The sun was high in the sky, the clouds hovering low, making it a perfect day to chill in open terrace cafes. Vanitas sipped from his latte, his salad untouched.
Anytime now. He looked up at the clock tower which would soon chime its bells, announcing the end of another hour. It would be a shame to enjoy such a lovely afternoon all by his own, hopefully the lady who kept him waiting would show her face before the bell sounds.
Olivier had given up on scolding him further and stormed away after repeating his speech about being cautious. Although he had hoped to deal with Olivier and Roland in one go, he got off rather easily facing one of them given the gravity of things. He should be able to handle the other.
Lost in his thoughts, he failed to spot the person approaching until she was a few steps away. The opposite chair was pulled out and Vanitas grinned, seeing its occupant.
"You came," he greeted her with a smile, though it failed to melt the ice in her gaze. "Jeanne."
"What is it that you want?" She smacked an envelope on the table, crossing her arms in a protective stance.
The envelope, sealed with wax, had no address written on it, nor stamp to post it correctly. It held a postcard, a copy of watercolour painting of Montmartre. At the back of it in neat handwriting, was a date and time, an address of a café and a signature.
"I see you received Vincent's letter well." He placed the menu on top of the envelope, gesturing for Jeanne to pick her favourites. "Get something for yourself while we talk. We have so much to discuss."
Her expression seemed to have softened a bit at the mention of food which she tried and failed not to let it show. It was impossible to contain her excitement as Jeanne flipped over pages with shining eyes. Eventually she decided on a full course with add-ons, a considerably large portion given her build. She came in a navy dress with ruffles on the collar, a plain one when compared to the one she wore at the party but still showed off her slim figure. Once Jeanne had her orders taken, she put her stern face back on as she noticed Vanitas staring.
"Haven't you been to this side before? There's plenty of nice places if you know where to look."
"It's none of your business." Uninterested by wherever he was getting at, Jeanne cut him off. "Just say what you have to say."
"There's no need to rush. I thought, after everything that happened, we should at least sit down and have a chat." Shoving his coffee and salad aside, Vanitas leaned closer to whisper his next line. "They serve good food here, you know. Too bad I'm not on the menu this time."
"You…" She was interrupted by a waiter who brought her drink, awkward silence falling upon the two until his departure. "You lured me out to tie loose ends, then? To present the church with my head, the bourreau who lost it and attacked you?"
"Kill you? No, no. How could I kill the woman I love?" He reached out to hold her hand affectionately, though it took merely a second for her to struggle out of his grip. "I can't stop thinking about you ever since we met. My heart races at the sight of you. This must be what they call 'love'!"
Taken aback by his ability in ranting nonsense, Jeanne suppressed the urge to return words that would be inappropriate for a lady to use.
"I can't take my eyes off you anymore." He winked at her despite her deadpan expression. "You have to take responsibility for this."
"For punching your face?" Jeanne asked, her patience wearing off. "Now I know the chasseurs are lacking a mental support unit."
"I can distinguish delusion from reality, Jeanne. This, for instance," he pulled at the bow draping down his chest, ready for the big reveal. "Serves well as a proof of our relationship."
Since he wasn't out for business, he ditched his chasseur uniform and opted for casual wear: a simple white shirt, a striped vest and his favourite oversized cloak. With no high neck in the way, Jeanne's rose was visible as soon as his ribbon came undone.
"How forward of you to leave this on a chasseur." Tugging at the collar of his shirt for her to get a better look, he slid his fingers over her mark as if it wasn't obvious enough. "A mark of possession, my very first one."
She stood abruptly, her chair making a screeching noise. The revelation had hit her hard that she forgot their audiences. "I don't remember leaving that!" As soon as she became aware of onlookers, she slumped back to her seat, holding her coffee for show.
"I don't blame you for not knowing. You were so intense that night, pinning me against the roof..." Vanitas witnessed her blush deepen as he recounted the events. "I didn't think you have it in you. I was wrong."
"Stop telling it in that misleading way of yours." She said through clenched teeth, confidence wavering.
"Is it just the appeal of forbidden blood? Or is my blood too delicious you can't help but claim it your own?" Jeanne jolted at his remark, suddenly very interested in her coffee, refusing to look at anything but it. There was no need for her to deny or admit it, the answer was written all over her face. "Well, I'm glad it was a good memory for you too."
Tying his ribbon back to a perfect bow, Vanitas propped his chin on his hand and waited for Jeanne's internal battle to end. He wasn't sure what she had on her mind. It could either be a plot to shut him up for good, fear of Vanitas ratting her out, or somewhere in between. They were more or less on equal grounds now that exposing the secret would harm both parties. Should one of them decides to sink the ship, the other would sink as well.
"Don't you tell anyone about this, human." Jeanne sneered, her mind made up.
"I'm not planning to." Vanitas promised without delay, unsurprised by her decision. "Let's get along, shall we?"