#// i literally just played with what we chatted about on discord lolololol i'm trash ok

[laspadillex-blog]

remember me w geri??

@geridurand

Octobre 1917

After wearing black every single day of the year, one almost adopts the achromatic color as their second skin — at least, that’s how Jacqueline felt since the “mysterious” passing of her beloved husband.  There wasn’t an official handbook on mourning fashion etiquette, but to play up on her “heartbroken-widow” act, Jacqueline had removed every single article of clothing that had color to it from her closet and packed them away.  It was a fucking pain in her derrière to dress herself in noir throughout the scorching heat of summer, and now that it was just breaking through crisp autumn was when she decided it was socially acceptable to begin to don color yet again.

Her deep plum dress fit snugly across the feminine contours of her bodice and stopped just at the curve of her calf, picking up slightly in the light but brisk autumn breeze. It wasn’t a drastic change, but one that did not go by unnoticed as she walked through the busy streets of the street market.  The heads of many men and women alike that recognized her as the widow to Gaston Choquette, a notable mafia man in the streets of Paris, turned to watch her slip through the crowds of the street.  She regarded the familiar faces with a polite smile, stopping in between the stands to sample the fruits and breads as she walked.  The clicking of her heels against the pavement only came to a halt when she saw a uniquely familiar face; one that she had spent years of her childhood regarding with adoration. 

That was the face of Gerald Durand. 

As a young and very sociable girl, Jacqueline had come to make many different friends in school and Mathilde Durand was one that she had held very dear to her heart.  Different than most other girls their age, Mathilde was always much more shy and modest, but always had the purest of hearts; she didn’t ache for the attention or participated in gossip, but was rather just a polite girl and a great friend.  While she may not have always been Jacqueline’s go-to-gal to sneak out and wander the streets of Paris with, she could always rely on Mathilde for sound advice and the least amount of judgment if she ever needed an outlet.

Jacqui also didn’t mind the fact that her friend had a very adorable older brother, who quickly became the heart of the young girl’s eye.  Gerald was Jacqueline’s first real crush and, looking back now, she was very grateful to him for being so oblivious of her embarrassing attempts at gaining his attention.  Though her crush on him had long gone, the sight of Gerald inspired her to put her best foot forward and break out, no longer as Madame Choquette but once again as Jacqueline Dubois.  Perhaps he’d be as oblivious to her flirting now as he was back when there were meaning behind her words, and perhaps that’d be a good thing if it turned out she had lost her touch.  

He was lingering at a nearby fruit stand, and after smoothing out the skirt of her dress and quickly primping her dark curls, she moved to approach him.  “Gerald Durand,” she said as she neared him, an amused smile hinting at the corners of her lips as he picked his head up.  “That’s a name I haven’t uttered in quite some time.  How are you?”

“I’m… Good, how are you?”  He replied, the pitch of his voice lilting upward slightly in confusion as he regarded her.  She could tell that he was initially thrown off, his brows pulling downward as his eyes, those topaz eyes that used to send her heart fluttering, studied her face.  The focus was there, and Jacqui could practically see the mental math he was doing as he tried to locate the name that matched her face.  Admittedly the last time they had seen each other, Jacqueline had looked quite different; done up in the theatrics of playing the distraught wife in the morgue, her face red as she sobbed and identified the body as her husband’s.  

This time, she was done up in the exact opposite way, oozing confidence despite her nerves that told her to wait a little longer before breaking out the “lively” wardrobe.  Her hair was freshly trimmed and styled, her lips, now turned fully upward in a smile, painted a brilliant bright red.  “I’m glad to hear it; you look well.”  Her dark, cat-like eyes dropped to fully regard him before lifting back up to his face; he did look well, just as well as he had as a young man.  He didn’t seem to have any luck with his memory still, which was beginning to throw her off—was Jacqueline not as memorable as she liked to believe she was?  In hopes of proving herself right, she threw him a bone and hoped he would catch it, “How’s Mathilde?  I haven’t seen her in ages.”  Her weight shifted from one leg to another, a mixture of her nervousness and impatience playing hand-in-hand with one another. 

At this Gerald seemed to make the connection, his brows lifting in what seemed to be surprise.  “Jacqueline Dubois, is that you?”  Those honey-colored eyes of his quickly trailed over her frame before settling on her face yet again, a smile now finding it’s way on his lips, “You look… Different.”