xp_logs | Yvette & Jean-Paul, Late Thursday Morning

Jean-Paul is looking to get away from others for a little while, so he heads for the woods. Yvette is there.

Jean-Paul had a hard time justifying staying in the mansion when people were out and about. Daylight meant people were awake, busy, active - meant that running into people he'd known before was more likely, that he'd have to pretend everything was alright or at least figure out how to remove himself from the situation without seeming to be horribly rude about it.

Sometimes, that failed.

Sometimes, it was easier to just spend most of the day outside, away from people in general when he wasn't sure what might set him off.

Which was why he'd headed for the treeline nearest the window of his suite. The shortest distance between two points was a straight line and Jean-Paul saw no reason to take longer than necessary to get to where he was going. Dodging trees wasn't particularly high on his list of fun things to do today, though, so he slowed down when he actually got to the trees, weaving through them without paying much attention to how high or low he was. He didn't want to break the cover of the foliage over him and he didn't want to wind up with a face full of dirt - those were about as specific as his intentions got.

Perhaps unfortunately for him, the woods were a favourite escape for several of the mansion's residents, not the least of which the small red-skinned girl currently perched in a treetop, munching on an apple and reading, the book carefully held in one gloved hand. Her long clawed feet were bare, gripping the rough wood of the branches below, and she didn't seem to notice the cold despite the thin black bodysuit she was wearing.

A rustle in the trees caught her attention and she looked up, a little puzzled. Then she caught sight of the man flying through the tree tops not so far away and she started, the book tumbling out of her hands and down to the ground below. "H-hello?" she called at last, wondering who the newcomer might be. There hadn't been anything about the newest resident being able to fly and there was no protective suit...

Pausing when he heard something falling through the trees, Jean-Paul turned himself around in a slow circle until he caught sight of her. He followed the path the object must have taken, brows rising a bit when he realised it was a book. It took him no more than a moment to retrieve it from the ground at the base of the tree. Wuthering Heights. He considered it for a moment as he thought through his options. He had to give it back, of course. He was relatively certain that doing so wouldn't put the girl in any danger.

So he approached slowly and extended the hand holding the book. "Bonjour."

Her brow furrowed slightly as glowing blue eyes looked back at him. "Thank you," she said softly, accepting the book. The man hovering in front of her seemed vaguely familiar... "I am sorry if I startled you."

"Non - I have forgotten. People come here for the peace, oui? I apologise for interrupting." Jean-Paul knew her. He knew that much, knew that he should know more. "It is a good book you have chosen." And he should have been going elsewhere, now that he'd returned it.

"No, it is fine. These are the big woods and there is being room for everyone." She smiled a little at the compliment. "It is one of my favourites. It is the very romantic story."

"It is," Jean-Paul said, nodding. It was tragic, but romantic. He could understand the attraction to it. "You have read Jane Eyre by Charlotte Brontë?"

Her eyes glowed brighter and she nodded eagerly. "Oh yes! It is another of the favourite books. Which would be yours, please?" There was a comfortable familiarity about the conversation that was jogging her memory as well as the voice, but she could see how skittish the man was.

"Villette," Jean-Paul answered. "If we are remaining with the Brontë sisters. Romeo and Juliet otherwise." It was obvious that the child enjoyed reading and that was rarer these days than it had once been. Not that he was really able to speak to that much. He'd been a late bloomer when it came to appreciating literature. "Do you read Shakespeare?"

Her eyes lit up even brighter, if that was possible. "Oh, yes!" she replied, "And sometimes I am acting it also! Last year, I was Puck in A Midsummer's Night's Dream. I was almost not needing the costume, you see." She settled a little more comfortably on her branch, adjusting the grip with her toes. As the man's head turned slightly, she caught sight of a pointed ear. ~It can't be!~ she thought to herself in Albanian, but held her tongue. If it was who she thought it was - and the love of Shakespeare confirmed it - he obviously wasn't well if he couldn't remember who she was, and she didn't want to upset him.

"Oui," Jean-Paul said, a reluctant smile tugging the corners of his lips upward at her enthusiasm. It was difficult to not appreciate it. "I see - you enjoyed the acting as much as the reading?"

"Not at first," she admitted. "I was being very nervous, to think of talking in front of all those people. But I had the friends and the teacher who was helping me to be brave."

Friends and teachers, students and... field trips. These were part of mansion life, Jean-Paul knew. He also knew, unequivocally, that he should know this girl. That he did - with her clawed feet, her gloved hand, her red skin. The memories were once there, but all he could find now were fragments, bits and pieces that didn't fit together into a cohesive whole.

Darkness, the glow of blue eyes, the screech of breaking metal, wind and speed, pain in his hand. "That is the way of things, though, is it not?" Jean-Paul murmured, hovering there in front of her as he tried to slot the bits and pieces of memory into something that made sense. "It is good to have the experience - would you want to take a part in another play in future?"

There didn't seem to be anything wrong with the memories, they didn't seem to be false, not like some of the others - most of the others. Jean-Paul needed a name, though. He needed a name and it was there, just not where it was supposed to be.

"Very much so," Yvette replied eagerly. "Although, perhaps without the invisible people playing tricks, or the mean girls making illusions. The plays have enough of their own drama, do they not, Mr. Beaubier?" The slipped out before she really realised.

"Oui," Jean-Paul murmured, and it took him a moment to realise that she'd used his surname. He blinked, the skin between his shoulder blades prickling uncomfortably. "I am sorry you had invisible people and girls casting illusions. Plays carry curses of their own, or so some claim." Confirmation that he knew her - he had a sudden flash of waking up to her asking if he was alright, a headache pounding through his temples, and then he remembered. "Yvette."

She smiled then, echoing the flash of her eyes. "That is so, yes." She hesitated, and then asked gently. "Are you all right, Mr. Beaubier? I almost was not recognising you, you are so different."

"Yes, I am alright, Yvette," Jean-Paul said, knowing it was an outright lie and feeling guilty for telling it. But it was better to hide just how damaged he still was than to lay the burden of that knowledge on the girl's shoulders. God knew it was almost too heavy for him to bear. "Thank you for asking." He nodded toward her book before continuing, "I will let you get back to your reading." Jean-Paul was already reversing, preparing to leave the woods entirely. Perhaps just flying fast and hard would be better than meandering. Less chance of meeting former students and colleagues that way, at least.

"Please, before you go... perhaps sometime we can talk about the books again?" Yvette asked, hopefully. "I missed doing such with you."

Jean-Paul was torn - the obvious enjoyment of literature at its best versus the desire to keep the child safe from himself - they warred in his mind and he hesitated. He should say no, but he didn't want to. "Perhaps," he finally said. "All of my things from Laval have not arrived, and so I have only some of my books. But perhaps, once they are here and I am... able to refresh my memories of them." Or read them to fill in the holes he could no longer pretend weren't there.

Her eyes brightened again. "I would like that, thank you," she said, polite as always. And perhaps, she considered, it might help him as well. "Have the nice flight, yes?"

"Oui, thank you," Jean-Paul said, nodding briefly. "Enjoy your book, Yvette." And with that, he flew upward, breaking the cover of the upper boughs and just continuing on. He'd stop when he was out of breath - he had an hour or two until he reached that point.