A bed, so much nicer than what she'd had in Madame's house. Everything was better than sleeping mats and thin blankets. The whole room just for her. She didn't need to share, didn't need to step against the wall and wait her turn at the wash basin. She had this whole room all to herself. Bijoux had always wanted her own space, but she hadn't imagined that she would feel so compressed by the silence.
"S'il vous plaît, Dieu, ne laissez pas ceci être un rêve" If this was all just a dream the monsieur would find her. She had no way to flee the city and even if she could, what did she know about country living? She had one skill - sewing. What would that get her in the hills? Sure, there were other cities. None so fine as Paris, of course, but she could find work. If she could make it to Calais she might even be able to get to England.
But if this wasn't a dream? It had been three days now since the Sheriff had met her and let her out of that cell. He'd explained it all to her, but still it seemed madness. A door into other worlds. He had let her press herself into the wall, let her keep as far from him as possible. He hadn't commented on her state of disarray, her shaking hand, or the wide eyes that continued to dart back to the way she had come. He had taken her information and given her a room and let her lock herself away until she woke up.
"Vous ne pouvez pas m'avoir!" She screamed at the ceiling, arms crossed tightly across body. She screamed again, wordless this time, as she pressed her bony back into a corner of her room. Maybe she was mad. Maybe she had killed the man and now she was locked away to her own thoughts. It would explain why she had so much room all to herself. It would also explain why she was so warm in the middle of winter. Only madness or a miracle could do that.
If it was a dream she needed to wake up, needed to flee. Needed something to happen so that she wasn't helpless. She'd decided a few short days ago that she would not be helpless. If she could stand up to a peer of the realm she could stand up to her own mind. Possibly. If this was real, if she was in a different world (and what little she had seen likened this to be true) then He could still find her, could follow her here. "C'est peut-être juste purgatoire." Hysterical laughter bubbled from her throat and she slid to the ground, still holding herself, eyes locked on a spot on the ceiling.
S'il vous plaît, Dieu, ne laissez pas ceci être un rêve - please God, do not let this be a dream
vous ne pouvez pas m'avoir - you can not have me
c'est peut-être juste purgatoire - maybe this is just purgatory
- Once Joraziel had healed enough that he was capable of taking care of himself entirely, he had asked to be allowed to stay somewhere besides the plantation house. He had been rescued by the Red Collars and nursed back to health by the Blue Flame and wanted to decide for himself where he belonged without too much exterior pressure. To do that, he had to live on neutral ground for a bit of time. John had set him up with a room in the interim housing, a ramshackle building arranged for the use of newcomers. Thankfully he had gotten a room all to himself. It was meager, but he was pleased for the arrangement. It meant that he would have time to process everything without anyone breathing down his neck.
He was taking a nap when he heard her, praying and shouting and acting like a madwoman. John had warned him that the other resident in the building hadn't taken the news about her departure from the other world all that well. Jo sat up and yawned. Well, there went the nap.
The Fae sighed and stood, putting on a pair of loose-fitting cotton pants and a t-shirt. His skin had healed tremendously well but was still tender in places, and soft, loose clothing was still preferable to anything else. He no longer had to wear bandages and only had to put ointment on twice a day, which was becoming a blessing. The past few weeks had been a unique kind of hell.
"Mademoiselle?" he asked,rapping his knuckles lightly against her door. None of the doors in the place could be locked from the inside, but it would be ever-so-rude to just go in. Everyone else had left her alone, figuring solitude might calm her down. Not Jo.
"May I come in?" he asked her in impeccable French. One of his ex-girlfriends had been French and from her he had learned the language. Luckily for Bijoux, she had lived around the same time period, so the dialect was almost exact.
((If the dialogue's in italics, he's speaking French. I'm lazy.))