chapter word count: 486

noir heart: sixty-three

Beatrice Lafayette is a sort of constant in Jack's life, pretty much the only constant ever since he moved into the building - no matter what changes, she'll always be huddled under a blanket on a tattered cardboard bed a few feet away from the apartment block's main door, wearing a smile on her face as she watches the world go by. It's like being seventy-five, homeless and losing her family in New Orleans to Katrina hasn't dimmed her spirit.

It's probably why Jack adores her so much and calls her his 'southern belle'.

"Aw, cher!" she gushes in a thick Cajun drawl, "you shouldn't have!"

Jack, half-smiling, navigates to sit in a space by her side and passes one of the bottles of whiskey plus a chicken and lettuce sandwich he bought on the way home from work, as per his evening routine. Taking it with a gnarled, mocha-skinned hand, she gratefully accepts the gift and wastes no time in unscrewing the cap. "S'gonna be a cold night, mon ami. Much appreciated."

"Can't let my best girl go without some warmth tonight." Jack says, clinking his bottle with hers. Beatrice giggles, pulling the dirty grey cardigan tighter around her. She's right - the weather is forecast to have snow during the night. She's still giggling shyly even as she takes a sip from the bottle.

"Awww, you smooth talker, Jack. I'm old enough t'be ya grandma - mais if I was twenny-five, I would not say no!" she coos, placing the bottle by her side while she sets to work on unwrapping the sandwich. Flirting like this between them is common, and is usually the precursor to a long conversation about everything and nothing, sat on a cardboard bed, leaning against the rough stone wall of his apartment block while drinking moderately-priced whiskey.

"Ohhh!" she gasps scandalously, which usually means gossip, "ye know dat man who's livin' in the apartment block over dere, 'cross the way? Well, I saw him…"

Jack smiles, and sips his whisky as he listens to Beatrice wax lyrical about how she saw some random guy bring home the third girl in a week, and watches her wrinkled face as the expressions come and go like leaves on a windy day. How her nose crinkles when she talks disapprovingly of the guy's lack of respect for women, her eyes widen when she realises that the sandwich was from Arendelle Filling which means the best in the city, and how her face lights up with joy when she regales him with tales of her family in the Big Easy.

She's kind of a living reminder, as someone who has lost everything yet still possesses the enthusiasm and sass of a woman a third her age, that maybe - just maybe - the world ain't so shit.

new OC, specifically for this story. shattered, but wanted to chuck this up for you to read. means a lot that you all do. Might do a Tomadashi smut spinoff, who knows.

special thanks to: rainbowcolorw0w, littlemiss-rozaAnn, jpbake, oninoko, ghost angel14, stefalove and hornedgoddess for the reviews!