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Post by Byron Maxemillion on Sept 24, 2008 3:42:59 GMT -5
Byron's descent of the marble stairs from the manager's offices was a quick one. His dark gentleman's attire reflected on the polished surface of the marble floors. The silver of his cane that he held horizontal in his hand now clanked vertical against the floor. A clink every other step, taking in the baroque angels that hung above him in the ceilings. Golden trim from hand railings to the wall lining. The Populaire was nothing less than spectacular in all aspects it would have been a place that would certainly have brought a smile to his beloved.
Knowing he'd never see that smile again dampened his business transaction he'd just come from. Committing to a year of patronage to the Populaire something that he'd announce just after the latest Opera. He'd been informed such was the opera of Romeo and Juliet, such an unfortunately accurate account of his feelings. A death for a death a death of a love to the death of a soul.
Taking it upon himself to tour the Populaire he'd gone along to the audience seating. As picky a man he was to cleanliness women busied themselves in the isles with mops to ensure even the marble flooring beneath the seats were sparkling clean. The center isle provided a forward view of the stage where stage hands moved about and worked. To the right side the stage was occupied by whom he believed to be the ballet mistress as she commanded her ballerinas to their steps.
To the left there was a piano set up where whom he believed to be the choral instructor instructed her chorus girls and boys. Somewhere between the notes being vocally sung, or the orders being commanded along with the shouts of the stage hands. He could hear the tuning of instruments drawing his interest to look down into the orchestra pit where a few instrumentalists sat and practiced their tuning.
A glance around to the velvet lined and tasseled gold decorations of the boxes was deeply intriguing. At every turn the Populaire was proving to be every bit what he'd just offered his money for. As it were the break for the lunch period fast approached as Byron found himself towards the stage. Gathering a giggling mass of girls as they skittered out to their whiles leaving an almost bare stage.
Intrigued to the workings of the stage he gazed up with his emerald eyes to the catwalks, and other contraptions that made for scene changes.
"Extraordinary." He commented.
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Post by Formorian Carlisle on Sept 24, 2008 15:32:37 GMT -5
Slender fingers curled over the ivory keys of her piano as her little heeled feet shifted from one pedal to another. Sustaining notes as she waited for the chorus to actually start doing something other than laugh, giggle, and flirt amongst themselves. If that wasn't bad enough once the stage hands had begun to walk around on the stage it was a lost cause! Of course by this time it was thankfully time to depart for noontime.
Annoyed she remained seated behind the piano arranging the sheets of music from the scores of the Opera. Formorian tucked them away carefully and glanced around for her heart who so happened to be working still. Smiling she stood with her face upturned to the cat-walks she watched as Riffael moved about with the ropes and heavy items. It did bother her that an accident might happen making her stomach churn in fear half the time.
Moving as she watched she almost walked into the man she'd not noticed come onto the stage speaking a word of comment to what she believed was the raising of one of the scene backdrops. Six men manned the hoisting and the blonde nodded in agreement.
"Aye. It is extraordinary the way things are made Monsieur. I could never have fathomed such things possible until I worked in London for a time. Now this majesty of the Populaire has placed the engineering to new levels." Formorain said in her normally sweet tone removing her eyes from Riffael to the man. It was plain to see he was some man of standing and so she inquired.
"Are you lost Monsieur? If you're looking for the Manager's Offices their on the second level." She said not having looked directly at his face to do that she'd have to tip-toe. His attire alone was spotless her own simple pastel dress hugged her generously. A little smile playing on her plump little lips.
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Post by Byron Maxemillion on Sept 24, 2008 19:16:54 GMT -5
His emerald gaze was fixated up into the depths of the ascending darkness that was illuminated by the newly added lights. Byron had been informed of the cost of the additions and now that he would be a patron his generous gift of finance would of course keep everything lit. The ballerinas, chorus girls, and hands that lingered only briefly to discuss him had gone. Even the ebony clad ballet mistress had given him a cursory glance before sailing out of the stage area.
Normally it would've been improper that he so take himself at will and at a please to the areas of the Populaire before he was properly announced. That would happen after the gala of the Opening Opera leaving him in a certain confirmation he'd be announced with other patrons as well. Completely absorbed in the sight of a large back drop being hoisted like men he'd seen with sails on the large ships. Any sailor was a qualified man for a job as a stage hand in the Populaire.
"Aye." A familiar sound, word, came into his ear like a bell and Byron looked down to the petite woman who stood just below or at chest level. Finding a head of platinum blond hair that glowed like some sort of halo around her even though he saw it was drawn up into gentle little curls around her head. Her dress did nothing for her other than accentuate her every feminine curve.
Not registering what she said beyond the first word, Byron turned to her directly keeping her in his sight. Taking in her skin which was as creamy as the Madame Murderess and or Harlot he'd encountered. Unblemished with her lips smiling at him. Beauty was as eternal in Adaline as this woman and he could hardly breathe until she spoke to him in her lightly English accented French.
Ignoring her direction to the managers office, Max stepped forward and reached down to take her dainty hand in the hold of his gloved palm. Holding it securely in his grasp he refused to let go; leaning over it he brushed his lips over the ivory knuckles and spoke once he righted himself to his full height. Looming over this woman who was a link to home he'd not seen in years.
"You speak English," he said speaking in English not even bothering with asking in French. "Blessed English, and you..Mademoiselle.." There was no ring on her finger. "You live here in the Populaire? Work here?" He was incredulous to the fact.
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Post by Formorian Carlisle on Sept 26, 2008 21:31:23 GMT -5
Mori blinked up at the man when he turned towards her completely. A word or something had sparked his sudden interest in looking away from the workings of the cat-walks to her. Managing a smile for him as his tall form towered over her, making her dwarfed by his size alone. Heaven help her if she even tried to imagine his strong hands, or arms doing anything more than gently holding her hand. A hand he took in a grip that was gentled by his leather gloves.
Not to get Mori wrong she was just flattered by his lips against her skin. He was devilishly handsome she'd give him that, it wasn't bad to look right? But oh he was touching, kissing, turning several shades of crimson she blushed hot on her ears. Taking her hand away when she got the chance as he began to speak in English. Right away her eyes sparkled merrily with joy of the familiar sound of her straight-forward tongue of English. At some point he'd taken her hand back and she didn't mind as she held his hand in two of her own.
"Aye! I speak English, it's been well it seems like forever. I live here in France now yes, in the Populaire I'm the lead choral instructor. I have a cousin who lives in Calais, but I'm from the estates bordering near Northumbria. And you Sir?" Formorian asked, wanting to lead him away somewhere so they could talk on end about Jolly-Old-England.
OOC: Sorry crap post
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Post by Byron Maxemillion on Sept 28, 2008 20:09:41 GMT -5
Immediately Byron was smitten not on the account that he knew this woman in any way other than their current speech. He was unable to draw his emerald gaze away from her as they had become fixated on everything she did. God on Heaven had a cruel sense of humor or he had a sense of mercy. This woman so delicately formed was like a mirror image of his Adaline. Head to toe but Adaline's hair had never shinned so bright, and she had not been so petite; her English had been superb, perfected.
Listening to the young woman now her tongue was near to his own a hint of low-land Scot rolling on the dictated perfection of Upper English. It was uncanny how he would find this English woman here in France; no longer a man to complain for what happened he took it in stride. Her beauty was ethereal; her voice the tinkling of bells or a song close to a lullaby to tame him. Unwilling to let her hand go free, Max turned on a pivot to stand at her side; taking her arm he tucked it underneath his own securing his other hand over so she could not escape him so easily.
"Estates near Northumbria? Miss I must inform you I know Northumbria like the back of my hand and the surrounding estates. I don't recall any high standing Lords or Lairds to have a daughter like you..I've never heard tales of your Fae like beauty. I can think of lower lords one...Who had a daughter but moved to London. Carlisle was I think his name if I recall correctly. I was still at University when my mother wrote me the details. A few other daughters from other lords but none with blond hair." Byron wished he'd known of this woman sooner he'd have lived on bended knee in the Populaire to watch her.
Taking a few steps he began to lead her from the stage he wanted to be with her alone; just to talk to pretend his Adaline was here on his arm. This near look-alike could give him that illusion but he'd be far too terrified to touch this girl like he'd been with his Adaline. He could not even think to touch her as he'd done his Madame Murderess to him Adaline was too delicate for such primal advances. So would this young beauty be.
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