#champignestart

[auroradelacroix]

“ -- WELL NO, i’ve never been, but i’d love to go someday! “ aurora said with a laugh and a smile, “ you hear all these grand stories about PARIS, how it’s the city of love -- do you think that’s true? “ she asked with the slight tilt of her head, “ maybe that’s where i need to be. not here, where everyone knows my name. “

open starter

[philipdebourbon]

WHERE: The Whiskey Goddess in Beechwood WHEN: Sunday October 6th, 2019 — 10:30pm WHO: Open to all St Pierre Syndicate members

Philip rapped his knuckles rhythmically on the bar top, his gaze eyeing the whiskey on the top-shelf. Though in truth, it was as far from real top shelf liquor as he could get in the whole city, but whiskey was whiskey and Philip wouldn’t dare turn his nose up at it. Not after the night he’d had. He ordered himself a double of malt and settled down with his glass in a corner booth. 

Without really thinking about, he kicked his feet up on the seat across from him and let his head rest on the seat trying his best to erase as much of the day as he could. To forget just how very wrong things had panned out for him and how he’d have to explain it all in their next Inner Circle meeting. A heavy, tired sigh escaped him and he brought the glass to his lips, taking a swig of the alcohol and enjoying the way it burned on the way down. It was always difficult for him to really relax at the goddess, not when his emotions were always so high when he was here. Either before or after an assignment, it wasn’t exactly a place he could properly unwind. And the constant rowdy nature of most of it’s patrons didn’t help anything.

He could hear a pair of footsteps approaching but didn’t think anything of it until he could feel the weight of someone sitting across from in the boot; disturbing his rather comfortably outstretched legs. “Something I can help you with?” he asked finally opening his dark eyes to actually see who it was, his face more devoid of emotion than usual.

[giselle-roumonette]

WHERE: Mode Intrépide in CENTRE VILLE WHEN: Thursday October 3rd, 2019 — 6:30pm WHO: Open to all

ONE of the things Giselle missed the most about her days living in Paris was all the spectacular shopping locations it had to offer, walking down Avenue Montaigne was what she imagined heaven to be like, and the blonde knew she’d never really run out of places to go. Although life back in her small city was very different she knew that with a little help from her mother’s connection she could make herself feel as though she were back on Montaigne.  Even if she’d never left her mother’s shop at all.

HER mother had sent away for various items and had them delivered to the store so the dancer might get to take a look at the newest pieces and do a little shopping of her own. Unfortunately, Giselle knew there was a price to pay for her mother’s generosity. In truth, the price is small, but for the blonde, it’s the thing she detests most. Closing up the shop while her mother attends her High Council meeting.

SHE stood in front of one of the floor-length mirrors one of the new Dior dresses held carefully in her manicured grip as she tried to imagine how it might look on her. There was a big event coming up and Giselle had ever intention of being clad in only the newest of collections. And despite how much she adored the pieces in her mother’s store, Mode Intrépide, she simply couldn’t be caught dead in any of it as who knows how many others would be wearing the same thing. 

THE sound of the front door opening pulled her out of her own reverie and she quickly returned the floor-length dress to the rack with the others her mother had sent for. With a heavy sigh, the blonde did her best to muster up the customer service smile her mother had talked about before going to greet ti the guest. “Welcome in,” she chimed happily as she exited the back room, flashing as kind a smile as she could manage, trying to forget the fact they’d interrupted her task at hand. “And we’re closing in half an hour,” she added quickly, her eyes finally settling on them. 

[charlievalentin]

location: café de paix. open to all.

                    As golden hour bled to welcome the hug of dusk, Café de la Paix was on its way to closing with it–– espresso machines off and cleaned, tables wiped, chairs put up. It was only Charlie in the scape of the café, autopilot turned on and brown eyes aglaze, ‘lost somewhere on a different plain’, as his mother would call it. He was too in depth in his reverie and bagging day old croissants to notice he had forgotten to flip laminated from ‘open’ to ‘close’, nor the body approaching the door. It took the bell chime, and the shuffling of footsteps to drudge him out, and with a jump, he straightened to his tower, one hand gripping a full pastry bag, as the other reached for something strapped against his back. The boy got his wits about him, before he could grab it, “Pardon,” He cleared his throat, offering an apologetic simper, “We’re closed,” But, with slow heed, he let his hip rest on the oak counter in a silent, relaxed beckon forward, “... Would you help me get rid of these croissants? I don’t think I have the heart to thrown them away.”