AU: Never In Passing

[Aryana Darcy]

London, England
December 1886

A quiet night by the standards acquired over the year or so she had been working, the brunette lounged about, moving from empty table to empty table until called upon by the drunks at the far end of the tavern. There was little being spoken about that was of any importance, and as such she went about her own personal business as per usual. 

The night before had been similar in conditions, with few men even bothering to take their drinking habits to the outside world. The snow had been heavier that night, but it did little to deter her from showing up. The crunch of snow beneath her feet felt like a blessing, to be honest; the chill of the air was a refreshment to the usual suffocating atmosphere inside the lovely tavern. Though, if she were being truthful, it's where she most thrived. 


Men were relatively simplistic, easy to please and easy to read; they were content with power, women, and a nice cold drink. Some had more refined tastes depending on the social hierarchy they placed, but in the end, men were men. So when the blonde had arrived the night prior, taking him the glass had been a natural reaction. When speaking with him, her suspicions had been confirmed. He had been in desperate need of a drink, and she was glad to supply it. 

Rya had thought little of the French blonde she had seen yesterday, expecting wholeheartedly he would return for another round. Her confidence did not waver in that belief, but even while she knew he would come, the brunette didn't bother looking. She would see him if he came in, and if he didn't, she wouldn't. 


Quite simple, really. 

[Carter Chevalier]

Carter Chevalier was never a man to do something he didn't want to do. As he made his way back to the play he was staying last night, he couldn't get the encounter out of his head. There was so little to be hung up on in such a dismal life; the death of his father still hung so heavily in his heart that he wasn't sure what might spark his interest beyond it. But then, he'd met her.

And she knew he'd come back, even before he did.

He didn't like to seem predictable to a complete stranger, but his interest was held, and he didn't want to be one to deny it. So that night, he braved the cooler air and the snow as it covered the ground beneath his feet. He took purposeful steps through the alley where he'd left her the night before.

A push of the door; Carter Chevalier walked in, his hand immediately running to his hair to try and brush the snow out.

[Aryana Darcy]

Some may have wondered how such confidence resided in a woman of her age, of her social standing. Some may have wondered in what world did she feel she could own herself. At 19 years old, Rya was prime real estate for a man to marry off and use. At points in time it has been discussed without her knowledge, but the girl had been quite clever in avoiding it all. Working at a tavern was far from encouraging the idea that she was anything more than a whore meant for male entertainment, but she held her ground.

She always had.

Her next move had been to set the glasses onto a table of four rowdy young men, roughly a few years her senior. A comment was made on her behalf, a vulgarity common to the position in which she worked, and she raised a brow, a relatively amused quirk of her lips forming just as she said, "Point your honesty to your wife, love," before she picked herself up and turned back to the work at hand.

In that moment, as she turned to scan the tables for anyone else in need, Rya laid eyes on a familiar face from the night prior. Some may have wondered where her confidence came from, and it was from actions that the Blonde offered that made it be. She busied herself with one last table before she allowed her attention to fall on the man though she waited for himself to sit before making the trek over.

"Consistent, as well." She said, eyes glancing down with amusement colored in the hues.

[Carter Chevalier]

Snow had never been Carter's forte. He might have had hair so bright it threatened to match the tone of the falling intricacy, but it wasn't something he found comfort in. Not as she had in the smallest of moments last night where she allowed herself to find such interest. There was almost something vulnerable about that instance. Now he was standing there doing his best to shake it off completely.

Hands moved to his shoulders quickly, else the snow might filter its way through the woven detail of his coat. The last thing he wanted was to be remotely cold. Hell, he wasn't even that comfortable taking the thing off in the first place. But it was warm inside, and so onto the rack it went.

And he had time to stare at her; how she worked and made her way between tables. Did she even know he was there, or did she only just see him seconds before she made her way over and spoke like that?

"Yes, well." Carter replied, far from willing to admit where he was and why he was there. "Where else would I go?" A quick argument. A sharp minded one, at that; "I'm not of this country."

[Aryana Darcy]

There was freedom that the young woman had within the confines of the tavern that she wouldn't otherwise be able to find in the streets of the city. She acted with that mentality as she took table by table - it was funny just how easy it could be to bring a man to submission when there was alcohol involved. In contrast, the men could easily overpower her if they really wanted to, and they have.

Such was life for a working woman.

His argument could easily be refuted, his clothing indicating a wealth that none of the men in the tavern possessed, his personality even more so. The sharp quip did little to deter her, however, and in a response of her own, she offered a light, single shouldered shrug, "Anywhere you wanted." It was all the answer that was necessary.

[Carter Chevalier]

With a seat some distance away from the others, Carter allowed his attention to sweep the room. It was difficult to find comfort sitting in a place like this; his clothes screamed his status, which easily made him a target for anyone who might be interested in taking a shot at him. Carter made it no secret that he took steps with the greatest people in this world.

But for whatever reason, he'd taken these steps back to her.

When she spoke, Carter immediately opened his mouth. He wanted to protest; he actively considered how he might, but the moment he tried he couldn't think of anything to say. Raised eyebrows worked to draw the thought out of his mouth, but what thought that was, he didn't know.

"True." He finally replied, dropping his head instinctively with the admittance. Because she had a point, and it was a point he hadn't even found in the grand scheme of things. Carter exhaled on a small laugh; how was it so easy for her to see that when he appeared so blind by proxy? "And what of your life?"

"Are you here every night?"