#please. see the light. love the stocky short dwarf man for who he is

[naomiknight-17]

Twice today - TWICE! - I have seen fanart of Senshi that makes him too tall, too thin, or both

He is stocky! He is short! He is a dwarf!!!!

I know art is hard (lord knows I struggle myself) but seeing his proportions all wrong hurts my heart ack

[thelioncourts]

title: the mannequin gallery fandom: captive prince pairing: damen/laurent rating: (eventually) mature words: 5428 for chapter two (2/?); 10116 all together

story summary: If things would have gone the way they were supposed to, Damen and Laurent would have never met. But things didn’t go the way they were supposed to, not at all, and their meeting ended up being the equivalent of skydiving with a malfunctioning parachute. Damen tried not to complain. After all, he was now living his dream; he was travelling with his best friend without having to make sure their “I"s were dotted and their "T"s crossed. And, sure, Laurent was difficult to work with, to work for, but he was also great to look at and they made it work well as long as they were anywhere but in Paris. But when Laurent’s past begins to cause present-day problems, Damen finds out those difficulties Laurent constantly displays were a bit more warranted than he could have ever imagined. And Laurent? Laurent finds out the truth – and finds out how to smile.

“You can practically smell the croissants already,” Damen said as they adjusted their carry-ons over their shoulders and entered terminal 2D of the Charles de Gaulle Airport.

The flight from Berlin to Paris had been two hours long, just long enough for Damen to feel the slightest ache in his legs, and the stretch of walking them to the baggage claim felt refreshing. While Damen talked and chattered, Nik was quiet next to him. His eyes were taking in the bright red of the carpet, the arched glass ceiling, and the hundreds of people surrounding them, some so close they all kept bumping shoulders. None of them lost their stride. Damen wondered if the red of the carpet reminded Nik of the pictures he had been showing Damen on the plane, pictures of past Etoile fashion shows. Red seemed to be one of their favorite colors.

Despite his silence about all this during their stopover in Berlin, Nik had clearly been doing his research in preparation for Paris. Once they had settled into their seats on the plane and the pilot had announced they could unfasten their seatbelts, Nik had pulled out his laptop and said with an edge of excitement, “Do you want to see some of my favorite photos from Etoile’s past shows?”

It turns out, there was a whole lot more to fashion than Damen had ever given any attention to. His head told him ‘Duh, Damen, of course there’s a lot to fashion,’ but it was as though the complete confirmation of that hadn’t hit him until he saw the pictures. Nik seemed to have come to the same realization just days earlier. It had been the main reason for his endless list of saved photos, some cropped and zoomed in to give attention to the embroidered sleeves, the silk waves of scarves, and the jackets all strewn with jewels that glittered differently in angles of light.

“I’m not used to having to pay attention to clothes,” Nik had said before closing the laptop and stuffing it back in its bag. “You barely own a shirt.”

Now, the closer they got to the baggage claim, the looser Damen’s muscles felt and the more that a new excitement settled in instead. It had been a long time since they had gone somewhere unknown to them. He voiced as much.

[Continue on AO3]

“I’m excited about it too,” Nik agreed. His eyes were taking in different things now, scanning the multitude of signs as they wandered and wandered down a seemingly-endless airport with no baggage claim in sight. “Though, to be honest, I don’t know how we’ve never been to Paris.”

“We’ve barely been to France while we’ve travelled,” Damen pointed out. “We’ve only ever been to Nice and I’m pretty sure we went there because we had been in western Italy all the week before.”

“Why haven’t we been here before now?” Nik asked. Without even a break in step, he turned and started another direction with one finger pointing at a welcome and needed ‘Baggage Claim →’ sign above a different area to their right.

Damen didn’t break his step either while he said, “Not sure. I think France has always been not far enough away from home and too close all at once. We couldn’t just take a long weekend here like we could with places close to Greece but it also didn’t seem worth it to plan a long trip here when we could plan a long trip over to the United States to go hiking by the Grand Canyon or to fly down to Australia and hold koalas, you know?”

There were too many people waiting at the baggage claim already, but this was familiar territory after years of travel. Patiently, Damen and Nik waited for their too many bags. Damen’s hands were in his pockets and he was rocking on his heels while listing off a few things he wanted to do while they were here.

“Surprisingly,” he started, “I haven’t planned all that much.”

“Really?” Nik asked, one eyebrow raised skeptically.

“Really. I figured it’d probably be best to wait until you find out your schedule. Can’t be making the boss-man angry,” Damen said. Nik rolled his eyes.

Right when Nik was about to come back with a retort, Damen felt a finger poke at his shoulder and turned around to a group of teens, each one with hearts in their eyes.

It wasn’t that uncommon for Damen to get recognized in public settings anymore. Hitting two million followers on Instagram would do that for a person. Luckily for all those that recognized him, he was an easy-going guy, hence him posing with the kids for the video they were filming on their phones. It was a quick thing; the five of them stood around Damen, his height dwarfing them by comparison, and they all – Damen included – smiled wide, all their pearly whites on display while they waved at the camera and the girl holding the phone moved her thumb up and down on the screen, zooming the camera in and out. After another minutes of giggles from the teens, they disappeared, no doubt to immediately go edit the footage, and Damen rejoined Nik to wait for sight of their bags.

“Oh, is the king done mingling with the commoners at last?” Nik mocked.

“Man, I think I’m getting too old for this social media thing,” Damen said, laughing a little. “They’re making a TikTok, or whatever. I thought that was only people dancing? Am I missing something?”

“You know we’ve never been good at keeping up with the trends,” Nik said. “And for guys who rely on social media for their way of living, it’s not the smartest thing we’ve done. Or not done.”

Their bags finally rolled out from behind the curtain of the carousel and Damen stepped forward to heft each bag over toward Nik. They both had two bags on the carousel. Nik had one for his clothes and whatnot while the other held an array of camera equipment. Damen’s, meanwhile, were filled with clothes, products from advertisers, and half of one suitcase was full of workout gear and tubs of preworkout and protein that Damen couldn’t go without. Luckily, a few years ago, they had invested in nice luggage sets that stacked together like puzzle pieces in order to make moving them easier. They also had USB ports in them so they could keep their phones charged at all times.

It was another maze to get to the exit. They got lost once, Damen got stopped by two boys who were also filming a TikTok, and Nik bought an overpriced water for their drive into town all before they finally found the main doors. The doors were thronged with people, with loved ones waiting for family and business moguls waiting for their called cars, and Damen and Nik were talking over the cacophony, so it was a miracle Damen saw what he saw.

“Nik?” Damen asked, pointing over to where a bunch of men in suits were standing, eyes scanning the crowds. In that crowd stood a guy with a sign that read Etoile in fancy script and had Nik’s name underneath.

The man was inconspicuous in appearance, his suit nice but not standout-in-the-crowd-nice. His hair was cropped and a standard shade of brown, he was short and a bit stocky, and the sunglasses on his face only drew attention to his unsmiling mouth. He looked completely average.

Nik turned to Damen and said, “They never said they were sending a car.”

They both approached the man, Nik the slightest bit more hesitant than Damen, and shouldered their way through the crowd until they could stand in front of him. Behind the sunglasses, they could see his eyes jump from Nik to Damen then back to Damen before he asked in accented English, “Are you Nik?”

“I am,” Nik said after a beat.

“My name is Jord. Etoile has sent for me to escort you to our head office before then taking you to your hotel. I have been informed that you may be tired from your journey and may wish to go directly to your hotel instead. That can be done as well.”

“I’m going to Etoile already?” Nik asked.

“The owner likes to make connections with his possible hires as soon as possible,” Jord said, moving to fold the sign up. Damen stopped him with a hand out and the man eyed him cautiously still behind dark glasses.

“Can I keep that?”

The man kept a cautious eye on Damen even as he handed the sign to him and Damen, feeling Nik’s gaze, said, “We have to document this, Nik.”

“Well, we’ve only just come from Berlin, so it wasn’t a long journey. I’d be glad to go right over,” Nik said in response to Jord, bringing the conversation back around. “Is that okay with you, Damen?”

“Absolutely.”

“Wonderful,” Jord said, sounding like it was anything but that. “Follow me, please.”

The car was just outside the main doors, surrounded by dark taxi cars, a few buses, and several drivers from phone apps. The car, however, wasn’t so much a car. It was a sleek black Rolls Royce instead, the true standout in a crowd like this. Damen raised both eyebrows appreciatively at it before sliding into the seat through the open back passenger door. Nik followed, a quieter kind of awe on his face, and Jord closed the door behind them before they heard and felt the luggage being loaded into the trunk.

“This is crazy, Nik,” Damen said. The interior of the car was all a soft black leather and there was plenty of room for the both of them to stretch their legs out, something that was no small feat for two men several inches over six feet tall.

“They sent a car,” Nik said. His right hand couldn’t stop touching the seat underneath him.

“And not some shitty car. They sent the nicest car we’ve ever sat in that wasn’t at an Italian car show,” Damen said.

Jord was getting in the driver’s seat now, sunglasses still firmly in place, and he adjusted the rearview mirror before asking, “Is there anything I can get the two of you before we leave?”

“I’m not exactly dressed for the occasion,” Nik said after a beat. The fact seemed to have just dawned on him, perhaps when he took in how his black joggers looked next to the car’s interior, and Damen was in no better shape with a pair of slide-on shoes and a baggy neon orange sweatshirt.

“It won’t be a problem,” Jord said and he started the car, the engine purring as it came to life. “As long as you know what you’re doing with a camera, it won’t matter what you look or dress like.”

The drive from the Charles de Gaulle Airport to the heart of Paris was a hair over thirty minutes. It was just long enough for Damen and Nik to sit on the edge of the too-nice seats in the car and take in the sights. At first, it started like most drives near or in a big city: surrounded by a bunch of cars and monotonous buildings. But the closer they got, the more that ‘real’ feeling started to sink in. When they set sight on the first Parisian landmark, a statue that was too far away to read the plaque, Damen smacked Nik with the back of his hand and said, “Welcome to your new home for the next month.”

Sights started to get more and more recognizable. When they turned onto Rue de Rivoli, the Seine came into view. It was wider than it looked in pictures and it was impossible to decide if it was worth it to spend more time looking at the blue of the water or the beautiful French architecture all around them.

“We definitely have to plan something there,” Nik said, a sort of awe in his voice as he pointed to the Louvre. The pyramid was just visible enough to see the sunlight bounce from its glass.

“You’ll have plenty of opportunity,” Jord said. The car turned left down Rue de l’Amiral de Coligny. “Etoile’s building is just next to the museum, right outside the Tuileries Garden.”

“Wait, we’re almost there?”

Jord only hummed, the sound just loud enough to reach Damen and Nik’s ears, and then they were on Quai Franςois Mitterand and the Seine was practically at their fingertips. They were both leaning forward in their seats again, taking in the boats touring the river, the people sitting on the river’s edge, and the buildings across the river all framed by the sun. They felt the car ease to a stop.

The Tuileries Gardens were bright green. The flowers weren’t yet in bloom, the weather was too cold for that, but it was still beautiful in its contrast against the uniform color of all the surrounding Parisian buildings. But more eye catching than the gardens was the Etoile headquarters directly to the car’s right. The building went with everything else in Paris, its color a neutral cream, its design recognizably Haussmanian. It stood out though with its added ornamentation, the building busy even if lacking in colors. And right above the door was a sign in script writing, the letters enormous and undeniable: Etoile.

“Well,” Damen started, and he pulled his eyes away from the building to look at Nik expectantly.

“Well,” Nik repeated.

Jord had already gotten out and rounded the car to open the door before Nik even thought about unclenching his fist still holding onto his carry on. With a deep breath, Nik got out and smoothed down his shirt.

“You’re going to be fine in there, Nik,” Damen said reassuringly. He was still sitting in the car, one arm over the seat where Nik had just been, and he was flashing his biggest smile. “Can’t wait to hear about it when you get out.”

“Actually,” Jord interrupted whilst still holding the door wide open, “it’s been requested that you join.”

“Me?”

“Potential hires are looked through thoroughly for both professional and personal purposes,” Jord explained. “As you are in most of the photographs that were sent in for review, it was decided that you would be an important person to meet as well. Of course, if you’re opposed, you can wait in the lobby.”

“What do you think, Nik? This is your thing.”

“I’d like you there,” Nik said. “If you’ve been asked for personally, I don’t have any reason not to have you there.”

“And I’m your best friend in the whole world so you want me there for support,” Damen said, filling in the obvious gaps in Nik’s reasoning.

Jord led the way inside.

Though the outside was the same cream color as the other buildings around, probably due to a city restriction, the inside was like entering an entirely different universe. The floors were marble, a real marble that made everything from voices to footsteps echo, and right at the center, just in front of the desk where two beautiful secretaries sat on their phones whilst typing at a maddening pace on their computers, was a gold inlay, its design immaculate swirls and crossed lines. It was a labyrinth of busyness and it wasn’t calmed down or contrasted by an unbusy surrounding. No, instead the walls – which were white, yes, but – were brimming, overflowing, with solid gold decoration that covered every inch. Each arcaded window had a foot of gold surrounding its edges, the designs cherubs and flowers and muses like the palaces of old. There were a dozen gold gilded statues around the room that matched the gold gilded paneling taking up most of the walls’ space. None of it, however, compared to the chandelier hanging from the center, the piece looking like the one out of The Phantom of the Opera.

Damen and Nik shared a look that said everything. Jord was walking forward without hesitation and they followed as close behind as they could, trying not to get too distracted by their surroundings. Finally, after what felt like an eternity of walking, they reached the elevators which also, to no surprise now, were decorated all in gold.

“Take the elevator to the top floor. Someone will greet you and escort you to the owner’s office,” Jord said. He went to turn, his sunglasses reflecting all the gold in the room back in Damen and Nik’s face, when Nik asked, “What about our bags?”

“I will be taking your bags to your hotel,” Jord said. “And yes, your hotel has been arranged and paid for already. Once you are done, I will be here to pick you up and bring you there.”

Damen and Nik shared another look before Damen said, “Thank you very much, Jord. You’ve been a great help to us.”

Jord seemed hesitant to do anything for a moment and even more hesitant to say anything, so after an awkward pause he nodded curtly and turned the way they had come.

The elevator had a mirrored ceiling inside and it glittered the gold inlay of the floor back up. Nik hit the button that was above all the others, the one to take them to the top floor, and then Damen and Nik both sighed in unison.

“Are you feeling claustrophobic?” Damen asked. “I’m feeling claustrophobic.”

“I knew they used a lot of designs on their clothing,” Nik started, “but I didn’t think that would transfer to the building as well.”

“You ready for this?”

“Not much I could do right now if I wasn’t,” Nik said.

“That doesn’t answer the question.”

“I’ll be fine.”

They reached the top floor soon enough and this floor wasn’t much different from the main one. In other words, it was busy and overwhelming. There was a desk directly in front of the elevator doors, a smaller desk than the one on the main floor, but it sat empty. The mirrored panelling of the desk showed just how much Damen and Nik’s sweatpants went against everything Etoile stood for. To the right was a narrow hallway and to the left was another and, for a minute, Damen and Nik looked back and forth between the two, looking for a sign. It felt like the airport all over again.

It was just when they had decided to go to the right that a child came around the corner.

‘Child’ was the best word for him for he didn’t look a day over twelve, even if he was dressed like a little adult. He had a mess of artfully wavy brown hair and a stunning pair of blue eyes that matched the sapphires around the necklace on his throat. There was a shimmer to his eyelids, a golden glitter that went well with the actual gold glitter covering the jacket so big he appeared to be swimming in it. He was a beautiful child and he would have been more beautiful if his face didn’t have such a distasteful expression on it.

The child had stopped when he saw Damen and Nik and once they had taken him in and he them, the child scoffed and said in a voice clearer than a bell, “Les bêtes envahissent la ville, je vois,” before continuing to walk in a way that said this was definitely not worth his time.

Damen couldn’t help but laugh, the sound drawing both Nik and the child’s attention to him. “Les bêtes sont là pour voir le propriétaire de l'Etoile. Savez-vous où nous pourrions le trouver?”

The child’s face grew pale, if only for just a moment, before he recomposed himself. “This way,” he said with agitation, not pausing to ensure they were following him before he went down the left hallway. At the end of the hallway was a huge door, one that screamed of importance.

Damen and Nik expected the child to knock on the grand door that was clearly the entrance to the main office, but the child went in without a care.

“You have visitors,” the child said.

They couldn’t see the man, but they could see the top of his head. He was in a tall chair, large enough to be a throne, and the back of it was facing them as he typed away at the computer. If he had heard the child, he didn’t pay him any mind, but the child didn’t seem to be bothered. Instead, he stepped up to the desk, plucked a red lollipop from a gold gilded bowl, and left without another word or a spared glance in Damen and Nik’s direction.

“Assieds-toi.” The man’s voice was deep, a rumble in the delicacy of the room, and Nik turned to Damen for guidance. Damen, silently, pointed at the two chairs in front of the desk and they both sat down, listening to the clicking of the keys on the keyboard and the tapping of Nik’s toe on the ground.

Damen decided to give all his attention to the ticking clock on the wall. It was both to keep the time and to also try to figure out just how a clock could have so many things going on with it: an opal face, gold numbers, jewel encrusted hands, and Damen didn’t even know where to begin with the outside of it. Still, it was how he knew exactly three minutes and twelve seconds could feel like an eternity. Luckily, that was when the man turned around in his seat and smiled at them openly.

He didn’t look like what Damen thought a fashion designer and modeling agency owner would look like but, then again, Damen supposed he had never given much thought to what a fashion designer and modeling agency owner would look like in the first place.

The man was large; he had a broad chest and shoulders to match and Damen guessed that if he were to stand, he would be close to Damen’s own height. His hair was dark and neat and his beard full, if sprinkled with just enough gray to make him look dignified. His suit was dark and made him look regal, someone who would draw the eye and demand respect.

When he stood, it confirmed what Damen had thought about the man’s height, but it was hard to give that much mind when his smile went up to his blue eyes. “Bonjour bonjour. Bienvenue à Paris.” He must have seen something on Damen and Nik’s faces, especially Nik’s face, because he quickly came back with, “L'anglais serait-il un meilleur terrain d'entente pour nous? J'ai peur de ne pas parler grec.”

“English would be great, thank you,” Damen said, smiling at the smallest expression of relief on Nik’s face.

“Of course,” the man said agreeably and then he leaned forward, hand out. “And you must be our talented photographer, Nik.” The two of them shook hands.

“I am. Nik, that is. Thank you for having me. Us. It’s an honor just to be here.”

“We here at Etoile are honored to have you.” The man turned to Damen. “And you must be Damen.”

“Yes, sir,” Damen said, shaking the man’s hand. His grip was strong, his fingers rough. “Paris has been wonderful to us already and we’ve only been here an hour.”

Everything was all polite smiles as they each sat back down and adjusted into the chairs. The man had his fingers clasped together on the deeply rich colored desk and his eyes fell to Nik. “Do you prefer to go by Nik or is there something else you’d like to be called?”

“Nik is fine. It’s less of a mouthful than Nikandros.”

“Indeed, it is.” The man laughed just a bit. “So, Nik, I have to say that all of us here at Etoile, myself especially, were incredibly impressed with your portfolio.”

“Thank you,” Nik said genuinely. Damen could already see Nik’s shoulders dropping their tension, even if just a little.

“We normally receive applications from fashion photographers, people who live in the business of finding the perfect shots to display clothing made of every kind of fabric, clothing cut into every kind of style. It isn’t often we look over action shots of people surfing,” he said, motioning over to Damen, “or pictures of the stars over a desert. It was a nice change of pace. This brings me to two questions I have for you, Nik. The first is simply to sate my own curiosity: what drove you to want to photograph Paris Fashion Week? The second question, if you wouldn’t mind, is the question of how you came into the opportunity to photograph all around the world? It’s astonishing, especially for a photographer so young.”

“Well,” Nik said after a deep breath, “to answer your first question, I can say that fashion shows were never a thought, not until I started to meet other photographers as we travelled over the years. There was a photographer, from France actually, that we befriended while in Norway a few years back and last year he was given the opportunity to shoot for Silversio and he said he learned so much. I’ve been expanding my photography more and more as the years have gone on and I thought that this would be another great way to expand my art.”

“That’s quite a drive you have.”

“I owe a lot of it to Damen,” Nik continued, moving onto the second question. “When we were children, we made a pact to spend our gap year travelling the world together. We wanted to climb mountains and see every ocean. The older we got, the more I wanted to skip gap year all together and go straight into working for my family. But Damen convinced me of the worth held in our planned gap year and I realized one year wouldn’t cause me any harm and I would have hated myself for not giving it a chance. But our one year got ahead of us in terms of our social media. We started all of our accounts as a way to document the year. We never guessed it would turn into what it did and what it has.”

“I think congratulations are very deserved for all that you’ve accomplished. I’m assuming this means you’re a self-taught photographer as well?”

“Yes.”

The man hummed, the sound not unpleasant, just thoughtful, and after a pause as though to collect his thoughts, he turned his attention to Damen. “And I believe a congratulations should be given to you as well. Nik here has quite a talent with a camera, but from what I have seen, your charisma is remarkable. It explains much of your success, I would think.”

“Damen could rally himself an army if he wanted to,” Nik said.

“Charisma is everything in this world,” the man said. “You need it to survive.”

Damen smiled the smile he gave in pictures. The man smiled back and clasped his hands together again.

“I don’t want to keep you two any longer than necessary, I’m sure you would like to rest, and I have a few more meetings to attend before my day is over. The reason I asked for you to come meet me as soon as you arrived was to explain how the first part of this is going to go.” He plucked a folder from a small and neat pile on his desk and handed it over to Nik. Even the folders here looked expensive, Etoile’s fancy script all over the front. “In two days’ time we will begin our first photoshoot. I’ve learned over the years of building and perfecting Etoile that the best shows were shot by photographers who had a relationship with the models. This photoshoot will give you the opportunity to begin building those relationships. The clothing line you will be shooting is our new “Gold Label” line. It’s much different than anything we’ll be premiering at fashion week.” Inside the folder was an itinerary and an array of photographs of the most important pieces in this specific line of clothing. “The photoshoot is scheduled for three days. This is to ensure that each of the photographers have plenty of time to shoot with the group and to work with the individual models. There will be five photographers there, but only three of you will be going to fashion week.” He turned to Nik and smiled that same open smile. “Nothing like a little friendly competition.”

“And that’s all we’ll be doing before the actual show?”

“Yes. I will then be giving you the rest of the week to put together your shots from the photoshoot in order to present them to me. From there, a decision will be made on which photographers will be staying with us. Then you’ll have a week before the show to further prepare for the big event. Are there any questions about that?”

“I don’t believe so, no.”

“Well then, I believe we are settled here.” He stood up from his desk promptly, a physical end to the quick meeting, and Damen and Nik stood to follow him to the door. “Inside the folder are phone numbers for Jord whom you’ve already met and a few of my other men. If you need anything, do not hesitate to call them during your time here in Paris.”

“Thank you,” Nik said, shaking his hand once more, “for the opportunity and your generosity.”

“Yes, thank you,” Damen repeated.

“Of course, gentlemen. I’m looking forward to what this week will bring.”

They passed the child again as they were leaving. The lollipop was down to almost nothing on the stick and he watched them near predatorily, a finger twirling the gem attached to the zipper of his jacket.

“Bonne soirée,” Damen said with a wave.

The child flipped them off, his painted nail glittering.

Once they were downstairs, it was a quick journey to the hotel they had been put up in. The hotel was located in an old palace just across the river. Sadly, they were one building behind a river front view, but neither could care, not when the view itself was another bustling Parisian apartment complex that radiated life and sophistication, its inhabitants clearly upper class.

They were on the fifth floor and their room was spacious and decorated much more simplistically than anything Etoile could dream up. It was appreciated after the blinding display of wealth and ornamentation. The cream-colored walls matched the exterior of all the iconic Haussman buildings and the arched window and doorways gave it the elegance so expected from something in this part of Paris. The gaudiest thing were the curtains and Damen and Nik were quick to pull those back and secure them. After all, they blocked the best part of the room, the terrace overlooking the street.

They spent the next two hours taking turns showering the plane off of them, unpacking all their things, ordering room service, and chatting away about the things they couldn’t say earlier.

“What was with the kid?” Nik asked as he folded another shirt and put it in a drawer.

“I don’t know,” Damen said. “Maybe he’s one of the models.”

“He’s a little young to be a model,” Nik said.

“He was dressed like one.”

“He looked twelve.”

“Well the kid doesn’t matter. What matters is that the meeting went really well. He seems to like you,” Damen said.

“I’m not sure,” Nik said.

Damen rolled his eyes. “Don’t start with that.”

“I didn’t start anything.”

“What also matters,” Damen interrupted, “is that I could very much get used to this.”

He was standing at the open entrance of the terrace. The terrace itself was just large enough to fit a small table and two chairs, perfect for early morning coffee or relaxing at night. At the other building, the one just across, were other terraces full of people doing just that as the sun slowly began to fall over the city. On the streets were people all bundled as the nighttime temperatures began to settle in. Best of all, on the terrace table was a bottle of wine, a nice deep red, with Etoile’s script signature and a note from the owner himself bidding them, yet again, a welcome to Paris.

“I bet you could,” Nik said. He was already grabbing the available bottle opener. “I’m the one doing all the work.”