[Paris] Eden to Corruption [Maia]

It had been a while since the Irishman had felt obliged to attend any kind of social event. Indeed, since the unfortunate but necessary demise of Kevan Taite, invitations had been less forthcoming than once they had been. For the most part, Dermod didn't mind. Whilst support from the upper echelons of society was always important for any new product or book launch, there was a limit to how many times he could pretend to look interested in a new range of charms that promised to revolutionise broom cleaning forever. If he was honest in fact, for the past decade or so he had attended these events simply to take advantage of the top quality catering that tended to be provided and also to observe the attractive young women who were also there. Understanding, of course, that observe in this case all too often meant seduce and abandon once he lost interest.

This night, though, dedicated to a new French artist who was apparently taking the wizarding world by storm, looked to be marginally tolerable. The artworks featured on the invitation hadn't looked like a house elf had vomited on a sheet of used parchment, and it had the added bonus of being held in Paris. Dermod still held some residual concern that he might be recognised as being Taite's double by someone who could ask awkward questions. For some reason he didn't relish the thought of having to kill anyone who recognised his pseudonym; not because he had lost interest in such things, but because it would be impolite to despatch anyone who had previously purchased his novels.

His works had always been less well known in France, however, perhaps because of the ridiculously light and fluffy curriulum that was taught at Beauxbatons. That fact was in his favour though; he was confident he wouldn't be recognised as he apparated into the wizarding district of Paris, his cloak whipping around him in the late autumn breeze. The late season would also mean his wearing of leather gloves would passs without comment. It was some time after nine in the evening; the event had begun some time earlier so he would be fashionably late and thus avoid any reporter that might have been in attendance from the beginning. The writer walked the short distance to the imposing building where the exhibition was being held and nodded briefly to the woman handing out brochures, which he of course refused. He wasn't intending to admire those works of art that were confined to canvas.

Slowly, he scanned the room, his eyes glancing across one face, then another...and then back again. Now this one was certainly attractive, though he had no intention of approaching anyone who was already engaged in conversation. Without actually taking his attention from her, Dermod turned slightly away and pretended to be studying the nearest painting.

All Maia heard was useless chatter. A frown wrinkled her brow as the gentlemen spoke at her, trying to make sure that she was familiar with their relationship with her ex-hushand. As if that was going to give them a way into to her attention, make her think favorably towards them. Hah. Her husband was dead, and she was glad of it. She'd never experienced the freedom that she'd gotten after his death, and it wouldn't be her decision to go back into entrapment ever again. Daintly bowing her head at them, she excused herself and swiftly strode away.

A patron of the arts and an artist herself, it had been no surprise that she'd received an invitation to this soiree. What had rubbed her scales the wrong way was the fact that the invitation had been addressed to her married name, like she hadn't been on her own woman for years. Her donation to the gallery had been made with her maiden name, and a little bit less than her regular donation, so they'd be sure to remember it. She really didn't care about the money. Money was money, and she had a lot of it. What she did care about was her name. How was she to make sure that her family stayed in business when they wouldn't recognize her name?

Her black gown swished around her legs as she made her way to a passing attendant. Reaching up, she delicately removed a champagne flute from the tray, big brown eyes twinkling upwards at the handsome man. He was younger than her, and the flush on his cheeks when he met her eyes was adorable. Her lips curved into a smile, and he cleared his throat. She was going to be good, and not distract this man from the job that he was doing. That didn't stop her from brushing her hip along his let slightly as she walked past him. Men were fun.

Leisurely, she walked along the wall, stopping every so often to gaze at a painting. Maia was going to get one or a few of these paintings and gift them to Marine, because the frenchwoman deserved something shiny. Why not a painting? He fingers trailed along the frames, before she met a bump in her rather smooth path. Less of a bump, and more of a person. Wanting a little amusement, she walked up beside him, gazing upon the painting. It was beauitful, with hints of what could probably be real gold decorating it. Her soft voice rose above the hum of the conversations around her as she spoke in clear French. "It is beautiful, isn't it?" Turning her body towards the older man, she gazed at him, before turning back to the painting. "The play of colours and the gold, there is something very ethereal, is it not?" She tilted the glass in her hands to her lips, humming softly as she savoured the fruity drink.

"If you do not bid on it, I will." She challenged, smirking slightly.

An attendant paused silently, holding a tray of glasses, and Dermod took one with no more acknowledgement than a slight inclination of his head. Champagne wasn't his favourite, but a small sip told him it was from one of the better pureblood vineyards, and his estimation of the event as a whole increased. Except the brief encounter with the waiter meant he had lost sight of the woman he had been observing, which caused an unexpected wave of irritation. He turned to face the picture he had been pretending to study, surprised to note that it actually was a work of art, in the true sense of the word. One that wouldn't look out of place in his library, perhaps directly above the fireplace...

And then he was distracted by something that felt very much like fingers, briefly skimming up against him and then moving just as quickly away. The Irishman turned his head quickly, found himself looking at the object of his interest from a few minutes earlier as she spoke in flawless French, her voice soft and quite charming. A native of the country, then? His lips quirked in the beginnings of a smile, the response already forming in his mind when she looked up and he was hit with a jolt of electricity. Not that Dermod was familiar with such things outside of a lightning storm, but the moment they looked into each other's eyes he felt pure desire, mingled with a certainty that she must have felt the exact same thing...and yet the knowledge was exciting rather than disturbing.

"Very beautiful..." he murmured, taking in the curves of her figure within the dress that revealed just enough whilst appearing to conceal everything. Already she was looking back at the painting, and just for a moment Dermod felt that he would do anything, anything, just to have her look at him again. Just to discover whether she had felt something too. "I was just thinking how perfect it would look in my library, back on my estate" he said, his French slightly accented, displaying his Irish roots "I would be most disappointed not to look upon such beauty again." He pretended to consider the painting for a moment longer, whilst studying the woman out of the corner of his eye. There was a quality to her he had rarely encountered, something he felt compelled to pursue, no matter what the cost. In this case...

"So I would find myself bidding against a lady of both taste and beauty" he said, raising his glass and tilting it slightly in her direction. "Might I propose a toast? May the best man...or lady...win?"   

One brown eye rolled sideways as she tried to focus on what the man was saying. Unable to hear the first few words, she had to tilt her head so she was slightly facing him, interested in what he was saying. His accent was familiar, something she'd heard before, but couldn't quite place. It wasn't from the Beauxbatons region, and he certainly wasn't a native speaker, but it was quite a charming effect. Maia held back a bit of a snort, trying to reconcile the fact that he put emphasis on where he was going to put the painting and not on the painting itself. As if an estate was supposed to impress her, when she could be easily living the life of luxury, but chose not to. At least he could see that the painting was beautiful, and had good tasted.

"I would be most disappointed to lose such a work of art so easily." She began, taking a sip of the dry champagne, seemingly nonchalant. "I don't have anything as impressive as an estate to display it in, but the museum that I'd be purchasing it for would appreciate it all the same." She turned her body more towards him, her slight step eating up the space between them, if only just a little. "There is nothing more devastating than having to hide something so beautiful from the world...Many eyes must see and appreciate this piece of work." Her fingers reached out to trace the gold gilt frame, and she sighed happily.

"You must understand why it behooves me to win, correct?" Her lips were quirked in a tiny smirk, as she tilted her glass towards his. The light clink when they touched reminded her of something in her past, when she'd see her people bargaining with men such as these. They used all their wiles to get the best deal, something that benefited the whole of the people, and not the person they were bargaining with. "May the best of us win." Reaching down to gather up the bit of her dress that'd make her walking impeded, she looked directly at her new competitor.

"Come, let us be seated. There is time until the game begins, and I find myself a bit weary, and you'll keep me company, yes?" Turning, she walked off towards a small seating area, not even looking back to see if he was following her. Glass held negligently in her hands, she swooped her skirt behind her so that she may easily sit, and gracefully slid into the soft chair. There was a challenge there, and she'd see if he could really come up with the courage..

The tilt of her head, the glance upwards...Dermod was certain he had caught her interest with the mention of his estate. A lady of breeding wouldn't be so crass as to openly show her curiosity of course, but nonetheless he felt that his comments had been perfectly crafted to ensure this wouldn't be just a fleeting encounter. He had captured her interest for the evening, at least. After that; well, it was all part of the thrill of the chase. On this occasion the writer was sure he had found a prey worthy of his time and attention, though the trick was to make certain she wouldn't see it that way. Her words in turn sparked his own fascination. Had he discovered that rare treasure, a woman who not only understood the art of a subtle double entendre but was capable of employing it herself? Did she know how truly delectable she appeared in that dress? Of course she did - only a woman who understood that it wasn't what one revealed but rather what was kept concealed that was truly alluring would clothe herself in such a fashion.

What museum was she purchasing for? Dermod almost offered, in a fit of sudden madness and generosity to purchase the painting himself and donate it wherever she wished, but caught himself just in time. An offer such as that would shorten the encounter, and that was the last thing he wanted. Instead he nodded at her words, matching the hint of a smile with one of his own as their glasses touched. "Indeed. I have no doubt the best of us will be the victor this day" he agreed, his slightly dated knowledge of French lending an archaic feel to his speech.

She invited him to sit, and the writer knew he had made the right choice in resisting the grand gesture. What would it have proved, anyway? That he had money? Surely such a trifle was evident from the fact that he was here in the first place. Dermod was about to respond when the young woman turned on her heel and strolled away to the seating area without so much as a backwards glance. He was a little taken aback at the assumption that he would follow. It wasn't in his nature to trail after a woman, or indeed to trail after anyone. The irishman considered himself a leader, not a follower. And yet, even as these thoughts slipped through his mind he found himself walking in the same direction that the young woman had taken, almost as if he hadn't made the choice himself. He decided he didn't mind. It wasn't as if there was anyone more interesting here.

"If I am to be your companion for the evening, I'll need to call you something more interesting than Mademoiselle" he murmured, claiming the seat next to hers. He appeared to be focussing all his attention on the slender champagne flute, even as his eyes travelled beyond it to his new friend. "and unless I am mistaken, you're no more a native of Paris than I am, is that right?" he asked, already wondering how many of his own secrets he would be willing to reveal.