Also, please be aware that this story takes place after my last work, "The Captain", in which Laila leaves Noir's service. It should stand on its own reasonably well, but I thought it best to make a note of this fact, in case anyone should wonder about Laila's absence.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything related to Gorgeous Carat. Furthermore, I recognize that Ruby, my original character, grew out of the songs "Ruby Brown" by Deana Carter and "Ruby Through the Looking-Glass" by Tori Amos.
Dedication: To Astra, Queen of the Gorgeous Carat fandom. You Higuri may own the jewels, but you own their progeny.
Chapter 1- Janus' Avatar
"So, you're clear on what needs to be done?"
The neatly-manicured fingers of a pale hand tapped against the armrest of its owner's chair. "Perfectly. Of course, I understood it just as well the first time you outlined it." Lightly-painted lips, tinged the most natural shade of pink, curved into a smile. "Do you imagine that I am a simpleton, Solomon?"
Solomon grinned half-heartedly, circled his desk, and sat down in his own chair. "Not at all. I know you're the best."
"The best you can get on your budget, at any rate." A lock of blonde hair escaped the barrette holding it back from its owner's face, and she tucked it behind her ear with an ease that was almost unconscious. "On a more… pragmatic note, once I've accomplished this task for you, my debt will be repaid?"
"In full." Solomon's grin grew broader, though no more sincere. "Bring me proof positive that Ray Balzac Courland is the Phantom Thief Noir, and you need never hear from me again."
A laugh, as soft and intrusive as the sound of a dinner-bell. "I can't say that I'd be glad to dispense with our acquaintanceship. You can be a rather… interesting man."
"That's not what you said when we last parted ways."
The rustle of green silk on upholstery preceded the click of sensible heels on the wood planks of the floor. "Well, things change, don't they? I find you much more bearable now that you've dispensed with that… lawfulness of yours."
Solomon looked away from her in the belief that, because her back was turned in his direction, she wouldn't notice. "You still know just how to twist a knife."
"You sound surprised. Isn't that the very reason you hired me?" Without waiting for a response, she left the room, and the click of his apartment door closing behind her made its way to Solomon's attention moments later.
"Is it, really?" he asked the chair she had vacated.
No response was forthcoming.
----
"You shouldn't have to do this."
Florian looked up from the folded shopping list in his hand, and smiled at Noir as he slipped it into his pocket. "My helping the servants is nothing new."
"Granted. However, you've already overseen the cleaning of the entire first floor, compiled the menu for the rest of the week, and made space for those fifteen new books on the library shelves." Ash fell from Noir's cigar as he shook it in Florian's direction, as though he meant to stab punctuation into the air between them. "I won't stand for you overworking yourself."
Florian clicked his tongue at the ash on the carpet, and went to retrieve a hand broom from the bottom of a nearby closet. "Well, if you're so worried about that, why haven't you hired any new servants since Laila left? The stack of applications on your desk is quickly turning into another ornament for me to dust." He emptied the dustpan into the closest wastebasket, and replaced the broom in the closet.
"It's not so easy." Noir placed his cigar to his lips and inhaled deeply. "Most of the applicants are just gossip-mongers hoping to work in a god-damn society drama. They'll spend more time staring at us and reporting whatever they see to whoever'll listen than working."
"I don't think that's true. Certainly, most of them seemed that way, but there were a few that looked promising."
"Name one." Noir's eyes flashed challengingly.
"Madame le Mercier? About fifty, looking for work to help her husband while he's recovering from surgery?"
Noir snorted, and the tendrils of smoke that he expelled through his nostrils in the process made him look enough like a fairy-tale dragon that Florian had to stop himself from laughing. "Damn hard-luck story. I'm sure she's just like the rest of them."
"That's not the impression I got when she came here to apply, but I won't argue with you." Florian glanced at his watch. "The stores close in two hours, and they're going to be crowded."
"Do you want me to go instead?"
This time, Florian did laugh. "Do you even know where the stores are?"
Noir exhaled a particularly thick cloud of smoke which obscured his features for a moment, so that Florian couldn't tell whether the pink tinge on his cheeks was actually there. "I imagine there are signs."
"Thank you, Noir, but I think both of us will feel better if I do the shopping." Florian stepped through the rapidly-dispersing cloud of smoke, kissed Noir's cheek, and turned back to the door. "I'll be back as soon as I can."
"Be careful," Noir called after him.
"Aren't I always?"
Florian chose to ignore the sceptical expression that crossed Noir's face as he closed the door behind him.
---
"Excuse me," Florian heard someone say as he crossed the road between the butcher's shop and the bakery, but, as the voice was rather distant, he chose to ignore it.
"Excuse me, sir," the voice repeated, and this time, Florian felt a light touch on his elbow. "Forgive me if I seem rude, but are you Florian du Rochefort?"
Florian turned, barely conscious of his own expression of blank confusion, and came face-to-face with a woman's polite smile. He glanced cursorily at her blonde hair, pinned back from her face, and her light, somewhat exotic silk dress, and nodded cautiously. "Yes, I am. Have we met, mademoiselle?"
The woman's smile grew wider, exposing a thin line of not-entirely-straight teeth. "Such a gentleman." She shook her head. "No, we haven't met. In fact, I came here hoping to make your acquaintance-- and, I must confess, by extension, the acquaintance of Count Courland." Her eyes, a very light shade of brown, met Florian's. "Is he with you, perhaps?"
"No, he is not." Florian tilted his head to the side very slightly. "Is this to do with a loan of some kind, or..."
"Oh, I'm sorry!" The woman laughed. "I haven't introduced myself properly yet. What must you think of me?"
"I assure you, mademoiselle, I have not judged you in any way." Florian smiled, mostly in order to satisfy a conciliatory impulse.
The woman's smile became a grin. "I'm glad. There's nothing more damning than a bad first impression." She inclined her head, but stopped just short of a bow. "My name is Ruby Brown. I came to Paris from America a year or so ago. Since then, I've been staying with friends, but as that's no longer an option, I need to find my own place, which, I'm sure you'll agree, requires money."
"And you'd like Count Courland to lend you the money to get started?" Florian ventured.
Ruby raised her index finger to the level of her mouth. "Close, but not quite. I've heard that the Count's hiring new staff. I wanted to apply for a position, but..." She laughed. "I'm embarrassed to admit it, but this part of the city is foreign to me, and I seem to have gotten lost on the way to Count Courland's home. I was just about to give up, actually, when I ran into you."
"It's a wonder you recognized me amid this crowd."
"Is it?" Ruby's eyes flicked over him, and Florian felt as though he was being measured for clothes that he wasn't quite sure he would ever want to wear. "There are very few men who carry themselves as... nobly, I suppose, as yourself. Besides, your beauty is legendary among the women of Paris."
"To my knowledge, most of the details of my life are legendary among the women of Paris."
"True enough." Ruby's grin withered into an expression most akin to cautious supplication. "I know it's relatively late, but do you think that Count Courland would mind terribly if I returned with you? I'd hate for this day to have been a complete loss just because I got a bit turned around."
Florian hesitated. "I'm not sure. As you say, it is rather late, and Count Courland has had a rather... trying day. I don't know how receptive he'd be."
"I see." Her face withered even further, into an expression of bleak disappointment. "Of course, I understand... it's just that, well, I really do need the work. I was hoping to start as soon as possible, and at this point, an extra day makes a big difference to me." She extended her hand slightly. "Are you sure there's no way I can see him today?"
Florian was the one to initiate eye contact this time: she faced his scrutiny bravely, as one who has nothing to hide. He saw strength in her, a stubborn tenacity that he knew Noir would respect. Try as he might, he could detect no insincerity in her, and there was a certain desperation in the set of her jaw that made him not only believe her, but feel sorry for her.
"I have some shopping to finish," he began, and her face lit up with gratitude. "I shouldn't be too long. After that, you can come back with me, but I can't promise that Count Courland will agree to see you."
"Thank you, Monsieur de Rochefort." Ruby's shoulders dipped into an abbreviated bow. "You're a very good man."
"You do me too much honour." Florian returned her bow. "As I've said, I can't promise you anything."
"Just the same, I appreciate the favour." Ruby stepped forward to stand beside him, and gestured to the parcels he was carrying. "Can I help you with those?"
"Thank you, but I believe I can manage these." Florian's brow creased. "Perhaps you wouldn't mind carrying the bread, though? It can be rather awkward."
"Of course." Ruby winked at him. "It's good practice for my new job."
"You're very confident."
"It's better than the alternative, isn't it?" Ruby frowned as they began to walk toward the bakery. "Pessimism tends to poison everything."
"True enough," Florian said. As he held the door of the shop open for her, and she walked through, he stole another glance at her, hoping that this one would catch her unguarded. And, in fact, he did believe that he saw something more, some tempering that was a product of neither wisdom nor ordinary experience, and which certainly didn't belong alongside the image of her innocent strength.
And then, she was smiling at him again, and the person he had been seeing seemed to evaporate right before his eyes. "Are you hoping for a career as a doorman?"
Florian laughed, but the sound was no longer quite as sincere. "Forgive me. I must have been dreaming."
He would honour his promise to this woman, but he made another, to himself, that he would not let her out of his sight until he was sure which of her faces, if either, could be trusted.