At Your Swordfish Mademoiselle

"At your swordfish, Mademoiselle"

Who: Chevalier, Genevieve, Christiane, Etoile & Rupert
IC Date: May, 1940
OOC Date: Jan. 31, 2008
Where: Cafe Mason in Arras, France

What: Rupert attempts to converse with the denizens of the Cafe Mason, with amusing results. Poor chap.

Logger: Christiane

Cafe Mason (16 4)
The Grid-----> > > > > THE GREATEST GENERATION < < <

The cafe isn't huge by anyone's standard, fitting ten or so tables with four chairs around them, and a few smaller tables near the large front window to allow for more privacy with only two chairs. The tables all have a wooden surface but metal legs, and the chairs are simple wooden chairs with blue upholstery, matching the blue-white chequered table cloths. Mismatched vases with fresh flowers are on every table, together with salt and pepper shakers.

The floor is lacquered wood, the walls are painted white and the ceiling is also wood, with small lights hanging at even intervals to provide light for the customers. On the walls are photos of Arras and neighbourhood, but there's a section of wall dedicated to The Great War, with photos of soldiers from all corners of the world, even German.

A long counter stretches across most of the room, behind which the bartender can serve drinks and snacks, with shelves behind holding various liquors. A swing-door in a corner leads into the kitchen, letting the staff pass through easily to bring food to the guests. Another door at the other side of the room has a 'PRIVATE' sign on it - it must leads to the upper floor and the private residence of the owners.

It is currently dawn.

Sub-Rooms :
1. Table 1
2. Table 2

Chevalier - 2. Table 2

Private <PR> Out <O>

Chevalier leans forward propping his chin on his fist and looking genuinely interested as Gene speaks, his eyes memorizing her face, he even smiles at her small laugh. "He taught you well. Safe to assume your ravishing good looks came from your mother?" He eyes glint with mischeive as he takes a sip of beer.

Genevieve is now blushing. Out and out blushing. Yes, when she's on stage, make up all in place, hair perfect, she's used to such attentions. But that is a different persona of herself, and sitting here just now she's not accustomed to it in the least. After all, she's just in a comfortably black sweater and gray slacks, hair messily pulled back. She partially looks like she just woke up. "Now you're flattering me, monsieur. But, well.. My mother was a lovely woman."

Chevalier leans back and with a bit of a boyish grin he says, "You do not like being flattered?" he teases.

Genevieve hides her blushing smile behind her coffee cup, taking another good, deep drink of the stuff before looking back to him. "I… am not accustomed to it when I have just rolled out of bed after a night of drinking until dawn."

Etoile is behind the till, filing her nails, while a young waitress wipes down the counter nearby. Etoile is keeping a beady weather eye on the cafe - filing your nails is only so interesting, after all - and every now and then she casts a sharp look to the waitress to make sure that she's not slacking off.

Chevalier leans forward and says is a quiet voice so as to not be overheard, "Ah but Mademoiselle, there is more to a womans beauty than make-up and fancy costumes, no? For me a woman is most beautiful as she just rolls out of bed, no pretense, no camoflage, oui?" he gives a slight shrug, a tilt of his head as he leans back again.

Christiane steps briskly into the cafe. She hasn't started her shift at the hospital yet so she's still got some briskness about her. She bids hellos to the customers and staff as she walks in, though she does not interrupt Chevalier and Genevieve. Contenting herself with a smirk and a wave in their direction. Her destination is the counter.

Genevieve shakes her head quietly at him, tsking in his direction slightly though her eyes flicker over towards Etoile and she gives a small nod in girl's direction, "You are a cad, Monsieur… a charming one, but a cad. Your wife must be horribly jealous."

Etoile nods back to Genevieve, noticing Christiane enter as she does so. She quickly pockets her nail file and looks straightens her posture slightly. "Maman," she greets her as she nears, then waves a hand at the waitress. "Get her some tea, Miette." The waitress rolls her eyes and stomps off in to the kitchen.

"Etty," Christiane says with a fond smile at her daughter, seating herself at the counter. The smile crooks wryly as she watches the girl order the waitress around. Not that she objects. Chrisa wants her tea. "Keeping order here, I see?"

Rupert arrives from the Out.

"Someone has to, when the Grand Patriarch himself isn't around to glare at people and mutter to himself," Etoile replies to Christiane with a slight grin. "Although he's probably hiding from me." Miette soon returns, setting down a tray bearing a teacup, small bowl of sugar, milk, and some simple biscuits. "Any gossip?"

Chevalier raises an eyebrow and with a chuckle says, "A cad am I? Well, yes I guess I am at that. I am a very happily UNmarried cad though." He smiles and takes a drink of his beer.

Genevieve ahhahs, grinning a bit as she hears that, "I see. Well then, that is a bit safer. No risk of going home to a butcher knife one evening." She grins widely to him before turning her head, giving Chrisa a brief wave in greeting a slightly curious look over her shoulder, as if to ask with her eyes if the woman knew the man with whom Gene sits. She then looks back to her company…"Well, since we have not met formally, I am Genevieve d'Este…"

Christiane laughs at Etoile's description of the cafe's distinguished owner. "And why, pray, would your venerable father be hiding from you?" She adds some sugar and milk to her tea before actively sipping on it. "Gossip? None of any great entertainment, I am sorry to say. The British have kept me busy at the hospital these last days. Soldiers are great gossips, but their subjects are choice are not very interesting most of the time."

Rupert steps into the inn, closing the door behind him. He calls out loudly, "Good moaning!" The wounded officer - he has his arm in a sling - then heads to the counter, keeping a friendly smile on his chinless face.

Chevalier smiles and says, "Yes, Saint Genevieve the patron of Paris. I am Charles Chevalier and I am charmed to have met you formally. And as for the butcher knife…(he shifts his eyes a bit) there have been a few in the hands of a jealous husband or two." He winks.

Genevieve offers him her hand, if he would take t, and she does bow her head in his direction, "A pleasure to now know your name, Charles." And then he is called away, by friend or colleague, and she gives him a small wave, "Save travels, MOnseiur…"

Chevalier rises from the table after having politely and ever so softly kissed the ladies hand and bid her forgiveness for his having to leave. He pays Etolie and with a smile and wave he leaves.

Etoile half shrugs at Christiane. "Oh, I think that one day I'm going to torment him a little too much, and he'll snap and put me in a nunnery," she says, smirking, then tsks at the lack of gossip. "By 'not very interesting', you mean that they're mostly orientated around sex and death, correct?" she asks. She looks up as Rupert enters, and watches him beadily as he approaches.

Rupert touches his peaked cap in what would be a gallant gesture, if Rupert wasn't the one making it - it comes out looking rather spastic. He looks slightly nervous for some reason, staring at a point about six inches to the left of her ear, "Hello, miss. I would like some tay please!"

"Strategy of war and griping, actually," Christiane says wryly, arching an eyebrow at her daughter. Sex and death? "Perhaps a nunnery would be good for you for a little while. I hope you are not picking up such things here." She casts an eye around the cafe, lest anyone be caught having bloody, dirty conversation. Her eyes rests on Chevalier, following him until he's out the door. Her gaze softens when Rupert approaches, but only a little. "Lieutenant. Taken to wandering the town again, I see."

Ah, alone again. Gene picks up her coffee mug and finishes off the stuff before she too stands and goes to the counter. At least there is company there. She nods to the lieutenant and offers a bit of a smile as she waits for the waitress…"..Ah.. coffee… and some of that whiskey back there in it. If there is any left?" She asks with a daring little smile. It's five o'clock somewhere in the world!

"I suspect I'd be struck by a lightningbolt or something if I set foot on holy ground," Etoile mutters at her mother, then glances back from Christian to Rupert, fixing him with a curious stare. "Tay?" Pause. "MIETTE!" Miette the waitress hurries over to get Genevieve her coffee and booze.

Rupert stares at Etoile like she was slightly dense, leaning closer. He pronounces the word slowly and carefully, "I wo-uld li-ck to ha-ve so-me TAY plea-se." He offers Christiane a slightly nervous smile and a nod, as if afraid that she's going to put him back into the hospital. "Oh, you know. Just taking a stroll, keeping up the old muscle tone." He also nods to Genevive, blinking at the whisky. Clearly, he finds it hard to picture the young woman guzzling down hard A.

Christiane eyes Gene when she chases her coffee with booze. Not that Chrisa interferes. She has her own daughter to bother. Etoile earns a soft "Hmph." "You are not such a demonic child as that. Though you do try your best at times." Rupert earns a disapproving look. Both for his shouting and strolling. "I hope you do not forget to take your medication after you finish your stroll. Your arm will never heal if you do not rest it."

Genevieve smiles to Miette as her coffee is repoured into her mug and then topped with the whiskey. "Bit more… yes. That's it. Thank you." She digs into her pocket, passing across the money and a tip for the girl before Gene settles herself down onto a barstool, her slender legs crossing right over left. She takes a good sip of her coffee, shvering a bit at the burn, before she reaches into her pocket for her cigarettes…"Listen to Chrisa, Monseiur… she is a wise one."

Etoile addresses Rupert first. "I'm not stupid, I just can't tell what you're saying because of your accent!" she replies to him, putting her hands on her hips. "…Miette, is there still a fresh pot from when Maman had some a minute ago?" Miette glances up from pouring whiskey in to Genevieve's coffee, pockets her tip with a small smile, gives the remaining money (and a hateful look) to Etoile, then stomps off without a word to get Rupert's tea, leaving the whiskey bottle beside the coffee mug. Etoile EYES the girl, then smirks slightly at Christiane before falling silent to eavesdrop.

Rupert stands straight, looking rather taken aback, "No need to get upset, young vermin. My French is not very God." He glances from Genevieve to Christine, failing to stifle a grimace, "I know. But the men needle me. I'm afraid the armoir doesn't seem to be getting better, medicine or no."

Christiane sighs at Miette. "Do not be too hard on her. She will just complain to your father." A pause before adding, "Again." She makes another "Hmph" sound when Genevieve calls her 'wise.' "I am merely protective of my reputation. When soldiers arms start falling off in cafes, it makes me look not so good. In any case, sit." She motions to a seat beside her at the counter. Where she can watch the lieutenant like a hawk. Through sheer will, she doesn't giggle at this French. "You have met my charming daughter?" A gesture to Etoile.

Well, since the whiskey is there… Gene takes another good slug of her coffee, tops it off with the booze, and then carefully rests it behind the bar. She allows an almost innocent smile to cross her lips, settled comfortably upon her bar stool and lazily packing her cigarettes against the base of her palm so none of the tobacco comes loose when she opens the pack.

Etoile starts to reply to Christiane, "Miette is over-sensitive-" but… wait a moment. She fixes Rupert with another stare. Bad french or no, he's not getting off the hook. "Did you just insult me?!" The glower falters slightly. "…I'm not entirely sure."

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to offal. Calm down, young lazy." Rupert sits down obediently, murmuring to Christiane, "No, I have not had the leisure before. Enchanted. Second leftenant Rupert Orm-Herrick, at your swordfish, mademoiselle." He raises his peaked hat with his unwounded arm, effecting (unsuccesfully) a gallant expression.

Christiane stares at Rupert, her mouth compressing into a tight line as she follows his mangled French. She tries not to laugh. Truly, she does. But, in the end, she can't resist devolving into chuckles.

Genevieve chokes on her coffee, coughing a moment, but it's better than actually laughing out loud. Still her eyes are dancing with flushed amusement as she listens to this conversation.

Etoile still squints at Rupert, dubiously. "Mademoiselle Et-wol Mor-gen-stern," she replies to him, in the vain hope that he won't mispronounce her name at some later date. She opens her mouth, raises her index finger as if to point at him, then… thinks carefully, shuts her mouth, and lowers the finger. No. She's not going to correct his French. She's not quite that cruel today. "Pleased to meet you. What happened to your arm?" Miette reappears with a tray bearing tea, sets it down before Rupert, and shiftily sidles off to the kitchen again before Etoile can make her run any more errands.

Rupert murmurs, "I cot some Germans shrapnel there, mademoiselle." As Crhstiane chuckles and Genevive sputters, he tands up, red-faced. Even his stunted empathic radar has picked up on the general atmosphere of supressed hilarity around him. He stammers, "I am Sally for barging in like this. Please accept my sincere apostasy for the intrusion, lazies." He offers a military bow that looks more like a stumble, making his spastic way out of the cafe with his ears burning.

"Oh, Lieutenant, I am sorry!" Christiane calls, pulling herself together enough to stop laughing. She has to take a few deep breaths to manage it, though. And she also looks a little puzzled. Apostasy?

Genevieve waits for him to exit before she too breaks into chuckling, blushing hard as she shakes her head…"Oh, that… poor, poor man… I am sure he is most intelligent in English but his French… my god…" She laughs to herself again, blushing and shaking her head.

Etoile is left scratching the back of her neck, feeling puzzled. She detects the vague stirrings of a feeling that might be guilt, but that could be indigestion. Laughing at Rupert really IS like kicking a one-legged puppy. Or kicking an on-lagged poppy, as he would say. "Er. Wait-…" she says to Rupert as he hurries off, then decides to leave him be. She frowns, then decides to drink his abandoned tea.

"Oh, dear," Christiane murmurs as poor Rupert flees. "The poor man. I shall have to take him a bottle of wine or something to apologize properly. I did not mean to laugh, but…" But thinking about Rupert's attempts at French makes her tempted to giggle again, so she stops that.

Genevieve shakes her head quietly, still half giggling…"The poor man does bring it upon himself… I guess he tries, at least…" She tsks and scoops up her coffee, now drinking it like water now that it is cooler.

"We are all terrible, terrible people," Etoile solemnly intones over her tea cup. "…I think he was like one of those little baby birds that had fallen out of its nest, you know? Pathetic and helpless, so that soppy girls want to take it home and look after it, then cry a lot when it dies on them."

"He is not going to die," Christiane says evenly. Not today, at any rate. "Not if I have anything to say for it, at least. Miette! Open that crate we got in from Burgundy, if you please. I need to take a bottle to work." Chrisa does not bother to explain to the waitress how wine relates to her job. Not that Miette asks. That done, Chrisa finishes the last of her now-cool tea. "I had best be getting to the hospital. Do not be too hard on the customers, Etty. Your Papa wants them to come back."

Genevieve smiles to her boss' wife, bowing her head, "Have a good night, Chrisa… don't drink too much wine. You'll end up like me." Gene grins wide, giving a teasing little wink. She is definitely in good moods.

"Bah," Etoile replies to her mother, and starts shovelling sugar in to her tea cup. "I've only got in to an argument with one patron this week, and he started it. Have a good afternoon, Maman."

Christiane bids the ladies a final goodbye, tucking the bottle of wine in her arms when Miette delivers it. With that, she heads out of the cafe.

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