strangetrip | [GP] Shoot that poison arrow

None of the guests noticed when the spiky-haired man-child in jeans and purple t-shirt, wrists wrapped in cheap leather and metal bracelets, arrived at the Madonna Inn a few hours before midnight on February 13. That, in itself, wasn't all that surprising. Eros, otherwise known as Danny Valentine, had millennia of experience doing his job without being spotted.

What was surprising was that the dude at the front desk did see him. Tall and Nondescript waved him over and then gave him a room number 'in case you wanted to rest'. But Danny didn't.

Want to, or rest. He spent the time before the clock struck midnight polishing his love gun. Not like that. He'd find a girl to spend his nameday with. He always did. No, this little beauty was made by Hephaestus himself. It shot love darts that disappeared on contact.

At midnight, kitted out with more love darts than there were people in this pink and gold monstrosity, Danny left his room and shot the first person he saw--and didn't wait to see what would happen.

No point getting a slow start. He had a lot of work to do.

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"Well, I suppose I'll just have to get on learning French then," he said. It was different this time. The feeling was still there, coming over him less like a great wave this time and more like a slowly rising tide. The focus of his world was slowly narrowing to just the woman in front of him. Not like before. Before, it'd practically grabbed him by the throat and demanded he listen to it. He was sure the demand would be back again. He tried to make mental notes for later.

There was no one else around. This woman hadn't been around before so it couldn't be her. He hadn't consumed anything at all since then and-

"Henry," he said, gesturing a little to himself. His smile grew a little lopsided, a little more charming as he got lost in the blue of her eyes.

Just the thought of her beloved husband should've drawn Constance up short, wondering what she was doing. But the influence of Cupid's power was too strong, carrying her along with it, towards this man she didn't know beyond a name and endearing expression.

"Constance," she offered in return, tracing the curve of that lopsided smile with her thumb. Inconstant Constance in this moment, and she bit her bottom lip. Could she be so bold as to take what she wanted?

"Constance," he repeated. He had to learn French. Even just enough to tell her how lovely she was, how he could lose himself in those little gestures for days if the world let him. He turned his head to kiss the heel of her hand, his own coming up to rest on her hip. One more little hint of a mutual attraction was going to be all he needed to pull her into his lap, he swore.

Not thinking, not that Constance could think, her impulses overtook her and Constance leaned in and kissed him, with more heat than she'd shown anyone except D'Artagnan. Her lips touched his, and it was rain on parched earth, spark to a wick, and she couldn't understand why she'd waited so long when they could have this.

That was more than what he was expecting. She couldn't've been more clear about her desires if she'd prepared a twenty minute speech about them. He pulled her gently into his lap, not wanting either of them to strain as they kissed. A neck cramp tended to suck the enjoyment right out of everything.

Like a shock, Constance found herself in the lap of a man who was very very much not her D'Artagnan, and kissing him! She pushed back, palms flat against his chest and more force than some would expect. Her eyes were wide, mouth dropping open in shock before it shifted to embarrassment and shame, headed towards mortified.

She rose to her feet, words spilling from her so quickly many Parisians might have had trouble keeping up. Then she stopped, the familiar frustration coming through. "Je vous demande pardon, Henri." It wasn't his fault. But he wouldn't understand why she was so upset either, so she touched her chest lightly. "Madame Constance D'Artagnan."

If anyone all day had an appropriate reaction to all of this, it was Constance. Henry was sure of it. He wasn't sure he totally understood her. She demanded pardon from him? An apology? Well, yes, he absolutely did owe her an apology. He was sure by the end of the day, he would owe a great many apologies. Letters would be in order.

He shook his head and cleared his throat, obviously recentering himself from what had come over both of them.

He was getting mighty sick of all this.

Earnestly, he held her gaze and lifted his left hand, gesturing as best he could to his wedding ring. "Mr. Henry Winchester." Had she met the boys? Perhaps. That would probably make things only more confusing.

Constance was the one apologizing. She had no idea what had come over her, but Henry had only responded to her advances as any man might, even a married one. Although if D'Artagnan had responded so to another woman throwing herself at him, now he was married to Constance, both of them would've felt the lash of her temper. But D'Artagnan wasn't here, and it was Constance who had been unfaithful. She counted herself lucky she'd come back to her senses before she further shamed herself.

She knew it had been just as wrong, her vows just as broken, kissing D'Artagnan and allowing him to kiss her, both of them falling in love, while she was married to Bonacieux, but betraying her heart and love felt like a worse sin.

"Je suis profondement désolée," she began again, before words failed her and Constance turned and ran, gripping her skirts in tight fists as she lifted the hem barely enough not to trip.

Henry frowned as he watched her flee. He didn't have the language skills to be able to tell her that this wasn't her fault. He didn't think it would soothe her distress much. It certainly didn't assuage his own guilt. Still, he had more sense than to go after her. Even if they did share a common tongue, he knew it'd be a terrible thing to go trying to comfort someone when he'd indirectly caused distress of this sort in the first place.

He swallowed uncomfortably, picking up his notebook again. This time with the intent to attempt come up with a way to make amends that wouldn't require language at all.

[GP] Shoot that poison arrow

Re: Henry Winchester - Done Been Zapped (or rather will be zapped again) - OTA

Re: Henry Winchester - Done Been Zapped (or rather will be zapped again) - OTA

Re: Henry Winchester - Done Been Zapped (or rather will be zapped again) - OTA

Re: Henry Winchester - Done Been Zapped (or rather will be zapped again) - OTA

Re: Henry Winchester - Done Been Zapped (or rather will be zapped again) - OTA

Re: Henry Winchester - Done Been Zapped (or rather will be zapped again) - OTA

Re: Henry Winchester - Done Been Zapped (or rather will be zapped again) - OTA

Re: Henry Winchester - Done Been Zapped (or rather will be zapped again) - OTA

Re: Henry Winchester - Done Been Zapped (or rather will be zapped again) - OTA