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Post by Rebecca on Jan 25, 2008 13:56:55 GMT -5
*Rebecca crept into the garden, having found a moment to escape Madame la Comtess following their outing to the milliners. If she heard one more word about lace, she'd lose her mind, she was certain--and that was saying something for a girl who had grown up in the house of Sir Percy Blakeney, Bart., and therefore had quite a high tolerance for talk of lace and fashions.
She hid in the shade of a rose arbour, wearing a new dress in apple green silk with a neckline she thought rather daringly low, but she trusted Madame's decision. Surely she would not have suggested it if she considered it inappropriate for a young woman in mourning.*
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Post by Philippe on Jan 25, 2008 14:16:09 GMT -5
((I still feel like I'm not playing him right and part of me rebels agains the idea of falling prey to Héloïse's machinations. Well, there's always that to angst over later.))
*Philippe paused in his walk, seeing the girl.*
"Miss Giry," *he said, every inch the well-bred gentleman.*
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Post by Rebecca on Jan 25, 2008 14:17:37 GMT -5
*She turned to look at him, fighting the urge to fuss with the dark curls that tumbled over her shoulders--Madame had taken it into her head that she should try curling her hair with hot tongs that morning. Becca wished she could just cut her hair off and be done with it.*
"Why do you keep calling me Miss Giry? My name is Rebecca. Rebecca Blakeney."
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Post by Philippe on Jan 25, 2008 14:20:46 GMT -5
"Forgive me" *he said, colouring slightly at his mistake.* "Twas your mother's name before...she married your father," *he said, somewhat stiffly.* "I tend to recall her by that name, when I see you."
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Post by Rebecca on Jan 25, 2008 14:22:39 GMT -5
"You are a friend of my mother?" *she asked, throwing him a sidelong glance.*
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Post by Philippe on Jan 25, 2008 14:23:44 GMT -5
"Once...a long time ago...acquaintances, now. We do not speak to one another, and we have not done so in some time."
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Post by Rebecca on Jan 25, 2008 14:24:49 GMT -5
"Oh." *Rebecca grew reflective. She'd never known anyone to be on poor terms with her mother unless they had done something truly, unrepentantly evil.*
"What did you do?"
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Post by Philippe on Jan 25, 2008 14:26:13 GMT -5
"Nothing!" *he said, sharply, before he regained control and spoke through gritted teeth.* "That is...not enough, it seemed. I do not care to speak of it."
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Post by Rebecca on Jan 25, 2008 18:28:59 GMT -5
*Then again, perhaps it was one of those awkward situations grown-ups often dealt with due to...*
"You were in love with her!?" *she stated with some considerable disbelief, her keen mind dissecting the layers of emotion in the murky past and seeing some trace of the truth on Philippe's face. The idea made her feel vaguely ill.*
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Post by Philippe on Jan 26, 2008 7:05:58 GMT -5
*Philippe gazed coldly at the girl before striding out of the garden without giving her a second glance.*
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Post by Rebecca on Jan 26, 2008 7:32:52 GMT -5
*Becca wandered miserably about the garden. She couldn't stay. Could not. But she had promised Madame...for the sake of her daughter.*
"Merde." *she muttered, going up to her room to change out of the silly dress.*
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Post by Rebecca on Jan 30, 2008 17:37:45 GMT -5
***NEW DAY***
*Becca hummed as she picked roses.*
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Post by Philippe on Jan 30, 2008 17:42:04 GMT -5
*Philippe moved out from the house and into the garden. He spotted Rebecca and stood, watching her.*
"For I have never ached so much as for you."
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Post by Rebecca on Jan 30, 2008 17:43:48 GMT -5
*Becca felt the hair on the back of her neck stand up and turned uneasily. She did not immediately see the man who stood in the shadows of the trees nearby and felt a little foolish as she turned back to the roses. Her hands faltered, though, and she pricked a finger on a long thorn.*
"Ow!" *she hissed, sticking her finger in her mouth and sucking on it, tasting blood.*
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Post by Philippe on Jan 30, 2008 17:46:25 GMT -5
*In a moment Philippe was at her side, holding out a handkerchief.*
"Here"
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