When she was younger, back before the world exploded, Étoile used to hate the Eiffel Tower. It wasn't the thing itself so much (though it was ugly enough, for sure), but everything it brought with it. In particular, the tourists. Ugh, [i]Americans[/i]. You could always tell, even when they weren't walking around with their flag on their asses. They gave themselves away with their gawking and the absurdly loud voices they used to talk to each other about [i]everything[/i]. Many of them would have their hands clenched around pockets or purses as though this would protect them from the pickpockets they'd read about on tourist websites. 

And the sunglasses, too! Why did they always wear sunglasses? Even when they would wave Étoile over to them and ask (in even louder voices, like that somehow made English easier to understand) for her to take their picture, they wouldn't take them off! What kind of photo didn't show your eyes in your moment of happiness? And then of course they'd hand her a camera or a phone, but as soon as she tried to stand on a bench or climb a tree to give them a memory from an interesting angle, they'd call her a thief and threaten to call the police on her. None of them wanted to know what she was trying to do, none of them cared that this was her talent, they all wanted the same stupid straight-on shot with them folding their arms across their chest and forced smiles on their faces, or arms crushing their children into their bodies, always from either much too close or much too far away for the picture to turn out well...

Glimpsing it now, she has to suppress the urge to sigh. Oh, how she missed Paris. Her Paris. Even the stupid parts of it that drove her insane. But it was dangerous for any slave to express even momentary discontent with their lot in life anywhere anyone could hear them, especially for a privileged handmaiden like Étoile. She wouldn't dare take the risk had it been just herself and Lady Tamytha, but with [i]Jezcha[/i] watching, of all the people who might be? It was the most vital thing in the world for her to project absolute elation at all times. 

God, what she wouldn't give to make this little brat Marianne's next target. But it couldn't be done, of course. Or, well, it could, but it was exactly the sort of misty daydream Marianne had roasted Set for. She'd put the Seneschal on high alert, possibly for the rest of her life, and for what? Revenge? Revenge would come. Being a spy meant having patience, even with terrible bullies who can't stop hurting people for even five seconds. 

Étoile looks over at her Lady and feels her heart swell up with sadness. But under her soft teal and pink veil, she offers a simple smile: warm and non-threatening as she knows how to be. She leans and rests her head against Tamytha's shoulder. Look at her, Jezcha! Isn't she such a good girl?

"My Lady is so modest!" she chirps, "Every day when I wake up I'm amazed all over again by her grace and compassion, and even still she finds it in herself to downplay her gifts so effortlessly! Oh gosh, my heart is going pitter patter, yes it is! Don't worry, Lady! Even if your heart is too filled with love for you to hunt today, your Étoile will make sure you come home happy!"

Deep inside her heart, Marianne stirs just enough to roll her eyes. But she's listening more attentively now. You're a weak, pathetic suck up, little star, but this kind of boldness is good for you, yes!