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A hypothetical situation...

It was not lost on Victoire that returning to her old ways was directly facilitated by the company who had taught them to her. Nor that, by virtue of their persistent correspondence since she had retired, they had granted her a perfectly innocuous and clandestine way out of her current predicament. Had she not being feeling so poorly herself, she might've laughed at Sid's surprise when he had returned home.

She had spent four days locked in their bedroom after that fight. She switched between calling Marceau for counsel and crying mostly. She refused to let Sid in. The housekeepers made sure she ate even if she wouldn't leave the room. The housekeeping staff had been on her payroll and therefore, while sympathetic to his concerns, refused to let Sid into his own bedroom or pass on his messages.

He had called her immature... )
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“Yes? Hmm... well, she will get over it. But she agreed? That's the thing... Wonderful. I told you it would work.” Reynard Bertrand peered suspiciously over his newspaper at his wife, who was excitedly but softly chattering into the phone. “Yes... Just see to it that you follow through. You'll have to be quick about it. She can be resourceful...” The derision with which she said that set him on edge. “Yes... Good.” She hung up and giggled gleefully.

“Victoire is getting married!” she announced.

Reynard gave her a hard stare... )
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How exciting it is to have new colleagues. Here is hoping that our new Sniper proves to be less reclusive than our last one.

As for the new Soldier, I shall be seeing you.

Honhon,
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It wasn't until she had slipped between her satin sheets that she had noticed. It had been a busy day, unpacking her sparse (for her, at least) belongings and then making introductions with the others, including her "enemies". She was still strung tight with excitement (and not a little fear) at the thought of fighting for real the next morning. Despite the late hour, she still had to concentrate on trying to sleep.

After a few minutes of staring at the ceiling, she rolled over and pressed her face into her pillow, thinking the darkness there would be less stimulating than that in the rest of the room.

Her pillow had a scent! )
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Marceau was in the middle of a 'business' dinner with a pair of his more lovely clients. When the maître d' arrived with the phone, he took the call nonetheless. He knew what it was about before he spoke.

"Félicitations, Reynard! Qu'avez-vous son nom?"

"Elle a mon nez," Reynard replied.

Marceau pulled back and stared at the phone for a moment. What did one say to that? He decided on honesty.

"Quel malheur," he said, amused.
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Despite outward appearances and all their disagreement, there was an underlying current of good humor in Spy's relationship with her mother. They were, after all, very alike. Both of them were self-ware enough to know this, so they could sometimes afford to acknowledge it. Their Christmas gifts to each other were a prime example of this.

Set atop a box that was almost assuredly the bonbon cookies she'd asked for was a smaller, equally impeccably wrapped gift box with a tag that read, "Victoire". Cocking an unimpressed eyebrow at her old name in plain print, she nonetheless opened it.

It was a satin jewelry box. Spy cracked open the lid, revealing a pair of sapphire earrings. She simply stared at them, tilting the box this way and that, watching the facets reflect the light. They must have cost a fortune. Par for the course, but still.

Spy laughed lightly at her mother's humor. They matched her uniform perfectly.
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That was not so bad, Spy thought when she found herself in perfect working order in the respawn room. Not bad until the room started spinning and the nausea hit. Spy fell back against the wall and, sensing she was beginning to lean to the side, slid down to the floor. The urge to vomit was great, but she refused.

Instead... )

Re: Dress

Jul. 11th, 2010 12:41 am
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Whichever of you gave me that dress, thank you. It is lovely and you have impeccable taste. If I do not wear it for a while, though, it is only because I am waiting for the shoes I ordered to go with it. I should think the only pair I have here would not do it justice.

Merci,
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They were getting tailored. That was a relief, at least.

Victoire had been dismayed when she had received her uniform. She found it was fitted only loosely and, in fact, was not even in women's sizes. Even with tailoring, though, it was a whole new frontier in conservative dressing for her. Her new uniform was easily the most covered up she had ever been.

Most of the uniform seemed only to emphasis that she was heading into men's territory and seemed designed to make her look the part. The shoes had the shortest heel she had worn since primary school. The gloves made getting a manicure pointless. And the mask... she would need a haircut.

She had hope that the tailoring would give the suit a more feminine shape... )

Re: Heavy

Jun. 14th, 2010 03:36 pm
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Did anyone see Monsieur Heavy today? I don't recall seeing him on the field, which would explain what a magnificent defeat we suffered. Hopefully, he has not fallen ill again.


____

A letter, translated from French... )
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Those of you who are terrified of the female form would do well to avoid BLU's eastern battlements after the work day ends tomorrow. I developed a rather absurd tan over the winter months, and so will be trying to even it out.

Signed,
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All right, we all remember this post here from [livejournal.com profile] teamezbabeez , yeah? Well, here's some BLU Spy stuff.

Let's start with the obvious... )
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Whoever is shaving in the showers would do well to think better of it if they expect to live to see tomorrow morning. If I can not do it, you can not either and God fucking help you if I find hairy soap scum in there again.

Love,
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