Quiet evenings., Jacques-Louis David -- Reserved

[Nicholle Loillet]

She sat quite alone, for a rare change- such was her disposition that she could rarely be inside a tavern five minutes before chatting and gambling away with a complete stranger. But this evening she was in one of her rather listless moods; unable to settle to anything. A group of her companions- musicians, some of them, or whores and suchlike. When she had entered, they had beckoned to her with a jovial shout- but one dark, brooding look from her and they had nodded, knowing her well enough that in this mood, her company was not its usual excellence.


It was when she lost her jovial, boisterous manner that she resembled most some find lady- although to be taken as such nowadays was no good thing, of course. Her violet eyes stormy, she sat alone at the bar, her cloak flung back and her figure illuminated by the merry fire behind her. A glass of clear liquid stood in the slightly dusty cup before her- but no, it was no harmful substance, mere water. For all her vices, it was rare that anything other than a few sips of ale would pass her lips.


At her waist hung a small purse, which she hunted into for a coin or two. She felt hunger pang slightly in her stomach, and scowled as she discovered her purse was almost empty. She felt in no such mood for earning tonight. But still, duty called. She glanced around the room, seeing no likely candidate for the evening. She tapped her fingers on the bar-top in irritating.
“Oh, to be a rich mans wife,” she muttered, in her silky, low-pitched tones.

[Jacques-Louis David]

Jacques-Louis often spent his evenings in taverns. Where better to get the feel of the city, to lay his finger on its pulse--to meet beautiful women? Some of the most interesting were to be found in the poorest parts of town. Suffering writ on the face--homeliness... these things were interesting to paint, and he got great pleasure out of what others might even call ugly. A particular enjoyment of his was painting even very beautiful women in attitudes that were natural, unforced, unposed. Attitudes some might say detracted from their beauty... but Jacques-Louis knew that in fact, it only enhanced it.

The ground was still muddy outside, so he had worn his tall leather boots. They remained wet from the night before, and creaked unpleasantly when he walked into the tavern, looking around for his usual companions: an apprentice painter, a few members of the National Guard whom he'd used as models... but no one he knew was about, kept indoors, probably, by fear of another rainstorm. Last night's had been brutal, leaving the strange, clean tang of water on the air.

He caught the words of a woman standing at the bar--an uncommonly pretty one. He noted her majesty of proportion: he loved to paint tall women, because you could arrange them so well in relation to other figures. Her words, though, made him frown.

"You shouldn't wish for that these days," he said softly, coming up behind her, his own drink in his hand. It was wine, a weak, vinegary vintage given recent harvests, but still enough to take the edge off. "There's glory in hard honest work, so we say." Was that the faintest hint of irony in his voice? If she knew Paris politics at all, she'd know he was on the Committee of Public Safety, and few whores didn't recognize Jacques-Louis David. "Honest, that is, depends on your definition of the word..."

[Nicholle Loillet]

She blinked out of her thoughtful quiet as she heard a voice behind her- but it was no voice she knew well. Turning her gaze to meet his, she observed the handsome man before her. She would have place him at thirty five or forty thereabouts, and her eye for detail noted his clothes, elegant though not extravagent, suggesting he had some funds behind him. It was his eyes that caught her attention the most, however; strange eyes, a trait she possesed herself.


His words caused her eyes to smile for a moment, though her lips did not moved.


"There are many things we shouldn't wish for, stranger," she replied, giving a little shrug of her shoulders, "that we wish for nonetheless. Come now, if you've any wit about you, you'll know that us women will wish for, no matter how much might be provided." There was a hint of disdain in her voice for her own gender- so many reliant on their husbands. Her previous comment had whimsical, for money would be welcome but becoming one of the meek little women she so scorned was not.


"And if you find glory in good hard work, p'raps before the revolution you had little work to do, and the novelties still fresh." Her words might have sounded harsh, but the expression in her eyes and the light tone made it clear she jested. "Although if you're a fan of hard work, then a woman who wishes for things she ought not to is perhaps what you were looking for."


She was prone to speaking in such strange, almost riddling ways; it was her strange and unusual wit to speak in a manner that wrapped up all previous comments and strands of conversation.

[Jacques-Louis David]

Jacques-Louis laughed. "Oh, I've always worked hard. Jacques-Louis David, at your service." He swept a funny little half-bow, a relic from times past, but one he liked to bring out of storage at times in any case.

She had a sharp tongue, this one, for all her voice stayed soft. Un peu de dédaigne, aussi. A hint of disdain in her voice, a kind of layered irony Jacques-Louis could appreciate, even if she seemed to be referring back to something of which he himself wasn't fully aware. What her last comment meant, he had frankly no idea; but whatever it was... well. He might find out in due course whence her cynicism.

"I'm a painter," he added, watching her. Her sharp, yet sensual features were at once almost too perfect to paint (he was of the school who believed beauty lay in irregularities) and too interesting not to. It was, once again, the expression that drew him in. While he didn't find her sexually attractive (she was nearly as tall as he was, and while as an object d'art he appreciated this, in the bedroom--less so), he did enjoy looking at her. "And if it's money on the side you desire, I'm in need of a figure for my latest painting. A Lady Liberty or a Greek woman for a composition on the theme of freedom."

He took a sip of his wine. "But it was rude of me, to go on about myself before even asking your name. What is it, ma renarde?" he asked, calling her a vixen--and hoping she wouldn't be offended at the appellation.

[Nicholle Loillet]

She repeated his name internally to herself, recalling it from somewhere or other. She had a few amateur artist friends- although their paintings were not the sort you might hang in a pretty sitting room. Yes, she was sure she knew his name from somewhere, although she didn't mention this.

As he bowed, she inclined her head gracefully, but could not resist another cynical comment.

"At my service?" She smiled, her eyebrows slanting. "Why, usually 'tis the other way round." She let out a short low laugh, shrugging again. "Forgive me, my mother never taught me manners. A painter? Good, are you?" It was a serious question, not a sarcastic comment. For all her common ways, she did have interest in the arts. With a better upbringing, her profession could have been very difference.

She paused for a moment at his proposistion; not the sort she was used to hearing. As she responded, there was genuine surprise in her tone.

"I'm ever after money, you'll find- but me, a figure?" The thought amused her, and she smiled slightly, nodding rather carelessly. "Me as Lady Liberty- that I'd like to see. And it's Nic, or Col if you prefer- or vixen," she added, as an afterthought. "The lasts as true as the first, I suppose. Nicholle Loillet."

[Jacques-Louis David]

"Enchanté." Jacques-Louis bowed his head, hiding a smile at her pertness, and took a sip of his wine.

"As for your fitness as the Lady Liberty, my dear, you do seem to be quite the liberated lady, at least," he added. Though his face was composed, he did allow himself a slight smile. He slid into the seat opposite her at last. Now that introductions were done, there could be no harm in sharing a drink. And he would need to find some way of passing his time tonight. He didn't want to return to the inn too soon... Jacqueline appeared to have sensed his interest, and he wanted to leave her wanting more of it and not smother her, as was all too quick to happen when two people lived in close proximity.

Later on, of course, she'd want to spend all the time she could with him; but for now...

For now--he'd play the game he'd played for so many years, a game sadly soured with his ex-wife. Now there was too much closeness! Despite their divorce, they'd chosen to continue living together.

In retrospect, he thought (after having been unceremoniously tossed out two nights ago)--that had been less than his best idea...

"I could offer you forty assignats a sitting," he said, steepling his hands before him on the table, his wine glass half-full before him. This wasn't very much, considering the rising inflation, but it was more than she earned most nights, for certain.

The light did interesting things to the dark-red liquid in his glass, and he examined it; and threw it, the swell of Nicholle's bosom. A lovely blood-red bosom. Perhaps he would put blood in his picture...

[Nicholle Loillet]

"Liberated-" she said, a slight smile playing about her sensual lips. "A pretty word for what I may be, but nice nevertheless." She took a sip of her water, raising it politely as if it were wine. "To liberty, then."


She was quiet for a moment, mulling over her thoughts and his proposistion. Forty assignats- not a great amount, but she was used to less for far more strenuous work. And she thought she might like to see herself painted properly; the closest she had come were some rather sketchy drawings, and half of those at least were far from tasteful. A lasting momento of herself for the world... The idea intrigued her.


"A deal then," she said at last. "How many sitting d'you think you'll need me for? As many as possible, though, if that's the price we're working on!"

[Jacques-Louis David]

Jacques-Louis raised his glass when she did. "To liberty," he said, and drank it to the drop, then set down his empty glass. He wouldn't have more, not with Jacqueline back at the inn. She would judge him, he thought. And not in the way his ex-wife did, which made him only want to drink more....

"Four, five, or even ten times," Jacques-Louis said smoothly, in answer to Nicholle's next question. "I have a studio on the Rue Buffon. I paint and draw in the mornings, though," he warned her. "From sunrise until noon and then again in the afternoon when the light's less dazzling."

She wouldn't thank him for waking her so early, but a profession like hers was best done at night. The daytime job: that was a bonus, and if she cared more about money than her own comfort she'd accept. Besides, he hadn't missed the sparkle in her eyes when she'd heard him speak of setting her figure down in a painting for ever. It was a charm many women succumbed to, or had in his younger days, when his models were all his whores too.

[Nicholle Loillet]

"Fine, fine." She hoped it would be closer to the latter figure of ten than four, as this was sounding like some of the easiest money she was ever likely to earn. "I'm used to working late-" she said the words with a hint of irony in her tone, "so it won't be a problem. I'm a creature of little sleep." That much was true- three hours or so at night, sometimes, and then two hours at some point during the day. Her energy never seemed to be quenched, no matter how little rest she got.


"You have a comission?" She inquired idly. "Or merely for your own pleasure?"

[Jacques-Louis David]

"I always have a commission, my dear, I am Jacques-Louis David." He raised his glass ironically, despite the fact that it was empty. The irony of this gesture was perhaps twofold: it signified, albeit subtly, that he served an empty cause; and it signified that his pay for the projects demanded was scarce, too... though in truth everyone was poor these days. Sometimes, he wondered: was it better for everyone to suffer equally? Wasn't it better for some to prosper?

He supposed they would. He'd done well enough himself, even lately.

"Tomorrow morning, then?" He watched her, setting down his empty glass. "You're not drinking--that's good."

He tipped his head, examining her face. Maybe not Lady Liberty... he might want to use one of the Convention's wives for that--but then, why not? He would certainly use her as a body model.

"Should I let you get back to your nighttime work?" His expression was a little sly. "I'd offer myself, but you don't want an old man like me." At forty-four, he couldn't be accurately described as old. But sometimes he did feel as though he'd had enough of prostitutes.

[Nicholle Loillet]

She arched an eyebrow slightly at his words- but no, he didn't seem complacent or cocky. Merely confident. Although she did know of his name from somewhere or t'other, that was all- her education of fine arts was of course, limited. Still, she resolved to search into the name a little more, and perhaps discover something of the man.


"Tomorrow, then," she agreed, draining the last of her water. "And no- I don't drink, or at least not often. I may be an uneducated whore, Jacques-" and she asked no permission to call him by name, for she was damned if she was going to 'Sir' anybody in this day and age. "But I have a mind to be, and I've seen how the wine and suchlike can destroy people. The money I make is for my future and health, you see, not for every tavern I pass."


His last comment made her grin, an expression which made her seem somewhat younger, softer, despite the lewd comment that followed.


"You'll find I'm not a picky sort- and trust me, better an old hand at the art than some young knave who doesn't know one end of a woman from t'other! But- no. I have things to be sorting, places to be. Goodnight, Monsieur."

[Jacques-Louis David]

Jacques-Louis smiled back at her, delighted with her matter-of-fact bearing, so free of artifice. More people ought to be like this, he thought. Now that would be a worthy goal of the Revolution, rather than crushing all who disagreed with its principles. Far better freedom, true freedom, than the oppressive sort they could hope for now...

He stood up himself and nodded to her. "A pleasure to meet you. And if you come by 178 Rue Buffon tomorrow morning at six o'clock, I will be there waiting for you. I have a feeling you'll make an uncommon model."

And really an appropriate Lady Liberty, he thought to himself, as he walked away. He cast only a glance over his shoulder at her before moving to join his friend, Étienne, a member of the National Guard. Étienne nudged him and pointed back toward the woman he'd left, but Jacques-Louis shook his head. "You can try for her, if you like." There wasn't a doubt she was beautiful, but he had so much else to think about.