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Post by Enjolras on Jun 18, 2009 16:59:19 GMT -5
*It was a grand, but somber, event. The greatest church in Paris was decked in black to signify the end of the life of one of it's highest-standing men--gone too soon. Family members were plentiful, friends were in attendance, and acquaintances had made appearances.*
*The service itself would begin in a few minutes.*
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Sophie
- Ingenious Pilot -
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Posts: 149
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Post by Sophie on Jun 18, 2009 17:16:48 GMT -5
Sophie, dressed in one of the latest styles (but in mourning black), put in an appearance, once again having found a moment to sneak away from the Petit Trianon. When she'd read of the coming funeral, the name had struck a very familiar chord with her, eventually making a connection with the young man she'd met at the society ball. Very, very sad. She'd couldn't imagine how she'd feel if she lost her mother. Choosing a seat somewhere in the central pews, she quietly sat by herself, curiously observing the other nobles that drifted in .
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Post by Adrian Veidt on Jun 18, 2009 17:17:48 GMT -5
Veidt's presence at the funeral wasn't necessary by any means. It was really more of a public gesture of condolence to the late Count's children, whom he had never met but presumably could use the knowledge that prominent strangers also mourned their father's passing. There was also the fact that, from what Veidt had read, there had been some overlap between his views and the Count's, and that was another reason to attend.
Finally, it was a good way of cementing the public's growing association of Micaela with Veidt. They had walked from the private car to the church under the same umbrella (carried by Melissa).
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Post by Micaela on Jun 18, 2009 20:24:04 GMT -5
*Not that she wouldn't have come anyway. Adrian didn't know that Enjolras was one of Micaela's own, one of the creatures with a special connection to her known only as her 'characters'. As such, she seemed immensely sad for his passing. In fact, she had sensed it as it had happened. This funeral made it completely real at last, more than a ficticious event, but she knew having some blonde girl they'd never met crying over their father would be a bit... jarring.*
*No purple today. Just black.*
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Post by Nicolas d'Enjolras on Jun 18, 2009 20:33:51 GMT -5
*In full black mourning garb, Nicolas d'Enjolras, Comte d'Enjolras, cut a sombre figure. His complexion, browned by two years at sea, was now sickly pale. He had taken this hard--his cheekbones were slightly more prominent than usual, and his lips thinner.*
*Nonetheless, he stood straight and spoke politely to all guests, though his voice was thick and his broad shoulders suddenly seemed to carry a great weight on them.*
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Post by Adrienne on Jun 18, 2009 20:37:55 GMT -5
*Adrienne had taken it harder than her brother. She was equally pale, her cheeks more sunken, her eyes rimmed with red; her normally voluptuous figure seemed to have shrunk beneath the black mourning clothes. She spoke to nobody, only looked toward the altar to which the closed casket would soon be borne by her brothers and cousins.*
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Post by Javert on Jun 19, 2009 6:02:40 GMT -5
Javert stood by the grand doors, wearing his ceremonial uniform, his face an epic mixture of carefully schooled lack of expression and permanent suspicion.
He did not want to be there.
Still, he was a policeman and he had to follow orders. It would appear the people running this place had found plenty of reason for him to attend besides guard-duties as well.
There was the murder, obviously. Not that Javert supported looking for a killer at a funeral... the only place where there were more false emotions than in the average whorehouse.
Of course there was also the matter of prestige. Only Paris' finest would be good enough to stand guard at such a high-ranking funeral. Javert was, of course, the finest this city had to offer.
And then there was... the other thing.
The connection.
The inspector didn't think he'd ever forget the day some strange teenage girl looked at him from behind the Commissioner's desk and said... no, wailed; 'BUT YOU'RE A MIZZIE!'
Oh well, at least Lambert hadn't shown up.
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Post by George Boleyn on Jun 30, 2009 20:49:30 GMT -5
George slipped in, fashionably late, close enough to the service that mingling was impractical. Not that he didn't want to mingle, but this was such a somber occasion- he didn't even know whether the young man he'd met at a society ball remembered him, although George could see him near the front, near the casket. Nicolas had done him a great service, although George had been too unsettled at the time to realize it. Besides. As far as George could garner, their father, the now deceased, had been something of a presence in high society. The cathedral was bright with jewels and fine cloth; these were George's kind of people. It did no harm to pay his respects.
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Post by Nicolas d'Enjolras on Jun 30, 2009 20:56:00 GMT -5
*After the service, rather than burial, Enjolras's body would be cremated. Therefore, they had decided that they would have the receiving line now. Adrienne had to retire after a few minutes, distraught after the loss, but Nicolas stood strong next to the casket, speaking politely to all that passed.*
*Everyone, it seemed, had come out of the woodwork and bedecked themselves, not just the church, for the occasion. Not only was the passing of a notable figure an occasion for remembrance, it was also an occasion to impress, and to see whether the newly-rich heir or heiress was marriageable.*
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Post by George Boleyn on Jun 30, 2009 21:03:35 GMT -5
An occasion to impress, indeed. George, upon Nicolas' prompting of which, precisely, century he was in, had immediately bought himself new clothing. He looked much more the modern gentleman when it came his turn in the line; he inclined his head to Nicolas and smiled, a bare flexing of the lips for, after all, 'twere a very somber occasion. But he could not help the wicked glint, more of his smile in his eyes, because if it were a funeral where he had to preside he would be happy for a distraction.
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Post by Nicolas d'Enjolras on Jun 30, 2009 21:07:30 GMT -5
*And Nicolas was, indeed, glad for the distraction. A very slight grateful smile turned the corner of his lips.*
"Monsieur Boleyn?" *He rather wondered why he was here, but then, most of society had showed up whether or not they'd known his father.* "You seem to have ...caught up. Sartorially, that is." *Anything but another my condolences or how are you holding up, monsieur le comte, please God.*
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Post by George Boleyn on Jul 1, 2009 15:42:07 GMT -5
His smile grew a little. "Oh, yes. Toot sweet." George grasped Nicolas by the forearm, leaning closer. To anyone else- the people in line behind him, for example, who surely had straining ears (George knew it, which was why he'd leaned closer)- it only looked like a comforting squeeze, a warm, sympathetic press. "If sorrow and too many condolences have weighed you too heavily to live, afterward we might make friends with a drink or two. Surely your father deserves a toast."
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Post by Nicolas d'Enjolras on Jul 1, 2009 15:51:02 GMT -5
*He paused. Truly, his father would have been fed up with all this funeral rigmarole. As was he.*
"Meet me by the side door in fifteen minutes. I'm going to retire to take care of my sister, who will undoubtedly refuse assistance, and then grab my coat."
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Post by George Boleyn on Jul 1, 2009 15:57:23 GMT -5
George bowed in reply and sauntered off, towards the edge of the crowd. It took him only a bit of subtle search to find the side door, which was well out of sight of the people milling about.
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Post by Nicolas d'Enjolras on Jul 1, 2009 16:01:30 GMT -5
*True to his word, Nicki did indeed disappear when some more people had come through, and left them to file through on their own. His sister did indeed refuse help--in fact she had already left. He arrived by the side door a few minutes later.*
"Do you make it a habit to save people you barely know from social obligations?"
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