Where: La Crinière du Lion.
When: The Eleventh Of Maccius.
Who: @etiennemarais
To Gisele, going to see Etienne is like passing through a forest she knows well in daylight during the dead of night-- Objectively, she knows the spooky figures lurking in her periphery are nothing but rocks and shrubs catching the shadows wrong, but that knowledge doesn’t relieve the deep, instinctual sense of wrongness that overcomes her. Approaching Etienne as a suppliant and not a patron is decidedly wrong, another grim repercussion of the same betrayal that tore up everything of value in Gisele’s life. Even just circulating in the same social spheres as him is punishment, like having to watch an old friend who’s long since forgotten your name parade around with your replacement. Over and over she has talked her into and out of Alain’s assignment in her own head, a few times having gotten so close to calling it off entirely, but at the end of the day she couldn’t escape the knowledge she’d inevitably go through with it. She is, above all else, a creature of purpose.
By the time the selected date arrives, she has thoroughly prepared. She anticipates Etienne will be at the Lion’s Mane for some time, and she expects that her ‘chance encounter’ will be minimally disruptive, as much as this sort of thing can be. Hopefully this will be quick. Whatever affinity she has for words, unfortunately, extends more to the jarring and unpleasant than to the suasive, especially weak in a match against a man who has talked his way from stable to political stage. Moreover, she’s almost fundamentally unsuited for the setting, the noise, the liquor, the rowdiness, what with her sobriety of spirit and precise language, leaving her even further at disadvantage.
She slips through the throng of patrons with a tense, business-like manner, her demeanor only softening when she catches sight of her target. As soon as she’s sure she’s close enough to be heard without having to raise her voice, she calls out to him. "Monsieur Marais, what a delight to see you.” Her delivery is it’s usual silky sing-song as she rounds on him, each syllable articulated with flowing rhythm and musical inflection, as though there really is nothing in the world she’d like better than this very meeting. "Tell me, would you prefer I play out the charade of what a wonderful coincidence it is to happen upon you here or would skipping all that be doing us both a favour?"