[Paris] The past will catch you up as you run faster [Zi]

The day had dawned bright and clear, but quickly turned grey as dark clouds began to threaten rain. Skyla was up with the sun that day, preparing for the busy morning ahead. She had arrived in Paris late the night before and headed straight for the Ministry-provided hotel room that had been allotted for her stay that week. Normally, she stayed in a sparse, uninviting flat that the Ministry kept for workers like her. Since her stay was to be a short one this time around, her accommodations were somewhat nicer, if sterile, situated in the heart of the wizarding district of the city. Not that Skyla cared one way or another what her room was like, so long as she had a bed and a roof over her head in a safe area.

Skyla had dressed herself in slim-cut black business robes, for she was required to attend several meetings involving her boss, the Ambassador, and other high-ranking officials within the French Ministry. It was important for her to look her best. Not only did she need to make a good impression, her demeanor and appearance were also a reflection of her superiors that day. She was a representative of the British Ministry and she was determined not to embarrass her organization. A simple button-down white blouse, a knee-length black pencil skirt, and flat black shoes completed her ensemble. Her long, dark hair was pulled back into a neat, loose plait. Her choice of hair style that day was both professional and practical. A touch of mascara darkened her eyelashes, her lips were slicked with a demure shade of red lipstick, and her impeccably groomed nails were coated with a layer of clear polish. A dusting of blusher high on her cheekbones helped offset her natural pallor. In a business setting, no one could possibly fault her appearance, even if she would not have stood out in any crowd.

It was a long, tedious morning, just as she suspected it would be. As the meetings adjourned shortly after noon, she was surprised when one of the French officials announced that they would continue the talks the following morning. Just like that, Skyla had a free afternoon. The timing could not have been better. She could feel the beginnings of a pounding headache developing at her temples. Waking up early coupled with sitting through hours of meetings wherein the primary spoken language was French - in which she was not yet fully fluent - was beginning to take its toll. Some of the nuances of the conversation were lost on her. Indeed, she was only there because the Senior Assistant was ill, and Skyla was the only one available to replace the other witch. Skyla needed a potion for the pain, and she needed it quickly.

Stepping into the nearest apothecary’s shop, she selected several small bottles of a pre-made painkilling potion from the shelf before bringing them to the counter so she could pay. “Merci, au revoir,” she murmured to the shopkeeper as she collected the carefully wrapped parcel containing her potions. Turning away from the counter, she strode toward the exit, pulling open the door. A faint tinkling met her ears as the bell attached to the door announced her departure. Once outside, she looked up to the sky, checking for rain, and was relieved to see that the clouds seemed to be holding back. Good. She wasn’t far from her room. She was sure she would have time to get back before it started pouring. Tucking the parcel into the pocket of her robes, she opened her handbag and began to dig through it in search of her cigarette case. A smoke would help relieve some of the tension she was feeling. As she searched, she continued to walk, her eyes focusing on the contents of her bag rather than the street in front of her. “Bloody hell,” she muttered under her breath, frustrated. She could have sworn she tossed the case in her bag that morning, but her inability to locate it was proving her wrong.

Her distraction proved to be detrimental to herself and those around her as she collided with something tall, solid, and very much alive. A soft “oh!” of surprise escaped her lips, her right hand automatically reaching out to steady herself against the other person. “Pardon,” she said, raising her eyes to the face of the stranger. Only the eyes looking back at her were no stranger’s eyes. She blinked, recognizing him instantly, though she wasn’t sure if he would recognize or even remember her. “Zachary?” she questioned tentatively, withdrawing her hand. Though Skyla hadn’t seen him since Hogwarts, he still looked the same. Maddeningly, she felt sixteen again. Her heart began to beat faster and her fingers trembled slightly from the sudden adrenaline rush she was experiencing in that moment. “I’m so sorry. I wasn’t paying attention. You’re not hurt, are you?” she asked, feeling like a total idiot.

Zachary was in a good mood. Having known he was to rise that morning rather earlier than usual in order to catch a train to Paris from his adoptive Neroli, he had taken a sleeping draught the evening before and it had done wonders for his rest levels.  He'd awoken feeling refreshed, the sun was shining in the Italian wizarding capital and he was taking the day off from worrying about any of his usual concerns to participate in a little bit of light shopping.  This afternoon he had a couple of fittings booked with Pierre Dumas, a couturier who he'd commissioned to design some bespoke creations for him. There were also some other boutiques he intended to grace with his presence in the hope of persuading their proprietors to give him a sneak peak of their designs for the upcoming season.  Usually the promise of patronage and an advance on the rich fabrics he liked could persuade them to acquiesce. It was days like this through which he worked his own subtle influence on wizarding fashion, and ensured he was at the forefront of style.

It was difficult dressing for a day's shopping.  One had to look one's best if to not seem out of place in the highest-end boutiques known to wizard-kind, but equally when one was getting changed multiple times, it helped for one's outfit not to consist of too many elements or layers.  It had to be a shirt rather than a shift he wore - he didn't want to be dragging items of clothing over his head too often in order to protect his hair.  He picked out an ivory dress shirt with a starched bib, subtly embroidered with a paisley design also in ivory. Atop this, he wore an exquisite silk frock coat in royal blue with silver detailing and facings, with matching britches covering his thighs. The rest of his legs were covered with knee-high suede boots in a shade of grey that offset the silver details nicely. A couple of lace ruffs around his wrists and a tightly tied cravat completed the look. He did not need to worry about shaving, the potions in which he regularly bathed made sure that he never had to worry about a five o'clock shadow making his alabaster skin look more sickly than smooth. So, having doused himself in cologne and spent half an hour titivating his hair, he felt ready to grace the fashionable boulevards of Paris and sure to stand out.

The train journey passed quickly as he sat in a private compartment attending his routine trawl of the newspapers, periodicals, gossip magazines (trash, but sometimes trash that hinted at information on which it was worth following up) and correspondence. Before he knew it, he was stepping onto the platform at Paris.  The weather here wasn't as pleasant as in Neroli, but for now at least it was dry. Zachary began to head towards the concentration of fashion-houses in the centre of the wizarding district, scanning the crowd out of sheer habit.  He caught himself with his mind in work mode, and shook its hold from him.  He was here to relax.  As he moved closer to his destination, the shop fronts began to interest him more, and he was able to look past the people and focus on the jewellery, artisanal potions vessels and other trinkets that were discreetly displayed on velvet cushions and the like.  A particularly fine briefcase caught his attention in one shopfront and he slowed to inspect it further as he passed, his attention distracted, so when he collided with someone it came as quite a start.

"Pardonne-moi," he uttered - politely British to the core, apologising automatically without even considering whether he was actually at fault.  Although gifted at languages, his French was rusty and heavily accented. It had never been his favourite so he didn't practice it nearly as much as he should. It was, therefore a pleasant surprise when the woman whom he'd bumped into seemed to also have a British twang to her French. He looked down as she looked up, their eyes locking  briefly as Zachary took a small step backwards to ree-stablish some personal space. The young woman' eyes showed a recognition that sent Zi's mind scrambling to place her.  Luckily he had excellent recall, even for a girl who had never really been on his radar - just someone in the background in the common room and classes. "Skyla! This is a surprise." He had slipped seamlessly into English, his upperclass accent complementing the grace and authority his posture and outfit exuded.  He laughed off the collision. "It's quite alright, I'm absolutely fine.  It would take a little more than a small misstep like that to hurt me.  I trust you are unharmed too? I can't help but feel I'm equally at fault." He slipped his hand into a breast pocket and withdrew his embossed silver cigarette case.  He flipped it open to reveal that today it was filled with Sobranie blues - long and slender , if somewhat harse tasting, cigarettes, the length of which was blue with a gold covered filter. Even his cigarettes were coordinated with his outfit.  He proferred the case to Skyla before extracting one for himself and lighting it with a flick of his wand. Incendio had been the first wordless charm he had mastered - a consummate smoker to the core.  "So Skyla, tell me:  What brings you to Paris?"

To say that walking directly into Zachary in a foreign city was jarring would be a complete understatement. There was no word that immediately came to mind that could accurately describe what she was feeling just then. Mortified, exhilarated, fearful, giddy - they all touched on a single aspect of  her current emotional state, yet could not fully capture the intense, all-encompassing nature of whatever it was she was experiencing. Rationally, she knew she was being silly, stupid, and worst of all: girlish. The past was better left where it belonged, rather than dredged up to cause discomfort in the present. Skyla hadn't thought of Zachary in about five years, but seeing him again brought all the old feelings rushing back. She felt a sudden surge of annoyance, knowing that she was being absolutely ridiculous, but it faded just as quickly as it had made itself known when he laughed.

Skyla could feel her cheeks getting warm. Of course he was all right. He had more than half a foot on her in height and outweighed her by several stone. There was no way she could have caused him bodily harm, and the thought that she could have was absurd, causing her lips to twitch into a small smile in response to his laugh. She was pleased that he recognized her, glad to have avoided any awkwardness in their exchange had he not remembered her name. He actually seemed more charming now than he had when they were in school, if that was even possible. It would be seven years next month since they had gone their separate ways, but seeing him again brought it all back like it was yesterday. "I'm perfectly fine, thank you," she managed to reply. Physically, she spoke the truth, though mentally she was anything but fine. She lightly touched a hand to her pocket, reassured to find the potions parcel still in tact.

As Zachary tipped the cigarette case in her direction, Skyla took one, grateful that he had unknowingly come through for her in her moment of need. She nodded in wordless thanks. There was a pause in the conversation as the two of them lit their respective cigarettes with their wands. She inhaled deeply, feeling the hit of nicotine spreading through her. It was enough to help her relax a tiny bit, the ball of tension in her gut easing a little. "Funny, my search for one of these is what caused me to knock into you in the first place," she told him as she examined the cigarette he had given her, appreciating the irony of the situation. It was like none other she had ever seen. The flavor was harsh and biting, but not entirely unpleasant, either.

Skyla allowed herself to really look at Zachary since she first bumped into him. She was instantly struck by the fact that his cigarettes matched his outfit. He looked every inch the fashionable aristocrat that she remembered him to be. Though while in school she did not see him attired in much other than the bog standard Hogwarts uniforms, he had always accessorized beautifully, even then. Now, he was much more flamboyant. Next to him she felt positively drab, the peahen to his resplendent peacock.

"What brings you to Paris?"

His question broke through her musing, derailing her train of thought. She took a second inhale of her cigarette, ridding its tip of excess ash with a practiced flick of her slim wrist. "Business, unfortunately," she told him, exhaling a thin stream of smoke. Now she was beginning to feel more like a mature adult, rather than a fumbling teenager. Realizing he would have no idea what type of business brought her to the City of Light, she elaborated. "I work as an assistant to the British Ambassador." It wasn't glamorous or prestigious, but her voice was tinged with pride all the same. For a woman with no family connections and no money to speak of, her position was hard-won. "What about you?" she asked as she looked back up at him, her eyes locking on his once more.

Zachary couldn't help but notice that Skyla seemed a little flushed and flustered.  Any other day he might have poked and prodded at this to wrongfoot her more for a bit of fun.  Today though, he was determined that he was just having a nice, relaxing day, and winding up former snakes fell more into the category of 'sport' than 'relaxation'. So he let it pass without comment, just flashing her a smile of concerned relief at her confirmation that she was fine, which was indistinguishable from one carrying genuine feeling.

Watching the young woman draw on her cigarette ferociously, Zi's lips curled into a subtle smile insofar as they could around his own smoke stick. He cocked an impressed eyebrow at Skyla's desperation for nicotine - there was something about a woman smoking that made her look sophisticated, but at the same time a little bit naughty. It was a good look. "I had an inkling.  I generally find we smokers have a sixth sense about these things, and I can't help but sympathise with a fellow smoker in need." Noticing Skyla appraising him, he took a deep and refreshing drag of his own cigarette and released it in a gentle focussed stream aimed above Skyla's head that quite naturally put his lips into an uncontrived but nonetheless attractive pout.

Once Skyla started to answer his painful smalltalk question, Zachary prepared himself to zone out and just intersperse his smoking with polite niceties.  However, he had to choke down a little bit of a cough when she said she worked for the Ambassador. It wouldn't do to show undue interest at this stage, but he dipped his head briefly. "Very impressive," he murmured in response, before she moved on to him.  "Oh I'm just indulging myself in a little bit of retail therapy - a couple of robe fittings, a bit of browsing."  His voice was dismissive of his own pursuits, deliberately oblivious to the fact that having fittings for tailored items was much more of an event in some people's lives - if indeed they ever had one rather that always buying off the rack - than the run-of-the-mill occurrence it was in his own. "Nothing as important or prestigious as embassy work, for sure."

Zachary popped his cigarette in his mouth and held it with his lips, breathing  out of the corner of his mouth.  With his hands free, he used them to retrieve his pocket watch and flip it open to check the time.  "I have an hour or so before my first appointment, could I impose upon you to quiz you about your job?" He composed his face into quiet self-consciousness before continuing.  "I'm largely a gentleman of leisure at the moment and it can get so boring and lonely knocking about the residence on my own all day.  I need to find something to occupy my time, and political work fascinates me.  I would love to hear more about it from someone on the inside."  He smiled at Skyla, mixing enthusiasm and pleading into the expression. "We could discuss it over a spot of lunch, my treat of course, to compensate you for the trouble?"

As they stood there together in the street in the middle of wizarding Paris, Skyla was again amazed by the seeming randomness of the situation. How likely was it that two foreigners, who happened to go to the same school yet had lost touch over the intervening years, would run into each other in such a large city? The likelihood was slim, yet here they were, companionably sharing a smoke and some conversation. While they were students, they had probably exchanged all of a dozen words that weren’t class or somehow school-related, which was what made the situation seem that much more unreal to her. She had to resist the urge to pinch herself to make sure this exchange was actually happening. She took another drag of her cigarette, conscious of him watching her. Though she usually made it a practice to have good posture, she still stood a little straighter, drawing herself up to her full height.

Her eyes were hooded as she regarded him, listening to his explanation of what he was doing in Paris. The fact that he was here for a bit of shopping - and fittings with a private tailor, no less - served to emphasize the chasm that separated their lives. Zachary was wealthy, while she was working-class. It was an insurmountable divide insofar as personal relations went, as it was unlikely their situations would ever change drastically. There was little chance of her marrying into money - no chance in attaching herself to a pureblood family, at that - while his position in society was solid. He even looked the part of the heir to a large fortune. Skyla had to admit, the way he held the cigarette between his slender fingers, occasionally bringing it to his lips to take another pull: It was sexy. The passing years had been kind to him, only heightening his inherent sex appeal and giving him a mature, worldly air that had not yet fully developed when they were students.

So focused was Skyla on admiring Zachary, that at first, she did not initially register that he was inviting her to spend time with him. She blinked, her mind scrambling to comprehend what he was saying. He wanted to have lunch with her? Good lord, this was an unexpected turn of events. She hid a smirk by taking another inhale of her cigarette, idly exhaling the smoke and trying to play it cool. Get a grip! she told herself. Why he would want to know more about her job, though, was beyond her. It was interesting in its way, but she never talked about work with people who were not her colleagues because they would not understand. It was too difficult to try to explain her job to people who were not already intimately acquainted with it out of necessity, so she never attempted.

There was really no good reason for her to decline. If she did, she would look rude. She didn’t want to risk offending the powerful Incarnadine family. It didn’t really matter anyway, since she had no intention of declining. Skyla knew she would be crazy to say no to Zachary. Even after all these years it was obvious that he still had some kind of hold over her, though he was completely in the dark about this little fact, thank Merlin. His smile threatened to send her heart bursting out of her chest. “I’m sorry that you’re feeling lonely, but to answer your question, yes, of course. I would love to have lunch with you,” she replied after she had adequately recovered herself, her tone polite yet friendly. She didn’t want to give off an air of being too interested, though she was definitely intrigued. “I only hope that the information I can provide you is sufficiently interesting to one such as yourself,” she said, inclining her head in an acknowledgment of his position. “Did you have any particular place in mind?” she asked, returning his smile with one of her own. It would be nice to not have to immediately return to her solitary room. There were certainly worse ways to spend an hour, of that she was sure.

Zachary couldn't help but smile inwardly to himself when Skyla straightened herself out.  His carefully manufactured and habituated aura of class and status was clearly doing its job. Or one of them.  It served so many purposes depending on the situation. For the majority of his life, it was pretty much de rigueur.  The social circles he was raised into and in which he generally moved expected it of him - indeed expected it of everyone. His peers and parents, acquaintances and adversaries in that class all conveyed a similar air, it was simply a symbol of belonging.  In his more shady dealings, his upper class manners endorsed his reputation and integrity and somehow seemed to at least contribute to justifying his somewhat steep fees. And then there were times like this, and it was this effect of his persona that was his personal favourite.  It affected the lower classes. It made them perk up, as if they were striving to be worth of his presence.  It was just delicious.

When Skyla missed a beat in responding to to his invitation, Zachary found himself looking into her eyes.  It wouldn't do to appear too desperate, but he allowed his expression to show a little blatant hope. While their eyes were met, he searched her expression for the cause of her hesitation.  Was she, as she had every reason to be, suspicious? That would rather put a dampener on his plans. There was nothing to suggest it in her eyes though. In fact, her hesitation and double take seemed to suggest she had been lost in her own head, and he joined her in dragging on his Sobranie whilst she collected her thoughts on the question at hand.

His smile widened when Skyla accepted his invitation, and he thanked her enthusiastically. He was still slightly cautious that she suspected he had alterior motives even though nothing in her manner suggested such. She may not have been his usual type of interlocutor - ones so well versed in facades that their body language and expression was all but useless - but she had nevertheless been a housemate of his, and now worked in international relations no less.  He was taking no chances.  Still, he was quite happy to continue on his task - there had been no real warning bells to warn him off just yet, and he still had plenty of class to pile on and disorient the poor girl.

"It's so kind of you to keep a misfortunately lonely visitor like me company. I'm very grateful."  Neither his tone nor expression belied the fact that he was being anything but genuine. "If you aren't sick to death of French Cuisine, there's this wonderful little place I know of that does the best torchon de foie-gras." Once again, Zachary just casually mentioned something as fancy as foie-gras without a second thought, although this time it was at least conscious. "They only have a handful of covers, but the Maitre d' likes me, I think. I'm sure he'd be able to fit me in."  There was one particular restaurant in the wizarding quarter of paris that was particularly famed for its torchon - very expensive and highly exclusive.  Zachary wasn't sure Skyla would have gotten the hint at this stage, though it was eminently possible. The Maitre d' was in fact on his payroll, and he knew that some of the diplomats frequented there - Skyla might well have had the pleasure herself, though if she had, he'd theoretically want his taxes that paid the expense account back... or would have done if he paid any taxes in Britain that was. He looked at Skyla with those cautiously optimistic puppydog eyes once again.  "Would that serve? Say if you'd rather something that wasn't... well, French."

Skyla was surprised by Zachary’s earnestness, though she was careful to let no hint of her surprise show on her face. Her mouth was set in a neutral line, her body language was open, and her eyes held an expression of polite curiosity. Years of living amongst the cold and calculating Slytherins and now years of working in international relations had given her plenty of practice in controlling her outward display of emotion. Most of the time, she was quite adept at presenting a cool exterior, although there was the rare occasion, like now, when something so unexpected happened that she was momentarily caught unawares and thrown off guard. To her immense relief and satisfaction, she felt her equilibrium slowly returning. The smoke was largely to thank for that.

She couldn’t help the way her lips twisted into a smirk at his ever so casual mention of foie-gras. Having recovered her self-possession, she was now finding the whole thing amusing and a touch ridiculous. She blinked and nodded, steadily meeting his gaze, her mind going a mile a minute as he spoke. When she woke up this morning, she had no idea what the day had in store for her. Initially, she had been annoyed at having to make this business trip. Now she was seeing that today would make the whole thing worth it. She knew, though, that she would need to be careful. There was her reputation to protect, as well as Ministry standards to uphold. She could not forget the reason she was here in the first place, no matter how flattered she was by Zachary’s attention. She was glad they would only have an hour. There wouldn’t be enough time for their discussion to get too deep or intimate, or for them to consume too much alcohol. She could see no downsides to her accepting his invitation.

Beyond being glad of the company of a familiar face, Skyla was incredibly relieved for company who spoke English. Of course her British coworkers also spoke English, but most of her conversations when she was on her work trips to Paris took place in French out of necessity. It was to be expected, and it was how she had achieved conversational proficiency in the language relatively quickly, though the effort of speaking a foreign language was wearing after a while. “I don’t mind French cuisine, as long as the conversation is in English,” she told him, keeping her tone light. She didn’t feel the need to elaborate, knowing that Zachary was intelligent and that he would take her point for what it was. French food wasn’t her favorite, but she didn’t have any better ideas at the moment, so she was content to defer to his decision. There was a good chance that she wouldn’t eat much, anyway.

Bringing the cigarette to her lips, she took a final pull, extracting what she could from it. Miraculously, her headache seemed to have completely abated. The potions were momentarily rendered useless, then, though it wasn’t all for nothing. Had she not stepped out to the apothecary to purchase them, she would not have met up with Zachary. Besides, she was sure to have need of them before this trip was over. The French diplomats could be maddening in their equivocation, which was headache-inducing in and of itself. She tossed the spent cigarette to the ground, slowly exhaling through her nose, watching as he finished his own smoke. She brushed at the wrists of her robes, removing any stray ash that may have deposited itself while they smoked. “Shall we?” she inquired, arching a brow and tilting her head to the side as she looked up at him.

"Then it's settled," Zachary replied in a voice of good-natured decisiveness.  "I can put you at ease and make you feel just like you're back home by pointing out how the weather is simply dreadful and looks to be threatening rain any minute, and we can judge people for their inability to queue properly." He caught her eye as he took a final draw on his cigarette, his own eyes twinkling with a playful boyish charm.

At Skyla's invitation to head onwards, Zachary inclined his head and began the short stroll towards the restaurant. He lead the way at a walking pace comfortable for the two of them, making good on his promise for facile yet incredibly British smalltalk.  Though Zachary detested polite conversation for its pointlessness, one would never have guessed it fom his manner.  He spoke as a perfect and gracious gentleman, with a lifetime of refined manners not to mention the generations of breeding to draw on.  Now he had ensared Skyla for the duration of lunch he backed off the attempts to wrong-foot her. The restaurant itself should be plenty enough for that, it was time to put her at her ease and he made pleasant conversation without attempting to throw his wealth or breeding around for the whole of the journey.  Zachary lead Skyla off of the main boulevard and down a small arcade at the end of which they found their destination.

La Canal Arrière spilled out onto the pavement with just a couple of wrought brass tables surrounded by matching chairs, one occupied by a couple awaiting their starter, another being reset for someone doubtless waiting at the bar. The refinement of the establishment was immediately obvious in the shine that the furniture and carefully arranged cutlery kept despite being out in the elements.  The tableclothes too gleamed white and the napkins were arranged without any pretense to ostentation. this was not the sort of restaurant that needed to prove itself by folding its napkins into fans or mitres or any other vulgar origami.  They let the expertly starched linen stand proudly in its spotless wine glass, perfection in simplicity shining through without the need for distraction.

From the outside one could barely see in - although the front windows were large and clear, foliage from the potted plants and organza drapes obscured that of the view that wasn't behind the lettering identifying the premises. Zachary held open the door for Skyla to enter before following himself.  Inside was almost as discreet as the view from outside.  The lighting was subdued and the use of decor made each dining table private without looking artificially so.    Zachary tried to listen through the general hubbub of kitchen sounds, clacking cutlery and hushed voices to try to pick out any strands of conversation, but try as he might it was not possible. Indeed, it had long been rumoured that La Canal had various enchantments and bans in place to ensure complete discretion. Supposedly even the wait staff had their minds were wiped after the end of their shifts. 

The podium at the entrance was unmanned as Skyla and Zachary arrived, the restaurant commanding such demand and reputation that it could get away with keeping even its high profile clientele waiting.  However, as soon as the haughty French Maitre d' recognised Zachary he rushed over to fawn over him and his 'lady friend'.  "Ah, Michel, ça va?" Zachary greeted him in the local fashion - faisant la bise. Stopping at just two air kisses, the Englishment continued in passable french "The table outside will serve fine for my friend and I." He caught the brief flicker of Michel's eyes toward the bar where three or four parties were awaiting a table to be vacated, but in truth Zachary had made it relatively easy for him.  The tables in the arcade were not favoured by the high and mighty due to their lack of privacy and the lucky few hoi polloi that had secured a reservation here could wait a little longer for their meal. 

The Maitre d' escorted them personally to their table, presenting them with a la carte menus and an extra card with the days specials on it.  Zachary glanced at his, subtly shaking his head to indicate to the other man that he wasn't intending on conducting their business together in front of Skyla.  He ordered himself a glass of a french dry white (a rather expensive selection, naturally), something refreshing before lunch, and looked to Skyla for her wine choice, switching back to English.  "Don't feel you have to limit yourself to a glass - get a bottle if you like. Nothing is too good for an old housemate." He let his eye fall back down on the food menu to start considering his selection whilst Skyla chose her beverage.

As they walked toward the restaurant, the location and name of which was presently unknown to Skyla, she was surprised by the ease with which the conversation seemed to flow between the two of them. Yes, they were making banal small talk, which she usually detested. With Zachary, though, it seemed different somehow. Their conversation did not seem quite so irritating as it would have with anyone else. Perhaps it had to do with his aristocratic air and the way in which he held himself. Or perhaps it was due to the fact that she still had stars in her eyes, her giddy inner sixteen-year-old still in awe of what was transpiring. Whatever the reason, she was glad that so far, there was very little awkwardness in their interaction.

When they arrived, Zachary held the door open for her so she could enter the restaurant first. She shot him a small smile as she stepped inside, her eyes quickly glancing around the place. It was unlike any place she had ever been before, as her meager Ministry salary would not permit her to frequent a place such as this, and she was not privy to the lavish dinners the Ambassador sometimes attended. The restaurant was unusually quiet, the normal chatter of the patrons curiously muffled. It didn’t take Skyla long to conclude that this was probably as a result of enchantments. She wondered what type of establishment this was, exactly, but kept her mouth shut. It was likely that Zachary would not thank her for her curiosity, and she didn’t need or want to antagonize him at this juncture. He was, after all, being extremely generous to her. She was determined to ride this train for as long as she could, for she was interested to see where they would end up.

After he finished exchanging pleasantries with the maitre d’, she followed them outside to the table that Zachary had commandeered for them. Skyla had noticed the other people waiting to be seated, and she was conscious of what had passed between her companion and the maitre d’ just a moment ago. Power and privilege had its perks, as she well knew. Taking her seat, she picked up the wine list and studied it, listening with half an ear as Zachary placed his wine order. “Why don’t we order a bottle of what you’re having?” she suggested, turning to the maitre d’ and confirming her order with a brief nod. Skyla was normally a red wine drinker, but a white wine felt more appropriate for the time of day and the weather.

As the maitre d’ left to see about filling their wine order, she shifted in her seat, leaning in Zachary’s direction. “What do you suggest?” she asked, keeping her voice low as she gestured toward the menu for emphasis. When she was in Paris due to her work travels, most of her meals consisted of whatever she picked up at the local market on that particular day. Rarely did she dine out, and if she did, it was usually at a place that was not quite so upscale. She also was not a food connoisseur, preferring to keep her dietary choices simple whenever possible.

Shortly after the maitre d’ left, a new wizard approached their table, their bottle of wine and two empty glasses on a tray that levitated gently next to him. With a flick of his wand, their glasses floated down onto the table in front of them. Another flick of his wand caused the bottle to pour a measure into each of their glasses before settling onto the table within easy reach. The wizard greeted them and introduced himself as Renaud, the sommelier, before launching into an explanation of the wine, including where the grapes were sourced, the year it was bottled, and so on. While he was talking, she glanced surreptitiously over at Zachary, who was doing a very good job of remaining politely attentive as the other wizard spoke. Skyla liked wine, but she didn’t find it particularly interesting in the ways a sommelier would.

Within a minute of Renaud’s departure, a waiter appeared to take their food order. “I’ll have whatever the gentleman is having,” she said - in French - with a wave of her hand as the waiter looked questioningly in her direction. Really. In that moment, she felt completely out of her league, and she attempted to hide her discomfiture by not making any independent decisions about her food or drink. When the waiter finally disappeared to attend to their food order, she reached over and grasped the stem of her wine glass, bringing it to her mouth. She paused to sniff the contents first, then took her first sip. She rolled the wine around in her mouth, appreciating its quality, then swallowed. It was certainly head and shoulders above what she usually drank, even if it was only a white wine. Thus fortified, she set her glass back down on the able, and turned her gaze toward Zachary once more. “So,” she began. Not one to mince words or beat about the bush, she decided to get right down to the point of this tête-à-tête. “What was it that you wanted to ask me about my job?”

When Skyla suggested sharing a bottle of wine, Zachary's lower lip popped out and he shrugged as if the gallic shrug was part of his usual repertoire of body language. In context, it read quite plainly as 'I have no opinion either way'.  Truth be told, he was pleased with the faith she placed in his palate but it also aroused mild feelings of consternation.  He was much more a red wine drinker, but this early in the day he wanted something lighter that would complement the light lunch he was planning. He did of course have a general idea of what varietals paired well with the foods he was wont to order, but his knowledge ended there. He was nowhere near as up on the terroir of whites as he was on reds. He hoped his plumping for a bottle two-thirds of the way up the price range would serve them well.

At least he was slightly more prepared when it came to recommendations for the food. "Practically everything on the menu is cooked to perfection," he assured his companion, casting a critical eye down the menu as he spoke to confirm his next thought. "I'm fairly certain I've sampled just about everything they are currently offering at one time or another, and I can't recall one bad meal that I've had here.  It really depends what you're in the mood food. The foie really is unmissable, though as I'm here for some shopping I don't think I should have anything too heavy." He looked up, meeting Skyla's eyes with a look that guaranteed the authenticity of his words, rather than his normal polite conversation and told her in no uncertain terms: "Seriously, you can't go wrong, whatever you choose. And I don't just say that in case Michel starts making me actually make reservations if I don't." He grinned boyishly, "As I said before - nothing is too good for a former classmate."

Before he could provide any more advice on the menu, the sommelier turned up.  Zachary desperately tried to care about what he had to say, knowing he would never improve his knowledge of white wine if he didn't take in this kind of information.  He just couldn't bring himself to get excited about it, and soon he found his mind was wandering. He started daydreaming about the robes he might be acquire later on, picturing the most fashionable cuts and clothes.  However he was still paying enough attention to note when Renaud had finished talking and expecting something.  Zachary wordlessly lifted his glass and nosed the wine before taking a delicate sip.  It was fine. It was white. It was reasonably good, Zachary had no complaints. He nodded at the sommelier to indicate his approval before replacing his glass on the table.

Zachary ordered seared scallops on pea puree for them, but couldn't resist a small plate of the torchon for the table.  It would be such a shame to let Skyla dine here without at least a taste. Then he turned his attention to Skyla's question and tried to remember just what role it was he was assuming here.  Oh yes, lonely, bored, unfulfilled. That was what he was going for. No harm in appearing a little feckless too though. "Oh I don't know... how good are the state dinners?" He chuckled derisively at himself.  "Seriously though, much as I like the idea of diplomacy I know woefully little about it.  What do you spend you days doing? What do the ambassadors get up to when they're not baiting each other? And, on a more personal note," he flashed her a conspiratorial glance given their shared serpentine history, "what attracted you to the department of international cooperation in the first place?"