Le Belle Epoche

[LongshanksSierra]

London, 1906

Although the sun had risen recently, the sky was obscured by a heavy cloudbank that held the promise of rain. There was no breeze either, leaving the city streets cold and foggy on what would have probably been a warm morning at the beginning of spring. Still there was plenty of movement in the capital of the boundless British Empire. Horses' hooves clapped against cobblestones as wagon wheels creaked in their wake. Morning vendors wove their way through the streets hawking their wares. One man strode among them, wrapped up in a dark greatcoat and capped with a gray Hamburg hat. His black shoes shone with a fresh polish even in the dull morning light. The clothes and shoes had the fresh look of having just come from a store, and the man took steps to avoid any rubbish spotting them. The man strode towards a cluster of bureaucratic buildings, his steps quick and determined. After checking a name and address on a slip of paper, he walked up some marble steps an through a wide set of double doors. After a few pointed questions at a front desk, he was directed to an office a few floors up.

Eventually a pretentious secretary led him into a large, plush office. The room had several tall windows, a large desk, and curios from every corner of the Empire. The man had placed his dark hat on an end table near the door and was examining a map of the south of Africa when the door swung open. A tall, thin man with broad shoulders and wire-rim spectacles marched into the office. He had a straightforward look about him and clutched a rolled stack of papers in one hand. "Sergeant Seamus Cohan," it wasn't a question. He reached out an grasped the other man's hand and pumped it once. "Good firm handshake," the thin man said, his voice and officious English tenor. "I like that, it tells me a lot about you. Sit down," he gestured towards a soft looking chair. "You know who I am so I'm not going to bother with introductions."

"Yes minister," Seamus replied, his voice held the light lilt of the Irish. The minister was in fact Lord Neville Sinclair, a high ranking government official in the Ministry of State and cousin to Major General Arthur Sinclair.

"My cousin always spoke highly of you. He said you were the best soldier he ever had under his command," Lord Sinclair said.

"The general is a good man, it was my pleasure to serve with him," Cohan said in an even voice.

"Stop it man, this isn't a job interview."

Seamus wasn't sure about that, it had all the earmarks of a setup. "I don't need a job."

"I said stop it man. Of course you need a job. You have no family. It's been ten years since you've been home."

"I'll get by. I always do."

The thin Lord Sinclair smiled. "Of course you do. That's one of the things my cousin admires the most about you. Your 'boundless resourcefulness,' to quote his words." He walked over to his desk, set down the papers and picked up a small framed picture. "What do you make of this?" he asked handing the picture to Seamus. It was a sketch of a Hindu statuette, a six-limb deity, two legs and four arms, with one foot in the air.

"This is Shiva, isn't it?" Seamus asked.

"Very good," the minister said. "This is called the 'Dancing Shiva.' It's about a foot high, made of solid gold, encrusted with rubies and emeralds, and worth a king's ransom. Until recently it resided in the Imperial Museum."

Seamus didn't like which way this was going, but heard himself asking "Until recently?"

"Yes, approximately one month ago it was stolen."

"That's a pity."

"Yes, considering it was about to be returned to the temple it was taken from. A gesture of goodwill from his Majesty to his Indian subjects."

"How very generous," Seamus said in even tones. There had to be more to it than that, he couldn?t recall a time when the Crown had done something for it's subjects outside the borders of Britain.

Lord Sinclair continued, "We even have a suspect, a bit of an art lover who collects antiquities." He took the picture from Seamus and handed him a file. "Do you recognise this name? Do you know this man?"

"By reputation." Things were clicking into place now, especially the reasons Cohan had been called in.

"Yes, well, we would have proceeded quietly in our own investigation, but he has since left the country."

"He left the country?" Seamus was getting curious in spite of himself.

"Yes, he and his wife have recently bought a summer home in Paris. Well, as I said he is an art aficionado, and has developed a taste for the Bohemians' new experiments in art."

"The who?"

"The Bohemians, as in the Bohemian Revolution. It's what they're calling this... community, in Paris, that has become the center for all the painters and poets who aren't talented enough to get work anywhere else."

"If you say so," Seamus said with a shrug. "But what does this have to do with me?"

"Well, naturally our authority doesn't extend to Paris. And we can't ask the French government to get involved. If they recover it before we do, well, I doubt they'd just hand it over. So I need someone to go to Paris, poke his nose around, and if he happens to find the Shiva, return it here." Seamus looked at Lord Sinclair, trying to determine if he was joking. "You'd be compensated for your efforts of course, and Paris is supposed to be lovely this time of year."

"Why me?"

"Well, officially the British government couldn't send a man to investigate on French soil without authority from their government. So we need someone outside the organization to look into this." Seamus could see the unsaid requirement too. They could deny any connection to someone from outside the organization in case the individual was innocent, discovered he was being investigated, and took offense at the fact. The minister looked down at Seamus and probably realized that Cohan had guessed at the unspoken clause. However, if it caused the minister any reservations about pressing on, it didn't show. "We've arranged a cover for you. A London quarterly paper has agreed to take you on as a correspondent. They will give you a salary, plus a bonus for any article you turn in they can actually print, and it should also provide you an excuse to toe around and ask questions."

"I'm still not sure why I should do this."

"For King and country," Sinclair replied in a sardonic voice.

Seamus wasn't going to let that one pass. "I fought two wars and many campaigns in both Africa and India, I saw a lot of good men die for King and country. I think I've done my part."

"Indeed? Well, what else have you go to do?" Sinclair said as he held out what appeared to be a collection of train and boat tickets. "One more adventure. Besides Paris should be quite enjoyable. Take in a few shows, drink some wine, bed a can-can dancer. This could be your most pleasurable mission ever."

"So," Seamus said standing up and taking the offered tickets, "Find the trinket, get it back, bring it here. With as little trouble as possible."

The minister clapped him on the shoulder. "That's the man. Knew I had the right one for the job the moment I saw you." Lord Sinclair started escorting Seamus to the door. "Now," he said, "His Majesty was planning on presenting the Shiva on his visit to India in two months. If you could have this matter wrapped up by then, we'd be very grateful."

"Fine, two months." Seamus said placing the tickets inside his greatcoat and picking up his hat.

"Oh, and Sergeant Cohan, do you still have the Webley revolver my cousin gave to you?"

"Yes," Seamus said frowning slightly.

"Take it with you."


Paris

Seamus stepped off the train from Calais, retrieved his canvas duffle bag from the luggage, and marched off through the streets of Paris. He was headed towards Montmartre, a borough of Paris located on a hill once famous for its windmills. It was here the Bohemians and founded their capital of artists and poets, centered around cafés such as Le Lupin Agile and dance halls like the infamous Moulin Rouge. As Cohan entered the district the sun was already behind the horizon, lights and music were beginning to waft across the streets. All sorts of people were milling about the streets, apparently life did not settle down here after the sun set. There was laughter and song coming from many directions, and everybody seemd to have a vapid smile on his or her face. There seemed to be an energy about the place, but Seamus thought it all seemed rather silly. Still, to give them credit, everybody did seem to be enjoying life, which wasn't true in many places of the world.

It only took a few minutes to locate the apartments where he had been reserved a room, a small studio furnished solely with a modest bed, a chest of drawers, and a single creaky chair. All things considered he had stayed in worse. At least this place was clean. Seamus opened a window to let in some air. He laid his greatcoat and Hamburg one the chair and slowly emptied his bag on the bed. As he started placing his clothes in the drawers the sound of violins, horns, guitars, and drums came brightly on the air. Seamus pulled his Webley, a .455 revolver that had been a gift while fighting the Boers in Africa, checked to see that it was loaded and placed it beneath his pillow. Cohan didn't really feel that he would need it however. This place hardly seemed dangerous, a little reckless and irresponsible, but not dangerous. However, Lord Sinclair had suggested that he bring it with him, and Seamus didn't doubt that there was still more going on here than he had been told. He would figure it out eventually though, and in the meantime he could really use a drink.

 

[LongshanksSierra]

The evening seemed to be a little warm for the greatcoat, so Seamus left it at his dark suit and hat as he ventured out into the streets of Montmartre. There were lights dancing among the streets from numerous cafés and saloons. Music wafted from dance halls and cabarets and people were laughing and singing as they made their way in and out of doors. Most of the revelers seemed to be dressed in their finest, or what they considered to be their finest. Seamus was struck most by the women, although granted it had been a long time since he had been around so many. They seemed to be an assortment of exotic birds displaying a bright collage of multi-colored plumage. Although some of them displayed far too much make-up, and there seemed to be an inordinate number waiting by street corners. Seamus had been in enough cities to recognize prostitutes and brothels when he saw them, but it seemed as if they were in excessive numbers around here.

His reverie was broken by the high-pitched whinny and clatter of a horse rearing. Seamus turned to look over his shoulder and saw a crowd scattering from around a carriage. The horse had apparently been spooked by something and was making a commotion as he tried to free himself. The coachman was making a futile effort to calm the creature, obviously not used to his position. The horse was in danger of hurting himself, or someone else if he wasn't stopped shortly. Cohan moved forward watching the horse's hooves as he pawed the air in front of him. When he saw an opportunity he darted in smoothly and snatched the reins. Letting the horse work out some of his anxiety, Seamus gave a little resistance on the reins and spoke calming and soothing tones to the panicked creature. Shortly the horse started to buck less and Cohan tightened the pressure on the reins, keeping him in check. Seamus eased a hand out and stroked the horse's muzzle, still speaking soft tones. Eventually the horse snorted and seemed to accept that whatever had stirred it, was now gone.

"Merci beaucoup," came voice from the carriage as a short, puffy-looking French gentleman disembarked. He continued on a moment in hasty French with a genuine and grateful smile on his face.

"Oh, it quite all right," Seamus said letting more of the Irish in his voice come out.

"Ah, English?" The Frenchman asked.

"Irish, actually," Seamus replied.

"Ah," the other said as if it didn't make a difference. "No French?"

Seamus shook his head, "Not much."

"I was saying," he continued with only the hint of an accent. "Thank you for your assitance, and that you have a rare gift with horses, and wondering what we would have done without your assistance." He offered his hand to a dainty wrist from the carriage and helped a much younger woman down. "Perhaps it would be right if I offered you a drink for your troubles?"

"No trouble, but I never turn down a free drink," Seamus said with a smile. "Seamus Cohan," he offered his hand.

"Messer. de Vaelencour," the man introduced himself as he shook Cohan's hand. "Come," he said offering his young female companion his arm and gesturing for Seamus to follow them. "I will take you to Le Baiser Foncé. It is my favorite, and the women there are exquisite."

The Frenchman led him to the facade of a café with a sign naming it as Le Baiser Foncé and picturing the white face of a woman with dark lips. A large, grim-looking man with a thick beard stood just inside the door. Messer. Vaelencour waved at him, "Bonjour André." The Frenchman led him forward through a dark passageway towards the soft glow of light and music that erupted loudly. The three of them entered into a large room, dimly lit and filled with tobacco smoke. Patrons milled about the room, laughing and drinking, a few of them singing along with the music. Chandeliers hung from ceiling, casting dim circles of light around the floor. Tables were spaced about the place, seating no more then four or five cramped individuals at a time, but more commonly one or two. Against one far wall an expansive bar stretched, backed by a mirror and covered with numerous bottles. The centerpiece was a low platform built against the back, a handful of girls in ruffled dresses were dancing zestfully to the fast music. A small band off to the side was made up from a piano, a few guitars, a horn, an accordion, and a violin.

"Jean, will show you to a table," the Frenchman said indicating another small Frenchman with a thin and curly mustache. "I regret that we have business upstairs," Messer. Vaelencour said patting his girl's arm, "And we will not be able to join you this evening, but I look forward to seeing you again and thank you once more for your assistance tonight." He turned towards the maître d? and spoke again. "Please sit Messer. Cohan here at a good table and give him the best bottle of wine on me." Messer. Vaelencour disappeared through a doorway with the girl still on his arm. The man known as 'Jean' showed him to a table just out of the light and near the makeshift stage. Jean pulled out a chair, smiled once again, and left. Seamus looked around the room once, removed his hat, dumped it on the table, and sat down. A waitress with a lacy, low-cut blouse and a frilly dress came bearing a tray with a bottle of wine and a single glass. She deposited the glass, pulled the cork, poured some wine into the glass, set the bottle on the table with a smile, then left a cloud of perfume in her wake as she hustled off.

 

[Maid of Marvels]

Avelaine

The opening of Le Baiser Foncé in Montmartre hadn't gone unnoticed amongst aristocrats as well as the nouveau riche and Bohemians. A private club, the owner, nonetheless, invited certain artistes from Le Bateau-Lavoir on the nearby Rue Ravignan and courtesans to fraternize here free of charge (or a token painting), knowing they were good for business and would attract more.

Born in the red-light district of Pigalle to a prostitute, Marie Gagnon, known simply now as Avelaine, was Monsieur Tremblay's shining star. Taller than most, the sultry, blue-eyed blonde (and it was bruited that her hair color did not come from a bottle) was many things to his establishment. Introduced by a past patron as a chanteuse whose voice could rouse the most callous heart and set the blood to boil in the most dispassionate, Tremblay was pleased to say that every word of it was true.

"I just can't make my eyes behave;
Two bad blue eyes,
I am their slave,
My lips may say,
"Run away from me,"
But my eyes say,
"Come and play with me!"
And you won't blame
Poor little me, I'm sure –
For I just can't make my eyes behave."

Avelaine smiled, blowing kisses as she stepped off the small stage and began weaving her way through the crowd, the scent of her perfume trailing after her. Many eyes followed, many more wished for just a few moments in her arms... or between her legs. She was... exquisite.

Her bare-backed gown of sapphire blue silk, only serving to deepen the blueness of her eyes, caressed her wasp-like waist and shapely hips before billowing outward at the knee. It was cut deeply in the front, a thin gauze lining behind cording, doing little to conceal the shape of her breasts, their nipples barely covered by the silk of the bodice.

"Give them a taste, chere. Always make them want... more than you will ever give," her mother had told her. The advice had served her well.

Vibrant music followed by the cheers of Le Baiser Foncé's patrons told her that the Can Can girls were coming out. Long legs and bare thighs, she knew the men (and some of the ladies) would turn their attention now to the plump bosoms of the dancers, and she used that to her advantage. Heading toward the bar, Avelaine accepted a glass of the finest champagne proffered by one of the gentlemen in attendance.

"Merci," she mouthed, raising the glass to her crimson lips and sipping daintily. Avelaine rarely drank during business hours. The man looked... interesting. Perhaps, she thought, she would join him for a moment.

"Bravo, mon petite choux! You had them eating out of your... " Tremblay grinned lewdly, suddenly having appeared at her side from the "exclusive" casino upstairs.

"As always, Tremblay," the chanteuse stated matter-of-factly. If there was one thing lacking in her demeanor, it was definitely not confidence.

 

[Drinking Cap]

Jean-Michel Tremblay

Jean-Michel Tremblay walked confidently out of the small, private casino that took up the second floor of Le Baiser Fonce. As always the party was in full swing on the main stage with Avelaine wrapping up her act.

Ordinarily, like every other red blooded man in the room, his attention would have been solely focused on the beautiful blonde chanteuse on stage but tonight Jean-Michel was feeling somewhat reflective.

He thought back to his childhood, a strict aristocratic upbringing in Lyons with a devoutly catholic mother and father. He was to be a lawyer or a doctor had his father gotten his way. But Jean-Michel, from an early age, cared nothing for school or books. He cared little for money or polite society either. All the young man cared about was the good life. A life of carefree excess. He'd quarrelled with his father seemingly every day about this until Jean-Michel had finally crossed the line. His father had come home to find Jean-Michel in bed with two of the serving girls and one of the serving boys. Jean-Michel had been asked to leave and with nothing more than the clothes on his back(and the small fortune his grandfather had left him) he'd packed up his things and moved to Paris.

Paris had been the answer to the young man's dreams. The beautiful and important people were always willing to have a good time and the only moral code seemed to be "If it feels good, do it". Jean-Michel had invested his funds into his club, determined that in a city full of parties his would be the loudest and the best. It would be full of the most exciting and glamourous of people and, of course, he would control the guest list.

As he walked down the stairway he finally took the time to admire his most beautiful act. The one who truly ensured his status as being the head of the best party in town. Avelaine was a true beauty. Mixing the earthy, sensual appeal of her common upbringing with the grace and elegant beauty of royalty. When Jean-Michel's sexual appetites strayed from men to women, he couldn't deny that Avelaine could set anyones heart aflame. He approached his star act at the large oak bar in the corner of the room as more dancers filled the stage. Even with the provacatively dressed filles on stage, every eye in the room seemed to follow Avelaine as she accepted a glass of champagne.

"Bravo mon petit choux" He said as he kissed both of her soft cheeks "You had them eating out of your..."

Jean-Michel let his words trail off and lewdly looked into Avelaines eyes.

"As always, Tremblay," the girl replied, full of confidence. She knew she was the true grand dame of Paris society and her eyes scanned the room. Jean-Michel turned to the attractive man behind the bar.

"Gaetan, Une bouteille de champagne, les Chateau Parizeau 88" He snapped his fingers before looking back to the crowd. A raucous gathering but almost nobody he especially wanted to be around. His bottle arrived and his glass was poured.

"So my dear, have you given anymore thought to my proposal" He said with a smile "You and I, leave all this hedonism behind and retire to the province. I could be a baker and you could be my loving housewife. We'd get old and get fat together, raise beautiful, fat children and leave all this decadent sin behind?"

The joke was one of his favourites. Jean-Michel couldn't even stomach the idea. This was his home, where the party never stopped and the people never got old.

 

[chris2c4u]

Thomas Bellion had hurried inside the Le Baiser Fonce earlier that evening, the feelings of unease he had suffered during the weeks he had been in Paris now surfacing again. He had continued to smile at them, to repress them, to know that they were unacceptable in a buyer of his repute. Calm. Care. Confidence. These, his watchwords had seen him manage to purchase art around the world for himself and for his clients. This, however...

Montemartre. Hill of the Martyrs; the place he had known would be the heart of this intrigue, where art could be traded, examined, auctioned with no eyebrows being raised, no provenance asked. Yes, it had to be here. Unfortunately.

This atmosphere was not one that Bellion naturally relished. Calm. Care. That was his style, his preference. This place - the life here was the opposite. Calm - did anyone ever sleep? He was pleased that his apartment was on the edge of the district but even there, new fangled automobiles broke the night with their unnatural roars, parties rarely ended and when they did the soft moans of the whores in the doorways was his lullaby.

Care? The village thugs,the apaches, Parisian toughs in their wide berets, corduroy trousers and little care or compassion, as he saw in the street a few nights before. A rival gang member? A victim who resisted their attempted theft? He didn't wait to see if the gendarmes or medical help would arrive in time.

Here though, Le Baiser Fonce, there was still the Bohemian tone but he felt safer. People wore the fashions, here his meticulous care with clothing fitted in. Yes, the painters still huddled in tables, candles flickering on their uncooth dress. Here also came the fashionable of Paris to view the artists, to gain a frisson of excitement by being in their company, to occasionally buy the paintings that the artists offered Tremblay for meals or for the names of the dancers of easy virtue who might model for them, might take them in for a few nights of sex and
food.

Bellion did not look out of place; tonight, the grey bowtie, the matching suit and waistcoat. The pink carnation in his lapel the spash of colour along with his fashionable walnut walking cane with the silver handle.

Here, the waitresses occasionally winked at him now and they knew his liking for good champagne. Still somewhat nervous around such scantily clad women and uncertain about looking even at the stage when the modern provocative dances were performed, he struggled with his secret enjoyment and his guilt bubbling up from his strict upbringing in Belgium.

Tonight he sat near the bar, purposefully; he knew the singer, the one they called Avelaine, made her way there after she had silenced the crowd, even the painters and philosophers noisy discussions, with the voice that caressed the men's loins and romanced the women's fantasies.

It was the men, though, who ached for a glance from her after the song. Tonight. Maybe tonight...he would be the one.

He didn't consider it dangerous when he planned to offer her champagne; he did not need to hide. Care. He had worked it out carefully; get known just well enough to let people see he was there. Calm. Wait for the news that the ripples that had spread through the art acquiring community of Europe were true; that something here, in this shady, dangerous, stimulating place was going to do something very un-revolutionary, un-Bohemian. It was going to open the purses of the rich to grasp whatever was on offer greedily to their bosoms.

Now, though, his heart beat faster as he saw her approach; slow, slinky cat like rolls of her hips. The applause from the rest was for the can-can girls; here at the bar the discerning men waited. Would she pick one to talk to tonight?

Thomas's mouth grew dry as he saw her pale skinned back, the sapphire blue silk. Her figure; her breasts, the dress left little to the imagination. He almost forgot to order the second glass before pouring the wine hastily, spilling a little.

"Chanteuse..." he called a little louder than he had wished as he held out the glass but she replied with thanks and sipped the wine. Bellion swallowed and smiled nervously, tipping his head to her and raising his own glass in salute.

 

[LongshanksSierra]

It was the voice that had first caught his attention. Seamus' thoughts had been elsewhere when she had taken the stage, otherwise he would have noticed the beauty at her appearance. He might have straightend in his chair and leaned forward eagerly the way everyone else in the dim, smoke-filled hall had. So it wasn't until the french lyrics began their smoldering dance through the air that Seamus raised his eyes to the shimmering blue songbird. He didn't know what she was singing about, but it didn't really matter. He listened to what was going on behind those words, as was most of the patrons in this saloon. When she had finished her song and descended to the floor like an empress stepping from her throne Seamus watched her move to the bar. Although his eyes didn't burn openly like those of everyone else, he still could not help but admire the too graceful way she slid among the tables.

A troop of dancers eruppted onto the stage accompanied by a gust of new music, and attention turned to the can-can girls now flauting their wares on stage. Seamus however continued to watch the singer for a moment. She was met by an older gentleman, dressed like a peacock and showing the signs of success around his waistline. His step was light, but the lewd look in his eyes was a testement to his thoughts. Seamus turned back to his glass. There were obvisously some things about this place that maintained the echo of the rest of the world.

Seamus poured more wine into his glass and wtahced the girls wave their skirts about to the music. They took great care to fling smiles and winks at evryone in the room, and Cohan was not left out. However, the Irishman felt no heat from the looks. The girls were selling sex, or for the moment the illusion of sex, and he wasn't in the mood for paying at the moment. The wine, however, was quite good.

 

[Jenn1982]

Kalia

Kalia watched Avelaine as she sang the last notes of the song. She could see why she was touted as the crown jewel of the Le Baiser Foncé. Her looks combined with her exquisite voice made her quite a thing to behold. All one had to do was look at the rapt attention she called from every man in the room to see that. Kalia watches her move to the bar and get drawn into conversation with Jean-Michel before she turns her attention to the can-can girls who’d replaced Avelaine on stage.

She watched as they provocatively danced under the bright lights that shown the stage. She idly pushed a strand of her long red hair out of her face as she moved a little closer to Charles. As she did the gauzy material of the dress Charles had given her to wear rubbed soflty against her legs. She had to admit he’d chosen well, the emerald color highlighted her hair exquisitely and it hugged her curves in all the right places. Kalia let her hand rest lightly on his thigh as she watched him watch the women on the stage. She always enjoyed seeing his reaction to the different kinds of entertainment provided here. As her eyes moved over him she was, as always, struck by his good looks. He seemed to be quite wrapped up in the show and she looked at the stage for a few moments before turning back to him. She leaned in close until her lips were almost brushing against his ear.

“Are you enjoying the show?”

 

[Drinking Cap]

Jean-Michel rolled his eyes as Bellion offered Avelaine wine, and he sipped his own champagne.

Ugh, I thought I told Andre to stop all Belgians at the door Jean-Michel smirked at this. Like many of his countryment, Jean-Michel had a rather open disdain for almost anything not French.

Still, he thought as he scanned the many tables before him, his money is good. Le Baiser Fonce worked on an odd principle. The affluent refined types he couldn't stand were drawn in by the artistes whose company he enjoyed so much and the artistes were in turn drawn in by the glamourous women and fine food and drink that the affluent types allowed him to pay for. That his club and casino enhanced his wealth was merely a minor subject of interest to Tremblay. His true love was in what decorated the walls. Major works from Gaugin, Van Gogh, Munch and Monet were on the left side, works from Lautrec, Vuillard, Roussel and Bonnard were on the right. Still most of the works he hung on the wall were merely ostentatious displays of his connections within the artworld. Upstairs, in his private collection, were dozens if not hundreds of pieces done specifically for him. Anyone who was anyone had been in Le Baiser Fonce and if they were an anyone who was of artistic interest they'd paid their bar tab in trade.

Jean-Michel leaned his head down to Avelaine's and whispered softly

"So my lovely Avelaine, have we decided what lucky gentleman will have the pleasure of your company this evening? There's nobody particularly exciting but some who are quite well monied" He looked at the many eyes still glued to the Chanteuse before continuing "or simply pleasant on the eyes"

 

[Butch]

Charles

"Quite enchanting, dear" Charles replied, not even turning to face her "though the little song bird has yet to be bested. And I shan't think we will see it tonight done any way. How do you like it yourself?"
He picked up the pocket watch from his waiste coat and checked in an aristocratic manner. He put it back without any visible reaction.
"Well, dear" he said and finally turned to face her "is this dress satisfactory. I was forced to guess most of your measurements but Aurélien isn't known as the best taylor in town without a reason."

He took the time to really take in her full presence. She looked like a true lady. The choice of the emerald dress truly completed her pale white skin and flaming red hair. It was a magnificent sight, indeed. She was easily on par with even the stunning Avalaine.

 

[Jenn1982]

Kalia

Kalia frowned when Charles didn’t even look over at her as he answered her.

"Quite enchanting, dear, though the little song bird has yet to be bested. And I shan't think we will see it tonight done any way. How do you like it yourself?"

He had a way of turning the tables on her, leaving her on less confident footing. Yet after being with men who’d fawned over her she found the new situation intriguing and strangely erotic to say the least.

“I've been having a very nice time but yes, I hardly think Avalaine will be outdone, at least tonight.”

As she spoke Kalia let her hand move a little higher up on Charles’ thigh. He ignored her temptations though, instead checking his pocket watch. It wasn’t until he’d put it away that he turned with her.

"Well, dear is this dress satisfactory. I was forced to guess most of your measurements but Aurélien isn't known as the best taylor in town without a reason."

Now that he had given her his attention his eyes stayed on her as he looked her over. She truly enjoyed the way he looked at her and she smiled at him as she answered.

“It is perfect, thank you. I don’t think I could have chosen better myself.”

She looked over the crowd, noting that even though she was no longer on stage most of the attention remained on Avalaine though the dancers were quickly drawing more of the men’s attention. She looked back at Charles and moved her hand up to trail over his arm.

“So what did you have in mind for tonight?”

 

[Butch]

Charles

“So what did you have in mind for tonight?”

Charles had always thought that Kalia had an intriguing persona. He thought her quite naive but she was always inquiring. If not about the works of Rosseau and the other philosophers he'd studied or about his youthful travels to lands far away she could simply ask him how he felt or what he was planning for the evening. It made him feel all the more appreciated.
"Well dear, besides meeting an old acquaintance I'm afraid to say that I am free of plans for the evening. I have some ideas however and if you would do me the honour of joining over another drink I would be delighted to share them with you.

 

[Jenn1982]

Kalia

Charles seemed to pause for a moment before answering her and let her eyes study him more as she waited. Kalia always tried to take advantage of the chance to watch him when his attentions were elsewhere. She had always thought he was very intelligent and so she always found it impressive to watch him think. She kind of thought he liked when she watched him but since she wasn’t sure she tried not to stare too often.

"Well dear, besides meeting an old acquaintance I'm afraid to say that I am free of plans for the evening. I have some ideas however and if you would do me the honour of joining over another drink I would be delighted to share them with you.

The smile she gave him made her agreement to the offer obvious though her words confirmed it.

“I can’t say that I share your disappointment in your lack of plans for the evening. I can think of nothing I’d like to do better than to have another drink with you and listen to your ideas. You know I enjoy your conversation and company.”

Charles ordered two more drinks for them and Kalia waited until he turned back to her to speak again.

“So what are these wonderful ideas you have for the evening?”

 

[UNREGISTERED]

* * *

 

[Maid of Marvels]

Avelaine

Avelaine's eyes scanned the crowd as Jean-Michel whispered in her ear, asking whom she had chosen. Still he had not arrived, and so her time was her own. "Hmm... " she said, gesturing with a tilt of her chin. "I pick... that one."

"The Belgian?"

"He suits me... and he's easy on the eye," she replied and smiled brilliantly, already moving in the man's direction. "It's either that or the fat baker and his wife," she added over her shoulder with a wink, but from that moment on, her attention was only focussed on the one.

He rose as Avelaine approached, hesitantly it seemed to her, as if he wasn't certain that she was coming to his table. Oh, but she was. "Bonjour, Monsieur... " she said.

"Bellion. Thomas Bellion," he replied with a bow as he took her proferred hand and kissed it lightly. "Will you join me?"

"It would be my pleasure, Bellion," though she was thinking that it would more likely be his. "Merci." The gentleman had come around to hold the chair.

Avelaine had had a good look at him when he'd sent the wine, and took a moment more to look again as he returned to his own seat. In truth, he was easy on the eye, just as she had said to Jean-Michel. He was well-dressed and clean shaven. His eyes were bright and his nose, long and slender as was he himself. His hair was brown and parted in the middle, with a stray wisp that had fallen onto his forehead. She reached across and combed it out of the way with her fingers.

"Shall we have champagne to celebrate our first meeting?" she asked quickly, wondering if she had made him uncomfortable. His countenance was inscrutable, which piqued her interest all the more. And if she had, she would soon find a way to rectify that.

 

[Drinking Cap]

Tremblay

Jean-Michel rolled his eyes in contempt and took a sip of his champagne as Avelaine told him she'd chosen to spend the night with Bellion.

Asking a woman to choose a good looking man is like asking an Englishman to pick a fine restaurant He thought as he took his sip, letting the fine flavour and bubbles dance on his tongue.

"Well my dear, I hope that you're looking forward to a quick romp in the most traditional of sexual positions with the lights off." He smiled a pitiful smile "And whatever money you usually manage to squeeze out of men, be sure to get double that with this one."

Jean-Michel turned away from Avelaine and again let his eyes scan the crowd. He noted a particularly handsome young man who could not help but follow Avelaine as she walked across the room to sit with Bellion. Another straight laced type who had been bewitched by her spell. Jean-Michel knew he'd not been in before, he'd have noticed him, and met the man's eye, raising his glass to him.

It was at this moment that Jean-Michel did find someone he wanted to speak to. Cordelia Hooke, a writer of those charming little pulp tales that Jean-Michel enjoyed so much. He sprang from his seat and made his way infront of her.

"L'Ecrivain Anglais, bonjour, bonjour" He said with a flourish and two kisses on the cheek "How good it is to see you again."

"Bonjour, Jean-Michel" She returned his kisses and said warmly

"My dear, you are the picture of utter loveliness this fine evening. The old masters themselves couldn't better capture female beauty."

Cordelia simply smiled. They'd all heard his sweet talk before. He took her by the hand.

"I have just finished 'The Templar's Heart' it is, I should say, your finest piece yet. Come, please, sit with me at the bar." He tugged on her arm "You can tell me one of your tales of the dark continent. Perhaps one in which a beautiful, aristocratic woman is ravished by savages?"

He gave her a saucy wink and tugged at her arm again.

 

[LongshanksSierra]

As the patrons went about their indulgences, Seamus? thoughts strayed to the reason that had brought him here. Although his eyes generally remained up on the stage, his mind was elsewhere. Even if he could locate the suspected thief, it wouldn?t exactly help things to have it known that Cohan had been looking for the guy. There was another way, more roundabout, but less likely to raise any suspicions. If the man had indeed stolen the 'Dancing Shiva,' he was going to be suspicious anyway.

Instead, Seamus thought the better tactic would be to find his way into the antique art circles here in Paris. Not that it would be an easy task, a penniless reporter didn?t just nose his way into the upper crust. Somehow, he doubted the Bohemian ideals would quite be able to break the timeless barriers society imposed upon itself. The rich might think it was the latest vogue to rub noses with the paupers of Montemartre, but Seamus knew that would only go so far. He would just have to develop some sort of plan to get himself invited into the right circles.

He finished another glass of wine and let his eyes sweep across the room. Perhaps tonight would be a good time to do a little scouting of the territory.

 

[UNREGISTERED]

* * *

 

[chris2c4u]

The disappointment of Avelaine's gathered admirers was palpable; how could she pick him? After a momentary swell in the noise, eyes turned to the stage or to seek out other company while Bellion met his guest for the evening. Yes, she was spectacular; beautiful certainly and as he pulled out the chair he watched her body curl sensuously down onto it, then his gaze slipped naturally down the front of her dress which all evening had given the illusion of being about to fall from her
firm breasts. Calm, Bellion, calm, he told himself.

Returning to his seat he smiled across at this overpowering young woman; perfume, stage make up and a personality that she was clearly reigning in until she got his measure. She would not be out of place on the great stages of Europe. She would, no doubt go far.

Her fingers reaching out to stroke the hairs away from his forehead surprised him a little but his mask of imperturbability, cultivated over many such encounters with people who he needed to get to know, did not waver. He permitted it to smile, almost nervously to put her at her ease, to allow her to think she was still the cat playing with the mouse.

"Shall we have champagne to celebrate our first meeting?" Her suggestion came quickly as if to ally any worries in him. He smiled and caught the eye of the waitress who he had tipped to be waiting to deliver the bottle to the table. Avelaine smiled. You were confident, young man," she said as she sipped the wine.

"Hopeful - though good champagne is always worth having as a consolation should you have chosen another." He raised his glass to her as applause once again erupted around them. With studied deliberation he did not join in the acclaimation but kept his eyes on hers and smiled. Her interest clearly piqued she slid her chair a little closer to her companion.

"What brings you to this odd corner of Paris Bellion? You're clearly no starving artist." Tossing her hair languidly over her shoulder she gave a look to the more racous company in the shadows where a tipsy whore was sitting on the knee of a painter and from the roll of her hips clearly demonstrating what might be on offer nearby.

"No. my interest is in - collecting. Buying and selling."

"Ah! Then you have come to the right place." With an expansive gesture her hands drew his attention to the walls. "Have a word with Tremblay. His mouth is full of acid for anyone but he is a businessman. Buy a picture given for a few dinners and in a few years sell it on to buy the cook who made them!"

They both grinned. "I have looked at many of the works here and in the studios nearby. They are certainly - interesting. Worth a few francs for an investment. However, I have a broad interest in art and know that here there are occasional - auctions - of hard to obtain items."

Diplomatically Avelain sipped her champagne and inclined her head as if to ask for more on this novel subject.

He smiled at her feigned innocence.. "Still, enough of these matters of work." With a lithe motion he glided forward on his chair and his hands covered the one she had on the table. "It is not often that I get to speak to a star." He grinned and with deliberate exaggeration, "no - more - Venus herself!" Avelaine laughed and he joined her before pouring more wine and again gathering her hand up to his lips. This time it was not the kiss of greeting; his lips found the pulse in her wrist and gently closed on it, the tip of his tongue feeling her heartbeat.

"This is a charming place," he said, holding her hand to his cheek "but perhaps you would prefer to go somewhere else - it is your place of work after all. Is there a restaurant nearby? Or somewhere else?"

 

[Graybread]

Harold Baldemorre

Harold Baldemorre was born the second son to Lord William and Lady Elizabeth Baldemorre. His father was a member of the House of Lords and owned several warehouses on the ‘East and West India Docks’, importing wares from the world over.

Harold was a dark haired, dark eyed child who proved to be moody as he grew older, often withdrawing into his own world. Often mischievous to the point of being cruel at times, especially to the servants. When he couldn’t get his way he was prone to flying into a rage, berating servants in his pre-pubescent voice.

It was Harold’s Grandfather who suggested that he needed a distraction in his life. Grandfather knew that once Harold learned that ‘Title and properties’ would go to the eldest son, that Harold would become most intolerable. So grandfather took Harold to the warehouses showing him the various products his father imported, trying to interest him in the import business, telling him of the lands and great cities they came from. It did, in fact strike an interest in Harold. He wondered of the foreign lands and the riches that could be found in these places. Pleased with the interest, his grandfather began taking Harold to the various museums around London.

They visited the non-National Museum; know as the ‘Missionary’ containing a miscellaneous collection of foreign curios sent home by missionaries from every known portion of the globe, which become more valuable year by year, as savage nations learn to discard their primitive but ingenious implements, in favor of civilized appliances. The Sir John Soane Museum is also located here. Soane was the well-known architect of his day, and gathered around him an extensive collection of antiquities, books, models, folio editions of Shakespeare, an alabaster sarcophagus from Egypt, gems and intaglios, architectural drawings and designs, antique bronzes, medals, coins, rare porcelain, tiles, cinerary urns and vases.

But Harold’s favorite museum was the vast British Museum on Great Russell Street. Its contents are bewildering in their variety: Egyptian, Greek, and Roman antiquities, Oriental antiquities, British and medieval antiquities and ethnography, medals and coins of priceless value, the famous Elgin marbles, and the Assyrian collection from Nineveh.

Harold began visiting the warehouses more often looking for treasures from far away lands. But mostly all his father imported where goods for profit. So he approached his father with the idea that he travel with a ship in order to learn the business. His real motive was to search for artifacts of value. His father was pleased with his interest in the business as it seemed to keep his temper under control.

His first voyage was to the Orient to trade mainly for tea, but also silks, Jade and rice. But this was not what Harold was in search of. While the ship sat in port loading, he made sallies to the Buddhist temples and monasteries seeking valuable relics. Much to his dismay he found that none of these temple artifacts where for sale. One of special interest had caught his eye though. It was a gold statue of ‘The Buddha’, about two feet high. He had offered an exurbanite amount of money for it, but it too was not for sale. On the trip to the Orient, Harold had met a crewman that was of questionable character. Harold approached him with a plan to procure the statue, and smuggle it aboard the ship.

Weeks later, as the ship docked at the ‘East and West India Docks’, Harold’s father was waiting for him. News of the missing Buddha had reached him almost immediately. Harold insisted that he had ‘purchased’ the statue in good faith. His father believed what he was told, at least the good faith part, but never the less the statue was returned to the temple on the next ship. The money spent for the procurement was not returned of course. It was the tarnished reputation as both a businessman and a member of the House of Lords that bothered his father the most. He would not allow this to happen again. It was at this point that Harold released he would need to use more discretion in his procurements, and of course his own money.

He continued to travel for his father, making small, but expensive buys with his own money. Some of these investments he did sell but not made little or no profit on them. He had also hired two assistant, as he called them, to travels with him on all his voyages. After several years of this he was soon out of money, none would be coming from his father, which would go to his elder brother. He needed a new source of money. It was on a trip to India that he met Rashied, the daughter of a wealthy pearl merchant. He stayed in India, enduring himself of her father and fascinating her with his English charm. In a years time they were married in a festive Hindu wedding. He was not particularly in love with her, but she did have a wealth of her own. He found India to be a source of great cultural and religious diversity, and spent many days investigating the Hindu temples, along with his two assistants. But suddenly after only three months of marriage he told his wife that he must leave, an important business matter concerning his father he lied.

Four month later he was sipping champagne at the Le Baiser Foncé in Montmartre. He had taken a room nearby, fascinated by the Bohemians on his arrival to Paris, and their carefree lifestyle. It seemed an excellent place to blend into, to disappear if one needed too. He sat his champagne flute next to his white gloves on the table, and sub-consciously adjusted his silk top hat as he watched Avelaine finish her performance. He found her stunningly provocative. He would meet her soon, but the time was not yet right, she had too many around her.

 

[Drinking Cap]

"Do you think one can find true love here? In this world?"

Jean-Michel grinned as he poured Cordelia and himself another glass of champagne. These writers and their romantic notions.

'But of course mademoiselle." Jean Michel said with a laugh as he looked to the stage full of dancing can-can girls. "I make it a personal point of pride to find true love every single night."

The two clinked their champagne glasses together

"You know perfectly well what I meant, Monsieur Tremblay" Cordelia said with an amused smile.

"I did indeed." He smiled back "I'm afraid the more traditional concepts of true love may be a tad outdated for my notorious tastes, truth be told I couldn't imagine for the life of me why anyone would find them appealing."

He noted a hint of a frown crease the beautiful English woman's face.

"Oh don't worry, ma belle. I'm sure you'll find what you're searching for. You'll find your strong and handsome knight who will sweep you off your feet onto his noble steed. He'll be strong of jaw and firm of conviction and utterly, utterly English."

This brought something of a smile back to the Cordelia's face

"And all I ask" Jean-Michel smiled "Is that once you've found him, you let me borrow him for a night every now and then."

This brought a delighted laugh to Cordelia and a chuckle to Jean-Michel and the two again sipped their champagne. It was at this moment that one of his staff members tapped him on the shoulder.

"Jean-Michel, il y a quelqu'un pour vous voir. Pour ce qui concerne l'objet d'Angleterre." The man whispered into Jean-Michel's ear.

Jean-Michel turned back to the man and patted him on the cheek.

"Cherchez-lui une boisson et dites-lui d'attendre en haut. Je parle avec quelqu'un important." He said witha bit of a smile. He was interested in his visitor but it could wait. He turned back to Cordelia

"Pardonnez-moi, mon cher. It seems as though every time someone brings an exciting work into Montmartre or the whole of Paris they want to bring it to my attention."

"Oh?"

"Mmmm. Either to sell it to me or boast about the addition to their collection. Apparently word has gotten out that I'm a fan of those silly scribbles you artistic types produce."

 

[Miss Behavin']

Hyacinthe

She was young, very young, when Tremblay discovered her in the red light district of Pigalle and took her under his wing, or more precisely into his jardin des fleurs -- for they were all flowers of a sort, were they not? He cultivated them, nourished them, made them bloom and they, in turn, sensuously perfumed and dressed in colors reflecting their names, graced his establishment and provided him with the provender he required to dabble in other pursuits.

Her raven hair piled high and the décolletage of her lavender silk gown shockingly low, Hyacinthe wove her way through the crowd in Le Baiser Foncé, having just arrived for her evening's stint. At first glance, she looked no more than eighteen, which she was, though a discerning eye would note that her eyes reflected an age possibly treble that. Luckily, no one was interested in her eyes... It was her other bits that held the allure.

"Bon soir, Avelaine... Monsieur," she murmured as she passed the table where the chanteuse sat with the man she had obviously chosen for the evening. They had grown quite close over time, and Hyacinthe could honestly say that she was the only true friend she'd ever had.

Avelaine smiled at her friend, gesturing inconspicuously toward a table near the rear of the room where a lone gentleman sat with every appearance he was ready to leave. "Bien sûr," she replied and made her way toward him, stopping to trail a finger along someone's jawline or whisper something naughty in a willing ear.

By the time she reached him, he was contemplating his empty glass and the half-full bottle on his table as if undecided whether to drink it or leave it unfinished. "Perhaps," Hyacinthe said, "you would like to share a glass?"

The man looked up at her, but she had already seated herself in a chair beside him and gestured for the waitress to bring a second glass. "Je m'appelle Hyacinthe," she began. "You are Ainglash? I have... some."

Truth was, she had more than "some", one of the many things she had learned from Avelaine, though there was no need to elaborate. Some men didn't even require a name, only a soft, warm place to place their bitte for a moment or two, though something in this one's clear blue eyes told her he might be different.

The glass brought and placed on the table without fanfare, she pushed it toward him, leaning provocatively close as she did so, knowing he could smell the scent of her and better still, he could get a better view of the delights her body offered.

"I am," he said, unsure whether to shake her hand or not, "Seamus Cohen, Miss... erm... "

"My real name is Simone, if that is more to your liking." Hyacinthe interjected with a smile, and a coquettish toss of her head.

"Simone then," he responded absently, pouring her a glass of wine. "But I am Irish not... Aing... English." He stopped and corrected himself quickly, only slightly embarrassed that he had unwittingly mocked her pronunciation of the word.

"I... see," Hyacinthe giggled and moved a bit closer.

Accepting the now filled glass, she placed her free hand on Cohen's upper thigh and squeezed. "C'est la même chose, non?"

Seeing that he truly didn't understand, she leaned closer and whispered against his ear. "I mean, it does not matter much when you are between my legs." Her hand had moved higher still... dangerously higher.

 

[UNREGISTERED]

* * *

 

[LongshanksSierra]

A few stray hairs brushed his cheek as she withdrew her lips from next to his ear, but she kept her face close to his. Her dark eyes were piercing and burned with invitation. "Well," he said shifting slightly in his chair. "If you believe that you've either not known many Irishmen, or have not slept with many Englishmen."

Her eyes crinkled for a moment, then her pouty lips broke into an understanding smile when she got the joke. Her hand squeezed his thigh again, "You would then like to show me?"

Seamus thought about this a moment, and his feelings were mixed. On the one hand, he should really focus on his mission and not spend time dallying with some pretty girl. Cohan was also always just a little suspicious of a beautiful woman who approached him so brazenly with... romance... on her mind. On the other hand, it was not as if a night's diversion would jeopardize this particular mission. Also it was unlikely that this place needed to rob men of their money, the girls were more likely to beguile it away. His instincts told him that this was just what it appeared to be, a courtesan seeking a client. He doubted that she had any trouble attracting them, her body was young and full of the promise of sensual delights. And it had been a long time since he had enjoyed the embrace of a woman.

Her eyes seemed to read his decision. She leaned forward slightly and touched her lips to his, not quite a kiss, but the hint of one. "My bed is not far," she promised, her perfume filling his breath. "Finish your wine," she said her hand rubbing up and down on his thigh, almost brushing what she already knew she had. "It is quite good."

"Yes," Seamus said nodding slightly, "It is."

They stayed only long enough to finish their glasses before Simone, taking his arm, led Seamus from the saloon.

 

[Drinking Cap]

Jean-Michel

"A piece of art from England? I thought you collected contemporary work for the most part, and that for the most part every contemporary artist of interest was...here. In Paris. Do tell me more about it."

Jean-Michel contemplated telling her, he'd been asked to keep this particularly close to the chest but, well, Jean-Michel had never been one for doing what he was told.

"Very little to tell, I'm afraid. Some years ago when I was decorating Chez Tremblay" Jean-Michel smiled as he thought of his villa to the south. He was long overdue for a few months there. "I became interested in chinese pottery, from the Ming era. I was decorating a room in an Oriental flavour and sought to purchase a few pieces. This brought me into contact with members of the art world who are.."

Jean-Michel looked over to his left where an artist of some note was busily groping one of his serving girls.

"Shall we say somewhat more conservative than I ordinarily would associate with. As you say, my only real love is art that is fresh and new and exciting yet during this time I developed something of a reputation as a fancier of ancient works, particularly those of the far east. I've tried to disassociate myself from this reputation but there are those with long memories, even in gay Paris"

He smiled at her as she said this. She kept her hand gently on his knee. He'd often thought Cordelia somewhat too English and refined for his advances, yet her earlier offer to share a handsome man between them had him reconsidering.

"Pour rendre une histoire prolongée rapide, it was because of this reputation that very recently a man contacted me with details of a mysterious piece a client of his had brought into my city. Apparently he has brought with him a piece of some importance from our dour friends across the channel. He has made some noise of inviting only the wealthiest and most discrete lovers of art to a showing of it, although whether it is to brag about his piece or to offer to sell it to one of us, I must confess I know little."

Cordelia raised her eyebrow in interest. Jean-Michel returned a knowing smile

"My thoughts exactly. Now that I am no longer decorating there is very little likelihood I'll be interested in purchasing the piece but I find a good little mystery irresistable, don't you?"

 

[Butch]

Charles

After receiving their drinks Charles started browsing the room with his eyes. Where was he? Charles couldn't see him anywhere. Instead he turned to Kalia once again.
"Are you hungry, my dearest? I know a place nearby where they serve the best coq au vin in all of of France. Forgive me. I seem to be quite restless. I have yet to see my acquaintence anywhere."
He looked deeply into her eyes. They were so calming. He always depended on them to comfort him when he was worried. Of course he never told her this. He was supposed to take care of her. Not the other way around.