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He carried her across the threshold of their apartment building's lobby. His apartment building really, but Victoire expected to make it hers. As a contractual agreement, a lot of marriage seemed to be very vague and unspoken (and certainly not written), but there were things that she felt the very concept of it entitled her to. Redecorating their home, for one thing.

He set her down on the landing to the stairs. Not exactly as romantic as if he'd done so after walking in their through actual door, but theirs was the penthouse, after all, and the elevator was out of service that eening. They made the walk up the stairwell more or less silently. Victoire, if not exactly excited to be married to this man, was nonetheless prepared make a show of it... )
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Though Victoire had refused to speak to her mother for months after being conned out of her job, she eventually relented when her wedding date grew nearer. Not because she was any less angry about the whole affair, but because it became clear that, if left to her own devices, her mother would exact a very traditional vision of her wedding. The marriage itself was going to be a sham, Victoire thought. There was no need to call her religious observance into question too.

Realizing she'd need to step in if she wanted to enjoy any part of this process, Victoire called her mother and began taking over the planning and delegating tasks. Cécile, though miffed that her own ideas were being dismissed, was pleased that her daughter was taking an interest finally and so didn't argue (much) when Victoire instead turned the reception into an elaborate 18th century costume party... )
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Type asked me to give her a prompt and I told her I would do so if she gave me one. She wanted something about ties. Well, here you go. "Tie" will cease to sound like a word in 3... 2... 1...

When it came to plain and factual scores, Bonnie proved only just above average at best when it came to Spying for all the effort she put into it. That she was quickest at applying sappers was what gave her an edge on those recruits who didn't take to any particular part of the curriculum thus far. The Spies training them were disappointed that their trainees could not learn so quickly which they'd either had years of experience in or simply came naturally to them.

But then, they'd only been able to teach the bare essentials thus far. Today, the recruits' uniforms were finally finished... )
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Things were going rather dismally, but it looked like the tide was about to turn. Spy came out of the respawn room to see Medic with a full charge tailing after Pyro, the both of them barrleing down the corridor. That was, until Pyro suddenly exploded in a burst of blood and gibs, his backblast just barely mistimed to reflect a rocket. Medic backed up, knowing the enemy Soldier was approaching, and scanned quickly for another pocket.

"Medic!" Spy called... )
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Sid had done well today. Depending on how you looked at it anyway. He'd only managed to kill her twice, which was pathetic comparatively. But he had managed to kill her twice, which was fantastic for him. And he'd spent more of his time than not building machines too.

Because Spy had kept destroying them, honhon... )
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Victoire did not often profess her love because it tended to be a mercurial thing. It came and went, but people expected it to be constant if she admitted it. She didn't like to disappoint people like that.

She still felt it though... )
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"Are you certain you can read it without tearing it or wrinkling it or-"

"Yes, Spy."

"I mean it," Spy said, giving Soldier a hard side-eyeing. "There will be dire consequences if you damage that magazine in any way."

"...all right."

Soldier sat on the floor in front of Spy's bed and... )
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Upon checking the score, Spy noted that Cliff seemed to be getting an extraordinarily high number of deaths today. Since she was still mad at Sniper and therefore not gracing him with her presence, she could afford some time to see what his problem was.

Despite her annoyance and continued grudge against the man, Spy felt that his dismal score today was entirely justified.

It was hard to build a sentry with only one hand... )
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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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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... )
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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... )
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