Bastille Day (Arwen/Kaliss)

[Arwen Sorensen]

Red, blues and whites decorated every fence post along the great d'Avout estate. Their beautiful streamers flowing gently through the breeze like multi-colored serpents. Behind rows of beautiful fenceline stood the property itself. Rolling aches of lavish gardens and trees which dotted the place. Yet not all was well in this paradise. Long burned in patches could be seen throughout the gardens and where the some trees clearly once were. Old scars of the revolution which clung to the place like an open wound. A spark sight against the beautiful vibrance that surrounded it. High up on the hill above lay the manor itself.

The place was not massive as some of those one would find on the former lavish royal areas of Paris, yet it was a striking sight to behold. The building having seen at least three generations of d'Avout children pass through its halls. A proud hallmark of the families pride and prestige. Inside, too, life went about like an ant hill at work. Maids and butlers darting about the cavernous halls to steady old portraits and chase the last bit of dust from its hiding spots. Deep in the belly of the beast, the families hired cooks had begun their regular routine to prepare the food. Today there would be celebrations once again held in its halls.

It had been some time since the old soul of the manner had hosted a formal affair like this. Especially given her Lord of the house's penchant for lavish balls. 'This family has had balls in the past and it will have balls today,' no one could explain to the Lord d'Avout why his two now grown children could not help but hold back laughter. Speaking of the children, high above the candor downstairs would be the room of one Camille d'Avout. Her space nested on the third floor within the west wing. Four rooms from the stairs to be precise. It was from this perch her window could stare out onto the gardens her mother had loved the best.

Now one would find her there in company of two of the maids of the house. Lousie and Anna-Marie. Both girls younger than her. Each seemed to be busy at a task of sorts. Lousie fetching the lavish emerald dress while Anna-Marie would focus on helping her mistress into her corset. An act which, for all intents, Camille d'Avout loathed. "This Infernal thing will be the death of me, you that Anna-Marie?" The blonde woman will quip as the maid laced her up. A frown crossing her face as would look in the mirror. "Whomever thought to themselves it would be amusing to create a vice for ladies of the court is either a sadist or has quite the brilliantly twisted sense of humor. Perhaps both."

The poor girl lacing her up would give an apologetic look to Camille. "Did I tie it too tight my lady? I may loosen it up if you wish." Camille would seem to pause for a moment. A look of mischief in her eyes as she supposed that tying it tighter to make a scene of herself fainting would be a joke of poor taste at this dinner. She however, could not order the thing away. Instead she would simply shake her head. "Now Anna, I believe you have laced me in wonderfully. As you always do, might I remind you. Now shoo. Your evening is free now and you will be paid double. Get into a bit of mischief for me, will you not?"

She would turn towards Louise and point to her as well. "The same orders and benefits are for you as well once you help me into that lovely dress there. If I see both of you working tonight I will not be pleased." The other maid could only stammer out a "Yes madam." before scrambling over to help Camille into her garb. Emerald silks raised up over her and buttoned in. Her blonde hair slowly lowered back in the beautiful braid it had been styled into. She would take a look at herself in the mirror. Quiet for a moment as Lousie would seem to chime in. "You look radiant miss." A faint smile of satisfaction crossing Camille's face as she would glance happily at the other girl. "I suppose I do..."

For the first time in a long time, Camille d'Avout was truly happy on matters of her life. The sour days of the Terror behind her now. She was to be wed eventually, her friend had returned from her long schooling and Father was throwing lavish parties again. This was the complete status quo was it not? Beautiful and tranquil bliss. She would carefully take the edges of her dress in hand as she would nod to both the ladies beside her. "Off you both go now. Go on, don't do anything I would not....or at least do not get caught." She would giggle as the girls scattered. The maiden left alone in her room for the time being. It was here she would adore her own jewelry as she waited for a particular arrival any minute now.

She would not have to wait much longer to spot whom she waited for. For while her fiance was still on the way, another carriage arrived first through the gate. A thin smile breaking into larger form as she stood up. With a sudden twirl, she made her way to the door. Powered by the innate desire to lay eyes on one's closet childhood companion. Down through manor she descended. A greeting passed to each servant in her polite docile tone in which she used to show what a demure woman she was. It was a front her Fiance certainly had fallen for till her brother informed him otherwise.

By the time her dear friend, her fiance and her family had arrived at the front doors. They were already being opened by a set of butlers. The two gentlemen taking a deep bow as they entered. Beyond them lay a great entry hall with the painting of a rather stunning lion, and before that stood the young miss Camille d'Avout. Her pleasant smile and manners being used to push down any childish excitement. "Good morning to all of you~ My father wishes you all his best regards and thanks you all for attending. Might I get the staff of the house to take your things?" Her voice gentle, soothing almost as she would invite them inside. Her eyes focusing upon one person in particular.

 

[kalissacolyte]

"Gaetanie? You're slouching."

Gaetanie Yvette Charpentier looked up at her mother, pouted, and shrugged her shoulders in the most miniscule attempt to correct her posture. "Is that better, Citizen Charpentier?"

Marie-Francoise snapped her fingers in front of her daughter's nose. "Not by half! I'll make you straight if I have to tie you to a trellis like my blasted roses. Now sit up, or your corset is going to do you an injury."

Gaetanie tried to find an argument for this last point, but found she could not. In truth, the slouching was making it difficult to breathe. She leaned forward, straightened her back and squared her shoulders.

"Monsieur d'Avout has not seen you for some time, and it will not do for him to think you've wilted in Switzerland," her mother continued, fanning herself as she gazed out the window. L'Estate d'Avout was just becoming visible, and Gaetanie leaned as far forward as her garments would allow her to in order to take in the grand building. Well... grand, save for a few scars. The price of freedom, she told herself, but the thought rang hollow. Damage to the property was one thing, but... had anyone been hurt? Had...

Don't be silly, Gaetanie thought. Camille is fine, Camille is going to be there when you arrive. You know this! Monsieur, Citizen D'Avout mentioned her in the invitation he sent to Father. Gaetanie tried to relax... wondered why she was having such a hard time relaxing. She should be excited -- and she was! She should be happy -- and she was. She should be... she certainly shouldn't be having trouble taking and holding a deep, full breath. She mentally counted to ten in German, a trick one of the other girls at Madame Suverain's Academie de filles had taught her. It helped, a little.

"Father, could you please deign to interfere?" Gaetanie asked. "Mother's being a terror."

"Your mother simply wants you to put on a good impression, Rabbit," said Alexandre Charpentier, using the nickname he'd given Gaetanie before she'd even been born -- still in her mother's belly, her kicks had reminded her father of a rabbit's heartbeat. "And, between you and me... you might take care in your use of that word." He didn't have to elaborate.

"Of course," Gaetanie said, more chastened by her father's gentle reminder than by her mother's snapping fingers. "I'm sorry. I shall endeavor to be better."

"I know you will, my dear," Monsieur Charpentier said, smiling at her. He glanced over to his wife, and the smile faded. Gaetanie didn't have to turn to see her mother to know the look she was sending toward her husband: why is it so easy for you?

Is this what I have to look forward to with Clovis? Gaetanie thought. Now there is a reason to use "terror" if ever there was one.

For some reason, when she thought of her impending marriage to Clovis Garnier, the escape her mind fashioned was to think, once again, of Camille.

"What are you smiling about?" her mother asked, not entirely without kindness.

"Just remembering the canape-sampling technique I learned at Madame Suverain's," Gaetanie said. "I'm eager to see if it works as well in practice as it does in theory."

Mother simply rolled her eyes, fanned her face, and ignored her husband's chuckling.

The carriage pulled up to the grand front doors, and Gaetanie's stomach suddenly felt altogether too light. When she stood and, with her father's genial support, stepped down from the carriage, it took her a moment to convince herself that she was standing on solid ground. Was it the grandeur of the estate itself? Surely that was part of it... but this was hardly Gaetanie's first visit to this building. If anything, now that she was a grown woman, it seemed somehow... smaller, than in her memory, which had rendered it a palace that might have stretched to the Mediterranean.

The doors were opened to them, and Gaetanie allowed herself a small, sharp intake of breath.

Camille.

"That would be perfect, Mademoiselle d'Avout," her father said, stepping forward and exchanging faire la bise with the daughter of his most esteemed client -- perhaps even his friend, in this enlightened, democratic age, Gaetanie thought. "It is quite agreeable to see you again," her father continued. "You recall my wife, Marie-Francoise..."

Gaetanie tried not to shuffle. Not to fidget. Against her inclination, the finishing school on Lake Geneva had managed to smooth out many of her rough, girlish edges, but now it was like she was...

... like she was a girl of thirteen all over again. Not a woman, a citizen, of seventeen.

"And of course, you must remember my daughter, Gaetanie!"

Gaetanie stepped forward, smiled at her old friend... lost to her these many years. A portion of a lifetime.

"You had better remember me, mon amie, or I'll make you regret it!" she said, leaning forward to press her lips... to the air, just a centimeter above Camille d'Avout's cheek.

 

[Arwen Sorensen]

Camille stood at the top of her stairs with practice poise for someone of her station. Unflinching as the doors opened before her like the beckoning of a grand new chapter. A patter of perhaps excitement drawing a smile onto her feminine lips in more pronounced fashion. She would sit as still as a statue there. Just as she had been taught so many years prior, in the esteemed grounds of her own Finishing Schools.

Fingers interlaced with each other as she would patiently wait for the doormen to be done greeting their new guests. She could feel the nervous excitement balling up within her stomach, but no word would cross her lips for the moment. A young Mademoiselle like herself must know that much. Oh, how impatience ate away at her poise even as she held herself aloft like the splendid Venus. The emerald dress wrapped neatly around her figure in chaste but alluring fashion.

Soon, the party of newcomers would come forward. Trekking up the marble steps to the landing upon which she stood to be greeted by her. The young woman curtsying low to her guests. Rising up to her full stature, she would smile with fair politeness. "It is my esteemed pleasure to welcome you, Monsieur Charpentier."

A shift in her posture to become more opening and welcome seemed to occur. The girl accepted his greeting with a faint smile. "It is quite the brave new age in which we live in do we not Monsieur. I thank you and the Madame for proving such lovely flowers and words of caring for Mother and my dearest brother. Such acts of grace were uncommon in the dark days."

She would face towards Gaetanie's mother. A fainter smile given, but one no less charming. "Madame Charpentier, I must admit the flowers in the garden still wilt in comparison to your loveliness. You must share with me your secrets to this technique. My fiance will shower you with such wonderful thanks."

Flattery being a delicate tool to placate the usually stern woman. At least, of course, until they could get proper alcohol in her. Then she was simply the life of the party like the rest. Most problems tended to be solved in that manner at these kinds of affairs. After all, they served as a stately call back to very different times. Even if one now was addressed by the title of Citizen.

With such formalities addressed, she would turn to face the third member of the family, Mademoiselle Gaetanie. Her smile now returned to something more geniune. Seems of her grand proper disguise starting to show as she would accept her friend's greeting. Though for a moment, she would have noted a pause in the actions of Gaetanie. One that made her shift slightly as if restless. Still, as the other girl talked, she would let forth a polite giggle. Fingertips touching her lips for the moment as she would steady her demeanor. A true proper lady through and through.

"Mademoiselle, I do not claim to know whom you are!? Why, for certain, you could not be sweet Gaetanie. You do not have a book in hand!" She would tease fake appalled horror. Her act dropping, however, as a smile overtook her now. Too distracted to keep up character, she would continue on undeterred.

"Mon Amie, how could I ever forget? And behold, you have blossomed into a fine woman. Even lovelier now than so long ago." She would offer sweetly. Feigning shock as she would mime a glance about. "With two lovely roses about me, how could I compare? You both make it rather hard you know. Though it truly has been some time Mademoiselle Charpentier. Perhaps I could interest you in tour of the repair to the gardens while the servants escort your parents to meet with Father?"

 

[kalissacolyte]

"Oh, if this dress were not so tight," Gaetanie laughed, keeping her voice low, "I'd surely have found somewhere to stash my copy of Orphan of the Rhine!" Said dress was a rich blue with white detailing and a needlelace collar, decorated with intricately-rendered motif of honeybees. It was by far the nicest garment Gaetanie owned, but that hadn't stopped her from pinning a tricolour cockade just above where her collarbone met her shoulder. "And my dear friend, if you cannot see how lovely you are, then it must simply be a matter of perspective and optics. I shall endeavor to find you a looking glass, so that a fair comparison can be made between us!"

And, it was true: Gaetanie's friend had grown into a breathtakingly beautiful woman. Camille both was, and was not, the girl Gaetanie remembered from her youth. The details were all correct: the rich, deep color of Camille's brown eyes, the way her hair seemed to catch little filaments of the sun so that its radiance peeked through her otherwise dark hair, and little marks and signs that only a childhood friend... or, perhaps a recent, intimate acquaintance... would know to look for in her face. Yet the very bones of Camille's face had shifted, becoming sharper but also more graceful, her nose now had the straight, regal shape that reminded Gaetanie of... oh.

She looks like her mother, Gaetanie thought, and just as Camille was offering her a tour, Gaetanie felt her heart sink. She suffered a loss I dare not even imagine, and where was I, when I should have been by her side to comfort her. Suddenly, the cockade on her dress seemed to mock them both. Gaetanie knew what those colors meant, to her and to all of France, but... what did they mean to her friend, who would for the rest of her life be gazing into looking glasses and seeing a mother who had been fed to the guillotine?

She hesitated, only for a moment, but still. "It's been so long, I should surely require a thorough tour simply so I do not become lost!" she tried to quip, and held out a hand, elbow at just the right angle, fingers splayed just so, for Camille to guide her by. Remember your lessons. Focus on the ritual of the party. Eins, zwei, drei... "Please, my dear Camille, show me everything, and tell me everything, and then when you need to catch your breath, I shall tell you everything as well."

 

[Arwen Sorensen]

Camille's brown eyes would flicker down the cockcade. Her face was unchanging as she would see the object that had been seared onto her memories. She could hear the chanting now, the mob braying for blood as they marched up the drive. All adorned in the colors of their new revolution. Her eyes were far away for a moment. Caught in the line where reality became nightmare. Then, as if returning to life like a marionette, Camille once again animated with the same smile, though there was some strain at the corners of her mouth. For someone who knew her as long as she did, Gaetanie would know something was amiss.

In the moment, Camille would continue to play her role adamantly. She leaned in gently as she would offer a little chuckle. Her whisper came in close to the other woman's ear. "You do realize it is frowned upon to go rummaging through the front of your corset. Even if it is for a novel as lovely as Orphan of the Rhine."

The act of leaning close having a rather interesting byproduct. It would allow Gaetanie to feel her friends breath lightly caress her neck. Mayhap incidental or that Camille had leaned much too far forwards. After all she did seem fond of Gaetanie's personal space. Yet these were the bonds of strong friendship. They had always been close.

Camille then made the over dramatic motion to fan herself with her hand. A small geniune smile returning as she would laugh gently. "My, my Mademoiselle. You must be careful on the act of stroking my ego Mon Amie. It simply goes straight to my head sadly." She would turn politey to Gaetanie's father and mother. Waving over one of the doorman with a gently come closer motion. "Johannes, please show the Madame and Monsieur to my dearest Father's study. He will be overjoyed to see his dear friends once more."

The man would give a proper bow and nod promptly. "As you wish Madame. May the Madame and Monsieur follow me, I shall be your guide." With that he would carefully lead them away. Taking them through the heart of the hustle and bustle of the manor. On that note Camille would turn about. Her eyes turning back to Gaetanie. A smile on her face less proper and more of girlish delight. "Come! Let me have a look at you. Are you not as pretty as can be!" She would chime. Looking over her dress as she did. Her arm moving slowly to slide in proper fashion around her friends.

Locked together she would lead her down the hall. Her interlaced arm holding gentle but guiding motions to take her where she wished. "I do believe I shall take you the scenic route to the gardens. Now do tell...how was schooling? And be dreadfully honest. I have no need for the honied words you no doubt told your parents Mon Amie." She would offer with a mischievous grin. The sun from the windows catching of her hair as she did so. "Also remind me to show you the new bath Father had installed, it's surely magnificent." It would almost seem as if Camille was dancing around talking of herself at the moment.

 

[kalissacolyte]

"Me? Look at you, Camille, you look like you've just stepped out of a painting!"

Gaetanie's family did not have true maidsservants as the d'Avouts did, but the Charpentiers had employed a Provencal girl, part-time, to look after Gaetanie's and her mother's clothes and makeup. This morning, when Simouno had applied the rouge to her cheeks, Gaetanie had teased the girl, saying that the stuff was expensive and there was no need to layer her like a fresco with it. However, when Camille's breath brushed against her neck, Gaetanie was suddenly quite grateful that her true blush would be at least a little bit disguised, especially when Camille complimented her.

Gaetanie could not ignore it, however: The warmth that rushed over her face, leaving her paradoxically cold upon its passage, the buzz in her belly as if the bees from her dress had come to life, the sudden, not-entirely-ladylike lightness in her step. She had missed Camille so very much, and now she had the added anxiety that she had just rubbed Camille's loss of her mother and brother in her face with her stupid choice of fashion... at least they were walking away now, so that her parents wouldn't see the state she was in.

On the other hand, she hadn't expected the thrill running through her to intensify when Camille took her by the arm and guided her down the hall.

"The gardens would be lovely, my dear. I think I could use some fresh air. I confess, I've had more comfortable carriage rides." In truth, the ride had been perfectly pleasant, save for her mother's tut-tutting, and Gaetanie instantly regretted even this small white lie to cover... whatever it was that had come over her. This is a terrible way to begin rekindling your oldest, dearest friendship, she thought. "And, of course, the more time together before the festivities, the happier I'll be. I have missed you awfully, Mon Amie." There, that's better.

She told of her time on Lake Geneva, warts and all, though Gaetanie was surprised that even her own telling contained fewer warts than she'd imagined. There'd been some trouble with one of the other girls, a Venetian rose-thorn named Bartolomea, but the instructors had all been, if not kind, then fair and seemed genuinely concerned with the girls' future as the new crop of European ladies. "I even managed to learn a few useful things," Gaetanie continued. "Mathematics. Mostly bookkeeping work, but some more interesting avenues as well. I can't say I will miss that school, but... it was not entirely as horrid as I had imagined it would be." As she spoke, Gaetanie was aware she was rambling, covering up her awkwardness with talk, even if it had been invited by Camille. Camille, meanwhile, had hardly said a word about herself.

She forced herself to silence, at least for a moment, as the two friends walked the hedged paths that twined through the d'Avout gardens. "Mon Amie, just between ourselves and the hedges... I have missed you quite dearly. There were so many times over the last six years that I wanted nothing more than to leave all cares and concerns behind and go off on one of our adventures. Juvenile of me, I know, but it's true. I feel much more... myself, now, walking beside you in the sunlight." There. You said how much you missed her, how much she means to you. Perhaps now, the pressure will ease, the thrill will dissipate.

 

[Arwen Sorensen]

Camille's brown eyes would dart down to Gaetanie's face. Her eyes hanged there for a moment as if to take in her features before straying. Her head locking into purely staring straight ahead. Almost as if they had searched for something, and it had eluded them. Instead, Mademoiselle d'Avout would remain interlocked with Gaetanie. Slowing her pace if need be to allow her distracted friend to keep up with her quick stride that Powered her about the large home. "Well then, let us hope I am not simply a passing fad and rather a work of true art." A gentle glance to her friend would lead to a silence. One which she then broke by speaking up again. This time in a more prying matter. "So...this Clovis, was it? You are to be betrothed to him. What do you think of your fiance?"

Her words would hang, waiting to be answered. All the while, the conversation went onward like the drum beat of a regiment going to war. "Oh, the horsemen at the reigns not handle his beats of burden well? Or was it the cart that needs fixing? Father might be willing to make out a loan..." She would offer. Their path leading down a spiraling side staircase which winded downward to waiting gardens. Scents of the garden now attacking one's senses as the pair entered. Her head turning about at Gaetanie's comment afterward.

"And I have missed you so. How could I get intro trouble if I did not have you about? Certainly, I suppose I could stir something up, but it would simply not be the same." She offered a sly grin as as they walked down the well worn paths. Her mother had always loved to spend her time in the gardens when not in the library. Camille supposed this was the most proper way to honor her in the end. "I will apologize ahead of time for the more unpleasant areas here. The revolution took its pound of flesh unevenly." A grim admission of the events that had transpired.

Alone on the path however, birds chirped and the insect would hum by on the path from one flower to another. Life having once again taken root here from all the pain such landscape had endured. Soon came forth the stories of the other girls grand adventure. A smile coming across Camille's features as she would listen careful. Her trained ear picking each comment apart to recover as much detail as possible. For the most part though, she was pleased Gaetanie had escaped France long before the terror took hold. It was a great relief even in those dark times.

"Did you make many friends while there? I have a few girls whom I still write too every now and then. Though some have stopped responding. It brings the fear up out of me I suppose." She would laugh ruefully. Her head tilting as she would inquire more teasingly. "Are the Swiss men dashing or has the lack of martial engagement left them soft?" She would seem to smile as she would click her tongue. "I remember tying my sheets together to sneak out and explore from time to time. Though they were liberal with the switch upon my bottom each time."

Camille would look to the other woman with another warm smile. The wind ripping across the hedges as she owould offer a few words. "Oh I believe between me and the hedges, such feelings are mutual. These hedges quite missed you and rumor has it so did Mademoiselle d'Avout." A light jest to lighten the mood as she would looking about the place. "If your words are childish Mademoiselle Charpentier, your hostess is far too often a childish idiot. I shall not entertain that idea for long. It is only natural to miss one you care for yes? For I had kept you in my letters did I not?"

"Truthfully this place was dreadfully dull without you. Remember when we used to play hide and seek among these hedge rows? It was long ago...when things were far simpler were they not?" She'd inquire quietly. Almost as if reminding herself of the memories on the spot. A pleasant smile on her face as the sun kissed her blonde waves of hair, now settled to her left shoulder.

 

[kalissacolyte]

"Oh, hardly a fad, Mon Amie. If anything, I suspect you are not properly appreciated in your time, like a piece by the Old Masters. Only those of us with a good eye can see..." Gaetanie looked away, hiding her embarrassment with a smile. "Oh, but what would your betrothed think, if he heard me lavish you with such compliments? Surely if the Marc-Antoine my mother told me you were betrothed to is the same rascal who used to chase us around with your brother, then I'll have to find a stout stick to fend off his challenge, just like the old days!"

Gaetanie was side-stepping around the topic of her own betrothal, but finally she took a breath and said: "I have it on very good authority, from numerous reputable sources, that Clovis Garnier is a... very fine match for me. He is a machinist, and is studying to become a true engineer. My father dotes on him, dare I say as if we had been married for years." She resisted the urge to chew her lower lip, which mostly resulted in her pouting. "He is gentle to me." He hardly looks at me. "And he is smart, which alleviates my fear of being married to a dull man." He hardly leaves his workshop, and mutters to himself all the time. "I suspect we will... become closer, as the date itself comes closer." Perhaps he'll finally decide he has a use for me after all.

She gently dismissed Camille's offer of her father's money, blaming not the driver or the carriage but her own constitution -- she was only just recently returned from Switzerland, and the ride home had been grueling and interrupted by a storm that had roared down from the Alps. In any event, Gaetanie's father had plenty of money of his own, by now... printing the Directorate's own literature had given them a steady source of income that few had enjoyed in the Revolution's most trying years, and it seemed likely that L'Empereur Nouveau himself would extend the contract with the Charpentier family. Not bad, for a family who, only a handful of generations before, had been poor woodsmen from Bastogne.

Gaetanie could think of nothing to say to Camille's apology for the grounds. She wanted to apologize herself, even though she knew in her mind she was not at fault... in her heart, it didn't matter than she'd been in another country when the fires had been lit and the cannons aimed. She had read about the pro-Girondin raid on the d'Avout Estate, and she had feigned illness for a week afterward so that her classmates and instructors would not see the effect the news had had on her. Only a letter from Camille, rare and precious treasures even at the best of times, had assuaged her fears, and she'd been able to carry on. She had balled up and thrown away four responses to that letter, each one too raw in emotion to send, not for reasons of propriety, but... some unnamed fear she hadn't had the courage to grapple with. The response she'd finally sent had been heartfelt, but, she thought, stiff. Wrong, somehow. Still... at least their correspondence had continued afterward, more or less uninterrupted.

Still... how close had it come to being even worse? Camille had joked about a lack of communication making her anxious for her school friends... could Gaetanie ever explain how frightened she had been for Camille, for the same reason?

"Many of the girls were quite pleasant, though I don't know if I truly made friends with any of them," Gaetanie admitted. "They were all... how to put this... they were like me, in that they came from families of lawyers, doctors, intellectual laborers like Father and my... ah, my Clovis. They all wanted to, hmmm, make good I suppose. So they were all very polite, very kind, well-read in only the most acceptable sort of ways... and..." She tittered. "And none of them ever came close to taking a switch to their rump!" She straightened her back and squared her shoulders, and declared: "I, in a most Christian attitude I should think, took that burden upon myself, on their behalf." She fell again into laughter, leaning, just for a moment, on Camille's shoulder. "Oh, I was bad, Mon Amie. Bad books, bad pamphlets, bad opinions... I certainly received good marks on my papers, but the marks I was given elsewhere were a testament to what a contradiction I made myself to my instructors. I fear the other girls thought me bad luck to associate with. Ah... their loss, as you well know." She shrugged. "As for the Swiss men, well... ah... they were all very blond, I can tell you that much. And I had heard that Prussian men were stiff-necked, ach! After awhile, I stopped noticing them. They were like trees, in that way: lovely, if you've a mind to examine them closely, but otherwise... just scenery."

A moment's pause... "I find your company far more pleasant than theirs ever could have been. Just reliving these memories..." She pointed to one hedge in particular. "I recall you getting stuck in that one, trying to run after I found you! It took hours to pluck all the brambles from your hair!" Her free hand twitched, and she had to make a fist at the memory of running her fingers through her friend's honey-golden tresses, picking out burrs and curlicues of leaf, both of them giggling and complaining in equal measure, both of them hoping that no one would come behind the groundskeeper's shed and see them, halfway to entangled with one another... and covered, of course, in all sorts of grit from their games.

"Better days," she concluded. "With better people." She tightened her arm with Camille's, a small and brief embrace, but one nonetheless. "It is... so very good to be home. And I do not merely mean la Metropole."

 

[Arwen Sorensen]

Camille would dare a glance to the other young woman in silence. Though, one could note a fresh pinkish hue to her cheeks. Camille's mind could not help but drift to such complements as high grade flattery from her closest confidant. Yet it still gave her pause. A feeling at her core seeming to bask in them like the sun itself. To be showered with them now was an oddity. After all she was showered with affection already by her lovely Fiance. What made this scenario different from that in which she might grow to fidget even with her ladylike decorum. "Oh and I'm certain I would looke lovely as nude as Venus among the surf for a painters wonder." A teasing joke that may conjure forth a mental image released. The woman composing herself. "Please my dear...you need not flatter me simply to improve upon my vanity for I already have it in spades."

Camille would only shake her head at the second bit. "Marc-Antonie I'm sure has no mind for you. He speaks well of you, perhaps even to the extent you may be called as the Godmother to our first. Should such events transpire. I believe all the antics was what won him over." She would seem uncomfortable to speak of the idea of conception, yet it would be her duty once she took the vows. The young man came from noble blood and his parents clearly wishes for an heir. She would however, push what treacherous thoughts she might have down for the moment. "Is there reason for such flattery?"

The woman would pause as she would listen to Gaetanie speak on her husband. Sighing slightly as she would inquire more. "Highly recommended by whom my dear? Your sources or by your father? I suppose your father does have the final say, but I did not suspect he'd try to marry you that soon." She would look at the girl with a look that suggested approachability. Kind eyes locked on her as her lips would open slightly as if formulating her next question. "Do you truly wish for this arrangement? You may tell me freely."

She would then listen to the girls elaborate tale of her adventures among the finishing school in Switzerland alongside the boys of that place. Her head tilting to the side as she would offer a faint smile. Perhaps the experience had been for the best for the other girl? She could not quite say yet. "Well that is really too bad on the men. Though look on the bright side. You would not have to worry of the company of other women now and ending an old maid." She gave forward to Gaetanie, though it was hardly any consolation. Her eyes following her now outstretched hand to the hedges.

"Ah yes. I believe I was rather shredded coming forth out of that one. You were so very diligent in plucking the thorns from me. I thank you for that." She would say quietly. Turning about to face Gaetanie as she seemed to think for a moment. Wrapping the other girl into a geniune hug which pressed their two bodies together. Camille's grasp seemingly clinging for a moment too long as she would whisper. "I was very afraid while you were gone. Now you are back, and I might at least be spared from some of my fears. Truly God has answered my prayer thusly." She would release the other girl almost reluctantly as she would smooth out her dress.

Rather than bother explaining anything however she would keep the tour rolling. "Well my dearest Gaetanie. If your constitution troubles you, perhaps a lovely bath might help. I must show you the new bathhouse. It was our Youngest Brother's idea after he returned from the Italy with Eugine." She would gesture her through the gardens to a small domed building a few hundred feet from the house. "If you would like to take a quick dip, we may do so. It probably might help the aches and pains of your journey. With the help of the serving staff it would be nice and quick. We would be done before lunch even arrives."

 

[kalissacolyte]

Gaetanie's smiled brightened at the thought of her beloved friend posing as Venus, dressed only in sea foam. "I'm sure if you wished to know for sure, we could find an artist willing to aid in the experiment! Paint may be expensive these days, but I'm sure any artist worth their brushes would consider it a worthy investment of their time and resources." She almost added, intending it as a joke, and of course I shall be near at hand, to ensure that Monsieur Michelangelo does not attempt to put too much of himself into his masterpiece, but stopped herself. Sure, Camille might have read it as a joke, as it has been conceived, and even an entirely appropriate concern for Camille's virtue, but... would she have heard the protective, even jealous tone, that Gaetanie was somehow certain she'd have spoken in? For the image did indeed conjure itself, led onstage by the imp of the perverse, of Camille -- tall, lovely, settling gracefully into the shape of womanhood, standing before a shore cliff, sprayed by the surf, water beading on her--

"If I flatter you, Camille," Gaetanie began speaking, to distract her own imagination -- which was flattering Camille even more than Gaetanie's friend could have known -- as much as possible, "it is only because I am so pleased to see you again. I've imagined this moment so many times, ever since you first went away to school. Your letters always brought me joy, but... this is better. For one thing, I feel we can now get to know one another, all over again, and my flattery is simply a vulgar expression of my anticipation."

At Camille's questions about Clovis, Gaetanie forced herself to relax, and to let a little of the mask drop. "Father was quite... insistent, and for once he and Mother agreed on something, and irresistible force that I may be, I cannot stand against two immovable objects. Clovis is... he's perfectly... unthreatening. He's a thinker, not much of a talker, and I..." She lowered her voice. "I suspect he will make an inattentive lover. Oh, I am certain there will be a child, and I'm even more certain that I will repay your honor by making you the Godmother of my child. That part, I don't think I'll mind so much. Particularly if it's a girl... or, a girl and a boy." She sniffed. "I propose that, when that time comes, we ensure that our children know one another as we did: near as siblings, and forever welcome in the other's home." She nodded. "That part, I can look forward to. But Clovis himself... he's not what I imagined. Or hoped. Or... I don't know. Perhaps I'm not giving him a fair chance. Only, I envy you your Marc-Antoine."

Something about the phrase "the company of other women" drew Gaetanie's attention, far more than any possibility of her becoming and old maid. For there were things she hadn't told Camille about Switzerland. Things she hadn't told anybody. Not exciting stories, but feelings she'd had, and been unable to process. A longing for the companionship which the other girls enjoyed. Now she had precisely that companionship again, and--

--and quite suddenly, she was in Camille's arms, and she in Gaetanie's. Gaetanie could feel her friend's warmth, her life, as if it were flowing from Camille into her, and Gaetanie's heart sped up so fast that her nickname of "Rabbit" suddenly seemed more appropriate than ever. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to block out the world around her, to make this moment as much about her long-lost friend as possible, to concentrate her mind on the feeling of Camilla's body against her own, their curves matching one another's--

"I was so afraid, too," Gaetanie whispered. "I didn't want to go to Switzerland, I wanted to stay in Paris, I wanted to be here when you returned, that this moment could have comes years earlier."

But if I'd been in Paris in the last few years, Gaetanie thought to herself would Camille and I even still be friends now? Did I not loudly and proudly declare myself a Girondin, that night at Madame Suverain's when the wine had flowed and talk had turned, unladylike, to politics? Was it months between that moment, and the raid on this very estate? Weeks, only? How brave would my convictions have been? How firm and pure my heart?

"He has answered both our prayers," she assured her friend, "and pleased us both doubly for it." Slowly, she allowed Camille to slip from her embrace. Gaetanie looked to her own dress, because the alternative was to watch Camille's hands smoothing over the delicate green fabric, and Gaetanie was starting to think that...

...that something must be wrong with me, she thought.

"A bath?" she asked, looking up suddenly. "Oh, I... yes, yes that would be lovely, my dear!" For to refuse, or to show any sign of shyness, might betray her. Betray what, Gaetanie wasn't sure yet, but she had the horrible feeling that she was keeping a secret from her friend. "Ah, that is... just a quick one... we shouldn't want the others to think us recluses."

That image again, of Camille, nude, dripping with water, Venus made real, made heartbreakingly physical... Gaetanie's hands clenched, trying not to think about it, trying to compose herself before she would have no choice but to be in the presence of...

...of my friend. My best and oldest friend. I must stop this!

 

[Arwen Sorensen]

A faint recollection of a smile flicked across Camille's face. The young woman waved her hand as if to dismiss the thought for the moment. "Oh, I have little patience enough to sit still for family portraits, Gaetanie. Imagine me having to sit nude whilst waiting on the painter to finish!? It would be a travesty, really. I'd be rather more than a bit of a grouch." She would offer in turn. The woman carefully seeming to downplay herself as she would continue down the winding way towards the bathhouse. This companionship felt wonderful after being denied it all this time! Finally someone aside from her brother to confide in, though that was to take nothing of Eugine for the man was wonderful in his own right. Yet he simply could not grasp her struggles like Gaetanie could. He was not of their world, and society saw it fit to ensure he never was.

She could suppose the same about her soon-to-be husband as well. Marc-Antonie had always been infatuated with her. Following her about to make brave declarations to her if only to draw the ire of Gaetanie who had been oddly protective. She assumed it was because Gaetanie feared losing her friend to a boy, yet being a smart girl she could feel pieces not adding together. Something was amiss. "A vulgar expression? Come now Gaetanie, did they not teach you a true Madame and Citizen must mind her manners at all times. Lest she become uncouth before the general audience." Camille retorted jokingly. A sigh escaping her as she would simply shake her head. "I merely do not know why you fawn such affections on me. I am not worthy of them after all."

"I mean perhaps you could not withstand them, but you could alter whom their eyes landed upon. I was originally to wed a snake of a man Monsieur Fournier. He is a rich broker for the Emperor, though a rather foul man of nearly twice my age. You were not there to see the way here stared at me...like a piece of meat upon a plate." She would shiver st the vile thought. Her eyes turning back to the other door. "Yet with Clovis you seem to have at least one who will not force himself upon you or trouble you. Though what exactly does one mean by unattentitve? Is he an adulterer?" She would inquire protectively. The girl looking ready to defend Gaetanie. "As a woman of the faith and the cross, I will defend you my dear Mademoiselle. Should it come to that."

"You envy my husband? Of what charge? That he must put up with my tyrannical rule on the daily?" She would quip as they walked. Her eyes flashing jovally down to her friend before looking back ahead again. "You would not know how good it is to have you here. Even if just for these couple of days. Perhaps you might stay a bit longer?" It was an honest inquiry as they would round the bend of the hedges. The acceptance of such a bath being something that would make the other woman smile. "Well right this way, unless you would prefer slipping off the creek." Her path would take her down a side way to the place of interest. The small building radiating warmth as she would push open the oak door.

Immediately one was hit by a radiating steam as if they had walked into a tropical environment. The marble floor causing her heels to click as she moves about inside. Here at the outer area seemed to be a room filled with cubbys built into benches in which to store one's things before they finally entered. Camille waiting till Gaetanie was inside before closing the door. The girl pushing the iron bolt lock across the frame. If only to give them a bit of privacy. The oak in the rooms polish illuminated by low lanterns which cast shadows about the place. Within a large basket by the door seemed to rest towels while another empty one showed where the used could be tossed.

Camille would turn to Gaetanie with an apologetic glance. "My dearest Gaetanie. I hate to be a terrible bother but my dress unlaces from the back along with my corset. If you could work upon my laces I could just slide the thing off. " She would remark. The girl already starting on removing her petty coat and what not from underneath. Bare legs soon showing as she moved, her heels and stockings would cast aside as well. "If you require any assistance I would be happy to provide it..." The girl would offer in a semi-shy tone. While they had swam together before, that was some time ago a girl's. That and it did not take place in the close confines of a bathhouse.

 

[kalissacolyte]

"Well, one fears the next generation of great artists shall simply have to use their imaginations then if they hope to capture your beauty," I shrug. "The poor dears." Gaetanie's thoughts nearly mirrored those of her friend: she was only just now realizing how lonely she had been at Madame Suverain's; she had not lacked for conversation partners, but the immediate feeling of intimacy she felt with Camille, that had sorely been lacking. Gaetanie had feared that so many years apart, and quite formative years at that, might have made them strangers to each other. And yet, for all that had changed for them both, it was almost like they had never been apart at all. Her unnamed, anxious feelings aside, Gaetanie felt truly at home, arm-in-arm with Camille. "As to my fawning, I assure you it is nothing of the sort: for as a Citizen of this enlightened nation of ours, I have a duty toward rationality and truth, do I not? I speak only what I believe and know, and both apply to your grace and radiance. You are worthy of praise, and the price you pay for being so worthy is that you will simply have to endure me stating as such."

To the tale of this Monsier Fournier, Gaetanie had to clamp her mouth shut to let her friend finish the story. She couldn't help tightening her grip protectively on Camille, though she forced herself to relax when the topic turned to Clovis. "Oh, what a horrid creature! To think you were almost thrown into that viper's pit..." She shook her head once, an almost violent gesture. "And to think... I wasn't there for you to confide in at the time. Oh Camille, I am so happy that you managed to escape that fate." A dozen fantasies of rescuing her friend all at once attempted to flood Gaetanie's mind, and it took a solid effort to dismiss them. After all... it wasn't real, it hadn't happened. This was real, this moment in the garden. Though... she did begin to formulate a plan to find out what she could about this snake Fournier. If he was connected to the Emperor then he was a powerful man indeed, but powerful men had the most to lose... and were in some ways, the most vulnerable to Gaetanie's weapon of choice: the word. If there was even a chance that he could have had Camille in his clutches, then that was reason enough to expose him for the beast he was. Just as soon as I can begin my operation in earnest, she thought.

As to the topic of other less-than-adequate men... "Oh, my dear Camille, no nothing so horrid as that. It is not another woman I will be competing with, but Clovis' work. I suppose that is no different than any other wife's lot, and I don't want to elevate myself above such matters. It's just..." She paused. "He doesn't seem all that interested in me. Not in... the way a fiance might be expected to be interested in his bride-to-be. It's not a matter of politeness, either, I just seem... invisible to him." She sighed. "Perhaps it is my vanity I should look to and not Clovis' desire, but I can't help wondering if he finds me... I don't know. Plain? Unsuited to his tastes? What is it you feel with Marc-Antoine, when you are together? The way he's said to dote on you, you must feel quite looked-after. I suppose... that's what I envy, Camille. Tyrant or not -- and I suppose you can be quite the Imperatrice-petite, not that you deserve any lesser a station -- Marc-Antoine seems to enjoy his station beneath you." I can't quite resist the urge to raise my eyebrows and smirk at the bit of wordplay. "Whereas with Clovis... not beneath, nor on top, his favorite position relative to me seems to be elsewhere. I would welcome your defense, mon amie, if I knew any way for you to defend against..." I sigh. "I suppose the word is 'neglect'. Of a kind I never thought I had reason to fear."

As they approached the bathhouse, Gaetanie took a deep breath of the hot, humid air, and released it as Camille bolted the door shut. "Ooooh, that's ever so much better already," she said, though she was fanning her face with one hand as she said it. The air in here was close, but it didn't feel oppressive. If anything, it made Camille's intimate presence seem all the more...

... and then she heard Camille's request.

"Oh. Of course, Camille, I..." she took a moment to compose herself, and covered the sudden rush of feelings with a laugh. "I just now realize, I had no real plan to get out of my dress, either! We'll just have to put egalite to its most practical use, I suppose." She tried very hard not to stare as Camille slipped off her petticoat and other lower undergarments, but couldn't quite manage it. Something in the air seemed to change, and it took Gaetanie a moment to realize it was the smell of the room: not the soap and mineral powders for the bath, that had been there already. What she could smell was her friend's skin, her sweat, and the strange, darkly intimate associations that her traitorous mind drew made her shiver despite the heat. Her hands shook as she undid the laces atop her stockings.

When she, too, stood in bare feet on the marble floor, Gaetanie summoned her courage and her prudence as best she could, and stepped toward Camille. "Well, ah... turn around, so I may set to work on you, hm?" She brought her hands up, watched them shake in the air between Camille's back and her face, and closed her eyes. Eins... zwei...drei... this isn't working, oh God help me what is the matter? Finally, she decided that the only way to improve matters would be to stop procrastinating and...

...and reach out.

But instead of the laces, Gaetanie's fingertips went to where Camille's graceful neck met her shoulders. With tender, shuddering motions, she slid her fingers down to the topmost layer of green fabric, took the laces in hand... and gave them a gentle tug.

Rung by rung, layer by layer, she loosened the dress' grip on Camille's body. Gaetanie watched in mesmeric fascination as the cream-colored corset beneath revealed itself, her fingers accidentally brushing over the soft-atop-hard surface of it. She had to kneel to get the bottommost laces undone, her own corset preventing her from merely leaning, and something about that position made another layer of cool sweat break out on her face and neck. She didn't even bother trying to count this time, in German or any other language. She felt as if she were falling, tumbling head over heels.

She stood again, carefully policing her breath so Camille would not hear the shudder in it... and began again, this time on the corset. Again, her eyes widen and her lips parted, as she watched the corset loosen under her ministrations, the natural shape of Camille's body revealing itself like a butterfly slipping from its chrysalis. Gaetanie swallowed a lump in her throat.

"You..." she began. "Ah, you must tell me what you use for your skin!" she finally decided. "You positively glow, mon amie. Is it sulfur rock? A salt bath? I must know your secret." As she loosened the very last rung on Camille's corset, she gently helped the panels loosen, and clamped her mouth shut, not trusting herself not to say what she was thinking or feeling.

No. This wasn't like taking a dip in the creek when they were girls. Not at all.

 

[Arwen Sorensen]

"Let them, for I won't be caught dead posing for my portrait any time soon." Camille remarked as her gaze returned to Gaetanie. Low light from the lanterns casting a slight shadow over her face as she did so. Her features only just visible in these intimate conditions. It felt utterly amazing to have the other girl around once again. Really the only individuals she could speak with in some amount of confidence was her brother and her fiancé.

Yet they could not speak with her on the most intimate of thoughts or really her feelings of defectiveness when put to task. She had yearned for just a listening ear who could comfort her in her hour of need, and Gaetanie was utterly perfected. She understood her like no one else did, it was like she...Camille stopped short of her treacherous thought. Fingers grabbing at the fabric of her green dress nervously. Her face would dart away to take reprieve within the shadows of the bathhouse. "Many claim duty to rationality and truth, yet to praise your friend for her virtues is not necessarily one of those things." She would tease gently. Finally seeming to grow in courage to glance back again.

It would be during her explanation of her previous possible betrothal that Camille would feel Gaetanie tense. Fingers gripped tight into her arm with a level of unexpected unease. Was her friend truly worried for her morality? She had believed the issue to be set to bed already. She was to be married. Surely that would keep even a snake like Monsieur Fournier at bay. Her friends worry would bring doubts in her mind, especially since the man would be attending the dinner at the Estate tonight. On the discussion of Clovis however, Camille would begin to draw lines in her head. A hand going to her pale red lips as she would gaze at Gaetanie.

Could it be that Clovis was seeing another woman or...no, it could not be. Such sodomy was in league with the Devil and yet...the age of reason had for some time abolished the church's hold over things. Perhaps the Cult of Reason had brought forth different thinking other than enlightenment. "Mon Amie, it...it is not your fault your husband-to-be may not take interest in you. For if he is as apathetic to the feminine charm as one might be...he might indeed be a confirmed Bachelor." It was a scandalous claim almost out of a novel. Yet Camille pondered why any many would turn down sweet Gaetanie.

Her quiet thoughts would give way to her friends prodding on her own husband. A small smile escaping her as she would speak up. "He is quite a kind soul. Caring, gallant and chivalrous. I do suppose I could do no better. Yet I do not know for what reason...well." She would fidget carefully as if to dance around a thought, though she would finally surrender to it as she spoke up. "Despite his affections I cannot bring myself to throw myself as blindly into the marriage as he. I feel as if I am a defective woman to be frank. Though I will say if it comes to consummation I will certainly not be on top. He is a horseman of good regard...I suppose I will be on fours." A bit of gallows humor to deflect from her earlier point. The woman seeming to let out a sigh. "Am I truly a lost cause sweet Gaetanie?"

As Gaetanie accepted her request, Camille would turn about. The feeling of eyes boring into her frame making her shift uncomfortably as the woman let down her golden hair quietly. It was best to keep her busy during a time of nervousness like this. Soon she would feel the other girls hands reached her laces, slowly untying each one as Camille felt the cold air touch the skin of her back. A shiver running up her spine as Gaetanie shifted down to kneel behind her. The very act feeling dirty in her mind as she would resist the temptation to turn about. However, she would soon be slid out of even her corset. Hourglass figure in display under the dim light as she could feel the warmth come around her nude form. She would ponder bringing her arms forwards to shield herself, but refrained from doing so. This was her friend after all. "I know there's a bottle of wine we might borrow if you wish once we get in. For now, do you wish for me to help you undress. It would be far easier."

As she stood there, the shape Camille's ass could be made out perfectly in the dark. Each curve of her body amplified by the twisting shade of the lanterns around her. Soon however, Camille turned about revealing her front half. Pert breasts drawing attention alongside of the shadows which blocked something further down from sight. Her frame shifting slightly as she would move towards Gaetanie. Motioning with her hand as she intended to move forward with her offer. It was only right after all. "Are you alright Gaetanie?... You look unwell."

 

[kalissacolyte]

Gaetanie had laughed at Camille's dismissal of her portrait, thinking so much the better for me. Then, a moment later: what exactly did I even mean by that? Not knowing that, in just a few minutes, she would experience precisely what those painters would have clamored over each other for, if given the opportunity.

"Perhaps so," she'd admitted, "self-deception being the most insidious sort. But you must remember Camille: I am always right, as was well-established when we were girls." A laugh to follow, considering all the times that Gaetanie had been so very wrong about something, it had ended with a stern reprimand, and sometimes worse, from one or both of the girls' parents. The wisdom of calling up to Camille's bedroom window at well-past dusk to entice her to come down so they could play in the dark together, for instance. They'd been caught that first time, and had paid for it justly... but the second and third time, Gaetanie had been right. After all, Camille had to have learned how to tie her sheets together from someone. "So if I say it is the truth that you are a treasure to behold, then it is so." She'd lifted her chin and mimed banging a gavel. "I declare it to be law!"

A little later... "I... well, I confess, I had wondered about Clovis. He does spend an inordinate amount of time at the Lodge, and at the workshop which he shares with other young machinists... but then, the same could be said of my father, and I shudder to imagine that similarity. Still... yes, I have wondered, and I do wonder, and if it's occurred to you as well, I... I don't know what I'll do, if that were the case. Pray that it is never discovered, I suppose. The shame it would bring to both of us... both of our families." She shook her head. "The moral and spiritual implications of sodomy aside, I simply do not understand someone who does not at the very least appreciate feminine beauty. Certainly, for all the work we put into it, it seems the very least a man can do is to be our devoted, adoring servant from the very moment they lay eyes on us." This was followed by a positively naughty giggle, which only repeated itself when Camille described how she imagined herself impersonating a cavalry steed for her dashing cuirassier--

...but then, perhaps that laughter was a touch shrill. A touch... afraid, even. Marc-Antoine was certainly a vast improvement over Monsieur Fournier, Gaetanie felt she could just about trust him with her dear friend, and yet... some of that same disgust and horror she'd felt when Camille had described her former fiancee as looking at her like a piece of meat, came surging back. That was horrible disingenuous of her, it was even perhaps... jealous... but the feeling was there, nonetheless.

Worst of all was this: she could, by sheer force of will banish the image of Marc-Antoine atop Camille... but Camille's own description of herself on hands and knees never... entirely... faded.

"Not a lost cause at all," she assured Camille, hardly feeling the same about herself. "If anything, perhaps it is good you are not overly eager -- you open yourself up for a pleasant surprise, rather than disappointment. Truly, I admire your temperance and realism." Gaetanie felt she could surely do with a bit of temperance herself, just then.

And... she felt that same way, trebly so, now, in the bathhouse, with Camille turning to face her.

Gaetanie's breath caught in her throat. She forced herself to look up, to look Camille in the eyes, but her own gaze kept flicking down. The graceful, shallow curve of Camille's neck... the planes and angles of her shoulders and collarbones, set in intricate chiaroscuro by the dim light of the bathhouse. Steam, condensing on her skin, dripping down, pulled by gravity, and Gaetanie's vision was pulled by a force just as irresistible... first her mouth went dry at the silhouette of Camille's décolletage, then as Camille completely the turn toward her and Gaetanie get her first real look at Camille's chest, her mouth watered, as if a slice of tart lime had been placed delicately on her tongue. Camille's breasts were almost the same size as Gaetanie's, but their shape arrested her eye: the curves both subtle and drastic, the softened points of her nipples, so dark in this lighting that they looked like shadows at the tips of her breasts. Even the tiniest freckle or "imperfection" of her skin made Gaetanie almost whimper with its beauty.

With her beauty.

This wasn't the way one looked upon a friend. It wasn't right. It wasn't...

...there was nothing Gaetanie could do about it.

Except, perhaps, to turn her back on her beautiful, alluring, dearest friend, and in a voice that was little more than a whisper, answer: "Oh... yes, please. Mine laces in the back, like yours... the, ah... the third rung from the top is a touch tricky, the laces stick there... you'll need to give it a..." A hard gulp. "A good tug, to get it loose."

Then Camille asked a question which Gaetanie for which had no honest answer. "I think it's... the steam, from the bath," she lied. "In the dark, after being out in the sun. I feel... perhaps a little dizzy? I fear you may need to catch me, if I should swoon!"

That much, at least, was certainly true.