#chevalier is a lawyer in this au i think

[bespectacledbun]

I actually got the opportunity to watch the second season of bridgerton this past summer (I dont like daphne so I didnt watch the first season) and my GOD if I wasn’t sweating bullets at the iconic confession scene picturing chevalier going “do you even know all the ways a lady can be seduced? the things I could teach you...” in that heated whisper 

+ re: modern aus, I’m of the opinion that no matter what profession chev goes into in a modern setting, he’ll inevitably end up being high profile because 1) that face 2) that VOICE 3) that brain. be it lawyer, doctor, writer, editor, chef, musician, actor.... professor...... definitelynothotforteacher coughs— chevalier will attract attention from other people, simply because of his innate talent and skill. and, the reason he’s talented at whatever he does isn’t because he’s a genius (well, he IS a genius) but because 

     a) he has perfect recall, so it isn’t a struggle for him to retain new information, and he’s able to remember virtually anything he’s seen, read, or heard      b) his rate of learning is much, much lower. where learning a skill would take an average person, say, 2 years, chev can learn and perfect it in 1 year (or even 6 months)      c) once he learns something, he learns it until he perfects it, and he applies the same standard for everyone else

I cant remember which event it was but there’s an event where clavis talks about reading a foreign medical textbook and chev says something like “study a language before you study medical texts,” and clavis thinks chev is insulting him. but chev’s advice actually makes sense logically: if you learn the language, you’ll know the vocabulary, and if you know the vocabulary it’ll be easier to pick up field-specific terminology (like in medicine). yeah, chev has it MUCH easier than anyone else when it comes to new stuff, but he still puts in actual work to learn a skill and then perfects it until he cant anymore

12 + 16 for let it stand! it’s honestly one of my fave ikepri fics so I was curious what made you think of editor chevalier after writing bookbound 👁️

Heeeyyyyyyy theeeerrrrre!!! ⊂⁠(⁠(⁠・⁠▽⁠・⁠)⁠)⁠⊃ Novelist AU my beloved 😆

12. What inspired this wip

One day I just had the thought that, since Chevalier likes reading romance books in canon, in another life he would be a romance writer. I think I was following some stuff in book twitter at the time, and then I posted that writer AU post. But then I immediately thought, what if Emma is the writer and Chevalier is her caustic, snarky, and very very strict editor? Thus, Let It Stand was born 🤓

16. What do you find frustrating about this wip

The novel excerpts, that's for sure 😂 Chevalier prose style is supposed to be lyrical and devastating, like Eric Gamalinda's (I reread a novel of his to mimic it lmao). Dunno if it took, but I didn't want to prolong my agony anymore hahahaha

And now I'm going to face another similar challenge for chapter 3: this time it's writing Emma's novel excerpt 🫠

Chev and goodreads! Lmao what an absolutely delightful topic 😆 He'd probably usually post one-sentence reviews of most of the books he's read. But for the ones he liked or hated it's going to be an essay-length worthy of journal publication, with full-on analysis of the themes and characterizations and even its socio-historical context lol. His reviews will spark discourse that would make it to other sites (like tumblr lol) and he's going to inevitably have a beef with a couple of authors he eviscerated 😂 Eventually he'll get invited to write a piece on booktok and boy that's going to be a rollercoaster ride 🤣 Clavis has his popcorn ready.

New wip development ask game

[101flavoursofweird]

My Rhythm Thief Secret Santa 2020 for @wivesbeforelives! They asked for a scenario with the Rhythm Thief characters hanging out with platonic found family, playful bickering and some Raphael x Marie! Thank you to @Regu for organising everything again. Merry Christmas!

Spoilers: For The Emperor’s Treasure.

Set: After The Emperor’s Treasure.

Warnings: Minor references to Jean-François' horrible parenting skills. French translations under the cut if anyone wants to know!

Fast Food Getaway

“Hey, can we get a McDonald's?”

Inspector Paul Vergier gripped the steering wheel between his fingers. He tried to retract the vein throbbing in his forehead. He inhaled through his nose— though it felt like he was inhaling through mustard— counted to ten and slowly exhaled.

“No,” he responded flatly.

“Awww... Why not?” Phantom R whined from behind Paul.

Barring his teeth, Paul said, “Because—“

“Because,” Charlie interrupted, “you have just been arrested...” Charlie shifted in the passenger seat. She glared at Phantom R in the back of the police car. “...And we are taking you to the station.”

Phantom R rattled his handcuffs and protested, “Don’t I get one last meal  before you lock me up forever?”

“We have food at the station,” Paul dismissed. (Emma, donne-moi ta force...)

“I’m allergic to prison food!”

“What a shame your dog isn’t here to share it,” Charlie snorted. “Where did he run off to again...?”

Paul listened closely, but Phantom R didn’t rise to Charlie’s bait. He would never reveal the location of his canine accomplice, or his secret hideout where he kept all of his stolen artworks.

After a beat of silence, Phantom R wondered, “What about Marie?”

“What about her?” Charlie said.

Both Charlie and Phantom R turned to Marie, who was sitting quietly beside Phantom R. Marie, unlike Phantom R, wasn’t handcuffed, for she wasn’t under arrest. Apparently, Marie had just been in the wrong place at the wrong time when they apprehended Phantom R at the Louvre.

Paul wanted to believe Marie was an innocent bystander, but her association with Phantom R was obvious.

Even if they were to question Marie, however, Duchess Elizabeth would never let them accuse her of anything. Paul would rather not incite the duchess’ wrath upon the Constabulary.

So, he would simply drop Marie home with a ‘warning’. From now on, she would only be able to visit Phantom R in a cell.

Paul didn’t think this would deter Phantom R at all. Phantom R was like ‘a dog with a bone’ as Emma would have put it.

“Do  you want a McDonald's, Marie?” Phantom R persisted.

Charlie scoffed. “I’m sure Marie’s tastes are far superior to yours—“

“Zip it, Charlotte. The adults are talking.”

“YOU ZIP IT!”

Charlie’s shout almost made Paul slam the break down. Paul shot her a scornful look.

“A-actually...” Marie spoke up. “I’d love to try a McFlurry— if it’s not too much trouble...”

Phantom R gasped loudly. “Are you saying you’ve never had a McFlurry?”

“I’ve never had a McDonald's...”

“Seriously?” Charlie and Phantom R said together.

“It was J... just that I was never allowed them... before,” Marie mumbled. A hush settled over the car for a few moments, with Marie gazing out of the window.

Paul cleared his throat. “I... suppose we could stop at the nearest drive-through.”

“Really?” Marie exclaimed. “Are you sure that’s alright?” (The duchess’ daughter, asking for his permission...)

Paul nodded. He turned left at the next traffic light, mentally adding seventeen years on to Jean-François’ prison sentence.

“Nooo...” Charlie groaned when they saw the huge queue for the McDonald's drive-through. She hissed to Paul, “With every passing moment, Phantom could be planning his escape...”

She had a point. Paul frowned at Phantom R in the rear-view mirror. Phantom R’s hands— still cuffed in front of him— were resting in his lap. He was smiling at Marie. There was no way he would abandon her... would he?

Paul pulled up in the McDonald’s car park. “Why don’t you go inside and get the order?” Paul suggested to Charlie. “Then we won’t have to wait so long.”

“And leave you alone with Phantom R?” Charlie drawled.

“I’m perfectly capable—“

“You would never catch him.”

“She’s right,” Phantom R agreed, poking his head between the front seats.

Charlie shoved his head away. “Shut up.”

Marie stammered, “We... we can leave if it’s too much hassle...”

Paul, Charlie and Phantom R exchanged glances with each other. A temporary detente passed between the three of them. They turned to Marie determinedly.

“We’re getting you that McFlurry,” Charlie declared.

“I won’t try to escape while Charlie’s gone,” Phantom R vowed. “Phantom’s honour.”

Paul handed Charlie his wallet.

“Do you want anything?” Charlie asked him.

“A single black coffee.”

Charlie stuck her tongue out in disgust.

Phantom R begged, “Can I get some fries and chicken nuggets—“

Charlie opened the car door and hopped out.

“—in a Happy Meal? PLEASE, CHARLIE!”

Before Charlie could leave, Marie hollered, “Charlie, please can I also have a Happy Meal with fries and chicken nuggets?”

“...For you, yes,” Charlie called. She slammed the door and strode into the McDonald’s.

“Phew...” Phantom R chuckled. “Thanks, Marie.”

Paul turned in his seat, his brow furrowing at Phantom R. “You do realise the severity of your situation, don’t you?” Paul informed him. “You will need to stand trial from your crimes and you could face a prison sentence of up to three years minimum.”

Marie was watching Phantom R sadly. No doubt, she and Duchess Elizabeth would vouch for Phantom R. They would probably pay a reputable lawyer to defend him...

The trial could end in his favour.

Phantom R was young— about Charlie’s age, by the looks of it. He had won the hearts of many Parisians when he destroyed the Hanging Gardens and helped defeat the Chevaliers Diabolique. He could be so much more than a wanted thief...

“Why?” Paul sighed. “Why must you steal?”

Phantom R met Paul’s gaze with surprise. Then he shrugged.

Marie opened her mouth, as if she wanted to say something, but she shook her head.

Why was the duchess’ daughter so attached to this delinquent boy? There had to be something she saw in him... Something that connected them both...

“Open the door, will you?” Charlie had returned, up to her arms in McDonald's paper bags. She kicked the car door until Paul let her in.

“This is a police car,” Paul growled as Charlie shuffled inside. “If I find any damages—“

She dropped a paper cup into the cup holder between their seats. “Drink your coffee, old man.”

Charlie presented Marie with a blue paper tub and a plastic spoon. “Here’s your McFlurry.”

“Th-thank you...” Marie breathed. The others watched as she dug the spoon in and took her first bite of ice cream. She smiled with pure bliss. “It’s amazing,” she said.

“You deserve it,” Phantom R told her. He turned to Charlie. “Did you get the Happy Meal—?” Charlie chucked a red Happy Meal box at him. “Thanks!”

“I’d better not find any crumbs back there,” Paul warned, sipping his coffee.

“No, Sir,” Phantom R said. He struggled to open the Happy Meal box with his handcuffs. Marie helped him.

Phantom R pulled something out of the box. “Cool— they’re doing Spongebob toys!”

“Who did you get?” Charlie asked in a deliberately disinterested voice.

Phantom R held up a plastic pink starfish. “Patrick Star!”

“I’ll have to confiscate that,” Charlie said quickly.

“But he’s, like, my favourite character!” (The most infamous thief in Paris, pining over a kids’ toy...)

Charlie scowled at Phantom R for a moment. Phantom R stuck out his bottom lip.

“Fine…” Charlie conceded with a huff. “I guess you’ll need something to keep you busy when you’re behind bars.”

“Thanks, Charlie!” Phantom R hugged the starfish to his chest. Marie beamed and continued eating her McFlurry.

Folding her arms, Charlie slumped in her seat.

“Why didn’t you get anything for yourself?” Paul murmured to her. Charlie shrugged. Paul rolled his eyes. (Impertinent child...) “If you want a Happy Meal that much, I’ll buy you one.”

Charlie gaped at him. “But—“

“I’d rather that than dealing with your sulking.”

He took another drink of coffee and ducked out of the car. He didn’t think to lock the car behind him.

Barely had he taken five steps before Charlie started shouting. Paul spun around. Phantom R was already out of the car— freed from his handcuffs.

Paul’s eyes widened. “How?” he demanded.

Phantom R flashed him a grin and vaulted over the roof of the police car— over to Marie’s side. He opened Marie’s door and lifted her out, bridal style.

“Oh,” Marie gasped, but she didn’t resist Phantom R.

Charlie’s door flew open. “We had a deal, Phantom!” she roared, stumbling out of the car.

Phantom R hummed. “I swore I wouldn’t try to escape while you were gone—“ Charlie lunged at him and he leapt back, still carrying Marie. “—Show’s over, guys! Au revoir!”

“Thanks again for the McDonald's!” Marie sang as Phantom R shot off with her.

“Father!” Charlie yelled. “Don’t just stand there! We need to catch him!”

Paul gaped as the pair got further and further away. “How?” he repeated, scratching his head. “How did he escape from his handcuffs?”

“By using that stupid starfish to pick the lock!” Charlie grunted. She crouched on the ground and grabbed the toy Phantom R had dropped. She threw it into the car. “ Allons-y!  If we’re quick, we can cut them off—“

“—After I’ve finished my coffee,” Paul sighed, returning to the car. He sank into the driver’s seat and picked up his coffee cup. (It hadn’t gone cold, thankfully.)

“But—“

“Pas maintenant, Charlie.”

The line about Vergier “inhaling through mustard” is a reference to a French idiom “Avoir la moutarde qui monte au nez”, which means “to have mustard going up your nose”. This can mean to lose your temper. “Donne-moi ta force…” translates to, “Give me strength…” “Pas maintenant…” translates to, “Not now…” I think “Like a dog with a bone” is mainly a British expression. I headcanon that Charlie’s mother Emma was originally from Britain, resulting in Charlie’s British accent in the English dub of the game.

[blackkudos]

Lois Mailou Jones

Lois Mailou Jones (November 3, 1905 – June 9, 1998) was an artist who painted and influenced others during the Harlem Renaissance and beyond, during her long teaching and artistic career. Jones was the only African-American female painter of the 1930s and 1940s to achieve fame abroad, and the earliest whose subjects extend beyond the realm of portraiture. She was born in Boston, Massachusetts and is buried on Martha's Vineyard in the Oak Bluffs Cemetery.

Early life and education

Her father, Thomas Vreeland Jones was a building superintendent who later became a lawyer after becoming the first African-American to earn a law degree from Suffolk Law School; her mother, Carolyn Jones was a cosmetologist.

Jones' parents encouraged her to draw and paint as a child in water color. During childhood her mother took her and her brother to Martha's Vineyard where she became lifelong friends with novelist Dorothy West. She attended the High School of Practical Arts in Boston. Meanwhile, she took Boston Museum of Fine Arts evening classes and worked as an apprentice in costume design. She held her first solo exhibition at the age of 17. From 1923 to 1927 she attended the School of the Museum of Fine Arts in Boston studying design, taking night courses at the Boston Normal Art School. She also pursued graduate work at the Design Art School and Harvard University. She continued her education even after beginning work, attending classes at Columbia University and receiving her bachelor's degree from Howard University in 1945, graduating magna cum laude.

Work

In 1928 she was hired by Charlotte Hawkins Brown after some initial reservations, and founded the art department at Palmer Memorial Institute in North Carolina. As a prep school teacher, she coached a basketball team, taught folk dancing, and played the piano for church services. Only one year later, she was recruited to join the art department at Howard University in Washington D.C., and remained as professor of design and watercolor painting until her retirement in 1977. While developing her own work as an artist, she was also known as an outstanding mentor.

In 1934 Jones met Louis Vergniaud Pierre-Noel, who would become a prominent Haitian artist, while both were graduate students at Columbia University. They corresponded for almost twenty years before marrying in the south of France in 1953. Jones and her husband lived in Washington, D.C. and Haiti. They had no children. He died in 1982.

In the early 1930s Jones exhibited with the William E. Harmon Foundation and other institutions, produced plays and dramatic presentations and began study of masks from various cultures. In 1937 she received a fellowship to study in Paris at the Académie Julian. During one year's time she produced over 30 watercolors. She returned to Howard University and began teaching watercolor painting. She said of her time in Paris:

The French were so inspiring. The people would stand and watch me and say 'mademoiselle, you are so very talented. You are so wonderful.' In other words, the color of my skin didn't matter in Paris and that was one of the main reasons why I think I was encouraged and began to really think I was talented.

In 1938 she produced Les Fétiches (1938) a stunning, African inspired oil which is owned by the Smithsonian American Art Museum, Jones' Les Fétiches was instrumental in transitioning 'Négritude'—a distinctly francophone artistic phenomenon—from the predominantly literary realm into the visual. Jones' work provided an important visual link to Négritude authors including Aimé Césaire, Léon Damas, and Léopold Sédar Senghor. It was one of her best known works, and her first piece which combined traditional African forms with Western techniques and materials to create a vibrant and compelling work. She also completed Parisian Beggar Womanwith text supplied by Langston Hughes.

Her main source of inspiration was Céline Marie Tabary, also a painter, whom she worked with for many years. Tabary submitted Jones' paintings for consideration for jury prizes since works by African-American artists were not always accepted. Jones traveled extensively with Tabary, including to the South of France, and they frequently painted each other. They taught art together in the 1940s.

In the 1940s and early 1950s Jones exhibited at the Phillips Collection, Seattle Museum of Art, National Academy of Design, the Barnet Aden Gallery, Pennsylvania's Lincoln University, Howard University, galleries in New York and the Corcoran Gallery of Art. In 1952 Loïs Mailou Jones: Peintures 1937-1951, a collection of more than 100 reproductions of her French paintings, was published.

In 1954 Jones was a guest professor at Centre D'Art and Foyer des Artes Plastiques in Port-au-Prince, Haiti where the government invited her to paint Haitian people and landscapes. Her work became energized by the bright colors. She and her husband returned there during summers for the next several years, in addition to trips to France. There she completed "Peasant girl, Haiti" and also exhibited her work. In 1955 she unveiled portraits of the Haitian president and his wife commissioned by United States President Dwight D. Eisenhower.

Jones's numerous oils and watercolors inspired by Haiti are probably her most widely known works. In them her affinity for bright colors, her personal understanding of Cubism's basic principles, and her search for a distinctly style reached an apogee. In many of her pieces one can see the influence of the Haitian culture, with its African influences, which reinvigorated the way she looked at the world. These include Ode to Kinshasa and Ubi Girl from Tai. Her work became more abstract and hard-edged, after her marriage to Pierre-Noel. Her impressionist techniques gave way to a spirited, richly patterned, and brilliantly colored style.

In 1962 she initiated Howard University's first art student tour of France, including study at Académie de la Grande Chaumière and guided several more tours over the years. In the 1960s she exhibited at School of the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston, Cornell University, and galleries in France, New York and Washington, D.C.

In 1968 she documented work and interviews of contemporary Haitian artists for Howard University's "The Black Visual Arts" research grant. And continued the project in 1969 and 1970, traveling to eleven African countries. Her report Contemporary African Art was published in 1970 and in 1971 she delivered 1000 slides and other materials to the University as fulfillment of the project. In 1973-74 she researched "Women artists of the Caribbean and Afro-American Artists."

Her research inspired Jones to synthesize a body of designs and motifs that she combined in large, complex compositions. Jones's return to African themes in her work of the past several decades coincided with the black expressionistic movement in the United States during the 1960s. Skillfully integrating aspects of African masks, figures, and textiles into her vibrant paintings, Jones continued to produce exciting new works at an astonishing rate of speed, even in her late eighties. In her nineties, Jones still painted. Bill Clinton and Hillary Clinton collected one of her island seascapes Breezy Day at Gay Head while they were in the White House.

Jones felt that her greatest contribution to the art world was "proof of the talent of black artists." The African-American artist is important in the history of art and I have demonstrated it by working and painting here and all over the world." But her fondest wish was to be known as an "artist"—without labels like black artist, or woman artist. She has produced work that echoes her pride in her African roots and American ancestry.

Lois Mailou Jones' work is in museums all over the world and valued by collectors. Her paintings grace the permanent collections of the Metropolitan Museum of Art, Smithsonian American Art Museum, Hirshhorn Museum and Sculpture Garden, National Portrait Gallery, Boston Museum of Fine Arts, the National Palace in Haiti, the National Museum of Afro-American Artists and many others.

Awards and honors

Robert Woods Bliss Award for Landscape for Indian Shops Gay Head, Massachusetts(1941)

Atlanta University award for watercolor painting Old House Near Frederick, Virginia (1942)

Women of 1946 award from the National Council of Negro Women (1946)

John Hope Prize for Landscape for Ville d'Houdain, Pas-de-Calais and award from the Corcoran Gallery of Art for Petite Ville en hautes-Pyrenées (1949)

Atlanta University award for Impasse de l'Oratorie, Grasse, France (1952)

Chevalier of the National Order of Honor and Merit from the government of Haiti. (1954)

Award for design of publication Voici Hätii (1958)

Atlanta University award for Voodoo Worshippers, Haiti and America's National Museum of Art award for Fishing Smacks, Menemsha, Massachusetts (1960)

Elected Fellow of The Royal Society of Arts in London; receives Franz Bader Award for Oil Painting from National Museum of Art for Peasants on Parade (1962)

Howard University Fine Arts Faculty Award for Excellence in Teaching (1975)

Honorary Doctorate of Humane Letters from Suffolk University in Boston. She also has received honorary degrees from Colorado State Christian University, Massachusetts College of Art

Honored by President Jimmy Carter at the White House for outstanding achievements in the arts (1980).

Candace Award, Arts and Letters, National Coalition of 100 Black Women (1982)

Legacy

After her death, her friend and adviser, Dr. Chris Chapman completed a book about her life and the African-American pioneers she had worked with and been friends with, including Dr. Carter G. Woodson, Alain Locke, Dorothy West, Josephine Baker, and Matthew Henson. Entitled Lois Mailou Jones: A life in color, it is available through Xlibris and museum stores.

In 1997, Jones' paintings were featured in an exhibition entitled Paris, the City of Light that appeared at several museums throughout the country including the New Orleans Museum of Art, the Milwaukee Art Museum, and the Studio Museum of Harlem. The exhibition also featured the works of Barbara Chase-Riboud, Edward Clark, Harold Cousins, Beauford Delaney, Herbert Gentry, and Larry Potter. The exhibition examined the importance of Paris as an artistic mecca for African-American artists during the 20 years that followed World War II.

From November 14, 2009, to February 29, 2010, a retrospective exhibit of her work entitled Lois Mailou Jones: A life in vibrant colorwas held at the Mint Museum of Art in Charlotte, North Carolina. The traveling exhibit included 70 paintings showcasing her various styles and experiences: America, France, Haiti, and Africa.

Wikipedia

[elsinore-and-inverness]

Casanova In Soho

Chapter 2.

For @ktrosesworld 

This is kind of all over the place. Also a blend of history and fiction. Marber’s Don Juan and Stan. Everyone else was real. 

‘Stan?’ Don Juan queried plaintively, draining his cup. ‘Is cappuccino really Austrian?’ ‘Hm?’ ‘That young man said-‘ ‘He spoke Italian with a French accent. For him it’s probably café au lait or the highway.’ ‘He was crying, did you see that?’ ‘Can we not go chasing people across London? What about that nice opera singer-‘ ‘What was her name?’ ‘Therese,’ Stan sighed. ‘What about her?’ ‘You’ve been seeing her for a fortnight!’ ‘So?’ ‘You’re horrible.’ Martinelli who had been listening at the next table pushed his chair back. ‘Therese needs a lawyer.’ ‘And he’ll be needing a job,’ Don Juan mused, resting his finger on his lips. ‘Pall Mall, you said?’ ‘He didn’t look like a lawyer.’ ‘What makes you think the two observations are in any way related?’

Giacomo Casanova was indeed in need of a of a job. London’s definition of “affordable” was not what he had hoped. He didn’t want to admit it but the lodging he had accepted was objectively smaller and shabbier than the room he had turned down on Soho square. But that was okay. He was living on his own means. He pulled on the end of the dark ribbon that held his hair back and sat down on the dusty mattress. Everything was going to be alright and he didn’t owe anyone anything. He breathed in the arenaceous smell of the room. He was four blocks from the Thames, a five minute walk from the Queen’s House and ten minutes from Westminster. An ideal location if he was someone important. But he wasn’t. Not anymore. There was a knock on the door and Giac jumped. The wooden slats under the mattress creaked under his weight. This bed wasn’t going to be much good for anything, he decided. He looked at the door warily. The person on the other side of the door cleared his throat, ‘Is this the residence of a Signor Giacomo Casanova?’ he spoke in an English accent. Casanova opened the door, not all the way, but enough to peer outside. ‘This is he.’ ‘The Venetian Envoy would like to extend an invitation.’ ‘Oh?’ ’To present you in court.’ ‘Vraiment?’ ‘I believe so, sir.’ Giac frowned. ‘Didn’t I see you in the coffeehouse?’ The short Englishman shook his head. ‘Well-‘ Giacomo exhaled a long breath through puffed cheeks, ’thank you for telling me.’ ‘Do you know the way?’ ‘I can read a map.’

Giacomo knocked on the door of the house of the Venetian Envoy at five that afternoon. He opened the door himself, which should have been a good sign, but then he saw the expression on his face. ‘And you are?’ the envoy asked, looking at Giac rather like he had just crawled out of the sewer. ‘G- Giacomo Casanova, Monsieur- I mean, Signor.’ ’Nice to meet you, Monsieur Casanova.’   ‘I was informed you had intentions regarding presenting me in court?’ The envoy smiled at him in much the same way one might smile at a rat that has reached the end of a maze and something about it chilled Giacomo’s blood. He bowed cursorily and fled the scene. He nearly ran into the man that had been at the door of his flat thirty minutes earlier. ‘I may have had the wrong person.’ ‘Dreadful aristocrat.’ ‘Tell me about it.’ ‘I’m sorry?’ ‘I said, tell me about it.’ ‘He just- You must have seen-‘ ‘How about trying Lord Egremont?’ They were shortly informed that Lord Egremont was on his deathbed and not accepting visitors. The Englishman kicked a lamppost, ‘I’m going to kill him.’ ‘Kill who?’ ’Never you mind. The French ambassador it is. I said so.’   They arrived at the house of the French ambassador directly across Soho square from Therese’s residence around seven and were greeted warmly. ‘Come in, come in, we’re just having dinner.’ The French ambassador, of course, was having dinner with the Chevalier D’Eon and the dark haired man from the coffeehouse. ‘I hate you,’ Stan whispered to Don Juan. ‘So you’ve said.’ ‘What was the point of the wild goose chase?’ ‘It wasn’t a wild goose chase,’ Casanova interjected. ‘What do you mean by that?’   ‘Casanova is Venetian,’ D’Eon observed, ‘and, I suspect, in trouble with the Venetian government. ‘And the French government,’ Giac pointed out in confusion. ‘You and me both.’ ‘I shall present you to Queen Charlotte and King George on Saturday next,’ the ambassador pronounced. Towards the end of the meal the ambassador got up to relieve himself and the Chevalier turned to the guests in great earnestness as soon as he was out of the room. ‘He’s been trying to drug me.’ ‘De Guerchy? Why?’ Giacomo asked, reconsidering, not for the first time, his aptitude as a judge of character. ‘He’s part of de Pompadour’s faction and I know diplomatic secrets.’ ‘Why’re you telling us?’ said Don Juan, his eyes focusing oddly on the middle distance. ‘Don’t mind him, he’s high.’ ‘I am.’ He muttered something about resin and “Limehouse Causeway” but no one was really listening. The Chevalier evidently had more than enough information to take action against De Guerchy. ‘Why don’t you then?’ ‘You need an in to London society, don’t you?’ ‘Not at the expense of- This is insane-‘ ‘I can handle it.’ ‘Why are you telling me if you don’t want me to-‘ ‘So you’re not upset in a couple of months when he gets what he deserves.’ ‘I’m beginning to realize-‘ Casanova said, watching Don Juan stare in fascination at his own hands, ’that I might not have been a very good spy.’ ‘Did you get caught?’ Don Juan asked, as De Guerchy re-entered the room. ‘I seem to have done little else.’ ‘Get caught doing what? De Guerchy asked, standing in the doorway. Casanova, artfully oblivious, leaned over and planted a kiss firmly at the edge of Don Juan’s mouth. ‘Whatever you were smoking tastes like a dead fox,’ he hissed. The brown eyes that gazed pellucidly at him held neither dedication nor objection to what he was doing as, dead fox or no, he tilted his head and met his lips fully. Casanova had never seen anything quite like it before. This kind of dispassionate appreciation. Something was missing. He wondered if he had ever looked like that. ‘Do spies kiss with their eyes open?’ ‘I’m a very bad spy.'

[syneilesis]

Yves's ambition of running a cafe makes me think of a modern setting coffee shop AU.

Like, Yves owns the cafe and he also bakes the pastries.

Jin, Nokto, Leon, and Luke are baristas. Leon charms the customers into becoming regulars. Jin and Nokto flirt with them at every opportunity, much to Yves's scandalized horror (the customers love the flirting, though, and it's why they come back to the cafe frequently, apart from the heavenly pastries). Jin is also assigned with the task of monitoring Luke in case he eats every pastry with honey.

Licht doesn't want to be a barista, so he hangs out in the kitchen while Yves bakes, taste-testing and all. Whenever there's some trouble outside that may disrupt the cafe operations, Licht is sent out to take care of it.

Much as Chevalier's pretty face would attract new customers, his intimidating aura would probably deter a lot of them. Either way he's not interested in baking or making coffee or talking to people. He does, however, donate the books he's already read ("I've already read those books, Showoff; do whatever you want with them."), so Yves designed the coffee shop to be a library cafe. Sometimes, whenever there's legal trouble or a similar situation, it's Chevalier who steps in and settles them.

Clavis is banned from the cafe, to no one's surprise. There was that incident way back when they were starting the business that involved an unwanted renovation ("Clavis, oh my god, why is there suddenly a waterslide inside this building?!") and creatively experimental recipes ("Clavis, for the love of god, no more exploding croissants!"). For everybody's sake Chevalier had to intervene, so he had Clavis scope out competition and other information-gathering/market-research-related tasks. He does sometimes sneak in the cafe and leave some surprises, to keep everyone on their toes.

Of course, Sariel is their accountant who rules with an iron fist.

Emma and Rio are cafe regulars. Emma loves everything Yves bakes. Rio always ushers Emma to their favorite spot beside the impressive bookshelves and does the ordering himself. This way he can cut off those flirty baristas who've been eyeing Emma ever since they first stepped in the cafe, months ago. The one with the silver hair and foxy smile is on cashier duty today, so Rio engages him in a minute-long stare-off before he finally grits out their orders.

The customer behind him clicks their tongue.

"I'll serve your order on your table when they're ready," Foxy Smile says with a smug smirk.

"No thank you," Rio replies, trying to keep his own smile on his face.

A few minutes later, Rio goes to their table with a tray of their order and finds Emma reading one of the books in the shelves.

"They have such a good selection of books, Rio!" Emma says, and Rio's smile looks more natural now. "There's a name on the first page of this book. C. Michel. I wonder who could it be. I'd like to talk to them about this book!"

For some unfathomable reason, Rio has a bad feeling about that. So he distracts Emma with the food and says, "Here you go, Emma. They've added new variations. Let's try these croissants first."