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Tales of the Meridian Society! (TheCorsair, Madame Mim)

Anne Marie's gut twisted with anxiety as she waited for him to say something, anything. Then he called her his love and pulled her to him and everything seemed right with the world again. She laid her head on his shoulder and clung tightly to him, a choked half-laugh half-sob escape as tears leaked down her cheeks and fell onto his shoulder. When he kissed her she pressed her lips hard against his, pouring in all of the love and emotions she had been hiding beneath her placid exterior.

"Have to be?" she laughed. "Darling, we get to be! I thought I would never...after he..." Anne Marie sniffed and shook her head, wiping at her eyes and smiling despite herself. "No. He will never, ever haunt us again and he certainly will not haunt this child. You and I are going to have the most beautiful baby in the world, mon amour, and he will be the most loved and the most spoiled child in all of France. I swear it." She grinned and laughed again, knowing that neither of them could ever allow their child to become spoiled no matter how much they loved him. "There is so much to do! A nursery and clothes, toys, maternity dresses, then of course the first thing we ought to discuss is names..." She trailed off, thinking as she still held tightly to him. If it were a girl it would only be appropriate that her name be Helen, but that wasn't a topic for just yet, she didn't think.

"But Algie...what about the team?" The Society had been the second thing she'd thought of when the doctor had told her, after Algie of course, and she still hadn't figured out what to do. "Obviously I won't give up my work for a family; it is possible to have it all and I fully intend to. But...well, now likely isn't appropriate, but they're bound to notice some time. And then they'll be wanting to know who the father is, as well. It is easy enough to keep society's--French society, I mean--nose out of my business. Nobody has put it together yet, after all, despite the two of us cohabitating on and off for the better part of two decades, and I can keep it from them. But the team, the children..." She had to smile at Algie's sobriquet for them now. It didn't seem quite as appropriate, but she couldn't think of what else to call them at the moment. "They are our friends, such as they are. They may not know much about our private lives, but they know enough to be curious. And Samantha is quite persistent when she thinks she knows something about anything. It is fortunate, actually, that I do count her as a friend these days or it would have gotten her into quite a bit of trouble several times because she decided to try and be clever."
 
“Have to be?" she laughed. "Darling, we get to be! I thought I would never...after he..."

“After,” Algernon repeated grimly. Even now, a decade and more since Gustav had set him - set them - on a path of revenge, the pain lingered.

“No,” Anne Marie declared, blinking away tears and shaking her head. “He will never, ever haunt us again and he certainly will not haunt this child. You and I are going to have the most beautiful baby in the world, mon amour, and he will be the most loved and the most spoiled child in all of France. I swear it."

He laughed with her, holding her close. “France and Australia, love. He’ll learn to ride and shoot, and brawl and dance, and he will devastate the social circles of Europe.”

Laughing, Anne Marie waxed rhapsodic about the things they would have to do. The things they would need. But suddenly, the laughter stopped. "But Algie...what about the team?"

“What about them?” he replied.

“Obviously I won't give up my work for a family; it is possible to have it all and I fully intend to.”

She began pacing a little, thinking out loud. Algernon took the opportunity to pour himself a celebratory cordial, and a smaller one for his love. A touch of alcohol couldn’t do any harm, surely. “Obviously,” he replied, hesitating and then putting the glass down. He opted to pour her a cup of tea instead, deciding not to take chances. “I expected nothing less, although your role may become more cerebral in the final months.”

Anne Marie kept questioning, even as he pressed the cup into her hand. Pointing out that the rules of their Society frowned upon such cohabitation as they had enjoyed. And that curiosity would naturally drive the rest of the team to ask questions and demand answers. Answers they would rightly expect to get, since they had become as much friends and even family as coworkers. “Samantha is quite persistent when she thinks she knows something about anything,” she concluded. “It is fortunate, actually, that I do count her as a friend these days or it would have gotten her into quite a bit of trouble several times because she decided to try and be clever."

“She doesn’t try to be clever, love,” Algernon applied. “She is remarkably intelligent gent, for all her presence of being a blunt instrument.” Pursuing his lips, he thought for a moment. “The solution is, I believe, a simple one. We tell them, when the time is right.” Smiling at her expression, he gestured towards the door. “After all, Erik and Samantha are - to hear Colin complain last year - quite vocal evidence that the team can support love between the agents.”
 
"She doesn't try to be clever, love," Algernon replied. "She is remarkably intelligent, for all her presence of being a blunt instrument."

"I think you misunderstand my meaning," Anne Marie said slowly. "Of course she is very intelligent, and that is precisely the problem. Perhaps I failed, but I was trying to use 'clever' as the English do. That is, she knows she is intelligent. So when she knows something she thinks other people don't, she gets smug and tries to show off--to be clever about it, you see--and it is fortunate that she so far hasn't shown off to the wrong people." She bit her lip, debating momentarily over whether she ought to tell him about their conversation last year in the embassy. She hadn't so far, since Samantha seemed to be keeping her word and staying quiet about the whole affair, but with this latest news it might be time for him to know.

"Last year Samantha worked us out," Anne Marie blurted after a long sip of tea after nodding her agreement that they simply ought to tell the team when the time was right. "She did not see why if she and Erik could have a relationship that we could not. I had to explain to her that she was mistaken, because you and I both have some very dangerous enemies and were anything to happen to you, particularly in an attempt to get to me, she would see my true self; not a woman she would be willing to call a friend at all. She got clever about it, in a word, because she was the only one who had worked it out. Although she didn't appear to believe that I am, in fact, not a good person," she raised an eyebrow and looked at him over the rim of her cup as though challenging him to contradict her, "she agreed that it was a good thing she had made a mistake and that we were not involved, and we have left it at that."

She took another sip of tea to allow herself some time to gather her thoughts. "There may come an appropriate time," she admitted, "but I doubt that will be any time soon--certainly not while we're on this case--and it won't be nearly as much a surprise to Sam as it will be to the gentlemen."
 
The Hôtel de Carnavalet, Paris
Wednesday, June 23, 1920

“This is incredible!” Marian Dolan gasped breathlessly, looking wide-eyed at the foyer of the Hótel.

Colin smiled but otherwise restrained his amusement. The nanny’s enthusiasm was engaging and contagious, but he suspected she’d take it poorly if he laughed. “We’ll be here for some time,” he said. “Perhaps on your days off you could tour the city. Paris in early summer is not to be missed, after all.”

Sam shifted Gideon in her arms, then carefully worked some stiffness out of the arm she’d been carrying him in. “Yeah, y’all really should.” She gripped Erik’s hand and squeezed it gently. “We should too. Didn’t get much of a chance, last time we was here.”

“Oh, I rather expect we’ll be seeing quite a bit of the city - the salons, at least. After all...” he checked himself, glancing at the nanny.

Marian shrugged. “I know just enough to know that I shouldn’t pry,” she said airly. “If you need to discuss business, I’ll happily take the baby and get his room set up.” She looked around the foyer again, struck once again by the fact that it was larger than the house she and her eight siblings had grown up in. “Once someone shows me where it is, anyway...”
 
"Shows you what?" Kieran came down the stairs two at a time. After their meeting last week he had hastily packed and had decided to take his ship directly to Paris, eager to start on the case. Madame and the Professor had both had business in London, Anne Marie had said, but of course he was welcome, and though they had arrived three or four days after him, he had barely seen either of them in the enormous estate with the exception of meals. Professor Swift had locked himself in the study most days, while Madame LaMonte had either had social engagements or patients to attend.

"The beautiful city full of romance and adventure?" the charming pirate grinned and bowed with a flourish. "Captain Kieran Shane, at your service," he announced, winking at Marian as he straightened. As the noted ladies man, it wouldn't do for him to change his behavior now despite his own personal revelations. And so in front of the others he still flirted with women. They all knew, of course, but it wouldn't do to get out of the habit for when he returned to his ship...and besides, it seemed to make Colin insanely jealous. "How was the trip?"

~*~

"Hmm...too dark. Germans always like everything so dark." Anne Marie considered the nursery she had had set up in the west wing. She had sent movers she trusted to Berlin to bring Gideon's crib to the Hótel so that sleeping in a strange place might be a little less stressful for the child, and had overseen the moving of fitting furniture into the room. This wouldn't be their nursery of course: that would be much closer to their own room, and decorated much more to her own tastes. Algie got a say, of course, but she found the fathers often didn't care quite as much as mothers what the baby's room looked like. "I think blond wood, don't you?" she leaned against her love and kissed his neck softly. Their nursery would also necessitate all new furniture and dressings.

Somebody cleared his throat at the doorway. Anne Marie straightened and turned, raising her eyebrows inquisitively. "Les Heinz-Schmidts et le Capitaine Drake sont arrivés," Claude announced. She thanked him and he bowed as he left, dismissed.

"Well, oughtn't keep the children waiting," she sighed, looking wistfully at the crib. Even if it was too dark, it represented all her hopes for the coming months. Taking Algie's arm she led the way to the stairs, but stopped short when a strange naked man emerged from a door, strangely and nakedly. He, too, froze and they all stared at each other for a long moment.

"Er...dov'è il bagno?" he asked, unable to think of anything else to say. "Ho bisogno di fare il bagno, e questo posto è un labirinto..." He chuckled nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. "Tu...non assomigliare ai domestici..."

That he was trying to pass the place off as his own was really what irritated her most. Anne Marie pursed her lips and took a deep breath before answering. "Secondo corridoio in questo modo, terza porta a sinistra," she answered tersely. "E tu sei fortunato, i titoli sono solo cerimoniali ora e io non ho un fossato." Once the naked man had wandered off--to be seen again or not was anybody's guess--she strode briskly toward the stairs. "For God's sake, Kieran, I do not run a bordello, no matter what you may think." She stopped at the top of the stairs, irritated further to see the pirate flirting with whom she could only assume was the Heinz-Schmidts' new nanny as though he were fooling anyone. With great effort she replaced the mask, which slipped more and more often lately; her wild mood swings had been one of the reasons she had thought to go to the doctor in the first place.

"Mademoiselle Marian Dolan, I presume," she said, descending gracefully to shake the woman's hand. She expected Sam had done her own research of course, but Anne Marie hadn't left anything to chance. She had hunted down every scrap of everything she could find on Marian, up to and including third grade report cards and the person she had contacted to help her steal the identity of one Marian Pabins. The woman had gumption, that was certain, and of course Anne Marie could sympathize with her cause. She herself had used a considerable amount of her late husband's fortune funding suffragette movements in France, though she couldn't be seen herself out with the protesters without risking not just her clientele base but also her social standing. The former would strip her of legitimate financial independence and the latter would strip her of a very valuable assets, inhibiting her ability to remain financially independent through less legitimate means. Still, she didn't entirely trust somebody willing to lie in order to be in charge of a child...

"Welcome to the Hôtel de Carnavalet, my home. I am Madame LaMonte, and this," she gestured to Algie, "is our fearless leader, Professor Swift. I see you have already met our dashing captains."
 
"The beautiful city full of romance and adventure?" the charming pirate grinned and bowed with a flourish. "Captain Kieran Shane, at your service," he announced, winking at Marian as he straightened.

Marian looked at him silently for a long moment, then nodded slowly. “I thought you might be,” she finally said.

“How was the trip?" the pirate asked with a grin.

“Long and tedious,” the nanny replied. “But, since you offered...” She hefted her valise and the bag with the baby’s things, and thrust both into his arms. “Perhaps you would be so good as to show me to the nursery?”

A bark of laughter escaped Colin before he stifled it. Sam, for her part, managed to hide her smile behind her hand. “Told ya she’d be all right,” she murmured, leaning into Erik.

"For God's sake, Kieran, I do not run a bordello, no matter what you may think." The aggrieved cry caught everyone’s attention, drawing it first to Kieran and then to the top of the stairs. Anne Marie swept down them, followed by the Professor. "Welcome to the Hôtel de Carnavalet, my home. I am Madame LaMonte, and this," she gestured, "is our fearless leader, Professor Swift. I see you have already met our dashing captains."

Marian curtsied. “Well, mum,” she replied diffidently, “I’ve met the captains at least.” Mischief twinkled in her eye. “Whether or not they’re dashing remains to be seen.”

“All right,” Sam laughed as Colin huffed indignantly, “y’all done had yer fun for now.” Kissing Gideon on the top of his head, she handed the baby over. “Whyn’t y’get settles in, an put him down fer his nap?”

As she spoke, a servant collected the baggage from Kieran and gestured for Marian to follow. Sam gave Gideon a wide-eyed grin and waved goodbye with her fingers, then turned to face the team. “Reckon we outta have us a chat about Madame Flour-ista,” she declared, booking her thumbs in her belt as she spoke. “Ah been readin’ up on her, an’ she may be a mite more worryin’ than Ah first thought.”
 
Kieran staggered with a soft oof when the nanny thrust her luggage into his arms. "Nursery?" he asked, shooting a glare over a corner of the luggage over at Colin. "Not sure there is a nu--"

"For God's sake, Kieran, I do not run a bordello, no matter what you may think."

The pirate looked over his shoulder and grinned as Madame LaMonte descended the stairs in her typical fashion. "You'd be disappointed if I were any other way."

"I most certainly would not," Anne Marie argued, "since that's the fifth one this week that I know about." She knew about the three others of course, as she knew about everything which went on under her roof, but it would not be wise to tilt her hand. She welcomed Miss Dolan to her home, resisting the urge to smile when she questioned whether either of the captains were dashing. She liked the nanny, despite not trusting her; she had gumption. "Georgette will show you to the nursery," she said, indicating a servant who had appeared seemingly from nowhere; the servants around here seemed to not exist until they were actually needed, as though popping out of some interdimentional doorway to serve. "I took the liberty of having Gideon's crib brought in, to ease the fear of being in a strange place." She smiled and kissed Gideon's head as Marian passed with him before leading them to the parlor.

"We knew she was a problem already," Kieran grumbled. "The bitch has been working almost fifteen years and no one's caught her yet; what could possibly be worse?"

"Well there's a bit more to it than the papers say," Erik said slowly, handing Sam the file they'd put together to allow her to explain.
 
“We knew she was a problem already," Kieran grumbled as they all filed into the sitting room that had been set aside for the use of the team. "The bitch has been working almost fifteen years and no one's caught her yet; what could possibly be worse?"

"Well there's a bit more to it than the papers say," Erik said slowly, handing Sam the file they'd put together to allow her to explain.

“Indeed?” Algernon replied, lifting an eyebrow as he took a seat. A seat near - but not too near - Anne Marie, Sam observed with a slight smile. “What more have you learned?”

“Ah reckon we’re dealin’ wit’ a, a...” She moved her arm as if groping for a word. “Ah dunno th’ English word. Una copiona. At best.”

“A ‘copycat’,” Algernon supplied. “Why do you say ‘at best’, though?”

“Cause at worst,” Sam replied, “we’re not dealin’ wit’ one woman. We’re dealin’ wit’ an organization. One wit’ th’ resources ta train un cuadro of assassins.”

“A... box?” Colin replied slowly, sounding confused. “Of assassins?”

“It also has a similar meaning to ‘cadre’,” the Professor said mildly. He fixed Sam with a penetrating stare. “Take us through your reasoning, Samantha.”

Sam finally took a seat. Resting the files on a table beside her, she crossed one leg over the other and steepled her fingers before her. “Serial killers,” she said lowly, “have a... a pattern. Th’ victims all fit a type an’ the murder method’s pretty much th’ same. Bloody Jack an’ th’ soiled doves o’ Whitechapel, fer instance, or Francisco Guerrero.” She glanced at the files. “These murders, an’ th’ older ones, kinda fit th’ pattern.” She shrugged. “Except that all th’ victims...” A quick glance at Kieran, “sorry, most o’ th’ victims, are politicians. Not a normal serial killer target.”

“Interesting,” the Professor states, steeping his fingers before him as well. “But why a cadre of assassins?”

“That was worst case,” Sam reminded him. “Could be th’ same woman. Ah was wrong ‘bout that, before. It’s only been 15 years since her first murder, so like Anne Marie pointed out, she could be mah age. But Ah don’ think it’s her, not this time.”

“Why not?” Colin asked.

“Madame Fleuriste used a particular enamel pin as a signature,” Sam answered. “Th’ same pin was found on about a dozen other murdered men, a dozen Ah could locate on short notice. Nobody connected them ta th’ French killer, cause y’jes didn’t get much information sharin’ in pre-War Europe.”

“The same method?” inquired the Professor.

“Yep. Seduced an’ poisoned.” She frowned slightly. “Newest one Ah could find, an’ Ah had ta use Colin an’ Erik’s James fer th’ requests cause Gawd ferbid a woman looks into old murders, was about seven years back.”

“Until now,” Colin remarked.

“Yeah, but,” Sam glanced at the file again. “Th’ pin’s different. Paste jewelry, wit’ glass instead o’ enamel. Different poison, too. Th’ original used a cocktail o’ cardiac glycosides, while th’ new one uses aconite an’ cicutoxins.”

“So..?” The Professor prompted.

“So Ah reckon it’s a different woman, or mebbe women. Possibly trained by th’ original, possibly independent.” Sam frowned. “An’ workin’ in more’n one country. One o’ them new flower pins was found in Spain, after all. An’ two in Italy.”
 
Anne Marie settled herself into her usual armchair--well, usual when she wasn't forcing Algie to snuggle on the sofa Samantha and Erik had just occupied--and listened patiently. Her face remained an impenetrable mask when Sam guessed that they were looking for a copycat, but just to be on the safe side she allowed Algie to take point. When Colin missed the context of cuadro, though, she smiled wryly.

"What you haven't heard?" she asked sweetly. "A group of lions is called a pride, a group of geese is called a gaggle, and a group of assassins is called a box." Smiling at her own joke she fell quiet again, allowing Sam to continue with her reasoning. She looked every bit the Sherlock Holmes the marquise was certain she felt. When she pointed out that most of her victims had been politicians--well, known victims--Anne Marie shrugged. "This is a conclusion law enforcement came to once they started communicating," she pointed out. "Although depending on her motivation I could see her also classified as a serial killer, I think we can safely say that she is an assassin."

"Interesting," Algie said slowly, also steepling his fingers much to Anne Marie's irritation. "But why a cadre of assassins?"

“That was worst case,” Sam reminded him. “Could be th’ same woman. Ah was wrong ‘bout that, before. It’s only been 15 years since her first murder, so like Anne Marie pointed out, she could be mah age. But Ah don’ think it’s her, not this time.”

“Why not?” Colin asked. Madame LaMonte had been about to ask the same question, but held her tongue as Sam explained her reasoning.

“Yeah, but,” Sam glanced at the file again after Colin remarked that she had been inactive until now. “Th’ pin’s different. Paste jewelry, wit’ glass instead o’ enamel. Different poison, too. Th’ original used a cocktail o’ cardiac glycosides, while th’ new one uses aconite an’ cicutoxins.”

“So..?” The Professor prompted.

“So Ah reckon it’s a different woman, or mebbe women. Possibly trained by th’ original, possibly independent.” Sam frowned. “An’ workin’ in more’n one country. One o’ them new flower pins was found in Spain, after all. An’ two in Italy.”

"Or she has undergone recent financial troubles," Madame LaMonte suggested.

"The different pins I understand could be an indicator," Erik said, "but I don't think we should rule out the possibility of a copycat."

"Neither do I," Anne Marie agreed. "But consider: paste and glass jewelry is much cheaper than enamel, certainement. But also her choice of poisons are much cheaper. Cardiac glycosides are expensive to manufacture and difficult to come across in the wild, at least in France, and with the disproportionate amount of French victims or victims killed in France--even excluding recent victims--I think we can safely establish that Madame Fleuriste is, indeed, French. Off of the top of my head the closest I can imagine she would have to travel or trade to acquire such poisons, at least in their natural form, is close to Anatolia. As we all know, southeastern Europe and Turkey have been an absolute mess since the Martians and the recent human war hasn't done them any favors either; it would hardly be safe travel, especially for a woman and most especially for a foreign woman. Otherwise, she would have to visit the tropics or certain parts of North America, Asia, or Australia, none of which are cheap if you aren't of independent means of travel. Circutoxins, on the other hand..." She shrugged. "Hemlock. It grows on roadsides throughout the country. And if the latest victim before this recent rash of homicides was seven years ago, that is a very long cooling off period."

"So what if she's got other victims not identified?" Kieran supplied. "I mean, Liam wasn't."

"Entirely possible," she conceded. "But since she's come back with cheaper jewelry and common poisons I think it more likely she underwent some financial devastation. Assuming she is not a copycat."

"Foxglove is a cardiac glycoside," Erik pointed out, "and it's common enough in these parts of Europe."

"True," Anne Marie answered slowly, "but any amounts able to kill a man outright would have some noticeable side effects." She involuntarily glanced at Professor Swift, then mentally kicked herself for it. They would all be watching for tells. "What do you think, Professor?" she asked, turning her glance into a double-take and addressing him directly.
 
“I think,” the Professor said slowly, carefully keeping his attention fixed on Sam, “that excessive speculation on the nature of the assassin or assassins is unwarranted at this time.”

“Ah don’ agree,” Sam replied, not letting her gaze wander from his. “Well, Ah agree ‘bout unwarranted speculation, but we aim got much ta go on. So we gotta work up a profile as a startin’ point, long as we kin remember ta be willin’ ta let it go if it conflicts wit’ new evidence.”

“Fair enough,” the Professor agreed. “What profile do you endorse?”

“Ah reckon we ain’t lookin fer th’ original, but we ain’t lookin’ fer a group, either.” Sam smiled, just a little. “Una copiana, probably younger’n th’ original. Late twenties ta mebbe thirty. Smart an’ comfortable wit’ th’ upper class, wit’ an interest in politics an’ medicine. Probably been abroad until recently.” She chuckled grimly. “Hell, me or Anne could fit th’ bill.”

There were polite chuckles. Algernon managed to join her n, hiding the small surge of apprehension her comment brought. “That is impressively detailed,” he said, “and yet, so vague as to be largely unhelpful. There are, no doubt, any number of well-traveled young women in the city. Do we investigate them all?”

“Ah reckon not,” Sam replied with a smile. “Erik an’ Colin spotted the key to that.”

Colin nodded, leaning back and extracting a cigarette from a case. “I think Erik actually did most of the work in that regard. But, if you look at the victims, all of them are members of the Bloc National, and the majority are deputies of the Fédération Républicaine.” He lit the cigarette and took a drag. “Perhaps you should give the details, Erik? You spotted the connection, after all.”
 
Anne Marie laughed along when Sam mentioned that either one of them could fit the profile, but neglected to point out that the Ranger still had a bit of a complex when it came to the upper class and although she could pass for an evening she certainly wouldn't classify her as comfortable. The party in Berlin had been child's play compared to the vicious world of politics and high society she herself navigated. Or perhaps she was allowing herself to be a little more disdainful and dismissive of Sam given the nature of the case. Either way...

"Well, fortunately for us," she interjected, "I can think of a dozen and a half eager young socialites willing to do whatever it takes to climb the ladder. There are half a dozen more living in bordering nations including, I believe, one Frauline Stolle." Anne Marie smiled slyly as she watched Erik's expression slowly change through several conflicting emotions and pallors before folding her hands in her lap and sitting back. "But as I have said, I do believe we have ruled out anyone not French."

"That is impressively detailed," Algernon said, "and yet, so vague as to be largely unhelpful. There are, no doubt, any number of well-traveled young women in the city. Do we investigate them all?"

"Ah reckon not," Sam replied with a smile. "Erik an' Colin spotted the key to that."

Colin nodded, leaning back and extracting a cigarette from a case. Since when had he taken up smoking? Kieran watched him light the cigarette, trying to think of all the reasons and ways he might have picked up the habit which had nothing to do with seeing someone new. Not that he cared, of course, but it was an interesting change of character to be certain. "I think Erik actually did most of the work in that regard. But, if you look at the victims, all of them are members of the Bloc National, and the majority are deputies of the Federation Republicaine." Colin took another drag and looked to Erik. "Perhaps you should give the details, Erik? You spotted the connection, after all."

"Er, yes," Erik said, adjusting his glasses. His pince nez had, sadly, been abandoned once Gideon had discovered how much fun it was to play with the tiny spring across the nose piece and pull it in the wrong direction. "As Colin said, many of the French victims--but not all of them, actually--are of the Bloc National. There are a few other victims here and there--Bloc des gauches, Parti radical valoisien, and so forth--in a trend which continues along international lines. Often they're of the conservative demographic, but all in all she doesn't descriminate. Money is money, I suppose." It was true that Anne Marie more often accepted work offing members of the Republican Federation than those of other parties: it had been that monster's party, and they had all despised her father for his defensive role in the Dreyfus Affair. It was what had gotten him killed. But she knew it would look suspicious if she only killed conservatives, and really her history with them was the only reason she had any preference.

"But this new woman," Erik continued, setting out photographs of victims on the coffee table in front of the sofa, "she's more discriminating. Action liberale populaire is one of her most favored targets, along with Action fracaise and Union populaire republicaine. The pattern even continues across borders: a carlist and a maurist in Spain, and a highly influential baron in Italy." He shared a significant look with the rest of the group. Anne Marie sat forward in her chair, looking more intently at the photographs. Kieran looked around at the others, then shook his head.

"I don't get it," he admitted with a shrug. "Foreign politics ain't really my strong suit."

"Catholics, conservatives, and royalists," Anne Marie explained, squinting at the pictures. Admittedly it was a pattern she herself had not yet spotted, and while personally she thought this copycat was doing the world a favor, she would not continue to have her good name sullied by favoritism and sloppiness. "Although some of the conservatives most definitely slide into fascism in their views. So she is motivated not only by politics but also religion."

"It would seem so," Erik confirmed. "Which is why we are nearly certain this is a copycat. The elder Madame Fleuriste had no qualms about diversifying her portfolio, religiously speaking, and though she appears to have a liberal bent she never, even in her early days, concentrated solely upon conservatives. Royalists and non-royalists are about equally represented in her victim pool, but not here."

"So what's this bird got against Catholics?" Kieran demanded, sitting back in his seat and folding his arms. "I mean, royalists sure, but Catholics? What did we ever do?"

"A certain Inquisition comes to mind..." Erik mumbled under his breath, causing Anne Marie to smile, but he let it drop.
 
“Well, fortunately for us," Snne Marie interjected, "I can think of a dozen and a half eager young socialites willing to do whatever it takes to climb the ladder. There are half a dozen more living in bordering nations including, I believe, one Frauline Stolle.”

It was a barb intended for Erik, Algernon knew, and from his reaction it certainly hit home. But curiously, he saw Colin react as well. A subtle thing, slight widening of the eyes and a flare of nostrils, but it was there. Perhaps, he decided, it would be best to distract everyone. That is impressively detailed, and yet, so vague as to be largely unhelpful. There are, no doubt, any number of well-traveled young women in the city. Do we investigate them all?"

The conversation turned swiftly towards the contributions Erik and Colin had made to Samantha’s research, and a slight smile creased his lips as he listened. He was hardly old, but he wasn’t getting younger. Someday he would retire, and he hoped Anne Marie would join him. It was good to know he could do so and be comfortable that he was leaving the Society in capable hands.

Well, unless he was forced to kill Samantha of course. He was fond of her, but he wouldn’t permit that fondness to endanger his petit mare or their child. But he kept that thought to himself, and listened.

"So what's this bird got against Catholics?" Kieran demanded, sitting back in his seat and folding his arms. "I mean, royalists sure, but Catholics? What did we ever do?"

"A certain Inquisition comes to mind..." Erik mumbled.

“Perhaps,” Algernon interjected before any bickering could start. “But there is, quite frequently, little distinction between religion and politics.” He smiled a little at Kieran. “The recent history of your own cause should tell you the truth if that.”

“Or o’ Mexico,” Sam added cheerily. “But we got us an assassin killin’ mostly folk on one side.” She scratched her head in thought. “Anne? All th’ recent killin’ happened here in Paris. Any idea who might be next on th’ list? An’ kin y’git us close ta him?” A shrug. “Mebbe we kin use him as bait.”
 
It was little moments like these that Anne Marie sometimes wished they could be more open about their relationship. Not that she thought it a particularly bright idea to shout it to the world, but she caught the look on Algie's face. She saw him looking over the group as though looking over a family gathering, and had they been closer so that she could be subtle she would have given his hand a squeeze. She enjoyed these moments too, when they knew that barring Sam getting too clever for her own good they would be leaving the Society in more than capable hands. Even if they did have to kill her, they would be leaving things in capable hands...but then Algie would have to start grooming someone else for the position instead.

When Erik mumbled something about the Spanish Inquisition Anne Marie hid a smile behind her hand, which she then pressed a little more firmly to her lips in an effort to quell a sudden wave of nausea. Algernon said something about history, and Sam's questions only vaguely registered at first as she struggled against the urge to run to the toilet. It was only when she noticed they were all speaking to her that she pulled herself together enough to make it look as though she had been lost in thought, looking over the photographs of the victims as they had been when they lived.

"Hm?" She raised her eyebrows mildly, then looked up. "Oh, with her victims escalating in profile and influence I suspect she'll likely be after President Deschanel next. I don't doubt he would be up for being used as bait; might even find it quite amusing."

"Deschanel? The madman?" Erik frowned.

"Oh, I wouldn't call Paul mad exactly..."

"He jumped out of a window and walked into a lake last month." Erik folded his arms and shook his head. "Frankly I'm not sure why he hasn't been found mentally incompetent yet."

"Well for the first thing he fell, and he didn't immediately walk into the lake--"

"Fully clothed."

"--like the papers made it seem." Anne Marie smoothed her skirts, sitting up a little straighter. "And he does consider resigning, sometimes. Then the Bloc tries to force him out and he only digs his heels in harder."

"Sounds like you know this bloke," Kieran said suspiciously.

"Paul is a dear friend," Anne Marie admitted, "since before he was president."

"And before he met the British ambassador completely naked except for his ceremonial decorations," Erik added with a dubious look. "Are you certain he wouldn't give the whole thing away?"

"He isn't a child, Herr Heinz-Schmidt. He knows out to keep a secret." Anne Marie bristled defensively. Of course, even if the impostor didn't have her sights on the president, this would mean that if they used him as bait she would eventually have to kill him anyway to make it look like the real Madame Fleuriste truly had escaped prison. Such a shame...but perhaps it would be a mercy to him. "If his life is in danger, I think he has a right to know and a right to help if he likes. He's always eager to please, you know."

"Oh I'm sure." The pirate smirked and ignored the dirty look he'd elicited from Madame LaMonte.
 
“Sounds like we got us a plan!” Sam declared, sounding pleased. “Now, we just gotta...”

“Remember who is in charge of our team?” Algernon finished, Vinnie ce laced with dry humor. The corner of his mouth crooked up at Sam’s expression, which mixed embarrassment and a certain stubborn defiance. “But you are very nearly correct, Samantha - it is an excellent start to a plan. But how, assuming we obtain the cooperation of President Deschanel in serving as our Judas goat, do we trail him out on a leash to tempt the ersatz Madame Fleuriste?”

“That,” Colin said, “is simplicity itself.”

“Really?” Algernon’s tone was arch. “Pray elaborate.”

Colin settled back, crossing one leg over the other. “You are far too reclusive, Professor, despite your membershipin several fine clubs.” He made a slight one-handed gesture towards the window. “It is quite fashionable, in Paris and elsewhere to host salons and fetes. With Madame LaMonte returned to Paris, would it be expected that the Hôtel de Carnavalet would host such a gathering, and of course her good friend Monseur L’President would attend. And society would see nothing strange in our attendance as well.” He glanced meaningfully at Kieran. “Most of us, at any rate.”
 
"And what's that s'posed to mean?" Kieran demanded, folding his arms. "I'll have you know I've been friends with Madame LaMonte for--"

"For a reasonable enough amount of time that it would not be suspicious," Anne Marie interjected with the tone of intervening in a brewing argument. Kieran usually wasn't too bright about these sorts of things, but it wouldn't do for Sam to put together that the first known victim had been murdered twelve years ago, around the same time she had met the pirate with whom the victim had a close connection. "So long as you mention simply that you are in acquisitions, or simply an aeronaut, or something of the sort, it would be perfectly fine. Herr Heinz-Schmidt, a society man and his lovely new bride, Captain Drake another society man...and of course everyone knows that Professor Swift has been my faithful shadow for many years." She gave him a brief but fond smile. "Bon. We shall have a party then. I shall invite Paul over for tea to explain our plan. Depending on the time once he leaves, Samantha, either this evening or tomorrow I shall want to steal you away from Society business for, er...society business." She smiled.

"Madame," Erik said uneasily, thinking he saw where this was going, "are you really certain that's a good idea?"

"But why not?" Anne Marie answered with a shrug. "The duty of party planning falls almost entirely to women, and as your wife I expect next summer she shall be expected to both throw and attend parties. Might as well learn from a...well, I believe you call them a seasoned hand, Samantha." She knew it probably wasn't Sam's cup of tea, but it really was a necessary bit of training they hadn't covered in their admittedly slap-dash high society etiquette lessons a year and a half ago. Had it really been that long?

"Sam?" Kieran asked, stifling a guffaw at the look Erik shot him. "Sam Cavendish, Texas Ranger, planning a party?"

"Heinz-Schmidt," Erik corrected tacitly.

"Think of it as her coming out party," Anne Marie insisted with a smile.
 
“‘Sides, Kieran,” Sam laughed. “Ain’t nobody expectin’ Ranger Captain San Cavendish ta Plan nuthin’.” With a grin she extracted a folding fan from an inside coat pocket, snapping it open and leaning back as she fanned herself gently. “But Samantha Margaret Cavendish Heinz-Schmidt? Why, Señor Shane, Ah do declare that Señora Heinz-Schmidt is up to the challenge. One must, after all, meet Society upon it’s own terms.”

After a moment, Algernon applauded. “Bravo, my dear. I am gratified to hear that you’ve kept up with your eloquition lessons.”

“Why thank you, Professor,” Sam replied, with just a touch of an accent flavoring her words. “Erik and Ah agreed that a little polish would help, from time to time. And Ah’d be delighted to assist with the planning, Anne Marie.”

-*-

The meeting broke up shortly thereafter, with an agreement to wait until after Anne Marie had a chance to speak with the President before attempting further plans. Once he was sure the others had gone, Algernon leaned back in his chair and sighed. “I wonder if we have, perhaps, trained her too well,” he remarked, massaging the bridge of his nose. “She is closer to discovering the identity of the original Madame Fleurista than I like. We’ll need to discretely keep her focus on the imposter.”

Shaking his head, he looked over at Anne Marie. “But what of your plan? Do you think he will agree?”
 
Anne Marie was pleasantly surprised to find that Sam had kept up on her elocution and that she was amenable to learning the ins and outs of high society party planning. Admittedly she had a fondness for such things; it had been her taste of normality throughout Algie's training to attend and then to plan parties. It had been an exercise in great restraint not to take over planning for Erik and Sam's wedding, constantly reminding herself that Erik's mother was probably meddling enough as it was. Once she had phoned the president after finding that he wasn't in a meeting, she perched on the arm of Algie's chair and ran her fingers through his hair fondly. He looked tired with all of this side-stepping nonsense they were having to do.

"Well being one step ahead is half the fun, is it not?" she asked with a small smile. "Don't tell me that Algernon Swift has lost his taste for the great game. Do not worry mon amour; we keep her focused on the impostor and by the time all of this is done I am certain the real Madame Fleuriste will have disappeared into the wind. Perhaps she'll resurface in Fiji or Iceland. Somewhere beautiful." She kissed the top of his head.

Shaking his head, Algernon looked over at Anne Marie. "But what of your plan? Do you think he will agree?"

"I think he shall be absolutely delighted," she insisted, "and think it great fun to be a part of our plan. He's always wanted to do the 'international espionage' thing, you know, or at least what the pulps and penny dreadfuls make it look like. He'll hardly need any sort of convincing." She stroked his hair absently, then covered her mouth as she suddenly went pale. She didn't like Algernon seeing her like this, but it was hardly something she could control. "And tell your son that he must behave; this isn't funny," she added once the wave of nausea had passed. "I've brushed my teeth four times today already."
 
“International espionage is an extremely dry and tedious matter,” the Professor replied, leaning a little closer. “But I shall endeavor to not disabuse him. His willing cooperation will be better - he can be discrete, I trust?” He looked up as her hand withdrew, to find her pale and covering her mouth.

“And tell your son that he must behave; this isn't funny," she added. "I've brushed my teeth four times today already."

“I have no doubt he will be as strong-willed as his mother,” he chuckled, “so I fear that compulsion will only make him defy me all the more. After all, you’ve never been the most obedient of pupils.” He lifted an eyebrow. “Unless it suits you.”

Rising, he poured them both drinks - a small scotch and soda for himself and tea flavored with mint and ginger for her. “Are we meeting Monsieur President here?”
 
"He can be discrete, I trust?" Algernon asked, looking up at her.

"Oh absolutely not," Anne Marie said with a grin, "which is what I'm counting on. He isn't the sort to--" She covered her mouth with her hand as color drained from her face. "--to give away the game so long as we're careful. And tell your son that he must behave; this isn't funny," she added. "I've brushed my teeth four times today already."

"I have no doubt he will be as strong-willed as his mother," Algie chuckled, "so I fear that compulsion will only make him defy me all the more. After all, you've never been the most obedient of pupils." He lifted an eyebrow. "Unless it suits you."

"And it rarely ever does, does it?" she agreed wryly, taking the tea he offered her. Although she had liked the scent of ginger as recently as last week, the past few days it had smelled absolutely rancid to her. Still, it settled her stomach so she took it. "I daresay, though, that you enjoy disciplining your unruly pupil." 'Discipline' was an exaggeration, but indicated a marked change in her appetites and limits. In the year and a half they had been together she had still never managed to give up control entirely, and still could not handle her hands being bound for more than a minute or so at a time...but blindfolds and leg bindings had been found to be tolerable after some time moving very slowly and cautiously, after some soul searching and work on herself. "Still, I may be in a more cooperative mood this evening if our petit citron ever sees fit to behave herself as she ought. After Paul leaves and we've found out the children's dinner plans, of course."

"Are we meeting Monsieur President here?" Algernon asked after a sip of scotch.

"Mais oui," she confirmed, wincing after another sip of tea and looking at her cup as though it had personally insulted her. "But I think we ought to switch to Darjeeling. Are we certain the ginger hasn't gone bad?"

~*~

"Anne Marie, ma chère enfant, comment es-tu?" Monsieur President Paul Deschanel came into the parlor like a whirlwind two hours later, clearly riding one of his higher moods. He wrung her hand jovially and kissed each cheek before turning his enthusiasm onto Algernon. "Mon cher professeur Swift! Quelle belle surprise, comme toujours!" He grasped Algernon's hand with both of his, shaking it vigorously up and down as though he might be able to pump water out of a well by doing so. Anne Marie couldn't help but grin at the effect.

"Paul, my dear, such a delight to see you. It has been too long," she answered, gesturing to a comfortable chair. He had always called her his 'dear child,' and it no longer bothered her as it once used to. In reality she found it--and him--quite amusing. "Do sit down and have some tea. Really we don't see enough of each other these days. You must resign your post immediately; you are far too busy and haven't got time for me anymore."

Deschanel chuckled. "Oh not you too! You're starting to sound like the Bloc you know."

There were polite laughs all around and a bit more small talk about his work while they settled into chairs and tea was poured. Finally Anne Marie glanced over to Algie before breaching the topic. "We actually have quite an interesting proposition for you, Paul, if you are interested."

"Oh really?" The President sat forward in his chair. "Do tell."
 
“Thank you, Monster President,” Algernon began. “We...”

“Please, please,” Deschanel laughed, waving a hand. “You must call me Paul! Any dear friend of my dear friend Anne Marie must regard me as a dear friend as well!”

“Of course, Paul,” Algernon acquiesced, nodding his head. “As you are no doubt familiar, the specter of Madame Fleuriste has returned to haunt Paris.”

“Indeed she has!” Paul exclaimed with a theatrical shudder. “I followed her, ahem, career with interest as a younger man - even going so far as to write a novel about her adventures.” He glanced about slyly. “Under a pen name of course, as the material was a bit... indiscreet.”

“Yes, well,” Algernon murmured, attempting to regain control. “She has returned...”

“And you need my assistance in putting an end to her dark work?” Paul exclaimed, leaning forward with sudden interest. “My dear Professor Swift - may I call you Algernon?”

“Of course,” allowed the Professor.

“Algernon, I would be simply delighted to assist you and your Society in your war against the darkness that dwells within our beautiful City of Lights! In what way Maui be of service?”

Suppressing a grin, Algernon leaned back and steepled his fingers. “Are you familiar with the concept of a ‘stalking horse’, Paul?”
 
When the president of France admitted to penning a salacious paperback about her adventures, Anne Marie leaned forward with genuine interest and an amused smile. "Really?" she asked, somewhat flattered and more than a little curious. "What's it called? You simply must allow me to--"

"Yes, well," Algernon murmured, attempting to regain control. Anne Marie sat back a little, chastened. "She has returned..."

"And you need my assistance in putting an end to her dark work?" Paul exclaimed, leaning forward with sudden interest.

He had been, as predicted, positively giddy at the prospect of being a distraction in their quest to catch the new serial killer stalking the streets of London. Anne Marie would give a party in his honor a week hence, celebrating 'a successful first six months in office.' Paul would be certain to flirt with every young woman at the party within the age range they were looking for, Anne Marie and Sam included. The President was a delight, as always, but Anne Marie sighed and sagged a little as soon as he left. She rubbed her eyes and slouched, two motions which were most out of character.

"It is tempting to take dinner privately, in our room," she said, leaning against Algie. "But I must not let the children know yet, musn't I? Oh but I've got a long day of party planning tomorrow, and teaching Samantha, and your daughter makes me so tired. I nearly nodded off a few times, you know. A bizarre experience." She straightened again and nudged him. "And in case you didn't pick up on it, when it is misbehaving it is your child." She smiled and winked before tucking stray strands of hair back into place. "This is so much different, you know. The first time I was only a little nauseated now and then, nothing like this. But shall we go to dinner? The children will be expecting us, and perhaps a little food would do some good."
 
“A little food would indeed serve you well,” Algernon said, rising and kissing her hand. “And, although I don’t yet know what your chef is preparing, I have no doubt it will be delightful.” Taking her arm, a liberty he would be unable to indulge once they left the room, he escorted his live to the door.

“As far as the child is concerned,” he smiled, resting his hand on the knob but not opening it, “you understand that I am likely to be terribly indulgent? I have no doubt I shall be putty in her hands, unable to refuse her anything she may desire.” He chuckled, then kissed her cheek. “But, yes. No doubt the other children are waiting. Let us not keep them waiting.”

-*-

“That is a unique look, Sam,” Colin said, waiting for Erik to slide her seat in, before sitting once more. “But it suits you.”

He’d suggested that, since they were going to be mingling with Society in this mission, they begin practicing by dressing for dinner. So he and Erik both wore tuxedos, his cuffed with faille and Erik’s with a coat link Sam, following her own iconoclastic tastes, had eschewed an evening gown for a white broadcloth blouse with a Peter Pan collar and a black bow tie, a long black skirt, and a Union-style double-breasted dinner jacket.

“Why thank you,” she replied, speech ever so slightly stilted as she practiced her elocution. “Ah had considered a tuxedo as well, but Ah decided Ah should not scandalize Pay-ree on my first introduction.”

Colin shook his head. “Perhaps an evening gown would be more suitable?” he asked with a smile.

“Perhaps,” she replied, lacing her fingers with Erik’s. “But Ah would rather dress to suit myself, at least until Ah see what is in fashion this year.”
 
"Oh you'll be wrapped around his little finger the moment you look into his eyes," Anne Marie confirmed, "if not as soon as he starts moving. And this is why you shall be the mean parent when it comes to behavior you don't discourage in the slightest." She smiled and leaned in to kiss his cheek right back. "I've asked Jean Pierre to surprise us for dinner, but we shall have a lemon chiffon cake for dessert." She winked and kissed him one last time before he opened the door. She had informed Algernon some few days ago that now their child would be about as big as a lemon, and although lemons were no longer in season Jean Pierre always seemed to find the strangest things which ought not be growing around this time of year and must have come a very long way indeed. So why not?

Erik pushed in his wife's chair and took his seat across from her, noticing that Anne Marie had taken pains to seat Colin across from himself and Kieran next to him, across from Sam. Knowing about their affair had been strange enough, but watching the tense fallout from what Colin had drunkenly implied was a very messy breakup was even worse. Thank God it had worked out for him and Sam; if it had been this awkward with them, he would have had to leave the Society altogether. The aeronaval captain commented on Sam's choice of dress and inwardly he winced. He had tried to convince her to go for something more elegant, but there had been no convincing her.

"Well, I have no doubt Madame LaMonte will be wearing all of the latest fashions," Erik assured her. "And I'm sure she'll jump at the chance to take you shopping again."

"It's a bloody wonder she's got any of that inheritance left." Kieran, in a remarkable display of restraint, was dressed nearly identically to the other two men although he'd been unable to resist a scarlet waistcoat. "Never seen a woman who loves shopping as much as her. Miracle she's not in the poor house, really."

"It is because I am more frugal than you think," Anne Marie posited, gliding in on Professor Swift's arm and taking the seat at the head of the table he pulled out for her while the other men bounced to their feet. "And my finances are none of your business, Captain Shane," she added with a stern look while Algernon took his seat at the other end.

Kieran cleared his throat. "Hem right...well then..."

"I am glad to see we all had the same idea," Madame LaMonte commented, graciously changing the subject and looking around the table while smoothing out the lap of her tight-fitting evening gown. She knew that there wasn't much showing yet, that really only Algie could reasonably be expected to notice anything and only because he saw her naked often, but she was still self-conscious. Some men made note of the way women looked; would they know? Or would they simply think she was letting herself go? She wasn't sure which would be worse.
 
There were, Colin knew, only so many ways to arrange a table for six. Particularly when two of the six were married and should be seated together. But that meant that he ended up sitting next to Kieran, and that was unconfortable. Particularly since, despite - or was it because - selfish bastard though he was, he was still smolderingly sexy.

He concentrated on his plate, trying to ignore the pirate. Dinner was going to be grueling. “Has Monseur le President assented to your request?” he asked.

“Yes, and quite enthusiastically,” replied the Professor. “He seems to believe it to be a grand adventure.”

“You must be joking.” Colin stared at the older man. “An adventure?”

“Yes. He seems quite ensnared with the mysterious Madame Fleurista.” The Professor shrugged. “Ours not to reason why, I suppose. We shall simply embrace the opportunities afforded.”

“Ain’t... pardon me.” Sam discretely cleared her throat, and tried again. “Ah mean, does he understand that being trailed out as bait is dangerous?”

Colin grimaced and looked away. She hadn’t been bait, precisely, in Louisiana. But it had been close enough, and one result - watching the lean Ranger in the cemetery outside New Orleans - hadn’t made his infatuation with her any easier to deal with. Sometimes, unbidden, memories of her entangled with two other omen would return to haunt his fantasies. “Not as dangerous as it could be,” he suggested. “All of us will be there, after all. And it is not as if she would strike publically.”

“Which means,” Sam retorted, still working to maintain her learned, more educated accent, “that one or more of us will be required to follow him, if he takes a companion home with him.”

“An awkward proposition,” the Professor murmured. “But let us shelve this conversation for now. The first course has arrived, and it would be a shame to fail to give it the attention it deserves.”
 
Anne Marie smirked at Professor Swift's comment that the president had been ensnared with Madame Fleuriste. "Enamored was the word I had in mind," she put in. "But I suppose the newspapers have mad her sound quite glamorous, much like these American mobsters they say live the high life in New York and Chicago. If you don't have to deal with dangerous people, they can seem quite exotic I suppose."

Sam pointed out that they would have to follow him if Deschanel decided to take up with the fraud anyway, despite knowing the danger. It was a kink Madame LaMonte hadn't thought of, but one with a solution. "Well, my home is large enough," she pointed out. "I shall simply have a talk with Paul and ask him to have his tryst somewhere upstairs so that we are within easy reach. But yes, we shall have to keep him unaware of his being followed."

"An awkward proposition," the Professor murmured. "But let us shelve this conversation for now. The first course has arrived, and it would be a shame to fail to give it the attention it deserves."

"The party shall have a full six-course meal, of course," Anne Marie said as salads were brought out, "but given there are so few of us I thought that three would be more appropriate for this evening. Once everything is set we can do a practice-run of the entire party the night before, the six of us."

Some servants brought salad out while others brought wine. This was a deliberate slight of hand, of course, to distract the guests from the fact that their hostess wasn't drinking from the same bottle as the rest of them. The white wine for herself had been swapped with a white grape juice, and with the main course the red in her glass would actually be watered-down cranberry juice, each painstakingly paired to nearly perfectly match the shade of wine being served. The sommelier had been tasked with personally pouring for herself and, should the illusion require it in an emergency, Algernon. Head chef Jean Pierre and sommelier Stefan had been informed of her condition for obvious reasons, and she was certain that gossip had trickled throughout the rest staff. Before the Society or even Kieran had arrived Jean Pierre and Stefan had been informed that her condition was to be kept in the strictest confidence, rumors kept amongst the staff if they couldn't be quashed entirely, and reminded of precisely why she paid them so handsomely for so little work. The two were the pinnacle of professionalism and, even if they had not been, knew that not only their current careers but their ability to find work anywhere north of Tunisia and west of Bhutan depended upon their discretion. The last anyone had heard of Jean Pierre's predecessor he was serving tourists from a street vending cart in Sri Lanka.

"To the Society," Anne Marie offered, "Santé!"

Their Society was interesting, to say the least. Her toast had been met not with santé, but with prost, slainte, and cheers. While half of them kept both hands on the table she noticed that Colin, Kieran, and Sam kept one hand in their laps as they ate. While everyone passed butter to the left, some put the pat on their plate and others directly on their bread (Sam used the butter knife to spread hers, and once she had passed it to the Professor Erik took the time to murmur in her ear that that was knife next to her bread plate was for), and so forth. Certainly they would stand out as foreigners among the largely French guests, but if everyone was focused on them then nobody would be focused on their target's courting of the President. After everything had settled down, Erik figured it only appropriate they practice their small talk. After all, it was a practice dinner.

"I must admit, Captain Shane," he said, "it is always strange for me to see you moving with little effort in a formal setting."

"You mean with table manners?" Kieran responded with a crooked smirk. "You may've had to teach me how to dance and how to talk, mate, but mum didn't raise a complete heathen." As he spoke his free hand slid from his own lap, over Colin's thigh, to his inseam. "She taught me how to at least get through a fancy dinner without making a fool of myself." Fingers brushed slowly along Colin's zipper. "What did you expect? I'd just grab the whole plate and shovel it into my mouth with my hands?" He smiled good naturedly and allowed himself time to gently rub Colin's crotch as he chewed another bite. The whole thing had been messy only because Drake had made it messy; just because Hareth had been a good fuck didn't mean he didn't still like or feel attracted to the poncy Englishman. After the scene he'd made though, like was a bit of a strong word anymore; now it was more just an attraction fueled by mutual dislike and a perky ass.

"I'm not sure what I expected," Erik admitted with a shrug, oblivious to what was going on beneath the table. "Confusion over which fork to start with, maybe?"

The captain shrugged. "Reasonable, for what you know 'bout me," he admitted. "Dunno what each one's rightfully called, but I always heard outside-in's the best way to go." He gently squeezed Drake's dick at this, keeping his face neutral but ensuring he had punctuated his innuendo.
 
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