genevieve moves through the crowd of mourners like a dream girl dressed all in black, a vision of grief drenched in decorum and lined with faux innocence. black tights and kitten heels, silk and cashmere and a respectable length skirt. the draw of marcel dupont was undeniable. though many on campus found his presence unpalatable, the desire to pay respect to a man so embedded within a niche of greatness extended far beyond the salt weathered edges of the island. gen’s performance is carefully choreographed. handshakes masked by sorrow, a networking event made acceptable by a flawless display of despair. finished with one conversation she’s alone, noticing richard she decides perhaps she could afford herself a short break. she tactfully whisks him away to a hallway off of the gathering space, a little alcove still in sight of the reception.
“ i heard a rumour the prime minister of sweden is here somewhere, i haven’t found him yet ” yet her eyes linger beyond the hallway, continuing to scan the room as though they might land on someone useful she hadn’t had a chance to meet yet, “ an old oxford friend of marcel’s apparently. ” her attention returns to richard fully, eyes dark and dangerous, hidden away for a second she could allow the performance of stoic tragedy that carried her through the event slip away. “ so what, ” her question begins, “ will you be doing after this ? ” perhaps a hint of flirtation “ to honour marcel’s memory of course. ” it leaves her lips like pleasant conversation yet there's a bitter irony behind it, as though pure and honest grief could be what brought either of them here today.
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