Play@YSDC

You pick up a taxi to reach the Latin Quarter and get there in the early afternoon. It's somewhat strange to think that the very taxi you're riding on right now was used just weeks ago to move soldiers to the front and repel the enemy invasion, mere miles away from Paris itself. The driver himself is eager to share the story of his 'mission to the front', as he calls it. He made four trips that night, carrying five soldiers on each one, the sky lighted by explosions and the sound of rifles and grenades in the air. He has probably told this story to every passenger he has had since then, and he'll probably continue to do so until the day he retires. In a way, this makes you proud of the efforts the people, your people, are making in order to win the war and guarantee the safety of the Country.

The Latin Quarter itself is not different from most other arrondissements, excepts for the unusually large number of cafés - and of course, the Sorbonne. The university brought about a large number of students and intellectuals, becoming a gathering point for poets, writers and artists of any kind. Before the war, many of these cafès would stay open all night, fostering the birth of new artistic movements - although most people would struggle to consider contemporary art as 'art'. Sadly, this is lost in the past now. You walk in front of the Sorbonne, remembering how the place would be crowded with students coming and going - no more now. You spot a few people, but those are mostly professors. Most of the students have joined the army, willingly or not, and are spending their time on much more brutal business than literature or science. You silently wonder if France will have to sacrifice an entire generation on the bloody altar of war.

Finally you reach the address on the list. It's a building like any other on the avenue, with five storeys. There is a woman cleaning the front door, passing a humid rag vigorously on the surface.

"Bonjour Madam" says Francois smiling Perhaps you can help I am looking for a former student of mine the artist Edoard Savatier, I'm led to believe he lives in an apartment in this building. I told my friends all about his remarkable landscapes and they are interested in buying some of his work.

"Oui, indeed it is so Madam, his works are truly captivating. Do you know if Edoard Savatier is at home just now and if not perhaps you may know where he may be found?" Andre puts on his best smile and nods at the woman.

"I've only seen one of his paintings so far," says Jacques, "but it has made me eager to see more and to meet the man behind the brush."

Jean-Luc nods politely and smiles to the woman trying not to look too suspicious.

The woman throws the rag into a bucket half full of water, then cleans her hands on a dirty apron. She snorts sarcastically, then says: "Well Monsieurs, I won't judge that good-for-nothing art, but if you want to buy some of his paintings, you're more than welcome. Perhaps he'll pay his rent on time this month. You can find Monsieur Savatier on the third floor, second door on the right".

"Thank you, Madame," says Jacques, tipping his hat.

Conscious that he may appear a grinning fool, Andre inclines his head towards the lady

"Merci Madam, you have been most helpful." and starts towards the stairs

The building is old but well kept. You make your way through the entrance hall and up the staircase to the third floor. The building looks empty and very quiet, your every step echoing in the still air to the point you're sure everyone in the building now knows about your presence. Finally you reach the third floor and turn right until you count two doors. You stop in front of the second door, and can hear some faint noises from inside, muffled yet surely betraying the presence of someone.

Once everyone is assembled outside the door Andre nods to to group one by one and upon recieving an answering nod from all assembled he raps on the door. "Monsuier Savatier - we have come to discuss the possibility of maybe purchasing one of your paintings."

Jacques nods, indicating that Andre should proceed.

Francois nods while patting his pocket to reassure himself his pistol is where he left it.

Jean-Luc remembering the tea room incident holds his breath and prepares himself for the worst.

A young man in his early thirties comes to open the door. He has short black hair and green eyes, wears a cheap yet clean and well-kept suit, and gives an overall more "orderly" image than you had expected a poor avant-garde artist to give. He looks very tired, though, as if missing sleep. "Bonjour, Mons-", he begins, but stops abruptly when seeing Jacques. He goes pale before continuing: "B-Bonjour... I... I'm very happy about your interest for my paintings", he casts a quick glance behind his back, towards the interior of the apartment, then adds: "B-But right now it's not a good moment... I... yes, I have urgent business to attend to, perhaps we can schedule another m-meeting tomorrow?"

Jacques is instantly suspicious, but he doesn't let it show. Someone who is that nervous around a gendarme usually has something to hide. "If something is wrong, perhaps I can help," he says, trying to discreetly peek past him into the apartment.

OOC,Using Reassurance.

You can't see much inside the apartment from your position, only a small bookcase half-filled with books, a red armchair and a couple of half-finished paintings resting against a wall. A door leads towards a small corridor, at the end of which there seems to be a kitchen.

Edoard Savatier is now sweating as he says: "There's nothing wrong. I'm sorry. I... I don't mean to be rude. It's just... this is not a good time, that's all".

Jacques's every instinct screams at him that something is very, very wrong.

OOC,Sense Trouble roll, spending three points: [dice]0[/dice]

"Ah," says Jacques, realization suddenly dawning on him. "You are with someone."

"Yes... no... yes... I mean, it's not how it seems... I just...", he's fumbling for words now, looking more agitated than ever.

Then you hear another voice coming from inside - surprisingly, a familiar voice. It's a voice you last heard just yesterday night, Madeleine Morvan's voice. Considering her sudden disappearance, and the gendarmerie looking fruitlessly for her, stumbling upon her like this is perhaps more than an incredibly unlikely coincidence. She appears on the kitchen door with a smile on her face. She has now changed into men's clothes, and you can't help being a little startled when you notice she has cut her beautiful, long red hair. All in all, in those clothes and wearing a hat, she might pass for a young male of less than twenty years of age.



She speaks with a warm, calm voice: "Please come in, gentlemen. It's all right, Edoard. I don't want to get you into any more trouble, and it's clear to everyone you are a terrible liar".