"What are you doing there?" I froze upon hearing a voice from behind me. "..Who's there?"
Maki's POV
I turned around to see a man with jet-black hair, his tips as white as the stars outside. He spoke to me in French, his accent was heavy but not quite Italian.. Something about his mien reminded me of my nightmare. But I couldn't pick out anything frightening about him. But the way he dressed stood out to me. Was it a costume..? But at this point, I didn't care who he was. I was just happy to have found someone.
"Um.. Pardon. Do you know how to open this door? I'm trying to return to the musee." I explained. The man's eyes widened at me, "What's that? 'Return?' You're not telling me you came through that door?" I looked at him in confusion, "That's exactly what I'm telling you. I entered through the hallway, the one with all the antiques." As he looked at me, he didn't seem to doubt my story. Just his own eyes. "Just what are you?" His gaze narrowed.
From down the hall, I could hear the sound of the soft click from fine oxford shoes' heels. My mind immediately went to the gentleman with dark golden eyes. I figured a familiar face might be nice. Along with more assistance opening the door. "Excuse m-" The dark-haired man suddenly clasped a hand over my mouth and pulled me into his arms. I was in shock, what was he even doing?!
He pulled me behind the long curtains, hiding both of us with his back flat against the wall. Was he hiding me, or himself? I could feel myself tremble in his hold. But he was holding me quite gently. "I won't hurt you. Just for now, don't make a sound." he whispered. Half-shadowed, half-illuminated, he was like a living painting in chiaroscuro. His features all seemed to be in contrast. Slender face with a firm jaw, sharp tufts of hair that looked as soft as silk, eyes of bright jade that met mine without shying away. Both powerful and earnest. Eyes that made me want to trust him.
But I still had no clue what was going on here. Yet I could tell this man wasn't lying to me. I nodded to his request, and he moved his hand from my mouth. But what were we even hiding from? The man coming down the hallway? Why? After a moment of silence, the dark-haired man spoke- "They're gone." He was right. I couldn't hear the echoes of footsteps any longer.
"I'll answer your questions later. You need to escape before the others find you." He told me as we stepped out from the curtain. He grabbed my hand in his firm grip, and began walking. But escape? What exactly is this place that I need to escape from? ..What happens here? I would be lying if I said I wasn't scared. "We'd better run. Don't let go of my hand." He told me, his tone firm. If there was one thing in this mansion I wasn't afraid of, it was him.
After all, he's done nothing but try to help me. I held his hand tight, figuring that he was my best bet at getting out of this. "By Jove, what's this?" The door ahead of us creaked open and out stepped a man. He struck a casual pose and shoved his hands in his pockets. I heard the man next to me click his tongue and I could immediately tell what that sound implied. We had been caught. "I don't know who let this sweet little bird into the mansion, but from what I can deduce.. you're helping her escape." The man in front of us smiled.
"Now, why would you go and do that? ..I rather fancy her type, you know. She looks absolutely scrumptious." He blocked off our exit in a smooth fashion. And his eyes remained fixed on me with obvious fascination. Did he just call me scrumptious? He's British, isn't he? Although he had a bit of a brogue. A smirk grew on his lips, "Ah, maybe you fancy me too, judging by the way you're looking me over." He also appeared to be a rotten flirt.
He ran his tongue over his lips in what was a very purposeful gesture. I averted my gaze, making my discomfort evident on my face. "..It had to be you." the dark-haired man groaned, interposing himself between me and the colorful flirt.
Third POV
Elsewhere in the mansion.. The gentleman from Paris settled into a chair within his private suite. His gaze falling onto the candle-lantern as if it were a window. "A moment, Sebastian." He spoke. "Yes, Monsieur?" The butler, known as Sebastian, finished setting tea for the gentleman and stood attentively. "We have an unexpected guest. I want to be sure she receives our best hospitality." He smiled, "See there is a place set for her at the banquet." "As you wish."
Maki's POV
"Why do you want to help her escape? Let's bring her to the banquet." The flirt suggested. The dark-haired man glared at him, "That's not up to me or you." "Don't be so stodgy! Who's going to complain if we add a little colour to that drab table?" I was still in my shock. They're hosting a banquet? And he called this place a mansion.. What mansion could possibly be connected to the Louvre? I only had even more questions and still no answers.
"Messieurs." A man dressed in a butler's garb entered the hallway. "It is time for supper. They're gathering in the dining room now, if you please." When I didn't move, the butler fixed his gaze on me. "You too, Mademoiselle." "Eh? Me?" But I didn't belong here. I shook my head, "I have no intention of staying for supper." "But the lord of the manor is awaiting you." he informed me. So.. This was really someone's house.
I narrowed my gaze, "How does he even know I'm here?" "You can ask him yourself at supper." Was I really getting no answers until then? The butler glared at me, "Or will you refuse his invitation after so rudely invading his house?" "But I didn't-" I wanted to say it was just an accident. But that was only an excuse. I had apparently trespassed onto some noble lord's property. If nothing else would make sense, the butler's reasoning did. Besides, maybe the lord of this manor could tell me how to get back to the Louvre. The best thing to do was to be polite until then.
The butler seemed to sense my acquiesce. "Allow me to escort you." I followed the butler closely, mentally mapping the route we took. The other two men followed behind me. I couldn't run about the place blindly trying doors. That's what got me in this mess in the first place. I contemplated my guide.
He wore a crisp uniform with spotless white gloves. He's fastidious. No nonsense. His master wanted me to dine with him and sent this one to ensure that I did. As we walked, I heard the dainty, frolicking keys of a piano. The melody only grew louder as we approached a door. "Sounds like Wolfie's in a sprightly mood." The flirt smiled. Wolfie? Is that who's playing the piano?
The butler stopped at the door, seemed to brace himself for a trial, and knocked three times. "Pardon me. ..Ahem. I know that you are in there. Come join us in the dining room." The piano came to a cut-shortstop and the door opened. Revealing a man who remained firmly entrenched on the other side. "Go away." He spoke, his tone cold. "It is time for the banquet." the butler spoke.
The pianist, whose curt voice seemed to carry a faint Austrian accent, sighed as if he'd been so rudely awakened from a wondrous dream. He was honestly breathtaking.. He stood unmoving. As if the flickering light of the chandeliers was the only life within him. White hair laced across violet eyes- eyes that narrowed unhappily once they'd spotted me, "Why was everyone being so loud? ..It's her fault, isn't it?" "Huh..? My fault..? I don't even know why I'm here. I'm meant to be at the museum.." I muttered, my tone quiet and weak.
The pianist glared at me, "Who cares. Why don't you just go back then? Unless you enjoy the idea of being everyone's food." What? I must have misheard him. He slipped past me, bending slightly as he did so to avoid any contact. This one clearly wasn't interested in clearing up misunderstandings. "..As if the banquet wasn't bad enough." He grumbled. He took the staircase down, his cold tone hanging like notes in the air around us. We followed after him, another figure waited at the bottom of the steps.
"It's poor manners to keep those who've arrived on time waiting." It was a familiar voice. One that belonged to many countries and none at the same time. I stared at him in surprise, "..It's you." It was the same gentleman who'd found my earring back in the Musee du Louvre. My pace seemed to quicken as I walked down the steps, stopping short at the sight of those dark golden eyes. It was really him. Is he the lord of this manor? He certainly did seem a bit princely..
"Erm.. Pardon me.. But do you remember me? We met in front of The Coronation of Napoleon. You had found my earring." I mumbled. The gentleman smiled, "Of course I remember you." He came here by way of the Louvre, just like I did, that much was clear. At this point, I just needed to get to an exit. Any exit, and call for a ride. Before I could ask for the way out, my dark-haired savior stepped in between us. "She says she came here through your door. Did you bring her?"
Just like when he had grabbed my hand, he looked as though he were protecting me. The gentleman shook his head, "I did not. I can give you my oath, if you wish. Her arrival is just as surprising to me." The dark-haired man's eyes widened, "Then how did she get here?" What are they even talking about? I was confused. 'Your door?' "My arrival?' They weren't making any sense. It was becoming harder and harder to deny that something was wrong here, very wrong. I felt as though I wanted out more than ever.
But I just needed to know where I was first. I tapped my phone. 2:50 p.m. No signal. "You have been very kind, but I really must go. I have an itinerary to keep." I began, "We're still in the 1st arrondissement, yes? Where the Louvre is? That door over there, does it lead outside?" I asked my questions as quickly as I could, before anyone else got the idea to interrupt me. "..Hmm. I'm afraid the answers you seek will only confuse you more. This isn't the place for a long discussion however. Would you join me for dinner?" The gentleman replied.
Long discussion? 'Does that door lead outside?' is a simple yes or no question! Perhaps he had sensed my growing aggravation as he added quickly- "Tonight's banquet is a rare occasion for us. But afterwards, I will answer all your questions. S'il vous plait."
I had made it my job to help people plan their vacations and adventures. As such, I had done the digging on any number of fancy hotels- The gentleman from Paris' dining room was like that of a palace. Warmly lit chandeliers and candelabras. High-backed wooden chairs framing the massive table where four men already were seated.
There was the beautiful pianist. He seemed to be holding onto his earlier statement- unhappy to be there. There were two men sitting together some distance away from the pianist. "Must've been something pretty important to keep us waiting here. One second longer and I would've left." The dark-haired one was drumming his fingers impatiently against the table. "Now, now. Getting angry about dinner is not going to make the food come out any faster." the man next to him spoke, his tone soft. "I have to be angry for two, mijn broer." 'Broer?' So, these two are brothers? And Dutch.
The blonde-haired brother had the complete opposite attitude of his short-tempered sibling. "Who's that?" The nicer one's gentle eyes fell on me. "We have a guest? It's nice to meet you." he smiled at me. "Uh.. Nice to meet you, too." There was salvation in his smile. He looked like the paintings of angels I'd seen at the musee. There he is. There's always that one person who somehow makes everything brighter. "..We have a guest?" The fourth man, who had a more youthful appearance, raised his head, having finally noticed our arrival.
He'd been studying the tablecloth, as far as I could see. He got the briefest look at me before returning to his thread-counting. Was he shy? When he spoke, I couldn't tell who he was addressing as he kept his head down, "Whoever you are, have you considered sitting down? There's a queue behind you waiting to get in, you know." "Newt, old boy, you do care!" the flirt laughed. "Can you desist calling me that wretched-!"
'Newt' placed his hands atop the table as though to push to his feet. I heard a sharp clap behind me. "That will be enough of that, you two. I require good manners at my table." The gentleman from Paris gave everyone in the room a warning look, cloaked behind a smile. "Let's be seated. There's a few empty chairs, but we'll have to start the toast without them."
"A votre santé!" The gentleman raised a glass filled with golden champagne in a toast to good health. Immediately after, the butler began bringing out the first course. But I hadn't joined the gentleman in his toast. I didn't even touch my glass of champagne. It's not like I believed it was poison or drugged, though I was still wary. I just hadn't felt like joining in. Too much didn't make any sense.
It should be a quarter past three, and I should be at the Louvre. Yet it's nighttime, and we're seated at dinner. I wasn't able to solve that puzzle right now. So I turned my attention to the men around me. Who even are they? I don't know any of them. It was obvious they all came from different countries. An international meeting of some kind? Yet they didn't particularly seem to be friends..
The gentleman from Paris, sitting at the head of the table, suddenly inclined his glass my way, "Let us toast to tonight's most glorious and miraculous encounter. Sante." Awkwardly, I spoke in a quiet voice- "..A la votre." Unable to refuse such a direct toast, I responded, looking into his eyes as I lightly touched my glass to his. He finished his champagne. Feeling guilty, I took a small sip. But only a singular small sip.. I was never a fan of alcoholic beverages.
But.. 'Glorious?' 'Miraculous?' What is going on? My stomach seemed to know. I had only eaten a quick breakfast this morning. But I felt almost too tense to try and eat. ..But I'll only be insulting him if I don't. Sighing lightly, I tried the terrine. Pheasant with fresh basil. It tasted good, yet I was still uncomfortable. "..My compliments to the chef." I mumbled. "He'll be pleased to hear that." The gentleman smiled at me, and suddenly, I could feel the champagne.
But maybe he is just a harmless nobleman and I was taking things all too seriously. By all appearances, it was a perfectly pleasant evening. Wasn't this just the sort of romantic adventure I often arranged for others? "That was a wonderful first course." When the gentleman spoke, everyone stopped their quiet chatter and gave him their full attention. "I believe we should take this opportunity to introduce ourselves to our guest. I will start us off. Everyone has taken to calling me Comte de Saint-Germain." the gentleman spoke.
'Comte?' So, he's a count? That would explain his old-world air. "It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance." He smiled. I did my best to smile as well, "Pleasure's all mine, Comte." I tensed, realizing that I could've been making a much better impression of myself. Le Comte de Saint-Germain turned to his servant, "My hard-working butler and the chef of tonight's excellent banquet- Sebastian." "It is a pleasure to meet you." Sebastian spoke, giving me a formal bow.
I simply smiled and nodded a short bow to him. A butler named Sebastian? How stereotypical is that? ..Except the fact I recognize his accent. It's the exact same as mine. Sebastian was clearly Japanese, and I was willing to bet that wasn't even his real name. "It occurs to me we haven't heard your name yet." Comte pointed out, "I'd be pleased to know it." ..I suppose there's no harm in telling him. "Oh, pardon me then.. I am not exactly.. fond of my name, but.. My first name is Maki."
"That's such a pretty name." The man with an angel's face, sitting across from me, was the first one to speak. "I wasn't expecting someone like you to turn up here. I hope we can be friends. I'm Vincent van Gogh. I'm a painter. It's nice to meet you." he said. "It's nice to meet you too."
..A painter… Who happens to be named Vincent van Gogh? Is the theme of tonight's banquet pseudonyms? But I smiled back nonetheless. He seemed like a nice man. "And this is my little brother. Go on, Theo, introduce yourself." 'Vincent' nodded at his brother. "Theodorus van Gogh. I'm an art dealer. Don't confuse me with Vincent." I laughed awkwardly, "I shall do my best.." Confuse those two? Unlikely. Though I would have assumed Theodorus was the older one. Maybe it's just his attitude, but Vincent doesn't strike me as the older child.
"My introduction's over. So don't expect to get anything else from me." Theodorus opened a pocket-watch and tapped the back. Tap-tap-tap, as if to say that he had things to do. What's his hurry? Goodness, is he the opposite of his brother or what? I looked to whoever was next in line. Sitting to the right of Theodorus was 'Newt.' I hadn't even met his eyes for a moment before he looked away again. Would he just look at me? I don't bite!
If he could've curled up into a ball so small and tight that he disappeared completely, I was sure he would have. "..I'm Isaac. Isaac Newton. I study physics." he mumbled. "Ah.. So your name is Isaac? Nice to meet you." Was he a student? Maybe Cambridge.. He has that South English accent. "Wait.. Should that be 'Sir Isaac-?'" Just then, I heard one of the windows rising, and to my surprise, someone was coming in from outside.
I didn't need to hear his voice to know he was Japanese. The man waved at us. "Well, well, would you look at that? I'm a little late, aren't I? ..In we go." He'd just about crossed the windowsill when his sleeve got caught. He pulled at it comically, but it was ineffective. He's wearing an old Taisho-style kimono in the middle of Paris? And he came in through the window? Where do I even START with him? "..God's Truth, can't you use a door?" Isaac grumbled.
"And keep everyone waiting? No, no, the window was much faster." He smiled, hooked like a fish on the window. But he looked as if nothing about that was strange. I was still staring in confusion when he freed himself, and his eyes fell on me. "Oh, hello there, young one. Why, I'm happy to see you here. How's dinner?" he smiled. "Erm.. It's.. It's good." "Isn't it? Well, Sebas-kun made it and you wouldn't believe how fast his cooking gets gobbled up." He nonchalantly took the seat next to Isaac, who immediately slid away from him.
"You arrived just in time. We were all introducing ourselves to our guest." Comte spoke. "You'd like me to introduce myself? I'm Osamu Dazai, just a poor writer struggling to make his way in the world." he said. "Osamu Dazai. The writer. Okay.." I mumbled. Oh yes, I knew who Dazai was. I had to read his writing in my high school classical literature class. I rubbed my temple. How was my champagne glass doing? ..Completely empty. Man, maybe I should've introduced myself as some random woman from history instead of just saying 'Maki' and refusing to give my last name.
I glanced back at the 'van Gogh' brothers. It was 'Vincent' who had started this weird chain of nonsense names. Yet he wore the most innocent smile. Who are these people? I mean, REALLY. "Alright. I get it now.." I muttered. Was this for one of those segments on morning TV? 'Surprise! You traveled back in time!' They get actors. Everyone sees how panicked the guests get. They laugh. ..But wouldn't they need my permission for that? Besides, why rent out such a grand mansion for a variety skit? And in Paris?
But something still didn't add up. Now I regret drinking the champagne. Perhaps there had been something in it? Never mind.. Who's next? Surprise me. Skipping several empty chairs brought us to the coldly beautiful pianist. 'Wolfie.' That's what the flirt had called him. At the very least, this can't be a joke. I don't believe this one would play along. "Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart. Composer." he said. "..Hello, ..Mozart." Of course the pianist calls himself Mozart! I would've accepted Beethoven too. It was strange that the man who hated parties would join this too.
Oh, and lest we forget the flirt- "I do believe I'm next! I'm Arthur Conan Doyle. Mystery writer. And don't call me Sir, just Arthur. As long as I get to call you Maki." He smiled. I wasn't going to give that an answer. Now, I believe that HE'S capable of saying anything to anyone if he thought it could get his foot in the door. But would they all be lying to me? No, not lying. They're pseudonyms then. ..They have to be. They're celebrities or dignitaries, and they're giving me fake names to keep their real identities secret. Or something.
"I believe that leaves you." Comte spoke, his voice as smooth as velvet. Only one man was left. The one who tried to protect me. He wanted to get me out of here and promised to answer my questions as soon as we were gone. For some reason, I had instantly trusted him. More than anyone else here. Would he lie to me as well? The dark-haired savior looked at me with those eyes that hid nothing and said- "Napoleon. Napoleon Bonaparte. ..I'm a soldier."