![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
An Evening at the Theatre
Feb. 26th, 2009 05:27 pm[OOC note: All dialogue in this OOM is in French, but the mun wasn't feeling up to writing it that way.]
This was Carrie's idea.
Of course, when Carrie had the idea, she had not factored in the rather virulent food poisoning she has come down with.
But she insisted Meg go anyway, and Meg suspects that's as much about wanting privacy and a chance to properly rest as it is about wanting Meg to go out, so Meg asks the floor fellow to check on her roommate once or twice, and goes.
To see Tartuffe. In French. At the Université de Montréal.
She gets there early (Meg is always early) and the lobby is mostly empty, the doors won't open for a while yet. Meg finds a seat on a bench and waits.
There aren't a lot of early arrivals, and Meg mostly ignores and is ignored by them, beyond a smile and a nod or an exchanged Bon soir.
But there is one young man it's pretty hard to ignore. Tall, with dark hair and a black leather jacket. Handsome, from what Meg can see. And arguing, animatedly, and loudly, with the student at the box office. It's impossible not to listen, though Meg makes a half-hearted effort to. His ticket, it seems, was for last night's performance. His brother is one of the actors, and he promised he would come. This is the last show. And tonight's performance is sold out. The girl in the box office is very sorry, but there's nothing she can do. Repeat.
Finally, Meg gets up and goes over.
"I'm sorry, I don't mean to interrupt, but I have an . . ." she trails off, unable to remember the French word for extra. "My friend is sick, I have two tickets and I only need one. If you would like the other, you can have it."
He gives the student in the box office a ha! sort of look and turns his attention to Meg. "Yes, please. Can I pay you for it?"
"No, there's no . . . I'm glad someone can use it."
She hands it to him and goes back to her bench.
It's not until the doors open and she finds her seat that it even occurs to her that she'll be sitting next to him for the next two and half hours. From the way he's grinning at her, though, she's fairly certain it had occurred to him.
"Do you always vanish so quickly after doing people favors?" he asks. "I didn't even get to thank you."
Meg shrugs, a little. "You don't need to . . ."
"Yes, I do. My brother, Luc, is in this play," he says. "And I promised I would--"
Meg smiles without really meaning to, and cuts him off. "Yes, I heard," she says. She doesn't add that she thinks the whole lobby heard, and probably people passing outside the building.
He smiles back. "You've saved me from being yelled at my older brother. And he yells theatrically and dramatically. I'm in your debt." He holds out his hand. "Alain Gagné."
"Meghan Ford," she says, shaking his hand. "Meg."
"Meg. It's very nice to meet you."
Alain keeps hold of her hand just a moment longer than she expects him to, not quite too long, but long enough to make it clear he's not just interested in thanking her for a play ticket.
"Um," Meg says, looking for something to say, once he's let go of her hand, "who is your brother playing?"
"Damis," he says. "Have you seen the play before?"
"Only in English."
From the look she gets in response, Meg would be willing to bet that Luc is not the only Gagné with a flair for the dramatic. "That doesn't count. It's worse than not having seen it at all. It's like only having seen Hamlet in French."
Alain is surprisingly easy to talk to, for all that Meg occasionally has to reach for French vocabulary that she doesn't often use. She's almost sorry when the play starts.
(The play is good, and though Meg doesn't come close to catching every word, she'll concede that it's better in French.)
He's helping her with her coat, after the play's over, when he says, "A group of us are going to meet up for a drink at a place a few blocks from here. Luc, a couple of the other actors, some friends. It's very casual. Very informal. Would you like to come? Please?"
"I'd like that, thank you, yes," Meg says.
She never does get everyone's name straight (this is not helped at all by the fact that Alain's idea of an introduction is "Meg, everyone; everyone, Meg"). She doesn't contribute much to the conversation (put Meg in a group of people who are aggressively extroverted, and that happens, even when there's not a slight language barrier, and especially when they all already know each other). But she has a good time, she's a good audience for a lot of good storytellers, and they're kind and welcoming if slightly overwhelming.
It's late, far later than she meant to let it get, when Meg makes her apologies and says she really does need to get back to campus. Alain, not entirely unexpectedly, walks out with her.
"You have to let me call you a taxi, Meg."
"I can just take the metro. It's no trouble."
"At this hour? Alone? No."
"I'll be fine," she starts to say, and that is when he kisses her.
It's not a careful or hesitant or tentative kiss.
It's a really good kiss.
"I insist," Alain says, and Meg nods. "Good," he says, and kisses her again.
"Can I call you?" he asks, trying to get the attention of one of the passing cabs.
"You can," Meg says, writing the number on the back of the ticket stub he hands her. You better, she thinks.
He kisses her one last time, just before she gets in the taxi he hailed, and then gives the driver $20 and asks him to take her back to McGill.
The driver looks in the rear view mirror at his flushed and smiling passenger. "Having a good evening, mademoiselle?" he asks, cheerfully.
"Very," Meg says, "thank you."
And it didn't even require any broken bones.
This was Carrie's idea.
Of course, when Carrie had the idea, she had not factored in the rather virulent food poisoning she has come down with.
But she insisted Meg go anyway, and Meg suspects that's as much about wanting privacy and a chance to properly rest as it is about wanting Meg to go out, so Meg asks the floor fellow to check on her roommate once or twice, and goes.
To see Tartuffe. In French. At the Université de Montréal.
She gets there early (Meg is always early) and the lobby is mostly empty, the doors won't open for a while yet. Meg finds a seat on a bench and waits.
There aren't a lot of early arrivals, and Meg mostly ignores and is ignored by them, beyond a smile and a nod or an exchanged Bon soir.
But there is one young man it's pretty hard to ignore. Tall, with dark hair and a black leather jacket. Handsome, from what Meg can see. And arguing, animatedly, and loudly, with the student at the box office. It's impossible not to listen, though Meg makes a half-hearted effort to. His ticket, it seems, was for last night's performance. His brother is one of the actors, and he promised he would come. This is the last show. And tonight's performance is sold out. The girl in the box office is very sorry, but there's nothing she can do. Repeat.
Finally, Meg gets up and goes over.
"I'm sorry, I don't mean to interrupt, but I have an . . ." she trails off, unable to remember the French word for extra. "My friend is sick, I have two tickets and I only need one. If you would like the other, you can have it."
He gives the student in the box office a ha! sort of look and turns his attention to Meg. "Yes, please. Can I pay you for it?"
"No, there's no . . . I'm glad someone can use it."
She hands it to him and goes back to her bench.
It's not until the doors open and she finds her seat that it even occurs to her that she'll be sitting next to him for the next two and half hours. From the way he's grinning at her, though, she's fairly certain it had occurred to him.
"Do you always vanish so quickly after doing people favors?" he asks. "I didn't even get to thank you."
Meg shrugs, a little. "You don't need to . . ."
"Yes, I do. My brother, Luc, is in this play," he says. "And I promised I would--"
Meg smiles without really meaning to, and cuts him off. "Yes, I heard," she says. She doesn't add that she thinks the whole lobby heard, and probably people passing outside the building.
He smiles back. "You've saved me from being yelled at my older brother. And he yells theatrically and dramatically. I'm in your debt." He holds out his hand. "Alain Gagné."
"Meghan Ford," she says, shaking his hand. "Meg."
"Meg. It's very nice to meet you."
Alain keeps hold of her hand just a moment longer than she expects him to, not quite too long, but long enough to make it clear he's not just interested in thanking her for a play ticket.
"Um," Meg says, looking for something to say, once he's let go of her hand, "who is your brother playing?"
"Damis," he says. "Have you seen the play before?"
"Only in English."
From the look she gets in response, Meg would be willing to bet that Luc is not the only Gagné with a flair for the dramatic. "That doesn't count. It's worse than not having seen it at all. It's like only having seen Hamlet in French."
Alain is surprisingly easy to talk to, for all that Meg occasionally has to reach for French vocabulary that she doesn't often use. She's almost sorry when the play starts.
(The play is good, and though Meg doesn't come close to catching every word, she'll concede that it's better in French.)
He's helping her with her coat, after the play's over, when he says, "A group of us are going to meet up for a drink at a place a few blocks from here. Luc, a couple of the other actors, some friends. It's very casual. Very informal. Would you like to come? Please?"
"I'd like that, thank you, yes," Meg says.
She never does get everyone's name straight (this is not helped at all by the fact that Alain's idea of an introduction is "Meg, everyone; everyone, Meg"). She doesn't contribute much to the conversation (put Meg in a group of people who are aggressively extroverted, and that happens, even when there's not a slight language barrier, and especially when they all already know each other). But she has a good time, she's a good audience for a lot of good storytellers, and they're kind and welcoming if slightly overwhelming.
It's late, far later than she meant to let it get, when Meg makes her apologies and says she really does need to get back to campus. Alain, not entirely unexpectedly, walks out with her.
"You have to let me call you a taxi, Meg."
"I can just take the metro. It's no trouble."
"At this hour? Alone? No."
"I'll be fine," she starts to say, and that is when he kisses her.
It's not a careful or hesitant or tentative kiss.
It's a really good kiss.
"I insist," Alain says, and Meg nods. "Good," he says, and kisses her again.
"Can I call you?" he asks, trying to get the attention of one of the passing cabs.
"You can," Meg says, writing the number on the back of the ticket stub he hands her. You better, she thinks.
He kisses her one last time, just before she gets in the taxi he hailed, and then gives the driver $20 and asks him to take her back to McGill.
The driver looks in the rear view mirror at his flushed and smiling passenger. "Having a good evening, mademoiselle?" he asks, cheerfully.
"Very," Meg says, "thank you."
And it didn't even require any broken bones.
