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[b]Time: Three days later, opening night of A Midsummer Night’s Dream 
Location: Paris Opera House, Paris[/b]

Hundreds of patrons made their way into the Opera House that night for an evening of classical Parisian culture, a night to experience the ballet. Luckily for those attending would be treated to [i]A Midsummer Night’s Dream[/i]. Everyone streaming in had their tickets torn or scanned, they were handed pamphlets listing the dancers performing that night, their names, black and white portraits with their roles in the ballet and position at the company. Principal Dancers had a small description of their career prior to the current performance. 

Sadly, very sadly for poor Manon the demi-soloist, her opening night and first time performing Helena live was shunted by a terrible flu - leaving her bed ridden. For her caretakers they could not tell if the tears on her cheeks were from the fever or her apparent disappointment. Regardless, the show goes on. Especially for her senior dancer and understudy for the role, Odette Favre the blue haired review-darling. Rumours were spreading like wildfire of her health in and out of the company. Tonight’s performance would act to squash those concerns.

Backstage - runningcrew raced around, clutching tablets, headsets around their necks, radios on their hips, dodging through performers - sliding past costume racks that were [i]dreadfully[/i] late delivering alterations. 

The Stage Manager shouted in French overheads, “[i]Curtain in less than fifteen minutes people! Hustle![/i]” Their assistant managers echoing that sentiment up and down the lines of people. It was a well oiled machine the seemingly chaotic movement of people.

Odette sat at her vanity, gently patting her cheeks with loose finishing powder setting her makeup where even sweat couldn’t ruin it. Chaos carried on around her as the other soloists to her left and right were desperately patting away their makeup. Somehow their costumes were late but Odette’s arrived without any need of last minute alterations. Lifting her brow with a pinky, the tiny brush straightening the hair. Helena’s light red dress complimented Odette well, the hand sewn layers of fabric neatly falling below her waist, free flowing in their abundant layers. Her hair tucked in a tight bun pinned securely with plenty of bobby pins, her hair band decorated with white flowers and green vines. The bodice fit snuggly at her torso, the dress itself was long, embroidery telling a story of its own only highlighted the craftsmanship found within the company. At the beginning of the ballet each dancer started at their heaviest costumes, as the story progressed, they would all slowly shed the layers. It was narratively important, equally important weight the dancers were relieved of as the ballet neared its end. 

Odette heard the call for curtain, she saw Victor, the Principal Dancer playing Puck that night. Focused, ready, and she caught his eye before he was escorted by the stage manager. Watching his back she returned to her vanity smiling at her reflection, personally knowing and meeting the mythological creatures that populated [i]A Midsummer Night’s Dream[/i] was a secret she would always relish in having. Bach was nowhere to be seen, he rarely came to watch her performances (having seen them plenty of times before). Happily keeping the Opera House free of faerie influences, try as she did to draw boundaries - create her own sanctuary, she knew they couldn’t resist being in and around such a lively, old building. 

They did well to hide from her eyesight some even took great joy when they found The Ambassador on their tails to chase them away.

[i]Curtain in five![/i] Another call came and many of the dancers, the Corps de Ballet streaming toward the left and right wings of the stage. One final check and the assistant stage manager guided Odette and the other soloist playing opposite her as Hermia to their marks. Waiting in the wings, they could hear the [url=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SEkcP8lZvZA]orchestra[/url] begin.

[hr]


[b][i]Elsewhere…[/i][/b]


“DEATH TO THE USURPER!”

Noir frowned, his punch hauling the fanatic into another with a little more strength than was warranted. “[colour=lightslategray]You guys are going to make me late! And I [i]abhor[/i] being late![/colour]”

He had no idea how the Obscurati* had tracked him all the way down to France, and frankly, he did not much care. Ever since he had acquired his powers they had become obsessed with taking him down, and they were very much starting to become a bit of a thorn in his buttocks.

Still, the black-robed loonies were barely a threat to his shadow-plated might: the Brit dashed back and forth at incredible speeds, so much so that he had to pull every single one of his punches to ensure he didn’t kill any of the gullible suckers. A broken bone or two, however… now [i]those[/i] were warranted. Luckily for him, they preferred to attack him in secluded spaces with little to no human traffic, and this alleyway was no different.

He grabbed one of the hooded figures by his lapel, proceeding to weaponize him as he swung him against his deluded companions. “[colour=lightslategray]I’m wearing a very expensive suit underneath this thing, and I [i]SWEAR[/i] if there’s a [i]SINGLE[/i] wrinkle on it when I’m done with you schmucks,  there’s going to be [i]HELL[/i] to pay![/colour]” he threatened as the man’s legs clobbered another fellow in the head, knocking the living lights out of him, “[colour=lightslategray]I mean, even more so than now![/colour]”

Soon enough, the quasi-invisible figure was done with the small army of assailants, a gaggle of black-robed figures barely breathing at his feet. Noir, on the other hand, felt like he could’ve kept going for a while: it was an empowering sensation, he had to admit, and felt little to no shame at the extra tightness he felt in his nether regions.

The euphoric moment lasted little, however, as his shadow retreated to its god-given place to reveal a slickly dressed man, looking down at a silver-plated hand watch.

“[colour=lightslategray][i]Shit![/i][/colour]”


[b][i]A few minutes later...[/i][/b]


David readjusted his tie as he entered the Opera House’s reception area. As feared, the doors were just being closed, and he was all alone except for an usher wearing a red velvet vest, along with a bow-tie. He turned around and looked him up and down with a small smile that David found none too pleasant, recognizing the look of a man searching for a flaw. 

Alas, the thief would not allow himself any, even after a spirited fight. His dark blue suit barely had a wrinkle in it, nicely paired with an immaculate white shirt and a matching tie and handkerchief in a lighter blue that pulled the whole ensemble together, his black oxfords so well polished that he could swear he could catch glimpses of his own smug smile in them… at least when the lights did not flicker: a side-effect of his powers to which he was still getting used to.

The man raised a hand as David approached, speaking in french. 

“[i]Excuse me, may I help you?[/i]” he inquired.

David smiled knowingly at him as he produced a ticket, reproducing the language perfectly. “[colour=lightslategray][i]Evidently. I’m here to see the show. I know I’m just in the nick of time, but if you would be so kind as to...[/i][/colour]”

The man passed his hand beneath a small poster hanging on the door, written in his mother tongue. [i]“My apologies, Monsieur, but ‘no-one shall be seated after the doors are closed,`”[/i] he read out loud, before kneeling over slightly with a rather condescending look, hands upon his knees, “[i]It helps maintain the illusion.[/i]”

David frowned at this. [colour=lightslategray][i]“You do not understand. I’ve come all the way from America [b]explicitly[/b] to watch this performance.”[/i][/colour] 

“[i]Then perhaps next time you shall be on time, oui?[/i]”

David’s eyes widened at the gall, before he gave the man a deadpan glare, producing his wallet. “[colour=lightslategray][i]Fine! I’m sure we can reach an agree…[/i][/colour]”

“Shhhh,” the man interrupted him as he began countings euro bills, a finger raised to his mouth, before making the same hand motion under a second poster, which read in French: `Quiet please while show is in progress.` The usher then gave him a look that said ‘no luck,’ shrugging as he gave him a little hum.

David’s jaw could’ve just about hit the ground, weren’t it firmly affixed to his face. “[i][colour=lightslategray]Listen here…[/colour][/i]”

The man hummed again as he ran his index and thumb along his lips, then a third time as he shooed him away with both hands. 

David could feel the vein in his forehead pulsating. The lights in the reception began to flicker with more intensity, one of them actually dying out entirely. This caught the usher’s attention briefly, a brow raised in confusion as he regarded the dimming lights and their extinguished brother. And just like that, the flickering stopped, the man turning to find himself completely alone.


[b][i]Yet another few moments later[/i][/b]


David fumed as he sneaked through the vent, muttering things that were most unbecoming to a gentleman of his station. Something about opening doors with frog heads.

It was fortunate that all bright lights were focused on the stage, as no one saw the dark figure sneak out of the ventilation system, and indeed, few except for a couple of inside ushers registered the young man entering a private balcony close to the stage: one of the best seats in the house, to be sure. The man graciously accepted the pair of vintage-looking opera binoculars, and sighed with relief: the show had only just begun, and his ‘heroine’ had yet to make her entrance...

To David’s eyes, the sequence introducing King Oberon and Queen Titania drew to a close the dancers exiting stage left and King Theseus’ and his court entered along with the blue clad pair of Hermia and Lysander, lovingly tucked into each other’s arms heads tilted toward the other. Demetrius burst from stage right, in red he kneeled at Hermia’s feet taking her hand in front of King Theseus. The three dancers pulling back and forth, clearly fighting.

From the back of the stage, came Helena following her true love, Demetrius. Dressed in the similar reds to Demetrius Odette stepped in a similar fashion quick one-two steps before leaping into the air landing just shy of Demetrius to tug on his arm - distracting him from Hermia. Distraught, he pulled his arm free of Helena. King Theseus sharply threw his hands out to his sides, silencing them on cue as the four of them dropped to their knees and bowed their heads. Levelling a sharp gaze he shook his head, spinning away en pointe, his councillors did the same spinning and following him as he exited the stage. The fairies flitted on in the background, watching the scene as they did while the Athenians were unaware.

Helena shared a look with Hermia as Lysander was the first to stand holding Hermia’s hand, they danced together a pas de deux, where Hermia and Lysander happily shared in each other’s embrace, lovingly Hermia drew the back of her hand against his cheek gently caressing him before exiting the stage, arm in arm.

Demetrius set to follow the pair to win Hermia and was dogged by Helena, with one final throw of his arm to shake her off him Helena stood center stage burying her face in her hands standing en pointe, stepping on the spot - anxiously. Fairies gathered around her in concern dancing left and right trying to comfort her in her apparent pain. The music sadly lifted as Odette’s solo began. Crossing her arms over her face, she stepped in a circle while the fairies watched her move. Throwing her arms open she looked to the audience, before spinning away allowing the pain of the man she loved being in love with her dear friend show as she gritted her teeth. Odette could feel herself as Helena, tall, unwanted and desperate for only requinted love. Dropping to her knees she spun back up to en pointe quickly entering one of the more difficult parts of choreography she’d be doing on her own for the performance. It took endurance and strength, a movement that would stomp on all rumours of her health. 

Widely taking the stage, spinning once before moving to her next foot - one after another spinning her way around the stage not losing a single bit of momentum. Crimson material flowing around her as she spun, the fabric unable to keep up. Once she arrived back where she started, ending with a jump, landing she fluttered her hands down over her body, taking deep breaths - she looked sharply to her left fuelled with determination to follow Demetrius she padded away after him. The fairies behind her watched on, joined by elves and eventually Oberon. The audience clapped their approval.

As she exited the stage, her fellow dancers patted her on the shoulder as she fanned her face.

David smiled slyly as he saw ‘Helena’ dancing her way into the stage. The smug satisfaction he felt as he saw the Ambassador in her civilian identity, none the wiser to his presence, was second to none… or so he thought.

Her movements soon pushed all self-congratulatory thoughts away as he became enthralled by the performance, finding himself on the edge of his seat as the solo arrived. It wasn’t just the finesse, the dedication, the strength needed.... It was the emotion he felt, the empathy with her plight, the sense of...solitude.  By the time she had finished, he found himself genuinely surprised, clapping as fiercely as anyone in the room.

Mildly embarrassed with himself, he returned to enjoying the spectacle. As a well learned Englishman, there were few works of ‘the bard’ that he did not enjoy, and this entirely physical representation of one of his most magical plays, particularly as performed by such a talented cast, was a true treat to the senses. However, the thief couldn’t help but deny the slightest hint of anxiousness he felt as he waited… waited, for her to return to the spotlight.

The ballet carried on, Oberon called tricky Robin Goodfellow, The Puck to his side - handing the green garbed Imp a large pink flower pointing and dancing. Puck nodded dancing away to the far end of the stage while a sleeping Queen Titania was rolled in on a soft pink bed of a clam, Puck danced around gently waving the flower over her eyes. The sequence with Titania and Bottom began, Odette had quickly stripped the top most layer of her dress removing some padding. It wasn’t long before the next scene commenced, Hermia and Lysander danced in the glade eloping as they did unknowingly with Demetrius on their tail and Helena shortly in tow.

They found a place to sleep with Puck carefully watching on in the background. Demetrius and Helena entered next, dancing a sad pas de deux - Demetrius pushed her away, rejecting her confessions. Try as she did to win his love. He crossed his arms as Helena danced around him. The parallel of the affectionate dance of Hermia and Lysander juxtaposed to Helena and Demetrius.

The ballet was true to the story as the play, eventually the four Athenians fell asleep in the forest to have Puck visit Lysander first mistaking him for Demetrius. When Lysander woke up his eyes fell upon not Hermia but Helena - the magic of the flower compelling him to fall in love with her. Much like Hermia rejecting Demetrius, Helena rejected Lysander’s advances. The confusion, drama and magical shenanigans charmed the audience. Puck, seeing his mistakes tried again with Demetrius to Helena’s apparent distraught having the pair of men fight over her - believing it all to be a mean spirited jest. Not missing a step, the on stage chemistry between the four was clear - each of them having performed the roles before. Odette fed off the energy of her fellow dancers, always exhilarated by performance especially when it all went so [i]well[/i]. 

The characters fought, the magic flower employed once more - the energy of the cast held as the ballet reached its climax of comedic chaos. All the moving parts coming together. Set pieces changed, costumes transformed as the characters did, huge numbers of ballet dancers joined the Soloists and Principal Dancers - the orchestra swelling with classical sound. Act 1 ending and Act 2 arriving with the wedding sequence. When the ballet drew to a close, curtain fell - all the dancers stood hand in hand bowing. Beaming, sweat sheens across their brows, opening night a clear success. Odette among them grinning happily, the final curtain falling slowly.

Even after it did, David stood, clapping furiously. He was amongst the last to stop, and even once he did, he remained in his seat a good long while, reflecting on what he’d just seen. It took an usher clearing the space to remind him there was a cocktail party to attend. David gave him a generous tip, and made his way.

The party itself was… what one might expect. Most of the audience members who’d made their way there drank the free booze, snacked on the extremely fancy and, in David’s opinion, diminutive catering items and exchanged opinions regarding the performance.

David himself nursed a glass of whiskey on ice, and whilst he, for once, did not particularly feel like mingling with the upper crust of France’s society, the men and women there had ideas of their own, many of them naturally drawn to the solitary figure. There was not-so-subtle flirtation and, of course, a healthy amount of cultural dick-measuring. David remained charming as ever, but was sure to shut all attempts to steal his attention swiftly, sometimes with polite excuses, yet often by subtly suggesting their company bored him. 

This went on for about an hour until the cast finally appeared, and time froze for a moment as the room’s attention shifted to them. They were almost instantly accosted by reporters, but David did not much mind. Patience was a virtue for a man in his line of work, and he revelled in observing his blue-haired prize from afar, studying her. She was an entirely different woman from the one he’d met but three days earlier, exquisitely polite, exuding joy and charming naïvette, only the occasional twinkle in her eyes giving away the sinister intelligence behind them:  David’s heart soared, for it was only for him to know.

Once the reporters had dispersed, he gave her some time to mingle with her fellow cast members, although she often seemed to prefer her own company. He even stood aside as two different fellows approached her, no doubt with romantic intentions. Both were perfectly fine looking and respectable men, but he was not entirely surprised when she politely, almost subtly shot them down. No doubt, this was a common occurrence for her, and all the better for him: it was best to allow mediocrity to give way to excellence.

Finally, she moved away from the crowd of her own will, staring out of a large window that gave a magnificent view of the city, a perfect spot of isolation in an otherwise populous space. He approached her slowly, measuring his anticipation, admiring her. 

She wore a pale pink tulle [url=https://i.pinimg.com/564x/27/5c/4f/275c4f3c9ebc1a2f2e0152ab2a522d6b.jpg]dress[/url] with interwoven white flowers, bluebirds down the length of the gown as well as cursive, black writing in places, spelling out short yet evocative phrases. The flowers tapered into the partially transparent top, seemingly having no beginning nor end as they gathered at her shoulders and down her waist, wide, see-through sleeves stretching down her arms with soft, small buttons at her wrists. She accesorized the outfit with diamonds, wearing light handed make-up and having styled her hair classically, with easy waves topping it off. 

She was breathtaking, like something out of a fairy tale.

He, on the other hand, donned his best smile as he walked up behind her, one hand in his pocket as the other swayed a second, fresh glass of top-shelf whiskey. Stopping at her side, he looked out the window, taking the shortest of sips from his drink of choice.

[colour=lightslategray]“Wilt thou be gone? It is not yet near day. It was the nightingale, and not the lark, that pierced the fearful hollow of thine ear. Nightly she sings on yon pomegranate tree. Believe me love, it was the nightingale,”[/colour] he cited casually.

Poetry, a line from [i]Romeo & Juliet[/i] - tonight was a night for Shakespeare. As she had hoped to get a break, one more in the sea of faces decided to insert themselves by her side. The reflection in the glass of the window showed her a handsome face, blue - true blue eyes, a well fitted suit, a formal cut with the navy blue of his pants and coat, a much lighter sky blue tie. It was a unique greeting, among the more notable ways anyone had approached her. 

Turning her head, she acknowledged him with a bow of her head, responding in English, “[color=thistle]Good evening to you as well, Monsieur.[/color]” Making eye contact momentarily holding his gaze, before drifting back to the view of the city.

She continued, keeping him in her periphery of the reflection, “[color=thistle]Well read with Shakespeare I see, I truly hope you enjoyed tonight’s performance of the classic. The choreography changes subtly depending on who directs, fresh take that audiences both new and old can appreciate.[/color]” She gestured behind herself, “[color=thistle]I believe the director is free to speak to, I would not pass up the opportunity to pick through their mind.[/color]”

A small part of her wanted the stranger to move on to leave her to her own thoughts but did not want him to be so easily deterred as the other two were.

He held her gaze as she turned to look at him, his smile soft yet confident, that of a man who knew exactly who he was and what he wanted, at peace with his place in the world.

“[colour=lightslategray]Whyever would I want to do that? So that you may steal this view for yourself?[/colour]” he asked, taking another short sip, before ‘explaining’ himself, “[colour=lightslategray]I came here tonight to [i]feel[/i], not to listen to others wade in self-gratification, and as I’m sure you already know, there’s no shortage of people here willing to engage in a rousing round of circle-jerking,[/colour]” the man noted, smiling at his own reflection, “[colour=lightslategray]Besides, I don’t think anyone here can really compare to what you have to offer.[/colour]”

If she had a reply in mind, it would’ve been abruptly cut off by David’s attention shifting elsewhere, his hand rising to snap a finger at someone, “[colour=lightslategray]Garçon![/colour]”
 
The waiter raised a brow as the man beckoned him: the snap might’ve well been a thunder strike, the way it had gotten his attention, “Oui, Monsieur?”
 
David returned to his perfect French: [i]“[colour=lightslategray]The Mademoiselle here would like a…[/colour]”[/i] he turned to regard her for a moment, feigning thought as he seemed to size her up, [i]“[colour=lightslategray]Cosmopolitan. Grey Goose. Make it snappy,[/colour]”[/i] he added, giving him a friendly, yet knowing look.
 
The young gent nodded, “[i]Right away Monsieur.[/i]”
 
Satisfied, he returned to his view, seemingly disinterested in reigniting the conversation.

Odette blinked,  slightly, the [i]tiniest[/i] bit impressed by how he guessed the drink. Wondering briefly if she was easy to read…? No, there was no way. Pure dumb luck. 

Flattery was certainly lovely to hear, genuine or not. It warranted a response, “[color=thistle]That is… wonderful to hear,[/color]” Fluidly switching to French, hearing his apparent fluency - comfortable enough to converse, “[i][color=thistle]What did you feel during the performance? Whisked away to the glade itself? Evoked by the pure fantasy?[/color][/i]” 

Watching his expression, settling on his hand wrapped around his drink. Smiling easily, well-practiced and pleasant. 

David gave her a sidelong glance, ample lips thinning as his smile stretched. “[i][colour=lightslategray]Oh, it was a wonderful performance, but I don’t know that I would call any of the Bard’s works ‘pure fantasy.’ More like… shadow-truths,[/colour]”[/i] he concluded after a second’s thought, unsure of whether he’d heard that somewhere before, [i]“[colour=lightslategray]You have a very talented troupe for companions, but if I’m being perfectly honest, none of their performances were terribly surprising. I enjoyed the highs and the lows, moving through the motions just like I would with any other performance of this caliber.[/colour]”[/i]

He looked down to his drink, allowing it to swirl around the melting block of ice. For a moment, it seemed like he had nothing else to say, but then his expression grew serious, eyes still set on the amber whirlwind, “[colour=lightslategray][i]You, however… you made me feel alone. Desperately so. And when it was all coming to an end… no, even as we speak I feel… cheated,[/i][/colour]” he confessed, finally allowing the liquid to settle for him to take an earnest sip, before smiling softly at her, “[colour=lightslategray][i]Frankly, it’s quite refreshing.[/i][/colour]”

Furrowing her brow, curiosity pulling her in she turned fully to him, his words tumbled over in her mind. “[color=thistle][i]Cheated? You’ll have to elaborate, Monsieur…? You haven’t introduced yourself, whereas my name is printed in the program brochure.[/i][/color]”

The waitstaff returned promptly with his tray, balancing the freshly made cocktail. Gingerly lifting it, cradling it in the palm of her hand not taking a sip. She thanked the server, raising the glass up, the server smiled at David then bowed his head to Odette before skittering off.

“[colour=lightslategray]Blackwood,[/colour]” he offered after palming a bill in the waiter’s vest in return for his service: not as much a concealed act of kindness as a way to show off to himself. His attention returned to Odette, the man drinking her in with his eyes, “[colour=lightslategray]David Blackwood. A pleasure to meet you, Mademoiselle Favre.[/colour]”

The man then decided to switch back to English, as if to better express himself. “[colour=lightslategray]As for feeling cheated… well, I’m afraid that has to do with my conditioning as a spectator. On one hand, you made me feel happy. No, not just happy…[/colour]” he pondered, choosing his words carefully, “[colour=lightslategray]In bliss. Almost as if I were truly in love myself, and that love were returned in kind. And still, I know that it is only due to Oberon’s concoction that Demetrius fell back for her. She will never have the chance to realize he’s a fuckwit who does not deserve her, nor will I ever be rid of this bittersweet feeling. It is as perplexing as it is vexing, really,[/colour]” he mused. 

Pursing her lips with thought, who exactly did he think he was? Momentarily squinting at his cursing, she brought up the rim of the glass giggling at him, “[color=thistle]Poetic aren’t we? Helena determined as she is in her love, was as blind if not the most among the four. A mess of a person, entirely flawed.[/color]”

“[color=thistle]As far as I am concerned they deserved each other, bewitched by a flower or not. I would suppose that is why Helena is compelling, her plight as the story’s heroine.[/color]” 

Finally taking a sip of her drink, it was good, tasting a double shot of vodka in it - she tapped the pad of her thumb against the glass, “[color=thistle]Monsieur Blackwood . . . David,[/color]” She began, “[color=thistle]Thank you for the drink, I am -[/color]” She searched for the correct word, pushing back on his charms and magnetism, “[color=thistle]Flattered you enjoyed my performance as you have, appreciate the nuances in what I conveyed,[/color]” Fluttering her hand at the party, “[color=thistle]I… I often hear that it is too much. It is refreshing that it is just enough, even for one member of the audience.[/color]”

Glancing away, smiling as she sipped again. He seemed willing to play. Something changed in her body language, full attention on David an unmistakable glint of mischief in her eye. 

David had a rebuttal fully loaded for their little theatrical discussion, but she then changed the subject, and he raised a brow slightly as he noticed the shift in her demeanour, a playful smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

“[colour=lightslategray]Well, contrary to popular belief, I don’t think you can get too much of a good thing,[/colour]” he remarked, eyeing the collective, “[colour=lightslategray]And if they can’t appreciate you, well, that suits me just fine,[/colour]” he noted, his piercing blue eyes settling on her, “[colour=lightslategray]More for me.[/colour]”

He offered a cheeky smile to go with his equally cheeky addendum, taking a sip of his drink.

Purposefully glancing away as he flirted, seemingly flustered by his comments, “[color=thistle]Sharing is caring, so I’m told.[/color]” She said, “[color=thistle]You clearly enjoy a night of ballet, but there must be other things you enjoy?[/color]”

Taking a small step toward him, closing the space, “[color=thistle]You are a man who knows what he wants, smarter than the next handsome face to waltz into my company, and charming enough to hold a conversation that wasn’t ripped directly from the wikipedia page.[/color]”

She shrugged casually with one shoulder, “[color=thistle]I would go so far as to say that is all impressive.[/color]”

There was certainty in telling a charming man he was charming and smart, it was just reiterating what he already knew but validating it was as technically sound as telling a pretty woman she was pretty. Both parties were well aware of what they were. 

“[colour=lightslategray]Why, Mademoiselle Favre, if I didn’t know any better, I would say you’re trying to make me blush,[/colour]” he smirked as he turned to face her fully, their proximity dangerous, “[colour=lightslategray]And there is a great many things I enjoy in life. Good whiskey. Nice views. Pleasurable company… and so much more. Alas, it would be a shame to spoil it all straight away, wouldn’t you agree? One does not start reading a book by its last chapter, after all,[/colour]” he pointed out, eyes narrowing ever so slightly, smiling only out of the right corner of his mouth, “[colour=lightslategray]I assume you’re familiar with ‘le Bateau le Calife’? Silly question, of course you are,[/colour]” he dismissed his own advance.

He did not ask for permission as he took her free hand in his own, nor did he bow or kneel as he brought it up to his lips, his gaze never leaving her own, “[colour=lightslategray]If you truly wish to learn more of me, the boat will be undocking at 8:15 sharp tomorrow evening. I would recommend not being tardy,[/colour]” he noted, giving her hand the softest of kisses, holding on to it for just a moment longer, “[colour=lightslategray]Enjoy the rest of your drink, Mademoiselle. I would wish the same for your evening, but I doubt you’ll be able to.[/colour]”

With that, he released her and began walking off, free hand returning to his pocket as he downed the rest of his glass in one fell swoop, casually placing it on a waiter’s tray as he passed him by.

He was good, had done his research. The sorceress considered their conversation and his offer as she watched his back disappear into the crowd, sipping more from her cosmo as she did. Unaware of how strangely the shadows moved around him. Where was the harm in having a mild distraction in the form of a ‘mysterious’ gentleman? It was easy to justify the time she’d be spending on neither faerie, witches or ballet. She felt a distinct feathery tingle against her hand where he had kissed it. She smirked in spite of herself, turning back to the window. 

Having a final amusing thought, [i][color=thistle]I wonder how quickly he’ll come to regret tonight?[/color][/i]
[hr]

* Confused? Read Noir’s origin arc! Coming soon(ish)!