[D3 LE] Helping Hand (Chantelle's Apartment)

[Marcus Kendall]

Tilting her head to one side, tea-scented confusion seeped into the room, “mais, I don’ tink you eva did tell me exac’ly when you from, Marcus. Bu’ we migh’ as well ge’ it all ou’ in de table.” The pair would sense her nervousness, she knew how fortunate she was, and she couldn’t be entirely sure how the others would react.

"I was born '95." Marcus replied, his voice echoing of woods millennia old. "It was there but.. days, weeks? Not much more. But it felt like a lifetime. Couldn't really recall who I was when I got back." he added, sounding sorrowful. "Still have problems with that." the beast raised its claw, looking at his inhuman claws. "What am I, really."

"It's more complicated, for me." Jack said. "I was gone from this world for nearly a century. I had little sense of time, but it felt like I was there forever. Yet, in spite of the changes the Gentry imposed on me, I haven't really aged."

"Oh, shit, Mister Jack. That's rough." the beastling swore. "Like, you lived before they got TVs and cars and shit."

[Jack Doyle]

"I don't remember." he admitted to Chantelle. "But, do I remember my mother crying after Théâtre de l'Opéra burned down. She was a singer too. And, I do remember seeing as automobile, once."

[Chantelle Rossette]

“Oh,” Chantelle was quite taken aback, “I wa’ born in nine’y two.” It was hard to reckon up years in Arcadia, and she still believed the beast had more of them, all counting, but in the mundane world she was older, and even if it wasn’t by much, it represented a realignment of her understanding of the world.

Frowning thoughtfully, “I tink...” she took out her smartphone, tapping at the screen for a short while. Under her feathers she grew increasingly pale, “it say... de Théâtre National de l'Opéra, it burn down in eightee’ seventy trè?” Her chocolate eyes were wide.

[Jack Doyle]

"No." he shook his head. "Théâtre de l'Opéra, in New Orleans."

[Marcus Kendall]

"Oh really? They had cars back then?" Marcus asked Jack, sounding confused. He tilted his head to the side as he tried to come to grasp this revelation. "Never went much to schools, wouldn't know." the beast explained, shrugging. "Only the rich kid do that."

"Ninety two, eh." The beast too sounded bit surprised. "I thought..." much to Marcus surprise, he managed to swallow his words. He might not have been particularly smart, but he had some social acumen. "There were two opera here?"

[Chantelle Rossette]

Laughing, “mais, mos’ tech only as goo’ as de person usin’ it.” While she refined her search, she arched a brow at Marcus, “you dought wha’? Go on, we all frien’s ‘ere,” her tone was cajoling and teasing.

[Marcus Kendall]

"That you were bit older? You have all these good ideas." If the beast could have blushed, he would have. Instead he looked rather bashful. "Um... sorry, Chantel." Marcus muttered, scratching the back of his neck rather violently. Small scraps of lichen fell on the floor, though the beast could not see this happen.

[Jack Doyle]

"I imagine the name has been used a few times, anywhere with French influence." he shrugged. "And, I have to agree with Marcus, you have a mature air about you."

[Chantelle Rossette]

The egret didn’t seem in the least perturbed by the comments, radiating something akin to satisfied pride, but she still had the mystery of the New Orleans Théâtre fire to solve, and looked back down at her phone. Eventually, “ninetee’ ninetee’? dat’s almos’ exac’ly a cent’ry ago.” Chantelle scrolled down, looking for a date, “Decemba four.”

[Marcus Kendall]

"Huh." Marcus exhaled. "You old." he chuckled, turning to look at the elf-esque changeling. "So, how the world was back then? Like, horses everywhere and stuff? People dying all the time?"