Chapter Text
Tarvek woke up to the terrifying sensation of not knowing where he was. He forced himself to keep from panicking and instead feign sleep while he took in his bearings. Tarvek breathed slowly and focused. He was on a couch, fully dressed, and not tied to anything. Which was an improvement over a lot of the situations he’d woken up in over the years. There was also a blanket over him, which suggested that though this wasn’t Tarvek’s couch it was perhaps one he’d chosen to fall asleep on. Carefully, he opened his eyes.
The room around him was blurry, but it seemed familiar. It was also empty. Light streamed in from a window, telling him it was daytime. There were also the forms of chairs and a table and some bookshelves. He was in a sitting room then. He located his glasses on the table and put them on. With clear vision he recognized where he was. This was Colette’s sitting room. The previous day came back to him. Grandmother’s ultimatum, the smoke knights on his tail, and finally hiding in the Voltaire Chateau. He groaned at the memory, his plans had been thrown into disarray.
First things first though, Tarvek needed to stay alive. Plans were worth nothing if you were too dead to see them through. For that he’d need Colette. He’d also need to engage the services of a bodyguard. Tricky business to find someone who could stand up to a smoke knight. Tarvek’s thoughts flickered briefly to Gil’s pirate. He shook the thought away, asking Dupree for help was a very bad idea. She would, but whatever she’d want in exchange was probably worse than ending up dead. Perhaps Colette would know of someone appropriate.
With that thought Tarvek hauled himself to his feet. He picked the blanket up. He hadn’t bothered with one when he went to sleep, which meant Colette knew he was here. He made his way over to the door that lead into Colette’s bedroom and knocked. There was no response. Tarvek knocked again, louder, but still there was no answer. Hesitatingly he turned the knob it was unlocked, he pressed the door slightly inwards.
“Colette?” Tarvek called.
When there was again no answer he opened the door the rest of the way. The room was empty of Colette, the light streaming in from the window revealed that the bed was made. Colette was awake then and elsewhere. Tarvek dug his watch out of his waistcoat and checked the time. It was half past eight. A late morning for Tarvek, but not so late as to be lazy. Colette was probably still in the Chateau somewhere. Well, she knew where he was if she needed him. Tarvek made a beeline for Colette’s bath, the door of which stood open.
Tarvek took a bath and even found that Colette had set out a toothbrush for him. Clean and refreshed, Tarvek was remembering all the reasons he had to not simply let himself get killed and spare everyone the trouble. He combed his hair, but Colette’s range of hair products were wholly unsuitable for his purposes. Tarvek shuffled through them twice, to no avail. His hair then frizzed determinedly the more he combed it. Eventually he gave up and tied it into his signature ponytail.
It bothered Tarvek to appear anything less than immaculate. Not only because it undermined his fop persona which was a quintessential part of making himself appear docile, but because it had become a sort of armor against the world. Tarvek left plenty of openings and avenues of attack for the gossipers and backstabbers of the ton. His appearance and dress though had always been beyond approach. They might criticize his idleness, his politics or his taste in theater, but they could not criticize his coats. It was a point of pride. Beggars couldn’t be choosers. Tarvek would have to live with his frizzy hair and rumpled clothes, at least it meant he would live.
Reluctantly Tarvek dragged himself out of Colette’s bathroom. Only to come upon the lady herself. Colette was half dressed in petticoats and corset. A pair of practical canvas trousers peeking out from beneath the petticoats. She seemed completely unbothered to have Tarvek walking in on her half dressed. Tarvek did not share her stociness and felt his face flush as he turned abruptly around. Colette just laughed at him.
“Really, cherie it is only me.”
“You are a lady in dishabille.” Tarvek retorted.
“Ever the gentleman.” Colette laughed.
There was some rustling while Tarvek resolutely stared at the wall. In truth he understood why Colette was unbothered, she had been more covered then some of her adventuring outfits left her. Still there was something about the idea that certain items of clothing weren’t meant to be seen, that made seeing them seem wrong. Though it was nice that Colette was comfortable enough with him not to be angered by the intrusion. Tarvek had climbed in her window and fallen asleep on her settee without so much as a ‘by your leave’. He knew Anveka would be furious if she caught him asleep in her sitting room, though that perhaps had more to do with the fact that he had his own bed just a few doors away.
“I am decent.” There was more laughter in Colette’s voice.
Tarvek turned back around. Sure enough Colette was dressed in a light green dress. It was a very nice day dress, the kind one might wear for a walk in the park with a suitor. Colette was no fashionista, but she did pay enough attention to fashion that she would not waste such a dress simply for attending class. It made Tarvek suspicious. He eyed the darker green embroidery that swirled across the skirts of the dress in a parody of circuitry. Well, he’d find out what the dress was for soon enough.
“I apologize for imposing upon your hospitality without warning.”
“You are always welcome in my home.” Colette assured him.
Tarvek smiled relieved, “I need your help, Cherie.”
It took twenty minutes and a plate piled with pain au chocolat and two pots of coffee to explain the situation to Colette. Tarvek had to start at the beginning, because all of Colette’s information she’d gathered second hand and it wasn’t worth sorting through what information of hers was accurate and what wasn’t. So he explained, even the minute details of the actual attacks in the hopes they might contain some clue as to who the attacker was. Tarvek did play down his own involvement in a few of the assassination attempts, he trusted Colette but she was also friends with Seffie. Tarvek liked Seffie, but he didn’t trust her.
When he finished Colette was scowling. Tarvek was honestly a little terrified of the expression. He was thankful that Colette’s anger was on his behalf, rather than directed at him. Colette looked like she was plotting the most efficient way to burn the entire city to the ground. Tarvek really hoped she had a better solution than that. He liked Paris. Tarvek watched Colette warily in silence as the scowled morphed into frustration then concentrated focus. Then with a growing horror he watched as it transformed into delight. Colette looked at him with a delight similar to that Anveka had had when she’d promised she could fix his eyesight. Tarvek swallowed hard.
“I have a plan!” said Colette before surging to her feet.
Tarvek stood slower, as Colette rushed across the room and into her closet. Tarvek followed more hesitatingly across the floor, and approached the entrance to the closet. He had a flash of memory of Gil’s hands wrapped around his as they were pressed close to each other inside a closet. Gil had been about to say something, Tarvek still wondered what it had been. He was pulled from his musings by Colette flinging a pile of cloth at his face. Tarvek closed his eyes and let it impact him, before grabbing at it.
“What the-” he spluttered examining the pile of cloth then he realized what it was and his annoyed spluttering cut off, “This is a petticoat.”
“Yes, you should be wearing at least three.” Colette said and two more white starched and ruffled skirts were flung at him.
“What?” Tarvek said even though he already knew the answer.
Colette ignored him instead a corset was flung at Tarvek’s face. His hands full of petticoats Tarvek let it hit him in the face before plopping it atop the pile. It was actually a rather nice corset, with whalebone ribbing and lace accents. Tarvek admired it as Colette grumbled to herself in an incomprehensible mix of languages picking through her closet. Then she emerged empty handed.
“Your shoulders are too big, and frankly you’re too tall. I’m going to have to borrow a dress from someone else.”
That would be suspicious. Tarvek spent a moment dithering. He really rather didn’t want to mention this to anyone, and certainly not to someone who’s opinion actually mattered. But the more people who figured out what they were up to the more openings for people finding out, the higher the probability Tarvek would end up with a knife in the back. He sighed and set the pile of cloth down on a chair.
“Colette.” he said as she was about to exit the room.
“If you have a better plan, I’m happy to hear it. But if you don’t, I don’t want unnecessary whining.” Colette had her hands on her hips and that stubborn expression on her face that made the Master of Paris back down.
“I do actually.” Tarvek said taking off his glasses to clean them, “There’s an apartment in the 5th Appellate, I have a, well, a rather more appropriate outfit there.”
Tarvek put his glasses back on and hesitatingly met Colette’s gaze. She smiled softly at him, “Alright give me the address.”
Gil carefully guided Zola down the street. The poor girl was half asleep, and her pretty yellow dress was in pieces. She had Gil’s coat wrapped firmly around her to cover up the rather more unfortunate missing pieces of said dress. She was also still damp. It had been a rather trying week, and for once it hadn’t been Zola’s fault. Gil had had the empty hope that the job at the opera house would help settle Zola down a bit, instead she’d ended up with a creepy stalker who had some rather creative uses for stage effects.
Now it was practically noon and Zola was exhausted. Gil was annoyed, but for once not with her. He was annoyed with the staff of the opera house who hadn’t noticed the spark living in their basement. They had also ignored Zola’s initial complaints about the stalker, which had allowed things to escalate to the point that had involved Gil dueling the fellow to death and Zola trapped in a flooding room of a death trap. Gil had caught the man in the midst of attempting to assault Zola, who had been putting up a rather good fight. He wished Bang hadn’t been recalled to the Castle, she would’ve had a suitably creative and painful death for the creep. For now though all there was to do was see Zola home and safe.
Zola lived in one of those parts of Paris that was filled with artists. The kind who made steady livings, but would never be respectable. It was one of Gil’s preferred parts of the city, there were all sorts of interesting people here. Not quite as interesting as those who lived near the university, as there were almost no sparks her, but interesting in their varied lives. It was precisely the part of town that made Tarvek crinkle his nose and scoff. Though, Gil had run into him on the edges of it a surprising amount, for someone who thought it was a scandalous part of town to be in.
Gil pondered that curiosity for a bit. It was certainly better than thinking about more creative ways to have killed Zola’s stalker. He suspected that secretly, this was precisely the kind of place Tarvek wanted to be. He was overly fond of Opera, and the more modern musical movements. If Tarvek wasn’t quite so prissy, or maybe if he was a couple rungs lower on the aristocratic ladder, he might be right here alongside Gil rubbing elbows with the lifeblood of Europan culture. Of course, there was nothing to be gained from associating with thespians, and starving artists. So maybe, he’d be busy climbing his way back up the ladder instead.
Before that line of thought could sour Gil’s mood further they arrived at Zola’s boarding house. Ostensibly it was a place for single young ladies. Men were strictly banned from the premises. Gil though had done a rather good job of chasing off the landlady’s bastard of an ex husband and had even recovered her tiny yipping dog. As a result, that particular rule did not apply to Gil. So, Gil dug the spare key he had to Zola’s apartment, which had been a frustratingly useful possession and made his way through the tiny iron gate into the shabby building. The place was falling apart at the edges, but it was clean.
Two steps in the door he was swarmed by worried women, who quickly plucked Zola from Gil’s grip and swept her away. Gil managed to grab one and communicate what had happened. It involved a lot of stuttering and blushing, but when he was done a determined look crossed the girls face. She assured Gil they would handle it and summarily dismissed him. Gil found himself back on the street feeling rather a bit like he’d been run over by a cart. After a moment he decided it was for the best, Zola had already cried on him once today. He didn’t think he could handle a second incident.
Gil strode determinedly off down the street. He’d gone three blocks by the time he realized he didn’t have a destination. He’d been up all night just like Zola, unlike Zola though he could go days without sleep. He was feeling rather too agitated to contemplate going home and sleeping. It was Saturday, so he had no classes today. He would be expected at a club meeting for the Society of Parisian Architectural Abnormalities, one of the dozens of clubs dedicated to sussing out how the Master controlled Paris, that evening but the day was his.
Gil wondered how long it would take him, randomly wandering around Paris, to stumble upon a rampaging spark or a creative thief, or some such chaos. He made a bet with himself. If it took less than half an hour he would bother Tarvek about their bet at the meeting tonight. If it took longer, he’d take a stab at apologizing again. Ten minutes had passed in which Gil dodged through alleys to make the trip more exciting, he was just sliding out of an alley that was perhaps a bit too narrow for his shoulders when he came upon the incident. Or well, he came upon a fancy carriage with the symbol of Voltaire emblazoned on the side. It wasn’t a rampaging abomination of science, but it was interesting. Gil fixed his clothes, in case it was Colette, and sauntered over to investigate.
A group of liveried servants were unloading trunks and hat boxes from the carriage, and hauling them inside the building. This building was one of the newer ones in the area, the whole neighborhood was clearly in the process of being rebuilt, piping and electrical lines were being laid, buildings were half constructed, it was all very much in development. The buildings that were finished were the kind of places that only a leading lady ten years into her career could even hope of affording. It was one of those neighborhoods, for the nouveau riche and the sparky aristocrats who wanted to live close to the bohemian lifestyle, but not actually be a part of it.
Altogether a strange, but not scandalous place for a Voltaire to be living. Gil wandered which of Colette’s siblings had decided to move out of the family chateau. Curiosity dragged hi towards the building itself. No one stopped him as he navigated his way between servants and workmen. Though one lady walking a large dog gave him a disgusted look. Gil followed behind a servant carrying a stack of hat boxes up into one of the spacious apartments. Third floor walk up, nice but not extravagant. He entered the room with the sort of brazen confidence that got him into the restricted store rooms in the biological science buildings. Just inside the main living space two women were watching the servants unload the trunks. One of which had a very familiar figure.
“My apologies Tatiana, but we couldn’t find anything nicer on such short notice. If only your first letter hadn’t gotten lost.” Colette was saying.
“Oh not at all.” replied her companion in a startlingly low voice, though given the height of the woman it shouldn’t have been, “It’s very up and coming. Plus so close to the theater, why it's positively quaint.”
Confidence bolstered by Colette’s presence. Gil knocked on the open door. He watched as Colette turned and smiled at him in delighted surprise.
“Gil! What a delightful surprise! What brings you here?” Colette said crossing the room to embrace him.
Gil felt slightly embarrassed that he’d been wearing the same outfit for over 24 hours now, but the death trap had been a bit like a bath, the water had been clean at least. He hoped he didn’t smell. Colette was still smiling when she released him, so he supposed not.
“I was in the neighborhood, saw the carriage and thought I would check it out.” Gil shrugged.
“Well this is just perfect! Tatiana, I’d like to introduce you to my dear friend Gilgamesh Holzfaller a student at the Institute d'Extraordinaire. Gil, this is my dear friend Tatiana Petrov, all the way from Moscow!”
Gil turned then to actually look at Colette’s companion. His first impression was of bright blond hair, and a ruffled blue dress. She was curtsying to him slightly in greeting. Then she raised her head brushing a loose golden lock out of her face and smiling shyly.
“A pleasure to meet you Monsieur Holzfaller.”
Gil stared into Tatiana’s face in shock. It was after all terribly familiar. He glanced briefly at Colette who was smiling as if she was truly excited to be introducing two dear friends to each other. Gil glanced back at Tatiana, and made a quick decision. Whatever game they were playing he was going to win. Gil smiled his best flirtatious smiled as he bent to kiss Tatiana’s hand.
“The pleasure is all mine.”