Aha, what was this? A very drunk gentleman, apparently -- and an Irish one, at that (unless he was the one very good at faking accents). She let one corner of her mouth quirk up into a smirk and lifted the feather duster she'd brought along from its little holster on her hip (it was actually her wand, modified for the evening).
"Is zat so?" She let the exaggerated accent that her mother had picked up from all of the other snobbish housewives slide past her lips easily, "then you are in luck, because I am a real life Frenchwoman!" There were many Frenchmen even just in London and the rest of Europe -- no need to assume that he knew any of her friends. It was nice to know that very few people here would actually recognize her -- it helped her relax, which was sometimes a ... problem.
"Have I convinced you that I am the genuine article?" She crossed her arms over her chest, aware of the effect the action would have on her admittedly modest bosom. "Or does the gentleman require further demonstration?" Merlin, she knew she sounded foolish, but it wasn't as if anyone else was in the area to hear...
(Read comments)
Post a comment in response:
scribbld is part of the horse.13 network
Design by Jimmy B.
Logo created by 
hitsuzen.
Scribbld System Status
