World: Paris
Scene: Rue Plumet. 1830 or '31.
Players: Cosette = Abby; Chandler = Daisy
The afternoon is warm and still. Cosette is seated under a tree in her garden, in convenient view of the gate. She has a book open beside her, but she has long since given up on that in favor of daydreaming.
Chandler strolls carelessly down this narrow street, enjoying the solitude. He comes upon the overgrown garden walls, and stops to pluck a flower from a vine.
Cosette blinks at this effrontery, sitting up a little, though she instinctively edges back in the process.
Chandler peers into the garden, and is surprised to see that it's occupied. "Ah, good day, mam'selle. Please, don't call out the gendarmes on me. I assumed it was unowned. I'll give it back." He holds out the flower to her, passing his arm through the bars.
Cosette blinks, and shakes her head mutely, sitting up a bit more. She clears her throat. "I don't mind, m'sieur."
"I insist. It would look much better tucked in your beautiful hair than in my hand. Come and take it from me, for I cannot throw it that far." He smiles warmly at her.
Cosette regards him with skeptical blue eyes. After a moment she climbs to her feet, crosses warily to the gate, and takes the flower from him, at arm's length. "Thank you."
Chandler brushes her fingertips during the exchange. "Do you always thank the thieves who return your property?" he asks, grinning.
She blinks at him. Solemn child. "Really, m'sieur, it's all right."
"Had I realized that there were pretty flowers to be had within, I wouldn't have plucked that one," he says softly, his eyes drinking her in. "I'd have waited and hoped for better things. Tell me, what is it you call yourself?"
Cosette tucks back a stray curl cautiously, eyeing him for a minute. "...Cosette."
"Lovely. If I were a poet, I'd set it to verse. As it is, I'm just a humble lawyer." Almost. "Chandler Courfeyrac." He steps back a bit from the gate and bows.
Cosette dips her head politely, and backs away a step or two.
"So, what is a charming lady like yourself doing sitting all alone? You should not be keeping that beauty hidden. Have some mercy on us poor fellows." He leans his shoulder casually against the gate.
"M'sieur?" she says frostily -- or would, if it were a manner that convent schoolgirls of fifteen could assume easily. It comes out closer to prim, much to her chagrin.
"Oh, now I mean you no harm," he hastens to explain. "I only meant, come out and take a walk with me. We could have a good time. Have you ever been to the theatre?"
Cosette stares at him. "I beg your pardon, m'sieur."
"The theatre. We could go see a comedy. One of my favorites is playing, not too far from here. 'Tis only a short walk." He smiles.
She blinks, befuddled, and glances nervously over her shoulder toward the house. "I think not."
"Ah. They'd miss you, then? I could come by later, if you wish." He racks his brain for where he might take her later. "Do you like dancing?"
"M'sieur!" protests the girl, backing away again.
Chandler throws up his hands in surrender. "Relax. It was only a suggestion. I'm not going to carry you off over my shoulder."
"I should hope not." Her gaze falls on the abandoned book, and she sidles over to retrieve it, not quite taking her eyes off him.
Chandler shifts his weight from one foot to the other. "What are you reading?" he inquires curiously.
"A book," she says shortly, picking it up and closing it, with the flower inside.
Chandler chuckles a little. "What do you like to read about?"
Cosette's hands tighten on the book. "I don't know."
A set of large fingers sweep aside a curtain - surprisingly tenderly - a few inches. The peaceful solitude of the house is disturbed momentarily by a pained grimace in the darkness. Not a second later the hand withdraws and the curtain falls into place again.
Chandler laughs and rests his hand on one of the bars. "Do you like the book you have in your hand?"
"I have to go in," Cosette says, a little shakily, and backs away again.
A confirming, deep voice, with a hint of troubled tremor in it, calls from an unseen place near the front door. "Cosette!"
Chandler shrugs. "Well it's been nice--" He pales at the voice. "Good-bye," he calls, spinning around and quickly walking away.
Cosette jumps, blinks after him a moment in absolute bewilderment, and then bolts for the house.