[paris] east of eden. [tag; minnie]

Oh. This was really happening.

He'd had the date circled on his calendar for months and it seemed ages away. For perhaps the first time ever, he was actually looking forward to his birthday. Raphael had forgone the usual bitterness and resentment as everything was draped in Christmas lights. The forced merriment tended to get him down but she'd been a much welcome distraction. Having something to look forward to softened his edges somewhat.

Paris was all lit up. Strings of electric blue lights were draped around tree trunks and hung between the branches, stretching overhead like a canopy. Each shop front had a different theme but despite that, it didn't look tacky. It was a cold, dark morning. Snow had settled on the streets but that didn't stop last minute Christmas shoppers from bracing against the cold wind.

Raphael slid his hands into his coat pockets as he chewed on his lower lip. They had no little time together but he wanted to do so much. He wanted to show her the museums and the festive markets. He wanted to take her for hot chocolate and a stroll around the private city gardens. Rafe hated the Eiffel Tower but he wanted to take Minnie there regardless, just to impress her. He wanted to go to Montmartre, the artist's quarter. He wanted to take her to Sacre Coeur, the old church with a great view of Paris, the skyline stretched out for miles. His head was a mess. He wanted a week together, not just one crappy day.

The best course of action was to wait and see what she fancied doing. Rafe was not a Parisian local. His town was a small one in the south of France, a million miles way from the hustle and bustle of the capital. He didn't want to take her home. Well, he did. Obviously. But it was more like everyone knew everyone and then Minnie would have to go back Stateside and he'd be left by himself and he hated pity.

Raphael also needed to get her a Christmas gift. He had some ideas but he wanted to get her something decidedly French. She might like a beautiful cashmere scarf but anyone could get her one of those. He had a plan. He'd simply lead her down a street and if she stopped to admire something, he'd pop inside and get her it. Simple as. There was no way he could go wrong. He just wanted the day to go well. He was desperate to meet her. Minnie had sent him photos but he had a feeling they'd pale in comparison to actually meeting her.

Of course, she hadn't come all this way solely to meet him. Her mother was getting remarried here. Raphael was a little slighted that she hadn't asked him to be her date but her realised something soon after; maybe she already had one. A friend, a boyfriend, a lover. The thought made him frown. Rafe was becoming unhealthy protective of the American girl and he knew it wasn't his place.

He was growing anxious. He looked out on to the crowded street as he stomped his feet against the cracked pavement to keep warm but also to discharge some stress. He'd told her to meet him on the Champs-Elysees. It'd be easier. It was one of the main thoroughfares of the city and she'd have to pass through here regardless. He told Minnie that he'd be waiting, halfway up the street on the left hand side of the road. Letters had been constant and positive, so he was sure that if she couldn't make it, she would have given him plenty of notice.

It felt like there were a load of butterflies, being chased by a herd of elephants in his stomach. He honestly felt sick. The only upside to this was that it was pretty chilly, so he could blame his pink cheeks on that and not his nerves. Though he hadn't met her personally, he was sure he'd be able to pick her out, even in a darkened room. Just as he was growing desolate (despite it not even reaching the aforementioned meeting him) he spotted her.

Without waiting, Raphael broke into a gentle jog, easily weaving in and out of the people walking and not even bothering to apologise. He reached her and pulled up short, momentarily lost for words. Instead, he offered her a lopsided grin and dipped his head to place two kisses, one on both of her cheeks. "Bonjour," he said warmly. The initial urge to drape his arm around her shoulders and keep her warm was almost overwhelming. It didn't feel like they were in the middle of one of the biggest and busiest cities in Europe. It felt like it was just him and her. He was waging an internal war. He wanted to tell her that she looked beautiful and thank her for coming and he hoped she was coping with the time difference and that he hoped she wasn't too cold. Instead,  he just stood there, staring at her, looking like a lemon. He gave a laugh and shook his head, disappointed in himself. "Hi," he replied in English this time with a dimpled smile.


@Minerva Cavendish

Minerva stifled a yawn and trudged along the wave of commuters, slowly walking up and out of the Metro station stop with distinct slowness.

Her flight had been long and she had felt particularly restless; it had been some time since she had seen her mother but under the current circumstances, had not feel explicitly touched by their reunion. Minerva had arrived early the previous day, addressed her mother with a small smile and a few generic lines about missing her and being excited. Then, she had been taken from one appointment to another, a whirlwind of final touches on the wedding ceremony of the century, as her mother had put it so proudly, her mother’s new husband chuckling as he reminded her that no expense need be spared for her mother. Minerva had simple rolled her eyes and busied herself with wandering around the store, anything to stay away from her and her fiancée and their infuriating concept of romantic gestures.

Vincent Bernard, who later that day would sign the certificate pledging to love her mother for the rest of her life, was a French businessman with two ex-wives who claimed a part of his earnings every month. He was not particularly handsome but it was obvious that he had both money and an unhealthy obsession with pleasing Louise Morel; it had been those two qualities that had certainly attracted her to him. Her mother was apparently happy but the idea did not sit well with her. This woman was supposed to be her mother and here she was, halfway across the world pushing her past as far away as possible and rushing into a new future with a complete stranger. Minerva had had half a mind to go home almost immediately, the feeling rising as soon as she had stepped off the plane and seen her mother. But then, she was suddenly reminded of her promise to spend Christmas Eve with @Raphael Moreau, her penpal and someone who she felt particularly close to. Even though she had never met him in personal, she felt oddly connected to him--he was precious in her mind, someone that was more deserving of her attention than her stupid mother. Even in their letters about cultural differences and French phrases, he had managed to encourage her and make her smile. She could survive this, at least one more day.

She had barely eaten at breakfast that morning, taking a few bites from some toast before rushing upstairs to spend an unusually long time choosing clothing. It took a few changes and a pile of clothes on the bed before she settled on something;nothing too flashy to show that she was dressing up but nice enough to possibly make him notice. Why did she want him to notice? She had someone who she cared about waiting at home for her. But she felt confused, her heart vulnerable and on edge, and she craved the attention. Raphael had always been a source of comfort in his own special way, after all. Louise was hesitant to let her go but Minerva promised to return just in time for  the ceremony that was due to begin at six o’clock that evening, followed by dinner, and possibly some drinking. Minerva did not want to go and would do anything in her power not to, even if its meant fabricating an elaborate excuse as to why she could not make it. It would make no difference, at six o’clock, Louise Morel would be getting married anyway.

In theory, wearing a skirt had been a great idea until she stepped outside and shivered. Her coat was her favorite but not nearly as warm as she needed it to be--but she was already running behind schedule and figured if she could survive winters in Boston, she could survive them anywhere. She clung to his last letter, their meeting time and place written clearly on it. Minerva knew exactly where she was going; she had checked the map at least three times even though it was not her first time in this part of Paris. But, she was strangely nervous and had this unexplainable desire to make him like her. At least through letters, Minerva had enough parchment and ink to get her very best self across; she could edit as much as she wanted. Of course she had longed to meet him in person; she enjoyed the personal interaction of meeting face-to-face as opposed to communicating her feelings through letters. Nevertheless, their meeting also meant that she had little room for error. And between communicating in some French and her inherent shyness around boys, she could already feel the familiar anxiousness building in the pit of her stomach.

She spotted him as he made his way over to her, he was indeed much more handsome than she had expected and suddenly felt even more nervous than before. Taking a deep breath, she tried to relax as he kissed both of her cheeks in greeted, hoping that her obvious skittishness was not so obvious on her face.

“Rafe!” she exclaimed, sounding a lot more excited than she initially intended, “Hi...hello--this is crazy, meeting you in person like this--” she started then stopped. Should she be communicating in French? She felt too embarrassed to do it but tried her best at it anyway, “and most importantly, Happy Birthday!” she said with a big smile, reaching into her bag before pausing and closing it again, then reverting to English, “I actually did bring a gift for you but...on second thought, I’d rather not give it to you just yet,” she added. She interlocked her arm in his, “so where will you be taking me today on this date of ours?” Minerva immediately regretted saying it that way and did not want him to think her strange or desperate but she laughed it off, the more nervous she became, the weirder she would get. She needed to get it together.

please let me know if any edits are needed <33

He offered her a smile, warm and lopsided. It did feel weird and he recognised that almost immediately. There was a huge leap from correspondence to face to face. Via letters, he imagined that they were much more open and honest. There had been a literal ocean between them. It felt like any embarrassment hadn't washed up on French shores.

Raphael didn't mind conversing in English. It wasn't much of a stretch for him but he grimaced as she wished him a happy birthday. Trying not to be rude, he smiled again. "Thank you," he said formally and a wave of panic flickered through him as she opened her bag to present a gift. "A twinkie?" He asked, bemused as he recalled their previous letters. "That's very kind of you," he said and he meant it. Poor Minnie had carried said gift across the Atlantic and honestly, none of his friends had sent him gifts and he was extra excited about opening hers.

"I cannot open it?" Raphael asked, confused as he tilted his head. What if it was heavy? It didn't seem fair to let her struggle. He offered her another amused smile. "American customs are most unusual," he kind pleasantly.

Minnie's forthrightness caught him off guard as her arm slipped so casually into his. He shifted. He folded his arm in return in a rather old fashioned manner as he began to walk her down the street. The word date hung in the air, clanging in his ears. Wasn't she seeing someone? He didn't want to overstep the mark but he assumed they already had.

"You look frozen," Rafe was quick to point out as he pulled her closer to his side automatically. The Parisian wind was bitter and damp, slicing people to the bone as they hurried with their heads down. "Let's head to the markets before they get too busy. I think you'll like them," he said with a nod, assured by her previous letters that he kept in a box beneath his bed. It wasn't that he was ashamed of Minnie by any standard. It was more that his room mates were dickheads and could not be trusted.

"I have an idea. Wait right here." With that, he planted Minnie outside a rather festive looking shop. He slid his hands down her arm, a non-verbal assurance that he'd be right back, before he broke into a jog across the street. He was gone less than five minutes. Raphael returned with two small golden paper cups from Angelina's. It was world famous for its hot chocolate. He found it pretty rich because it was just that; actual melted chocolate. He'd gotten mounds of whipped cream and little snowflake marshmallows and glitter for hers. Swiftly, he pressed it into her hand before taking a step back.

"You mentioned something about this," he reminded Minnie distractedly as he blew across the top of the chocolate and took a cautious sip. It was wildly different from the instant stuff that had hot water added to it. This was warm and rich and sweet and indulgent. It should ward off the chill.

"How was your trip?" Raphael asked, genuinely interested. He'd never been to America before so he had no idea how he'd feel after travelling so far. "How is your mother? Is everything prepared?" He meant the wedding. Personally, he wasn't a fan. Of the ones he'd attended, he found them all a bit…samey. People cried, other people got wicked drunk. He didn't like the forced merriment. He assumed he was bitter because it stemmed from loneliness.

It wasn't far to the markets. There was a number on, scattered all over the city but he'd brought Minnie to his favourite. The Christmas market at the Champ du Mars was right in front of the Eiffel Tower. Full of little chalets, they sold mainly decorations. He wanted to buy her one to remember Paris by. Nothing silly, just something nice and simple. Around them, Christmas music pumped out from speakers as people milled around them. The Tower loomed over them, resplendent in the morning sun. They needed to stop by again when it got dark. From his childhood, decorations had always been simple and traditional. Red and gold, classic. One of his neighbours had hung up blue lights and his mother almost pitched a fit.

Something caught his eye. Making sure Minnie was otherwise distracted, he went over to a little wooden stall. Raphael had seen a glass bauble. It had a miniature tree inside, with snow and ribbon. It seemed like something she might like. It was unusual. Quickly, he paid and was handed the bauble back, wrapped in white paper and tied with a silver bow. He was back at her side before she'd noticed he'd gone. "Merry Christmas," he told her as he held out the small wrapped parcel for her to take before jerking his head in the direction of the tower.

"Come ice skating with me?" He asked with a grin.

She could not help but to burst out in laughter at his assumption, shaking her head with a smile, “It’s not a twinkie, Rafe, that would have been the worst gift, ever! Plus, we’ve decided those are not healthy, no matter how delicious!” she said with a smile. “There is an explanation attached to this that I rather give before giving it to you. It’s nothing fancy, or anything though, so don’t get your hopes up--I remember what you said about gifts, so I wanted to bring you something special, like a non-gift gift. Anyway, we can get to it later,” she said.

She had brought along her sketchbook with the intention of giving it to him, but was beginning to feel a little arrogant about even assuming that he would want it—or even consider it a gift. She had thought to not bring him a gift initially, after all he had specifically requested that she not bring one along. It had been a last minute decision, for Minnie, much like most other parts of this particular trip, but it was the one thing that she knew was genuinely her. It had been a project she had started as a child, something that started as a diary she wrote in a few times a month into a sort of aesthetic board she added to everyday. Unlike most things, Minnie was particularly meticulous about the way she kept it and felt hesitant about sharing it—for all intents and purposes, it was her version of a diary, one that expressed her deepest sentiment in the form of sketches, photos, collections of the words that inspired her all representations of her thoughts and dreams. 

“I am a bit…cold, actually. You would think that a Bostonian could figure out how to dress in the winter,” she concluded and then tried to suppress a smile as he pulled her closer. It meant nothing, at least deep down she knew that it meant nothing. But, the sixteen-year-old could not ignore the way her heart skipped a beat, it was oddly romantic—didn’t it seem like a typical scene in a romantic comedy? His voice broke her conversation as she nodded when he asked her to wait. She could only imagine how silly she looked, her nose and cheeks probably a little red--the cold winter air a little chillier than she had expected. And just as she was thinking about how she would have been better off wearing more layers, as her mother had suggested, Rafe had returned, pushing a warm cup of what she assumed to be hot chocolate into her very cold hands. She admired the cup, “this is quite cute, Rafe, and,” she brought the cup closer to her nose, “it smells delicious! I’m so excited to drink this, thank you!” she added. She wanted to wait for it to cool down before she drank it so she held it close to her, blowing small puffs of air to lower its temperature. At least the hot cup was doing a fantastic job of being a hand warmer.

It was not the first time that she had been to France but it seemed like the first time she had really seen what was going on around her, the Christmas festivities grabbing her attention like that of a little child, there was so much to see. “My trip was tiring—but I’ve been coming to France a few times a year ever since Louisa moved here so it’s not so bad anymore, do you suppose I can apparate from America to France, that might be a bit of a stretch, right? I could save so much time if I could just avoid no-Maj transportation. It kills me,” she added. “The wedding is still happening, this evening actually—Louisa told me I should return home by four o’clock but…” she took her eyes away from the Christmas market and looked up at Rafe with a sheepish smile, “I don’t think I want to go. She’s invited so many people, and I don’t even know any of them. But then I kind of feel guilty,you know, what would you do?” she asked. Her eyes returned to the market, as she walked up to admire the artwork in one of the store windows, absentmindedly taking small sips of the hot chocolate, this is so good she thought to herself, making a mental note to thank him again later. Minnie spent a considerable amount of time taking the entire painting in before taking a step forward and leaning over to look closely, to pay detail to the particulars.

Realizing how Rafe must have been feeling ignore, she quickly straightened up embarrassed and turned to face him and there he was, holding out a mysterious little gift to her. Minnie could not really process what was happening until she transferred the cup of hot chocolate from both hands to one, receiving the gift with a smile. “T-thank you! Now I’m starting to feel really worried about giving you this gift, Rafe, stop being so good at this,” she teased.

“I-ice skating?” she said nervously, “the last time I went ice skating, I was seven, and I broke my arm,” Minnie grimaced briefly, it was as if she could almost remember the sound of the bone cracking underneath. It had been her first time on the ice and because of the incident, her last. She had been afraid to do it ever since but had always wanted to try again--just had never found the right opportunity, “Uh--well, I can try it. I’m not any good and I might fall flat on my face but...sure, why not? It seems like a complete waste not to go.”