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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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...

Well, I wouldn't want you to be bored...

[It's said in an almost teasing manner, but not an insulting one. He's found something pleasant about indulging her, thus far, and maybe he should be careful of that, should curtail his inclination to do so. Still, he mulls over the idea for a moment, frowning with concentration.]

The last time we had a party, it was planned by Theo and Al, it was for my birthday, and it was... well...

[Horrifying? Embarrassing? Surprisingly entertaining?]

Memorable. However, I imagine you have some experience in planning parties, and as long as we kept it relatively reasonable in scope and grandeur, I suppose it's an idea to be considered.

It was arranged by men. One can only expect it to be memorable in all the worst of ways.

[She can vividly imagine what sort of feast for the senses that Messieurs Capone and Sammeth have managed to assemble. Amused, Marguerite meets Meyer's eyes, cocking her head in a show of wholly natural pride. These are the things in which she nurses the greatest talent, of course - these things of leisure and pleasure.]

I assure you, I shall do a fine job of it and plan a party that exhibits the necessary class. If you will simply let me.

Well...

[He's not particularly fond of parties. He doesn't like people paying that close of attention to him, scrutinizing him, looking to see whether he's having fun or not. But if she's the one arranging and hosting it...]

I expect the budget for the party to be reasonable. And, of course, I want to have final say on everything. But if you must...

[He stubs out his cigarette and quirks the corner of his lip in a little smile.]

... feel free to arrange something.

[With an enthusiastic laughter, she abandons her tea in order to stand up and walk over to Meyer, leaning close enough to press a quick kiss to each of his cheeks. In the manner of the French. Of the Parisians. It is a silent thank you and in the same way that she knows his small smile is more genuine than any of his toothy customer grins, she feels assured he will know such a display of affection weighs more heavily than her words ever could.

Drawing back, she looks down at him, sitting in the chair that she occupied when addressing the network. And now she is addressing him.]

How is one to decide, Meyer, which one is more attractive - you or your good will?

I...

[Well. That's a little victory in it of itself, isn't it, to make him completely speechless for a moment? If she's perceptive enough to notice the difference in his smiles, she's certainly perceptive enough to notice that he's normally someone who has an answer for everything. He doesn't, at the moment, and there's a distinctly pink tinge rising to his cheeks.

After a few seconds, though, words return to him, and the moment of looking slightly flustered passes. He's simply not used to that kind of affection, nor flirtation.]

I'm not sure it's good will, so much as desire to see the business do well, and a general appreciation of your good ideas, but I'm flattered, nevertheless.

[With a wave of her hand, almost dismissively, Marguerite's response to his words is to turn around and walk over to a mirror hanging on the opposite wall, in order to look at herself, first. At the reflection of him, secondly. She may not know the luxury here that she did at home, but by City standards, she is quite spoiled. Ah, may one say that he is spoiling her, then! The very implication of him choosing to pay her expenses, when she does not enjoy the acclaim she did in Paris, when she has no one but herself to praise her name... That is the true compliment. And she truly appreciates it.]

Your flatter is richer than mine, as must be obvious. And your business richer still. I am only delighted to be of service.

You've undoubtedly been of service -- business has been better ever since you arrived.

[Finally, he stands up from the chair, giving her what could be almost an appraising glance, and then nods, more to himself than to her.]

Plan the party. Let me know the particulars. And keep in mind what we've discussed about finances.

[Because he hasn't forgotten that part of the conversation, either.]

I need to get back to the casino.

Of course, of course. Ever so hard-working!

[Her tone is teasing, but beneath the taunt, there's a note of admiration as well. Turning around to face him, she walks over to the door, opens it to see him out and waits for him to leave, watching him almost fondly. It shan't be said of Marguerite Gautier that she doesn't treat her patrons with care and respect. Not the Duke and certainly not Meyer who requests so little of her, in comparison.]

Now, go. I shall join you shortly. I need to practice the piano, before our little pianist arrives.

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{ dance no. 2 | video }

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