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Post by Victoire Leblanc on Aug 29, 2008 20:38:08 GMT -5
Victoire entered the café silently and instinctively reached up to silence the little bell tied to alert the entrance of new customers. She did not particularly like such loud, obnoxious noises. Her blue eyes took in the room in a wide sweep and then darted away as they met other eyes. Why was it that people do that? Everyone glances about nervously as if at any moment the skeletons from their closet might walk right into the café with them and bow at the waist to their closest friends. Victoire, thank goodness, was nobody's skeleton in the closet. She'd certainly made sure of that, though that didn't mean that she didn't long for a bit of impracticality once and a while. Her brother was everything that was impractical and unethical--and yet he did not allow her a second of that luxury.
She sat herself with a ballerina's practised grace into a free chair. The old man nearby, with the day's print in hand, turned and raised his hat to stare at her very rudely. She was in a plain dress, yes, but that didn't mean she was not a lady! She met his stare sharply and with warning. He looked confused for a moment, and then smiled with a bit of chagrin, turning back to his paper. Victoire scowled, and then called over a serving man to order her tea.
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Post by anya on Sept 8, 2008 14:45:10 GMT -5
Le Café Noir was busy at the time Anastasia walked through the door. She was wearing quite a simple light blue dress that was practical for a sunny day and a light blue bow in her hair. People looked at her as she walked through the small café, but Anya didn't notice them, she didn't care too much for attention from random strangers.
She looked around the establishment and saw that there was scarce seating. The place was filled with older men accompanied by much younger women, some from the Opéra, which made Anastasia hope the girls were their daughter or niece and not their mistress. When she saw them exchange passionate kisses, she turned away in disgust and hoped they were their mistresses!
Still unable to find a seat, a man sitting at the bar with a pint of beer in his hand called her over and said there was a seat on his lap. Anya rolled her eyes and tried to ignore him, but he still called to her. It wasn't even that late, just a few minutes past noon, she thought the less desired clientele would be there after the workplaces let out. Then again, she wouldn't be shocked if this man was unemployed the way he acted and talked. The poor girl scanned the room quickly, looking for someone getting up. When she thought hope was lost, she recognized a girl from the Opéra, a dancer, and there was a seat or two available at her table.
Anya walked over to the table, the other girl not noticing and stopped when she finally reached it. She had caught the attention of the woman when her shadow fell over the table.
"Excuse me, mademoiselle, do you mind if I sit here. Just to keep away from that monstrous man?" she asked in a hush tone (trying to be a little polite) and pointing behind her to the jeering man.
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Post by Victoire Leblanc on Sept 20, 2008 19:47:01 GMT -5
Victoire wrapped her hands around her warm tea, shivering at the pleasure of it seeping into her to break the coming autumn chill. Her eyes flickered up from the dark liquid and she tensed, a sugar cube suspended above the cup in two dainty fingers as she stared at the lovely girl in front of her. A familiar seethe of thoughts flooded her; was she prettier than her? More talented? Better liked? Better off? With a plop, the cube dropped into the cup and Victoria managed a small smile. "Of course," She said, her low, quiet voice menacing in that seductive, feminine way. It was not intended this time, just the way that her voice was.
As the woman sat she continued to scrutinise her, sipping her tea while very clearly staring. "My name is Victoire Leblanc." She said, arching a brow in expectation of the other's name.
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Post by anya on Sept 20, 2008 21:48:21 GMT -5
Anya thanked the girl and took a seat at the table, which, thankfully, had ended the jeering of the rowdy man. She noticed the other girl looking at her, like she was examining her, but Anya took it as nothing and just took a menu that was placed at her seat. Her eyes gazed over the fancy lettering as she heard the other girl speak up.
"Nice to meet you, Victoire. I'm Anastasia de Chateaupers, but just call me Anya," greeted the violinist with a small and polite smile. She was a little hesitant about giving Victoire her name, after all, if she was from the Opera then she might have heard about her reputation from some of the other girls.
Anya the Saintly they called her. She didn't know why, she wasn't at all a saint, she was purely human, who had flaws of her own. The nickname had came upon her so fast that she was unable to get rid of it, so she should've just accepted it, besides, who ever blamed someone for intending good?
So she could see if she was correct in where she knew the girl from, Anya spoke up. "Victoire, would you happen to be a dancer at the Opera Populaire? I only ask because I'm part of the orchestra, a violinist, and I think I've seen you before."
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Post by Victoire Leblanc on Sept 21, 2008 1:16:21 GMT -5
Victoire's eyes widened at the name, given casually. Well, of course. Not only was the girl beautiful, a red-head, and talented, a violinist, but she was one of those sickeningly good-natured types that everybody adored--practically a celebrity. Her shocked expression turned derisive as resentment plagued her. Anya the Saintly. How absolutely dreadful.
Victoire set her cup down with a delicate clank and straightened, looking away. "Yes, I dance at the Populaire. I've heard of you," She turned her eyes--almost accusingly--at Anya. "That probably doesn't surprise you. Tell me, did you coin the name yourself?" She asked, clearly not very impressed. Her tone was casual but almost cruel.
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Post by anya on Sept 21, 2008 1:40:22 GMT -5
Victoire had heard of her, it was unfortunate for her to be given such a reputation. Being a country girl and from a wealthy family didn't help her case at all. Anya simply gave out a laugh of disbelief when the dancer asked her if she coined the name for herself.
"I wouldn't never give myself such a reputation, Victoire," she began. "Although it's never a bad idea to have that name. It could help you get away with murder, no one ever suspects you," she commented. The saying itself was somewhat cynical, but Anya didn't always have to play the part of the good little Christian.
"But to answer your question fully, no, I did not. It was created by the old gossips at the Opera Populaire. They gave me a whole backstory when I first came here and they heard I had come from the country after caring for my dying grandmother and blind sister. Of course they threw in that I was born in a convent which made me forever pure." Anya said with a tone of annoyance in her voice. She disliked gossip, it sickened the world and was in no way essential to a society. "Whatever you heard about me, Mademoiselle Leblanc, isn't true. I am no saint."
As a waiter passed she got his attention and ordered a cup of coffee. He obliged and said that it would be outside any moment. Anya turned her gaze back to Victoire. "But you must know I'm glad you're not one of the sniveling little ballet rats, but you are a true dancer. The little rats think they're the whole Opera! But they are the foolish ones who get tricked by a patron and they fall..." Anya pointed out a ballet rat canoodling with an older gentleman. "... into a lower class. You aren't that dumb, are you? Well what are you about Victoire? What's your reputation around the Opera?"
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Post by Victoire Leblanc on Sept 21, 2008 21:45:16 GMT -5
Victoire tipped her head, her expression melting into a kinder state. The girl criticised others--as terrible as it was to admit it, she hated sinless ladies. They sickened her and made her own ambitions all the more reprimandable; yet ambition was ambition, and success was success. She would rather be prima ballerina than saintly. Turning a disdainful eye to the same girl, she nodded slowly. It was a fate to which she would not fall. And even so, if she forgot herself, certainly her brother would not.
"La Chienne." She said simply, without a trace of emotion. The Bitch. It was what she was called among the opera house, and it was what she was, though she shared the nickname with Gerras and thus was not alone in her plight. She had never associated with Celeste Gerras. She admired her tenacity, though she was top competition, and therefore not a friend. "They call me that, and it fits. I aim for success, and take it when it is offered. I agree, one might say, with Darwin," She said, bringing her eyes back to Anya. A small smile quirked to her lips as she mentioned the scientist, whose studies she had heard of (she was not a reader) and thoroughly enjoyed. "And you? You are a do-gooder, no doubt, by my standards. But how much of what they say is true?"
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Post by anya on Sept 21, 2008 22:25:00 GMT -5
Anya listened to Victoire, interested in what she had to say. Being known as the Bitch wasn't the best reputation, but it was better than being the saintly one. But she aimed for success and would do whatever she had to to get the top, become the creme de la creme. Anya didn't know if she would be that way, she never really faced competition, then again the man she had competed against for the violinist position was good and she said some things to him that you wouldn't the Blessed Virgin say. Anya guessed that if she risked losing something she would put up a fight.
"The stupidity of others, Victoire, they confuse being a bitch with being the best. It's all jealously, but you must take the good with the bad to survive." The waiter had brought her coffee and she put in a little sugar. "You have to do whatever it takes and come out stronger than the other person and the person you were before you went in. Even if someone gets hurt in the process." Anastasia took a sip of coffee and put it back on the china saucer it came with.
"As for what's true and not true about me, I am probably considered a do gooder compared to your standards, but I'm really not more perfect that anyone else. The only thing that's true what they say is that I help people. But I only help people I know need it, not those stagehands who are just to lazy to do their jobs correctly. Give me a blind girl who needs to get to the store, I'll maybe help if it doesn't take me too far away from my destination.
"The most untrue thing about me is that I'm a damsel in distress. Look, I have the long hair and the 'sweet and innocent look,'" Anya said mimicking the look that stage actresses would use. "But that's because I'm young. I'm young but I can handle myself better than any grown man ever could and I can handle anything you could throw at me. I can survive on my own, if anyone who's weak and gets in the way of what I want, they have to disappear. That's Darwinian, Victoire, a very smart man who knew what we have to do to survive on this God-forsaken planet."
Anya gave a slight nod and continued to sip on her coffee. She lifted her cream colored face to the dancer that sat across from her. "But I've told you the truth about me. What do you want out of this life? Most likely you want the fame and success as anyone would, but how far are you willing to go, mademoiselle? What do you do to get what you want?"
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Post by Victoire Leblanc on Sept 21, 2008 23:57:59 GMT -5
Victoire's lips twitched upward into an open smile. The girl certainly was funny. So very open, too. Very blunt. At least she was realistic; she would have assumed that a woman of her reputation would have played it up a bit more. Then again, maybe she was the type that adjusted her apparent personality to fit whomsoever she was with at the type. An admirable skill, but a damnable personality trait. Ah, well, she generally liked her. She'd give her the benefit of the doubt.
Her smile widened at the 'sweet and innocent' description. It was a sentiment she could identify with. Mid-sip, Victoire paused and stared quizzically for a moment, caught off guard by the question. How far was she willing to go? Quite far. What would she do?
...how much exactly did Anya expect? "You ask perplexing questions, Anya." She said simply, deflecting the question. "One might wonder why?" She raised one blonde brow, commencing with her sip of warm tea.
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Post by anya on Sept 22, 2008 14:47:16 GMT -5
Anya heard the quesion in reply to hers and thought a little. Why did she ask complex questions? After all, she was only in late teen years and really didn't have to know about the world so much as she wanted to. It was maybe the years of studying the university papers of the deceased Professor de Chateaupers? It must have been, she had been reading of far places and wanted to know about them. She would also ask a lot of people, possibly interested in human nature and what humans could be like.
"I ask questions because that's the only way I find out the truth," said Anya slipping her tea. "Anyone can lie through writing, so I demand to hear a person's voice so I can tell if I'm being fooled. Just because I'm a young and single woman of the middle class, doesn't mean that I don't have the right to know. Besides, no one has the right to oppress you and decide what you should know and what you shouldn't. That decision is completely your own. That is why I ask questions, to know and to learn."
After this little brief speech, Anya wondered why Victoire was so secretive about herself. Did the question of how far she would go to get what she wanted scare her? Maybe she scared herself with the answer and didn't want it to be true, so she simply avoided it. This Victoire Leblanc was a little strange, but Anya liked her vigor and real attitude, it was very satisfying that there were people little that in the world.
"But Victoire, do you want to know more about the world, about what people are capable of? It's very interesting to see how humans act when they believe they have the upper hand in deceiving someone. At least, it is to me."
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Post by Victoire Leblanc on Sept 22, 2008 22:50:52 GMT -5
Victoire's eyes shifted to stare out the window. She had a point, but then again, if the truth belonged to a person they had a right to withhold it from anyone. At least, that was her opinion. Goodness knew she had many secrets. She was sure that her brother had many, also. They were very close, yet still there was a mutual understanding that some things went unsaid. Neither of them seemed completely happy with it, to be truthful. Victoire endlessly criticized her brother's lascivious activities and Henri obviously wished for every male live or dead to maintain a ten-foot safety cushion around his sister. Perhaps it was because he knew better than anyone else how despicable men could be. She resented it slightly, but had thus far never been too tempted to become involved with a man.
"However acute your powers of perception might be, truth remains simply our own interpretation. I honestly do not know if humans can comprehend straight facts," she warned, still deflecting the question. "But yes, I agree. Humans are fascinating creatures, and utterly contemptible."
She was surprised at her own cynical view. She wasn't usually such a die-hard cynic, but in this she supposed she was. All people were selfish creatures and any good deed done was for attention or self-glorification. She hardly bothered with acts of generosity, preferring not to deceive herself into thinking that she was a good person. If anything, she refused to ever lie to herself. She lied to others sometimes, when the situation called for it, but to herself she strove to be completely honest.
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Post by anya on Sept 24, 2008 20:17:04 GMT -5
"You are correct, humans can have many different interpretations of truth. We, as humans, have free will and can chose what we can and can't say. But I must say Victoire, this conversation has been interesting. Probably one of my few thought provoked ones since I came here. Not many women can talk about the subject of human beings and the different interpretations of a supposed truth, especially in this day and age."
Anya grabbed the handle of her cup and put it to her red lips, taking in the last of the hot liquid. The red mark was left on her cup so she delicately took a napkin and wiped it off. The cafe's clientele was slowly dwindling from the lunchtime rush to the afternoon slump. The original man that had forced her to sit with Victoire in the first place had left after being kicked out by a waiter for being too rowdy.
The red head looked back at Victoire with a normal and emotionless look. She wondered again why Victoire wasn't very open. Then again, she was smart enough not to be, after all what people can do with information is amazing. You let something slip and then they can easily gain your trust then completely turn on you. Like the situation with Mme. de Chagny a few years back. An Angel of Music? It had made Anastasia laugh in disbelief when she heard it. How could she fall for such an obvious illusion.
"Victoire would you consider yourself a logical thinker?" Anya asked, her thoughts had brought her to the subject and she was curious. She thought Victoire would be, but she could be irrational when it came to a thought process. "Or are you taken in be fairy tales, angels and phantoms?"
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Post by Victoire Leblanc on Sept 24, 2008 20:32:05 GMT -5
Victoire smiled appreciatively, barely absorbing the compliment, though it pleased her. Her tea was finished, which absolutely did not. it meant that there was no excuse to sit here much longer, to linger as the sun fell and a Parisian chill crept over the godless laughter that was the capitol. Anya was very interested in her, it seemed. Victoire gathered that she was the type that had sprung out of the country or some godforsaken place and was full of questions and enthusiasm. It was easy to become a philosopher in Paris.
"I would," She answered quickly, relaxing back into her chair and trailing the tip of one gracefully tapered finger around the edge of her empty cup idly as Anya continued. Fairy-tales? Angels? Phantoms? She could not help but to let out a long bout of laughter, her lips curved up in humour and mirth. "You must be careful," She said, chuckles still racking her thin frame, "with words such as those in the Populaire. There is always a passionate reaction, and hardly is it ever logical."
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Post by anya on Sept 24, 2008 20:52:25 GMT -5
Victoire's warning was given with reason. When Anya had come to the Populaire, she was told about the past from some employees and warned that the place was haunted by an Opera Ghost. Of course she didn't believe it, being a mindful thinker, but she didn't want to become victim to a prank pulled by people to scare her into belief, so she pretended to fear the ghost.
"Very true. They seem to be unbelievably superstitious, like those old towns in the Middle Ages where lunacy reigned. Of course I humor them though and pretend that I believe in the Phantom. It shows just how easily fooled people can be and how you can manipulate them with their fear."
Anya looked at a pocket watch she kept in her small purse and saw that it was getting close to her afternoon rehearsals and should probably leave the cafe at this point. While her purse was out, she paid the few francs for her coffee and began to get up.
"I must be going now. Monsieur Reyer is strict about his orchestra's lessons and if you miss one you're burned at the stake," Anya stood up straight and looked down at the seated Victoire. "Perhaps we'll meet again around the Opera. Plus I know someone who uses their head around that place. It was good to meet you, Mlle. Leblanc."
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Post by Victoire Leblanc on Sept 24, 2008 21:50:19 GMT -5
Victoire nodded, waving her fingers in a friendly way. Odd, to have made an acquaintance that did not either wish to see her trip on her face or unclothed. She had never expected to get alone well with any person, let alone a female and a fellow employee of the Opera Populaire. At least she was not a dancer.
"Certainly. It has been a pleasure," She said, not standing. She did, however, give a respectful nod of her head. She'd have to keep her brother away from this one, for good measure. Civility sometimes did breed civility. She watched Anya go with a raised brow and a quizzical expression. Odd girl. Definitely different. With a little shrug of her shoulders and a secret smile, she turned away to call to the waiter for her own bill.
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