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Name: Super Samness | Gender: Wonder Woman | Age: 27 | Posts: 3,913 | Roses: 50
Old 12-15-2010 at 07:44 AM
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James Sawyer

There were certain advantages to being an ex-patriot in Paris. As an American the French were wary of him at best, and downright rude without a second thought. But James had lived in Paris for over a decade, and had learned how to interact with the native Parisians. It helped that he spoke fluent French. The natives could still make him out as an American at fifty paces somehow, must be an innate Francophone sixth sense he figured, but the longer he hung in there the less troubles he had. And perks were to be had. For instance, being in the city for over a decade meant that he could skip the ridiculous line in front of Le Moulin Rouge when he wanted a night out, because he was a single, he took up little room, never stayed overly long, and knew the right amount to tip the right people. He had an acquaintance show him in through a side door if he called in advance, and the waitresses sat him no problem. Ah, money and manners. Was there anything the pair couldn't accomplish?

He had been sitting for a little while, lingering as he nursed his champagne, reluctant to go home to an empty apartment where only his silly germ-y dog waited for him. He sighed and took a long sip of his mostly full champagne flute, draining it entirely. He felt pleasantly warm, and while the hypochondriac in him ran statistics for liver failures and a whole host of other bodily dysfunctions alcohol either created or encouraged, he was aware of the fact that he was not drunk. Just tipsy enough that it would mostly wear off on the way home and he would sleep like a rock that night. He was having a bad day, and felt like he needed it. Everything that could go wrong had, from a *****y editor to a downpour outside (do you know how much dirt is in common rainwater, or how many people die of hypothermia every year? Because he does), everything had been generally downhill that day. He ran a hand over his face, and glanced around for a waitress to bring his bill when he saw her. Or, rather, her hair. A vibrant blonde colour had caught his eye, and when he did a double take he found the rest of her too.

And in that moment he could have been knocked over with a feather. He wondered if he wasn't drunk after all. She wasn't on the stage, or being provocative, or even really aware of herself at all it seemed, which may have been part of why she was so magnetic to his dark eyes. He rarely missed anything when he was paying attention, the perk of being antisocial at heart he mused, so he saw her stretch, watched her check her watch, clap her hands a little, fix her hair, and generally everything else that emitted loud and clear signs that she was insanely bored. Someone yelled at her to get back to work, and with an annoyed look she complied, grabbing a tray of drinks and getting back to it. Knowing he should probably abstain from another, he stopped her as she passed with light touch on the arm. Electricity flew through him, and he was floored. As a completely one hundred percent closeted gay man he had never had any desire for a being other than male before in his life. He pushed this back. Not attraction. Not sexual attraction anyway. So what if she was gorgeous. Lots of women were beautiful. Lots of women were thin and petite. But he had never met a woman with eyes like hers, and couldn't pin down what colour to call them. And he had never met a woman that walked with such an unknowingly confident and graceful lope. Or with...

Stop, he chastised himself. You're just lonely, and you want some human companionship, that's it. Okay, and you haven't had sex in a very long time. But something about the waitress gave him the jitters, and he wasn't sure exactly what. "Mademoiselle, plus de champagne s'il vous plaît?" He don't know what possessed him to do it, but he found himself adding calmly, "Et si vous finissez le travail bientôt, peut-être vous pourriez vous joindre à moi?" His tongue felt thick in his mouth, and his smile tilted of its own accord into a crooked greeting.

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Old 12-16-2010 at 05:11 AM
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Chianna Mimieux

The tray was fairly steady on her arm as she expertly and languidly weaved around tables of chitter-chattering people, looking around for empty glasses of wine, beer or water or whatever it was they were putting into their bodies. Pieces of conversation fluttered around as she passed, gliding over her ears: "So I told her that I-", "- and how did that happ-", "You idiot, why did you have-" The variety of the conversation here was quite a treat to listen to sometimes. If it wasn't so close to the end of her shift, she'd concentrate even more on these snippets of talk. But as it was, her mind only barely registered the floating words and she continually glanced at her watch - carefully, of course, so that the tray didn't flip. She didn't need another reason to stay any longer past her shift. She wanted to get the hell out of here...

A soft pressure against her arm made her stop, taken slightly by surprise. What was that? She quickly stabilized her tray and looked down at the source of the touch. It was a customer, a man. Most people were too prude-like to touch a waiter. They were too defensive about "personal space issues" to get a waiter's - waitress's - attention that way. She didn't show her surprise very much. No "oh" face with wide eyes and raised eyebrows. Chianna quickly replaced her mild surprise with her "waitress face" - small smile, interested eyes and shoulders back just a tad.

"Mademoiselle, plus de champagne s'il vous plaît?" Chianna smiled. The accented French sounded familiar. He wasn't French, although his tongue was very good at cupping each syllable. There were only a few tip-offs that he was... Américain. She was impressed - both with his speech and the fact that he was American. Most Americans she encountered in here either used broken, touristy French or didn't use French at all. Those customers were some of the most difficult. Most other foreigners knew how to speak French. It seemed like a European thing. But Americans... She'd often thought American's were too stuck-up to learn a language other than English. Turns out she was wrong this time.

Chianna nodded at his request with a quiet "oui," smiling out of politeness and from the revelation that not all Americans were completely ignorant. It didn't hurt that this homme Américain wasn't in too bad-looking. He looked rather well put together. But back to work. She'd just given out her last glass of champagne a few tables back. She'd have to go back to the bar to get another bottle of champagne. The watch on her wrist seemed to tick in her ear as the minute hand slowly - very slowly - crawled its way to the 12, which would mark the end of her shift. "Et si vous finissez le travail bientôt, peut-être vous pourriez vous joindre à moi?"

She stopped re-steadying her tray and stared at him not unkindly. Quoi? As surprising as it may be - so many surprises tonight - she hadn't gotten very many passes from customers while on her shift. Maybe it was because she usually ignored these passes, wanting to just get through her shift. It was a surprise, surprise, surprise. And it was nice. Chianna quickly smiled - a real smile, not that fake upward curl of her lip she usually had on while working. She let out small, quiet laugh and bit her lip, looking at him thoughtfully. To accept or not accept? That was the question. She finally spoke, leaning in a little closer down toward him, "Un moment, monsieur." She glanced at her watch and her grin grew even wider. "Deux minutes." She put up two fingers and picked up his empty glass before whirling around with a lingering glance in his direction. The whole way to the bar, she fluttered on the inside. She wasn't a giddy school girl, but she was still excited. It hadn't taken her too much though to accept his smooth offer. She put down her tray and filled the glass with champagne. She got out another glass and filled that one, too.

Tick, tick, tick, tick... Fini! Chianna fumbled at the apron strings and flung it under the bar before picking up the two glasses of champagne and making her way back to the American's table. "Votre champagne, monsieur." She set a glass in front of the American and slid into the seat across from him. She crossed her legs and leaned into the table, putting her hand under her chin as she looked over at him with gleaming eyes. "Vous avez de la chance. Mon quart de travail vient de se terminer."


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Old 01-16-2011 at 11:37 PM
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 Post [13] »


James Sawyer

He was aware that he was holding his breath as he awaited her reply, but what he was not aware of was why he was doing this. She was a stranger. He was a stranger. And he was almost certain that when he left that night they would still be strangers. And yet he felt an odd, inexplicable pull towards the waitress. When she laughed, he felt his heart skip a beat, and she drew a smile from him. "Un moment, monsieur." she told him, then amended to "Deux minutes." after she stole a quick glance at her watch. And with that, she turned and disappeared.

James was certain that he would never see the woman again, unless she was serving him. He figured her surprise had been genuine, but guessed that it had been more to do with the fact that he -- the American drinking alone in this place filled with colour and light and shows -- had asked her to join him, not that someone in general had requested her company. He suddenly felt very empty by what he perceived to be rejection. He felt lonely. Drained, even. He was so tired of being himself, the man who hid his true nature from everyone at all costs, using his fake overt personality as a shield so that no one would get under his skin, and have the certain power over him that came with intimacy. This is why, James. You let yourself get lost in her and all of a sudden she's gone, and you are reminded that you have nothing. He sighed heavily, and was just preparing to stand up to go home when the enigmatic blonde appeared as suddenly as she had disappeared.

"Votre champagne, monsieur." He lit up at the sight of her, so suddenly filled with knowledge that he would not be left to wonder about her for the rest of his life. He felt pathetic, never having mooned over anyone before in his life. He was usually the one doing the seducing, and quite easily, but in front of this mysterious woman he felt clumsy and awkward. She sat across from him, her eyes glowing like stars in the night, and he found it difficult to look away. "Vous avez de la chance. Mon quart de travail vient de se terminer." Oh, timing. He had never been more thankful for it. Lucky indeed.

"Je suis vraiment chanceux," he told her, taking a sip of his bubbly drink, "Ou peut-être c'est le destin?" He raised an eyebrow, truly unsure of what to call this. "Quoi qu'il en soit, je m'appelle James, et je suis très heureux de faire votre connaissance." The words rolled off of his tongue easily, reverting to his stand by techniques and lines because he was thoroughly baffled by how to proceed with a woman when he felt such a strong pull to her. Also, he found comfort in the familiarity of the words he had spoken dozens of times before in this situation.

He was confused. He had always been attracted to men, so what was he doing with this woman? Sometimes, yes, he seduced and bedded ladies in a dual effort to stave off loneliness in any way he could, and to reestablish his reputation among social circles as a man who did not go home alone when he did not feel like it. But he never felt anything past respect and sometimes companionship towards those woman. And yet here was this blonde waitress at Le Moulin Rouge, whom he had never seen before a few moments ago that could almost make him forget his own last name. It was... unsettling, to say the least. A small feat, maybe, for most men out there. But for a man who, when he was not out perpetuating his fake personality, was the biggest homebody you ever did meet and resorted to making his fortune off of writing adventures he would never be able to personally pursue, this was terrifying.

He could write about her.

The idea hit him like a ton of bricks, and he thanked god he had been blessed with such a poker face so that his sudden light bulb moment didn't become apparent to the woman in front of him. How he would even begin to describe her, he didn't know, but he felt that if he could just succeed in that one task it would be the most beautiful novel he had ever written. He took another sip of champagne as thoughts of his next novel were drowned out by the intensity of her gaze. Those eyes were lethal, the kind he just knew would change with every emotion, and he found himself wondering what they would look like when she was truly happy, when she was angry, when she was in the bedroom... Terrible, horrible thoughts filled his mind, and he felt like a schoolboy. Could it be he was not a homosexual for his entire life after all and he had simply needed to be... awakened? Had she freed him, or condemned him to muddle about the rest of his life in a permanent state of confusion?

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Old 01-27-2011 at 03:02 AM
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OOC: For Natalia and her gal, Bella. Sorry if Lucian's a little moody! BIC:

Lucian Michaud

There was something about the Moulin Rouge that attracted a regular crowd. You know the types. Men (and some women) whose faces cropped up in the crowd once, twice, or more times a week. Lucian wasn’t sure what it was that brought some of these people back night after night, but he could easily pinpoint what—or rather, who—had him coming back for more. The drinks were nice; the food, passable. But it was Ashton Greene that captivated Lucian. He should have been sick of her by now. They lived together, after all. It was a wonder she didn’t shoo him away from her performances. She was too kind to do that, of course. And she was too captivating for Lucian just to walk away. When Ashton took stage, Lucian couldn’t have cared less what food or drink was set before him. The other patrons mattered little. All he saw was her. Her slim, sinewy body moved in perfect rhythm with the music. Then, of course, there was her singing. Whenever Ashton sang a solo, her voice filled the oft-rowdy audience area and the clinking of glasses, clatter of plates, and din of chatter died. Sometimes—a little foolishly—Lucian wondered where the power in Ashton’s voice came from. How could that voice come from that small frame? Her costumes—often outrageous—contorted her shape just a tad and Lucian felt so dirty for noticing the lift her corset gave or the way her skirt hit her hip-bone just so. Even still, he felt worse when he realised that lecherous men ten or twenty years his senior were eyeing her, too. Ashton was not his fiancée. She was not his daughter. But there was a surge of instinctual protectiveness that flared up when someone with less inhibitions than he cat-called to Ashton. And when the song ended, the cat-calling started back up. It annoyed Lucian to no end, until one night, he realised that the loudest whistler after Ashton’s performance was him.

Tonight, he sat in his usual table and was fortunate enough to have it all to himself. Tonight, Ashton was only partaking in ensemble pieces, but it didn’t take much effort at all to pick out her voice in the chorus. Living with a person honed the ears. Lucian had no doubt that he could be sitting in the very back, look out onto a stage of blonde bombshells, and figure out exactly where Ashton was on stage. She wasn’t on stage now, though, and Lucian was unexcited by the number unfolding before his eyes. It wasn’t bad, but it was a can-can piece designed particularly for the tourists. Lucian had been here enough times for the high-kicks and period-costumes to lose their novelty. He traced the rim of his Buchanan’s with his fingers. The gold flash of his wedding band caught his eye and Lucian sighed at the sight of it. Soon enough, his lawyer assured him, there would be no reason for Lucian to wear it. Everything was on track and Natalie was looking to expedite the divorce process. Lucian didn’t mind. From what he could understand, Natalie wanted to wed her lover—and become a legal guardian to the man’s young son. Lucian had spent his whole life trying to make her happy. Giving Natalie away to someone who did would mean that he had—in a way—succeeded.

God, he wanted Ashton to get back on stage. She was the one thing that kept him from losing his mind. Seeing her made everything—the crowd, his problems, even Natalie—fade away.

Don’t be pathetic, Lucian thought, tearing his eyes away from his wedding band. That’s the alcohol making your brain fuzzy. Either that, or you’re getting more sentimental the older you get. She’s Damien’s fiancée. And it’s not like Damien and Pierre haven’t tried to make you happy. Just drink your whiskey and watch the show.

He shook his head and picked up the glass moodily to take a swig, but Lucian felt a little half-hearted. He suddenly wished he had stayed home tonight, after all, and maybe gotten some work done. He had some sales pitches to go over before Sunday. He also wanted to offer Damien the job of designing the new logo for the vineyard’s brand of wine. Never mind the mountain of paperwork associated with his divorce...
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Name: Natalia | Gender: Female | Posts: 2,742 | Roses: 50
Old 01-27-2011 at 03:32 AM
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Bella Grace

A few more tables and she'd be done, at least for tonight anyway. The music was starting to get to her, the cut on her hand from earlier that night had started to hurt and the orders of drinks were starting to mix up in her mind(not that the voices in her head helped any.)

Scanning the tables Bella found sight of a face she had seen many times before since she had started working at the Rouge. It was an older face then her own whose eyes seemed, more often then not, glued to one person that graced the stage a look of shear love within his eyes.

"No one's ever looked at me like that" she couldn't help but think to herself inwardly hearing the character voice of Lilla saying the same. Still brushing this aside she made her way over to the table.

"Can I get you anything tonight sir?" she questioned a small smile on her face and her eyes downcast on the notepad ready to the man's order or leave.

She had come a fear way with talking to men as she worked but it was the ones that grabbed her arm and ordered her to stay that truly got to her.

"We have a few specials tonight if you'd like to hear them and happy hour starts soon"


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Old 01-27-2011 at 04:09 AM
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Lucian Michaud

Lucian started running his to-do list through his mind. His eyes began to glaze over and he hardly noticed that his drink was going empty. He wanted the night to end, so that he and Ashton could walk home. That five minute window of time was the real reason Lucian cherished the nights he went to the Rouge. Watching Ashton dance and hearing her sing was always a gift, but for a few minutes, it was just the two of them, walking through the snow-sodden streets back to their house and discussing the show and other things that had nothing to do with Natalie and Damien. It was a time just for them, without the complications of divorce and engagement. Those five minutes couldn’t come too soon; they certainly couldn’t last too long.

"Can I get you anything tonight sir?"

Lucian’s thoughts were momentarily derailed and he turned to look at the source of the quiet voice. A smiling girl held a notepad and hovered near his table. But Lucian, suddenly, couldn’t answer her question.

The girl looked like some bloody pirate wench.

Lucian blinked in surprise, trying to make sure his senses hadn’t failed him. Though jeans-clad, the girl’s top looked as though she’d pieced it together specifically for a Halloween party. Gypsy, maybe, instead of pirate, but it didn’t matter. Lucian found himself at a loss for words. It wasn’t the typical waitressing uniform he saw around the Moulin Rouge, but he wondered if it was the latest trend. Some gimmick, perhaps, that the management wanted the waitresses to try out. Maybe make them into some sort of showgirls, too.

"We have a few specials tonight if you'd like to hear them and happy hour starts soon."

“Erm… No thank you mi—” Lucian cut himself off as he looked at his empty glass. “Actually… When did you say that happy hour starts?”
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Name: Natalia | Gender: Female | Posts: 2,742 | Roses: 50
Old 01-27-2011 at 05:19 AM
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Bella Grace

Her style, it seemed to be something that pulled her out of the crowed that made her stand out more then her eyes ever did. Maybe that was a good thing, she liked to truly put herself in the roles she was writing, it made them more real to see the reactions that different people had... she pushed this one aside, after all she was here for a reason and her style was her own (she lived very much in the past)

Doing her job she asked the man before her if he'd like anything waiting for a reply that she hoped wouldn't be fussed over for the next five minutes cutting more into her time.

“Erm… No thank you mi—”

Coursing Bella to nodded and her smile to grow but her now light hazel eyes court the eyes of the man catch his empty glass.

“Actually… When did you say that happy hour starts?”

Glancing over at the bar clock Bella noted the two times.

"In about five more minutes, though I could take your order now. It would save you waiting through the back log that the first few moments of happy hour brings."

She bite her bottom lip noting her words and seeing them as a mistake.

"I... I could bring you a wine list if you so desire there a few good red's on special tonight I believe."

He seemed sort of like the red wine type. Quit, keeping to himself keeping his eyes glued to the stage and one girl on it.

"So, are you sure there isn't anything I can get you?"


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Old 01-27-2011 at 04:37 PM
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Lucian Michaud

He wondered, fleetingly, how many of these it would take for him to be numb enough to forget his burgeoning attraction to Ashton. How many could he have without needing Ashton to guide him to the house? How many he would need to forget Natalie? How many before he started blubbering out loud about how he felt? And, of course, Lucian wondered how much all this would cost and what sort of damage it would do to his liver. Alcohol was, after all, a poison. And—that aside—it wasn’t cheap. Lucian should know. He made and sold it for a living now.

"In about five more minutes, though I could take your order now. It would save you waiting through the back log that the first few moments of happy hour brings."

Lucian felt the words “all right” form in his throat, but he saw that his waitress was biting her lip. She looked uncomfortable and Lucian lifted a curious eyebrow. Was she breaking the rules, perhaps, by offering to take his order now? In that case, she could just come back in five or ten minutes. Lucian was a fairly patient man. A drink refill didn’t need to be instantaneous.

"I... I could bring you a wine list if you so desire there a few good reds on special tonight I believe."

Lucian’s lips twisted into an ironic sort of smile. Wine. He was surrounded by wine. The vineyards he’d inherited from his uncle were an integral part of his life now. Lucian was learning the ins and outs of vinification. Thing he never thought he’d need to know—how to select grapes, the ratio of water-to-honey in mead, optimum fermentation time. He was a politician most all his life. The career switch—unexpected, but welcome—still took some adjusting.

"So, are you sure there isn't anything I can get you?"

“Maybe that wine list isn’t such a bad idea,” he said with a slight shoulder-shrug. “Thanks.”
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Old 01-28-2011 at 12:13 AM
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Bella Grace

Alcohol, it was like a drug and happy hour was only offering the user more still it was part of her job and she couldn't worry what would happen to the fools who didn't know when to say no.

It didn't stop her from biting her lip as she supplied the answer to the the man before her stating that the worst time in her work was only a few minutes away. She also offered him over the wine list, another mistake on her half to the people that alcohol called out to. Happy hour + Red Wine on special = how could I say no?

At her actions and words the man smiled, why she wasn't quite sure so all she could do was wait and offer over the same words that she had said in the beginning.

“Maybe that wine list isn’t such a bad idea,”

Bella gave a half smile in return to his shoulder shrug turning to then carry out her task.

“Thanks.”

Looking over her shoulder as she stopped for a slight moment her smile grew. A simple word like thanks hardly ever said around here. As quickly as she could she made her way over to the bar and picked up the wine list on top of the piles would he like a cocktail to or maybe a beer? She wasn't sure but thinking better of herself she simply held onto the wine list and made her way back.

"Here you are sir" she supplied gently placing the list on the table before him. "I should give you a few moments to look it over, unless you already see something you like."


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Old 01-28-2011 at 04:51 AM
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Lucian Michaud

Lucian waited until the waitress was gone to start toying with his wedding band again. It caught the light and reflected orange-gold. He still wore it, even though Natalie was across the English Channel and shagging another man and talking about adopting the other man’s kid. It was habitual, Lucian supposed. He’d been married for most all his adult life. What else was he supposed to do? Just throw it all aside? He couldn’t. Married was part of his identity, just as much as his blue eyes or French-English heritage. He shook the thought and looked back to the stage. A new act was onstage and, sadly, it still wasn’t Ashton’s. Lucian began playing with the empty glass on his table from earlier in the night. He passed it from hand to hand and stared blankly at the dancers on stage. None were overly familiar. None of them quite captivated him the way Ashton had.

"Here you are sir," a woman’s voice said, hardly registering to Lucian. "I should give you a few moments to look it over, unless you already see something you like."

“No, I haven’t yet,” Lucian said absently, only catching the last bit of his waitress’ sentence and still staring at the stage. And then he noticed the wine list before him. “Oh!” He shook his head and picked it up. “Sorry, you mean the wine list. Of course you mean the wine list…”

He picked it up and inclined his head apologetically before beginning to read.
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