Time Warp: C'est la vie (Rya)

[Sylvie Richelieu]

June 23rd, 2020

The monotonous hum of traffic was a dull soundtrack not befitting the nervous storm brewing in the forefront of Sylvie's mind. What should have been a fifteen minute drive soon turned into an hour long crawl behind the mass of taxis and bustling plebeians hoping to return home before they missed their beloved six o'clock sitcoms. The sheer mess that was Vermont's highways was enough to add another pile of annoyance on top of the steaming mass of worries that the young businesswoman had to concern herself with. American coffee, lazy, uninspired co-workers and overly touchy male colleagues were but a few examples of the ever growing list of faults Sylvie Richelieu found in her American office.

Paris was a heavenly city that transcended every nook and cranny this droll place could summon and the ever-exasperated woman once again found herself contemplating the very point of her presence in the dried up excuse of a state. Business was running smoothly, as smoothly as a twenty four year old woman could manage and the very idea of working away from her home country felt jarring and highly unpleasant.

But there was something that always called her back to Vermont.

Whether it was the twins various functions, art shows or some new venture her American associates thought worthwhile, Sylvie was constantly jumping between the two. The sheer contrast was enough to exhaust even the most jaded individual and the young woman was quickly growing tired of having to alternate her seat just for the sake of the company. All it took was to allocate power to some greedy american employee and that was that.

But the heiress had never been so overtly generous and the idea only annoyed her further.

There was, however, another debacle rummaging through the ever-growing mass of work related stress and that just so happened to be of the two legged artsy sort.

What should've been a day devoted solely to the workings of the company was immediately flipped on its head when Sylvie bumped into the one person that simultaneously aggravated her and infatuated some hidden lust deep inside the well polished vessel that was the the heiress. It was none other than Rya; that idiotic and rude Brit whose mere existence clung to the french woman's taste buds and lit the fire of her annoyance.

What was said upon the chance meeting shouldn't of been said. Sylvie should've simply ignored the girl and erased her from existence. But such a thing was a grand challenge when the culprit happened to be so stupidly attractive. An offer was made, of which Sylvie declined and reallocated to that very night.

Why she wanted this was still a mystery...one that she wasn't ready to answer yet.

The deal was simple. Meet in the lobby of the four seasons hotel and work their way from there, which either meant drinks or something else entirely. Whatever needed to be said had to be spoken and the heiress was going to make sure everything was going to be cleared up between her and her once mortal 'enemy'.

Once the portly chauffeur had finally arrived at the grand hotel, 20 minutes later than originally planned, Sylvie found herself shudder from the fluttery feeling in her stomach. It was just hunger, it had to be. Without waiting any longer the brunette woman strutted through the revolving doors, heels tapping against the marble flooring with a brisk rhythm.

She was ready, ready to face the girl who should've no longer mattered.

[Aryana Darcy]

Life was interesting, to say the least. The girl she once was, completely adverse to any romantic relationship, blossomed into a woman who still had hesitation, but was still a bit more open with her heart. She realized, after so long, that only she could truly allow someone to hurt her. If they chose to hurt, if they chose to betray, that was entirely up to them. However, she wouldn’t allow her fear to inhibit her desires to be close to others. Nearly ten years of keeping everyone at an arms length away was exhausting, and she simply decided to stop.

Though, despite her willingness to delve into a more emotional relationship, she had yet to find one. The blue-eyed Brit wasn’t looking, really, but it was worth mentioning. Much to her Mother’s dismay, she has decided to take up permanent residence in the United States. She had spent years applying for the piece of paper that allowed her to stay. She maintained a mediocre GPA throughout college, but her mother always told her never to worry about the grade. As long as she received that piece of paper -which she did- it no longer mattered what GPA the program was completed with.

That being said, she had a bachelors in Studio Art, and was currently employed by none other than Dominique Chevalier. Though she wasn’t necessarily close to the younger twin, Carter had been willing to provide her with a job. Traveling was a constant in this young woman’s life, and for once, she was legitimately happy.

Today she was back in Vermont, minding her own, searching for inspiration for a future painting. Rya always seemed at peace in times such as this, her eyes a brighter shade of blue. Pure, uninhibited joy was a common as of late. However, something set her off on this day. A nicknamed woman, the Pompous French Barbie Doll as she most commonly referred to her as, ran into her at the most unexpected of times. It stirred up old emotions, bitterness and frustration being the most prominent. So when the woman offered to meet with her, Rya couldn’t have been more surprised, more so with herself than Sylvie.

She accepted.

Rya considered appearing in less than standard clothing just to spite the woman, but she decided against it. Sylvie had considered her trash so long ago, even when that night happened. So the easiest way to do so was to look relatively casual, but still top notch, while still representing her own personal style. Simplistic.

Rya appeared in the Hotel Lobby, asking quietly where the bar was located. Once sent in that direction, she quickly sat herself at a bar stool and ordered a simple apple martini, made with Bacardi rather than vodka. The latter gave her awful migraines, and she didn’t need one on top of the inevitable headache that was Sylvie Richelieu.

[Sylvie Richelieu]

The golden glow of the overhead chandelier bathed the marble lobby in a warm ambiance fitting for a hotel of such caliber. The air was filled with the muted chitter chatter of the guests; businessmen impressing their escorts, wives nagging their husbands, bankers squawking through their phones and the maids providing brief small talk with anyone kind enough to give them attention. Sylvie, however, had not come to entertain some bustling maid nor listen in on the conversations of the other tenants, she had come for Aryana. To settle the feud, calm the storm and relinquish the petty teenage angst that riddled much of their dislike for one another.

Improvising wasn't something the heiress usually exercised, so the current spontaneity of this entire endeavor simultaneously irked her and thrilled her at the same time.

The woman's brisk footsteps led her past the counter, the fountain, several tourists and a gentleman swaying lightly from the direction she was headed. The bar. Why she has chosen it was probably dude to the fact that it was in a public setting, generally quiet this time of the evening and a place where she could hide her grievances under a glass of sauvignon blanc.

Although alcohol did hold some significance whether she was brave enough to admit it or not. Sylvie could not deny how it had spurred her to commit an act she kept secret for a very long time.

Her gaze caught onto the familiar shape that was Rya, sitting with her ever frustrating posture at the bar, a drink already in hand. It was a wise move, getting comfortable so early, the conversation that was to be had could very well turn heated in less than a minute...although that ultimately depended on whether either woman held her tongue.

Sucking in a deep breath, the heiress straightened her shoulders and quietly took her place next to the brit, offering what she could of a courteous smile before motioning for the bartender to get the usual. Her features were like chiseled porcelain, fixed into a safe and neutral expression that did not break until she finally managed to find the right words to begin, and even then, Sylvie wasn't entirely sure whether this was all worth it to begin with.

"Comfortable, I presume." She stated, nodding at the martini with feigned interest. Truthfully, her gaze lingered on the woman behind the glass, but only briefly. It was highly frustrating knowing that the arrogant rival was aging gracefully, even more so considering she looked even better than she did during the Hammel days. That was when Sylvie broke, how was she supposed to endure this visual onslaught?

"Now, you do know why you're here correct?" She asked, cocking a brow at Rya before offering the bartender a brief smile, the wine was as bubbly as it should be.

[Aryana Darcy]

"Stating the obvious once again, dearest." The woman held a bored expression as Sylvie made for some brief small talk. Years later, Rya still was not very fond of such mundane conversation starters. She glanced at the French heiress with mild interest, noting how her eyes seemed to linger on Rya for a moment too long. Wondering how she managed to look as good as she did, probably. It wasn't hard to figure it out.

The Brit had noticed that mostly everything the Barbie had done was either due to jealousy or lust. That latter was proven on a night that Rya was certain the other brunette was wishing to remove from her memory; she wanted it to have never happened. However, Rya regretted nothing. The scowl on Sylvie's face that softened as she touched every inch of her body, the shudder followed by a soft plea whenever she worked her, well, it was a visual and audible trophy for Rya, even after all this time. The Brit managed to get Syvlie to break, to succumb to foolish desires that Rya knew were ever present in the depths of the heiress' hardened soul.

Even so, Sylvie frustrated the absolute hell out of her. For years the 'trophy' was enough satisfaction, but apparently it was not enough for the Barbie doll sitting across from her. She mimicked the expression as the woman spoke.

"I don't know," She taunted, causally sipping the drink beside her, "But I'm sure it'd sound as polished as I'd expect coming from your mouth. Do tell, Barbie. Do tell."

[Sylvie Richelieu]

Running her finger against the rim of the glass, Sylvie found herself drowning in the sight of the bubbling alcohol and her own memories. Time spent at Hammel had been short but essential in understanding her 'gift' and the irreplaceable moments spent with Carter, her beloved friend and comforter, were chapters to be cherished. The dazzling twin was now a man grown and although he was busy with life and business, he still managed to find time to share with the heiress.

He was the object of her affection ever since she was twelve and it was only until Hammel did she discover the other parties vouching for his attention.

Aryana just so happened to be Sylvie's most fiercest competitor and the days both girls granted to the torment of one another must've been incalculable. Their dislike for one another was potent but it proved to shelter something deeper, something much more nauseating than their petty hate for each other. The conniving Brit managed to break the Gargoyle, for one night and one night only. The experience still lingered on Sylvie's tongue.

Taking a sip of the wine. The heiress whirled it around in her mouth before finally settling her gaze on Rya.

"I'd like to apologize for my behavior during Highschool." She uttered with a flicker of a grin, ignoring the girl's pet name for her. 'Barbie', how juvenile. Sylvie wasn't the sort to teeter around the edge of a subject and this needed little explanation. "That includes that night, I was tipsy and not in the right state of mind." She was, she didn't want to admit it though.

She made me beg. If there wasn't something as deeply exhilarating or humiliating as that then Sylvie had yet to experience it.

"Just thought I'd let you know." She offered curtly, glancing away from the other woman before taking another deep drink. Her pride was still intact, that was good.

[Aryana Darcy]

It was mentioned, that oh so faithful night, and it made the blue-eyed Brit smirk. Sylvie would have never brought it up if she weren't haunted by the memory. It made Rya wonder how this distance was affecting the heiress at the moment. She didn't have Empathetic powers to tell, but from the fact that Sylvie no longer could look at her face, when just a few moments before she was observing it with much more than just civil intent.

Rya, who had been twirling the liquid around the glass idly before Sylvie spoke up once more, was now with her entire body facing the woman parallel to her. "No you aren't," Rya stated simply, making direct eye contact then. Though with Rya, even with such an act, one could usually never tell what was on her mind. It was a talent that was acquired over time.

"You know you aren't sorry about any of it, Sylvie." Her voice was low, and her gaze was then challenging. She wasn't going to let the woman believe that she was sorry; the Brit wasn't going to allow her to attempt to forget it.

"Whether it be Carter or that night, you meant absolutely everything you said. And you know that your intentions of coming here were not just because you wanted to make a less than sincere apology. What do you really want, princess?"

Another glass was placed beside her, and the blue-eyed Brit offered a polite thank you to the bartender. At that, she turned her body away and took a sip of her drink.

It was only a matter of time.

[Sylvie Richelieu]

On the far side of the bar, nestled by a a dimly lit pillar, was a young couple unhindered by the few people surrounding around them. They had all but neglected the bottle of champagne on the table near them, preferring to canoodle and flirt like no one was watching. It was an irksome scene but one which only spurred a jarring sensation in the pit of the heiress' stomach. She never really had someone to call her own, adopting the stubborn notion that labels were silly and constricting. But simply watching the two lovebirds during their romantic little ritual urged a pang of jealousy to sprout in her heart.

All it took was Rya's sharp retort to snap Sylvie out of her observations and snag her attention once more. The very fact that the other woman didn't accept the apology was enough to grant a small frown to cross the heiress' features. Was it really that hard to behave civilly without suspicions?

"Take it or leave it, just know the apology was genuine. We're not girls anymore and I'd of hoped you'd of at least taken this as a token of peace." The word felt strange on her tongue but it needed to be said. Sylvie had come to terms with everything she said that night, whether it was the soft words between kisses or the lusty pleas nearing the end. She wasn't ashamed of it, simply perplexed.

But of course Rya had to poke a little deeper, rush into something that Sylvie was delicately forming in her throat.

"As much you'd like me to grovel, I've actually come with an offer." Sylvie stated, clearing her throat and watching the girl tend to her second drink. "I know you work for Dominique, a lucky position if I say so myself, but as an artist...well You're going to need funding." The heiress blinked, her words as sharp as tempered steel. "You need the funds and I want someone who knows what they're doing, so here's my deal. My company will commission you to do the design for our winter fashion show, you have free reign to do whatever you want as long as you consult me first." She simpered, impressed with her silver tongue.

"You'll be paid generously, I can promise you that." Sylvie finished, with another sip of her drink, keeping her eyes on the woman in front of her.

[Aryana Darcy]

So if Rya was expecting anything, it surely was not this. Sylvie was offering her a commission that would... pay. Of course, she was being paid by Dominique, however it was always a day to day thing. She'd have her decent weeks, where people would pay quite a price for her works, but other's sold for little to nothing, if at all. This would be sure income.

Though what sincerely confused the Brit was the fact that Sylvie had gone to her, out of everyone. Why not go to Carter? Rya was sure the heiress knew plenty of wonderful artists. What was she doing coming to her long lost teenage tormentor?

"I don't doubt that," Rya responded, her words careful and skeptic. However, this was no joke. Just by the girl's tone, the blue-eyed brunette could see that she was entirely serious with this. How much of her pride did she have to tear in order to sit in front of her and say this. But the more Rya waited, the more anxious she got that she'd lose the offer.

"I'll do it," The Brit said, though there was no hiding the reluctance of her tone. "But I'd like to ask one thing. Why choose me, out of everyone?"

[Sylvie Richelieu]

What the the businesswoman planned for the winter collection was going to be grand, that much she knew. The garments were almost complete, the models handpicked and the guest-list was air tight and filled with the most exclusive assortment of attendees that side of Vermont could offer. Working on this was her pride and joy, her exquisite creation that would have Dr. Frankenstein crying out in jealousy. Nothing was going to go wrong, Sylvie had deliberated every little detail and aspect to the point of perfection.

Aryana's inclusion was simply the icing on the cake.

The decision to include her one-time arch nemesis into the production of the show came from her heart rather than her head. the French woman knew the Brit was talented, if she wasn't Dominique would not have hired her. It was a gamble, but this was her game and she'd bend the rules to include anyone she thought worthy to join in.

"Why not choose you? I know you well enough that I've guaranteed my staff you'd be stubborn and protective of your work, that's the sort of artist I want." It may have seemed like a backhanded compliment but at least she didn't call Rya a dragon lady. "Besides, it's always pleasant having old peers around don't you think?" She offered with a quick grin before taking another sip of her drink.

She was celebrating to her success. Aryana would be around much more often now.

[Aryana Darcy]

If Rya were to admit anything, it'd be the fact that she was, indeed, protective of her works. Most often, she didn't allow anybody in the studio except for models and the occasional Dom when working on each painting or designs. It was something she had brought over from her years at Hammel. There were quite a few times people had sticky fingers and wanted to submit some of her drawings as assignments. The fact that nobody was above that was frustrating, to say the least.

"I agree." There was still suspicion in the Brit's eye, however, her tone no longer displayed it. Instead, she was going to go from a different end, which probably would surprise Sylvie, to say the least.

Picking up her drink, she took another sip before saying. "Time has done you well, dear. Though that's hardly surprising."