#cigarettesinrain

[napuleh]

@cigarettes-in-rain: [x]

Something sparkles in Jacques' eyes: mischief, blood thirst, jolity, all three. He slings his arm over vin's shoulders and says, "what a shame, what a shame! I was so looking forward to the coffee service. I need a pick-me-up. Perhaps we should go find some for ourselves? I know a nice place on this sunny little corner. I trained their pâtissier myself."

Vin huffed out a laugh! Could his amusement still be described as dry if he wasn't able to contain it? Jacques had this very annoying trait where he was able to make him laugh even, when he wanted to cuss and turn himself right around back to bed. His golden eyes scanned the other's face for any sign of tampering, interference...

"If I didn't know better, I would suspect you had something to do with this," he paired the non-accusation with a squint of his eyes and a very, very light poke to the side. At least he wasn't shrugging him off. Vin did rather enjoy being steered around by him, not that he would admit it. "I'm choosing to place my trust in you. And your industry plant. Please," pretty please, with an explosion hand motion, "blow my fucking mind. I've been feeling underwhelmed, as of late."

[mxrseillaise]

@cigarettes-in-rain liked for a starter! 

♕▬ The sky was covered in a canopy of darkened clouds swollen with rain droplets that threatened to fall any second; it was a sign of an otherwise dreary day had it not been for the perfusive giggling that echoed through the hallways of the palace. 

Marguerite danced and skipped about the rooms in her gown like the Russian ballerinas she had seen countless times on her frivolous visits to the ballroom. She hummed along to a song that only played within her head, spinning and twirling like the queen’s children after they had their share of sweets. 

Her humming stopped with a wide grin as she caught the familiar figure of Jacques, and she hopped towards him as if to invite him onto her imaginary stage. 

“Ah, Jacques, what a lovely day, isn’t it?” She laughed, skipping around him in a circle. She ended her recital with a twirl and a curtsy to him, her dress floating to her sides like a pink cloud that simply hovered over her legs. She gives him a playful look as she straightened her back and gleefully cupped her hands in front of her. The grin was still present and bright on her face, contrasting with the bleakness of the weather that shown behind her outside of the great glass windows that overlooked the garden.

“Smile, my friend! We’ve been blessed with another day to dance and laugh!”

[diimsum]

@cigarettes-in-rain

〚 ❀ 〛The muffled sound of heavy rain slamming against the colored glass window was the only thing keeping Leon grounded. Even now, decades into his term as a colony, he found the sound of so many voices, so many languages and accents that altogether created a cacophony of noise incredibly overwhelming. He attempted to focus his attention to the window next to him, as the din of the rain was the only sound he found familiar. 

It had become customary for Arthur to drag him to these European gatherings, and Leon was no fool; he knew perfectly well why he was there. He was being paraded around as a trophy, just another prize added to Arthur’s seemingly growing collection, and Leon’s thoughts on the matter were hardly regarded. It wasn’t like he expected him to care, but he hoped the irritable face he put on would deter him from future obligations like this.

Slender fingers anxiously tapped on his own glass of brandy as amber eyes slowly scanned around the room, taking in the faces of the nations and humans alike that mingled among one another. He took notice of one who seemed to be in a long and rather impassioned conversation with his conqueror, in a language he had yet to understand. He trained his eyes on them, silently observing as if he were watching a performance, like the plays that Arthur often forced him to see. 

[mauerfrau]

@cigarettes-in-rain from x

"I did warn you, Jacques, dear." She picked him up gently, holding his wings to his body. "Shall I go buy bird seed for you? I hear bread is bad for birdies."

[gebrochener-adler]

@cigarettes-in-rain

A long exhale blew a cloud of smoke up into the night sky as Roderich let a bit of the tension that had gathered between his shoulders fade. These large gatherings of investors might have been important, but they always managed to make him retreat to the balcony as there were often many of his neighbours also mingling among the crowd and he was often expected to speak with them. For some, it was hardly an issue, but others he was never entirely certain what to say. Making small talk might have been a skill of his, however he could not rid himself the recent guilt of feeling disingenuous over it. Tonight was nothing he could not handle however, in fact there was a violinist on the street below that he was watching.  They were clearly playing for the hope of payment from passerby, but there was always a strange serenity in hearing Beethoven outside of a hall where it was expected. He was even resting his elbows on the railing while observing, perhaps looking uncharacteristically less stiff. One of his hands was tapping out of a reflex to play the piano that would usually accompany it. He was so absorbed, that he hardly noticed the door to the balcony opening behind him. 

[preussischekrahen]

ღ ;) @cigarettes-in-rain

[Hello you get your response from behind a curtain of feathers for this one] Inbox me a ‘ღ’ and I’ll rate you with the following: Romantic attraction: none | very low | low | medium | high | very high | extreme Sexual attraction: none | very low | low | medium | high | very high | extreme Aesthetic attraction: none | very low | low | medium | high | very high | extreme | He’s just trying to work out how he can not end up staring so blatantly next time  Sensual attraction: none | very low | low | medium | high | very high | extreme

[flosiovis]

@cigarettes-in-rain: [x]

Jacques heaved a deep sigh, folding his newspaper and setting it on the breakfast table. “Soup metaphor? Is your soup particularly thick, Antonio? If anything, I would assume it has to do with a sauce, or maybe a particularly saucy stew.” He tapped the table. “Are you a stew, or a soup man?”

“I’ve never served a thin gazpacho in my life, so I am appalled that- that you would question my thickness at all!”

The last time Antonio served a gazpacho was ten years ago, if his memory serves him right, but he isn’t capable of taking a question as anything but an insult. The way his chest puffs up you would think that he were a gastronomy snob, but he’s just a man who likes to think that he has the best of everything to offer the world...

“If I had to choose, stew would be the better choice. At least everything can just be dumped into the cauldron.” His knee is going to bump into the table if he keeps bouncing it. “It makes bone marrow soft, too, and the stew gets oily, and... oily.”

[mxrseillaise]

@cigarettes-in-rain​

To Jacques, 

   Mon vieux, ma moitié, how long it has been since I have seen your face! The weather today reminded me of you, which prompted me to fetch my pen and paper with haste! Even now, as I hear the sound of the heavy rain smack against my window pane with such fervor, I feel as though I am speaking directly to you, in person, looking into those cold, cold eyes. 

   I long for the flavor of your lips, those terrible lips that leave a taste in my mouth similar to that of our chef’s canelé! Oh, they are so often burnt; I find myself often spending more time picking blackened specs off of them than eating them! I have to even wonder how he became a royal chef to begin with! Was it your doing, perhaps? Did you know I would miss you? 

   Ah, and your words. I miss the sound of your voice the most, and the way your turns of phrases felt more sharp than broken glass... But, perhaps the sound of the horses in the stable make a suitable replacement for the time being. I pet one of her highness’s favorite horses the other day; his face was so long, I’m almost surprised that it alone wasn’t inspiration enough to write to you as I do now! 

   Do write back soon, my love. You’ve been gone from me for far too long. 

- With utmost pleasure, 

  Marguerite Bonnefoi.