[Past] Butts || Francis

[Aoife O'Neill]

It was late, yet the casino was in full swing. Every light was illuminated so the entire room seemed brighter than the largest star in the inky black midnight sky, and the chaotic noises which flooded the space around were deafening. Each ringing bell to signal another win somewhere was more like a siren, and the constant chatter from the crowds which were swarming the place felt much more shrill than usual. At that moment, late one Friday night, Aoife O’Neill really was wondering to herself why she had even come along to Fortuna Magnus Casino in the first place. She wasn’t one for gambling, and it wasn’t even like a group of friends had dragged her along for a fun start to the weekend. No, the Irish woman was alone at the bar, making her way through her second whiskey since she had arrived. It must have been a pretty sad sight to any on looker. “I should have just gone to the Irish Lady,” she mumbled with irritation under her breath, in order to prevent anyone catching her words. “The drinks are much cheaper there anyway.” With that bitter remark made, though, she knocked back the dregs of the drink and ordered another round from the bartended, giving him a polite smile as she did. As she waited for the third round to come, the redhead allowed her green eyes to scan her surroundings once again. Maybe she should go and try out some of the slot machines or something. Besides, after a stressful couple of weeks and finally, just today, closing her latest mission, she had come out with the intention of having some fun before a nice relaxing weekend at home. If only she had the motivation to actually leave the bar now. Hm, it certainly was tempting to maybe try and win something. Then again, the odds were stacked high against her, and were much more likely to be in favour of the house. But on the other hand, what else did she have to do tonight? Aoife had no intention of finding any of her colleagues to spend the time with – Vash Zwingli was a grump, Feliks was a nice guy but he was probably in some gay bar at that very moment, and then there was Donald. Aoife didn't even want to think about him, let alone attempt to socialise with the guy. Honestly, it was still hard to process that only two years ago she had found him in a terrorist cult, of all things! She snorted in annoyance mentally, disgusted that her very own twin brother would stoop to such a low level. It would certainly take a long time for him to make up for that, in her mind. Quickly pushing the thoughts of her frustrating brother out of her head, Aoife sighed slightly to herself and took a sip of her drink a few seconds after it was placed in front of her. Absent mindedly she twirled a single red curl around her finger before looking back once again over her shoulder to take in the bright casino. No, she would do this some other time. After this one last drink, she’d head home and call it a night. It was going to be a quiet weekend.

Tag: Francis

CODED BY ELECTRIC OF GS

[Set four years ago]

[Deleted]

"obsessed with the worse and not very verbose"

Sorrow. Remorse. Longing.

Francis Bonnefoy was a mess. He was still hungover from his drunken summer romance with Veronica, his headache pounding harder than it ever had before. The more time passed, the more it seemed to worsen. His desire and want for the woman to come back, to return to his arm, to feel her painted lips on his once more burned. He missed her for God's sake.

Despite being a self-proclaimed professional romantic, Francis was having the worse break-up aftermath he had ever seen since his beginning teenage years. He hadn't been ready, hadn't been prepared for the potential ending of the relationship he had cherished so much. She had been his first in London.

But perhaps it had been too soon; he had only barely moved to London before he had found a partner within the month. He had been lucky -- fortunate to have been able to meet someone like Veronica. She was stunning, clever, and she wasn't afraid to snark someone without another thought. But she could be gentle too, and Francis only wanted to feel her touch just one more time.

God, you are a wreck, Francis miserably told himself.

He had drunken himself to a stupor with the wine he had shared so many times with his darling Veronica for the last several weeks, and it was about damn time he pulled his life together. He hadn't shaved, he stopped caring for his hygiene, he hardly ate except for takeout from the shoddy restaurant down the street. Francis was stumbling into a spiral down to depression, and he was desperate to claw himself out before he was permanently stuck in this horrible rut.

Going out to the Fortuna Magnus Casino -- a still relatively new place, recently built only a year or so ago -- sounded like a somewhat decent idea. Maybe he would be able to meet someone there; socializing didn't exactly sound appealing at the moment, but Francis knew deep down he had to do something about this before he let his life go to waste. He had to cope one way or another.

He showered, taking time and care to wash his hair as he used to, taking pride once more into his appearance. He at last shaved his facial hair -- he had honestly let it grow for far too long. His stubble would grow back in no time, and he was feeling the cleanest he had in ages. Checking himself over in the mirror, Francis smiled, feeling a bit better about both himself and the world.

A modest outfit seemed appropriate for tonight; he honestly didn't want to attract a great deal of attention, but Francis wanted to look presentable. The garments he had chosen he had deemed acceptable, and soon he found himself in the midst of the clattering coins and never ending hands of cards being dealt out to eager contenders.

He wandered among the crowd, observing a few games of poker here and there -- ah, that is the owner of the casino, Ciel Blanc -- and trying to hold his own at the slot machines. He did somewhat decently at them, but overall he wasn't very good. Francis made conversation with a few of his neighbors, sharing a chuckle or a congratulations when at one time winning a small amount, but not much further than general talk. Well, it had been a while since he put genuine effort into his social interactions.

Not having much luck, he wandered towards the bar. Although he had told himself he would do his best to avoid drinking as he had previously done, Francis was thirsty. He also recalled he usually had decent fortune when in the bar, and he approached a stool and seated himself -- next to a very beautiful red-headed woman.

Here is your chance.

"Ah, pinot noir, please," Francis requested to the bartender who simply nodded. At last, he was having something different than the wine he had been drinking non-stop for the last month. It would be a nice chance.

He turned subtly to the woman with a hesitant smile. "Good evening."

Is that all he had to say? Just a simple greeting? Oh God, he had lost his touch. Francis cringed, berating himself. Damn, he was out of practice. Well, best to wait and gauge a reaction this time instead of stuttering over his words and making himself look like an absolute fool. 

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[Aoife O'Neill]

Her glass was almost empty now, the last few drops of the brown alcohol (a tainted ambrosia) lingering in small pools amongst the few half-melted cubes of ice at the bottom. Aoife had been sitting in silence, keeping herself to herself and allowing her mind to wander over insignificant things. It was a nice way to clear her head and momentarily erase her work from her mind. Her job would always tend to linger in her thoughts – be it the stress of knowing she had another report to write up, or the vivid images from some of her cases which were just impossible to un-see. Even the most strong-willed struggled to come to terms with some of those things. So, a moment reprieve had been welcomed that night.

The drink swirled around slightly as the woman lifted up the glass, before knocking back the last remaining drops of whiskey in one swift motion. That was it, then. Aoife decided to keep that promise to herself; one last drink, then leave. Well, she had now finished that one last drink, so it was time to go and make her way back home. The redhead sighed and politely requested the bill from the barman, who had simply nodded as he gathered up her empty glass. All the Irish woman had to do now was wait, pay, and then go.

"Good evening."

It took a moment or so for Aoife to register the fact that the greeting had been directed at her. The words had caught her by surprise; she hadn't even realised that somebody had taken the once empty seat beside her. Yet, now she was aware of the presence of another person, one right beside her who was even striking up conversation. It was a man, that was for sure from the tone of voice. With an accent, it seemed. French?

The woman turned her head to face the man beside her, just in time to catch the grimace which had appeared on his face. Silently for a moment, Aoife simply observed the stranger. Blonde hair, blue eyes, well chiselled features. In all honesty, incredibly attractive. But… she couldn't help but notice there was something… distant about his expression. His eyes seemed vacant, his words forced. The cringe which has flashed across his features as well just highlighted how uncomfortable he felt.

Aoife, instinctively switching into her much more friendly and sociable persona, simply offered the stranger a warm and bright smile, before laughing slightly. It was a bright little laugh; bubbly and kind.

“I know the red hair can be a bit intimidating, but I didn't realise it was that bad!” she joked light-heartedly in response to his wince, hoping to turn that uncomfortable expression into a smile. Aoife had a feeling this man was much more attractive when he was happy. “Don’t be scared; I promise I'm not the spawn of the devil, despite what people tend to say about gingers.” That final statement was finished off with a cheeky wink in his direction, before she chuckled again and shook her head.

Hoping her small effort had at least cleared the air slightly, the woman shifted in her seat and turned her body to the side, so she was facing the man completely. That friendly smile of hers still kept in place, the redhead confidently extended her right hand in the man’s direction. “Let’s start again then, shall we?” her tone, despite being rather firm, was polite and warm as she waited for the stranger to return the gesture and shake her hand. “Good evening. The name’s O’Neill, Aoife O’Neill. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mister…?”

Her words deliberately trailed off and one eyebrow was raised, indicating not-so-subtly that she was expecting a response from the man. After all, he had first initiated the conversation with his greeting. He should have been prepared for her to actually answer him, and in fact take it further than just a simple greeting. Anyone who knew Aoife could have told you she was rather outgoing when it came to meeting new people, and now seemed to be a prime example.

She just hoped her forward behaviour didn't scare the poor guy off. That wouldn't have been a good way to end the evening. 

[Deleted]

"The least of my sighs Turn metaphysical"

He felt stupid, absolutely ridiculous, and embarrassed wit his lack of typical charm.

Francis was out of practice, an atrocious disaster, and he shouldn't even have to feel like he's out of practice, because that's honestly one of the most ungentlemanly things he could possibly think. His debonair skills of romance were a life style, yes, one that he had lived for years now – yet, saying he was out of practice was like saying this was some sort of sport, something that he performed for other people and injured himself in accidents, risking himself just for the fun of it.

It was all wrong, horribly so. It left a bad taste in his mouth. He should just go home while he still had some small trace of dignity faintly enduring in his being–

She started laughing, jolting Francis out of his panicked thoughts of anxiety. It was not mocking, but instead cheerful; it reminded him of freshly picked flowers, a beautiful arrangement blending together like an artist's painting, illuminating the room. It gave him a flare of hope, and it started to burn in the pit of his stomach. This was a chance to compose himself, a rare chance, he would not easily be able to obtain again.

“I know the red hair can be a bit intimidating, but I didn't realise it was that bad! Don’t be scared; I promise I'm not the spawn of the devil, despite what people tend to say about gingers.” The words were as light as a feather, escorted by a playful wink. That small, flickering flame began to burn brighter, and Francis felt his tense shoulders relax at last. He could breathe. He was grateful for her kindness, gifting him the opportunity to calm his nerves and maybe actually enjoy an evening for the first time in a long time. It was time to concentrate on meeting new people, to concentrate on the present – to forget worrying about the past.

“Let’s start again then, shall we?” She held out her hand, and after a moment, he took it in his own. Her skin was quite soft, and he shook it with some regained confidence. “Good evening. The name’s O’Neill, Aoife O’Neill. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mister…?”

”Francis Bonnefoy. The pleasure is all mine, Mademoiselle O'Neill,” Francis brought her hand to his lips with a genuine smile, and he kissed it chastely as an apology. ”I do hope you will pardon my behavior just now. I can assure you that was quite out of character of me, and I believe we will not have to worry about such an event happening again, thanks to you.” He glanced towards her glass, and knew how he could perhaps make it up to her. "May I treat you to a drink to show my gratitude?"

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