RÊVERIE.

Not everyone can say they’ve been to the Big Apple, but MARIE BAUDELAIRE, a THIRTY-FIVE year-old FEMALE has lived in WEST VILLAGE, MANHATTAN for FIFTEEN YEARS. This is the city of dreams and SHE knows it, because they came to NYC to be a BALLET DANCER AND CHOREOGRAPHER. Well, that and as a REGULAR CUSTOMER to NATHANIEL JONES. Living in the city means they meet all kinds of people, but everyone always seems to think they look like AMANDA SEYFRIED. They even got away with free cab fare once because of it! 

EVIE is starving. she had not gotten the luxury of stopping for lunch today due to the amount of patients back-to-back. as much as she hated being booked so closely together, a part of her couldn’t say no. she was working on that– which was funny to think of since she preached about boundaries all day as a therapist. she had dug into the plate as soon as it was set down, shoving food into her mouth like she hadn’t eaten in days. the question directed towards her caused a slight panic as her mouth was full. she lifted a finger signaling “ one second “ as she chewed. ❝ it’s a BLT, ❞ she told her. ❝ my favorite thing on the menu, ❞ evelyn admits, wiping her mouth with her napkin. ❝ and it’s on the happy hour menu ! ❞

Quickly, Marie shakes her head as a signal for the woman to take her time, a pink flush coloring her cheeks. Bien joué, Marie, the voice in her head chastises, way to interrupt the poor woman while she eats. It’s by no means the most embarrassing thing she’s ever done, but Marie is always hard on herself and especially so when she thinks she may be inconveniencing someone. Luckily, the woman is kind enough to answer her questions once she finishes the bite she’d taken, and Marie smiles despite her uneasiness. “It looks amazing. Who knew a simple sandwich could look so delicious.” She eyes the menu, looking at the description of the sandwich before turning back to the other woman. “Is it really only bacon, lettuce, and a tomato? I suppose that’d be why they call it BLT, hm? I don’t know why I never put that together.”

Just as Amelia got home that evening, Ant had called to say he and Martino had been invited for a guys’ night out or something. She was all too happy to let the pair of them have a night off from her ramblings but it left her without plans for the evening. More than that, she never really enoyed cooking and eating for one…going out for dinner seemed like the best bet. As she would not be in Park Slope for the evening, her sights were set closer to home and before she knew it Amelia sat at this cute hole in the wall bar she visited from time to time. Finding she missed her half still, Amelia had ordered a glass of pinot gris (and tried to not to laugh to herself by thinking of how mortified Antoni would be that she had not used the Italian name for the wine) and while not perfectly suited, ordered a seldomly eaten lamb dish. As she found herself in culinary heaven, Amelia took part in her favorite pastime of planning. In her notebook, she jotted down everything the trio would need for their trip to Boulder for her brother’s birthday next week. A feminine voice interrupted her to which she beamed to see who it was. “Marie, je suis heureux de vous revoir!” The blonde could not help but slip into her Parisian accented French everytime she saw her neighbour (even though they did not, in fact, live next to each other). “Sautéed lamb chops with herbs de Provence. It is divine. I haven’t had lamb in a while. Come on over, have a seat. Would you like a taste? I’m happy to have an extra plate sent over.” she beamed at the older woman. 

Amelia’s words have a smile pulling at Marie’s features, her chest tightening as she murmurs “toi aussi” in the other woman’s direction while moving from her seat at the bar toward her. It isn’t as though she never gets to speak French in the city — especially in the world of ballet, there are plenty of French natives in New York — but even after fifteen years of living here, she finds herself missing home each time she is given the opportunity to speak her native language. Marie loves it, though, and she cherishes her friendship with Amelia for the language they have in common, among other things of course. She takes a seat in the empty chair across the the woman, smiling behind her glass of wine after Amelia explains her dinner before waving a hand. “Oh no, I couldn’t possibly. Enjoy your dinner, I don’t want to take from you. It really is great to see you, though, how have you been?”

☆ﾟ*·ﾟTHERE WERE A few problems being a chef. Whenever you went to another restaurant, you judged everything you ate, the aesthetic of the whole restaurant, and even the way the staff treated you. Kianna always tried her best to give every place the benefit of the doubt, and most of the time it worked. She’d find herself pleasantly surprised by a place. This specific restaurant however, it was one of Kianna’s favorites. The executive chef was a good friend of hers, and so she knew the food would always be spectacular. It was a small restaurant, one that she knew was very special to the owner’s heart. So, that evening, when she sat at the restaurant, trying to plan out her menu for the next month, she sat there, inhaling her favorite dish. Hearing someone’s voice, she lifted her head, flashing her a smile. “Oh! It’s the Korean Short Rib Cheese fries. They’re phenomenal.” Kianna said, shoving a cheese covered fry into her mouth.

Marie smiles warmly at the woman’s response, her gaze drifting from the decadent dish to her lone glass of wine and the menu sitting beside it. Maybe it wouldn’t kill her to order something similar just this once. She peruses it briefly before regarding the woman beside her again, smile still planted on her features. “I’ve never eaten here before, truthfully, I did not realize the menu was so complex.” She admits, almost sheepishly even though there really isn’t reason to be embarrassed. It’s in Marie’s nature to be shy, though, so keeping conversation with a woman she doesn’t know is definitely out of her comfort zone. But her loneliness has been getting the best of her lately. “Is there anything else you’d recommend here? Those do look delicious, but I’ve found that too much cheese doesn’t sit well with my stomach.”

Of course, Marie is well versed in the entirety of Rylan and Nate’s situation. Their secret rendezvous — their not so secret kiss, and everything in between, Marie knows the important parts of it. And she knows what happened between them on public television had put them both in a bad spot, so she’d been going to see Nate and make sure he isn’t beating himself up too hard about being removed from the show. Except when she opens the door and it’s Rylan she comes face to face with — well, obviously Marie is surprised to find her there at all. “Oh! Putain.” The shock is evident on Marie’s features alone, her words emphasizing that. It takes her a moment to recollect herself and realize she has in fact stumbled in on Rylan lounging around on Nate’s couch as if a huge scandal hadn’t just occurred between the two of them. “I’m sorry, I — I was looking for Nate. I didn’t —” She shakes her head, tilting it in one swift movement as she eyes Rylan with curiosity. “What are you doing here?” Maybe it’s a little blunt, but for all of her shyness, no one has ever accused Marie of beating around the bus.

Recently, Marie has found herself attempting to do things other than sleeping, breathing, and dancing. Her free time is often scarce, but when she does have it she usually spends time rehearsing or stretching or doing anything that might keep her skills in tip-top shape — though she has decided that will be no more. Marie has lived in New York for fifteen years and has barely had any fun at all, so now that she’s nearing the end of her career and trying desperately to find where she fits in the aftermath, she’s decided fun must be had. It’s how she finds herself sitting alone at a small hole in the wall bar a few blocks from her apartment, sipping on a small glass of wine as she reads and takes advantage of the generous happy hour and mood lighting. The person next to her has order something that smells absurdly delicious — and Marie, who has spent years denying herself life’s simply pleasure such as cheese, can’t help but fixate on the dish. “That smells wonderful.” She draws out, intrigue painted across her features. “May I ask what you ordered?”

who: open @exclusivestarters​

where: anywhere valley might have an extra ticket to (concert, museum, broadway show, art exhibit, movie, maybe an invitation-only party, exclusive bar, etc)

“Thank you so much for coming with me,” Valley said, her smile (for once) genuinely grateful. “This is not the first time a man I’ve dated turned out to be secretly married, but it is the first time I’ve ended up with an extra ticket last minute because of it.“ She didn’t explain that normally she would have just continued to date the married man and that this time she’d actually ended things… she just left that up to imagination. "I promise this’ll be fun.”

“Of course. Any chance to see the city and get out of my apartment is already good enough for me.” Marie smiles sweetly at her friend, taking a sip from the complimentary champagne glass they were offered as they walked into the gallery. The event is a little more upscale than the places Marie usually finds herself, but any time she is invited to events like this, she’s more than happy to go along. “Men are pigs, if I may say so. No better way to view gorgeous pieces than with girlfriends, hm?” She doesn’t want to pry into Valley’s life — the other woman’s romantic life is none of Marie’s business, but that doesn’t mean she isn’t curious and she almost can’t help but ask about it. “How did you come to find out he was married?”

FOR.    @exclusivestarters· WHERE.    some  swanky  bar  in  uptown,  late evening.

          ESTELLE  KNEW  WHAT  IT  WAS  TO  BE  PINNED  beneath  the  scrutiny  of  an  onlooker.  like  some  sort  of  spectacle  only  to  be  seen  through  a  peep  hole,  she  didn’t  see  them  until  they  saw  her.  a  meeting  of  gazes  two  seconds  too  long  and  suddenly  the  estelle  is  on  her  feet.  needless  to  say,  the  half - consumed  cosmo  was  abandoned  at  the  barside;  put  it  on  her  tab.  “  staring  at  people  from  across  bars,  ”  words  proceeded  the  londoner,  voice  soft  against  the  smooth  warbles  of  jazz  humming  through  the  bar.  stilted  heels  announcing  her  presence  beside  the  stranger,  clicking  against  the  pristine  marble  as  she  welcomes  herself  to  the  seat  beside  them.  “  that’s  a  nasty  habit.  ”  she  mused  with  a  partially  teasing  lilt.  though,  if  she  was  going  to  be  treated  as  a  spectacle,  estelle  would  certainly  get  something  out  of  the  exchange.  “  at  least  buy  me  a  drink  first.  ”

It isn’t out of the ordinary for Marie to fix her gaze on beautiful women. She does it often, actually, finding herself lost in a trance as she appreciates their essence. Usually, she goes unnoticed. Marie is one to fade into the background under normal circumstance, and often women aren’t thinking twice to look at her. So when the woman she’d been watching all night finds her and calls her out on her unabashed voyeurism, Marie nearly chokes on her own drink. “Oh. I — Pardon. I did not mean to stare.” Marie stumbles through her apology, her own accent thick when she’s flustered. This woman just has such a presence, she can’t tell if she wants to shrink underneath it or bask in it. Selfishly, she chooses the latter. “What are you drinking?”

the   greatest   way   to   get   around   the   city   had   always   been   her   skateboard,   much   to   her   parent’s   dismay.   there   was   nothing   like   the   feel   of   the   wind   rushing   through   your   hair,   blasting   your   favorite   tunes   as   you   skillfully   maneuver   through   the   sea   of   pedestrians.   it   was   freeing.   but   every   now   and   then   she   got   distracted   and   in   this   instant,   she   skated   over   a   subway   tunnel   opening   that   had   been   slightly   propped   up,   promptly   launching   her   off   the   board.   posey   crashed   to   the   floor   with   a   thud,   wincing   as   she   gripped   at   her   arm,   watching   as   her   skateboard   rolled   toward   another,   “don’t   let   her   go!”   the   blonde   cried   out,   more   concerned   about   the   wellbeing   of   her   board   than   herself.

@exclusivestarters​

Even after fifteen years, Marie has never understood the way of New Yorkers. A girl has just launched herself from a skateboard onto the hot, dirty sidewalk, and she must be hurt — yet only a few people stop to look and not a single person rushes to help. And they say the French are rude. Marie quickly hurries over to the poor girl, catching the skateboard as it rolls by as the other blonde had instructed her, but that’s the least of her concerns. “Are you alright?” she asks, concern lacing her words, brow furrowed as she crouches down to level with the younger woman. “Do you believe anything is broken? I can call the ambulance.”