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Tweak says, "Why am I always Lois Lane?"

Lord Tobias Hurst, Duke of Devon (lord_hurst) wrote in toujoursliberer,
@ 2008-08-08 21:41:00

Entry tags:

aime_laurent, antoine_laurent, beatrice_stanley, beth_downing, constance_mosley, demetri_blake, georgina_rochester, gwendolyn_linley, harry_fisher, jacques_belmont, katerina_ashcroft, marie_hardwick, melisande_auclair, nell_abbot, patience_hurst, piper, plot, rupert_aveline, sergius_petrov, slater, thaddeus_chadwick, theodore_berteaut, thérèse_du_labarre, tobias_hurst, vivian_thorpe

Lord Hurst: A Ball In His Honour
Item: An invitation sent out by Lord Hurst to many of those in the upper portion of society
Who: Lord Hurst on behalf of Sergius Petrov
Warnings: TBA
Open to: All of the nobility, friends of the Hurst family, those being blackmailed by Sergius, plus Constance, Slater, and Harry.

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mrslater
2008-08-10 09:49 am UTC (link)

Slater smiled when Vivian kissed him, snaking a subtle arm around her waist to give her a small squeeze before he patted her behind. "You look beautiful. I could never be anything less. The pick of the party," he beamed, before his attention was caught by alcohol and he took the champagne gratefully.

"Pleasure to meet you, Mister Belmont. To those who do not know me, I am Mister Slater. Slater to those who do. What have you been dragged here for this evening?"

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vivianthorpe
2008-08-10 10:03 am UTC (link)

When she felt him touch her behind, Vivian smirked, her cheeks flushing a little at his compliments. Slater's approval meant a lot to her, and her arm slid around the back of his shoulders gently. "Thank you, darlin'... you're not looking so bad yourself. I love it when you get all nice and smart... almost as much as I love you when you're all gruff and filthy." Her words were murmured into his ear, and she chuckled to herself, before turning to take her own champagne. "Thanks ever so much, Monsieur." And taking a long sip.

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jacques_belmont
2008-08-10 07:52 pm UTC (link)

Jacques's smile became noticeably more forced at the display of physical affection. Granted, these were commonplace in France and generally Jacques approved of passionate handclasps or kisses on the hand on cheek, but this was a little much even for his Rousseauian sensibilities. Escape, escape!

"You are quite welcome. I, ah... I am 'ere to represent France." He ruefully tugged on his tricolor sash. "I do not do my homeland credit, I am afraid. You are London inhabitants?"

Jacques sorted through his dwindling fund of small talk. Two or three more questions and he could bolt.

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