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Bears
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Bears
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Original poster
Jean-Paul Duvauchelle
Gare de Metz-Ville was as timeless as the city it served as a train station for. The Station Palace, it was often called, and though Jean-Paul was certain he had been taught why--the reasoning escaped him now. It was winter time in France and by all accounts it seemed like end times just about everywhere else. The world was at war and the crooked businessman turned artist could not care less.
That was only because the reality of the war had yet to reach him, to draw him into it's harshness. His naivete wouldn't last but for now, he was tortured by other matters.
At times it felt like his mind was eating away itself, that at some point his bitterness towards the world would eventually grow to a point where he became completely numb to it all--sadness, joy, love. That's what it had grown to feel like these past few years... so why was he taking the midnight train down to Nancy? Why was he running through the station in hopes that he wouldn't be late?
Perhaps it was the war... or perhaps it was because this train might as well have been his last chance to actually live for something.
In all his frantic glory, Jean-Paul Duvauchelle broke out onto the platform. The wind's response was immediate, cold air rushing past him and nearly blowing his old hat right off of his head. With him was only a small bag, though it carried his entire world in the form of the clothes he owned, his sketchpad and three pencils. The train, it seemed, had yet to arrive.
But the artist was not alone. A lone woman stood off in the distance, the snow and her coat working to blur her details. At first he considered remaining silent, but the overthinker in him simply had to confirm he hadn't missed the last ride out. Jean-Paul joined her under what little shelter the platform provided against the elements.
"Excusez moi, mademoiselle." Sullen blue eyes greeted her as she turned to face him. Jean-Paul offered a polite, if not a tad bit solemn smile. "You are waiting for the train to Nancy, I presume? Or have I missed my ride out of this city?
That was only because the reality of the war had yet to reach him, to draw him into it's harshness. His naivete wouldn't last but for now, he was tortured by other matters.
At times it felt like his mind was eating away itself, that at some point his bitterness towards the world would eventually grow to a point where he became completely numb to it all--sadness, joy, love. That's what it had grown to feel like these past few years... so why was he taking the midnight train down to Nancy? Why was he running through the station in hopes that he wouldn't be late?
Perhaps it was the war... or perhaps it was because this train might as well have been his last chance to actually live for something.
In all his frantic glory, Jean-Paul Duvauchelle broke out onto the platform. The wind's response was immediate, cold air rushing past him and nearly blowing his old hat right off of his head. With him was only a small bag, though it carried his entire world in the form of the clothes he owned, his sketchpad and three pencils. The train, it seemed, had yet to arrive.
But the artist was not alone. A lone woman stood off in the distance, the snow and her coat working to blur her details. At first he considered remaining silent, but the overthinker in him simply had to confirm he hadn't missed the last ride out. Jean-Paul joined her under what little shelter the platform provided against the elements.
"Excusez moi, mademoiselle." Sullen blue eyes greeted her as she turned to face him. Jean-Paul offered a polite, if not a tad bit solemn smile. "You are waiting for the train to Nancy, I presume? Or have I missed my ride out of this city?
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Adelaide Blanchard
"Miss...? How many?"
Standing before the ticket counter, Adelaide Blanchard looked up at the man behind the window. He was a wizened figure, half curled at the waist, with eyes made impossibly wide with thick spectacles, a thin layer of white hair crowning a head marked by deep, dark discoloration. As he repeated his question, her cheeks reddened and stepping back, she breathed out. In her hand, she held the notes, but twice now, he had asked her how many tickets she was looking to purchase, and she had yet to answer.
It wasn't too late. The car was still there. She could see it, black and glossy, through the breezeway. All she had to do was turn around, walk back and get in. She could go shopping, as she had told Victor was the plan. Go shopping, then go home.
The thought twisted her stomach into knots, and her heart hammered with a bruising strength against her ribs.
"...Is... everything alright, Miss?" The man asked.
Breathing out, Adelaide turned her eyes to him, "Yes. Um. Sorry... One, please."
"Round trip?"
Shaking her head, she held the notes to him, "No. Just... just the one way, please."
A moment later, ticket in hand, she made her way from the counter and towards the platform. Standing there, as thick, damp flakes fell from the heavens, last conversation with her husband resonated in her mind, his words like fire, burning, eating away at her. For nearly a decade, she had been his dutiful, quiet wife... and she had stood by every decision he made, without a word. Even when she disagreed, he never knew and she was content, if not happy. But she supposed there was a breaking point for everything in life, and hearing his decision to enscribe into the army of that heinous, despicable man had been hers.
To volunteer to fight a war for a man so atrocious... It was not a choice that Adelaide could ever stand behind. And so she had fled. And she had come this far.
"Excusez moi, mademoiselle." Thoughts interrupted, she turned to the man, and through the snow she took note of the sadness in his eyes... in his smile, "You are waiting for the train to Nancy, I presume? Or have I missed my ride out of this city?"
"No... You haven't missed it." She answered, softly, with a gentle, meloncholic smile of her own, her eyes turning down to the ticket in her hands, "It should arrive shortly, Monsieur."
Standing before the ticket counter, Adelaide Blanchard looked up at the man behind the window. He was a wizened figure, half curled at the waist, with eyes made impossibly wide with thick spectacles, a thin layer of white hair crowning a head marked by deep, dark discoloration. As he repeated his question, her cheeks reddened and stepping back, she breathed out. In her hand, she held the notes, but twice now, he had asked her how many tickets she was looking to purchase, and she had yet to answer.
It wasn't too late. The car was still there. She could see it, black and glossy, through the breezeway. All she had to do was turn around, walk back and get in. She could go shopping, as she had told Victor was the plan. Go shopping, then go home.
The thought twisted her stomach into knots, and her heart hammered with a bruising strength against her ribs.
"...Is... everything alright, Miss?" The man asked.
Breathing out, Adelaide turned her eyes to him, "Yes. Um. Sorry... One, please."
"Round trip?"
Shaking her head, she held the notes to him, "No. Just... just the one way, please."
A moment later, ticket in hand, she made her way from the counter and towards the platform. Standing there, as thick, damp flakes fell from the heavens, last conversation with her husband resonated in her mind, his words like fire, burning, eating away at her. For nearly a decade, she had been his dutiful, quiet wife... and she had stood by every decision he made, without a word. Even when she disagreed, he never knew and she was content, if not happy. But she supposed there was a breaking point for everything in life, and hearing his decision to enscribe into the army of that heinous, despicable man had been hers.
To volunteer to fight a war for a man so atrocious... It was not a choice that Adelaide could ever stand behind. And so she had fled. And she had come this far.
"Excusez moi, mademoiselle." Thoughts interrupted, she turned to the man, and through the snow she took note of the sadness in his eyes... in his smile, "You are waiting for the train to Nancy, I presume? Or have I missed my ride out of this city?"
"No... You haven't missed it." She answered, softly, with a gentle, meloncholic smile of her own, her eyes turning down to the ticket in her hands, "It should arrive shortly, Monsieur."
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Bears
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Jean-Paul Duvauchelle
Jean-Paul would thank God if he believed he existed, but the woman who gave the answer was a fine enough candidate for his gratitude. Another smile, a tip of his hat and a quiet thank you. That's all he offered before he stalked off. In a different time he'd fancy himself a banter with a beautiful stranger... and whoever she was she fit the bill, but there was something about tonight. Something about the decision he was committing to that made it feel wrong.
He took a few steps forward, placing himself closer to the tracks with each and every movement. Soon enough Jean-Paul came to the edge and stared for a moment at the railway painted white by the snow. The artist sniffled, using the edges of his boots to create himself a clearing for him to sit on.
It was cold when he sat down, legs dangling over the tracks. He knew must've look downright quirky letting the snow fall freely onto his slacks and dress shoes. The artist cleared his throat and then began to dig into the contents of his small leather bag. He slid out his sketchpad, turning fervently to the closest unmarked page. Jean-Paul took out a pencil and then began to sketch.
It was the image of his feet, just over the tracks. He always looked a little intense when he drew, others have described it as very driven, others said he looked angry... a few--crazy.
Time passed and he wondered if anyone else would join him and the beautiful stranger on the platform, but with each minute that ticked by the idea grew more and more unlikely. Jean-Paul wondered if he should offer a conversation, whether or not it was the polite thing to do. She was a woman and he was a man after all, for all he knew she could've been married and travelling back to a happy family.
The snow and the wind relented and he turned back to her, an eccentric if not unusual look about a man dressed sharply just to sit by the tracks. A gloved hand gestured to a build up of snow beside him as he cleared his throat. "Would you like me to clear a place to sit for you as well? I find the benches here awfully dreary... it's a lot more scenic from this point of view."
He took a few steps forward, placing himself closer to the tracks with each and every movement. Soon enough Jean-Paul came to the edge and stared for a moment at the railway painted white by the snow. The artist sniffled, using the edges of his boots to create himself a clearing for him to sit on.
It was cold when he sat down, legs dangling over the tracks. He knew must've look downright quirky letting the snow fall freely onto his slacks and dress shoes. The artist cleared his throat and then began to dig into the contents of his small leather bag. He slid out his sketchpad, turning fervently to the closest unmarked page. Jean-Paul took out a pencil and then began to sketch.
It was the image of his feet, just over the tracks. He always looked a little intense when he drew, others have described it as very driven, others said he looked angry... a few--crazy.
Time passed and he wondered if anyone else would join him and the beautiful stranger on the platform, but with each minute that ticked by the idea grew more and more unlikely. Jean-Paul wondered if he should offer a conversation, whether or not it was the polite thing to do. She was a woman and he was a man after all, for all he knew she could've been married and travelling back to a happy family.
The snow and the wind relented and he turned back to her, an eccentric if not unusual look about a man dressed sharply just to sit by the tracks. A gloved hand gestured to a build up of snow beside him as he cleared his throat. "Would you like me to clear a place to sit for you as well? I find the benches here awfully dreary... it's a lot more scenic from this point of view."
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Adelaide Blanchard
As the man moved off, Adelaide's thoughts resumed to her predicament... so what she needed to do, but found so very difficult, but it was once again only for a brief time. The man moved closer to the tracks and for a moment, she watched him in curiosity. The sadness in his eyes... in the smile he had given her revolved back through her mind and frowning, she took a step towards him.
He spoke, and she jumped a little at the sound of his voice. It was foolish, of course, to assume the worst - but she was in an emotional state, herself, and nothing ever lent quite so spectacularly to the overly dramatic than a welling ball of turmoil. Creeping closer, though opting to stand instead, she peered over his shoulder to see the sketch appearing on the page. It was magnificent - the shapes appearing on the page with effortless strokes. His own feet above the tracks, in near pristine details...
"Excuse me. Sorry... I... I didn't mean to intrude. Your work is beautiful, Monsieur. I'm not sure I've seen anything quite so good, in fact..." And she considered leaving it like that, but as she stepped back to turn away, that smile flashed once more in her head and hesitating, she twisted back to him, "I apologize, are... are you quite alright? It's just. That's an awfully strange place to sit, even for someone who doesn't like a bench."
He spoke, and she jumped a little at the sound of his voice. It was foolish, of course, to assume the worst - but she was in an emotional state, herself, and nothing ever lent quite so spectacularly to the overly dramatic than a welling ball of turmoil. Creeping closer, though opting to stand instead, she peered over his shoulder to see the sketch appearing on the page. It was magnificent - the shapes appearing on the page with effortless strokes. His own feet above the tracks, in near pristine details...
"Excuse me. Sorry... I... I didn't mean to intrude. Your work is beautiful, Monsieur. I'm not sure I've seen anything quite so good, in fact..." And she considered leaving it like that, but as she stepped back to turn away, that smile flashed once more in her head and hesitating, she twisted back to him, "I apologize, are... are you quite alright? It's just. That's an awfully strange place to sit, even for someone who doesn't like a bench."
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B
Bears
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Original poster
Jean-Paul Duvauchelle
"Forgive me if I'm forward but I don't think anyone who can be defined as alright is the type to try and skip out on town in the middle of the night." Jean-Paul chuckled at the thought, rubbing the rough undercut of his jawline. It was nice of her to ask but sure as he was of his... the artist had a feeling this woman had her demons. And when he had a feeling... he was usually right. His narcissism demanded so.
Still, calling someone out just moments after you first met them was far from the gentlemanly thing to do... and Jean-Paul did pride himself on being a gentleman, even after the world of business and intrigue threw him out on his ass. "Of course I do not speak for you as well, Mademoiselle. I'm sure you have your reason for being out here in the cold like this."
He tucked away his notebook and stood up, slipping his pencil behind his ear as he took the time to wipe off his slacks. Earlier in the conversation he had noticed it, the slightest shift of the snow underneath his toes. The track was beginning to shake, the train was coming to them at full force. Almost on cue the sound of the horn in the distances confirmed his observations.
First Jean-Paul looked off into the distance and then back to the woman. Another grin. "And arrive shortly it has." He repeated as he stooped down to pick up his bag from besides the track. The artist didn't move an inch however there was something about the train rolling in just inches from him that entertained him.
Still, calling someone out just moments after you first met them was far from the gentlemanly thing to do... and Jean-Paul did pride himself on being a gentleman, even after the world of business and intrigue threw him out on his ass. "Of course I do not speak for you as well, Mademoiselle. I'm sure you have your reason for being out here in the cold like this."
He tucked away his notebook and stood up, slipping his pencil behind his ear as he took the time to wipe off his slacks. Earlier in the conversation he had noticed it, the slightest shift of the snow underneath his toes. The track was beginning to shake, the train was coming to them at full force. Almost on cue the sound of the horn in the distances confirmed his observations.
First Jean-Paul looked off into the distance and then back to the woman. Another grin. "And arrive shortly it has." He repeated as he stooped down to pick up his bag from besides the track. The artist didn't move an inch however there was something about the train rolling in just inches from him that entertained him.
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Adelaide Blanchard
At his words, Adelaide blanched white as the snowfall. Her heart found purchase in her throat and stepping back, narrowly stumbling over her own bag, she shook her head. How could he have known? How could anyone have known? Had he been sent by Beaumont? Had she somehow given herself away, after all? Why let her get this far? To purchase a ticket... To come so close to boarding? But of course, to come so close to her own liberty, and to fail would crush her beyond repair...
"I will not go back..." She started to say, but then he had continued and color flooded back into her cheeks in excess as she shifted her eyes away. He hadn't meant her. Oh, she would give herself away...
Graciously, the rumbling underfoot came not a moment later, and spinning around, she grabbed her bag. The train came chugging to a slow halt as she straightened, and with her ticket curled tightly in her gloved fist, she bowed her head with forced politeness, "Have a good trip, Monsieur."
Without waiting for a reply, all too terrified her misconceptions weren't misconceptions after all, she darted forward, towards the steward, before, with immeasurable relief, stepping aboard the train.
"I will not go back..." She started to say, but then he had continued and color flooded back into her cheeks in excess as she shifted her eyes away. He hadn't meant her. Oh, she would give herself away...
Graciously, the rumbling underfoot came not a moment later, and spinning around, she grabbed her bag. The train came chugging to a slow halt as she straightened, and with her ticket curled tightly in her gloved fist, she bowed her head with forced politeness, "Have a good trip, Monsieur."
Without waiting for a reply, all too terrified her misconceptions weren't misconceptions after all, she darted forward, towards the steward, before, with immeasurable relief, stepping aboard the train.
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Bears
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Original poster
Jean-Paul Duvauchelle
Now what an odd little woman she was to express concern for him one second and then indifference in another. Jean-Paul watched her blankly for a moment with little more than a quirked brow. He watched her with the same odd expression as she moved past him and boarded the train. The artist tilted his head in thought but ultimately concluded that it didn't really matter. What mattered was getting on that train... which suddenly became a lot harder now that the doors were open and calling for him to enter. Jean-Paul stared for a moment, with great intensity, as the collective weight of doubt and fear settled into his gut.
He was still deep in his mind when the train began to slowly surge forward. At first Jean-Paul was content to let it leave him, it was a lot easier to stay the same rather than to force change after all. But then with very little warning and in full force, a new feeling hit him... a feeling that somehow tonight would end up the biggest regret of his life.
So he chased after the train, shouting for it to stop for his sake. The train began to pick up pace and so did Jean-Paul. He sprinted and when the time came--threw himself onto the platform just outside the doors. He nearly died in the process, steadying himself on the railings at the last minute.
"HELLO GOOD EVENING! PLEASE LET ME INSIDE." He banged on the doors that had already closed on him, quite the sight through the window as both the train and wind outside picked up in speed.
He was still deep in his mind when the train began to slowly surge forward. At first Jean-Paul was content to let it leave him, it was a lot easier to stay the same rather than to force change after all. But then with very little warning and in full force, a new feeling hit him... a feeling that somehow tonight would end up the biggest regret of his life.
So he chased after the train, shouting for it to stop for his sake. The train began to pick up pace and so did Jean-Paul. He sprinted and when the time came--threw himself onto the platform just outside the doors. He nearly died in the process, steadying himself on the railings at the last minute.
"HELLO GOOD EVENING! PLEASE LET ME INSIDE." He banged on the doors that had already closed on him, quite the sight through the window as both the train and wind outside picked up in speed.
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Adelaide Blanchard
The doors closed behind her, but despite having made it aboard, Adelaide could not move further. Frozen in place, she stared ahead, her mind roiling with doubts, with fears... The man hadn't said anything more, but she could nkt shake the certainty that somehow, his words meant more than she wanted to believe. And now she was trapped on the train with him... with no conscious thought for escape.
Pulled from her thoughts by the sound of shouting, her eyes drifted to the door at the end of the train. Perhaps not on board with him after all. For a split second, she considered leaving the man there... but she was afraid, not cruel and with a shake of her head she moved to pull the carriage door open, wind bursting into the small chamber with authority.
Shivering, she stepped back to let him in, before yanking it shut behind him. And suddenly, it was her and the stranger, alone in the vesitbule cab, and Adelaide's heart began to pound. Moving swiftly past him, she grabbed her bag and turned to the exit, leading to the overnight compartments.
Pulled from her thoughts by the sound of shouting, her eyes drifted to the door at the end of the train. Perhaps not on board with him after all. For a split second, she considered leaving the man there... but she was afraid, not cruel and with a shake of her head she moved to pull the carriage door open, wind bursting into the small chamber with authority.
Shivering, she stepped back to let him in, before yanking it shut behind him. And suddenly, it was her and the stranger, alone in the vesitbule cab, and Adelaide's heart began to pound. Moving swiftly past him, she grabbed her bag and turned to the exit, leading to the overnight compartments.
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Bears
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Original poster
Jean-Paul Duvauchelle
His heart was racing more than he'd care to admit. Jean-Paul stood for a moment, hunched over with his hands resting on his knees, trying ever so hard to bring the beat of his chest back to a serviceable pace.
"I... Thank you." He said, though his words were given to no one as when he rose the woman from the platform had already left. It was twice now that the beautiful stranger showed him compassion only to display disinterest seconds later. He was grateful to have been let it, but he also felt rather dumbfounded that she would do that but not stick around to receive his gratitude.
Jean-Paul decided that he'd be determined to thank her, but he was a self aware man and he knew that was just an excuse. Indeed the artist found himself intrigued, distracted by the unpleasant implications that being on the train meant for him, and wanted nothing more in that moment than the pleasure of at least learning her name.
He took a moment to shake himself free of snow but soon after, gave chase. With curiosity fueling his steps and urgency in his stride, he entered the narrow hallway indicative of the overnight car. She was at the opposite end when he entered, and he called out to her despite the fact that everyone else on the train was sleeping.
"Excuse me miss... comment vous appelez-vous?" He breathed, the makings of a smile on his lips.
"I... Thank you." He said, though his words were given to no one as when he rose the woman from the platform had already left. It was twice now that the beautiful stranger showed him compassion only to display disinterest seconds later. He was grateful to have been let it, but he also felt rather dumbfounded that she would do that but not stick around to receive his gratitude.
Jean-Paul decided that he'd be determined to thank her, but he was a self aware man and he knew that was just an excuse. Indeed the artist found himself intrigued, distracted by the unpleasant implications that being on the train meant for him, and wanted nothing more in that moment than the pleasure of at least learning her name.
He took a moment to shake himself free of snow but soon after, gave chase. With curiosity fueling his steps and urgency in his stride, he entered the narrow hallway indicative of the overnight car. She was at the opposite end when he entered, and he called out to her despite the fact that everyone else on the train was sleeping.
"Excuse me miss... comment vous appelez-vous?" He breathed, the makings of a smile on his lips.
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Adelaide Blanchard
She was quick, but not quick enough, and as he called out to her, Adelaide froze once more. He was determined, it seemed, and would wake the entire train to get what he wanted. His question, however, was not the one that she expected to hear and twisting back to look at him, a brow lifted as she swallowed, jaw tense... nerves on display.
If he was working for her husband, why did he not know her name? It was enough to give her pause, even if it didn't entirely alleviate her uncertainty. The coincidences of what he'd said could have been just that, but the paranoia was impossible to shake, when she was still too close to home and there were too many variables, too many ways that things could go horribly, horribly wrong.
"...M...my name?" Weighing the question, it took her entirely too long to continue, the fear of her answer, of what repercussions could come with it pressing against her, making it impossible not second guess herself, "L...lady. Ah. Adelaide." Breathing out, she turned to the door again, the back to the man, "...I'm sorry, I'm just going to ask. Are... are you following me, or not? Because this will be a long trip, Monsieur, and I would rather just know what to expect."
If he was working for her husband, why did he not know her name? It was enough to give her pause, even if it didn't entirely alleviate her uncertainty. The coincidences of what he'd said could have been just that, but the paranoia was impossible to shake, when she was still too close to home and there were too many variables, too many ways that things could go horribly, horribly wrong.
"...M...my name?" Weighing the question, it took her entirely too long to continue, the fear of her answer, of what repercussions could come with it pressing against her, making it impossible not second guess herself, "L...lady. Ah. Adelaide." Breathing out, she turned to the door again, the back to the man, "...I'm sorry, I'm just going to ask. Are... are you following me, or not? Because this will be a long trip, Monsieur, and I would rather just know what to expect."
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Bears
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Original poster
Jean-Paul Duvauchelle
Adelaide was a beautiful name but had he been following her? There were worse things in life he could subject himself to he suppose, but the artist just offered a solid shake of his head. His face showed a hint of confusion but he remained curious above all else. "No, I'm just a man trying to make his way to Nancy."
Out of respect for her space he didn't dare close any more distance between him. He was a driven man yes, and at times that could make him seem odd but he wasn't socially unaware. She was scared of something, perhaps of him and Jean-Paul was a stranger which she had very little reason to trust. The artist cleared his throat and took of his hat.
"I just wanted to say thank you, Adelaide. For letting me in." Jean-Paul explained with a little bow to express his gratitude. His melancholic eyes looked at her for a moment and then to the door that she was holding open. The artist offered a slight smile and rubbed the back of his head with his free hand before pointing towards her cabin door.
"And I suppose a good night as well. I don't intend to keep you up for long."
Out of respect for her space he didn't dare close any more distance between him. He was a driven man yes, and at times that could make him seem odd but he wasn't socially unaware. She was scared of something, perhaps of him and Jean-Paul was a stranger which she had very little reason to trust. The artist cleared his throat and took of his hat.
"I just wanted to say thank you, Adelaide. For letting me in." Jean-Paul explained with a little bow to express his gratitude. His melancholic eyes looked at her for a moment and then to the door that she was holding open. The artist offered a slight smile and rubbed the back of his head with his free hand before pointing towards her cabin door.
"And I suppose a good night as well. I don't intend to keep you up for long."
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Adelaide Blanchard
"Oh, Monsieur..." His words resonated and Adelaide could feel her eyes prickling with tears as she shook her head, her expression shifting swiftly from one of paranoid anxiety to absolute mortification, cheeks reddening, "I am so sorry. Please, forgive me. I... It's just... Out on the platform, you said something, and I..."
She had jumped to conclusions. She had taken what he'd said - a perfectly ordinary, perfectly innocent thing - and she had twisted it into something foul and vile. She had put all of her nervousness, all of her fears and she had subjected him to an unfair impression, and treated him with utterly no respect, "It was wrong of me to assume, and I beg your forgiveness."
Biting the inside of her cheek, she forced back the tears, but her breath was a shudder as she exhaled, her fingers clenched far too tightly on the handle of her compartment door, "You should be more careful... Jumping onto trains like that. It's quite dangerous, and you're very lucky you weren't hurt." And then, for no reason at all, except that she could not control them anymore, she burst into tears, dropping her bag to bury her face into her gloved hands.
She had jumped to conclusions. She had taken what he'd said - a perfectly ordinary, perfectly innocent thing - and she had twisted it into something foul and vile. She had put all of her nervousness, all of her fears and she had subjected him to an unfair impression, and treated him with utterly no respect, "It was wrong of me to assume, and I beg your forgiveness."
Biting the inside of her cheek, she forced back the tears, but her breath was a shudder as she exhaled, her fingers clenched far too tightly on the handle of her compartment door, "You should be more careful... Jumping onto trains like that. It's quite dangerous, and you're very lucky you weren't hurt." And then, for no reason at all, except that she could not control them anymore, she burst into tears, dropping her bag to bury her face into her gloved hands.
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Bears
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Jean-Paul Duvauchelle
His eyes widened at the sight. Adelaide, crying and for no particular reason. Or at least not a reason he could understand outright, anyways. But then Jean-Paul realized he did not know whether he ought to come closer and comfort her or remain standing as he was--a comfortable distance away.
That was always the odd thing when it came to his experiences with a woman in tears. You could try and comfort them but there was always a risk of you becoming a speed bag for their emotions. Oh well, he thought to himself. Life had been a series of punches up until that point... he could stand a few more. He walked closer--his eyes understanding of such a display of emotion if anything else.
"I suppose you could say I have a little bit of a thing for danger." Jean-Paul quipped in a sideways attempt to try and lighten up the conversation.
The artist was standing just a foot away as he came to lean against the neighboring compartment. He was uncertain, it was apparent in how he slunk his hands into the pockets of his slacks. The man frowned, daring to place a steady hand on her shoulder. A hug would've been more comforting perhaps... but a hug demanded an awful amount of intimacy.
"Are you alright? If it was something I said I take it back. I know I say the damnedest things." He began, giving the arch of her shoulder a little squeeze. He leaned in to try and meet her eye, though Jean-Paul was considerably taller and it required a bend of his knee. "What is wrong, Adelaide? Why... why are you crying?"
That was always the odd thing when it came to his experiences with a woman in tears. You could try and comfort them but there was always a risk of you becoming a speed bag for their emotions. Oh well, he thought to himself. Life had been a series of punches up until that point... he could stand a few more. He walked closer--his eyes understanding of such a display of emotion if anything else.
"I suppose you could say I have a little bit of a thing for danger." Jean-Paul quipped in a sideways attempt to try and lighten up the conversation.
The artist was standing just a foot away as he came to lean against the neighboring compartment. He was uncertain, it was apparent in how he slunk his hands into the pockets of his slacks. The man frowned, daring to place a steady hand on her shoulder. A hug would've been more comforting perhaps... but a hug demanded an awful amount of intimacy.
"Are you alright? If it was something I said I take it back. I know I say the damnedest things." He began, giving the arch of her shoulder a little squeeze. He leaned in to try and meet her eye, though Jean-Paul was considerably taller and it required a bend of his knee. "What is wrong, Adelaide? Why... why are you crying?"
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Adelaide Blanchard
First, she had accused the poor man of something terrible, made assumptions of his character without justification, and now she had fallen to pieces in front of him. The man was a stranger, and she had no right or cause to be such a burden on him. Yet he didn't flee or scold her, instead, he came closer and his hand brushed her shoulder and startled by the display of kindness, she dropped her hands to meet his gaze.
Lip quivering, she shook her head, "I've made a terrible mistake. I... I should never have gotten on this train, and now it's too late." It would be dawn by the time they reached their first stop, and by then, her husband would know that she had not gone shopping. No doubt, Victor had already guessed she was not checking the train schedule for her sister's arrival later that week. He would return home and tell Beaumont of her betrayal, and he would hunt her down.
Stifling a sob with the back of her trembling hand, she dropped back against the compartment door, the color drained from her cheeks as a wall of panic pressed against her, threatening, pounding waves of pressure within her chest as her heart increased to a terrible drumming. Beaumont would not be kind if he found her. It was a disgrace to his status, his name, his reputation that his wife should try to leave him, and on the cusp of such an important decision... "Oh God... he'll kill me."
Lip quivering, she shook her head, "I've made a terrible mistake. I... I should never have gotten on this train, and now it's too late." It would be dawn by the time they reached their first stop, and by then, her husband would know that she had not gone shopping. No doubt, Victor had already guessed she was not checking the train schedule for her sister's arrival later that week. He would return home and tell Beaumont of her betrayal, and he would hunt her down.
Stifling a sob with the back of her trembling hand, she dropped back against the compartment door, the color drained from her cheeks as a wall of panic pressed against her, threatening, pounding waves of pressure within her chest as her heart increased to a terrible drumming. Beaumont would not be kind if he found her. It was a disgrace to his status, his name, his reputation that his wife should try to leave him, and on the cusp of such an important decision... "Oh God... he'll kill me."
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B
Bears
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Original poster
Jean-Paul Duvauchelle
He had leaned in to match her eye and suddenly Adelaide was on the floor saying things out of the kind of films he'd watch during the quiet hours back in Paris. When there was no muse to inspire his paint and all he had was the television set and way, way too many drinks. At first, Jean-Paul remained standing... unsure of what to say or do in such a situation.
Eventually he joined her on the floor of the overnight car, crouching down on to one knee. For a moment he could not help but acknowledge in his mind how stunning she looked. An emotional wreck on the floor of a midnight train, it was a beautiful sight... and downright haunting. A part of him wished that he had just been an observer, a part of him wished he could just take out his notebook and start sketching her image.
But that would've been cruel and though Jean-Paul was a great deal of terrible things, he was not cruel. He positioned himself beside her, not once taking his eyes off of her. If she needed a shoulder, he'd offer his... if she needed advice, he'd try and give it. Though admittedly, he was at a point in his own messy life where taking his advice would likely be a very foolish thing to do.
"A man can't kill you if he can't find you." He commented... a bit of an odd thing to say now that it was out and in the open. The artist was piecing things together, connecting the dots. He had meant what he said out on the platform but he never expected for it to ring so true, so fast. "And that's why you are on the train, yes? So that he can't find you?"
Eventually he joined her on the floor of the overnight car, crouching down on to one knee. For a moment he could not help but acknowledge in his mind how stunning she looked. An emotional wreck on the floor of a midnight train, it was a beautiful sight... and downright haunting. A part of him wished that he had just been an observer, a part of him wished he could just take out his notebook and start sketching her image.
But that would've been cruel and though Jean-Paul was a great deal of terrible things, he was not cruel. He positioned himself beside her, not once taking his eyes off of her. If she needed a shoulder, he'd offer his... if she needed advice, he'd try and give it. Though admittedly, he was at a point in his own messy life where taking his advice would likely be a very foolish thing to do.
"A man can't kill you if he can't find you." He commented... a bit of an odd thing to say now that it was out and in the open. The artist was piecing things together, connecting the dots. He had meant what he said out on the platform but he never expected for it to ring so true, so fast. "And that's why you are on the train, yes? So that he can't find you?"
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Adelaide Blanchard
Looking up, red-rimmed eyes studying the man for a moment, she shook her head. He was wrong. She wanted him to be right, but she knew better. She knew the way that Beaumont thought. If there was one advantage that she had over him, it was that she had seen the way his mind worked, but it wasn't much of an advantage when she also knew that he was a madly jealous, angry man.
She had already been so sure that the man sitting before her was one of his... She had been wrong, but that didn't mean that there wouldn't be others. She had been foolish, having Victor drop her off. If she had walked, if she had taken a car. It wasn't entirely her fault, of course. Beaumont had insisted she go no where without his man. It had been a small struggle just to convince him, she didn't need him to follow her to the ticket counter...
They would discover her ruse and she from there it would only be a matter of time before they tracked her down. They would find her, and drag her back and there, without a doubt, Beaumont would kill her. This was an unforgivable thing, and there would be no coming back from it. Not ever, "No..." She breathed, tears streaming, "No, he'll find me. He won't ever stop... I... I should never have left. I'm sorry." Looking to him again, she dried her eyes with her gloves, "I'm sorry. This isn't your burden. i'm so sorry..."
She had already been so sure that the man sitting before her was one of his... She had been wrong, but that didn't mean that there wouldn't be others. She had been foolish, having Victor drop her off. If she had walked, if she had taken a car. It wasn't entirely her fault, of course. Beaumont had insisted she go no where without his man. It had been a small struggle just to convince him, she didn't need him to follow her to the ticket counter...
They would discover her ruse and she from there it would only be a matter of time before they tracked her down. They would find her, and drag her back and there, without a doubt, Beaumont would kill her. This was an unforgivable thing, and there would be no coming back from it. Not ever, "No..." She breathed, tears streaming, "No, he'll find me. He won't ever stop... I... I should never have left. I'm sorry." Looking to him again, she dried her eyes with her gloves, "I'm sorry. This isn't your burden. i'm so sorry..."
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B
Bears
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Original poster
Jean-Paul Duvauchelle
"You apologize too much." Jean-Paul smiled. He wasn't sure whether he bought into it all... not completely. It was a lot try and take in on good faith and the artist was unsure why she chose him to confide in. He was never the type to evoke trust... so was it just a case of being at the right place at the right time?
Either way he was here with her and that wasn't going to change... at least not for the immediate future. Whether they liked it or not they were travelling companions now along with everyone else on the train. The artist stood up and offered out a single hand and his best attempt at a calming smile. "The problem with that my friend, is that you already have."
"Left, I mean. Whoever this man is and however angry he might be... you can't change that. You have to own the decisions you make but you don't have to let them drag you down. Now, come on get up. You are wasting your beauty down there." Jean-Paul continued as confident as ever. It was a solid attempt despite his inability to know the gravity of the situation.
Either way he was here with her and that wasn't going to change... at least not for the immediate future. Whether they liked it or not they were travelling companions now along with everyone else on the train. The artist stood up and offered out a single hand and his best attempt at a calming smile. "The problem with that my friend, is that you already have."
"Left, I mean. Whoever this man is and however angry he might be... you can't change that. You have to own the decisions you make but you don't have to let them drag you down. Now, come on get up. You are wasting your beauty down there." Jean-Paul continued as confident as ever. It was a solid attempt despite his inability to know the gravity of the situation.
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- Posting Speed
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Adelaide Blanchard
It wasn't what she'd expected to hear. To be honest, she wasn't sure at all what she had expected to hear, but it wasn't a chastisement for her apology, "I..." Blinking, she watched as he stood up, her eyes turning up to him, lip turning down in a small frown, "I don't mean to..."
His hand extended, but for a moment, she could only stare at it. He was right, in a way, she supposed... that she had already left, but regrets weren't easily swayed by logic... even if it would have been nice to accept what he'd said. To own her decision. She supposed that worked for buying a perfume one couldn't quite afford, or deciding to throw out a once treasured heirloom that had gone past it's prime. But escaping Beaumont wasn't a decision she should have made so rashly... and the repercussions were terrifying to think of.
Taking his hand, reluctantly, she brought herself to a stand, "You're very kind, Monsieur, but I'm afraid you're wrong. Sometimes, it is that we are denied the ability to see the consequences of our choices before they come, and foolishly, we make a decision in haste. For me, those consequences will come... But you needn't... I'm alright now, and you needn't worry over me. Thank you, for your kindness."
His hand extended, but for a moment, she could only stare at it. He was right, in a way, she supposed... that she had already left, but regrets weren't easily swayed by logic... even if it would have been nice to accept what he'd said. To own her decision. She supposed that worked for buying a perfume one couldn't quite afford, or deciding to throw out a once treasured heirloom that had gone past it's prime. But escaping Beaumont wasn't a decision she should have made so rashly... and the repercussions were terrifying to think of.
Taking his hand, reluctantly, she brought herself to a stand, "You're very kind, Monsieur, but I'm afraid you're wrong. Sometimes, it is that we are denied the ability to see the consequences of our choices before they come, and foolishly, we make a decision in haste. For me, those consequences will come... But you needn't... I'm alright now, and you needn't worry over me. Thank you, for your kindness."
B
Bears
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Original poster
Jean-Paul Duvauchelle
Was it wrong of him to feel the desire to kiss her in that very moment? Most definitely... but the feeling in his chest was there all the same. It had started as an after thought--a stray idea popping into the back of his mind the moment he wanted to capture her image with his pen. He hadn't realized it had grown until she stood up to join him.
It was scandalous, inappropriate and poorly time and yet... yet there was a part of him that found the vulnerability she displayed oddly beautiful. The thought of holding her in his arms brought just as much shame as it did warmth however. He hadn't been on the train for more than a half hour and somehow he was back to his old tricks.
A better man he promised himself to be and here he was wanting to kiss a woman who was with no doubt troubled by her own demons. He knew needn't add his own to her list of struggles. Don't be an idiot, you old dog--this woman was in no state to be charmed!
So all Jean-Paul allowed himself to offer was a final squeeze. He took a step back, smiling despite the somber look he cast off to the side. "If you ask me, a decision made in haste is the most genuine of its kind. It's in those decisions we show what we truly want... what our hearts long for."
He chuckled before his words could fully settle in, dismissing them with a wave.
"Please, ignore me. You are entitled to your opinion, Adelaide... and like I said earlier--the damnedest things. " Jean-Paul turned to leave, his eyes set on the next vacant overnight compartment further down. He offered her a friendly wave.
"I regress, I won't keep you up any longer. I hope for your sake that you are wrong about this man, about him finding you." He pulled open the door to his compartment, offering one last small smile before entering. "Good night."
It was scandalous, inappropriate and poorly time and yet... yet there was a part of him that found the vulnerability she displayed oddly beautiful. The thought of holding her in his arms brought just as much shame as it did warmth however. He hadn't been on the train for more than a half hour and somehow he was back to his old tricks.
A better man he promised himself to be and here he was wanting to kiss a woman who was with no doubt troubled by her own demons. He knew needn't add his own to her list of struggles. Don't be an idiot, you old dog--this woman was in no state to be charmed!
So all Jean-Paul allowed himself to offer was a final squeeze. He took a step back, smiling despite the somber look he cast off to the side. "If you ask me, a decision made in haste is the most genuine of its kind. It's in those decisions we show what we truly want... what our hearts long for."
He chuckled before his words could fully settle in, dismissing them with a wave.
"Please, ignore me. You are entitled to your opinion, Adelaide... and like I said earlier--the damnedest things. " Jean-Paul turned to leave, his eyes set on the next vacant overnight compartment further down. He offered her a friendly wave.
"I regress, I won't keep you up any longer. I hope for your sake that you are wrong about this man, about him finding you." He pulled open the door to his compartment, offering one last small smile before entering. "Good night."