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Post by Formorian Carlisle on Mar 31, 2008 0:28:00 GMT -5
Formorian ascended the many steps to the upper quarters of the Opera Populaire, just to reach her newly appointed office. Like Madame Giry, Reyer, and any other instructor to the Populaire. The Managers had thought it a professional move to set up offices for these persons and their roles in the day to day preparations. It was a good idea, however it was more like setting up a marathon run for Formorian as her petite frame managed to hold a bag in one hand, and tucked beneath the other arm were several score-books. Her frame making its way up the stairs for the fifth trip that afternoon, balancing precariously as she did so.
She wasn't against the office, truly it had been a wonderfully good idea. Until it came to the fact that the hands were at break, and Formorian disliking to depend on men for most of the things in her life. Had begun to move her belongings from point A to point B. So far so good, and reaching her office, it was at the far end in a smaller room, without a window. The door was left open to let it air out, quite stuffy after being closed up since she believed before the renovations and promptly after. Setting more items down, she smacked her hands together as though cleaning them briefly. Taking another deep breath she headed back down the hallway, down the stairs, to her apartment in the dormitories.
Grabbing a particularly large trunk, she began to drag the entire thing up the long travel. For a man it would've been only slightly tiring, for two men to move it would've been nothing. Now she being a petite creature, barely an inch above five feet, it was like placing a miniature horse in charge of a stage-coach. Somehow though, she mustered up enough strength to drag it to the stairs that lead up to the offices. She not being out of shape took, several breaths and decided to collapse there onto the stairs for a small break.
Today she wore a gown of a navy blue, as deep as the ocean her long, silky mane of platinum hair splayed out over the marble steps. Her slightly flushed cheeks painting her face rosy, and her plump lips were a natural colored pink, now flushed with exertion. Those long skirts barely brushed the edge of the trunk, the handle still sticking up from her insistent tugging. Formorian Carlisle was quickly having a losing battle with the heavy items she needed for her quarters. God forbid she had to carry a table up there herself!
Corset taught, her breathing returning to normal, Formorian allowed herself to lay there like an angelic fallen creature from the Heavens. Or rather the Baroque angel paintings about the ceilings, to grace the bottom of those steps. She'd rise as soon as her heart was out of physical over-drive. Or of course she was disturbed, or most annoyingly, stepped on.
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Post by Andrew Leroux on Apr 1, 2008 15:08:07 GMT -5
The latest issue of Époque tucked under his arm, Andrew ascended the stairs to his office; what on earth was all that furniture and such doing at the base of the stairs? And why was there a luggage trunk on the stairs? Andrew craned his head to star as he went up the stairs, not noticing the small blonde that lay draped across the stairs. A small squeak forced him to look down; with some surprise he realized that his foot was squarely in the center of a young woman's abdomen. "Pardon me, mademoiselle," He said, removing his foot, with slight horror he realized that he had stepped on no one other than the new singing teacher...Choral Instructor he mentally amended. "Oh, excuse me, Mademoiselle Carlisle!" He extended his hand to help her up, "May I ask why you are lugging all of your items up instead of one of my men?" He furrowed his brow, lazy bastards, he would kill them if she decided to leave. They had lost the last instructor,but by God, they weren't going to lose this one.
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Post by Formorian Carlisle on Apr 1, 2008 17:14:50 GMT -5
Her small reprieve from going as a titled Choral Instructor to the next cleaning or moving woman. Formorian enjoyed her brief stay on the stairs, thankfully it was an off day. Very few patrons would venture this far up, and the managers were normally off elsewhere. It had been an ideal time for her to do the moving, but she'd always forgotten the fact her strength was not that of man. Neither was her stature, and certainly when it came to a preferred team-lift well...she'd drag that just as she'd done the trunk.Perhaps now would be a good time for a Patron to walk by, the self-proclaimed gentlemen would be fussing to help her. Then again they'd be fussing over her, then the job wouldn't get finished at all. Nay, they could stay clear to.
Determined to have maybe half of one fourth of her items up to the office, Formorian hadn't even opened her eyes, when the weight of something or someone heavy began to press into her abdomen. Unable to inhale, she used what was left of her expelled breath to make a squeak of alarm. It seemed to catch the person's attention, as the foot was gone from her stomach in record time, and with those thick lashes they fluttered open. Looking up into the face of the man, who had used her as the next step on the stairs.
"Pardon me, mademoiselle," The man said, the momentary horror on the man's face would've been priceless had it not been the face of one of the managers. Sitting up quickly, inhaling and letting one hand rub her slightly tingly belly where his foot had only seconds ago been. No injury befallen her of course, that long mane of silky curls blanketing her back in her seated position. Formorian's gaze met the man's gaze timidly as she was not, and could not be angry for being trodden upon. After all, she'd been the one laying in the midst of a place where traffic was frequent of the managers.
"Oh, excuse me, Mademoiselle Carlisle!" He said in surprise, as he recognized whom she was. If it had been the younger manager, Formorian knew the man would've laughed off the ordeal no doubt. As for the older, she'd only met him twice, once for her arrival to receive the job, and the second when he'd been half annoyed at the loss of some ballerinas that were needed. Now, the third she'd been stepped on, and not really knowing the humor of the man, she managed a small smile to him. Slipping her hand into the offered of his own, at least he was somewhat gentlemanly. She stood to her petite height, which served some justice as she stood higher on the steps.
"Pardon me, Monsieur Leroux." Formorian said timidly, removing her hand from his own though thanking him for his kind gesture. She made busy a moment at fixing her skirts, and her hair as modestly a woman could. Especially a woman who'd been laying on the stairs.
"May I ask why you are lugging all of your items up instead of one of my men?" He inquired to the point, furrowing his brow which did not, surprisingly detract from his handsome features. Whether older the man was handsome, younger it was safe in her mind to believe that he had been beyond a looker then no doubt. Silent council of her thoughts ruled, and she moistened her lips a moment to respond. Why she was the one lugging things around? Because it was a far cry safer than those men!
"Oh....'Tis a bit of something to pass the time. I do not get paid to be idle Monsieur and since your men were away at lunch. I thought it a grand idea to start taking some of my items up. It was of course...at the time a grand idea." She said her smile broadening a bit, placing hands on her hips. Looking accusingly at the large and heavy trunk. "However that idea Monsieur fades as I've met my match." The blond, with some humor lightly waved in the general direction of the trunk there. Returning her gaze to him, her smile sobered.
"I apologize for being in the way Monsieur Leroux, I was just taking a small break from my idea. I had thought you and the rest to be out for lunch. I did not mean to be in your way." Repeating; her apology true, all she needed was for one manager to be angry at her. If he was. He didn't seem it, but who knew?
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