My Rhythm Thief Secret Santa is @pipqueak! I know I’m a bit late, but I hope you enjoy this little winter-themed drabble!!
Walking down a quiet road, Charlie let herself get lost in her thoughts. School had finished for the day, and given there was far too much snow on the ground to practice football, she should be heading home to do homework. And yet, instead, she found herself drawn to a small park, unusually quiet and serene. Ah, well, no one in their right mind would be out in this cold anyway. Even Charlie was beginning to regret it, starting to think about heading back, when suddenly a snowball connected with her shoulder.
Snapping her out of her thoughts, she looked up, searching for the source of the snowball when━ Ah! It was none other than Phantom R, and after a moment Charlie realized Marie was with him as well. He was soon waving at her though, not making any more attempts to throw snowballs at her. So he thought he could get away that easily, huh? Well, Charlie would show him that wasn't the case. Quickly stooping down, she packed a snowball and threw it at him as fast as she could manage. Eyes widening, Phantom R managed to dodge it just in time, showing an amused smirk.
"That was a pretty ice throw, but there's snow way you can hit me!" He called out, earning a groan from Charlie and a giggle from Marie. Packing another snowball, Charlie threw again. And again. And again. And all three of them missed, Phantom R dodging at the very last second each time. By the fourth shot, Charlie was beginning to get the hang of things, and finally one hit. The next one missed, but the two afterwards hit their mark, and from then on she had about just as much a chance of hitting him as he had dodging them.
"Y'know, if you throw any harder you'll knock me out cold!" Phantom R said with a laugh. Charlie rolled her eyes, but instead of throwing another snowball she had to take a moment to stand still, attempting to regain her breath.
"Are you alright Charlie?" Marie called, startling her. Honestly, she'd forgotten the other girl was there.
"Of course I am! Just a little winded!" Wiping sweat from her forehead with the sleeve of her coat, Charlie felt a nudge by her knee. Beside her was a small, spotted dog she knew belonged to Phantom R, but what was it's name again...? In it's mouth though was a long, blue scarf, which it held up towards her. Raising her eyebrows, she carefully bent down to take it, examining it quickly before looking back over to Phantom R. He spoke before she could though, murmuring something to Marie before turning to her.
"It's for you! Wouldn't want you getting sick, would we?" He said. Charlie opened her mouth, but in the next instant the dog━ That's right, it's name was Fondue!━ began barking as loudly as possible, demanding Charlie's attention. She glanced at it for only a few moments, but when she looked back up Phantom R and Marie were gone, and when she looked down again so was Fondue. Cursing under her breath, she ran forward to where Phantom R and Marie had been, planning to try and chase after them when she spotted a note on the ground. Snatching it up, she opened it, letting out an irritated huff.
Maybe next time we can all go out for tea. As long as you won't give me the cold shoulder, anyway.
- Phantom R
My Rhythm Thief Secret Santa gift for @smollestflower! Thank you for the patience. It’s centered on Marie and her mom!
Elisabeth looked at her daughter and immediately identified the emotions flooding her eyes as uneasiness. It was almost as if her very gaze trembled. And, in all honesty, the Duchess couldn’t really blame her: no matter how much she’d watched Marie from the sidelines for all those years, Marie herself had only been aware of her own mother’s existence for a little more than a week. Now that the secret was out and Jean-François was no longer a threat, it made no sense to leave the girl with the nuns. They’d done a wonderful job raising that beautiful, kind woman, but now it was time to take responsibility.
However, not even all of that knowledge could make their relationship less awkward. Marie still didn’t know Elisabeth all that much beyond her public persona. She was beautiful, yes, she was strong-willed, yes, but that was easy to get to know. Tabloids were going haywire over the fact that she had somehow managed to hid her pregnancy AND Marie’s birth – nobody ever suspected she could have given birth to her deceased husband, and she could understand why, it’d only lasted about 6 months before he died in an accident. Their insistence was quickly becoming annoying, and Elisabeth made the mental note to ask Alfred to take care of them as quickly as possible.
Even so, no amount of taking care of paparazzi could make Marie suddenly trust a woman she didn’t know until a week ago and had hurt her emotionally, even if she had a good reason behind it, the very first time they met. To make matters worse, that little phantom thief that had saved Paris and her blonde daughter had completely vanished as soon as everyone was back to safety and the Duchess could sense that didn’t sit well in Marie’s stomach. The older woman cursed the man mentally, vowing to someday find him and make him explain himself very, very, very thoroughly.
Whatever. She couldn’t make the phantom thief magically appear now, she had to try and cheer up Marie on her own. She couldn’t help feeling a bit guilty over not knowing how to cheer up her own daughter, but guilt was not going to build a healthy relationship and both knew it very well.
Elisabeth then did the only thing she knew that could maybe help Marie feel welcome: she grabbed the old, but good-quality violin the younger woman had brought, quickly tuned it and then performed a song she knew Marie would also know by heart.
Moon Princess.
Having long ago given up practice, Elisabeth was aware she was nowhere near her own daughter in terms of skill or ability, and there were a few notes slightly out of tune, inevitably. Despite all of that, she hoped that with such a familiar song she’d be able to convey some feelings she knew Marie needed to know about, but wasn’t sure how to express. Elisabeth closed her eyes, letting the music flow through her fingers, even if it sometimes made her miss a few more notes.
As she finished the song and lowered the bow, the Duchess still didn’t open her eyes. She didn’t have to.
Well, here’s my rhythmthiefsecretsanta load of hullabaloo for @thatmockingj !!!!
sorry to be so late lmao but like i was drawing… then i had a story… then my idiot brain went like “hey do a pic AND a story!!” but they both turned out mediocre so like… ?????
so uh, yeah. Merry Kuri. here’s some Marie and Elisabeth stuff (ps tell me if u want this on like ao3 or whatevs??? idk ur limits d00d)
luv, pipqueak (aka that nerd who wrote a vergier fic on FF.net AND NEVER FINISHED IT LMAO)
It’s more than a bit odd, waiting in such a grand corridor in such a beautiful manor, embossed and embroidered with delicate floral prints and high thread counts, and in that soft morning sun, the shining satins and matte upholstery had their colors elegantly highlighted. In that mock-sitting room, with its excessive amount of antiquated couches and mahogany side-tables covered in both pricey and priceless knick-knacks, it gave about that definite air of living the high life, not having to worry about money troubles much, and the prissy pouts of someone who never had anyone other than a maid dress them.
To Marie, it was certainly shocking in its regal complexity and decor; especially since she was oh-so used to the now seemingly shambled estate of where she had grown up.
…Not that the convent was a bad place, per se, but after seeing this, it was certainly less astounding in its measure of grandeur.
But she still sits there, on a well-stuffed armchair with her feet swinging and her thumbs twiddling, waiting for what was to come next. She watched maids scurry through the halls, readying beds and dinners and trays of wine for guests, them not offering her a glance, as if she were just another piece of furniture.
She wonders who else could possibly be staying in her mother’s manor. A foreign duke, perhaps? Maybe a relative? Diplomat? She had no way of knowing, and, while it was none of her business, that fact in on itself irked her.
After all, her mother had made plans with her and her only for the entirety of the day. She had made sure of that. They were to spend time together, roaming the city in a casual introduction to familial bonding, and actually learn a bit about one another.
If her mother had planned to bail on her wish… She would not be above pettiness. Especially if it concerned business.
But, before she could ponder further, a door from the upstairs hallway whines open, and somehow, all the action around her halts.
Marie cranes her neck to look up to the upstairs corridor above and behind her. The high railings make it difficult to see their entire person; all she can see coming from it is grey hair, wrapped tightly in a bun, bobbing its way to the giant staircase that lay in the hall’s center. The slight click of high heels echo every movement it takes, further enhancing the effect of the expanding ego flooding the room.
It walks in its silence for a few moments more, with the whole household waiting in bated breath, until the railings open to form the mouth of the stairwell, and the full identity is revealed.
Marie slips off the chair and stiffly stands out of habit.
After all, that is what one does when someone of higher status graces the lower folk with their appearance.
Marie’s mother is no exception.
And so, she joins the rest of the household in their open-mouthed staring at the Duchess Elisabeth, standing at the top of the stairs, dressed down to a modest and mature dress shirt and pencil skirt, accompanied by both pearls and pearly-white kitten heels, with a clutch purse and much-less-regal gait.
That ensemble was most certainly not to be expected.
The Duchess, having noticed the lack of commotion and growth of silent surprise surrounding her, straightens her spine and barks with practiced authority, “Enough with the fish-mouths, back to your duties!”
And the hustle and bustle strikes to a start once more.
…It’s honestly kind of scary, that display of power.
…It’s honestly kind of scary, her mother’s display of power.
…It’s honestly kind of scary, now realizing this as her mother descends the stairs and maneuvers her way to stand proudly in front of Marie.
Elisabeth meets her eyes briefly. They reflect a chilling steely blue, Marie notes, much more muted than her own, almost as if they had been drained of their pigment.
The moment only lasts a second before the Duchess hastily darts her eyes to the side, breaking the sliver of what could have been intimacy between the long-separated mother and daughter.
The latter doesn’t let it pierce her too deeply, and instead puts on a gentle smile. “Hello,” she says.
Elisabeth is frozen for a hot second, fluttering her eyelids in a softened surprise. “…Hello to you too,” she retaliates. “We-” her voice wavers ever-so-slightly. She masquerades it with a cough, and continues. “…We should be off soon. I just need to touch-up a few things before we can go.”
How strange. The powerful Elisabeth, nerve in front of a commoner such as herself? She thought her mother was above that sort of thing. Nonetheless, Marie says,“Of course. Take your time.”
“Thank you.” and she scurries off, gradually regaining her stature, to give directions to a nearby butler to relay to Alfred and whoever was deemed relevant.
Marie takes her seat with the barest of huffs, and off sets yet another round of the waiting game.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
They’re in the middle of the shopping district when Elisabeth’s efforts become apparent.
With the flash of a platinum credit card and a nerve-wracking determination inlaid in her eyes, it’s obvious that her mother was trying to please her in the only way she knew how- extensive pampering with the assistance of hordes of moolah.
They had been window shopping down the streets of Paris when it happened, when a wonderful designer dress had caught Marie’s eye. It was glamorous, exquisite, reminiscent of the ballgown she had worn during her escapades with Phantom R, but somehow even more impressive to the eye of the beholder.
She breathed out a soft sound of awe. Her eyes were glued to it, ravaging every lacey trim, every delicate jewel sewn on so carefully, every stitch that marked its subtle embroidery…
But with a sudden and soft call of, “…Marie?” her fantasy shredded itself.
“Oh, um, yes?” She scrambles to sputter to whoever had prompted her.
Ah, her mother, she determined from the other’s parted lips and intense gaze in her direction.
“…You like that dress, do you not?” Elisabeth says flatly, almost as if it were rhetorical.
“Um, yes, I guess… It is incredibly pretty. But-” She cuts herself off with a chuckle, “something like that is way out of my price range, but whatever, a girl can dream, right?-”
“I’ll get it for you.” Elisabeth states, already heading in the direction of the store’s entrance, leaving her daughter in her wake, her last syllable still lingering on her lips, dumbfounded and frozen in her place.
It takes her a moment to start herself back up again, and the second she is able to move, she dashes to follow her mother. “Wait, no! You don’t-”
But the deed was already done.
Marie walked out of that shop with a six hundred Euro dress.
The next one she walked out of, she had a velvet-lined and leather violin case.
The next, a pearl-studded barrette.
Then an avalanche of that season’s pop-up fashions, a porcelain Victorian marionette, red-bottomed heels, diamond earrings…
The unfortunate truth was that during the frivolous spending, the Duchess had sold every chance she had to actually look at her daughter.
And that was what Marie had bargained for the most.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
They were sitting on a bench in the Paris gardens when Elisabeth finally shows a genuine emotion.
She, being surrounded by shopping bags and flowers, slumps forward, her head in her hands with her handkerchief as a barrier, much to the surprise of Marie.
She stays like that for awhile, the only sound out of her being her deep breathing. Just in… out… A shudder, then another in… and out…
Marie is just about to intervene with a hard to her mother’s shoulder, when the murmur escapes Elisabeth’s thoughts and falls to her mouth.
“I can’t do this.”
That stops her in her tracks. “…Excuse me?”
“You heard me, Marie.” the Duchess says through her fingers. “I can’t do this.”
“…Do what?”
A heavy sigh. “I can’t…”
A pause weighs heavily in the air.
She starts again. “I… I can’t be who you want me to be.”
Marie sits in her astonishment for a moment. “…What makes you say that?”
“Oh, Marie.” Her tone becomes ever-so-slightly harsher. “Face the truth, you know I’m inadequate.”
“But, Duchess…”
“No buts!” She screams from behind her hands, before breaking free of their confines to stare ahead.
“Answer me this, Marie.” She barks, eyes red and watering. “Am I a good mother?”
Marie, as taken aback as she was, could only drum up one answer.
“…Of course not.”
Elisabeth draws in a sharp breath, holds it, then lets it go on the coattails of a sob. She manages to stutter out, every pause a hiccup in her sorrow. “Thank… you for being… honest, Marie.” She gasps for air.
It’s painful to watch, Marie admits. Seeing such a powerful woman collapse in on herself… Seeing what should be her new female role-model shrivel into a mess… It brings pangs to her heart.
Elisabeth starts up again. “Now, I’d expect you’d never want to see me again.” A sniffle. “That’s fine. I can deal with that.”
Almost immediately after her last word, her head snaps up, revealing dripping mascara and faded eyeshadow, and her eyes finally meet Marie’s straight on. “But let it be known that I tried, my dear child,” She says passionately. “An- and if you ever have the urge to give me another chance, I’ll be grateful and be there for you, okay? Even if you don’t, that’s fine, you can hate me all you want-”
“Duchess Elisabeth, wait-”
“My God, Marie! Am I so vile as to not be called your mother? No, no, I’m unworthy of that title, keep it to yourself-”
“Elisabeth, no-”
“Oh, look at me, in mass hysterics over trying to be somewhat of what I was meant to be, I was never taught this, Marie! I don’t know what to do, oh please, please, forgive me-”
Then, like a clap of thunder on a clear day, an abrupt shout of “Mother!”
That is what brings the Duchess to a halt in her misery.
Marie takes that as her cue to continue. “Duchess Elisabeth, I’m not going to lie. You were never a mother to me until I found out, and that was to be expected. I have the right to be upset with your displays from leaving me at the convent to trying to buy my affection, that is also to be expected. And, quite frankly, these factors are what make you ineligible to be a ‘good mother.’”
A wet scoff can be heard behind her mother’s handkerchief. “Of course. Why else would I think otherwise?”
“But… you can be.”
Elisabeth’s shoulders stiffen. With her face still covered, the only hint Marie has of her emotion was her warbled voice. “…What? What does that mean?”
“Duchess Elisabeth, you are an incredibly strong woman. One of the toughest and smartest I know of.” Marie begins with a hand on her mother’s back. “And because of this, I know you are capable of change, I know you are capable of learning. If you apply that to our relationship, I know you will be able to be a great mother one day, and, if need be, I’ll do whatever I can to help you along the way.”
Somewhere along the line, the Duchess’ shaking had softened, and the two had leaned against each other, one’s hand over the other, and both pulling sad smiles on their faces.
“So, Elisabeth, long story short- you are not my mother.” Marie concludes softly.
“…But you can be.”
Charlie sighed. Chamomile tea washed over her taste buds and a pleased smile graced her lips. It had been a long time since she had the chance to visit her favorite café; with all the rebuilding and cleaning up after the Hanging Gardens had fallen, there wasn’t any time since she had written her name on every volunteer clean-up sheet that she could find. Plus, Phantom R has been more active than ever. Between the two, Charlie rarely had time to relax, let alone be able to sit down and enjoy her day. And it was such a beautiful day too—clear skies, warm weather, the crowd’s chatter as a boy yelled in the distance. So peaceful—
She crashed to the ground, chair overturned and tea staining her dress. A rough tongue bathed her face and neck and Charlie grunted as she tried to push the dog away, cursing internally. A wagging tail hit her knees and she scowled, knowing that her dress was positively covered in paw prints. Charlie shoved the dog off her, long enough to get a good look at it, but it took no offence and returned to attacking her face with spit. Her eyes widened. She recognized this dog, its white fur with a spot over its eye and that neckerchief…
“Fondue, bad dog!” A pair of hands dragged the dog off of her and Charlie looked up to see a familiar head of red hair and brown eyes hidden behind round glasses. He continued to ramble as he pulled Fondue off her. “I’m so sorry, miss, he’s usually not like this; I’ve never seen him react like this before—” Finally, he looked her in the eyes and his jaw dropped. Several emotions flashed across his face—surprise, wariness, fear. “Merde…” he whispered, unable to keep it in.
Charlie narrowed her eyes and handcuffed him. “Phantom R, you’re under arrest for the appropriation of cultural artifacts.”
Phantom R flinched back, holding up his hands as he stammered out, “P-Phantom R!? I’m sorry, miss, but you must be mistaken! Y-Yes, you see, we’ve never even met before! Yeah, that’s right!”
Charlie wasn’t fazed by his pathetic excuse. She hauled him to his feet, the handcuff secure around his wrist. “There’s no use trying to fool me, Phantom R. Not only did you think I wouldn’t recognize your mutt, but you thought I wouldn’t see through such a flimsy disguise!?” she said with a scoff, snatching the glasses off his face and looking through them. As she thought, the lenses were just glass!
People were giving them odd glances. Charlie didn’t care much; she was apprehending a criminal. But Phantom R’s eyes flickered around the café veranda, panicked. “Could we perhaps do this somewhere else, miss?”
“Worried that someone will reveal your identity, Phantom R?” she accused, quietly enough so that no one else could hear them. She wasn’t sure why. “Don’t worry; you’ll have plenty of time to reveal it yourself at the Constabulary.”
“Now, now, Charlie, there’s no need for such hostility,” he whispered back, finally dropping the pretense of a normal person and slipping into the persona of her rival. He pulled her close, his customary smirk stretching his lips. “I didn’t intend for you to see me, after all. Can’t a thief check in on his favorite detective?”
“Are you sure you have to check on me? It seems you’re the one most likely to get a football to the face, connard.”
“Such language! Do you kiss your father with that mouth?” Charlie’s glare hardened her hand curling into a fist. “But we shouldn’t dance around the issue, should we?”
“You’ve been arrested, but you still have time to make stupid ballet puns?”
Phantom R looked genuinely hurt. “Interpretive jazz.”
“Fine.” Charlie ground out. “What do you want?”
“Just what I said. I wanted to check on you.” His eyes softened as he looked her up and down. Charlie felt her cheeks heat up. “I haven’t seen you much after everything that happened.”
“I’ve tried to arrest you several times since that happened,” she reminded him.
“True,” he said, inclining his head. “However, you’re not exactly one to complain if you were hurt, especially not in front of your enemy. And I wanted to be sure. But then Fondue…”
“Well, I’m perfectly fine, not that it’s any of your business…” she grumbled, glancing away. “If that’s all, I’d like to get back to our normal routine cat and mouse.”
“Just one more thing.” A hand cupped her cheek and tilted her head back up to look Phantom R in the eyes. He smiled at her and its sincerity blew her away. “Thank you for saving my life, Charlie.” Leaning down, he kissed her hand, a quick brush against her knuckles and her blush became redder, going up to her ears. “There are no words that can describe my gratitude and, unfortunately, I must continue to take advantage of your kindness.”
Those were the words that snapped her out of her trance. That and the realization that the hand on her cheek was the one she had handcuffed. “Why you…” Charlie lunged forward, but Phantom R danced away, his smirk having returned. Charlie wanted to punch it off.
He laughed at her efforts, fluidly twirling out of her grasp time after time. “See you next time, Charlie!” Phantom R called out before darting into the crowd, weaving into it so seamlessly that he disappeared.
Charlie stopped, panting hard as she scanned the crowd. Her heart beat fast in her chest, thudding against her ribs like it was trying to burst from her chest. “Damn thief,” she said in between pants. “I’ll get you next time, I swear.” But even as she vowed to catch him, her face continued to burn red as she remembered the affection in his eyes.
Hey, here’s a secret santa gift for Alfinite! [It won’t let me mention you gomen frond]
Someone mentioned hot cocoa date!! terribly sorry it isn’t longer, but I hope you enjoy regardless!!
“Fancy meeting you here, mon detective.”
“Oh, bugger off now.”
Of course, the thief didn’t bugger off. He never did, unless there was a good chance that the constables were hot on his heels. He’d appear at random intervals, like at her football matches or at the art galleries when she was trying to take some downtime from her hectic schedule. Instead of a break, she saw more and more of his pesky mug.
In the end, she didn’t seem to mind too much in moments like these, when he would take the seat across from her at the little café. With the snow falling outside, Charlie liked to watch the white peacefully drop before blanketing all of Paris.
“Any particular reason you decided to follow me to the café today?”
“Maybe I felt like something warm to offset the cold winter. Like your smile—“
She groaned, trying to make it visible just how annoying his puns were, “That was terrible.”
However, the redhead didn’t seem swayed in his enthusiasm, his signature grin spreading that just seemed to make her anger rise, while simultaneously calming her. Maybe it was because, no matter how terrible his jokes and puns were, Raphael was good company when he wasn’t trying to steal all of Paris’s prized works of art.
That grin rose to a peak before cracking into words, “You know you like my puns, secretly deep inside.”
Once both of their orders had been placed, and a long good bicker about the state of Fondue’s name – “What do you mean you named your dog after a terrible pun?!” – the two drinks arrived at their table. A peppermint hot chocolate for Raphael and a white hot chocolate with extra steamed milk for Charlie.
The steam from his drink rose, fogging up the glasses before he could take a sip. They weren’t real glasses, but… Honestly, it would be almost embarrassing to admit these were fake disguise glasses to the detective.
“Er…” Raphael started, hesitantly taking his glasses off to wipe them on a napkin.
Staring for a second, the laughter bubbled up as the scene progressed, “Y-You’re an idiot, you don’t use NAPKINS to clean glasses, are those even real?”
Oops. Blushing a bit, Raphael shook his head and shakily placed them on the table, “Do they really fool people?”
“Well, the only time I’ve seen you without is when you’re in your… Despicable suit.” Spitting the words, she pulled her drink up to hide her smile behind the cup. Really, the suit wasn’t bad. More often than not, the private eye enjoyed her time fighting with him.
Not that she’d ever admit to having fun with him… No, that’d just make him cocky.
Raphael, on the other hand, seemed practically offended by her statement, a hand clutching his chest in faux anguish. “Despicable? You wound me, dear Charlie! My suit is of the upmost quality, I’ll have you know…”
There’s another snicker and a sip coming from the blonde, no retort however. She was satisfied with his reaction.
As their drinks dwindled, so too did the jabs at each other’s egos. Maybe that was a side effect of the snow silencing the city, or maybe some sort of holiday cheer infecting the two of them. Or maybe, just maybe, it was because they enjoyed the time together.
Not that either of them would admit that much.
Standing up softly, Raphael gave Charlie a smile and a nod. She returned the gesture with a sigh, trying not to feel too down about it.
Shelling out a couple dollars for his drink, he cleared his throat— Only to be interrupted by her voice, tight and rushed, “When are you going to visit again, Phanto—I mean, Raphael. When are you going to come back?”
A shrug, he tried not to giggle. “Guess I never really know. I try to be mysterious.”
“And I hate it.” She pouted, crossing her arms as Fondue rubbed against her legs.
“I promise, this isn’t the last you’ll see of me. I’ll see you again soon.”
They both nodded softly, Raphael motioning Fondue towards the door before mumbling over his shoulder.
