A Business Arrangement, <Vesper>

Thalia hadn’t been planning on taking any more clients, really. But Vesper had called in a favour (and she still does owe Vesper many favours from the years she’s worked with and for her). Vesper said that she really thinks that Thalia will be a good match for the man who is in her office right now.

It couldn’t hurt, she supposes. It’s not a sure thing he’ll take her, and if he does, well, she could wait and see how it goes.

Like always, she dresses nice, her own type of class and her fondness for designer robes apparent. They’re a brown silk that falls perfectly across her, cinched in at the waist enough to flatter and falling to just above the knees. Skin coloured stockings and matching heels to show off her calves, and her hair is pulled back just enough to show off the graceful length of her neck. Gold hoops look good with the brown of the robes and her hair.

“Hello,” she says, entering the room. “I’m Thalia, Thalia Sabine. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mister …” She knows his name, recognizes him, but it’s better not to let on to such things.

Vincent thought that Linda was beautiful, charming, and despite the artificiality of the environment they talk inconsequentially for a while, and she's engaging. She led the conversation, which was also fine by Vincent, because his level of tolerance for small-talk is remarkably low these days.

What makes a woman like that chose such a profession, he does wonder, though. Perhaps it's just that the money is so much better than assistant at Flourish and Blotts. Perhaps it is the glamour of the lifestyles they step into. He's sure that half of these women do not wear their true faces, in whole or in part. It's difficult to judge, really. And he realises a moment later that THAT is the point: these women are not supposed to be down-to-earth and real; they are entertainers, fakes, and very good at what they do.

"Merci, Linda," he says as she turns to leave. She didn't leave him shaking with suppressed lust, but she was passable, and he feels a little more confident about meeting with the rest of them now.

But that thought is lost when Thalia walks in the door. She's a lot shorter than the women who have preceded her. If Elena and Vesper and Linda were Amazon-type women, Thalia was willowy and lithe. His reaction is rather surprising, a visceral jolt, his mouth goes a little dry.

Perhaps it is the way she is dressed in beautiful designer robes which have an Italian or French flair, or perhaps it is her lips, but he feels an instinctive nod that voices its approval.

Her perfume floats on the air, more subtle and warm than the courtesans before her. Stacey had worn something raw and spicy, a little too strong, and Lana's flowery scent still made his nose itch at the remembrance.

"Vincent Clare," he says. "It is a pleasure to meet you also, Thalia." He gestures for her to sit. "One of the Muses," he says with a little hint of a smile as he sits. Home schooled, Vincent had chosen topics of interest. Mythology, for some odd reason, had fascinated him.

He’s more handsome than she remembered him being, and there’s some gray just coming in that makes him look distinguished. How come men always looked distinguished like that when they got older, and women just got lines and had to work harder? Not that she’s complaining – so much nicer to have a man that looks like this than some of the ones that come in.

She sits and crosses her legs, smoothing her robes down like a lady of society really would. Her green eyes light up when he makes the connection. “Yes,” she says. “Or from the Grace of the same name, but they overlap so much in mythology they’re about indistinguishable.”

She cups the smooth line of her jaw in her palm and looks at him with genuine interest. “So you’re a fan of mythology, then?” she asks him. “Just Greek or any of the others? I'm partial to the Greek and Roman, personally.”

Thalia had chosen her working name with great care. At the time, money had been desperate and she had had little choice in joining this profession – it had been turn a trick or starve, practically, as the war had been at its very worst. Almost immediately she’d been noticed, though, and pulled off the streets with two of her best friends.

They had been the Three Graces, they’d decided – Agalaea, Euphrosyne (Eupha), and Thalia. She is the only one of them left now.

It has been a long time since he's just had a straight-forward discussion about something other than how he is doing, is he OK, how is Bastien, how much does he want to sell this or that for. So to have this woman talk of something he knows of, enjoyed in the past, something that isn't urgent, is refreshing.

"Yes," he agrees with her assessment. "I suppose it would depend on how many sisters you would prefer." The Muses are nine, the Graces three. "Although I think the Graces are depicted in art so beautifully."

His lips quirk with momentary amusement. "I have always preferred Bottichelli's version... more clothes." Most artists loved to draw them naked. Although seeing this version of Thalia naked is not such a bad idea, he thinks.

Vincent lifts a shoulder in an elegant shrug. "You could say that, oui," he agrees. It had been better than the alternative of History of Magic. He'd bribed his tutor to do something more interesting than Goblin wars.

He nods. "Mostly Greek and Roman... some Norse as well, some Shinto, some Egyptian also."

“And that would depend upon how well said sisters got along,” she says with a quick smile and a soft laugh. “And, perhaps, how many bathrooms there are in a house.” The sheer practicality of the thought coupled with the tone she delivers it in makes it funny, at least to her.

She smiles. “Well, many of the goddesses and such are woefully underclothed, but compared to the depictions of the Muses, they’re practically scandalous much of the time.” For some reason, the artists of the time and after had preferred the less clothing, the better, most of the time. “I agree, I’ve always liked Bottichelli’s version. I’ve always been rather fond of his Coronation of Madonna, actually … something about her face is just so beautiful.”

She tucks a hair behind her ear. “I’m familiar with a little Norse, but none fo those others.” Egyptian sounded terribly fascinating if absurdly complicated in some ways. All of those different heads and everything!

“Have you ever been to a real Greek drama?” she asks. “I’ve heard they still do them sometimes in Greece as part of certain festivals. I keep meaning to actually go to one someday, but those Greeks are so cagey about some things, you know?” Sly and secretive on occasion.

“Which of the pantheon of gods and goddesses is your favourite?” she asks curiously, hoping to draw him out a little more. People like to talk about themselves, and with a few questions and quiet prompts, one can set them in some comfort and get them to talk with ease without being apparent with what they are doing.

Vincent chuckles softly; she has a quick wit and a smooth and clever sense of humour. "I would hope that goddesses would merit their own bathrooms," he says with a shrug and a quirk of lips.

Vincent doesn't know why he's a little surprised that Thalia knows about art and culture. He shouldn't be surprised, he supposes; she makes her living talking such niceties, amoung other things.

He nods. "Well this is a popular subject in Christian art," he says. "But I think he has done it beautifully, oui. I have not seen this personally, though." Vincent cannot remember which church the panel was painted for, if he's honest.

Vincent shakes his head. "Non, I have not... I do not have that many ties to Greece." His father thought they were a bunch of oily sharks and had kept his business to western Europe when Vincent was growing up. He smiles ironically. "I think you have to be 'in' with the family."

Vincent rubbed his lower lip with his thumb as he frowned and considered. That was a difficult question to think on--it had been a long time since he'd indulged his fondness for myth. Yes, he'd named his and Elena's owl, Zeus, but that had been the extent of it, really.

He raises his eyebrows and shrugs. "From the Greeks... Dionysus... he did give the Midas touch, oui?" He's not being entirely serious, but his answer does amuse him to some extent. "Do you have a favourite?" he asks.

“One would hope, but with such a large family,” she says, spreading her hands wide in a gesture of ‘hey, who knows.’ “Zeus was not always ready to grant concessions, after all.”

Her lips curve up gently. “It is very beautiful. I saw it once, a very long time ago. It was worth the trip. Though I have no fondness for the church, and the church has no fondness for me,” being a witch and a courtesan, “I must admit that their teachings have resulted in some of the most beautiful artwork in the world. Well, more modern artwork,” she qualifies, being rather fond of some of the older things as well.

“Hmm, yes,” she says, and sighs, her lips pouting just slightly. “Shame. Perhaps I’ll simple stumble over one someday.” Greeks are rather … tight-knit. Outsiders aren’t very welcome, and they’ll take you for all you have, or so she’s heard.

“God the vine,” she says. “A good choice. Followed by many through the years, he was.” Nymphs and dryads, fauns and others. Men and women. She hmms and taps a thoughtful finger against her full lower lip.

“I would think Hermes,” she says after a moment of consideration. “I’ve always rather liked the story of his birth – everything he did when he was only a day old. And he always seemed to know just how to have fun.” A bit of a trickster god, but also the protector of travelers, he is a mixture of good and bad. “Besides, he has those clever little winged shoes. Neat bit of magic, those.”

He watches her lips curve into a smile. She has lips that a man could have very interesting dreams about. There's something utterly finished and glossy about her beauty--he's sure it's a glamour, because she's almost too perfect, too sexy--but she is sensual and alluring all the same.

Vincent smiles. "True enough," he concedes. He has little place for the church and its teachings in his life, and any affinity or gratitude he might have had to God has been eroded, battered irreparably, he feels.

"I have not had much time since I have returned to England, but the National Gallery is one of my favourites," he admits. The magical art wing is spectacular, visible only to magicals, but Vincent actually prefers the pictures that do not move. "Next to the Louvre, of course," he says, being typically French and thinking anything French is better.

Vincent raises an eyebrow slightly; he has the feeling that, like he had been, she is being slightly ironic. Hermes, he remembers, is the god of travel and thieves, yes, but also of commerce. "He was just being a show-off," Vincent argues, flicking his fingers.

Vincent is surprised to find, that in the exchange of casual conversation, he has relaxed minutely. When last did he talk of art, or architecture? On his last building project with Master Janus and Miles about the portal art... with the architect about the building, for sure, but not about buildings in general. When last had he just indulged in his interests?

She’s aware he’s watching her, and the various parts of her. But she doesn’t show it in the least, relaxed and casual in simple conversation. It’s actually quite enjoyable for her – she’s always enjoyed art quite a bit, and mythology, obviously enough.

“I haven’t been there in a year or so at least. They didn’t host any of the big charity events there this year, I was so disappointed. It’s one of the few things that make such things halfway entertaining. You get to walk around and look at all the artwork.” The speeches at those things could get dreadfully longwinded, truly.

She chuckles appreciatively. “The Louvre is singularly spectacular, yes,” she agrees, her pronunciation of the place name flawlessly accurate. She apprenticed in France for a good three plus years, and her family had some roots there, so she’d spoken French much of her life, though she doesn’t let on.

“But he was a terribly clever show-off,” she counters. “He’s also the god of eloquence, in part because of the argument he gave Apollo when he accused Hermes of stealing his cattle. He didn’t get in trouble for that.” And a smooth tongue is always admired by a Slytherin, which she had been in school.

Since she’s been in the room, the line of his shoulders had relaxed marginally. He was so tense, though somehow, that seemed like a very French thing – they only seemed to come in two ways, tense and extremely relaxed.

A soft chime sounded and Thalia looks regretful. “That’s my time, I’m afraid,” she tells him. “If I stay any longer, one of the others might accuse me of stealing time.” She rises gracefully and extends her hand. “It was truly a pleasure to meet you, Vincent.” She pronounces his name with the same correctness she had used with the Louvre earlier.

He smiles wryly and has to agree with her assessment, although her light comment does remind him that she'd have been an escort on the arm of some man like himself, some man who has paid for her company.

"The Ministry here does seem to like their own premises, oui, which is a pity," he says with a nod. "And I believe that the Muggle Prime Minister is not so fond of magical society as to welcome or encourage cross societal events to a large degree. Understandable." He twists his ring again, frowns slightly.

He does smile for a brief moment when she hits the pronunciation accurately; he's appreciative of anybody in England who does not butcher the lyrical language with a blunt knife. "There has been an increase in interest of late--The Da Vinci Code, I believe." A Muggle book with some interesting--if historically stretched--premises.

Vincent looks mildly amused. Then Hermes should have been the God of Slytherin, he thinks. "Hermes would have made a fine lawyer, oui," he comments. He tried to recall how they'd meandered down this discussion, for it was a little surreal to be discussion Greek Gods with a woman whom he might hire for company. Blaise would be in hysterics. Which reminds him... He's still annoyed with Blaise. Yes.

The chime has sounded before, but Vincent can't say he'd felt anything but relief with each of the previous women... relief to escape what wasn't a comfortable experience in the least. He falls for her flattery and smiles when she implies that the other women would be fighting for time with him, although he vaguely sees it for the flattery it is.

"Merci, and it was a pleasure to meet you also, Thalia," he says. He shakes her hand, and as she walks to the door, he can't be blamed for watching the sway of her hips.

She’s not always on someone’s arm, though perhaps it is an intelligent assumption to make. It is something she reminds herself, once again, to not mention, though it’s hard, considering that lamost all of her social obligations in the past ten years involve her job, at least in part. This hasn’t stopped her from making her own connections separate from the requirements of her job.

“Yes, it is understandable, even if it is saddening in some respects. Though if the Magical Ministry would only pick better locations for their functions. Instead of bland and colourless locales. It’s an offense to the eyes.” She has a feeling he will know exactly what she is talking about, and that perhaps he shares the same ‘snobbery.’

“I’ve heard of the book, but it’s still on my list of to-reads. I’m afraid this other author hopped over it with her new book release.” Very good book, she thought. She’d enjoyed it immensely.

It’s flattery of a sort, yes, but what he doesn’t know is that it’s also true in a sense. Most of the girls got along well, but there is still an element of competition between them sometimes, especially for good looking, deep pocketed clients.

She feels a little jolt warmth, that tiny single of genuine physical attraction, when they touch. It pleases her, and part of her sort of hopes he might decide she is a good choice, though she really shouldn’t take on more clients. But still, she thinks this might be a good time on top of the money.

Vesper enters again when Thalia leaves; she makes a habit of it after five girls. “I am simply checking in, monsieur, to see if you wish to come to a decision now, or if I should send in another five women for you to meet?”

"I have not read it either," he tells her. He's not really a big reader... not for leisure, at least, although he has started to include some children's stories to his reading list, mostly picture books for now.

Vincent feels the tug of chemistry also, in addition to finding her attractive. He thinks it's such a pity that he cannot meet and talk so easily with such a woman in a book store, the coffee shop (when he's not busy shouting at little blonde bitches).

It's just supposed to be easier this way. The confidentiality document he will sign are also something he'd never get with a casual lover, he thinks with no small amount of irony.

Merde, no! Vincent thinks. He's tired, although he has done no exercise. He's just... tired. Making small talk has never been so tedious, even at the most laborious of society parties. At least he can be rude to Gabrielle and still grab a glass of champagne there.

"No, please, come in, Madam," he says. He rubs his temple briefly. "You have some beautiful and charming employees," he tells her. OK, so his gracious charm hasn't entirely all rubbed off.

"I have met the woman I would like to spend more time with, oui. I have found Thalia most charming." Master of subtlety today, Vincent thinks wryly. Blaise would be proud.

Much of Simone’s down time is spent in her own place reading – or at least, it had been until whoever it was broke into her place. Now she has to make do with the small set of rooms she has here, and it’s just not the same. It’s not HERS.

Vesper smiles at him. She’s a kind woman, deep down, and can’t help but sympathize with whatever he’s going through. Sometimes her ‘employees’ are a good balm, but sometimes they’re not. She hopes someone can help.

She thanks him for the compliment, for it is quite true, she does. But when he makes a decision, her smile broadens. “Thalia is a wonderful choice.” One of her top girls, but more than that, a friend.

She picks up the contract from the table and taps it with her wand, and automatically all pertinent information for her end fills out. “Feel free to take your time to look it over. If at any time you wish to change your mind, simply inform me. And once it’s signed, you can contact Thalia by owl to make arrangements.” Or he could request to speak with her before he left, either or. By drawing up the contract, Vesper had notified Jeremy of the choice and Jeremy in turn would notify the others.

Vincent can tell that Vesper is pleased with his decision; he idly wonders why as he fills in the information required by the form using a slim metal pen extracted from his jacket pocket. He used to use a heavy fountain pen, given to him by Elena, but it lies in its box now, within another box in the storage closet.

“Merci,” he murmurs, suppressing a sigh. He has money enough to buy whatever he wants in life; why should this be any different; why does it make him feel more heavy-hearted than ever? He completes the paperwork, and the ink shimmers with magic as he signs it, and then he slides his pen back into his pocket.

“Thank you for your time, Madam,” he says, extending his hand. She’s been the epitome of subtle, and he appreciates that.

But he’s very ready to leave now. He’s had a bad week: public humiliation in the coffee shop and now private humility here.

He’s quite ready to go home and sulk.

She waits with quiet serenity while he fills in the paperwork. It’s a quality she’s worked on a lot over the years, and one she urges her girls to learn. Thalia was one of her more gifted students, which is part of what makes her popular – she keeps her calm and even calms others just by being there and being herself.

“Thank you, Monsieur. Do have a wonderful day.” She shook his hand and smiled at him, rising to show him to her door; Jeremy would take him there to the exit. She had the distinct feeling she was making him uncomfortable and so wouldn’t inflict him with her presence.

Jeremy stands from his desk, which is almost rigidly neat except for the few papers spread across the main part, whatever he’d been working on while Vesper was busy. He bid Vincent a polite good day and faded back into the woodwork.