09 December 2013 @ 08:15 pm
[Marguerite is sitting at her desk, curtains drawn and her bedroom lit up by a whole collection of candles in a - yes, rather expensive - candelabrum next to her. She is, apparently, attempting to write a letter, but repeatedly she seems to misspell the words or a full stop ends up being an ugly splash of ink across the paper, ruining her endeavour. Finally, she straightens up, looking wholly frustrated. And just slightly worn out, her hair hanging limply around her face and shoulders. She stands --

And in a fit of rage, she knocks everything off the desk. Papers scattered everywhere. Ink pooling on the floorboards. Candles breaking and the flames going out. In the aftermath, her breath is heaving and she reaches up to press the back of her hand to her lips. Eyes falling closed.]

How silly of you, Marguerite. To overreact so. What wouldn't Armand say?

[Opening her eyes again and turning her head, she spots the recording network device. With a small sound of affected amusement, she leans in and turns it off. Sure to say nothing more.]

((ooc: cursed.))

03 December 2013 @ 06:04 am
It must be obvious to all - that sexual conduct of the enjoyable kind provides more sustenance than oatmeal.
19 November 2013 @ 04:55 am
[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 )
03 November 2013 @ 12:04 pm
[After having wandered the City for a couple of hours, Marguerite pauses for breath in Xanadu, into which she has ventured, and finally notices the network device that has found its way into her purse. Toying with it for a while, she eventually manages to turn it on. While studying the screen with some intrigue, she begins speaking - the words addressed mostly at herself, but audible to all. Due to a technology she doesn't yet understand.]

If one absolutely must get abducted... Isn't this a wondrous place to be taken?

[She looks off to the side with a bemused smile, obviously admiring her surroundings.]