try to steal your mind elation

[population_ctrl]

Characters: Mireille Duroc (unreadability) and Jean Louis Duroc (population_ctrl).
When: 11.09. - morning.
Where: The Duroc house.
Rating: Possibly child-friendly. No promises.
Summary: Effected by the recent event like so many others. Things could be worse.

Comments

[unreadability]

What awakens her is not the pale, greyish light falling through the window or the faint sound of ducks quacking from downstairs. It is the sense of being observed, of being watched, when she cannot recall sleeping with anyone, in neither the literal nor the figurative meaning of the term. Rolling onto her back slowly, she finds herself almost face to face with a man. Her hair is a messy ocean of waves around her shoulders, adding shadows to his appearance as she looks at him. He is attractive; his features strong and his body well-proportioned. Beyond that, she... doesn't know. Doesn't recognise him. No name comes to mind. No context that would explain their current rather intimate contact.

Although it is a useless gesture at this point, surely, she pulls at the duvet when she makes to sit up, tugging it around her breasts to uphold at least a minimum of decency.

[population_ctrl]

He quirks an eyebrow at her when she pulls up the duvet. Physically, it doesn't leave her with very much in terms of decency, but there is something about her that speaks of inherent dignity. Like she could be sitting here, completely naked, and still remain completely unmoved by the situation.

"Mademoiselle," he says, pulling back a little and giving her a smile despite his confusion. "Did you sleep well?"

[unreadability]

"I --"

She finds herself pausing, the words escaping her. There is something about being called 'mademoiselle' which feels entirely inappropriate; as if - somewhere just out of her grasp - she should be capable of logically rejecting this specific title. All she can conclude for now is the fact that she knows that... she is pregnant and surely...

Surely not. When unmarried. Swallowing once, she raises her chin, her voice shaking only slightly from the underlying shame, "I feel assured that 'madame' would be a much more proper address."

[population_ctrl]

Madame? Well, it wouldn't be the first time he's slept with a... wait.

His expression probably turns comical at that. Because he doesn't actually... remember if he's ever slept with a married woman. Or who else he might have slept with. He looks away from her for a moment, trying to force his memory to cooperate. Last month, the month before, the month before that and a bit further back... and stop.

Nothing.

Glancing back at her, his gaze sharpens considerably. This is problematic. Very problematic. "Who are you?"