irma_boissy | Another day goes (For fitofgrandair and/or checkmystache)

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Another day goes (For fitofgrandair and/or checkmystache)

Otro día se va,
y eres mucho más viejo.

(Otro día se va, Los Miserables- Spanish version of "At the end of the day")

Everyday the same.

She wakes the first of all the family. She dresses herself in the corridor to let her sister and her mother sleep a bit more. Grabs a bit of the bread of the day before and the fruit that Helène, her mother's maid, (who hasn't left Mother's shadow even after Father died and they couldn't pay her) has managed to get at the market.

And gets her shawl and a kiss on the cheek from Helène, despite the eternal look of disapproval (You should be married to a nice man, not working in such a place.)

She does open the door and the day, which is barely waking up itself, welcomes her while she walks in direction to the factory, eating the fruit and minding her own business, despite the fact that one can barely do so in the streets of Paris.

She meets with her co-workers at the door. All of them sleepy eyes and dark circles under them. But also smiles, because they are like sisters. And all seem to be around Rose, who holds a letter. Her boyfriend is coming back to Paris and is going to "ask her an important question".

(Irma could care less about said question, but is happy for Rose).

They enter and begin their work.

While all of them are embroidering, the girls joke that they should find Irma a boyfriend. And make a family of her own. That meets with laughter from Irma. She has a family of her own already, and she was a natural born spinster.

"That lady who will tell stories of all our crazy youths to your grandchildren, ladies."

They all laugh heartily, which gets them a reprimand from the supervisor, and they all continue in silence till the day reaches its end.

The end of the day and she begins the path back home after she says "See you tomorrow" to the girls.

It was another day, after all.

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Early evening finds Grantaire in a remarkably fine mood. A jocund morning at the studio (even among the most devoted of students, there was little push for work when a new member joined their ranks), a session of savate followed by wine, and now to the Café Musain, with who knew what amusements to follow. If nothing else, there would be more wine and extensive talk, and he is no man to minimize the worth of either. The weather is pleasant enough, and today the sight of people--people simply passing on the street, men arguing, women adjusting their skirts or gazing through windows--energizes him. The human race may be a shabby sort, but its men and women hold complications keen enough to grab his mind, ambiguities with which a questioning consciousness may weave enchanting stories.

But hold.

Who is this? This woman walking toward him, a new face, surely, for it is one that could not easily pass from memory. Amid the throng of men and women scuttling about their business, she alone truly arrests attention, her skin as if untouched by Parisian grime, her figure the very standard of ideal proportions. She might come from the sky, she might have stepped from the most perfect of paintings. This is a girl created as much for praise as for the eye's appeasement.

And who is he to pass up such an opportunity?

There can be no harm in speaking. There is never any harm in speaking. If the girl will not grant the favor of her acknowledgement, he may at least have the pleasure of watching her blush.

As she approaches, he takes a few abrupt steps forward before reaching for a standstill, hand clutching his chest. "Great gods above, can such things be?"

Feigning a quick recovery, he continues with deference. "Mademoiselle, please, I cry your pardon."

Now he offers an exaggerated bow, never taking his eyes off of her own, his smile unfaltering. "But you must forgive me, or I pray at least that you may. It is only that I have been stunned--staggered, Mademoiselle!--by your countenance, by the sudden appearance of such an angel! Ah, do not believe I exaggerate, for yours is a face to fire the passionate imagination of even the most barbaric men (and how much more arresting for a man such as I? I, who--rude though I may seem, clumsy as I am in manner--possess at least a touch of learned cultivation).

"Do I have your mercy? Do not, oh do not allow me to be the cause of any displeasure that might crease your noble brow!"

Irma doesn't notice him at first.

She had only approached the Café in the hopes she might find her brothers and go together back home, as they used to do some days, and as their mother always insisted, as if Irma weren't capable to defend herself. Though she liked the fact that they would talk and talk about their day when they met, it was sort of amusing.

Instead she finds herself in front of this stranger who praises her in such elaborate ways...
If it weren't because she thinks they didn't have time, she could have sworn that this is a joke being played on her by the girls.

Still, the gentleman does manage to get a (quite red) blush on her cheeks. And even a small smile. He may not be particularly handsome (Homely is the best adjective to describe him), but he does have a charming smile.

Their eyes lock for a moment and she looks down, modest and maybe even a bit flustered.

"I do believe that you exaggerate, Monsieur"

Yet, she likes that. There is a something in his praise that others did not manage to reach, as exaggerated as it is. Or maybe it is his eyes, still looking at her. Or that charming smile.

The thing is that she likes it, as blushing and as a loss for words as she is at the moment. Irma, dear. What's wrong with you? You've dealt with men like this one more graciously
Indeed, but she couldn't help but feel terribly clumsy at the moment.

"And yet..."

She cuts the phrase before she can continue and regret what she was about to say.

Edited 2013-04-24 11:39 (UTC)

Oh, marvelous! The girl must be exceedingly courteous (a rarity in one of such appealing countenance), or perhaps has simply been thrown off-guard. There is as well the odd, utterly unlikely chance that she is one of those who finds appeal in the unusual; Grantaire can hardly believe that she is such a one.

Whatever the case, he has received both words and blush (and it must be noted that she wears her blush with grace) and might even have caught the glimmer of a smile. He can hardly pull back now, nor would he. There is little that can outshine the pleasure of a passing flirtation, particularly with such a girl as this.

"And yet? Might it be that the lady is too modest to confess her own brilliance? Shrink not from such admissions, Mademoiselle, for you can no more escape the intensity of your beauty than the rose may deny its perfume or the moon its silvered beams. It does you know credit to deny what all may, nay, must behold.

"Why, I am astonished to watch these men continue about their business! How do they recall the movement of their limbs, the dull movements that carry us through life? I cannot say how the world moves on around you, for I, I have been stopped solid; and were I the world, I should cease my very rotation, rapt in ruminations on your charm."

Edited 2013-04-24 22:58 (UTC)

One could not deny it, the gentleman had quite the way with words.

Something that could not be said of her previous flirts, which had not been many, not because of an ice queen reputation, but because she preferred to spend the time with her siblings and mother before, let's say "other things".

But now? She does have to control her expressions, but Irma is listening at him rather enraptured. A girl likes being praised, yes, but what she does actually like is the ingenious way he does it.

That may be why she waits for him to finish his comparisons to correct him.

"And yet you exaggerate beautifully."

That's not what she wanted to say the first time, but when the shoe fits...

"The world does move because it has to. It would be quite the inconvenient thing if it stopped, and it would make me feel terrible if it stopped because of me." not that she feels actually terrible to have stopped him, but anyhow.

Still, there's an amused smile. Not quite the match for his charming smile, but a smile nonetheless.

Edited 2013-04-25 00:48 (UTC)

Better and better still. He detects no derision in her voice, observes no attempt to break away. Meanwhile, the strengthening of her smile has brought new tones to that admirable face. Good, then; she is not a girl of immobile expressions, one of those who train themselves into silence.

"So we are told by industrious men who have no eye for the elegance of symmetry. What do such men know of the cheek's harmonious curve or the fleeting flutter of an eyelash? They have blinded themselves for the sake of material wealth, and would feign have us do the same! The world may function in ways of which we can scarce dream, if only we would sing the truth of beauty."

"Some of us do have to take their word for it, otherwise we would starve and there would be neither beauty for poets to praise, nor words for them to use, and the world would be a rather sad place."

Her main concern wasn't poets though, as charming as they were. As charming as this gentleman is.

As always, it was her family. The twins who were students like this man in front of them, and Agnès and Alexandre, who were mere children. Helène, still faithful to the family through and through. And her mother, who held everything and everyone in that family together.

The efforts were worth it for them.

Still, her curiosity towards this man prompts her to ask quite an important question.

"But, since you have words, may I ask you for one of them?" Irma asks "That one would be your name, of course."

"Mademoiselle makes a fine point, and I count myself doubly honored to meet a figure graced with wit as well as beauty. Such a happy combination is an exception. For the fairness of your figure alone, I would have given my name in a heartbeat. Now that I have heard the quickness of your mind, now might I give you all that you could ask."

So saying, he bends down to one knee in a graceful motion, taking her hand (if only she will allow; it is, again, worth the effort to try) and ignoring the men and women who continue to jostle around them. "My name, dear lady, is Aleron Grantaire, called R, or R in many forms and variations, along with other names less suitable for reception by elegant ears. I am student and ruffian, a man of passion and of unending words, one both in and outside of this world and its turning.

"And I am honored, deeply honored, to hear you ask this poor man's name."

"It's not as wit as much as common sense, which with my life, you learn to develop it quite soon." she says, in a half-joking tone.

But when he bends down his knee...
Irma assists to all the scene with... Well yes, the appropriate word would be surprise, and that may be the reason why she lets him take her hand without much protest.

"The honor is mine, Monsieur Grantaire."

She does debate helping him to stand up or letting him continue his grand gesture. Even though everybody is going around minding their own business she does feel as if they were looking at Grantaire and her. And surprisingly enough, there's a (small) part of her that does not mind at all.

Still, Irma leans forward, putting a hand on his shoulder.

"But I do beg you please to stand up. " She finally says "And if you do, I may tell you my name."

It would also be a pity that Grantaire would end up unintentionally hurt by a passerby minding their own business and not seeing him.

Edited 2013-04-25 14:40 (UTC)

He feels a thrill at the sensation of her hand in his own, at the mere fact that she has not prevented him from taking it. The girl is no less lovely upon closer inspection than she had seemed from afar — if anything, she exceeds expectations — and she becomes more compelling with each moment. Who is the girl of such grace who accepts, even briefly, the conversation of such an uncouth stranger? Who does not tear her delicate hand from his own ungainly grasp (the sight might almost be absurd, though he finds the contrast charming). This is beyond mere courtesy.

And then she touches his shoulder; better still! The contact, this time initiated by the as-yet-unknown woman, feels welcoming, or at least is no indication of repulse. To be accepted by this woman...

Perhaps he would do best to proceed with the slightest hint of care. There may be more to this than he could have dared to hope.

"As you like, my lady." He clasps her hand in both of his own for a moment before rising, bowing his head as if in submission. "That you might grant the favor of your name is more than I had dared to hope."

Edited 2013-04-26 00:11 (UTC)

He does not seem uncouth to her. Maybe prone to exaggeration, and not quite handsome, but he seems terribly charming in his manners and being, and she does like that. Quite a lot. Maybe too much.

At least enough to let off most of her guard against him, and... Well, the blush does reappear now with more intensity as she retires her hand and he rises.

"My name is Irma Boissy."

"Irma Boissy." He allows the syllables to fall without hurry, closing his eyes and relishing the texture of each sound. "Mmmm... You surprise me, I confess. It is not an unpleasant name — do not believe that I would suggest such blasphemy! I say only that I might have anticipated a Béatrice or Hélène, perhaps a Eurydice. Where resonates the ring of antiquity that shines so clearly through your features? What of your name signals your connection to the would-be-angels of old?"

His tone is clear of ridicule (mostly, at least; it is rare for Grantaire to speak without some touch of jest), and he seems merely to puzzle over his conundrum. "Ah, but there it is! Your name transcends the bounds of our common standards; you are more than can be defined by figures of old.

"Irma Boissy is an enthralling mystery, holding mind, eye, and heart alike as hostage. And I declare that Irma is an astonishing, a soul-shattering name."

And yet she can't help a rather hearty chuckle.
"Aside from my grandmother, who was according to many, an angel sent from heaven, I can't imagine."

She had never given such importance to names. Names were names, what mattered was the person who bore them.

"I am quite ... Quite glad that my name pleases you so much, Monsieur. But it is just a name."

"Just a name? Ah, lady, there is no such thing! Names strike at chords we cannot compass and touch us to inviolable strands strung through time. For good or ill, the names imposed upon our younger selves become bound up in what we seem to be.

"But this is not to advise despair, for each of us may fill a name in unheard ways, shaping the enforced titles into something suitable, something inextricable from the self. Something that rings with what you are.

"And so I say that the name 'Irma' is filled with nuances I cannot yet perceive (the suggestions of which ensnare my mind) and stands yet to be made fuller still."

And the answer to that would have been a stunned silence a few moments ago, but now that she had finally managed to get the reign of herself...

"Do you really think our names hold such influx on ourselves, Monsieur Grantaire?" she asks, partly genuinely curious (as for the other part, who knows what she is thinking, but she seems amused).

Still, there's a sudden feeling that makes her look behind her.

Her brothers, two young fellows as handsome as Irma is pretty and the very same reflection of each other, despite the different colours of their clothes, are nearby. They haven't noticed she's there. Much less than she is with Grantaire.

She ponders if she should tell him and leave with them before they decide to do anything, or wait, and hope they don't notice them.

Grantaire follows her glance but registers little; more faces in the same crowd, none of them particularly familiar, none of them nearly so enchanting as the one who stands before him. He would be a fool to look away — just think! she might vanish in an instant, taking her leave without adieu — and his focus remains fixed on her alone. He had been pleased to hear her respond so promptly, and jumps immediately into a response.

"But of course. When I speak the name Adonis, do you not hear echoes of astonishing beauty — beyond mere handsomeness — and a calling to desire? Today, a man named Adonis must live up to this name or make it into his own, giving new resonance and surprising expectations; if he chooses to ignore his name and slinks through life in mild existence, neither achieving the beauty that we may expect or offering qualities to take its place, he will appear a blur on the surface of existence. He will be scarcely perceptible, torn between what is expected and what he refuses to discover. And severed as such, he may be aptly labeled nameless, a ghosted figure without base or definition."

If it helps, the two young men go away in direction to the Musain before even noticing their sister, who looks back to Grantaire. It would take her picking them before she went back home to make sure they come with her, safe and sober, but it was better than they finding her now in this situation.

"But then there are cases where the name doesn't matter. Monsieur Shakespeare even wrote a rose by any other name would smell as sweet" and he did know his fair share about words and names."

Her father loved Shakespeare, and Irma still had his copy of the complete works, with annotations by the late Monsieur Boissy.

Charming, indeed; she may simply have heard the phrase tossed about, but she uses it well, and responded with notable swiftness. There is a quickness of wit in Mademoiselle Boissy, and it further fixes his intention to continue this pursuit.

"So it may be admitted, but a rose is not (how happy for the rose!) a human being, and need not trouble itself over moving through a world in which action is demanded and decisions must be name. A rose is a rose is a rose; rarely do we distinguish between one and the next. Roses are born as roses, and will take no note if we should deem them hyacinths or lilies.

"For humans, existence acquires inevitable twists. We believe ourselves to be individuals, and so clasp our names with particular tenacity. My name suggests who I am, and I fill my name with what some might call meaning. Others know and make reference to me by my name. And I find myself assigned to suggestions that become connected with my name, I find that others approach me based on what they have heard of Aleron Grantaire. Were I not called Grantaire, who knows what I might be?

"I am a human being and I am Grantaire; you are a human being and you are Irma Boissy. But a rose is a rose is a rose, and remains solely so."

"You might be yourself, Monsieur. Such as Romeo was Romeo. And Juliet did love him, despite the fact that his name deemed him an enemy of her family."

Even if it was to prove that she had actually read the play, she felt strangely well pointing that out. Though it was due time to change the topic.

"Would you mind if I asked you a question, Monsieur Grantaire?"

"Still, she was obligated to contend with his name, was she not? He could not be taken separately from his name, and so fell their tragedy." Grantaire could continue, he can always continue, but he takes her cue and leaves the matter. It is enough to have discovered some proficiency with banter.

"As for your question, I should count it my pleasure. Please, do, ask away!"

Maybe she'll regret it, maybe not, but... She has to ask, so maybe they could get to a quieter place (as quiet as one can find in the streets of Paris.)

"Would you like to go for a walk with me?"

Edited 2013-04-27 14:31 (UTC)

Grantaire has to work to suppress his surprise, and even then a trace of the reaction flashes across his face. Perhaps Irma Boissy is a venturesome woman, after all.

This will be something to speak of, later. A tale of unexpected success in the game that he and Courfeyrac so often took up (said game involved bidding hello to a woman of any sort, with points awarded based on her response). While Courfeyrac often managed to engage in lengthier exchanges, Grantaire almost always found rejection immediately, sometimes passionately — the last lady of random choosing had offered a sharp slap (so much the better for him, as heated responses brought more points).

Grantaire offers a shallow bow. "With every word, you prove yourself to be a lady of the most generous nature; again, you guess my heart's desire before I even speak it.

"May I be so bold as to take your arm?"

Seeing his surprise, Irma cannot help but feel a small sense of victory. She's managed to surprise him for once, in the small amount of time since they met.

Maybe she could even have a story to tell the girls tomorrow. Not her family, though. Never her family, unless Grantaire proves himself to be of... That sort.

"In others, I would consider that boldness, Monsieur Grantaire. But for you, a man so generous with his words, I can allow myself to be generous with my actions."

And with a smile, she offers her arm to him.

"Then fortune casts its favor on my ignoble being, and I shall take care to proclaim its praises. Not, however, before I sing your own, Mademoiselle."

He takes her arm with practiced care; bold though the girl may be, she is (so Grantaire deems) one to be treated with adequate courtesy. Even moderately polished girls are raised to expect delicate treatment, and who is he to shatter their expectations? Besides, there is a certain charm to these rituals and to taking on the aspect of a gentleman come calling. That he finds himself ill-suited for the part only enhances the pleasure.

"'Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?' Ah, no, perish the thought, and give me words my own, words conjured for you alone! For a summer's day would pale in comparison, just as roses must fade in the presence of your very image. To gaze upon you is to recognize an untold ideal, to see all notions of beauty redefined.

"But my chatter delays your desire. Come, Mademoiselle Boissy, what is your wish? Where shall we venture?" Allow her the option, if nothing else; he has no preference, so long as he may continue to enjoy her company.

She should go to the Musain. But she trusts her brothers' good sense to not inhebriate themselves and to arrive to the house at an appropriate time.

Besides, at this time, her mother and sister are at their prayers with Alexandre, and a curious Helène is easier to fend with than a pair of curious twins.

Still, by this time she does not hide at all her smile at his praises. He really does exaggerate beautifully.

"We shall venture to my house, Monsieur Grantaire. it is in the same direction I was following before we met.." she replies. "But of course, you shall only venture to the door. Beyond that, it is still my private kingdom."

Edited 2013-04-28 23:34 (UTC)

Grantaire leads Irma in the direction indicated, beaming at the unexpected gift of walking with this woman on his arm. He is half-convinced that the girl must be a bit mad (how else could she so swiftly consent to bringing him into her company?), but then, most girls are. Even if she is mad, she is exceptionally lovely, with a keenness that cannot be overlooked. These qualities mark her as a lady whose favors are well worth the extra effort of courtship. From time to time, he quite enjoys playing the role of the suitor and can withstand the frivolities that come before more tangible pleasures.

"I should not dream of violating the sanctity of such a kingdom. I count myself more than content to bask in the warmth of your light until we must part (such a sad occurrence that will be! I dare not think on it, I will not!), and to hold the honor of serving as escort to such a wondrous fine lady. It is more than an ogre of my ilk has any call to dream on, and you may be certain that I will hold this day as dear within my heart."

As for Irma, she's enjoying every minute of this. Not only because it feels like a novelty to her (he's actually the first man to ever accompany her back home.), but because she quite actually likes the company of the charming Monsieur Grantaire, and she does know she will miss him (even if only a bit) when they finally part.
It does surprise her to find herself thinking that she doesn't want this to end.

"You don't seem an ogre to me, Monsieur." she finally confesses "Ogres don't have such a way with words, and such a charming appearance."

Edited 2013-04-29 10:39 (UTC)

That was certainly unexpected, and Grantaire laughs in appreciation. "It seems that Mademoiselle Boissy has a talent for flattery, herself; or perhaps it is the voice of that admirable social skill known as courtesy. While my appearance has been described using many a choice word, 'charming' is not a term I've heard before, nor one I should use, myself. Still, it has been said that words may weave an illusion of allure where there is none, and that even beasts may appear agreeably if they only can learn how to speak.

"Thus do I warn you: You must beware of ogres, kind lady, for fine though our words may be, we are brutes at the core." Although he smiles as he speaks, there is a touch of truth to his voice, an acknowledgement of some invariable actuality.

Irma looks down for a moment, blushing.

Even though there was a part of flattery to it, there was also a part of truth.

As homely as he was, he now seemed to her less so than at the beginning of their encounter. Perhaps it was that she was already accustomed to his features, perhaps his words had had such a je-sais-quoi to her...

"I still don't fear them." her free hand poses on the forearm of the arm that's holding hers. "I have two brave knights and a queen that would come to my rescue should anything happen to me."

Irma smiles back. And that's not counting Helène and the kids (who give some mean bites when they are angry).

"And I reaffirm myself in my sentence: You, Monsieur Grantaire, are no ogre."

"Even such an ungentlemanly gentleman as I cannot be so pigheaded as to persevere in arguing with a lady, much as I do enjoy a heated debate. I will take your correction with as much grace as I can muster, and I do offer my keenest thanks for your magnanimity."

The sensation of her hand on his arm is not unwelcome; perhaps she enjoys playing at this flirtation as much as he does. (Though there is, if he allows himself to look close enough, something in her suggesting earnest interest... Never mind about that. Nothing to worry over, nothing that will last.)

"It must at least be admitted that we create a most curious picture. We might very well shock those Parisian denizens of delicate aesthetic sensibilities; why, their world will seem an uproar in an instant!"

If only he knew...

If only she knew, also, because whatever is going through her mind at this moment is anything but completely clear. Still, it moves towards... Not yet, Irma you little fool.

"Let them be shocked, then." She finally says with a chuckle. "We are not to bid au revoir to each other yet."

It's not until she finishes the sentence that she realises she's said au revoir instead of adieu. As if he were to see her again...

"A lady after my own heart. If I have not caused at least five grown men to sink back in shock by day's end, I consider myself a wretched wastrel, and must redouble efforts with the following sunrise."

He noticed her selection of words (of course he did), and while they elicited a grin, he refrains from remarking on them. It is enough that she has spoken them without retraction. Enough that she does seem to mean them, and that this might indeed continue (will, unless the girl should suddenly come to her senses). Not for long, of course. Such dalliances can never last. The extended company of a woman or man in this capacity becomes grating, quickly creating too much of a presence.

That is not a matter for thought, though, and for the time being he simply enjoys her company. Grantaire would class her among the most intriguing (and the most well-built, certainly) of potential partners that he has encountered, and quite looks forward to seeing what further surprises she might reveal.

And that wins him a clear burst of (a very lady-like, let's admit it), laughter. Because seriously, if the girls saw them together, if her family saw them together, there would be shock, and comments from Helène and the girls that she could do so much better.

But she doesn't care. She doesn't even care when a very dandy-ish man and an old lady turn back to look at them with surprise.

"Well," she says "it seems we got ourselves already two shocked passerbys"

"Then we are off to a capital start! Mademoiselle Boissy, your company becomes more advantageous by the minute. To think that I might have tarried over just one more glass of wine and missed you completely; ah!, the suggestion is too miserable to bear."

Turning his head aside in mock despair, Grantaire catches sight of an harried-looking woman trudging toward them, largely hidden behind an armload of flowers and greenery. As they pass one another, he snatches a stem at random, presenting it to Irma without pause.

"A flower well-suited for such a lovely lady."

It isn't until he has begun to speak that Grantaire actually sees the supposed flower in his hand: it is a dandelion. Well. Could have been easier with a more traditionally attractive flower, but what would be the fun in that?

"Arresting and gifted with true beauty, with grace untrammeled by the walls of cheap cultivation. The dandelion both sustains and delights; why, the very sight seems a rush of fresh air, bearing a heady recollection of verdant fields and open sky. What could be more desirable? What clearer sign of vivacity?"

Actually? She likes that flower better than others that could be deemed more "attractive" such as roses. Roses are overrated. Everybody gives roses to the girls they fancy.

And for this small act of giving her a dandelion (though something tells her that this wasn't the flower he intended to get at first), she likes him even more now. It's quite a touch of originality, and the flower is pretty in her opinion.

When she takes the flower, her fingers brush against his so very slightly for a moment.

"Merci, Monsieur" she smiles at him "You have quite brightened my day, with your flower and your beautiful exaggerations. It would have been boring had I not met you."

He could almost swear that she would have taken to the dandelion even without his elucidation. Fortune has struck again, if so, and he almost wonders whether his run of luck is reaching an end. Everything about this encounter has passed exceptionally well; the bestowal of charm, the quirks that create increased interest, and even this play at courtship. While Grantaire welcomes women and men who are entirely unconcerned with such preliminaries, this is (for the time being, at least) an agreeable change.

In this breed of engagement, the slightest gestures are magnified, and each sound seems strung out into song... If only one is open to its reception. And even as Grantaire thinks his way through the experience, he feels himself immersed in the beauty of it (ingrained or perceived, does it matter?), catches the charm of the scene, of her every feature, and writes it all within.

He allows his hand to linger after registering her touch, pausing mid-stride and fixing her with a warm smile. "Then may I rejoice in my existence, that I can make an Irma Boissy smile."

And why not? A small gesture, another brief brush... Reaching forward - gently, lightly - he touches her cheek. Then retreats, hand returning to his side, simply taking her in, holding to the sensation of that touch, watching its effect on her.

The reaction to that at first is a (very controlled) surprise, (he's touched her cheek hehastouchedhercheekhehastouchedhercheel).

And the next thing she does is lower her face because the blush on her cheeks does make her look like a tomato, and the nervousness is not helping at all. By this time, others would have received quite the slap or quite a cutting reply.

But this time she is smiling quite widely indeed, as she holds the flower a bit close to her chest. She might be trying to form a coherent phrase at the moment, though her actions speak more than her words.

They are approaching the Boissy house, a small family house with a small but very well kept front garden, though they are still going to have some time together.

Edited 2013-05-01 14:51 (UTC)

Her reaction is marvelously endearing; there is something immediate and unplanned about it, even something surprisingly naive for a girl who seems so clear-minded. Grantaire has elicited any number of responses from potential pursuits in the past, but this is a new experience, welcoming and inexplicably warm in a way he has not known. It is... gratifying, in a way (unsettling, too, in a dimmer and not-quite-graspable sense; mostly, he doesn't notice this, what it suggests and what he ought to see).

"You needn't hide your face, Mademoiselle; indeed, the world must weep to lose sight of such a wonder. What is the harm, what shame in blushing? This coloration shows only that your heart beats with especial sensibility, that you have not hardened yourself against the workings of this so confounding world. Who is to blame you for such laudable endurance? Who is to blame you for holding onto hope? If anyone has the right to hope, it is a lovely young lady!

"You are, truly, a charming creature."

"Merci, Monsieur Grantaire." She manages to say, her face still lowered.

But Irma does look up at Grantaire for a moment, a smile on her face that even though is small, expresses an amount of happiness that she wouldn't probably manage to convey with words.

That until she looks in front of her and see they have already reached the door of chez Boissy.

"Well, I am afraid this is the end of our walk..." She stops in front of the very same door.

(She may or may not admit it, but she would have liked this to be longer.)

Edited 2013-05-03 20:32 (UTC)

"I might wish that you resided far beyond this city - yes! - beyond this country, in Vienna, in Venice, in Athens, that our shared excursion might continue indefinitely." He isn't particularly keen on remaining before her house (and still so strange that she has led him here so swiftly and so willingly), not if it is populated with the family members indicated earlier, not if there is the possibility of being caught up in some related awkwardness. He cannot simply dash off, however. First, because that isn't how the game is played; this young woman requires at least a bit of delaying. And then, yes, all right, he is perhaps a bit reluctant to leave, himself. Her company really is heartening, even enlivening, and he is sorry to lose it so soon. Can't be helped, though, and doesn't he already have more than he had expected?

"Still, what is it they say? 'Parting is such sweet sorrow.' Such a sentiment I might mock, yet cannot help but feel, striking deep within my breast. I am a man most wounded, for all of my charades, and I wail internally that I must release you.

"I am calmed only by the knowledge that your image and your voice have worked their way into my memory and soul. You may go, Irma Boissy, but I will hold your recollection as if you remained by my side."

She doesn't want to let go, precisely knowing that the house is empty at the moment and a bit more of time together won't hurt. Not completely empty (Helène is there), but it is as if it were.

And she does wonder if she'll see him again. She does hope it will happen.

In the meanwhile...

"Maybe I could give you a small present to sweeten that sorrow" she finally says "But first, I need you to close your eyes."

Though Grantaire wonders, he doesn't hesitate; it won't do to keep a lady waiting, after all. He closes his eyes, smiling somewhat. "Much as I am loathe to lose your sight, I cannot but obey.

"I only fear that I may look again to see that you have been but a dream, one of the happiest figments of my imagination."

"You'll still find me quite real, Monsieur, don't fret" she says in a joking tone.

And with that, Irma gets closer to Grantaire. Feeling bolder than what she had initially planned, she plants a kiss on his lips. It's soft, and quite chaste and short, but there it is.

She does step back to await his reaction.

Lovely girl, she's done precisely what he could have wished. He cannot say what she intends by it or whether she knows her own intention, but it is welcome, flattering, even a bit surprising. Because she has taken the step of her own accord, and to receive such a favor from so exemplary a lady is nothing to be simply shrugged away.

He allows himself to remain as he is for a moment, reveling in the knowledge of her kiss, then opens his eyes and clasps one of her hands in his own.

"Mademoiselle, you astonish me. You confound even my capacity for words, and I can only hope that I may prove myself worthy of this favor." He offers a kiss of his own, light and planted on the back of her hand. "It has been both a pleasure and an honor, Irma Boissy."

Irma smiles with the happiness of someone that feels themselves loved (even though not knowing how much) even though her eyes show the melancholy of parting.

"A pleasure and an honour that I share gladly." she finally says as she opens the door and looks one last time at him.

(It doesn't matter that two familiar faces may be observing them from afar, Irma's gaze is only for Grantaire at this moment.)

This time, she says it meaning it fully.
"Au revoir, Monsieur Grantaire."

He recognizes the invitation in those words, the desire and the wistfulness. Beautiful, indeed.

"Au revoir, Mademoiselle Boissy." He offers a final bow, less exaggerated, more a gesture of reluctant parting. He doesn't intend to make this the last of their meetings, and has in fact already begun to make plans of leaving a bouquet of dandelions at her door. Late tonight, or perhaps tomorrow night, when no one stirs and he may simply leave the flowers to be discovered in the morning.

For now, he vows to hold her eyes as long as she will allow. It is not his place in this instance to turn aside, and in any case he would like to take in as much of the vision as he may before departing. (Because who can say... She may seem quite caught up now, but the new day may bring a change of mind. Affection shifts quickly, and this encounter may have been a passing fluke.)

Whatever the case may be, whether or not he may encounter her again... This has been an evening well spent, and a meeting to live on in pleasant recollection.

As for her, she'll dream of him tonight. Of their kiss, of the flowers, of his smile and his touch. Of how would his embrace feel.

And hope they'll meet again. (She knows her affections will not change, he's here to stay in her heart.)

She closes the door slowly, not losing eye contact with him at all until it closes completely, and when it does, it takes all her strength to not try and open it again.

She tells herself that, after all, they will see each other again.

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