Passengers

Adelaide Blanchard​
The voice behind her gave Adelaide a start, and nearly losing her footing, she cried out. Clutching the side rail until her knuckles stretched pale white, she spun back to see Jean-Paul staring up at her.
Of course it was him. Her phantom gentleman... A ghostly reminder of the coward she was inside. The strength she could never have. Turning away, she shook her head.

"He's found me! His man, Victor... He's here, on the train! I saw him at the last stop. I won't ever escape him, Jean-Paul! But I won't go back there! I can't!" The pace of the train made it nearly impossible to hold the rail, the freezing temperatures biting into her skin, her feet and hands reddening with cold. Tears streaked her skin, eyes like icy ponds.

"I'm scared, Jean-Paul!" She called back, "I have to let go, but I... How do... how do I make myself let go?" Wind pounded against the side of the train, harsh and biting, like hands, clawing at her... Threatening to rip her from the edge of its own volition. Still, her grip remained fast on the bar beside her, and leaning her head against it, she sucked in a breath, stifled a sob, "He'll take me back... I'll never be free of him."​
 
Jean-Paul Duvauchelle​
"You won't be going literally anywhere ever again if you jump off now!" He shouted out, eyes wide with disbelief. Okay he couldn't help it with that line, but you know--damnedest things. A small crowd of concerned onlookers had formed behind him, perhaps stirred from their sleep by the rush of cold wind, though he along with Adelaide had for more pressing matters to deal with.

He was reluctant to move closer, afraid that his advances would only drive her right off the side. Jean-Paul had never seen someone die before and he certainly would like to keep it that way.

Especially when that person was someone as tragic as Adelaide Blanchard. Suicide was never the answer, not to Jean-Paul. He was a romanticist at heart and maybe, just maybe they could find a way to change this narrative in the woman's head. He was certainly willing to try.

"Please, Adelaide. You can't know that what you are saying is the truth, there's still so many things that can happen. Jumping off now however, there's only one possibility. You don't want that, if you wanted that you would have thrown yourself off a building before boarding this damned train!" It wasn't pretty or eloquent but it was the truth. Jean-Paul stepped out onto the platform, steadying himself against the rail with one hand and extending the other towards her. "Don't let go, just hold on to me and it'll be okay."​
 
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Adelaide Blanchard​
It wasn't what she wanted. Not really. And as desperation caved into reality, she clutched the rail a little tighter, her breath escaping in a vaporous fog. But reality brought the crushing, bruising truth. She had to be all in or not. And perhaps he had been right, earlier. She was still afraid to let go, fully. To trust her own decisions.

Closing her eyes, she considered her options. She could let go... Fall beneath the rails and be crushed to oblivion, or perhaps land against the harded, frost-covered ground, breaking bones and bruising inside. She could let go, and end the pain and the fear... But then what? She would be dead and all she had done would be for nothing. Every ounce of courage she had shown in leaving, wasted.

Opening her eyes, she looked down at Jean-Paul, into those pools of blue, staring up at her with such concern. A stranger. But not really. Because somehow, in only a few hours, he had read her faster than anyone she'd ever met. He had figured her out. And she had run from it, because it terrified her, but he had been right. So right. And he was right, now...

Turning slightly, her bare feet slipping precariously on the damp rail, she released one hand from the armbar and slowly, she extended it to him, "It'll be okay." She whispered, too quiet to hear, "I'm scared, Jean-Paul... I'm so scared."​
 
Jean-Paul Duvauchelle​
"I don't know if it's any comfort but out here, on the outside of a speeding train, so am I." He chuckled though the concern in his eyes never wavered. Jean-Paul helped her down death's doorstep as gently as he could, giving her hand a comforting squeeze after he took it in his own. He let go of the rail himself, his free hand coming to support her as she lowered herself onto the floor.

The moment both of her feet were on the ground he took her into a hug. No questions, no japes--just an embrace. "Come on then, Adelaide Blanchard. Everything is a mess for the both of us, but we'll figure out. Qui vivra verra." At that he released her and, with her hand still in his, he turned to address the worried crowd watching them from inside the train.

"Good afternoon everyone!" Jean-Paul smiled, waving to the people as he brought Adelaide back inside. "Nothing to see here--just two fellow passengers trying to change their life for the better! Please, please do go about your business. No one will be dying today do not worry."

They eyed him weirdly and rightfully so, but Jean-Paul had no problem with taking the attention off of Adelaide in that very moment, in fact he even preferred it. He was sure that the last thing she wanted right now was to be sharing such a desperate moment with a bunch of strangers. Well strangers that weren't him specifically, of course.​
 
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Adelaide Blanchard​
She had misjudged him. In the few days she had known him, Adelaide Blanchard had horrible, terrible misjudged Jean-Paul Duvachelle. And she had never been more glad for that. He helped her down, and enveloped her into his arms for a moment, she the warmth of him, the strength of his hold was enough... just enough, to keep her from falling to pieces. As he turned to address the small crowd that had gathered, and they began to disperse, she couldn't bring herself to look at anyone, her gaze trained on the grown, tears blurring her vision.

Only when they were alone again did she glance up, and wiping her cheeks with trembling fingers, she shook her head, "I'm sorry. For what I said, before. When I said it wasn't any of your business. I was angry, because you were right. I've held myself back for so long, and I've been a coward. And this..." Her lip quivered as she looked away again, "If you hadn't come when you did. Not just now, but... but on the tracks when we first met. I... I would never have gotten on the train. You were right about everything."

Straightening then, she met his eyes and held it for a second or two longer than was probably proper, but with no grounds to care, she did it anyway, and with one hand, she wiggled free her ring, holding the band out to him with a nod, a firm, determined nod, "Throw it. Do it. Please... Just... as far as you can. Throw it."​
 
Jean-Paul Duvauchelle​
"Of course, I'm always right." Jean-Paul grinned lightly. In reality her admittance was enough to shoot a pang of feeling straight into his chest but was never the type to express such a thing easily, it was why he turned to painting in his younger years. The artist watched her with a growing sense of curiosity as she took off her ring but as she presented it to him he shook his head.

"Oh no. Nope. Not me, beauty queen." Jean-Paul quipped lightly as he wagged his finger at her like a teacher scolding his pupil. The artist looked back towards the door that he had just closed behind them and nodded over to it. He was grinning. "I'm just holding the door open for you. Remember?

Without a single ounce of hesitation in his body, Jean-Paul turned on his heel and walked back over, his hand gripping the metal handle once more. He motioned for Adelaide to follow him and when she didn't he insisted. If she was going to do this, she was going to do this the right way. No man would make the decision for her.

"Come on then, Adelaide. We've taken the first step by getting this train and you know they say that's always the hardest."​
 
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Adelaide Blanchard​
Stepping out into the cold again, Adelaide stared at the ring in her hand. At their ceremony, the priest had called it a holy sacrament... the visible testament of their lifelong commitment to one another. Beau never wore his after the wedding. He set it on the dresser in their flat and had never picked it up again. His commitment had never been to her... except when he was being possessive.

Balling her fingers around the ring, she looked up, staring out across the blackened landscape as it whirled past. In a few hours, dawn would crest the horizon in bright, glimmering gold, a new day... a fresh start. Maybe it was time. Time to stop being afraid. Time to accept that she had made the decision, and there was no returning, now. She could be happy. She could be free... Victor was on the train, but that didn't mean anything, as long as she could get to their final destination. The absolute only thing holding her back was her own hand...

Without a word, she stepped back to the edge of the rail and pulling her arm back, she threw the ring, hurled it as far as it would go, into the darkness. And with a breath, she turned back to Jean-Paul, "I did it... I..." A smile spread to her lips and with an uneasy laugh, she threw her arms around his neck, "I did it!"​
 
Jean-Paul Duvauchelle​
Jean-Paul hadn't realized it himself but he was biting his own lip in anticipation. His eyes watched carefully as she moved past him and through the door frame. The wind blew relentlessly as the train cut through the darkened landscape but that didn't deter her. The artist was proud of her and even though they had known each other for the smallest of times, there was something there that drew him.

He hoped he could stay true to his promise to himself in regards into handling things differently than he had before the train, but apart of him felt like having Adelaide around would make it just a little bit more difficult. Standing in the doorway he laughed alongside the woman as she turned to speak with him.

Jean-Paul took a step back with her arms around him but only so he could freely pick her up and spin her in celebration. With his arms wrapped around her waist, that's what he did. "Congratulations, my dear you have officially and thoroughly ran away." Jean-Paul told her with his signature less than serious smile. The artist set her down before motioning towards the other end of the train.

"So how about a dinner with a friend as your first act as a free woman? Hmm?" Jean-Paul suggested with just a hint of a spark in the way he looked at her in that very moment.​
 
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Adelaide Blanchard​
A free woman. It was strange, the weight those words had. She shouldn't have felt such an impact, but she did, and with another breath, as he set her down, she stepped back and looking up at him, nodded.

She was free. Maybe not forever, but that didn't matter. If Beaumont did find a way to drag her back, she would at least have a few days... a few days to know what her life might've been, if she hadn't been so dutiful, if she hadn't been so complacent. There wasn't a terrible amount to do on board the train, but none of that mattered. Untethered, she could go where she wanted, speak to whomever she wanted. There was nothing left to hold her back...

"Dinner sounds lovely..." She said with another nod, "Just let me change, and I'll meet you there." Hesitating for a moment, she glanced back up at him, and quickly, afraid she would lose the nerve to otherwise, she pressed onto her toes to afford him a kiss on the cheek, "Thank you, Jean-Paul..."

Down the hallway she went again and back to her compartment. Inside, the nerves bundled within her and she breathed, deeply, as she searched through her luggage with an almost aimless design. Finally, she settled on a deep blue dress, and a string of pearls her sister Lily had given her... She hadn't been allowed by Beaumont to wear either. He found them too provocative, too attention-seeking. But that night, as a free woman, there was nothing she wanted more than the exact opposite of what Beaumont did...

She fixed her hair and make up, then finding her way back to the dining car, she entered and approached Jean-Paul's booth with a small, wary smile, "So then. Dinner?"​
 
Jean-Paul Duvauchelle​
The kiss she gave him was just as unexpected as their friendship entirely. Jean Paul reacted rather coolly, his gaze remaining on her even as she walked past him and for the sleeping compartments. The corners of his lips threatened to turn upright and he felt a certain desire following the action. It was foolish though to hope for what came to mind.

She was a woman who just came to terms with being on her own... the last thing she needed was a man as dysfunction as him trying to sweep her off of her feet. But the artist had suggested it and there was no turning back now. He nodded to no one but himself, an affirmation that he'd be a complete gentleman from this point out and began to walk, his hands sliding quietly into the pockets of hsi slacks.

It was not a bad idea to try and tidy up however, so Jean-Paul made his own little detour into the sleeping compartments. Using the fogged mirror tucked away into the corner he fixed his hair, adjusted his suit and purely out of habit--picked at his teeth. He was a man of many quirks and his dedication to self presentation was one.

The artist was the first to arrive at the dining compartment. He slid into a seat comfortably, placing his notebook and pencils out on the table a little more uniform compared to the morning. His eyes hadn't drawn away from his last series of sketches until she entered, and from that point on Adelaide had his full attention.

"Uhh, yes. Dinner." Jean-Paul repeated with a tilt of his head. He squinted at the sight of her but there was something playful with the way his brow quirked and his mouth remained just slightly opened while he took in the woman's appearance. He cleared his throat, gesturing to the seat across from him.

His eyes did not leave her and he smiled, a hand coming up to wave. "I'll get a server over here immediately and we can begin."​
 
Adelaide Blanchard​
Sinking into her seat, her cheeks bright with color, she hooked her fingers through the string of pearls, twisting it absently, "You don't need to rush. It's my first meal as a free woman, and I'd like to enjoy it." There was a part of her that had always lacked confidence. Even before Beaumont, she'd been much more comfortable... content, blending into the background. But there was something about the attention that Jean-Paul paid her that was enticing... opening up something inside of her that she had never quite imagined was there.

"Thank you... by the way. I don't want to sully our evening talking about it. But I hadn't really sad it and I feel like it needs saying. If you hadn't come along when you did, I'm not sure what might've happened. And I am grateful for that." Releasing the pearls, her finger gently brushed along her finger where only the groove of her ring remained, "I'm not sure I would've had the courage to get down... and certainly not for anything else. So. Thank you."

Looking across the table, she gestured to the sketch book, her smile soft and warm, "You take it everywhere with you? May I see it?" His artwork - what she had seen of it on the platform had been lovely. Lovely, and she supposed in a way, a little sad. Funny how she had initially thought he was going to leap onto the tracks... and she had nearly done the very same thing, herself. What had he always said? The damndest thing? If it wasn't true...​
 
Jean-Paul Duvauchelle​
"I'd do it a hundred more times if you asked me to... but let's try and avoid that shall we?" Jean-Paul quipped lightly, his six foot frame shaking with mirth in the moments following. Before he could continue the server came as requested and the artist smiled gently while he ordered smoked salmon. He paused, taking a moment to turn back to Adelaide to ask her what kind of wine she drank, and ordering that following her answer. The young man turned to Adelaide and so did Jean-Paul.

After the server left, Jean-Paul took back up their conversation where they had left it. He seemed to wave his joke off but the man remained all smiles throughout. "Really though, I'm quite terrible at accepting thanks so don't take my witticism as me not acknowledging your words properly." He bit back a `damnedest thing` suddenly finding himself worried about coming off as repetitive.

At the mentioning of his notebook however, Jean-Paul's demeanor shifted. There was surprise in his eyes and his cool, if not quirky, demeanor faltered for a moment in the form of a stutter. "Oh? Oh. I hadn't realized you were watching me draw back at Metz." He laughed, though it wasn't as sure as before, and the artist seemed to hesitate.

Eventually however, Jean-Paul closed the notebook and laid it flat against the table. With a hand he moved it across the table and towards her. At the moment it remained a random collection of sketches with varying levels of detail. Some were vague and simplistic while others were distinct in the amount of care he put into every single line. There were few human forms captured in the papers, and the ones that did appear every know and then were of people too distracted to have noticed him sketching their face.

He waited quietly, a sense of worry growing in him as her delicate fingers flipped through the pages. It was only when Adelaide looked back up to him did Jean-Paul speak. "How do you find them? Any comments? Violent reactions?" He asked, a smile on his face masking the sharp insecurity he had in sharing his artwork.​
 
Adelaide Blanchard​
She understood all too well... He used wit and sarcasm to cover his nerves, the same way she brushed gratitude off with a quiet laugh or uncomfortable smile. It was difficult, accepting what didn't always come naturally. But she was glad, anyway, that he's taken it for what it was...

As he slid the book towards her, she laughed, shaking her head, "Then what did you think I was looking at with such appreciation, Monsieur. Hm." But as she began to peel her way through each page, she fell quiet. Studying the drawings, she kept her eyes to the book and only glanced up briefly when he finally spoke.

"They're wonderful. Truly. Beautiful. The way you see things... The details. It's as though you're seeing everything we miss, moving too fast through our lives. I've never seen art capture reality so perfectly." Looking up again, she closed the book as though it were a priceless antique, and held it out to him, "You've incredible talent, Jean."

"Miss Blanchard..." The voice came from her left, and without looking, she recognized it. Cool and hollow, emptied of emotion or inflection. How often she had teased Victor that he was made of stone...

She wished in that moment she were stone.

Eyes shifting to Jean-Paul, her pulse jumping, she swallowed, "I'm not going back, Victor."​
 
Jean-Paul Duvauchelle​
"Well my impeccable hair, for one." Jean-Paul had joked with a measured amount of seriousness with her comment regarding their time together at the station. He smiled but rubbed the space between his upper lip and nose out of nervousness, blue eyes mirroring such a feeling as she quietly examined his work.

Adelaide looked up at him and spoke and the butterflies that had come to reside in his stomach fluttered even more. There was something humorous about how something as simple as letting her see his artwork had managed to reduce him to such a bashful version of himself. Regardless, his smile grew wide while he reached out to take the book from her.

For a moment his fingers brushed against hers and he considered asking the woman if she would like to be sketched when an outside voice interrupted the moment.

Very rarely fully aware of the gravity of things, Jean-Paul turned to their side with an expression that was far from amused. Rudeness was never a welcome thing and whoever this man was could've clearly seen they were in the middle of a conversation. It was only when Adelaide said those words did his expression shift from agitated to concern and eventually defiance.

Jean-Paul slid out of his booth and stood to his feet. "Good evening, my name is Jean-Paul, and if you're going to interrupt my dinner you might as well sit down. Here, here... you may sit there." The artist shook his hand and offered a polite smile despite the furrow of his brows. Jean-Paul ushered the stranger from Adelaide's past into the seat he had just been in, before sliding next to Adelaide across from him. Maybe it was a futile effort, but it felt a little safer this way.

Now that everyone was settled, Jean-Paul clasped his hands together and smiled once more. "So... Victor is it? What do you want? Adelaide has no wish to return and I myself would quite like to see her stay that way."​
 
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Adelaide Blanchard​
She could not recall a time in her life when Adelaide had ever been stood up for. There were many occasions involving awkward silences or more uncomfortable topic changes... Moments where she had needed to walk away on her own, to excuse herself just to preserve some semblance of control. As Jean-Paul took the reigns, she watched in silent awe, her heart pounding hard against her ribs.

Time seemed to stand still, as Victor stared at the pair of them, his dark eyes narrowed, curiously. There was a passive calm to the man, but tension rolled through him, tight across his shoulders, in the width of his powerful jaw, "She's a married woman. Has she told you as much?"

"He's aware, Victor. He's also aware of why I left."

"Is he? Hm." A small smile formed on his mouth as Victor steepled his hands before him, "I'll be brief, Mrs. Blanchard. Beaumont has instructed me to bring you home... However necessary. I will be getting off this train with you, one way or another. It would be in your best interest to cooperate."

Rising, her glanced to Jean-Paul, nodding his head, "And it would be in your best interest, friend, to stay out of other men's affairs." Sliding from the booth, he looked up with a polite smile, "Looks like your meal has arrived. Good evening." Turning away, he started down the aisle to the door, and as he disappeared through it, Adelaide breathed out a gasp.

"Dear Lord..."​
 
Jean-Paul Duvauchelle​
"Sorry to hear that, friend, but I happen to have a very bad habit of doing the exact opposite of what is my best interests, thank you very much!" Jean-Paul shouted out, unafraid to be bold even though a part of him quickly became embarrassed when Victor simply kept walking. Perhaps he wasn't taking the situation with enough seriousness but he had spoken the truth--just now and back when he told the stranger he wanted Adelaide to stay.

Beautiful servings of food and wine were set before them but the artist could hardly care, Jean-Paul turned to Adelaide quickly, preparing with him many a witticisms to be used to comfort her. He said none of which though as he soon realized that a joke wasn't going to make everything better. He cleared his throat, still having yet to part from her side.

"Adelaide I won't let him." Jean-Paul told her simply, frankly even. The artist waited for her to turn to him, to turn and acknowledge what he said until he repeated it again, even firmer than the first. "I don't know a thing about him but I won't let him. You are a free woman now who belongs or listens to no man in particular, do not forget that."​
 
Adelaide Blanchard​
Looking at him, meeting his eyes, Adelaide wanted to tell him no... To tell him that he needed to get out while he had the chance. That it wasn't worth it, that she wasn't worth it. The trouble that would come to him - the risk that he was taking. She was certain that Victor would try anything necessary to get her off the train, and he wasn't the sort of man who allowed anyone to get in his way. They could outsmart him, certainly... but if anything happened to Jean-Paul, she would never forgive herself. Not ever.

Earlier that evening, he had talked her off the rail... talked her out of jumping from the train. And she knew it was her turn to do the same to him - at least figuratively. To tell him that they had to part ways, that it was the best thing for her to do, to keep him safe. She knew she had to do it, that it was the right thing to do - the fair thing to do. The only thing to do. Yet as the words came to her, she found she could not force them out... could not say anything. Fresh tears stung at the back of her lids, but she didn't blink them away this time, instead, shaking her head, reaching down to take a hold of both of his hands in hers.

"I've never met a man like you, Jean-Paul..." She said, simply, "By all rights, you shouldn't... you shouldn't want anything to do with me. I'm a wreck, and I'm terrified that I'll do nothing but drag you down with me. But I have been alone for a very long time... and you are the first person who has shown me such immeasurable kindness. I know what I should say... but I don't want to say it. I know what I need to do, but I can't. I can't ask you to walk away, anymore than I could walk away, myself. So I leave in your hands... I won't think less of you. I couldn't. You're wonderful... and if this is to be the last of our interactions, I am glad to have known you, even for a little while."​
 
Jean-Paul Duvauchelle​
Jean-Paul's determination melted into a quiet concern as Adelaide said nothing. He truly did no nothing about the man she was running away from, only that the woman herself was certain he'd be prepared to kill, and yet somehow, for some odd reason, he felt no qualms about the idea of helping her. Perhaps he was suicidal or just truly bad at doing what was good for him. Either way she took his hands in hers and the artist felt himself clam up.

Touch wasn't his favorite sense. It had been different when he hugged her earlier or when he helped her stepped down from the rail. back then they had been running on an emotional high and it would have been wrong to deny such a touch... but there in the booth it seemed all too intimate, all too real. The artist bit his lip and heat rose in his cheeks and yet he couldn't bring himself to tear himself away.

So that was his answer as Adelaide's brutally honest words rounded over to him. "Well to start off you've never met a man like me because there are no men like me. They don't have enough bravado, or pettiness, or... well artistic talent really." He was bumbling because that was what Jean-Paul does but soon enough a seriousness came over him and, with a clear of his throat, he transformed from lackadaisical artist to a man, speaking with a woman, who had clearly entranced him to some degree.

"We'll have many interactions to come, Adelaide. I'm sure of it." Jean-Paul began, giving her another squeeze. "I have a feeling we are two feathers of the same bird, you and I. If you are the wreck than I am the drunkard that willingly threw himself into the thick of it. I'm not a wonderful person, I stopped believing in such things long ago, but if you find me redeemable than I'm glad to be your friend, at least until this railroad ends."

"I... did not intend for that to rhyme." Jean-Paul noted moments after, letting the weight of his words sink in for the both of them before he resumed his quirky persona with a small chuckle "I apologize. That was terrible and sounded way better in my head. Now you know why I chose artistry over poetry."​
 
Adelaide Blanchard​
Laughing, a soft sound, watery through her tears, Adelaide shook her head as she gave his hands a squeeze, before releasing them, "I never cared much for poetry, anyhow. It always seemed so pretentious. Why not just say it? All that flowery language and rhyming... and half of it impossible to understand. Simple is always better."

Leaning back a little, her eyes moving to the door for a moment, half expecting Victor to reappear, she sighed, "...Just promise me you'll be careful, Jean. I imagine you're capable of taking care of yourself, but Victor is... he's a man with very little concerns for the quality of his actions. It's why my..." Pausing, she snagged on the word, a frown forming at the feel of it on her tongue. Calling him her husband, after all that had happened? It felt wrong, somehow. Dirty, "It was Beaumont hired him."

Shifting, she lowered her gaze, looking down at her hands. She noted the bareness of her fingers, the small indent on her ring finger. How long would it take until it faded? How long would it be, before she was free from the reminder of it? She would never get her full freedom - at leas not while Beaumont was alive, and in some way she would always be tied to him, but there was, at least, some small sense of liberty in losing the ring. The scar of it would disappear, too... in time.

Looking back up, a brow lifted, as she considered his earlier words for a moment, "...Drunkard?" She finally asked - not with judgment, but genuine curiosity.​
 
Jean-Paul Duvauchelle​
Jean-Paul's smile at her words was warm now that his hands were free to move. They came to his thighs, where casually and quickly he rubbed off the sweat that had accumulated. Earlier when their fingers had just brushed over handing him his notebook it had excited him, just a little, but when their hands were clasped together he quickly realized that whatever it was, it was too real for a man like him.

Jean-Paul was convinced he was a self-destructive being. He made himself up only to let greed bring him down. He had fallen in love once only to let his own lust destroy a beautiful thing. The artist was not lying when he expressed his commitment to Adelaide, she would have him as a companion for the rest of the trip of that he was damn sure, but the warmth of her hands in his felt a little too right in his mind.

"Ahh. It seems that I have made a mistake and said too much. Damn this mouth of mine, damn it all." Jean-Paul mused lightly as he turned and sat a little forward. His smile shrunk but remained a source of warmth all the same as, with a light shrug and a cast off gaze, he answered the inflection in her voice. "Like I said Adelaide, I'm actually a terrible, terrible man. A man who is both passionate and addictive and therefore a disaster just waiting to happen."

He snorted lightly at the thought. The truth to those words amusing him, if only slightly.​
 
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