Jean, Warren, Jean-Paul, Adrienne:

[x-jeangrey.livejournal.com]

Jean, Warren, Jean-Paul, and Adrienne take in a show and discuss the Opera and everything in between.



Adrienne felt a rush of excitement as she stepped out of the car Warren had hired for them and stared up at the five arches of Lincoln Center through the fountain in the plaza. She couldn't wait to get inside to see the lobby chandeliers and climb to the top of the staircase staircase and look down at everyone! And then going into the auditorium with all the red velvet and the boxes and the gold curtain on the stage! It was something akin to what she assumed children felt at Christmas, though she was fairly certain she'd never felt this way about Christmas in the Frost house. There was just something about heading into a venue like the Met coupled with the anticipation of experiencing an amazing show with friends- especially one she knew felt the same way about the show they were about to see as she did- that made her feel giddy.

She let out a little squeal of excitement as the others climbed out of the car and had to hold herself back from jumping up and down. "Look at us," she said with approval, looking her companions in their fancy dress up and down. "We clean up good. Don't anybody fall into the fountain or anything," she grinned.

Jean-Paul offered Adrienne his arm once he'd straightened his cuffs after getting out of the car. "You should not fall in the fountain, mon ami. I do not think it would be a problem so much for the rest of us." He was smiling, though, eyes moving upward to take in the beauty before him, the glass-filled arches and the art visible through them. The lights were gorgeous.

Warren grinned and similarly turned to offer Jean his arm. He was wearing a new suit, carefully designed to work around his wings. He rustled them a little, settling them back into place after sitting in the car for so long. "You'll have to catch her if she starts to trip, Jean-Paul. I'd hate to see that dress ruined." Because yes, the dress was the most important thing.

"If he doesn't I will," Jean said, smirking as she draped her arm over Warren's. "We're a little too formal to go in for a water rescue."

Jean was re-wearing the dress they'd given her for her birthday. It seemed like the perfect occasion. Though the looks she was given by the women passing by who knew designers told her her suspicions about the price of the dress being probably the average New Yorker's monthly salary was correct.

Her gaze followed Jean-Paul's as she stood there for a moment. The view had her smiling unconsciously with a sense of wonder.

"Wow." Everyone needed a little wonder in their lives from time to time.

"I agree, a water rescue would be bad, even though I hear Jean swims like a mermaid," Adrienne smirked, taking Jean-Paul's arm as they headed into the building. "I guarantee this is not the only time you'll be saying 'wow' before the night's over, Jean," she added happily, pleased the four of them were doing this together. "I still can't believe you've never been to the opera! Should we tell her the story so she's mentally prepared, Warren?" she inquired, half-teasing, partly because she knew Jean could just read someone's mind and find out the story if she wanted to. "And spoil the experience for her?" Warren grinned, leading Jean towards the entrance. "Of course not." He smiled over to her, a twinkle in his eye. "Just be prepared for a tragic ending. There are never any happy endings at the opera." It was something of a rule, it seemed.

"This is true," Jean-Paul murmured, smiling as they walked inside. "Very true. But it does not take away from the beauty." He wasn't familiar with this particular opera, but he'd been to a fair few. He couldn't remember all of them in their entirety, but this was meant to be a happy evening and he was with friends, which meant he didn't need to worry so very much. "I've been to a few plays, mostly Broadway and Off Broadway, but not the opera. Not sure why," Jean admitted. She didn't actively seek it out. Being too busy the thought never occurred to her too much. But it was nice to be able to try it to see if she liked it. She liked some musicals, but she had to be in the mood for them.

"Let me guess, someone dies."

"Oh no," Warren said with a smile. "No fishing for clues. If you don't know the story, we'll let you experience it for yourself. And we can talk about it at length after the show." They'd reached the doors by this stage, Warren them guiding them towards the bar. They had some time before the opera started, and he at least wanted a glass of champagne before they headed in.

"Drink anyone?"

Adrienne had been about to answer Jean's question but clapped her mouth shut when Warren scolded her about fishing for clues. "Nothing for me, thanks," she answered, still living the clean and sober life after her debacle with Garrison. "I'm drinking in the outfits and the personalities. Okay, so Jean has Broadway and off-Broadway experience, and Warren's a total geek about the opera, what about you, Jean-Paul? I know you're a big Shakespeare fan but do you take in much theatre of the musical or operatic variety?"

"Some of this, some of that," Jean-Paul said, smiling. "I am not an aficionado, as they say, of any one thing. I have seen musicals and opera before, though. Not La bohème specifically. I am not so sure that I have a favorite."

"Do they have amaretto?" Jean said. She felt like a little bit of something, but not enough to dull the experience.

"They certainly should," Warren said with a smile, before turning to order the two drinks. It was only a few moments before he passed Jean her drink, before glancing around the foyer. There were a few faces he recognized, but no one he felt the need to actually go ahead and speak to.

"So we have two La Bohème virgins," he said with something of a wicked grin as his attention turned back to the group.

"We should make this even more interesting and have them take bets on what they think is going to happen based on what stereotypes they know about opera," Adrienne suggested to Warren, returning the grin. "Any takers?"

Jean-Paul snorted softly and shook his head. "Non, I think not. I am not so interested in losing money. If this was a play, maybe."

He smiled as his eyes traveled upward, taking in the artwork and the chandeliers above them. This truly was a beautiful place. "I will bet that one of you cries, though," he said, indicating all three of his friends.

"Thanks," Jean said to Warren as she took a drink, then turned to Jean-Paul.

"How will you know if you've never seen the Opera either?" she said with a wry smile. The crying type pretty much left her or Adrienne she was surmising.

"I believe he's making a very general stereotype," Adrienne smirked, "although whether it's a stereotype about women, opera fans, or the nature of operas in general, I'm not too sure. I will take the bet that Warren cries," she stipulated, poking him in the shoulder with a grin.

"I feel like my masculinity is being questioned here," Warren said with mock offense. "I'll have you know I've never cried at the opera." He paused. "Well, not since I was about ten, at least."

"I have seen you drink a pink martini with a tiny umbrella stuck into a lime for a decoration," Jean-Paul said, turning just enough to look at Warren, faux seriousness all over his face. "If this has caused no one to question your masculinity, I think there is nothing to worry about here." He looked back toward Jean, letting another smile spread over his face. "I, however, will take your bet."

"Now now...In the Victorian era pink was actually the preferred color for males," Jean mused as she took a sip of her drink. "It was closer to red...passion."

She shrugged, holding up a hand. "It takes a strong man to be able to cry. There, I said it."

"And these are two very strong men," Adrienne smirked. "One of them's going to be crying before the opera's over." She surveyed some of the dresses and suits in the crowd. "Pink clothes, and puffy shirts," she mused in response to Jean's comment about pink. "So I think the Victorians were just fucked up. They made women wear bonnets. And six layers of petticoats. That's just cruel and unusual punishment. We can't trust the Victorians."

"I think you'd look rather fetching in a bonnet," Warren replied with a grin, winking at Adrienne. "And six layers of petticoats. Who can resist a well covered up woman?"

"They had a strange fetish for ankles," Jean-Paul said, frowning a little, though not seriously. He made a show of looking at everyone's ankles, even going so far as to pluck at the fabric of Adrienne's skirt.

"Who doesn't?" Adrienne asked in mock disbelief, cocking an eyebrow as she showed off her ankle to all. "I bet that's why Rodolfo's really turned on by Mimi in the opera. It has nothing to do with eyes at all. Eyes are just Victorian euphemism for ankles, I bet." She wasn't actually sure how much Victorian fashion trends and fetishes actually made it to Italy while Puccini was writing the opera, but that was a conversation for another time. "You guys'll have to keep an eye out for signs of that while you're watching," she nodded enthusiastically. "You know," she mused as she watched the crowd milling about, "Garrison once took me to this Shakesperian festival up in Ontario during his quest to de-civilize me by shoving Canadiana down my throat, and at the festival, as a warning to people that the show's about to begin, instead of a bell or a voice on a speaker, they have trumpeters. Actual people playing trumpets so you know to get your asses in your seats. Apparently, they used to fire actual cannons when the shows started as a notification to late patrons! Did you know this was going on in your country, Jean-Paul?" Adrienne asked, though her tone of voice didn't betray what she actually thought about this.

"Wait, wait a moment," Warren interrupted. "I thought Canadians thought they were more civilized than Americans, not less." He also looked over at Jean-Paul, looking speculative.

"I have nothing to do with these things," Jean-Paul scoffed. "I am Quebecois. We are more civilized than Americans."

Jean looked between the three of them, silent a moment or two before she burst out laughing, her eyes sparkling with amusement at the entire conversation.

"Yes, I'm sure you are Jean-Paul," she said before glancing over toward the clock.

"When does the show start again?"

Warren glanced at the clock, and quickly finished his drink.

"Soon enough that we should probably move inside." He flashed them all a somewhat cheeky grin. "I'd hate for our opera virgins to be locked out on their first visit." He indicated for Adrienne and Jean to start moving.

"Ladies first."