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Post by Montmorency on Dec 13, 2009 17:16:36 GMT -5
Montmorency had already noticed that Paris was a lot different from London and he felt as lost as he had when he had just started this life. Again he was alone, for his friend Fox-Selwyn had stayed behind at his brother's estate after they successfully solved the whole Mauramanian puzzle.
However, he was intent on staying here for a while and he had to get as familiar with Parisian upperclass as possible, so after he checked into a nice hotel near the Sacre Coeur, he started out to find a replacement for Bartles.
The red mill high above the roofs got his attention fairly quickly and he decided to find out what it was. If it wasn't his sort of club, he could always leave and try again. The biggest problem would be the language. His French wasn't the best, and that was an understatement. But he was working on it and felt secure enough to actually go inside and look around.
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Post by George Boleyn on Dec 13, 2009 17:35:45 GMT -5
As it stood, Montmorency was not the only gentleman headed for le Moulin Rouge tonight. He gained the doors at about the same time another man did, a handsome dark-haired fellow, his wealth evident in the fine cut of his clothes and the rings on his fingers. The sword at his side, obviously not being solely decorative, spoke for how he could walk around this part of town without fear of thieves or muggers.
"Oh, well-met, man, after you," the stranger said as they reached the doors at the same time, and gestured with an easy smile that Montmorency should enter before him.
George wasn't in any particular hurry, but it'd seemed like a good night for this particular place- a good night to see the skirts blazing and to drink until life seemed as bright as the red-tinged streets. This man seemed to George a sympathetic fellow, if only because they were both here now, and perhaps for the same reasons.
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Post by Montmorency on Dec 13, 2009 17:45:49 GMT -5
The friendliness surprised him and made him feel warm inside, something he oppressed quickly because it reminded him of his aloneness. "Merci," he mustered, more in a reply to the easily understood gesture rather than the actual words.
He stepped inside and then waited for the other man. Something in his voice had sounded familiar, though he couldn't figure out what it was yet. He extended his gloved hand, holding his cane and tophat with the other. "Nice to make your acquiantance," he said in a well-rehearsed line. "My name is Montmorency."
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Post by George Boleyn on Dec 13, 2009 18:00:17 GMT -5
"George Boleyn," the man said when he'd stepped up beside Montmorency. He made to bow, the habit of long practice, then aborted the gesture quickly when he saw the proffered hand, the entire blunder more graceful than many men could have made it. But George Boleyn hadn't been steeped in English court manners for nothing. He shook hands, his pleasant, low-key smile yet to dim or disappear. "It's a pleasure." And despite the practiced air of the lines, he caught the tinge of an accent in Montmorency's voice- and if the accent wasn't enough, the way he spoke his name gave it away. It was a very English pronunciation. "An Englishman, are you?" George asked, dropping the French. His smile became just a tad more genuine at the discovery.
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Post by Montmorency on Dec 13, 2009 18:09:38 GMT -5
Even though his new friend was absolutely right in his assumption, the surge of pleasant surprise - both about the name of the other man and the relief to be able to speak English - made him show far more emotion than any Brit in his (new) circles would.
"Yes, yes I am. And so are you, I am assuming." Now he realised why the voice had sounded familiar: the accent, even if it was slighter than his own doubtlessly was. "How absolutely droll to find a familiar voice in these strange and fascinating surroundings."
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Post by George Boleyn on Dec 15, 2009 20:36:12 GMT -5
"But of course. You wouldn't find a Frenchman this handsome, would you?" George grinned at him, taking great delight in both the man's origins and, appropriately, his mustache. It was quite the presence, that mustache. "Yes, I think so as well. Sit with me, won't you? We'll be propositioned by French harlots together, it's dreadful fun."
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Post by Montmorency on Dec 15, 2009 20:46:34 GMT -5
Montmorency stared at him, slightly taken aback by his cheek. Maybe this George had been in Paris for a little longer than he himself had.
Even after this while living as a gentleman, he was still afraid that people would figure something out and he definitely didn't like getting this close to someone this quickly. But he was dying for a companion that could show him around here and George had been right, he was handsome.
"I will. Thank you ever so much for this kind invitation."
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