Irma Boissy (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
irma_boissy) wrote2013-04-22 12:26 pm
irma_boissy) wrote2013-04-22 12:26 pm
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.
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.
no subject
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."
no subject
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!"
no subject
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...
no subject
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.
no subject
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"
no subject
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?"
no subject
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."
no subject
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.
no subject
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.
no subject
"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."
no subject
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.)
no subject
"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."
no subject
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."
no subject
"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."
no subject
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.
no subject
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."
no subject
"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."
no subject
"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.
no subject
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.