chasseuseartisane-blog

[chasseuseartisane-blog]

simone--baptiste

They cornered Simone in the alley, which wasn’t unexpected or problematic to her grand plan. When speaking with informants, they tended to expect more than what they get, whether it be more money or more skin. She had dealt with all types since she was thirteen and she was not the naive child she once was. Still, there were three of them and while she wasn’t immediately worried, it did cause her hand to recoil to where she could feel the comforting steel of her knife.

“You promised us double,” one of them growled at her, using his height in order to intimidate her. She lifted her chin, looking him square in the eye. She made sure to angle herself so that she could still see the other two out of the corner of her eye.

“I promise nothing. I gave you what that information was worth.” One stepped a little too close to her and she pulled out her knife toward him. At the same time, the other grabbed her hair. She yelped at the sudden pain and stabbed the space behind her, more than a little pleased when she hears the man curse. Blood drips down the knife when she points it back to the other two, but they don’t back down.

Simone thinks she is imagining when she hears Marie’s voice from the shadows and she still can’t quite believe it when she sees her friend pulling out her own knife toward one of the men. Her eyes are glued to Marie, almost distracting her from the situation at hand. Her gaze returned to the men who looked a lot less sure of themselves now that there were two of them. “Is there a problem?” she asked. The man she previously stabbed was the first to scamper away and his friends slowly followed suit, though not before they spat at her feet. Simone rolled her eyes at them, debating on whether she should steal the money she had just given them. Her mind was already figuring out how she would do it when she remembered that she wasn’t alone.

The way she held the knife was full of a quiet confidence. She’d wielded it before, not against men, but she knew that she had it in her to do so and do it without feeling squeamish. She wasn’t a violent woman, she didn’t think so - slapping men when they made fools of themselves and her was entirely different - but she was a hunter. Blood didn’t affect her, and she’d seen how violence could be the only option. The past year had taught her that. 

Despite all that, she was relieved when the men slunk off, reminding her of rats. Scurrying away into the dark corners they thrived in. But they didn’t deserve her attention. She could see who it was she’d helped now, and it brought too many feelings. Hurt. Anger. Disappointment. Shame. She didn’t take her eyes off her old friend, but she was still keenly aware of the movement of the men. A hunter’s trick, seeing out of the corner of her eye. 

Only once she was sure they’d gone, she put the hunting knife away. At least, the men had left the alley - she might know every corner of the woods like she did her home, but she had never learned the streets of Paris so well. She’d always felt free to walk wherever she wished, but so often, she’d wished to be outside the walls that she’d never bothered to learn what she didn’t need to know. These days, knowing what hid in the corners and alcoves, she sometimes regretted that decision. 

Realising the silence was stretching between them, she offered the first words spoken between them since she had told Simone she couldn’t be friends with a traitor.

“Did they hurt you?” The tone was brisk, focused on the matter at hand. If Simone was hurt, she would offer her help. Not just out of a sense of obligation. She didn’t believe she had to repay the help Simone had given her. No, she didn’t have to help her, but despite her past words, she did care. 

[chasseuseartisane-blog]

ascensiicn

It was warm, the morning had left Sedemi with a slight heat in her cheeks after unpacking the cart onto her makeshift stall. Nothing here was permeant. She used upturned fruit boxes and handwoven baskets to present her goods to the market. Rumour had it that they were planning to build a grand roof over the market, but Sedemi didn’t like to believe talk. Sedemi glanced up as the chatter of morning greetings thickened, none other than Marie herself. She smiled, eager to greet her friend with honest niceties.

“Morning.” Sedemi took the parcel and held it close to her chest. “No, please do not apologise. I am patient to wait. You know this.” She stepped back far enough so that she could tuck the package securely into her chart out of sight. Eager to go home and try the clothes on, knowing full well that with Marie’s skill they’d fit perfectly and suit her well. Sedemi took three silver and a pear from her stall, offered all four to Marie.

“The rest of your money, please accept this gift. You have done so much for me, I can never repay you truly for the kindness you have shown me.” In France she might be a free woman, but Sedemi couldn’t help the jitter of nerves. Fear that she’d be found out and sent back. More than anything she wanted to go home but she was sure there was no longer a home to go too. Instead, she made small snippets of that life here in Paris. Her requests to Marie for skirts and trousers interwoven with patches of fabric she’d scavenged was just one of those small ones.

Far too early in the morning for anyone to begin arriving yet, they had time to chat. “Do you need help unpacking? I am quite finished and two pairs of hands will have it done quicker than one.” She hummed, brushed off her apron that covered her skirts. It was one of the few times she wore a dress. For the people of Paris didn’t like her much at all if she showed up in what they presumed were men’s attire. “How are you today, Marie?” She hummed, when given permission, began to help shift the baskets ready for display.

The money disappeared into a purse tucked securely in her hidden pocket, and the pear was set with the bread she’d brought for her lunch. “Merci. You always have the freshest food.” She reached out and squeezed Sedemi’s arm lightly. “You will never have to repay me. What else are friends for?” She didn’t know much about her past, but it never felt dangerous to not know, the way that everything else felt dangerous. She would never underestimate anyone, but Marie couldn’t see Sedemi as a threat, even when others had proven her wrong. 

She needed to have faith in some people, especially with everything falling apart.

Marie murmured a thanks for the help, setting out pieces that would catch the most attention. “Oh, I’m fine.” It was only half true. She was fine as long as she kept busy and didn’t think about anything except her work. “I cannot complain about being so busy, you know me. I enjoy the challenge too much.” 

She flashed a smile and a wave at someone that passed, and kept talking. “I suppose the only downfall to having so much work is, I have less time for anything else now. I haven’t been hunting in weeks. Soon, I’ll forget how to draw a bow.” She doubted that would ever be possible, the skill came as natural to her as sewing, thanks to the years of practice as a child. 

“And yourself? I hope you’ve been well.” For a while, she had gotten so preoccupied with her own problems, too afraid to trust anyone, that she’d grown distant from people. Such a thing went against her nature, she was too social a person to ever withdraw forever. 

[chasseuseartisane-blog]

The markets were as familiar as her home or the woods she’d roamed through as a child. She had been there more often than she’d go hunting with her papa, after all. She would spend hours standing by her maman’s side, practicing her stitches, and listening to her mother’s clear voice ring out with laughter as she talked to the customers. Years later, it was her who laughed and talked to customers, but not so much these days. These days, she was wary of people. 

It could seem like chaos to those who weren’t used to the noise, but to Marie, it was as comforting as the silence of her home outside the walls of Paris. Even though the days were long, they didn’t exhaust her. Her tiredness was not from work. Arriving in the early morning, before all the stalls were properly set up, there were the usual shouts of greeting between vendors. Most were like her, and had been there for years. With them, she could feel more like herself. They lived honest, simple lives. 

Her neighbour was not one she had known as a child, but there was still the bond of friendship, or so Marie liked to think. “Bonjour.” She grabbed a parcel off the top of her baskets and held it out. “Here. Your clothes are finished. I am sorry it took so long. You must be the only person in Paris who asks for simple designs of me these days.” But there was still a unique beauty to be found in what Sedemi chose to wear, one that marked her as different. As someone who took pride in her own individuality, she admired it. 

@ascensiicn

[chasseuseartisane-blog]

Having the favour of both the King and Queen meant that she had the favour of most of the court. Every woman wanted to dress as elegantly as the Queen, and every man figured that if she was good enough for the King, she was good enough for them too. But there were customers that she’d known since she was a little girl, sewing next to her maman, and she would always find a way to make time for them still. Even if that meant she was still in the city even after the sun fell. Having delivered the last parcel of clothes, she took a more circuitous route so she wouldn’t be cutting through the Court of Miracles. Not out of fear of the people that lived there, but fear of who would see her. She didn’t want to be arrested again. 

However, a shout had her freezing in place. She looked around, torn when she heard another shout, the sounds of an argument echoing across the cobblestones. 

Marie didn’t want trouble, she’d been avoiding anything even remotely connected to trouble for the past month, but there was a distinctively female voice caught amongst the others, and she remembered the night where she’d been the sole woman standing against men who had wanted to hurt her. Even as capable as she was, she’d lost. 

She followed the sound, drawing out her dagger from her pocket, and called out when she saw the shadowy figures. “Is there a problem here?” 

@simone--baptiste

[chasseuseartisane-blog]

Although she was pleased that her business was doing so well, despite all that had happened, it did mean longer hours. Leaving home in the early morning, before the sun was more than a glimmer on the horizon, she urged Belle forward, the cart bouncing over a rock. It was rare to see anyone else out on the road this early, but as the path merged with a larger road, she felt herself go cold, colder than she had any reason to. Of all the people, it had to be Herbert. 

At first, she was determined not to speak a single word to him. She would give him no reason to arrest her, to accuse her of anything. Marie still had nightmares of being locked in that cell, even though the bruises and scrapes had long since faded. 

But she hated to be afraid. 

Marie had always taken pride in the fact she was bold, that nothing ever held her back. She wasn’t going to let one pigheaded man keep her from being herself. At least this time, if he arrested her, she’d know why, and she could hurl the truth into his face, rather than just insults. She was not the person that kept secrets. Not usually. She hadn’t told anyone of what had happened between her and Fernand, but that had been a drunken accident, and it’d been before she knew the truth. There was no reason to bring up such misery. No, it was better to focus on what was going on now, not what had happened. 

“Captain.” The word was full of mockery, her mouth set in a stubborn line. Rather than let herself feel the pain of what had happened, she held the anger close to her heart to warm the chill. “Would you like to check my wares? Dresses are very sinister, after all. Or is it the petticoats that are so terrifying?” 

@cptdubois

[chasseuseartisane-blog]

excap-rouzet

“Angry men usually misunderstand.” He responded simply when she commented about a misunderstanding between her and the Red Guard soldiers. Those men were now hot-headed and usually struggled to contain themselves. Herbert had led them astray it would seem, without ever meaning to. Or, at least, he had hoped that Herbert hadn’t meant to. Either way, it was none of his concern or business.

“I’m not worried about you starting a fight.” He responded again, watching ehr as he collected two glasses from the bar top and stashed them behind the bar. “So you’ve had run-ins with the Guards. What on Earth did you do to piss off Herbert?” He mused aloud, letting a slight sparkle of amusement into his gaze.

Now that she knew why she had been arrested, she could not blame them for the misunderstanding. But she did blame them for how they treated her. She was the worst liar in Paris, yet she’d been treated like a common criminal. If they’d just asked her, she would have told them the truth. “Fools usually misunderstand, in my experience.” 

He certainly didn’t know of her, if he didn’t think she’d start a fight. Her amusement disappeared at the mention of Herbert. Her friend, her hero. He’d betrayed her by treating her that way. “He’s the biggest fool of all the Guards. I thought he was a good man once, but I was sorely mistaken. He’s an arrogant, cold-hearted man who has no common sense at all.” 

Voleur de Grand Chemin

[chasseuseartisane-blog]

excap-rouzet

Bertrand watched the woman speak, deciding that she would stick around to find him. It did not matter to him either way. She could stay around and look for her jilted lover all night as long as she didn’t get in the way of paying customers. It looked like she would not stand in the way, thankfully, as coin landed on the bartop. Bertrand cast a glance at the Red Guard, another youngster than hadn’t served under him, and motioned for the other barkeep to gather the ales.

The conversation in front of him confused him but he didn’t let it show. What would this small and unassuming woman do to warrant being arrested? He grew interested but let that slide for now. That was until she issued a small threat to the Guard. Bertrand never let his expression change but he watched them closely. He didn’t need a dispute breaking out so early into the night. He took the coin from the bar top and placed it into his pocket, watching the ale be sat down on the bar.

The Red Guard took his drinks and sent Marie one more dirty look before walking off. She closed her eyes, taking a few deep breaths to try calm herself. She’d come here to make sure Marian didn’t get into a fight with a Red Guard, not to start a fight herself. “I apologise for that.” She opened her eyes and looked at the former Captain of the men who had broken part of her trust. “There was a misunderstanding between myself and the Red Guards, and I no longer deal with them.” 

She knew she looked miserable, but she wasn’t particularly good at hiding her emotions, so she just looked away. “I promise I won’t start a fight.” Wry amusement had her lips tugging up at the corners at the thought. No one ever expected her to start a fight until they knew her, knew that her temper was as sharp as the tools she used for her work. 

Voleur de Grand Chemin

[chasseuseartisane-blog]

excap-rouzet

“Wolf fur?” He commented, rather quickly for Bertrand. Such a specific description wasn’t what he was expecting. Then again, the young woman dressed in what could surely be called a petticoat before him wasn’t what he was expecting either. She seemed at least semi-comfortable in this setting.

“You’ll have to be more specific.” He answered after a moment’s pause. He had no idea who this woman was or who this man was she was looking for. Her husband, maybe? Perhaps on another nightly bender, a loyal patron. He wouldn’t give up his business so easily but he also found himself not caring about who this man was to her. “Quite a few patrons tonight.”

She laughed softly when he asked her to be more specific. “Trust me, you would know if you’d seen him. He’d tower over any man here, and... I hate to say it, but he likely wouldn’t be in the best of moods. He’d make himself known.” She looked around again, just in case she’d see him looming over the other patrons. 

“Perhaps I could wait here for a little while, in case he comes?” She turned back to the man with a reluctant smile. She didn’t want to spend any longer in here than she had to, not when a Red Guard might see her and - it was too late for that. 

One of the men that arrested her stood beside her, giving her a filthy look before addressing the man. “Two ales.” He tossed some coins over. “Didn’t think you’d turn up here, of all places, Mademoiselle Duval. Not looking for trouble, I hope?” 

“If I were looking for trouble, I would have sought you out. I am free to go wherever I like. Unless you’re going to arrest me?” She stuck out her chin stubbornly, not letting him intimidate her. She wasn’t guilty of anything except trusting the wrong people. 

Voleur de Grand Chemin

[chasseuseartisane-blog]

The past month had been exhausting. Trying to put her life together when it’d felt like it’d all fallen apart, for Marie, meant throwing herself into her work. Every night, she worked long past the sun had set, falling asleep at her sewing table more often than she fell asleep in her bed. Even with her refusal to serve Red Guards anymore, her business was still booming. She had the court to thank for that, and the intricate work meant that she had less time to think. 

Not that it stopped her from remembering everything. 

As she left the palace, running over all that she had left to do that day, she realised that she wasn’t the only one walking back down the road. Her face immediately went cold, body rigid as she tried to pretend she hadn’t seen the woman. 

“It’s an honour to meet you.” She’d said once, and she’d meant it. The Red Guards had meant as much to her as the Musketeers, but the Red Guards did have something the others didn’t. Ameline. A woman who had proven herself to be the equal to any man, and the better of most. She’d thought they were friends, what with Ameline building on the knowledge that Emile had given her. 

But she couldn’t trust the Red Guards now.

@soldier-ameline

[chasseuseartisane-blog]

Marie wasn’t fond of taverns, she never had been. The few she chose to frequent on occasion were ones that her father had brought her to before she’d gotten into the habit of arguing with men too often. But Marian had no such objection, and hearing he’d gone into a tavern that was known to be owned by a former Red Guard, she’d worried. Not about the drinking, but that he’d start a fight. 

When she entered, she couldn’t see his head towering over any others as she made her way to the bar, taking a seat so she could talk to the man there. “I don’t drink.” A brief memory flickered into her mind of lips pressed against hers, but she pushed it away, just like she’d pushed Fernand away. “I was hoping you could tell me whether you’ve seen a very tall man wearing a cloak made of wolf fur?” 

Voleur de Grand Chemin

open to anyone

From within the tavern that he called his own came the clinking of glasses, the low hum of conversation by deep-voiced men, the occasional giggle of wayward women and the haphazard song that was bound to break out by the drinking sailors in his tavern. Bertrand did not turn anyone away at the door, his business depended on it but he had made a decision many years ago that everyone would be welcome here until proven otherwise. He had seen too many people shunned and kicked out for him to do the same.

Within the tavern, Bert stood behind the counter, cleaning off another mug from the night’s haul. He didn’t normally handle the housekeeping for the tavern but he felt a need to busy himself. It had only been days since he’d had a run in with Antoine. He was still shaken by his old comrades needs to interfere with France. How dangerous his friend could be and how protective he had been for his surrogate home. France held very little loyalty in his heart but he had to stand up for the place he called home. He pulled in a breath through his nose and looked up from the glass in his hand. A new patron had sat down at the bar and Bert leaned forward. 

“What are you havin’?” He asked with a gruff voice and dark eyes focusing on the other.

[chasseuseartisane-blog]

like or reblog 

[chasseuseartisane-blog]

Update for Marie

Quick update for anyone who is wondering where Marie is at right now with the whole deal:

Mostly exactly the same except she's not talking to the Baptistes or the Red Guards. Musketeers and palace people are still alright.

Thrown herself into work because she's shattered by being arrested and finding out that the guy she fell for is a criminal.

Even more of a temper right now than normal because it's easier to be angry than it is to be sad.

Has sort of figured out that Danielle might be her mother but hasn't spoken to anyone about that, because it's way too much to deal with on top of everything else.

Pls, someone cheer her up.

[chasseuseartisane-blog]

"I saw you fighting today. You have a very aggressive style."

Marie had taken to training with the youngest recruits of the Musketeers. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she knew it was so she could say she was ready for war the first moment someone gave her the chance to fight by Marian’s side. She missed her brother, and she missed her friends. 

When she saw the Captain - she had once used that mocking inflection whenever she referred to Emile, but now Emile was spoken of in the joking tone she had once used to Bert - making his way up into the Musketeers garrison, she almost wanted to ask if he was lost. 

Talking to him was a worse idea, she knew that, so she returned to the youngest recruit, making him stumble back under the ferocity of her sudden attack. Most of the new recruits never knew how to handle the woman who argued with their captain on a good day, her in a foul mood was something they feared. Not that they knew what had caused the sudden shift in her mood. Only a few older ones remembered the frantic visit from a tall huntsman searching for the wayward seamstress, and none of those would connect that disappearance to the Captain of the Red Guards. 

An hour later, when no more of the recruits would train with her, she started to make her way out, only to cross paths with Bert as she was leaving. 

“Oh dear, you caught me somewhere a woman like me doesn’t belong.” Her words were heavy with sarcasm, but when she saw the look that crossed his face, she didn’t know what to believe. Did he feel guilty, hurt? She didn’t understand him one bit. 

“I saw you fighting today. You have a very aggressive style.” 

“Don’t worry, I’m not about to attack anyone. Of course, if I was, I’d hardly admit it, would I?” Perhaps picking a fight with the captain when Marian wasn’t even there to know if she went missing - these days, there was no one who would know if she went missing - but the venom still dripped out. “You should lock me up like an animal just in case. That’s how it works, oui?”

She didn’t give him the chance to speak. He had hurt her, cut her deeply, and she was someone who bleed poison, destroying both herself and the object of her anger. Her forgiveness, once earned, washed away everything, but Bert seemed to have no interest in her forgiveness. He was cold, and she wondered how she hadn’t seen that before. 

[chasseuseartisane-blog]

"I wouldn't say I needed saving. I'm sure I would have thought of something." fernandbaptiste

Marie was exhausted. With Marian gone to war, it left her with a great many more responsibilities, and with all the distance that had come between her and others - some by fate, others by choice - she had become quite isolated. To counter that, and to keep the dog happy, Marie had taken to letting Jacques follow her everywhere. 

If it were happier times, she’d find it funny to see the wary looks people sent her. No customers ever tried to complain about prices with Jacques at her feet, even if he was snoring. 

She had been dropping things off at the orphanage, knowing that things were even worse for them with people so preoccupied with war, and had taken longer than she thought. The children had loved playing with Jacques, and she hadn’t wanted to return to the quietness of home. It was too quiet without Marian. 

With Jacques and a knife hidden in her dress, she wasn’t afraid to take a shortcut. Anyone that dared faced the two of them would be making a poor mistake. It did bring her closer to the Court of Miracles, a place that she could not think of without feeling like a knife had just twisted in her stomach, but she tried not to think of it. 

She wasn’t very successful. 

It was the sound of a fight that distracted her from her thoughts, and she turned to see where it was coming from. It was still light enough that she could see clearly. Down an alley, she could see a couple men fighting, and her heart skipped a beat when she saw that floppy mess of hair. Worse, the other man had a knife that was swinging at Fernand, who dodged it easily. 

A quick order from Marie had Jacques bounding into the alley, barking wildly, with Marie not far behind. 

The stranger quickly backed away, falling over at the shock of it, but Marie whistled before Jacques got too close.

“My apologies, he just gets so out of control.” She made an appearance of clapping her hands, Jacques coming straight back to her side as she spoke to the stranger, unable to look at Fernand. “Perhaps you might want to find somewhere else to be? I’d hate for him to run off again.” 

The man nodded, taking as wide a berth as was possible to run out of the alley, leaving Marie unsure of what to do now. 

Neither of them spoke, not until Marie turned away, muttering. “You’re welcome.” 

“For what?” 

Marie turned back to him, an incredulous look on her face. “I don’t know, perhaps saving your life?” 

“I wouldn’t say I needed saving.” 

“No, it all ends well when there’s a knife fight.” 

“I’m sure I would have thought of something.” 

“Of course you would have.” There was no venom in her voice, exhaustion settling in again. Instead, she just sounded sad, Jacques bumping into her. She turned away again, ignoring Fernand as he told her to wait. 

She barely got three steps before he grabbed her shoulder, quickly letting go when Jacques growled. 

“You’re right, I should have thanked you.” For the first time in a long time, Marie looked at Fernand, feeling her heart crack just a little more. 

“Forget about it.” 

“No, really. Thank you.” 

“You’re welcome.” 

There was an awkward silence, and right as she decided to just leave, Fernand spoke again, the words rushing out so fast she almost missed what he was trying to say. “Why did you help me?” 

Marie opened her mouth, hesitated, and went with the truth. “I didn’t even think about it. You were in trouble, I didn’t want you to get hurt.” Fernand looked bitter at that, and she knew why. She had hurt him, with all that she had said the last time they spoke. “Fernand... I really am sorry. I was upset about so many things, I was unnecessarily cruel and took it out on you.” 

“But you don’t lie.” 

“The thing about that is that it’s rather easy to tell just one part of the truth, and choose the worst words to say it.” She hadn’t expected to be in this position, asking for forgiveness, but she wanted him to know that she did regret it. “I hate that I hurt you. Worse, I hate that I tried to hurt you. I wanted you to feel as miserable as I did.” 

She had never once claimed to be as nice as people told her she was. With her temper and her stubbornness, she was capable of being mean just the same as anyone else. 

“So what truth did you not tell me?” The spark of hopefulness in Fernand’s eyes had her feeling nervous. 

“Well, several things, actually. So much has happened this past year, it has left me rather dizzy. Learning to fight, being attacked, the war, meeting the King and Queen - sorry, shouldn’t mention that - falling for yo-” She choked on the last word. Her ramble had gone further than she meant to. 

“Did you just-” 

Marie buried her face in her hands in answer, wishing the ground would swallow her whole. He gently tugged her hands away from her face, ignoring the huff from Jacques, and waited until she looked up at him. 

“I fell for you too.” 

[chasseuseartisane-blog]

[chasseuseartisane-blog]

Guinevere outfits appreciation: Dresses

[chasseuseartisane-blog]

simone--baptiste

“Ransoms are not nearly as profitable as one may believe. At least not for an entire ship. And besides it would only be worth it if you were nobility.” Even if this was Marie’s first time being on a pirate ship–or even meeting a pirate–it was common reason (in Simone’s mind) for ransoms to be a bad idea. With the size of their fleet, it would be much easier to attack the ships that they wanted and keep the treasures they had than keep one person hostage and be forced to wait until the money might come in.

“I don’t want the room,” she said, not really meaning the hard edge in her voice. It was her father’s room, a reminder of the man that was torn from her. And now it was Fernand’s, the last person she could call family who was also taken from her. There were too many things there that reminded her of them that wouldn’t allow her any good sleep.

“And besides, if we find Fernand before we find your brother, you can take my other room. It’s not much–just a bed and a trunk for my clothes–but it is private.” It was the bunk she shared with her brothers when they were children.

Marie couldn’t help but laugh at the idea of her being nobility. She came from nothing. Everything she was had been crafted against all odds, a baby that had been cast aside, considered worthless becoming a skilled artisan. “Then I suppose I should be grateful that I’m not nobility.” 

The edge in Simone’s words surprised her, as they seemed unnecessary, and Marie had to remind herself that a few things in common did not mean they were at all similar. She didn’t know Simone, she simply understood how she felt about her missing brother. “Thank you. I suppose you would like me to get out of your way then?” She didn’t belong on the ship, she knew that, and from her experience on the last ship, the last thing anyone would want is Marie getting in their way. “Work can be brought to me, if you don’t want me underfoot, or I can collect it. I won’t be idle, you don’t have to worry. I’m not useless cargo, I work hard.” 

It wasn’t fear that Simone would decide to just cast Marie overboard that had her reassuring her that she would do her share of the work. Marie hated to waste time, she had never done well at handling boredom. The more work she was given, the less time she would be left with her thoughts and fears.