poly_chromatic | { dance no. 2

Entry tags:

lotc - marguerite gautier

{ dance no. 2 | video }

[Marguerite is sitting in the middle of her living room, with her back to the windows whose curtains are drawn, letting sunlight pour in - spilling onto her bare arms and hands, fingers gripping a bag of sweets. She looks perfectly relaxed, in her white lace dress that, like everything else in the room - the vases, the figurines and the flowers, has been bought with Meyer Lansky's money.]

Let it be said of Marguerite Gautier that she prefers bonbons over witchcraft, that her ambitions rarely extend beyond the burning desire for a new necklace and that she may be described as cunning and tenacious, but she would much rather be called beautiful.

[With a slight laugh, she puts the bag of sweets aside and reaches up to run her fingers through her hair which is hanging loose around her shoulders.]

How much of one's self can't be revealed over the course of a single weekend, a single day, a single hour...?

[As she leans forward to change the settings on the network device, strands of hair obscure the view of the camera, leaving her features in shadow for a moment.]

(( private video to meyer lansky ))

[And as she straightens up again, only Meyer can see her. She looks completely unconcerned about their little Divination adventure, busy as she is - digging out a silver hair piece from the mess on the coffee table next to her. Holding it out for him to see, she cocks her head slightly. An amused smile on her lips.]

But look, what I came upon when shopping yesterday! Is it not a stunning piece of jewellery? It shall go well with my grey dress. Oh, it will compliment it perfectly -- Perhaps I shall wear it tonight.

You shall see me and be in awe, Meyer. It is a promise.

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Ah, but you call me beautiful, Meyer...

[Marguerite sighs. Steps back and leaves his shoulders to their own devices - to stay as unyielding as the rest of him. Walking around the chair, coming to a halt in front of it and meeting Meyer's eyes - a few strands of hair falling into her face, until she reaches up to push them back - she is aware that this battle is a lost one. That one shouldn't wage war against one's patron, as a matter of principle and that, certainly, she can work harder to earn his allowances and his acknowledgement.]

I suppose that shall have to fulfill my desires for now.

And you are beautiful. But I can't pay you simply for that.

[Oh, he could. But he doesn't operate that way, and she obviously is becoming aware of that now.]

I imagine you'll find a way to satisfy your desires one way or another.

[It could be suggestive. Maybe it's even meant to be.]

[Over the past few weeks, she has been invited to join several men in their respective bedrooms and declined every invitation. Not out of any wish to appear chaste - an appearance long lost to her, but because none of them have appealed to her and she is not a whore, simply because she sells herself. She is allowed to pick and choose as she sees fit. Now she looks at Meyer, pausing at his words. The suggestiveness which is so subtle that it almost escapes her.]

You are reminding me, of course, that I am free to do as I please, but not everything shall be with your blessing.

[A small nod accompanies a slight shrug.]

Of course you're free to do as you please. My opinion about your choices shouldn't matter, except where they directly concern me.

[By which he means his money, of course. If she chooses to take on another job, or take on a wealthier benefactor or lover, then he can have no complaint about it.]

[Do not be jealous, for I will have other lovers than you and in this, I shan't change, she had said to Armand. Here stands a man who is allowing her the benefits and the freedom, all at once - without forcing himself on her. She feels herself shaking a little, suddenly. A shiver, nothing more, running through her body. Sitting down on the edge of the coffee table and thus, next to him, she answers. Quietly.]

As such, you are giving me more than money. More than money could buy me. [She doesn't thank him directly, but she feels certain he - of all people - will understand.] I shall respect your wishes, of course.

[Yes, he understands, maybe better than she'll ever realize. Freedom is invaluable, something that can't be taken for granted. They both know it.]

I'm sure you will.

[It's hard to tell whether that's an expression of trust or a subtle warning about what might happen if she doesn't respect his wishes, because there's that charming smile on his face again.]

And although I might have been... surprised at the expenses you incurred, I admit, quite a few people have taken notice of your dresses -- and of you -- at the casino.

[She immediately becomes a flutter of flatter. Laughing, she pushes her hair over one shoulder, eyes bright and shining. These are the things she lives to hear.]

You must know, I attract attention with a natural skill. Even before I became a courtesan - when I was still a farmer's daughter, I was widely acknowledged for my beauty.

[Not everyone is allowed the knowledge that Paris' most desired courtesan was once a mere peasant, but Meyer is. She would not be surprised if he, too, has risen out of nothing. Into the sky.]

It seems we have more in common than I might have thought.

[A pause, a smile, and then an amendment to his statement.]

Not the part about being acknowledged for beauty. The humble beginnings, I mean.

[She remains silent for a while. When you finally speaks, there is an honesty to her voice that strips it of its usual coquettish tone. She never lies to any of her men, but they rarely ask the right questions and when they do, it is too easy a matter to joke about. The peasant courtesan. Meyer is making no such jokes and in turn, neither shall she.]

I am nothing to you beyond a clever investment, but I shall ask the question even so. Where from do you originate, Meyer?

A town called Grodno. When I was born, it was in Poland. Now it's in Russia. In the future, it's in Belarus. Borders change quickly in that area.

[A shrug.]

In any case, I came to the United States shortly before I turned nine.

[And has done his level best to get rid of any trace of an accent. There's the slightest hint of it, if one knows which words to listen for, but it's vague.]

[It could be said to be a romantic notion, exile. Like Manon and Des Grieux who also left for America. However, looking at Meyer - at the lines of his face, Marguerite feels certain it is not. Romantic at all. Much like their relation.]

And it is where you will one day be buried.

[One makes a place home. Has he chosen America, then it is his country. As she has chosen Paris and it is her city.]

And hopefully the day I'm dead and buried'll be a long, long time from now.

[He doesn't make any assumptions that he'll live to be particularly old, not with his choice in careers. His chances of growing old are probably better in the City than they are at home, strangely enough, but that's something he tries not to think about. Not consciously, anyway.]

I grew up very poor. I've had one job or another ever since I can remember, just to put a little food on the table. I left school at thirteen.

[And finally, he's taking out a cigarette and lighting it contemplatively before giving any explanation as to why he's volunteered this explanation.]

That's what you really want to know when you ask where I originate from. You want to know what kind of man I am.

[She doesn't contradict him. In a way, it is true - that she asked in order to know. Better. Because with Meyer, Marguerite thinks she already knows quite well, what kind of man he is. So instead of answering, she stands up. Runs her hands down the front of her dress to straighten out any creases.]

I have never made assumptions about you. I know only what I see - and to know the circumstances which have shaped you, it paints a more accurate portrait, one should think.

[Then, in a lighter tone of voice, so light it is almost a trill.]

Do you wish for a cup of tea, to accompany your cigarette?

People always make assumptions, whether they know it or not.

[It's not a direct contradiction, but he finds it hard to believe that she hasn't made assumptions about him. He's certainly made assumptions about her. It's human nature, as far as he can tell. He nods slightly.]

I'd never turn down a cup of tea.

[She nods, in response to both his comments. Perhaps it is in itself an assumption about him, that she thinks she has made none at all. It is definitely an assumption that she believes her company to hold any appeal to him, enough for him to not turn her down. To not limit their interaction to their roles at the casino. Others may insist that Meyer is her boss and employer, but to her - only one thing separates him from the role of any of her former patrons. And surely that one thing... is... Marguerite smiles and turns around, heading for the kitchen that she rarely uses, because she is no proper cook. Tea, however, she can brew and she puts the fascinatingly modern kettle on. All for his sake. All for his money. All in order to uphold their relation.]

[He's contented to wait, to sit with cigarette in hand and let her make the tea, because he does appreciate her company, as more than just an employee. He doesn't consider most people to be his friend, but that doesn't mean he can't enjoy spending some time with them, especially when there's the promise of tea. He'll wait politely for her to return, not distracting her by idle chatter as she makes the tea.]

[The tea is quickly prepared. The kitchen window faces the outskirts of the gardens and she enjoys the view while waiting, in silence. To match his. She thinks of nothing in particular while standing there - not of work or leisure or... Armand. Meyer means everything to her in the City, not even like the Duke meant everything to her at home - no, more so. But no status of importance can erase Armand's impact and she... Yes, she misses him. She, Marguerite Gautier, indeed finds herself missing a man. Shaking her head lightly and adopting a smile, she brings the teapot with her into the living room, on a small tray also carrying two cups on saucers. Sitting down in a chair across from Meyer, she pours them both a cup full. Her voice is teasing, but genuinely curious.]

What, then, have you assumed about me? I must be a most transparent woman, with my many wishes and my vanity.

Hmmm...

[He looks at her for a moment, trying to think of what to say that will be both insightful and not particularly incisive. He has no intention of insulting her, yet something the very act of making assumptions about someone can come across as insulting.]

I assume you're a woman who's very aware of what she wants and how to get it. I assume you value beauty, both your own and others'. I assume that, for all of your enjoyment of frivolous things, there's a far more serious side to you, that you might not show much.

[Until the last statement, she is all smiles and flirtatious eye contact. His last words, however, makes the smile on her lips fade until all that's left is a contemplative expression. It is not so much a matter of her not wanting to show the side of which he speaks, it is simply so that the opportunity is rarely there and the right questions never asked. He is asking them, implicit in his assumptions and she feels herself shiver again. Suddenly feeling cold. Sipping her tea, she regards him. With some emotion, although it isn't clear - even to herself - which one.]

Am I paid to show you everything? For, then, I shall.

You're not paid to show me anything at all, if you don't want to. Those're just the assumptions I've made -- you don't have to confirm or deny them. Of course, I'm curious about you, but...

[He picks up his teacup and takes a long sip of tea before speaking again.]

... I think you like people being curious about you.

I enjoy being the centre of attention, certainly.

[She continues with a certain sense of caution. Less in an attempt to lie or hide the truth, more as if she's unsure as to how she should best express herself clearly. For his benefit. And perhaps, also for her own. Putting the teacup down, she reaches up to collect her hair into a ponytail, styling it neatly into a bun and fastening it with a hairpin that she digs out from the mess on the coffee table. The entire string of motion requires less than twenty seconds.]

You must understand, it feels like my rightful place. I am a courtesan, Meyer - I shall never be part of the Bourgeoisie or even be someone's wife. I shall be only that. A courtesan. But that I can be with everyone's eyes gazing at me.

[He watches her, his dark eyes intent upon her every movement, as she pulls her hair into a bun, and then he smiles and nods.]

I understand. And, from what I've seen, you're a very good courtesan. I admire anyone who can recognize and utilize their talents, as you have.

Edited (Whoops! Messed up HTML) 2013-11-22 21:02 (UTC)

It is my only gift. How could I not use it?

[It is not an attempt to be humble, since she is far from a humble person. She is telling him the truth. She is beautiful, charming and fast to learn - nothing more, nothing less. Men enjoy her company and she theirs. What else could she possibly be - but a courtesan, to live beneath the lights of Paris' streetlights, amongst the names of the Parisian aristocracy? She sells herself, yes - but only in order to buy new and intriguing sides of herself, in the shape of diamonds and rubies and silk and lace...]

A fair amount of people never use the gifts they're given.

[He does, though. In an entirely different way than she does, and yet... there are some similarities between the two of them, oddly enough.][And neither of them are liable to complain about more money, or more opportunity.]

[A small smile forms on her lips at his conclusion. It isn't mocking, neither is it truly amused. It's an agreement, rather. For she has seen many men sink into oblivion, in spite of title and wealth. Simply because they lacked will. And heart. Unlike her Armand...

She leans forward, ever so slightly. Her mood changing so suddenly it might come as a shock. She claps her hands, almost forcibly excited in the manner of a small child.]

Then, we should combine our gifts! We should host a party, Meyer! At the casino. It is Christmas soon and I'm so awfully bored...

{ dance no. 2 | video }

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