"Grady." Jean-Paul repeats it, smiling. He pitches his own cigarette over the rail, then turns to head back inside. He doesn't look to see if the other man is following - he simply assumes he is.
The corridors of first class are lit well, the rugs running down the center lushly scarlet. Indoors, he slows to let Abraham walk beside him. He stays close, even when bright voices break the stillness. A group of other passengers turn the corner, walking toward them.
"Madames et Monsieurs," Jean-Paul says by way of greeting, favouring them with a flamboyant wave and half bow. One of the women titters behind her hand, while the men seem determined to ignore him completely.
"Have a good night, ladies. Don't do anything I wouldn't do," Jean-Paul calls out cheerfully as they pass them. "And God knows I've done it all."
This elicits more laughter from the women, and a derisive snort from one of the men. The whispering begins almost at once, a hushed murmur of scandal and intrigue. Unphased, Jean-Paul rounds the corner. Near the end of the hall he stops, unlocking the door to his room. He opens the door and beckons, smiling.
It's a private room, large enough to fit a bed, storage for belongings, and a small table and chair set. The bed is large enough for two, four-postered with drapery. The wallpaper is a damask pattern, glowing mellowly under the warm electric light sconces. A few books sit on the table, but otherwise it's quite neat.
no subject
The corridors of first class are lit well, the rugs running down the center lushly scarlet. Indoors, he slows to let Abraham walk beside him. He stays close, even when bright voices break the stillness. A group of other passengers turn the corner, walking toward them.
"Madames et Monsieurs," Jean-Paul says by way of greeting, favouring them with a flamboyant wave and half bow. One of the women titters behind her hand, while the men seem determined to ignore him completely.
"Have a good night, ladies. Don't do anything I wouldn't do," Jean-Paul calls out cheerfully as they pass them. "And God knows I've done it all."
This elicits more laughter from the women, and a derisive snort from one of the men. The whispering begins almost at once, a hushed murmur of scandal and intrigue. Unphased, Jean-Paul rounds the corner. Near the end of the hall he stops, unlocking the door to his room. He opens the door and beckons, smiling.
It's a private room, large enough to fit a bed, storage for belongings, and a small table and chair set. The bed is large enough for two, four-postered with drapery. The wallpaper is a damask pattern, glowing mellowly under the warm electric light sconces. A few books sit on the table, but otherwise it's quite neat.
"Oui?"