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Post by László on Sept 25, 2009 20:16:05 GMT -5
He'd quickly scrambled to his feet, his own apologies overlapping Miles'.
"I'm sorry...I...I...I shouldn't have...I didn't..."
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Post by Miles on Sept 25, 2009 20:21:52 GMT -5
"Oh God," repeated Miles, looking horrified, and close to crying. He wouldn't have cried - Miles did that very rarely - but László wouldn't know that. "László - please - I didn't think - I've had too much champagne, I think - "
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Post by László on Sept 25, 2009 20:25:15 GMT -5
He reached out, hesitantly, wanting to reassure Miles somehow.
"No, no, it's my fault. It's okay."
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Post by Miles on Sept 25, 2009 20:36:09 GMT -5
Miles took László's hand in both of his earnestly, and said, anxiously, "No, no, it isn't, it's - " before his expression changed and he dropped it as though he'd burned himself, standing and walking past him, wringing his hands nervously with a repeated, "Ohhhh God..."
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Post by László on Sept 25, 2009 20:41:26 GMT -5
He followed after Miles. He didn't want him going around thinking he was to blame.
"Miles, please...I'm the sober one, I shouldn't have...I mean, you were a bit tipsy...that's not...not right..."
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Post by Miles on Sept 25, 2009 20:46:27 GMT -5
Miles turned around and took a halting step towards him, then pushed past him again, still antsy.
"I'm so sorry, oh God, what you must think of me - I didn't mean to - " Take advantage of you, he'd been going to say, but he'd clearly meant to kiss him.
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Post by László on Sept 25, 2009 20:55:06 GMT -5
"Miles, please." He said, perhaps a bit sharper than he'd intended.
"I started it, all of it it IS my fault. My mind, I, it just...it went on...I wouldn't ever treat you like you're--but I just did, and I screwed up."
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Post by Miles on Sept 25, 2009 21:00:02 GMT -5
And hearing him say that actually hurt.
Choked, Miles managed, "László - I thnk - maybe you shouldn't be here right now."
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Post by László on Sept 25, 2009 21:10:07 GMT -5
He went very still.
"Miles..."
There was a horrible, heaving feeling in his chest, something that had never been there before and he had no word for.
"Right."
Turning in place, he cast about for his coat.
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Post by Miles on Sept 25, 2009 21:11:40 GMT -5
Miles told him where it was without needing to look, hugging the backs of his arms and determinedly not looking at him.
Ohhhh, he didn't have anyone in Paris and look what he'd done to the one person who actually appeared to have liked him...
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Post by László on Sept 25, 2009 21:17:43 GMT -5
He slowly pulled his coat back on, trying hard not to say anything more. Miles had made things clear, after all. On his way to the door, he paused by Miles, wanting to speak but not knowing what words would even matter. After a moment, he continued on his way out the door, every step down the hall feeling like it weighed him down. But he kept walking until he was outside, among the streets, under the stars, and then on to the opera house. No, not the shelter. He couldn't face anyone right now .
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Post by Miles on Sept 26, 2009 18:08:51 GMT -5
When László left, Miles sank into a chair, shaking slightly. He couldn't bear the thought of eating more cake, and called up the kitchen staff to clear everything immediately.
He decided, however, to finish what he'd started and get terribly, unhappily drunk. The thought of perhaps no longer seeing László - after what he'd done to him, how in the world could László ever forgive him? - was unbearable even while tipsy.
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Miranda
- Ingenious Pilot -
All that we see, or seem, is but a dream, a dream within a dream.%\1\%
Posts: 221
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Post by Miranda on Oct 1, 2009 9:37:24 GMT -5
**NEW NIGHT**
A week before, a young woman in what was something like a white, corseted bathing suit with lace on it, stockings, boots, gloves, and a white Domino mask had interrupted the attempt of three rough young men to assault a couple on the streets. A policeman two blocks over had been surprised to be approached by a girl he later described as "like a real pretty picture like you get on them corset ads" who led him back to the young men, requested that the victims be "good witnesses in court", and then vanished up a fire escape onto, apparently, the rooftops.
Two days later what was apparently the same girl stopped a robbery, which was rather more serious as the culprits had guns, but seemed sort of miraculously unharmed by the whole thing. The next night it was another assault, and when the woman, clutching her small son, asked her her name, the girl replied, "Notre Dame de Paris."
Despite the fact that she was clearly English, and clearly not a cathedral, this caught on. French newspapers were very excited to claim yet another vigilante, this one native to French soil (or something). They were still attempting to get Adrian Veidt, famed former hero, to comment on this, but Veidt and his old colleague Manhattan were currently involved in some very public work that was time-consuming, and hadn't gotten around to answering, if they intended to.
Miranda, for her part, was very pleased. This went extremely well. And as for the men she met... whether she was helping them or helping the police get them, well, she hadn't had a problem with any of them. And that pleased her enormously; of course it did.
She was going through patrol, dashing over rooftops and checking alleys and finding new and unusual ways to move through the physical world of Paris, when she came across a small crowd in a slum surrounding a street fight, appearing intrigued and in a lot of cases very worried. One of the men had a knife and since the other had an unpleasant cut on his temple, he was apparently able to use it.
Miranda strolled between them and ended the fight. People looked at her as though this were very shocking afterwards, and she supposed, well, she'd had an easier time of it than other people, and then someone from behind the crowd asked her for her photograph. She paused, smiled hesitantly, and said, "Certainly."
A photograph later she was sitting on a roof somewhere else and feeling oddly pleased at the admiration.
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Ember McLain
- Masterful Virgin -
Say my name!%\1\%
Posts: 39
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Post by Ember McLain on Oct 1, 2009 9:47:15 GMT -5
On the opposite end of the spectrum, there was another young lady in Paris who absolutely wanted to be admired. She, however, was less inclined to get it by helping others out. Why should she bother, really? They got into this mess themselves, and besides, she didn't trust anyone over twenty-five.
She did make a striking picture herself, though. Revealing and high-cut black leather, those boots and makeup--to say nothing of her hair or the guitar strung across her back. Yes, it was a cry for attention, but if you tried to interpret it more deeply, at least aloud, the late Miss Amber McLain would just get angry with you.
Much to Ember's irritation, though, this time she'd found herself somewhere even less appealing. There was no electricity, everyone was stuffy, and she hadn't even found a single teen yet. It was almost enough to make her scream. Annoyed, she'd flown up to the rooftops to be alone and brood.
It took her a while to realize that she was, in fact, no longer alone.
((Hope that's not too much of a stretch.))
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Miranda
- Ingenious Pilot -
All that we see, or seem, is but a dream, a dream within a dream.%\1\%
Posts: 221
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Post by Miranda on Oct 1, 2009 9:55:47 GMT -5
((Not in the least! Though she's sure to find electricity somewhere if she looks harder. C'est la Verse. ^_^))
Miranda looked in her direction almost curiously, lifting her hands to pluck at her gloves, taking off one so that her bare hand could lift to her own hair and finger-comb it.
"Are you one, too?" she asked, taking in the other girl's attire. "I suppose you use that to defend yourself? It is quite clever. I thought of a parasol, perhaps, but it seemed difficult to carry."
She was slightly out of breath.
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