02-11-2022, 10:16 PM
Left alone with the owner, Chéri turned his attention to Sonia entirely, now properly free to examine the Venetian woman as he pleased. Chéri followed her to the fourth room on the left, first floor -he memorised the way right away- to find what was clearly a good room for such a building.
Chéri had been mostly spoilt by whoever took care of him, hence he hadn’t had the chance yet to develop his own tasted and intelligence for interiors, but his expectations had been lower, hence a new light appeared in his eyes when he was offered the room, now confronted with the possibility of a less uncomfortable stay in Whitby than he had expected.
Sonia started to explain and as, if his mind had been read, she proceeded to address his observation surrounding the subject of payment. Chéri examined the room and asked “I am supposed to entrata here and sleep here, yes?” The word “entratain” sounding almost too smart for his not especially refined French. But hey, maybe Sonia wasn’t going to notice that he was a slightly less fashionable foreigner than expected. “And how much will I owe you?” Chéri had never been part of what in France was called Maison de Debaucherie, a specifically house of procurement, but he knew how things worked and even though he could, at least at the start, take care of his own presentation and clothes, there normally were further fees. He knew there was hardly any way to avoid that if that was the case here as well, but he’d rather know now than later. “Refined taste,” he repeated, expectantly. He was curious to find out what refined taste meant in Whitby.
Chéri took a few steps around, not daring to leave his bag anywhere just yet, while Sonia explained the only rule. Chéri frowned lightly “I must not fall in love? I can merry, sire a child, steal, get into brawls and quarrels, but I am not allowed to fall in love? And how on earth will you make sure of that?” He said, with an irony that betrayed an excess of fire in his personality, a quick mind and a blatant lack of manners. He quickly realised how counterproductive such words might turn out to be and quickly added. “However, that is fine with me, Madame Carringtòn.” He scratched himself behind an ear. “Although you can be sure I will confess deep and irresistible feelings to whomever you will judge more worthy of filling your pockets.” And with that, he added a laugh, powerful, explosively happy and oddly sincere sounding. A stark contrast with Sonia’s demeanour. Maybe he was trying to make her laugh, to contrast the grimness.
And then she shared something. Chéri batted the long lashes and took a tentative step as if he intended to narrow the space her remarks had to roam free and personally collect them where it was appropriate. He put his hands behind his back, as he had seen gentlemen do whenever they wanted to look respectful. He offered another type of smile, with another type of expression, this time more adult and considerate, respect rather than sympathy, appreciation for the thought she had chosen to share.
“You may call me whatever you wish to call me, Madame.” He continued, but considering the particular situation, he added “However, if you need a name, most call me Chéri.” “Darling, dear”. Not a name for a person, but rather for a fantasy.
Chéri had been mostly spoilt by whoever took care of him, hence he hadn’t had the chance yet to develop his own tasted and intelligence for interiors, but his expectations had been lower, hence a new light appeared in his eyes when he was offered the room, now confronted with the possibility of a less uncomfortable stay in Whitby than he had expected.
Sonia started to explain and as, if his mind had been read, she proceeded to address his observation surrounding the subject of payment. Chéri examined the room and asked “I am supposed to entrata here and sleep here, yes?” The word “entratain” sounding almost too smart for his not especially refined French. But hey, maybe Sonia wasn’t going to notice that he was a slightly less fashionable foreigner than expected. “And how much will I owe you?” Chéri had never been part of what in France was called Maison de Debaucherie, a specifically house of procurement, but he knew how things worked and even though he could, at least at the start, take care of his own presentation and clothes, there normally were further fees. He knew there was hardly any way to avoid that if that was the case here as well, but he’d rather know now than later. “Refined taste,” he repeated, expectantly. He was curious to find out what refined taste meant in Whitby.
Chéri took a few steps around, not daring to leave his bag anywhere just yet, while Sonia explained the only rule. Chéri frowned lightly “I must not fall in love? I can merry, sire a child, steal, get into brawls and quarrels, but I am not allowed to fall in love? And how on earth will you make sure of that?” He said, with an irony that betrayed an excess of fire in his personality, a quick mind and a blatant lack of manners. He quickly realised how counterproductive such words might turn out to be and quickly added. “However, that is fine with me, Madame Carringtòn.” He scratched himself behind an ear. “Although you can be sure I will confess deep and irresistible feelings to whomever you will judge more worthy of filling your pockets.” And with that, he added a laugh, powerful, explosively happy and oddly sincere sounding. A stark contrast with Sonia’s demeanour. Maybe he was trying to make her laugh, to contrast the grimness.
And then she shared something. Chéri batted the long lashes and took a tentative step as if he intended to narrow the space her remarks had to roam free and personally collect them where it was appropriate. He put his hands behind his back, as he had seen gentlemen do whenever they wanted to look respectful. He offered another type of smile, with another type of expression, this time more adult and considerate, respect rather than sympathy, appreciation for the thought she had chosen to share.
“You may call me whatever you wish to call me, Madame.” He continued, but considering the particular situation, he added “However, if you need a name, most call me Chéri.” “Darling, dear”. Not a name for a person, but rather for a fantasy.
