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It's a coffee sort of day. Michelle Hawthorne is sitting at a local chain java joint, her usual caramel macchiato in front of her. She's also reading a book and taking notes, something about music theory. But she has a distracted air around her, her eyes wandering.
The tall, dark and dandy stranger removes a feathered, fancy black silk top hat as she steps into the cafe, partly because it's polite and partly because she wouldn't fit through the doorway otherwise. Adele tucks the headwear under one arm, another pair of hands lifting to adjust her cravat. Adele's eyes glance over the room lightly. The main pair, the smaller set just above those. The four much tinier hazel-brown irises located more on the peripherary. They linger for a moment on the other Lost once spotted, although she's still going to be standing in line to order a plain cappucino, into which a good deal of sugar is going to be poured.
Chelle spots the spider-Lost and tries not to cringe a bit. She, apparently, has a thing against arachnids? Probably phobic. But, she brightens after a moment. It was probably the shock. After the fancily-dressed woman gets her coffee, Michelle invites her over with the crook of a finger.
The arachnid offers a friendly smile, fangs flashing as she approaches, cradling her hot drink between two hands while gesturing to an empty seat next to the pale woman. "Madamemoiselle." The spider's voice is a smooth contralto. "Would you mind some company?" The French accent is thick. Parisian, actually, although she's picked up some Louisiana Creole- or perhaps consciously adopted it.
Chelle smiles. "Please join me." She gestures. "My name's Michelle Hawthorne." (Fame 1, Local Jazz Sensation) "I am pleased to meet you. I do speak French if that's easier for you?" she offers, as well as offering her hand to shake.
<Adele. Adele de Rais. Professional name.> The spider inclines her head, slipping into French after a moment's hesitation, but seeming pleased enough, her English still rather stiff. <Really, Adele Alexandria Dumas, not that that's much better. Parents, eh?> The dapper arachnid takes the offered hand, offering a theatrical bow as she kisses the back of it. <The pleasure's all mine. I've seen your name in the reviews, but haven't had the pleasure yet. New to town, you know.>
<Ah, the pleasure is mine, Adele.> Michelle smiles at the kiss to her knuckles and waits for Adele to sit before saying softly, <Professional in what capacity? Dare I ask?> But the Spring mantle around her flares bright with curiosity, the smell of primroses growing stronger for a moment.
<Seamstress, weaver, costumer.> Up close it's easy to notice that the spider's 19th-century-riverboat-dandy-but-turn-the-goth-up-to-11 outfit is, whatever the question of taste, exceptionally well executed and bespoke. Not that many six sleeved tailcoats are just lying around, probably. She produces a sleek black business card, placing it on the table if the pale singer is interested, lips curling, <Now my other nom de plume, that's the one I am more careful with in polite company.>
The business card is a glossy black, with ghostly white, jagged font. "Le Parlor Noire: A Frique-Chique Boutique. Cosplay, Scene, Custom Fittings for Lost Souls." A bit dramatic, that.
Chelle grins and takes the card. <We can discuss that another time. Seamstress? There is a lot of work for you in town, if you like.> She puts the card in her purse after reading it over with amused glee, and grins again. <Hey, no shame in whatever you're doing.>
<Not a big one for shame, personally. Never saw the point in it.> The spider shrugs, taking a sip of her coffee, flashing a fang. <But I'm hoping so. You should stop by. Or. Perhaps next week when it looks more like a proper den of the fantastical and macabre, and less like an overstuffed warehouse.> She admits with a grimace, <Still in the process of moving in, you know.>
Chelle considers the woman... spider.... spider-woman across from her thoughtfully.
<It is a pain.> The arachnid woman agrees, and nods encouragingly, eyes glancing over the tall singer. Sizing up her pr- customer. A potential customer. <Absolutely. I do plenty of mundane- well, relatively- work as well. Cosplayers, scene kids, the renfair crowd. Would be a pleasure to work with you, I'm sure.> Fingers from the middle set of hands bridging as a chin rest, eight slender eyebrows waggling slightly.
<That would be fun. I'm thinking a good golden topaz-y color to start.> Matching her eyes. She tilts her head, watching Adele for a moment. <I'm happy to be fitted and things. I can stay still, even.> Her smile is amused.
Even if the weaver's eyes are more of a tawny color. The four more rightwards brows all lift at once, a feigned look of concern cracked by the hint of a smirk. <Are you sure? Because I have equipment for that as well, if you think it will be difficult.>
<Oh my.> Chelle laughs. <That's not going to be a problem, I'm just saying, some people are squirmy and /would/ need that.> Golden topaz eyes sparkle with amusement.
Shrugging with feigned innocence, Adele hides a smile as she sips at her coffee. <Oh, I'm happy to provide my clients with whatever they need. Although I am somewhat picky with my clients.> The spider leans forward slightly, regarding the pale and floral-scented singer. <But I think I can say, Michelle, that you are welcome to step into my parlor at any time. With whatever needs may.>
<Thank you, Adele.> Chelle's amusement is palpable.
The spider slides out from her seat, tucking her hat back under one arm as she offers a grimace and a bow. <Unfortunately, for now I really should get back to unpacking. It was a pleasure to meet you. I look forward to catching one of your performances, cherie. And catching-> She clucks her tongue, correcting herself with another octobrow waggle. <Enjoying your company again. For business or pleasure.>
Chelle smiles. <We'll see what happens. Take care of yourself, Adele.>
<Likewise, Michelle. Ciao.> The dark and dandy woman blows a kiss and finger waggles, before stepping out of the door and donning her hat.
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