46 AM
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Julianna Aundellis

"Why...whyever would you say that, my dear? Surely you cannot be serious; I know that you still love me, as truly as I love you. You surely jest, Miss Julianna."


Julianna shook her head gently. She wished she were just pulling a huge joke on him, and she felt her stomache twisting with guilt for doing this at all, let alone not doing it sooner when she should have. She had to use everything she had inside not to break down once she he pushed the ring back to her, not believeing that it was really happening.

"Miss Julianna, let us adjourn to the sitting room. It seems there is much we need to discuss. Please, do come, my love," Julianna really felt no choice in the matter, but wouldn't have chosen not to anyway. She thought herself a cruel and horrible person at that moment, feeling, for the first time, the true effects of what she had done. She had completely ruined a beautiful thing by believeing the words of a stranger rather than believeing in the love that then had run strong in her heart. And now, as she sat in this man's fantastic sitting room, now there was so much doubt that she knew she could never go back to being with Frederick.

"Miss Julianna, I did not wish I had to ask this question, but...what has possessed you? Why do you suddenly think that you are not fit to be my bride? It is not a wonder that I chose you; from the moment I saw you, I knew that destiny would bring us together.

"Our two hearts...I have always said they have sung one unending, wordless aria, yet it is unheard by human ears and is too sweet for words."


Julianna felt Frederick take her hands in his own, but her eyes refused to leave his. That is, until she saw the look of absolute pain in them. She averted her eyes to the beautiful floor, hardly able to bear doing it.

"My darling love, I fear that by you telling me this...your heart has ceased singing that lovely aria. Please...tell me it is not true. How I wish and pray that all shall be well once more."

He is so romantic, she thought, not able to yet bring her tearful blue eyes to his sorrowfull grey ones, It is such a tradgedy, for a love to come to an end, when he had no idea it was dying. "I-I-I wish I could tell you that it is not true. . . and I do not think I will be able to tell you why. You just need to know that while it lasted, I. . . I loved you very much Frederick. And. . . and I'm s-s-sorry," she managed, before the tears slid down her face.

She pulled her hands away from Frederick's, and placed the ring he had once given her as a symbol of his everlasting love on the table gently, then picked up her purse and fled from his apartment. When she reached the street, she tried desperately to wipe the tears away, but found it useless.

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Old 10-11-2006 at 04:49 AM
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Frederick Worthington

Frederick and Julianna gazed into each other's eyes, sadness and hurt evident in the ocean-blue irises of the lovely ballerina as well as the stormy-grey orbs of the handsome opera Heldentenor. The Victrola stereo was playing classical music, this time a song the Englishman had recorded for one of his albums. The sound of his heroic, powerful singing voice filled the elegantly furnished room, its quality as majestic as it was when he performed live on the stage of the Paris Opera House. Yet, at the moment, Frederick felt anything but heroic and proud; instead, his heart ached because he feared he was about to lose Julianna forever.

Ah, me! Our engagement shall end, and our love will meet a tragic demise, never what I had intended! Why?! Why?! For a moment, the pretty young lady looked up into her fiancé's eyes, then they were quickly averted to the floor. In that brief glance, the gentleman saw a world of sorrow and guilt that broke his heart. It was still somewhat delicate from the death of Elissa...to lose Julianna would cause it to shatter once more. This time, perhaps, he might not ever heal. He spoke to the girl, and after a moment she replied.

"I-I-I wish I could tell you that it is not true. . .and I do not think I will be able to tell you why. You just need to know that while it lasted, I. . .I loved you very much's Frederick. And. . .and I'm s-s-sorry." Frederick's eyes welled up as he realized with horror and dread that his worst nightmare was swiftly coming to pass. Julianna would be leaving him forever, and he would lose her love along with the dancer herself. No longer would the tenor be able to kiss her, hold her, whisper sweet nothings in her ear; no more would the Russian ballerina have her brave operatic hero to come to her rescue, nor would she be able to hear his voice sing for her alone. The tears began to fall, unchecked, from her eyes as she gently placed the diamond engagement ring on the table, took her purse, and fled from the apartment.

"Non, non! Wait! Miss Julianna, wait! Please, do not go! You do not have to do this!" Frederick leapt up from the couch and jogged around the furniture placed in the center of the room, chasing her as she headed for the door. However, he was too late, for she was already out the main door of the apartment and making her way swiftly down the staircase. "Miss Julianna, do not leave me! Do not leave, please!" Reality, though, was slowly sinking in, making the young man realize that this time, the dancer was leaving him for good. Unlike after the drama at the Christmas ball the previous year, she would not be coming back, ever. With a heavy heart, Frederick shut the door and walked back to the living room, where he ordered Charles to take the tea back to the kitchen. Julianna was not staying, nor would she be returning to his grand apartment.

---------------------------------------------

Some time after Julianna left Frederick, the opera singer was reflecting on her admission that she could not stay in a relationship with him. She had never gotten to tell him why they had to separate, since the beautiful, blossoming ballerina had been brutally murdered. There had been rumors flying around the opera house that perhaps the coroner was right, that the Englishman was the one who had done the deed. However, it was not possible for him to have strangled her to death in the dungeons when he had not known of the incident at all, until a very young girl who performed at the opera house informed him that she had found the Russian's body in the lake underground.

What did I ever do to deserve the loss of not one, but now two young ladies whom I so dearly loved? Why did they seem destined to die before they could marry? Perhaps I am meant to be a bachelor, to grow old and gray and die bitter and alone with a broken heart, unable to ever truly love again. These were just a few of the questions that Frederick pondered as he sat in the grand living room of his home, without music playing this time. The apartment was silent, save for movement heard whenever the servants were going about their duties. The rich gentleman himself was seated upon the sofa where he had last spoken to Julianna, dressed in a black Victorian-style suit with a waistcoat of crimson brocade silk. He still kept the pocketwatch she gave him for Christmas, its silver chain looped across the front of his vest in both pockets. His wavy, ebony-colored hair was neatly combed, as always, and his sideburns were trimmed and elegantly curling. Frederick, at a glance, was the image of the perfect Victorian aristocrat surrounded by luxury, yet he had no wife with which to share his lavish lifestyle and his opulent home. Hopefully I shall find out something from Monsieur Sauveur, as he is due to come today.

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Old 10-13-2006 at 05:17 PM
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OOC: I tried not to assume too many details about the space and give a bit of backstory to show Jean really is doing something. Correct me if I'm wrong. BIC:

M. Jean Sauver

"I wish I could tell you that the old man was crazy," he said into the cellphone held to his ear as he looked both ways and ducked aross the street. "But the fact of that matter is, vile though he may be, I think he was right."

He was quiet for a long moment, "That doesn't mean you shouldn't do--"he pressed his lips together firmly rolling his eyes at whatever was being said on the other end of the line. "Piet--Pieter!" he interrupted harshly having arrived at the front of the his destination. He moved to the edge of the street away from passerbys and from a distance appeared to talking to a parked car. "I appreciate your concern old friend. But I would have thought even you would take the opportunity to tell me just how prophetic you were...." A slight smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. "Well the fact they were my own words quoted back to me only increases the irony. But there's really nothing to do about it now. You must at least admit that it is a worthy cause." He was silent for a moment before laughing heartily. "Yes, well I think we can both agree that I was already bound of hell, at least this is a better road."

He nodded in silent confirmation for a few moments. "You'll do it then?... Excellent I'll fax you the report... I know it's not what you were trained for but the way I figure see you're as familiar with violent deaths as this coroner and I would value your opinion. Perhaps you'll see something he didn't." He turned away from the car and glanced over the building before him. It was, architecturally speaking, magnificiant, which wasn't surprising. He expected nothing less from the home of Frederick Worthington that absolute decadence and again had to marvel at the irony that he would be aligning himself with someone who represented so much of what he detested about wealth.

"I'm always careful," he said solemnly into the reciever, "Nehmen sie sorge mein freund." He closed the phone slowly and stowed it in his inner jacket pocket while glacing carefully along the street at the passerbys before walking over to the building.

*~*~*

Jean adjusted the strap of his briefcase/laptop bag on his shoulder absent-mindedly while waiting for his knock to be answered and was duly impressed when the door was almost immediately opened to him. "Bonjour," he said to the man who greeted him. A butler, he thought sardonically, in an apartment, though kept his smile as sincere as possible, It's offical, the man has too much money.

"My name is Monsieur Jean Sauveur I have an appointement with Mr. Worthington," she said in as formal a tone as he could master without feeling absolutely ridiculous. He was thrilled to see the glimmer of recognition as the older man smiled and gestured for him to come inside.

"He's been expecting you Monsieur," he replied and Jean couldn't bother to pretend that he was shocked that Frederick had imported an Englishman to wait on him. "If you would follow me please..."

Jean nodded and fell into step behind the man as they made thier way to the sitting room, or lounge, or whatever pretentious name Worthington had picked for the far too many rooms his home seemed to contain. He lives alone, Jean couldn't help but remind himself, All of this space and frivolity and he lives alone..... To him it seemed and extraordinary waste, but as was evidence by the decoration this place was not meant for people of his taste.

They found Worthington seated on what appeared to be an antique sofa or some sort that Jean didn't doubt was expensive just as he didn't doubt it was uncomfortable. "M. Sauveur," the bulter said introducing him properly before turning to go.

"Just a moment," Jean called looking between the older man and Worthington for a moment. "I was thinking perhaps Mr. Worthington," he said fixing the younger man with a meaningful glance, "that as we are well settled here, that you might want to give your man a few hours off. As well as any other house staff you may have....." Jean couldn't be sure how much the young man would want revealed to him about the nature of his investigation. But on the chance that he did have the metal to want less delicate details, Jean thought it best not to have anyone around to overhear.

He glanced around the room and choose the Victorian chair that look as though it might almost be comfortable and helped himself to it. He was mildly surprised that it didn't feel like quite the torture device he would have imgined but it did make him feel the need to sit uncomfortably straight. It was never as though this was going to be a comfortable meeting anyway he thought bitterly.




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Old 10-13-2006 at 08:54 PM
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Frederick Worthington

Frederick was deep in thought when suddenly his ears picked up the sound of knocking at the main door to his apartment. He knew that it had to be Monsieur Sauveur, as they had made arrangements to meet at the tenor's spacious home that day, in order to discuss the coroner's report and his findings on Julianna's murder. He turned his head towards the door, and watched the butler disappear to answer it; Charles and Jean exchanged greetings, then the older man led the French fellow inside to the grand living room. The Victrola stereo was off so the room was completely quiet, without the strains of a full classical orchestra filling the air. In a moment, the butler entered the room with Frederick's guest close behind.

"Monsieur Sauveur." As soon as Charles entered with Jean following, the tall, handsome Englishman stood from the sofa and pulled at the collar of his dark suit jacket, straightening it out a bit. The older man stepped aside, allowing the guest to enter into the living room; he bowed and turned to go, but Jean looked at both of them and stopped the distinguished-looking butler.

"Just a moment." He stopped the man in his tracks, who returned to his former position, standing straight and looking dignified with his head up and hands behind his back. Charles waited patiently for what the Frenchman would have to say to him, and what came next surprised both the servant and his employer. "I was thinking perhaps, Mr. Worthington, that as we are well settled here, that you might want to give your man a few hours off. As well as any other house staff you may have..."

"With your permission, of course, Master Worthington." The wealthy English gentleman knew that it would be crucial for the two men to keep their meeting absolutely private; no one should know of the proceedings and what they would discuss, as they concerned the investigation of Julianna Aundellis' murder. Frederick, with his hands also behind his back, looked back at his trusted manservant and nodded.

"Take the afternoon off, my good fellow. Spend some time seeing the city. Make sure the other staff--Antoine, Georgia, and Nelson--know that they are relieved for the rest of the day, so they may go with you as well," was his reply as his lips curved up into a smile. "You have all done your duties well, as always. Use the latter part of the day to do as you wish." Charles was pleased to hear this and smiled in return.

"Do you mean that, sir? Many thanks for your generosity. It is greatly appreciated. I shall inform the rest of the staff straight away." With that, the distinguished-looking butler graciously bowed low, then straightened up, turned smartly on his heel, and went off to find the maid, the master chef who worked in the kitchen, and the chauffeur. He closed the door of the grand living room behind him, leaving Frederick and Jean in the quiet of the room.

"Do you wish to have something to drink, Monsieur Sauveur? Brandy, vodka, cognac? Do you have your own preference? The cabinet you see there in the corner is full of the very finest wines and liquor money can buy; the crystal is below it," said the wealthy young opera tenor, waving his hand over to his left and in the corner of the room as Jean sat himself down in a Victorian armchair. "They are all available to you should you so desire a drink." Frederick himself sat back down on the sofa, crossed one leg over the other, and laced his fingers together as he leaned one elbow on the arm of the furniture piece.

"Or, if you so choose, we shall get straight to business," the gentleman added, his face showing that he knew the two men would be discussing a grave matter: how and, if possible, why his fiancée died so brutally. Because Jean was the guest in his home, the nobleman knew it was proper to be accomodating to the Frenchman's wishes. "It is entirely up to you, monsieur, and I shall not prevent you either way. Tell me, what information have you so far from your investigation?"

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Old 10-13-2006 at 09:54 PM
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M. Jean Sauveur

Jean felt slightly relieved when Worthington's house staff (as it turned out that for a single man he required four people to attend to him on a daily basis) was given permission to take the rest of thier day for thier leisure. Jean was half-tempted to check under the coushins of the couch to make sure he wasn't hiding a steamstress anywhere he had forgotten was hidding in some forgotten corner of gluttonous space. Yet still he had the common sense to keep his mouth closed and just let the Lord go about his buisness as he saw fit.

"Do you wish to have something to drink, Monsieur Sauveur? Brandy, vodka, cognac? Do you have your own preference?" Jean was decidedly of the opinion that this was the kindest thing Worthington had ever said to him. The buisness Jean was used to was generally carried out in family restuarants in the Italian countryside, seedy bars in "underground" London, or Russian living rooms. And despite the variety of settings one thing had always remained the same. A drink was ussually share to broker friendship, no matter how false it may be. And he had never had more trouble looking over at his companion and imagining friendship that he was having right now looking at Mr. Frederick Worthington.

"Or, if you so choose, we shall get straight to buisness. It is entirely up to you monsieur, and I shall not prevent you either way. Tell me, what information have you so far from your investigation?"

Jean reached over for the side of his chair and pulled two stuff A4 sized folders from his bag. As he stood he dropped this on the couch next to Frederick. "I see no reason why we can't do both." He walked towards the aforementioned cabinet as he talked. "Those," he said looking over his shoulder to nod at the folders he had dropped as he perused the Lord liquor collection, "are offical unreleased reports of both the gendame and the coroner. He selected a a bottle of cognac and opened the cabinet in the bottom. "You are welcome to peruse them," he said bringing himself upright with a crystal glass in hand, "but if you do you may want me to fix you a drink first while I'm up."

He himself had looked through them many times before recognizing that he was not as much of an expert on the marks violence left as the leaving of them and forwarding them to his friend the doctor. "Surprisingly enough the thinner of those two is the police report," he said as opened the cognac bottle and ran the mouth of the bottle under his nose apprecitively. "Which might tell you exactly how well their investigation is going. The coronor's report is actually much more interesting. He seems to fancy himself a dectective and makes some assumptions in there that seem wild at first... but it's possible that they are brilliant."

He poured his drink and took a small sip of it. He closed his eyes and smacked his lips lightly. It really was excellent cognac. "You might be interested to know that the police still have you as a suspect, well, more like a prime suspect since they haven't been able to come up with any others. The coroner on the other hand feel that you lack the--how did he say it--the stones to do something like this." He shrugged slightly and waited for Frederick to tell him if he wanted a drink before he retook his seat.

OOC: Nice try darlin' but you are going to ruin my moment of being caught up... I'm back on top ;) BIC:




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Old 10-14-2006 at 05:53 AM
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Ember Slight

She took another deep breath. She hadn't talked to Frederick since she had been down at the underground lake. Ember looked up at the grand building she stood infront of. Looking at the grandness of the building she looked back down to her black dress pants, and blouse. She felt so small and underdressed. She shifted the bouquet of white lillies tied by the stems with a white ribbon, in her hands as she walked forwards to the door and main foyer. Her brown eyes widened at the fabulous marble surrounding her on all sides. She walked forwards to the stairs, glancing at the small peice of paper with scribbles on it. It seemed that she was the only person who didn't know where Frederick Worthington lived!

She swallowed hard as she pressed the button to the elegant see-through lift and walked through the doors looking around in awe, while trying not to look as though she had never seen anything as grand-- failing miserably. The only thing that compared to this was the opera house. She then heard the small chime annoucing her arrival on the tenor's floor. She rested the lillies, in the crook of her arm as she walked through towards the door.

She once again looked down at the scrap of paper reading Frederick's address on it, the paper now crumpled from her holding it so tight. She stuffed the paper in her pocket of her pants, smoothing out the creases, and then ajusted the black shemise scarf holding her brown curls from her face, it's knot tied at the nape of her neck, so a single black line was drawn almost animatedly across the top of her brow.

The chorus girl walked towards the door, her flats not making a sound against the floor. As Ember raised her hand to knock on the door she heard the faint sounds of two men talking. One was Frederick, she could remember his calm low voice vividly, and another of which she did not know. She hesitated to knock. Was this a bad time to talk to him? Well, she had really come to apologise. . . But was she coming at a bad time? She thought against own inner gut, and she knocked on the door, waiting for someone to answer, her grip on the stems of the lillies were merciless, and her knuckles white.


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Old 10-15-2006 at 06:35 AM
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Frederick Worthington

When Frederick asked Jean if he preferred to have something to drink, the Frenchman did not get up from his chair immediately. Instead, he reached over and pulled two file folders from the bag he had carried in with him, then stood and dropped the files on the expensive sofa next to the young gentleman. This startled him a bit, and he turned his head quickly to see the folders there beside him; he picked up one of them, opened it, and began to read the various reports that had been written on the case.

"I see no reason why we can't do both." The older man had now headed in the direction of the cabinet where Frederick kept bottles of fine wine and liquor. It was opened and Jean began to look over the selection, quality wines and spirits well worth their high price tags. The fellow bent down to retrieve a crystal glass from the bottom cabinet as he spoke and prepared to select his drink of choice."Those are offical unreleased reports of both the gendarme and the coroner. You are welcome to peruse them, but if you do you may want me to fix you a drink first while I'm up." The Frenchman removed a bottle of Hine cognac, bought by the young lord because of its origins from an Englishman who was arrested during the French Revolution.

"Surprisingly enough, the thinner of those two is the police report." Jean uncapped the bottle and ran it beneath his nose, getting the first aroma of the fine cognac. He seemed to appreciate its quality and had to have realized by this point that Frederick would never want to have the "cheap stuff" in his wine cabinet. "Which might tell you exactly how well their investigation is going. The coronor's report is actually much more interesting. He seems to fancy himself a dectective and makes some assumptions in there that seem wild at first...but it's possible that they are brilliant." The man then poured his drink and took a sip as the opera singer picked up the thinner of the two folders, thumbing through the documents. A light smacking of lips was heard, but Frederick did not look up.

"You might be interested to know that the police still have you as a suspect. Well, more like a prime suspect, since they haven't been able to come up with any others. The coroner, on the other hand, feels that you lack the--how did he say it--the stones to do something like this." This got the gentleman's attention, causing his head to come up from looking at the reports from the gendarmérie. It was not so much that he lacked the ability to kill someone: physically, he was a rather strong fellow and could knock someone out with a few well-placed blows. However, it was not in his nature to kill in cold blood, especially a woman or girl. He had been taught to respect the fairer sex, making a personal vow never to strike a lady with his hand. The British singer believed that hitting a woman in any way was to equate her with a slave, when he would prefer to treat her like a princess and thus gain respect from her.

"I am not surprised that the police are going in circles attempting to find another suspect other than myself. The two bumbling fools who brought up the coroner's stretcher in the opera house were an example of that. That is not to say, however, that England does not have its share of clueless police officers, as it certainly does," replied Frederick, closing up the folder and placing it back down on the couch beside him with the thicker folder from the coroner's office. He assumed that an autopsy had been done, or was yet in the process of being performed on Julianna's body. "I shall have to look at the coroner's findings...ah! I believe you were waiting for me to request a drink?

"Brandy, if you please, monsieur. There is a box containing a bottle of it, labeled Hennessy XO, in the cabinet with the bottles but not on the rack." As the handsome, well-built, and finely-dressed young man waited for his drink to be poured, he heard a knock at the door and got up from the sofa. He walked to the door of the sitting room, opened it, and stepped out into the hall to the main door of the apartment. After unlocking and opening the dor, Frederick was surprised to see the young girl, Ember, standing before him; she was dressed in black, and in the crook of one arm was a bouquet of white lilies. "Mademoiselle, to what do I owe the pleasure of having you here? Have you something for me?" The tenor recognized her as the girl who came into La Café de Roses and broke very bad news to him. Nonetheless, he did not blame her for finding Julianna in the lake, nor for telling him. Even if she had not done so, he would have found out, albeit much later. Frederick stood in the doorway, gazing at her and sensing the nerves she felt just looking at him.

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Old 10-15-2006 at 06:47 PM
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 Post [19] »


Ember Slight

There was hesitation after the moment Ember had knocked. As the thought entered her head to maybe leave the flowers at Frederick's door and leave, the door opened. She looked up and was greeted with the site of seeing Frederick's fine figure fill the doorway, as he turned to face the chorus girl. She gave a small, timid smile as he spoke, "Mademoiselle, to what do I owe the pleasure of having you here? Have you something for me?"

Ember nodded and said, "Please, call me Ember. I am not one for formalities." Her voice came out quietly at first, then it got louder with the comforting feeling she got from being around the tenor. "I erm. . ." she started slowly trying to place her words delecately. "I bought these for you. . ." she then stated dumbly holding out the lillies to Frederick. "I wanted to say I was sorry for. . .For having to be the person who told you about Miss. Julianna," she finished not daring to look the man in the eye as she spoke.

The brunette wanted to move, but she was glued to the spot. She couldn't say anything more, she then looked upwards at Frederick waiting for any responce.

ooc: sorry this post is so short I couldn't really think of anything else to write O_o BIC:


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Old 10-16-2006 at 07:29 AM
Ubaldo Piangi
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 Post [20] »


Frederick Worthington

"Please, call me Ember. I am not one for formalities." The young girl nodded in acknowledgement of his greeting, then requested that he refer to her by her name. The gentleman nodded in return, noting that Ember's voice had been nearly inaudible when she began speaking, but gradually gained some volume by the time she finished that short statement. Frederick felt sorry for her, wishing that for all his wealth, fame, talent, and awe-inspiring presence, this one small chorus girl would approach him without fear. "I erm. . .I bought these for you. . ." She held out the bouquet of white lilies to the male opera star, who carefully took the flowers from Ember's arms in graciously accepting them.

"I wanted to say I was sorry for. . .for having to be the person who told you about Miss Julianna." Empathy defined Frederick's facial expression and demeanor as he gazed upon the chorus singer, whose face he could not see as she had it turned down towards the floor. After a pause, Ember brought her head up, her eyes meeting those of the young man at whose door she stood; behind him was the spacious interior of his grand apartment, and the opera tenor would have ordinarily invited her in, but he was discussing very private business with the man named Jean Sauveur.

"Miss Ember, I pray you not blame yourself for anything that happened. Miss Julianna's death was not at all your fault, nor was it wrong of you to inform me after finding her. If it had not been for you, I might not have known for weeks, even months, and she would have been left buried beneath the opera house without dignity. God only knows when she would have been found, then." The tall, handsome Englishman stepped out of the door, leaving it open just a crack so he could go back inside without fear of locking himself out. His large hand with elegantly tapered fingers moved beneath the small girl's chin, his fingertips gently lifting it ever so slightly so their eyes met. "I am grateful to you, for you informed me of the situation; though it was quite tragic, Miss Julianna was one of your fellow performers. You have a right to mourn her as well." Frederick leaned towards Ember, his face coming very close to hers, and then his soft lips planted a light kiss upon her forehead.

"Thank you very kindly for your thoughtfulness in buying the flowers. It is a beautiful gesture of sympathy, Miss Ember," added the dark-haired, finely-dressed young man as a sad smile appeared on his handsome face, which looked as though it was chiseled from marble. "I would invite you in, but today I am discussing business of great importance with a friend. Please accept my apologies, my dear; I am not trying to intentionally turn you away."

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