laspadillex-blog

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orelsie‌:

@laspadillex

Her attention only remains partially upon the game at hand, whilst her eyes that glint with intrigue flicker back and forth to the only other woman at the table. The correlation of said woman and the active game is not yet deciphered; but Elsie figures that’s why they call it a ‘poker face’. 

She’s never gambled seriously before, has mostly remained unknown to the underworld of card games, but it was only ever going to be a matter of time before she got drawn in. With a mind as constantly wired as hers, it doesn’t take Elsie long to work out her strategy to success, but with the beauty unknowingly hogging a vast section of her focus, she’s undeniably tense.

That is, until, she’s crowned winner.

Her vision immediately falls upon the woman, but her expression doesn’t change all that much. She reveals no victory, expresses no pride. Instead, she tilts her head forward and awaits the reception of the losing players around her, with the female’s being particularly craved. She can’t help her brilliance, but it’s never a chore and it always gets her what she wants. And right now, all she wants is to learn about this beautiful stranger and about the game she’s just been beaten at by an unknown novice. 

Jacqueline couldn’t quite figure out the girl sitting to her left; she was sure she’d never seen her before — at least, not at the card tables.  And yet here she was, nonchalantly tossing her cards each time it came back around to her, and she was somehow... Winning?  Being on the losing team wasn’t something that La Spadille was accustomed to, and it definitely wasn’t something that she was particularly fond of.  Still she tried to keep her face blank of any irritation that this pretty little thing seated next to her caused, keeping the small smirk that played on the corners of her rouge lips in tact. 

Tossing in her last card, she wasn’t surprised to watch the girl eat her ace of spades up with only one spade higher.  Jacqui was almost certain she had been counting correctly, and she knew the man that played as her partner wasn’t by any means a poor spades player and yet they were still not crowned the victors.  Her eyes watched as their francs were swept in the arms of the girl’s hungry partner and divided between the two of them.

She could feel a pair of eyes on her, and as Jacqui’s dark eyes flickered up to meet the girl’s she was intrigued to see... Nothing.  There was no emotion in her eyes, at least not any that were obvious even to someone like Jacqueline, who could read people like she read cards.  It was strange but welcomed — she was all too well used to men who boasted about their winnings and kicked people off the table in hopes of repeating their win with the next pairing that wished to try their hand with Lady Luck.

With her smile still in tact, Jacqui leaned forward and rested her elbows on the table as she regarded the girl.  “I never ask this of new-comers, but you’re an exception: I want you on my team.”

#{ c: elsie } #{ the chameleon } #{ conversation }

[laspadillex-blog]

valentinesegretti‌:

Valentine’s head rose immediately at the sound of her soft voice, which interrupted the typical ringing he heard in his battered ears when in otherwise quiet and empty rooms. “Che cazzo!” He made to flinch away, which seemed ridiculous after the beast he had just beaten to a pulp in the ring. Apparently she was as stupid as she was beautiful, and his gaze quickly whipped behind him to the entryway where he fully expected to find someone coming after her. “What are you doing?”

With his adrenaline still running high from the victory, he suddenly felt cramped within such a small space with her, and he stood from the bench to make some space between them should anyone else feel the need to enter the room, too. “You shouldn’t be in here.” His voice was unrelenting, even as he stood before her, raw from the fight with a clear vulnerability in his tired eyes. She was a wife, she could have very well been a mother, too. While he was no stranger to entertaining the wiles of women who took an interest in him, and it was true that he got his sly comments in before the match, he was trained better than to fraternize with the mafia wives. 

The small smile that had been teasing on the corner of Jacqueline’s rouge-painted lips was wiped clean and her beautiful face quickly pinched into a grimace at the man’s sudden movements and harsh tone.  She instinctively flinched away from him; though she knew the man wouldn’t think to lay a hand on her, it was a sort of innate action she had grown frighteningly accustomed to doing whenever her husband took that same sort of tone with her.  She immediately felt silly after and began smoothing over the collar of the mink jacket in an effort to recollect herself.

She remained quiet while her feline eyes narrowed as she studied Valentine; finding it rather interesting to see how different this man was compared to the one she’d spoken to before the fight.  He was just as big and rugged, if not more so from the scars of the fight he’d just won, but that powerful and stern nature that Jacqui had found so appealing about him had now flipped to turn onto her.  She briefly wondered where that silver-tongued man full of sinful promises had gone, but the thought was plucked from her mind when he spoke again.

 “You shouldn’t be in here.”  At these words, she could feel the heat dispersing along her cheeks, a flush of embarrassment painting across her face.  “I’m sorry.  I suppose I’ve been deeply mistaken.”  She breathed, her gaze shifting to the door for a moment as she waited for her face to cool down.  It had been a very long time since she’d felt that off-putting twinge of rejection, and after all that time she’d learned that it hadn’t gotten any easier to deal with.  Jacqueline’s dark eyes flickered back to him, “Perhaps you aren’t the sure thing I thought you to be.”

#{ para 001 } #{ p: valentine } #{ bonnie and clyde }

[laspadillex-blog]

mxmmon‌:

Anthony followed as per her instructions silently, reaching out to take near enough half a pack of cards and placing it beside the stack before allowing her to take over the rest, gesturing with his hand. Whilst he played for leisure, he never allowed himself to delve any deeper into the game unlike a few of his peers who allow it to consume much of their life. Jacqueline was no different, and were it not for the way her wins outweighed her losses, he would have not created this kind of alliance with her. “Le Gnome next Tuesday, a duke from England is joining the game and word on the street is he’s rather terrible. Just wants to be included.” He shrugged. “Do you know the players tonight?”

Jacqueline collected the deck, her slender fingers swiftly dealing him a card face-down, then herself, and then did the same again before displaying three cards face-up in between them.  It was an American variation of poker, a game she had learned through an American man that she’d rendezvoused with for a little while a few years prior.  She knew that normally, they’d bet before the community cards were dealt, but she knew better than to play for money with Anthony.  “They call this ‘hold ‘em’ over in America.  Have you played before?”  Though nearly not as popular in Paris, or anywhere in Europe she’d figured, it apparently was a huge hit in America; Jacqui thought it was too easy for her liking.  She curled the corner of her cards up, but the Ace and Jack of Spades that she had held no interest once she’d heard Anthony’s words.  She replied in a low tone, just to be sure anyone within earshot couldn’t hear.  "So I’ll be sure to include him — long enough for the pot to grow big, at least.  Hopefully he’s not as terrible a loser as he is a player.”  Lifting her glass to her lips, she threw the remainder of her whiskey back and gave the man a small smile, “I knew my opponents; I had played against them about a week ago and tonight, they demanded a rematch.  My partner though, I hadn’t met before.  He played very well though — a Monsieur Page, have you heard of him?”

#{ c: anthony } #{ the mobster }

[laspadillex-blog]

theprcdigy‌:

There was a beauty about her that made it difficult to look away. It was nothing so common as her smile or her dress, it was a feeling. A liveliness that existed beyond the realm of words; one that Anne could not hope to imitate and Lily only carried a fraction of.  It was a wonder how the woman was without the crowd that seemed to flock to Lily’s poor imitation, but then she spoke and her curiosity was answered immediately. She might have been their peer but she was far too clever for the rest of them, and by the way Anne fervently nodded at every word they fed her, they liked that she was someone they thought they could impress. A device to make them appear more clever, or more charming than they were, and she assumed the role happily with a smile.

Anne could play Lily well, and Lily was even better at playing everyone else.

After hours of being force fed ‘wisdoms’ she did not completely understand and exchanging false niceties, the woman’s candor was something Anne did not know she missed until it was shown to her. Naturally, her first instinct was to agree; answer honesty with honesty and let slip for a moment the guise that she had willed herself to play. But much like the silk words that sheath sharp daggers, Anne was wary that this was perhaps just another test, like her entire afternoon had been. An ugly thought to entertain, but there it took a prominent seat in her mind, between her friend’s good will and her own desire to do right by her. While Anne was unsure of her reward should she prove successful, the alternative always seemed much worse. The cost of failure was her friend’s future, and Anne would never do that to her friend.

So she swallowed cunning’s bitter medicine, and the words that came out were nothing short of charming. “Not at all,” she said it so sweetly you could taste the honey falling off her tongue, but the words somehow carried a certain weight that it hadn’t before. Perhaps it was because it was another lie, and this time the woman knew it too, but Anne hardly misses a beat as she continued her act. “I’ve learned a great deal, and I am certainly very grateful to be in the company of such fine people.” 

Though Jacqueline was no fool, not falling for the charms of the younger girl before her just as everyone else in the room had, she had to admit that the girl sure did put up a good front.  She mentally applauded Lily on her ability to shape the way the crowds saw her — not as the mere imitator that she was, but as if she truly belonged with the elite of Paris.  While Jacqueline was proud to say that she had never had to fake her position as a fellow member of the haute société, she had spent many of her years donning masks of her own.  

She had pretended to be a happy, dutiful trophy-wife in her 20s, painting fake smiles on her lips whenever she interacted with anyone, and again as the heart-broken widow, donned in all black for a year straight as an ode to her late husband.  Even now, she wore masks every now and then, one as a naïve woman seated at the table with self-proclaimed card sharks, only to rip it off when she walks away with their money.  Or sometimes she lets her paying suitors pick her mask of the night, becoming any and everything they want her to be for their date.

Jacqueline’s eyes narrowed at Lily as she replied, her dark eyes studying the girl for quite a moment before coming to a conclusion: this girl was good.  La Spadille herself, the one who can read through anyone, was almost tricked by the girl’s sickly sweet words.  Almost.  “And right there, you blew your cover, ma chérie.” She smirked as she raised her whiskey to her lips, pausing for a moment to savor the smoky flavor of the amber liquid.  “No one in their right mind is grateful to be in the company of these people.“  

She leaned forward toward the younger girl, her voice dipping low as she added, “Besides, you don’t need the sophisms they pass off as knowledge; you have far more of your own skill to offer, but they can’t see that.  Luckily for you, and truly a delight for me, I’m not them; I see it, and I see you.”

#{ c: anne } #{ anne } #{ conversation } #{ the prodigy }

[laspadillex-blog]

anaisveilleux‌:

Anais did not need to watch Jacqueline to know the woman was approaching. She didn’t need to turn her head to know that her old friend had taken the seat beside her, or that those striking dark eyes were focused on her profile. It felt as though the room had suddenly grown cold, and Anais felt a chill all but radiating from Jacqueline as the two women sat there, and the music stared up again from the stage. Their silence was short lived, and as Anais’s drink arrived, and her hand curled around the glass, Jacqui spoke, her words a vicious reminder of the small emerald earring that marred their relationship forever. 

The opera singer’s grip tightened around the glass, and her lips twitched in an effort to remain neutral. Taking her time in responding, the blonde took a sip, the liquid coating her throat with its sweet, strong taste. Finally turning her gaze to other woman, Anais smiled, her lips forming a tight curve. “And I adore your necklace, Jaqueline, where ever did you get it?” She would not be caught on the bait, and Anais remained pleasant even as her insides twisted like eels. Guilt was a nasty affliction, and unreasonable disdain even more so. 

“Tell me, cheri, what have you been up to since we last spoke?”

Though there were a million and one feelings that Jacqueline felt toward the woman that she had once called one of her dearest friends, she could proudly say that jealousy was never one of them.  Even as the blonde woman led a thrilling life filled with adventure and opulence, traveling around as crowds clamored around to hear her beautiful voice, Jacqueline never felt jealous toward the woman.  She had always supported Anais, even proud to call the woman her good friend, and when her heart sank to the floor and shattered into a million pieces at the discovery of her friend sleeping with her husband, still she never felt an ounce of jealousy toward her.  Disappointment and disgust, sure, but never jealousy.  How could she feel jealous toward a woman who had to deal with overwhelming guilt for the rest of her life?  As far as Jacqueline was concerned, she came out of it all scot-free; she might’ve even felt bad for the other woman.

But at the woman’s response, Jacqui realized that she didn’t feel bad for her — not one bit.  In fact, she felt nothing but satisfaction as she studied Anais’ beautiful face, taking note of the cracks in her pleasant demeanor.  The brunette returned a polite smile of her own, her dark eyes focused on Anais’ icy ones. “My dear husband, may God rest his soul, gave it to me, actually.”  A hand shot up to the necklace, a fingertip grazing against the large emerald stones that adorned her décolletage.  “You know how he was,” She said, her words dripping in venom, “Always such a generous man.”

She turned away just for a moment, only to tap on the cool countertop of the bar to ask for another glass.  As she got tended to, her gaze shifted back to her old friend to which she replied, “Oh, it’s been so long, hasn’t it?  I don’t even know where to begin.”  She paused for a moment, a manicured finger tapping against her chin as if she were in deep thought.  A brow raised to the blonde, “I don’t even recall why it was that we fell off so suddenly — do you?”

burnt bridges reignited

#{ p: anais } #{ para 002 } #{ burnt bridges reignited } #{ the diva }

[laspadillex-blog]

mxmmon‌:

A chuckle caused his lips to tug into a smirk as he relented to her and gave her a nod. Pulling the chair out, he took a seat but not before undoing the buttons on his suit jacket. He leaned backwards and waved down a waiter for a glass of cognac as well as another of whatever Jacqueline was having. Her playing was usually more than enough to keep him occupied for a while. That and the incredulous look on her usually male opponents faces whenever she won quite unexpectedly. “And you have been quite generous yourself.” He remained vague should his words have been overheard as he was given his drink, sipping on it as eyes rested on the table. “What are your actions tonight, my dear? Just here tonight or are you doing a tour of Paris?”

Her dark feline eyes studied the man as he pulled a chair up for himself, her manicured fingers pulling her cards apart as she shuffled.  She didn’t even need to watch as the cards folded into each other, masterfully curling into a perfect bridge before she neatly organized them into a straight pile before sliding the deck across to Anthony.  Jacqueline’s brows raised at him as she said one singular word, “Cut.”  The powerful man was never an opponent of her’s, as she was sure he knew better than to play against her — just as much as she knew better than to cross him.  Jacqueline reached for her drink, lifting it as a silent cheer to him before bringing it to her lips.  She gave him a small, knowing smile, “You know me; I like to get around.  Are there any specific places you suggest I check out?”

#{ c: anthony } #{ the mobster } #//lets pretend the starbucks is actually a classy drink for a cLaSSY WoMAN

[laspadillex-blog]

sebastiendufort‌:

He laughed, not bitterly, but not necessarily like he thought anything was funny. “Not really, so why try?” He tossed out as a reply, holding the bag now in one hand, and tucking it away into his pockets. Smirking, he took a drag on his cigarette, blowing out a long stream of smoke. “No? And here I was, thinking people liked me best for my dashing good looks. Well, I suppose it’s lucky the liquor is good, then, hm.”

“Because if I don’t try, then I have people like you hounding me to try.”  Jacqueline countered, a light chuckle of her own escaping her lips.  "It’s truly a vicious cycle.”  She lifted her own cigarette to her lips, taking a long drag and watching the ember at the tip glow a brilliant orange.  She pushed the smoke through her nostrils, a knowing smile teasing on her lips as she spoke, “I’m sure those dashing good looks help with business; people always love on a pretty face.”  It wasn’t like she was speaking from experience or anything.

#sebastiendufort #{ c: sebastien } #{ the smuggler } #{ conversation }

[laspadillex-blog]

valentinesegretti‌:

There is an image in his head that he ins’t very proud of, but it is strong nonetheless: he wonders how she would look with a few blood splatters on that smooth skin. And suddenly the thought of her sitting anywhere else beside ringside was unthinkable. Typically, he was one to avoid distractions pre-fight, but the usual ones didn’t look like she did. Like the loyal cur he was, Valentine’s eyes flashed to the group of sleek-suited men like a metronome keeping time, and on which beat they would look over to see he and Jacqueline speaking like this. The fact that nobody seemed to notice made him all the more nervous for some reason. 

That strong brow of his lifted in surprise at her suggestion. A devious little curl of his lip took over and pushed aside any notion that he could maintain his stoicism. For as tough as he was, Valentine had always been an easy read in situation when he truly wasn’t in control. Flattery was his weakness, and he had been working on that—to no avail, apparently. 

A deep breath in hissed between his teeth and from that wide chest he exhaled slowly; thinking, perhaps, it would give him time to think of something clever to say in return. Her lips held his focus for far too long before it lifted to her eyes and those long, dark lashes that framed them. The expression on his face clearly read that there were many things he was both good at and enjoyed, but whether or not she would experience them didn’t seem very likely. Valentine snorted a laugh when she turned away.

His hands stressed the bandages that bound them; they needed tightening. “You will have to find me to figure that out,” he said quietly. Valentine lingered for but a moment before walking away to the locker rooms to fix his tape. He hoped she would find a good seat, but if her company had anything to say about it, he knew she would.

“Bloody men drenched in sweat, beating each other to a pulp isn’t entertainment meant for a lady.” Her mother used to say.  And yet, Jacqueline found herself at the very edge of her seat as the Italian boxer fought, a plump bottom lip taken between her teeth as she watched every swift move of his.  She watched in awe as his muscular torso glistened with sweat, his arms the size of her thighs flexing as his fist connected with his opponent’s face.  She found herself cheering louder than the men who had placed their bets on him, wincing at every hit that Val took — though, she wasn’t at all surprised to see that the man took very few.  It took everything in her not to cower into her husband entirely when the opponent’s fist mercilessly rocked Valentine’s jaw, a strike landed solely by luck. 

A splatter of blood came flying from Val’s lips, shooting through the rungs of the ring to land just a few inches away from the hem of her fur coat, and her eyes immediately darted back to the Italian fighter.  There were a million butterflies fluttering about in her core when his gaze met hers, and though it was only a split second that their eyes locked onto each others, that was all the time that was needed for her to cock a challenging brow at him.  Val immediately spun around and struck an ending blow on his opponent, knocking the other man off his feet so quickly that she could feel the vibrations when his body hit the floor.

It was no surprise to anyone that Val was declared the victor, but the company she was with still broke out in loud cheers anyway and Jacqui followed suit.  She didn’t care for the spoils that came with Val’s victory, but instead found herself to be relieved that he wasn’t the one lying unconscious on the floor of the ring — though with the man’s menacing appearance, she hadn’t doubted him for a minute.  

It was when the men were clamoring about each other, discussing the cuts for the fight that Jacqueline saw the perfect opportunity to slip away.  “You will have to find me to figure that out.”  His lascivious words were all she could think about during the fight, and she wanted nothing more than see if he could put his money where his mouth was just as well as he could put it where his fists were.  

She pushed between the many men that crowded around the ring, calls for bets and money owed being shouted in her ear as she maneuvered her way toward the back halls of the room where she had seen Val slip away before.  Glancing over her shoulder, her dark eyes scanned the room for her husband, who was too wrapped up in discussion with the other men in suits to pay her any mind for once.  Her heels clicked against the floor as she turned the corner that led to the locker rooms, the hall significantly quieter than the grand room where the actual fight took place.

Pushing open the door, her gaze immediately fell on Valentine, his wide back facing her has he hunched over with his elbows resting on his knees.  She approached him slowly, her eyes raking in the naked back, raised skin from any strikes that he’d taken during the fight a bright red against his sun-kissed Mediterranean skin.  Jacqueline could see the bruises that were beginning to form, and as she neared him, a manicured digit lightly traced against one that had begun to show on his ribs.  “You kept the promise you didn’t make.” She said quietly as she made her way around the bench to face him, a small smile playing on her lips as she took in his beaten face.

#valentinesegretti #{ para } #{ p: valentine } #{ para 001 } #{ bonnie and clyde } #// this is long but you already know the drill smh

[laspadillex-blog]

anaisveilleux‌:

Anais spun away from her partner’s body, her skirt a wave of black silk as it caught air and flew around her legs. A smile spread across her lips, due in part to the vodka in her blood and the smooth invigorating sound of the band’s swinging tune. She allowed herself to forget the crowd around her and focus instead on the rhythm of the music and the feel of her partner’s body, as he led them across the floor. The song came to a resounding end, and those dancing made their final move as applause filled the space with a few whistles and hollers. The band announced a break, and Anais led her stranger of a dance partner to the bar, leaning against the wood as she garnered the tender’s attention. 

“Two vodka’s with a splash of syrup,” She ordered, slightly out of breath. She turned, lips parted to speak, when her gaze flickered down the bar. It hadn’t been purposeful, just the subconscious shift of her eyes before they focused on the man she’d pulled towards the bar, but it was enough for a familiar face to materialize from the crowd around. Anais couldn’t look away, and as she stared at the woman, her heart nearly stopped. It had been so long since she’d seen her old friend, so long since she’d shredded their relationship. Their drinks arrived, and still Anais stared. It was only when someone dropped a glass that she was shook from her reverie. And like a woman parched, Anais threw down her vodka and tapped the bar top for another. 

Like holes burning through the smooth surface of the woman’s skin, Jacqueline could feel someone’s eyes boring into her, and immediately her lips curled upward into the slightest of smiles.  She automatically thought it would’ve been a clueless man, making the same mistake as many have before, confusing her to be a nice little French woman ready for the taking.  How silly of her to think such a thing; of course the song that played at her wedding wouldn’t be the only reminder of the scorned woman’s painful past.  Her dark eyes lifted from her drink to the ones that stared at her, only to be met with a very familiar set of crystalline blue eyes.  She needed a refill, now.

She probably shouldn’t have been so shocked to see her old friend; Paris was only so big for such grand women like them.  And yet, it seemed like her heart stopped and all color drained from Jacqueline’s face, as if she’d seen a ghost.  There was so much she wished to say to the woman — she both longed for her old friend and many laughs and secrets they’d shared, and yet at the same time wished to crush that beautiful face of hers between her hands.  Instead she did neither and merely stared right back at her, at least until Anais looked away to which Jacqui followed suit, throwing back her own drink.

She wasn’t sure what had prodded her to push herself up from her seat, her emotion or the amber liquid that streamed through her veins, but suddenly Jacqueline found herself just a seat away from her old friend.  Without even looking at Anais, all Jacqueline said was: “Those are beautiful earrings.”  She knew the woman would catch the drift.

burnt bridges reignited

#{ p: anais } #{ para } #{ para 002 } #{ burnt bridges reignited } #//lets ignore the lipstick n pretend she's just trying to avoid looking at anais ok

[laspadillex-blog]

theprcdigy‌:

@laspadillex

Anne was at the La Closerie des Lilas only by invitation. Well, Lily was invited, on the notion that she somehow had what was necessary to satisfy the criteria that might grant them excess into the circle of aristocratic society that they found themselves in. Anne said yes because she thought she would be doing a service for a friend and for her troubles, she was put in a dress that she did not think to have and as far as she was concerned could ill afford.

For the most part, the afternoon was spent with her friend busy charming what was perhaps her means to a future of financial security and Anne was swept in a sea of people spouting philosophic nonsense she did not completely understand. Not that they minded of course, Anne was a talented actress and she had enough charm in her delivery to dispel any suspicions before they could develop into a well-versed rebuttal.

What a charming young woman, said one. What an utter delight, chimed in another. Anne took each remark with a gracious thank you and you’re too kind, but mostly, she just felt like a fraud. She wanted desperately to learn of these philosophic wisdoms the intellectuals so loved to brag of whenever there was an ear to listen. Unfortunately for her, it appeared that their interests lay in impressing over educating, and Anne did not want to be called out on her lies just yet. Although it seemed, as the afternoon bled into early evening, that it would only be a matter of time, a cruel waiting game, before she was found out. Before this happened, she was determined to help herself to at least one flute of champagne.

It was so that Anne would find herself at the bar ordering “a champagne please.” A pause. “And I’ll have a strawberry with that too, thank you.”

Admittedly, La Closerie des Lilas wasn’t always a place that Jacqueline frequented — not only because her coin purse wasn’t always heavy enough for the drinks they served, but for the mere fact that she simply didn’t enjoy occasions like these anymore.  There was a time in the woman’s life where she would’ve been thrilled to attend such an event, to brush shoulders with the fellow elite of Paris and to chat for hours about things that only seemed interesting after a few drinks.  While she still had a taste for opulence and elitism (as a born and bred member of the wealthy Parisian society, she never anticipated for that taste to disappear entirely), she was more likely to be found at a place that vibrated at a higher frequency; one that boomed with excitement, like Le Ciel or L’Enfer.  At least there she’d engage with people whose company she enjoyed, have conversations that would probably have a longer-lasting impact than the sophisms of those who claim to be philosophers.  

And still, Jacqueline remained in La Closerie, seated at the bar with her fourth glass of whiskey in her manicured hands while her date of the night wandered about among the elite.  Monsieur Gosse was one of her regulars, frequently asking Jacqueline for her company as they attended events such as these.  At first it was fun, stepping back into the shoes she had worn her whole life; she was a natural charmer, enamoring those with her grace, impressing them with her knowledge of business and the arts and all the other things wealthy people liked to talk about at every affair.  She had spent her whole life training herself to be fit for occasions like this, and yet now these things couldn’t hold her interest — she just wanted to drink and play a few hands of cards.

The only thing redeemable about occasions like these was the satisfaction and knowledge Jacqueline gained of people watching.  As someone who made their living solely by gambling and conning people, her observational skills are top-notch — partly because they have to be, but partly because it proved rather interesting to see the cracks in peoples’ façades.  If you looked closely enough, even in the midst of a conversation, there are moments where people let their guard down.  It might be when they think no one notices, or even just in thought between sentences, but with a trained eye, you can almost always catch it.  

There was a pretty little thing with a familiar face in the room, and to a blind eye, it looked as if she belonged; dressed to the nines, tinkling laughter that awed anyone who tried to converse with her, a precocious little smile.  The girl reminded Jacqueline a lot of herself when she was younger; beautiful, charming, and eager to learn.  She flitted about the room, small crowds of people clamoring around her to talk her ear off, and Jacqueline merely sipped on her whiskey and watched.  She was impressed; so far, the girl was doing a good job, keeping up with the pace of the conversations without faltering with no visible momentary lapses.

It was only when the girl came and sat at the bar that Jacqueline could see the cracks in the girl’s façade, but if anyone knew how to keep a secret, it was La Spadille.  She hummed at the girl’s drink order, a knowing smile teasing on the corner of her lips as she turned to her, “You’ve been doing well, but champagne won’t be strong enough for you to last the remainder of the night, ma chérie.”  She lifted her own drink to her lips, the amber liquid quickly diminishing in the glass, “You’ll need at least a Benedictine to comprehend them, because trust me, it only gets worse when they start drinking more too.”

#{ c: anne } #{ the prodigy } #//i'm sorry this is so long pzl don't feel pressured to match me by any means like literally #//don't do it #//LMAOO jk if you want to you can but like i'm like molasses w my replies so you're warned

[laspadillex-blog]

semperpati‌:

Guillaume let out a self-deprecating chuckle, nodding. Of course there was no hiding his slight nervousness with her. She was always so observational, when they did talk it took very little for her to catch his drift, and at times be quite a source of comfort, even if all she did was agree with something, or give short bits of advice.

“Cognac always helps.” He chimed in, glancing at the glass before looking up at her again with pursed lips. “My apologies, I just didn’t expect to see you here tonight is all. Took me by surprise.” He offered, clearing his throat and shifting the his weight to his other leg.

And with a surrendering nod, he smiled at her. “And now it would be rather ungentlemanly of me if I do not keep a friend company, no?” A drink or two more surely wouldn’t hurt, he was only on his second one, after all. “Have you been here before? It’s quite modern, isn’t it? I am still unsure what I think of this…’art deco’ movement myself.” Changing the conversation a little so as to not get into his past habits again, though it was quite difficult not to take her in silently.

“A good surprise, I would hope.”  She let out a small chuckle, swirling her glass around on the smooth countertop to watch her whiskey swish about.  And she did hope that was the case; though she was careful never to offer too much herself emotionally to Guillaume, Jacqueline always enjoyed the time she spent with the man, and she always did try her best to make sure he did too.  But sometimes even when you try your hardest, things simply don’t work; he was too much and she wasn’t enough.  In another life things might’ve been different, and perhaps they would’ve even attended this party together, but alas, that wasn’t the case and now they were just former flames who just so happened to cross paths again.

She fought the amused smile that teased at the corner of her lips as her gaze shifted to the grand room they were in.  It was cute, how he tried to shift their conversation onto a more “normal” path, and while it seemed unnatural for them, she indulged him anyway.  Jacqui hummed, “I do believe I’ve attended an event or two here before, but it was prior to the modernization of the interior.  I don’t mind it though; change is good, sometimes.”  A shoulder lifted up in a shrug as her dark eyes flickered back to his, “Besides, I can appreciate all beauty.”

#{ c: guillaume } #{ conversation } #{ the endurer } #{ there is no sweeter innocence than our gentle sin }

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semperpati‌:

Guillaume hummed, business was booming and the upcoming festive season would only mean more for he and his staff. He didn’t mind it all too much though, business meant his mind could be kept away from anything that caused him ill. It wouldn’t be late at night his troubles came, and even then it had been lessened the more nights he spent very much not alone. With a chuckle, he nodded. “Well, I shall sleep when I’m dead, ma cherie.”

Eyes glanced downwards and he let out a slightly nervous chuckle at the way Jacqueline so easily melded back into quite a flirtatious way with him, though he couldn’t exactly imagine her behaving in any other way. “That you do.” He lifted his glass again in an almost toast to cover up the perhaps odd way he was behaving.

Nodding, he kept at the Benedictine, glancing at her and perhaps making a very wrong choice in remaining vague. “No, not tonight. Flying the flag for Chausseures Rousett alone for now. In all honesty I hadn’t planned on staying long. This was going to be more of a show-my-face kind of affair at first.”

Jacqueline only hummed in response, her deep brown eyes narrowing as she watched her former lover.  Though she thought she had always been quite good at reading people, she knew she’d greatly improved over the years since she started playing cards for money.  She’d simply watch people, scanning their faces for any possible cues, analyzing their body language for tells, and she was doing the same thing with Guillaume now.  

He was obviously nervous; avoiding her eyes, drowning himself in alcohol so as not to say the wrong things.  Jacqui knew she had a knack for getting a reaction out of the man, but after all the time that they’d spent together, she didn’t think he’d be this nervous around her again.  With a knowing smile, she asked, “Cognac helping with the nerves at all?”

She nodded at his words, her eyes falling on her own drink as she swirled it around in the glass.  Her gaze remained on the drink, careful not to show any hint of excitement she felt toward the fact that he was alone tonight. She had to reel herself back in, substituting flirtation for friendliness, as it’s probably best to keep any lingering desire at bay — if not for his nerves, then for the sake of not getting any hopes that might arise up.  "And now?”  A manicured brow raised at the man just as her gaze did, “Do you still plan to leave early if it means leaving me, ton vieille amie, stranded?”

#{ c: guillaume } #{ conversation } #{ the endurer } #{ there is no sweeter innocence than our gentle sin }

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semperpati‌:

A knowing chuckle came from him at her words, she was still as brazen as ever - a quality he quite enjoyed in the woman. “Well I can only say I am bending over backwards in the figurative sense for Monsieur Robert.” The words always coming quite naturally to him, though he wished he’d bit his tongue immediately after he had spoken. It was so easy to meld back into the way they behaved in front of one another, he had to be wary.

“Thank you.” He said genuinely with a nod as he brought the glass to his lips to take a sip of the herbal liqueur, savouring the slight bitterness on his tongue. “And you look good too. That’s a lovely dress you’re wearing, though you do wear most things well.” With a clearing of his throat, he took an unconscious step backwards to rest on one foot as there was a slight, though not too uncomfortable pause.

“What brought you here tonight, then? Are you with someone or…?” For some reason hoping it would have been the latter.

“That sounds exhausting.”  Jacqueline let a light chuckle of her own escape at his words, pleased to see that her old lover was much more relaxed than she would’ve expected.  Using this to her advantage, her own response was equally as playful. “It sounds like you need a break.”  Though throughout the duration of their tryst, Guillaume often came and went like the tides, she hadn’t quite expected him to simply leave one night and never return again.  Granted, he did make that last night count.  Based off of the suddenness of his decision to cut ties with her, she had figured she’d done something wrong though what she wasn’t sure, but by the way he was talking to her now, it didn’t seem that way.  It was all very confusing.  

The corners of Jacqui’s rouge lips turned upward in a smug smirk at his words, and her were response was quick: “I think I also wear nothing equally as well.”  The lift of her drink to her lips was equally as quick, her brows raising at him over the rim of the glass.  She took a generous drink of her whiskey, wiping a way a stray drop of the amber liquid that fell onto her lips as her dark eyes focused on his.  

“Monsieur Robert and I have a mutual friend and he needed a plus-one.” She lifted her exposed shoulder up in a shrug, attempting to downplay her date for the night.  “What about you?  I’m surprised you don’t have a beautiful dame on your arm.”

#{ c: guillaume } #{ there is no sweeter innocence than our gentle sin }

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sebastiendufort‌:

Almost playfully, Seb tossed the bag between his hands. “Sure, but I’m running a business here. I’d rather have everything when I should have it, rather than just something.” He said it with a slight smirk. He trusted her to pay up, but he didn’t like waiting. “I don’t know, maybe because you want to see my beautiful face. Or, the finer things, who really knows?”

At this, Jacqueline rolled her eyes, “God, you really can’t please them all, can you?”  She paused to smoke her cigarette, taking a generous pull as her dark eyes trained on the bag he tossed back and forth.  The smoke escaped her lips just as teasing her words did, “Your face is pretty, mon chéri, but not worth the cost.”

#{ c: sebastien }

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burnt bridges reignited

@anaisveilleux

Jacqueline was seated at the bar of Café Étoile, her manicured fingers curled around her glass, swishing around the amber liquid it held.  For once, the woman was alone — no suitors or a date, no nosy Parisians masking their prying questions with polite smiles, no small crowd behind her as she swept the card tables clean of their money.  Though she knew she thrived in social settings, there were times where Jacqueline enjoyed solitude and the time it allowed her to think.  The jazz music often helped with that, the notes of the smooth saxophone vibrating through her body and blanking out all other sounds.

It was when the familiar notes of a particular song resounded throughout the room that Jacqueline’s thoughts were rudely interrupted, and instead memories were implanted in her head with each note.  Once upon a time, Jacqui would’ve been seated up front, ready to hear that special song and be brought to tears of joy.

That was a long time ago; now, the sound of those same notes nearly drove her mad.  It reminded her of the sharp pain in her heart she had felt when she found out that a good friend her’s, the same very good friend who had sang that exact song at Jacqueline’s wedding, had slept with her husband.  It wasn’t necessarily a path down memory lane that Jacqui had wanted to walk down.  

Perhaps the alcohol would help her stray from the path, or perhaps it would prod her to walk further down it.  With the closing notes of that dreaded song, the rim of the glass met Jacqueline’s cerise lips as she threw the whiskey back — she supposed that now she’d find out which she’ll take... Though she did hope that it was the road not taken; she’d been down that one too many times before.

#{ the diva } #{ para } #{ p: anais } #{ burnt bridges reignited }

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[VAL] Tell Me

@valentinesegretti

Septembre, 1916

Jacqueline was sprawled out across the bed, all 52 cards of the deck scattered beneath her and the boxer whose muscular chest she laid her head on.  She was different tonight, and she could tell by the way his fingers grazed against the cool flesh of her arms that he noticed this.  His massive hands, with their hardened, raised knuckles and plentiful scars from years of fighting were used not to threaten or to win and not to seduce her or pour a drink or to cheat in their card games, but rather to comfort the woman who lay on his chest who seemed encapsulated in this air of melancholy.  

It had been an hour since she arrived at his apartment, and it had been an hour that they were laying in the position they were currently in.  Jacqueline hadn’t quite figured out how she felt about Valentine Segretti, the boxer from the Boot Island, but she knew that she was very lucky to have met him, and very glad that he’d decided to keep her around.  As for why he did, she wasn’t quite sure.  She didn’t offer him the pleasures that one could buy off of a common street whore, and they both knew that she couldn’t offer herself emotionally, at least not completely.  At least, not yet.  So what was it that kept Monsieur Segretti from turning his back on her and kicking her to the curb?  Jacqueline opened her mouth to ask when he beat her to the punch.

“Tell me, tesoro mio,” Val’s deep voice sounded, and she could hear the vibrations of the words through his chest. “What is troubling you so much that you don’t even want to talk to me?”  Was that a hint of sadness in his tone?  At this her head lifted from his chest, tears stinging in the corner of her eyes, if not for the hurt in her own heart but for any hurt that she might’ve caused his.  

Despite how much she had practiced it over and over again in her head on her way over to his house, she wasn’t going to say it — hell, it was bad enough that she was even thinking it.  But he looked at her with those espresso eyes that always said so much even when he didn’t, and Jacqueline found herself finally manifesting her blasphemous thoughts into words.

“I need to have my husband killed.”

#arturodemarin #{ the con artist } #{ ask game } #{ bonnie and clyde } #{ headcanon } #//this is trash but like i didn't wanna spill all the tea yet so

[laspadillex-blog]

remember me w geri??

@geridurand

Octobre 1917

After wearing black every single day of the year, one almost adopts the achromatic color as their second skin — at least, that’s how Jacqueline felt since the “mysterious” passing of her beloved husband.  There wasn’t an official handbook on mourning fashion etiquette, but to play up on her “heartbroken-widow” act, Jacqueline had removed every single article of clothing that had color to it from her closet and packed them away.  It was a fucking pain in her derrière to dress herself in noir throughout the scorching heat of summer, and now that it was just breaking through crisp autumn was when she decided it was socially acceptable to begin to don color yet again.

Her deep plum dress fit snugly across the feminine contours of her bodice and stopped just at the curve of her calf, picking up slightly in the light but brisk autumn breeze. It wasn’t a drastic change, but one that did not go by unnoticed as she walked through the busy streets of the street market.  The heads of many men and women alike that recognized her as the widow to Gaston Choquette, a notable mafia man in the streets of Paris, turned to watch her slip through the crowds of the street.  She regarded the familiar faces with a polite smile, stopping in between the stands to sample the fruits and breads as she walked.  The clicking of her heels against the pavement only came to a halt when she saw a uniquely familiar face; one that she had spent years of her childhood regarding with adoration. 

That was the face of Gerald Durand. 

As a young and very sociable girl, Jacqueline had come to make many different friends in school and Mathilde Durand was one that she had held very dear to her heart.  Different than most other girls their age, Mathilde was always much more shy and modest, but always had the purest of hearts; she didn’t ache for the attention or participated in gossip, but was rather just a polite girl and a great friend.  While she may not have always been Jacqueline’s go-to-gal to sneak out and wander the streets of Paris with, she could always rely on Mathilde for sound advice and the least amount of judgment if she ever needed an outlet.

Jacqui also didn’t mind the fact that her friend had a very adorable older brother, who quickly became the heart of the young girl’s eye.  Gerald was Jacqueline’s first real crush and, looking back now, she was very grateful to him for being so oblivious of her embarrassing attempts at gaining his attention.  Though her crush on him had long gone, the sight of Gerald inspired her to put her best foot forward and break out, no longer as Madame Choquette but once again as Jacqueline Dubois.  Perhaps he’d be as oblivious to her flirting now as he was back when there were meaning behind her words, and perhaps that’d be a good thing if it turned out she had lost her touch.  

He was lingering at a nearby fruit stand, and after smoothing out the skirt of her dress and quickly primping her dark curls, she moved to approach him.  “Gerald Durand,” she said as she neared him, an amused smile hinting at the corners of her lips as he picked his head up.  “That’s a name I haven’t uttered in quite some time.  How are you?”

“I’m… Good, how are you?”  He replied, the pitch of his voice lilting upward slightly in confusion as he regarded her.  She could tell that he was initially thrown off, his brows pulling downward as his eyes, those topaz eyes that used to send her heart fluttering, studied her face.  The focus was there, and Jacqui could practically see the mental math he was doing as he tried to locate the name that matched her face.  Admittedly the last time they had seen each other, Jacqueline had looked quite different; done up in the theatrics of playing the distraught wife in the morgue, her face red as she sobbed and identified the body as her husband’s.  

This time, she was done up in the exact opposite way, oozing confidence despite her nerves that told her to wait a little longer before breaking out the “lively” wardrobe.  Her hair was freshly trimmed and styled, her lips, now turned fully upward in a smile, painted a brilliant bright red.  “I’m glad to hear it; you look well.”  Her dark, cat-like eyes dropped to fully regard him before lifting back up to his face; he did look well, just as well as he had as a young man.  He didn’t seem to have any luck with his memory still, which was beginning to throw her off—was Jacqueline not as memorable as she liked to believe she was?  In hopes of proving herself right, she threw him a bone and hoped he would catch it, “How’s Mathilde?  I haven’t seen her in ages.”  Her weight shifted from one leg to another, a mixture of her nervousness and impatience playing hand-in-hand with one another. 

At this Gerald seemed to make the connection, his brows lifting in what seemed to be surprise.  “Jacqueline Dubois, is that you?”  Those honey-colored eyes of his quickly trailed over her frame before settling on her face yet again, a smile now finding it’s way on his lips, “You look… Different.”

#rowanparis #{ the mortician } #{ gerald } #{ ask game } #// i literally just played with what we chatted about on discord lolololol i'm trash ok