`` la fee verte

[Alice Devereux]

la fee verte.

It was noon, perhaps a bit past noon, when Alice stepped into the Cockney Tavern. It was already filled with people, mostly resident drunkards and their companions at this hour, indulging in their drink of choice while their minds became increasingly foggy from their vice’s effects. The room was clouded with the distinct smell of tobacco smoke, both old and new, and Alice instinctively slipped a long cigarette from her own weathered cigarette case and placed it between her deep rose painted lips. She needn’t reach for a light as there were already a number of lit matches dancing in front of her face, held out by those wishing to have her as company for the afternoon. She leaned into the closest flame, inhaled for the cigarette to catch, and then exhaled the sweet smoke as she gently pulled the source away from her mouth.

“Thank you,” Alice said softly to the men. She spoke the language of the city, but her slight accent was a telltale sign that she was not native to Paris. She glided past the group, interested in having drink and a few moments off her feet before she was due back at the Moulin Rouge to prepare for the night’s opening. The old wooden floor creaked as her slight frame moved atop it and settled at a small empty table close to the bar.

“Absinthe,” she ordered in an almost mechanical fashion from one of the barmaids. She always drank absinthe. She didn’t bother reaching for her change purse. She’d learned from her short time in Paris that a wink or a seductive glance in one direction or another was enough to ensure that one of the other patrons would take care of the cost. Instead, she adjusted her dress as she waited. It was a simple, navy colored garment that hung relatively close to her body with the hemline ended just below her ankles and the straps loosely secured around her shoulders to expose her protruding collarbone and the little cleavage she had. Although the dress was not tattered, it had obvious spots of wear and a few nominal stains on the skirt. Her chestnut locks were pulled back from her face with an ivory hair comb which had been a present from her father for her fourteenth birthday. Her face shone porcelain as she waited at her seat, the candlelight conveniently masking any lingering signs of her fatigue.

[Simon Olivier]

It had not been a particularly pleasant day. A customer, not one of his loyal patrons, had come into the shop and made several terrible mistakes. First, the gentlewoman, if she could be called that, had interrupted him during his work. That was never a thing to do if a person wished for Simon to be in a good mood. Still, he'd done his best to stay patient in the hopes that he might have a new patron. Secondly, she'd gone on for quite some time about how she was disgraced to be in a shop that did not display a designer name. Simon had rolled his eyes at that, wanting to ask her why she'd come in if she was going to complain. Then, she'd criticized his work. Three strikes. Simon had ushered her to the door and locked it behind her. It might have lost him some business, but he really wasn't in the mood to have a woman like that for a customer anyway.

Rather than reopening the shop after she'd huffed away with a "Well, I never!", he'd decided to close early. His patience was stressed too thin and he didn't have any other appointments that day anyway. That was one of the blessings of owning your own business: he could close the shop any time he liked. He set his own hours.

He'd made the usual rounds: picking up the fabric and stowing it in its proper place, tucking the ribbons away, picking up the pattern pieces for another time. He'd blown out the lights, locked the doors, and headed upstairs to his apartment. He'd taken only a moment to shrug on a jacket and grab a hat before heading out the fire escape door, locking it behind him.

A short time later, he stepped through the door of the Cockney Tavern. He threaded his way through the small crowd over to the bar and quickly grabbed a seat. He waited until he had the barkeep's attention before ordering a mug of beer. The keep quickly poured the requested drink and set it before him. He took a long drag, then a deep breath, and finally allowed himself to relax.

Simon sighed and finally noticed that he'd not only sat right next to another patron, but it was also a person, or rather a lady, that he recognized.

"Miss Alice!" he said, pleased. Alice Devereux was one of his favorite of the Moulin Rouge ladies. He was usually a bit tongue-tied around her, but now he was too tired to be shy and was simply glad to be around pleasant company at last.

~~~~~
Notes: Hope you don't mind that I said they knew each other. I figured that he would know her since he works fixing and making costumes for the ladies of the Moulin Rouge.

[Alice Devereux]

Alice hadn't noticed Simon's entrance. Instead, she had been much too focused on the moss green liquid floating in a crystal clear glass before her. She balanced her absinthe spoon on the rim of the glass so that it extended down the middle from one end to the next and situated a single cube of sugar atop it. Her slender, bony fingers grasped hold of a small carafe filled near to the brim with water and titled it slightly to allow the water to drip in even intervals through the sugar and into the beverage below. Her deep chocolate brown eyes fixated on the louche as the absinthe slowly transformed from a vibrant, translucent moss to a cloudy, opaque pale green that was almost white in color. She lifted the corners of her mouth. It truly was a wondrous drink.

Her attention turned away from her glass when she heard her name called out from the patrons. It wasn't unusual that someone was trying to catch her attention, but most people generally didn't know her by name, which is why Alice thought it must have been someone she knew rather well. Her smile broadened when she set sight upon Simon who was conveniently seated beside her. She assumed he entered when she had been tending to her drink because she was generally very aware of her surroundings.

"Monsieur Olivier," she started with a hint of surprise in her voice, "it's always a pleasure." She extended her hand to him, palm faced down. It was relatively uncommon for Alice to see Simon in the Cockney Tavern so early in the day. She assumed he usually had to spend time at his shop...for obvious reasons. "What brings you here at this hour? It's barely past noon," she inquired. "I didn't expect to see you perhaps until later this evening at the Moulin Rouge." Alice knew Simon as the costume designer as well as one of her best customers. He was lovely, really, but she just didn't anticipate seeing him until later when she would look much more presentable. She didn't think she looked awful at the moment, but Simon was used to her in lavish costume looking oh-so luxurious, which was certainly much more desirable than her current appearance.

(It's completely fine. I apologize for my delayed response. I've been having internet issues. Bleh.)

[Simon Olivier]

((No problem at all! I'm sorry about your internet issues. Those are no fun. I promise to respond to this tomorrow. My muse is dead after a long day.))

[Simon Olivier]

Simon thanked the barkeep with a smile and a quick nod before turning his attention toward Mademoiselle Alice. He was delighted that she recognized him by name so quickly, even though they'd seen each other so many times. He took her offered hand and gently kissed the top.

He chuckled dryly at her question and took a long drag from his drink before answering. "Ah, the delights at owning one's business. I can choose to close it early, if I want. It was not a pleasant day, so I figured that I might as well close up shop and have a drink before getting to the Moulin Rouge early," he said with a smile. Alice was one of his best, and favorite, customers and he enjoyed coming up with the perfect costumes for her. He enjoyed doing so for all of the ladies, but he would always have a few secret favorites.

Alice was a very lovely woman and Simon often wondered what kept her at the Moulin Rouge. Still, he did not ask, as that would not be polite and he did not want to pry into her personal business.

He chuckled again at her other comment.

"I didn't quite expect to be here either, but I had a new customer, if you could call her that, and she didn't quite appreciate my work. She was quite eager to voice her opinion as well," he added bitterly. If there was one thing Simon was passionate about, it was his work. He knew his work was exceptional and there was no selfish conceit in the thought either. He worked very hard to be excellent and he did not like being criticized if it was not from one of his regular patrons. He would take their constructive criticism with their business, as they each had their own tastes and he would accept that. Perhaps his ideals meant that he did not have as much business as other stores, but Simon was only one man and he did not want a large business. He was quite content the way it was.

[Simon Olivier]

[[Sorry for taking so long! Thanks for being so patient! I promise to be better about replying now.]]