[center][img]https://img.roleplayerguild.com/prod/users/f649b5ce-236c-43ea-a810-47ab33bbb8d4.png[/img]
[h1]Mathew Jem Darwinson[/h1]
[h3]12:30pm onwards, April 10th-13th 2012[/h3][/center]

Mathew was quite happy to leave, when the day finally arrived in April. Things had been difficult at his home for several years now - his parents and their heir hadn't gotten along for a long time, because- it hurt to think about. At the scheduled time, he got into the back seat of his car (a 1954 Bentley R-Type Continental, one of only 208 ever made, in sleek black, of course), and was chauffred to the train station. It was from there he took the train to Paris, while the car was taken back home. Monsier Van Bonaparte had even been so kind as to providing transport for Atalanta, Mathew's horse. Though Mathew did not enquire into the process of bringing Atalanta across the channel, he did ensure that she would be treated well. He was satisfied.

The train was first-class, of course. No expense was spared in ensuring Mathew's trip was an enjoyable one, there was only so much that could be done outside of a stationary accomodation. Mathew rarely travelled long-distance, and was admittedly a little dissapointed with Bonaparte. But then, if the man really could do what he claimed to, Mathew supposed it was forgivable. After finishing his meal, he allowed himself to fall asleep.

It was late when the train arrived, but Mathew was still expeditious. His hotel, the Hôtel Fouquet’s Barrière, demomstrated that Bonaparte at least had good taste in accomodation. Unfortunately, his time of arrival limited his options somewhat - instead he decided to enjoy the city of love in the morning, since his sleep on the train had hardly been ideal anyway. 

Mathew was reunited with Atalanta in said morning, who had her own accomodation on the outskirts of the city until the 14th, when they would be meeting Bonaparte in person for the first time. He was... an interesting figure, certainly. Possessed of an immense wealth, like Mathew, but shrouded utterly in secrecy to the point where many came up with make-believe about him. Why he would do that was certainly something Mathew was inclined to learn about, as he had difficulty understanding the notion himself.

Mathew spent the days leading up to then enjoying both the city and his hotel (like he said, Bonaparte had good taste). On the final night, he did spend some time in its very well-stocked bar, and admittedly it was probably a little too much.

[h3] Late morning, April 14th 2012 [/h3]

Maybe more than a little. Mathew got himself out of bed. Christ, his head... He did his best to fix himself, he looked like a wreck. Wait, today was- ok, it was still only the morning, he had time before Bonaparte's gathering. Good, it would seem unprofessional to be late.

His last few hours in Paris. He had seen all the things everyone seemed to get so excited about, so, after retrieving Atalanta, he spent much of his remaining time with those less famous. Though he was uninterested in most, he did find an odd little café that seemed to be utterly unpatriotic - everything about it seemed like it wished it were British, but didn't know exactly what that meant. Regardless, he certainly wasn't going to argue: Britain was his home, and had been all of his life. Even a false fabricaton was an attempt to recreate it, and for one who rarely travelled, such as Mathew, something familiar would be very welcome. He was just taking a seat outside when he saw a worried-looking man rush out of it. He wondered what on Earth was the matter, until he noticed the envelope that seemed to be the cause of the man's worry. The envelope that looked remarkably similar to Mathew's own.