(Untitled)
When the door swings open, a fresh breeze rolls in, bringing with it the scents of violet and rose, and then she is here.
Her hair is swept into a messy, elegant knot, her limbs are long and lithe, and her little black dress is rather chic. It may not be a special occasion per se, but why let that stand in the way of being fabulous ( Read more... )
Her hair is swept into a messy, elegant knot, her limbs are long and lithe, and her little black dress is rather chic. It may not be a special occasion per se, but why let that stand in the way of being fabulous ( Read more... )
He's mostly been blocking that from his memory.
Seated at a table not so far from Bar's latest occupant, his eyes come to rest upon her exquisite set of legs. He arches an eyebrow and smirks, one gloved finger circling the rim of his goblet.
"Bonjour, Madame."
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Just.
For the record.
"Bonsoir," she murmurs with a smile. She toasts him with her glass. "Or it is for me, anyway. Around here it's not hard to lose track of time."
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Well, tickle Porthos pink!
Or any other color you should like.
"Parlez-vous français?"
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"Je parle un peu de francais," she admits, with a coy smile.
She takes a sip of her drink, lips forming a small 'ah' when she swallows.
"Venez-vous ici souvent?"
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"[ Clearly, not nearly enough, if this is only the first I am making your acquaintance. ]"
He sips his wine, and moves his arm in a broad gesture.
"Would you join me?"
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She slips off her stool and approaches at a graceful saunter, sliding into the seat opposite him.
"I could just kick myself for staying away so long."
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Soon enough.
"Don't do that," he smirks. "Your form is much too fair to suffer injury. And let me, please, formally welcome you back."
He bows and reaches for her hand.
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