World: Paris
Scene: Corinthe, 1831. In case Paulin needed an excuse to get worked up about Poland. :)
Players: Feuilly = Abby; Jolanta = Daisy
It is a hot August day. The oppressive heat has slowed down the city, and even those who can't afford to do so are slacking off. Jolanta is, therefore, very relieved when she reaches her destination: the Corinthe wineshop. She enters the building, which is a few degrees cooler, and leans against the wall, studying the patrons.
"Like a seat, mam'selle?" comes a quiet voice after a minute, quite nearby.
She glances around, startled. In all her reveries, it was not a quiet voice she expected to greet her.
The speaker is slouched comfortably at a table near the door, and is dark-haired, but here any possible resemblance ends, for he's slight, apparently serene, and rather nice-looking. "You look 's though you could use it," he adds, diffidently.
"I certainly could," she answers with a smile, dropping gracefully into the seat opposite him. "Thank you, Monsieur."
He half-smiles back. "Welcome." And, taking in her appearance, "What brings you here?"
"It was suggested I might find someone here, but he doesn't seem to be here." She shrugs. "Awful weather to search the city in, anyway. I should have waited until dark."
"Mm. There's drawbacks to that, too." The young man leans back a degree further in his seat. "Who're you looking for?"
She opens her mouth to speak, but pauses for a moment. How to explain? "A man I used to know. I... lied to him, and I should correct things."
He raises a brow, but does not pry further. "He come here often? Or do you know?"
"I've been told he does. And you? Perhaps you know him, if you come here often yourself?" She smiles at him hopefully.
"Pretty often. What's his name?"
"Monsieur Darcel Grantaire," she replies, slowly and carefully. "He was a student, eight years ago, but I'm not quite sure what he was studying."
His face clears in recognition, and perhaps surprise. "Oh, Grantaire, sure. He's in and out."
She sits up straight in surprise. "You do know him? You think it's likely I'll find him here, then?"
"Sure." Again the smile, faint but friendly. "If he doesn't show today, I could tell him you're looking, next I see him. If you like."
"Oh, thank you, but he wouldn't know where to find me. I'm sure I'll run into him here, sometime." A slightly distressed look crosses her face, turning quickly back to a pleasant smile. "And I haven't even introduced myself to you!"
He blinks, his composure giving way for a moment to pure boyish embarrassment. "Oh. Sorry." And extends a slim hand across the table. "Paul Feuilly."
She reaches out her hand to meet his. "Jolanta Stelmaczyk. It's a pleasure, M'sieur."
Feuilly dips his head politely, letting go her fingers after a moment. "Likewise, mam'selle." And adds conversationally, "Not a name you hear every day."
"Well, I generally do," she answers with a teasing smile. "Yes, it's not terribly common in France, is it?"
"No, not awfully." A brief answering smile, a shade brighter than before. "Don't mind me. Just curious."
"I'm from Poland," she clarifies.
"Ahhh." Feuilly's dark brows lift slightly. "Wondered. You been here long, then?"
"Just a week or so." She lifts her eyes from the tabletop and fixes them on his, curiously.
Feuilly is unperturbed. "How are you finding it?"
"I haven't been out much, except to come to cafés and such. The heat makes it unpleasant, in all sorts of ways." She lifts a lazy hand to brush a damp lock of hair from her forehead. "Are you a native of the city, M'sieur?"
"Well yes, the weather's been better." He grins suddenly, brightly, though it fades after a moment. "No, I've been here... mm. Six years, not quite."
"Have you found that the people are nicer once the cool breezes blow in again?"
"Most people are," he says easily. "I generally am, myself. Hard to be pleasant when you're melting."
"You've been very pleasant," she contradicts.
Feuilly ducks his head briefly. "Well. I've been cooling off for a while." Another fleeting grin.
"I'll remember, if I meet you in the street, to run the other way, then." A giggle and a silly grin.
Feuilly's eyes twinkle. "Ah, I'm harmless."
Jolanta glances out the window at the cruel sun, sinking lower in the sky. "I really shouldn't be away too long..." she muses out loud. She stands and ties her hat back on. "Thank you. It's been a pleasure, Monsieur Feuilly." She stumbles over the name slightly.
Feuilly rises with her. "Pleasure's mine. Take care of yourself, mam'selle."
"I will, thank you." One more smile at him, and she glides through the wineshop door and out into the street again.