Jack had been bright and charismatic and charming in New York; it was part of why she’d so easily and quickly fallen for him. Things had been a bit more touch-and-go since arriving in Europe, where he’d been forced into a number of admissions. Like the circus isn’t actually making any money. Like by the way, my goddaughter lives here. Like other than the money we got from your father, I’m flat broke.
So it wasn’t a stretch to say that things were a little strained.
Luckily, with Jack so busy moving the circus to Lethevale, and then preparing for a grand opening (and, she was fairly sure, spending the money he’d been given by her father in order to do so), it meant that it was a little easier to pretend that things weren’t strange. That she didn’t hear the whispers from the carnies about his first wife’s death. That Jeannie’s train car wasn’t practically a shrine to the dead woman’s memory. That there was no estate, no house, no nothing, except a failing carnival.
So when they entered the Black Swan and she saw the Jack that she knew vibrantly come back to life, it lifted a weight from her shoulders that she hadn’t quite been fully conscious of. This was better; the money didn’t matter that much (and definitely not nearly as much as that she didn’t understand why he’d lied in the first place). So things were a little rough now. They’d work through it. Everything would start to look up. And this would be the life he’d pitched to her: glamorous and exciting.
She’d let him schmooze on his own halfway through said schmoozing process, opting to lean against the bar and watch the people in the tavern. It was a big change, that was for sure. Loud music, boisterous laughter, and drinks that could have been anything. It was nothing like the parties she’d been to back home, which were delicate and specially fitted with their own rules of etiquette.
Marie was sipping one of those aforementioned drinks, carefully holding it with both hands; the weather here seemed to make her fingers stiffer than normal and while, at worst, a stranger might think her gloved hands were a little clumsy, she didn’t want to dump the whole glass on the floor because she wasn’t paying attention. And even though she’d been upset with Jack as often as she’d been happy with him since arriving in Europe, now her eyes lit up at the sight of him approaching her to dance.
“I have no idea how to do this,” she said with a laugh. Dancing, to her, had always been a specific, pre-determined set of steps that everyone followed. Not actually moving whatever which way the music took you.
3b.
So it wasn’t a stretch to say that things were a little strained.
Luckily, with Jack so busy moving the circus to Lethevale, and then preparing for a grand opening (and, she was fairly sure, spending the money he’d been given by her father in order to do so), it meant that it was a little easier to pretend that things weren’t strange. That she didn’t hear the whispers from the carnies about his first wife’s death. That Jeannie’s train car wasn’t practically a shrine to the dead woman’s memory. That there was no estate, no house, no nothing, except a failing carnival.
So when they entered the Black Swan and she saw the Jack that she knew vibrantly come back to life, it lifted a weight from her shoulders that she hadn’t quite been fully conscious of. This was better; the money didn’t matter that much (and definitely not nearly as much as that she didn’t understand why he’d lied in the first place). So things were a little rough now. They’d work through it. Everything would start to look up. And this would be the life he’d pitched to her: glamorous and exciting.
She’d let him schmooze on his own halfway through said schmoozing process, opting to lean against the bar and watch the people in the tavern. It was a big change, that was for sure. Loud music, boisterous laughter, and drinks that could have been anything. It was nothing like the parties she’d been to back home, which were delicate and specially fitted with their own rules of etiquette.
Marie was sipping one of those aforementioned drinks, carefully holding it with both hands; the weather here seemed to make her fingers stiffer than normal and while, at worst, a stranger might think her gloved hands were a little clumsy, she didn’t want to dump the whole glass on the floor because she wasn’t paying attention. And even though she’d been upset with Jack as often as she’d been happy with him since arriving in Europe, now her eyes lit up at the sight of him approaching her to dance.
“I have no idea how to do this,” she said with a laugh. Dancing, to her, had always been a specific, pre-determined set of steps that everyone followed. Not actually moving whatever which way the music took you.