Hardly sleeping the last week, she distracted herself with even more obsessive painting, filling her mind with nothing but shapes and colours. They were much easier to understand, to control, although her grip was sloppier than normal, but Mabelle didn't acknowledge as anything more than sleep deprivation. She hadn't gone the first night they were arranged to meet, still unnerved by her last exchange with Michel, although doing her best to just not think about it. When she didn't have to see him, when he wasn't so irritatingly there, it was much easier to ignore that she had any feelings toward him at all. Neither positive or negative, because she so rarely felt anything strong enough to register about anybody, so feeling both toward the same person was far to confusing to constructively deal with. That had been proven well enough at the Louvre last week, her seemingly reasonable approaches to handling things only ending in what she could only guess was him thinking she was some sort of untalented whore. Not that she really cared what he thought.
But making a fool out of herself seemingly worked, because Michel apparently hadn't shown up either. She was neither surprised nor unsurprised, beginning to realize she really had no idea what to expect from the man. Though nearly convinced he was attempting to slowly drive her insane, which she supposed was working if she hadn't felt like she already was losing grip on reality long before they even met, she was equally convinced that he had no special interest in her that would cause him to go too far out of his way to bother her. Every meeting between them was merely coincidental or arranged by somebody else, so maybe if she continued to keep a low profile, he'd have no reason to seek her out. So she felt safe taking advantage of the reserved room for her own purposes the second day they were supposed to meet, and then again now on the third night. It was much more spacious than the cramped room she had at Dorian's, with better lighting and less interruptions telling her maybe she needed to eat or sleep or get some fresh air.
She hadn't been painting long when there was a knock at the door, and Mabelle ceased humming, trying to determine if somebody was wanting inside or if it was hammering nearby. It wasn't unlikely. Neither wanting nor expecting company, she almost decided to just ignore it. Curiosity won out in the end, and Mabelle finally opened the door just a crack to peek out. Instantly recognizing Michel, she opened the door wider just to provide better results for when she slammed it in his face.