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Post by Deleted on Feb 2, 2014 23:41:31 GMT -5
It was a beautiful, yet unusual, wintery day in Gotham City. The temperature had climbed up into the lower sixties, and Gothamites were out in droves, enjoying the unexpected “heat wave” before the bitter cold temperatures returned the next afternoon. That number of people included photojournalist Vicki Vale, who decided to spend her lunch hour strolling in Robinson Park. She had finished her newspaper article for the day - - a front page story on Joker’s destruction of Rooster Stone’s place - - and so she decided to reward herself with some physical activity by taking a long walk.
Vicki was looking forward to the afternoon. Finally, she had some time to sit down and work on a personal project -- a new coffee table book that would see print in a few months, featuring a collection of personal photos she'd taken throughout the years. Amazingly, she had already found a publisher for it. Because of her reputation and popularity worldwide, they had given her a book deal without even seeing the finished product. Now it was up to her to find the time to put it all together and make it happen.
When she got to Robinson Park, Vicki decided to forget about the pressures of the day and just enjoy the moment. Leaving her troubles at the stonewall entrance, she entered the park with nothing on her mind and, almost immediately, began feeling less anxiety in her spirit. Yes, most of the pressures she experienced were a direct result of her own high expectations of herself. That’s how she got to be the best news reporter in Gotham City, though maintaining that level of performance took a toll on her health and her personal life.
Sitting on a park bench, Vicki looked around and enjoyed the view, wishing she had brought her camera with her to take some pictures.
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Post by Deleted on Feb 3, 2014 18:24:08 GMT -5
Experiences abound in this new city. Noonday was a plethora of new smells and sites, the people cropping up like forgotten flowers in spring. After a jovial chat with the concierge this morning, he had been pointed in the direction of a certain 'Robinson Park.' A cursory search on his phone gave him pause, and he thought of the more centrally located park in another city: New York. Perhaps this one would have the same culturally rich foods he had experienced prior.
As with such weather, he had been surprised to see it was warmer. But still cold in his experience. With caution to the weather, he rifled through his limited clothing, selecting a pair of pressed chinos and a sweater to go with his button down. It was a simple uniform, the grey of his sweater and slacks showing off the vivid cerulean hue of his shirt beneath. Considering his late night prior, the need of a wake-up beverage was first on his needs.
A stroll through the city brought him to this one 'Robinson Park' and he strode through it's walls into the throngs of passersby, and venders. So many aromas assaulted his nostrils, but the barely perceptible, delectable smell of espresso caught his attention. So East it was.
At the line to the small vendor, he knelt to read the menu plastered on the front of the cart. An espresso would suffice for the moment. After he was more awake the pursuit of a meal would be next. After the exchange of beverage for money was complete, he continued to stroll in the warm sun, a laugh freed from his mouth at the juxtaposition of snow, and bright sunlight. Such a peculiar sight, and it was still chilly. The path he had been following meandered here and there, benches peppered at the sides of it. The people varied from older, to younger, and from casual, to professional. It was in his studying of a small child playing with a canine his attention has lacked to notice the two teens running; no sprinting along the path, one clipping his arm and jostling him with such force his hand slipped, and he was neatly doused with his now less piping hot espresso.
Cursing loudly in French, and subsequently Italian. A loud sigh escaped his lips as he ran a hand through his hair, exasperation on his face.
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Post by Deleted on Feb 4, 2014 21:36:54 GMT -5
Vicki heard the sound of French being spoken – no, shouted – in the distance and looked up and over in the direction from which it was coming. When a handsome man doused in liquid caught her eye, she jumped to her feet almost immediately and ran to his rescue, as fast as her four-inch black suede vixen boots allowed.
“<You poor thing!>” she exclaimed in French when she reached him, retrieving a handkerchief from her purse and taking the almost-empty cup from his hand. “<Please, let me help you!>”
With that, Vicki started dabbing the grey sweater with her handkerchief, blotting up as much of the spillage as possible. Though she got most of it, the sweater was still stained.
“If you’re cold, I think you’d feel much warmer by drinking the coffee instead of wearing it,” she mused in English. “There. That’s the best I can do,” she added, handing him the handkerchief to see if he could continue the effort and accomplish anything more.
Watching him, Vicki studied his handsome features and pleasing appearance, while discreetly looking for a marriage band on his left ring finger in the process. When she didn’t see one, she breathed a sigh of relief and smiled, smoothing out her light-blue sweater skirt.
“From the sound of your accent, I think it’s safe for me to presume that you’re not from around here,” she said politely. “Welcome to Gotham City. I’m Vicki Vale.”
As she offered her hand in friendship, just being in the presence of this attractive man made Vicki yearn even more for her camera.
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Post by Deleted on Feb 4, 2014 22:23:13 GMT -5
He was being rushed at by a blonde. Hair in a bob, not bottle color. Crystal clear blue eyes. Nice form. Good style, even. But his brows shot up when she was speaking French. Not native, but good enough for him to understand her. As she took after him with her hankie, blotting the steaming espresso from his now ruined cashmere sweater, he blinked.
"Thank you, Miss." His lips screwed up in a smile at her witticism. "I had thought to drink it, but those children ran into me. I appreciate the efforts. Especially from a stranger. Gotham is not as wary as I have been instructed." Taking the handkerchief, he halfheartedly dabbed at the hem, giving up.
"I believe this is ruined, sadly. And I have a limited wardrobe with me." Rolling his shoulders, his eyes fixed on her, and the proffered hand.
"Marc Dahlmaine. And you are correct, Ms. Vale. France is my home, Gotham is soon to be." Gently rotating her hand in his, he had to marvel at how petite it was. And devoid of jewelry. He must be lucky today. Bringing her hand to his lips, he gently kissed them, before lowering it from his mouth.
"My pleasure to meet you. Considering this is ruined, you wouldn't know a good place to replace it?" His English was near flawless, save for the trace hints of a rich French accent. If he could extend his exposure to this lovely specimen of the feminine race, he would.
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Post by Deleted on Feb 6, 2014 22:45:11 GMT -5
Vicki thought Marc’s smile was absolutely adorable as she assisted him, and once she heard his real voice - - not the screaming one! -- she was instantly taken with him. His French accent was as captivating as the rest of him, and only added to his sex appeal.
Vicki was glad she was making a good first impression. Despite the dregs and bottom-feeders of society that Gotham City attracted, she was proud to be its citizen. Gotham was her home. Like Batman, she saw its potential – the beauty hidden beneath the dark clouds of gloom and evil that always seemed to be hovering overhead. The promise. She knew what Gotham City could become, and she had made up her mind a long time ago that she would never give up on her, no matter what.
Vicki grimaced when Marc told her that his Cashmere sweater was ruined. “Oh, I don’t think the stain has flawed you too much,” she flirted with a wink, trying to raise his spirits. “You still look pretty good to me.” She blushed when he took her hand and kissed it.
“’Marc’,” Vicki repeated after he told her his name. “That’s a very masculine name. You even look like a ‘Marc’. Do you spell it with a ‘k’ or with a ‘c’? I’m only asking becau --”
Suddenly, Vicki stopped herself in mid-sentence, realizing the reporter in her was starting to emerge. She had to remind herself that Mr. Dahlmaine was not her latest news story, although she wanted him to be. Her mind was racing off on several tangents, and she found herself desiring to know all about this handsome, exotic stranger who seemed to have dropped out of heaven and appeared out of nowhere.
“I’m sorry, but I have a terrible habit of asking too many questions all at once,” she apologized with nervous laughter. She regained her composure, surprised that her voice sounded so normal. “I’m sure it can be overwhelming, but I wouldn’t really know, since I’m the one always asking the questions.”
She laughed some more. She was curious to learn who had told Marc about Gotham City. Why was he relocating here? What were the contents of his limited wardrobe? Did he sing in the shower? Did he snore in his sleep? Inquiring minds wanted to know, especially hers.
So many questions. So little time. She sensed a dinner date in the near future.
If she played her cards right.
Vicki’s face lit up when Marc asked her if she knew of a reputable men’s clothing store in the area.
“As a matter of fact, I do!” she exclaimed, remembering one she used to frequent with Bruce Wayne, back in the day when they partied together and she reported on the social scene. ”Peyton’s is a custom-tailoring men’s clothing store just two blocks from here. I know the owner, Pierre, personally."
Vicki also knew that the upscale clothing retailer took a distinctive approach to sales. Pierre served one customer at a time – literally. Clients shopped by making an appointment. Although walk-ins weren’t allowed, Vicki knew she could pull a few strings to get Marc inside. They’d be the only customers in the 2,300-square-foot store, and Vicki liked that. It would give them the privacy she wanted.
“Shall we?” Vicki asked Marc, extending her hand. “I’ll take you there myself. I don't mind at all. I love shopping!”
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Post by Deleted on Feb 7, 2014 11:53:00 GMT -5
Finally. A woman that appreciated old-world customs and charm. "Not myself, but yes, my sweater." Gently tugging the trashed expresso cup from her grasp, he crimps the top before tossing it into a nearby trash recipticle.
"With a 'c'. I am French, and my parents are quite traditional." Brows furrow as her conversation ceases abruptly, and he is confused for a second. "Questions are quite welcome, as I have many for myself. Gotham is new to me, but has been welcoming. Perhaps we can do an equal exchange, and navigate these queries together."
Offering an arm to her, he gently places her hand on a non-soiled part of his sweater. "Perhaps a cup of coffee before seeing this Pierre at Petyton's. I need to expand my wardrobe, and a discerning eye would be quite welcome. That is, if I'm not impeding your afternoon plans?" Yes, afternoon. He had packed limited items on his flight, not banking on being impressed with the new city, and making a short time of it.
Instead he had been welcomed, and rebuffed, but more welcomed than not. "Shall we, Ms. Vale?" He offered with a hand sweeping before them in invitation. A wardrobe would be easy to find, or at least he hoped. He stuck with business casual; most of his clothing was comprised of button down shirts, suits, sweaters and vests mixed eternally with one another.
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Post by Deleted on Feb 8, 2014 18:40:53 GMT -5
Vicki was entranced by Marc’s vocabulary and the way he turned a phrase. Combined with his sexy French accent, Marc’s words poured from his mouth like pure honey and sounded like sheer poetry to Vicki’s ears. She smiled when he mentioned his parents, who were “quite traditional”. Vicki assumed family was important to Marc, and although he wasn’t wearing a wedding ring, she pondered the possibility of him already being married. She believed all the “good ones” were taken. Deep down, she hoped Marc was available because she found herself liking him more and more with each passing second.
Vicki felt some relief when Marc told her that asking questions didn’t bother him. In fact, he said he had a few of his own that needed answers, and Vicki was more than ready to oblige him. She was flattered when Marc took her up on her offer to go to Peyton’s, but his invitation for coffee beforehand surprised her. Normally, men just went along with what she suggested. Marc’s counter-offer was refreshing. There was nothing sexier to her than a man who took control of a situation.
Vicki giggled when Marc told her of his desire to spend the rest of the afternoon with her. “Talk about coincidence!” she exclaimed. “It just so happens that my afternoon schedule is completely clear. Lucky us!”
Vicki was pleased by Marc’s offering of his arm to her, but she was more impressed when he actually took her hand and placed it upon his person. His firm yet tender touch gave her goosebumps. Yes, this gentleman had potential and was definitely on Vicki’s radar.
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Post by Deleted on Feb 9, 2014 15:18:57 GMT -5
Before starting off through the park, he listens intently for her response. He highly doubted she would object, considering she had allowed him to take her hand, and arm. Sadly, the only coffee venues he was familiar with were the barely tolerable hotel brew, and the now soiled sweater variety.
"Forgive me, Ms. Vale. But I am not as ...familiar with this city as you seem to be. Coffee venues would be at your discretion. And my treat, a faint offer to repay your kindness. Preferably before we visit Mr. Peyton?" As much as he necessitated new clothing, he would prefer to be caffeinated before dealing with the delicate nature of determining quality in clothing. It did make the man, or wo-man, they said.
"Quite lucky for the both of us. I used to be considered a gambling man in my younger years. I try to abstain from such frivolities now, but I do believe Lady Luck is not only smiling on myself, but the two of us." Placing his hand over her own, deft fingers gently squeezed her delicate hand.
"Lead us to our adventures in shopping, Ms. Vale." If a trill of laughter, or a hint of a smile would light up those features, he would feel he was doing his purpose.
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Post by Deleted on Feb 10, 2014 22:01:32 GMT -5
Vicki blushed at Marc’s politeness. He was so distinguished and well-mannered, so ruggedly handsome, so . . . perfect. Watching him, her gentle blue eyes soaked up the man’s every move -- every action and reaction. She began to wonder what vices Marc had. No one was this perfect.
She studied him like he was the subject matter for one of her next photographs. Damn, she wished she had brought her camera with her.
Vicki presumed every woman who laid eyes on Marc noticed his appeal – her included. She assumed from his demeanor that he was independent, a man who lived by his own rules. But did she dare get romantically -- and perhaps intimately -- involved with a hottie like Marc? Could she play without getting burned? Could she indulge him without risking a broken heart?
At that moment, she sure wanted to try.
She smiled after he threw her a gold nugget about his unknown past. Gambling? Was he a man of means? Judging by the way he was dressed, it didn’t look like he squandered his money. At least, not any more. Hopefully, he had learned his lesson and had become more responsible and accountable for his actions.
Vicki giggled as they began walking toward her favorite coffee shop. “You don’t owe me a thing,” she protested about his wanting to repay her for her act of kindness. “You needed help, Marc. I was just being a friend. You do have those, don’t you?"
She giggled again, but this time more nervously.
"Speaking of friends, are you going to call your wife and tell her how you plan on spending your afternoon? I wouldn’t want her to worry.”
Subtle, Vicki. Real subtle.
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Post by Deleted on Feb 11, 2014 17:56:15 GMT -5
A blush would suffice. He brought her hand to his lips once more, before replacing her hand on his arm. She was a delight. And studying her. A man of his status and security did not go unawares when admiring eyes were upon them.
"I always endeavor to show kindness in return when it is paid to me." He offered, nodding at her statements.
"Friends are few, and mostly back home. I can count you as one here in my possible new home-Gotham, Ms. Vale."
Friends were rare. But he did have them in France. A boy's club, one could call it. A group of like-minded men who pursued the best. Not only in business, clothing, and physical wants. But beyond that as well.
As their path started to take them around the park, and onward, he peered down at her queerly. A wife? A nuanced way to figure out if he was taken, he would give her that.
Splaying first his right hand to her, and then his left, he spoke. "There is no ring upon my finger. There once was, but I do not hope that taints your perception of me. Some things do not last, no matter how hot and bright they one burned, Ms. Vale." Returning his gaze to their path, that was his response.
"I am presuming you are available as well, Ms. Vale? I have seen nothing upon your own hand, either. But traditions have fallen by the wayside, I have heard, and some women do not care for one, or do not wear one in public."
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Post by Deleted on Feb 14, 2014 14:45:21 GMT -5
Vicki inspected Marc’s fingers and looked for a tan line when he displayed his hands to her. Some men just said what needed to be said in the moment to impress, but Vicki didn’t put Marc in that category. She believed what he was telling her was the truth. At this early stage of their budding relationship, there was no reason not to believe him.
Marc came across to Vicki as being a sincere and kind-hearted man. As he revealed a little bit more about himself, she tried to imagine his life growing up in France. It saddened her that he didn’t have many friends during that time, but she was glad he had a few. She was also glad he had friends abroad, as well. Everybody needed somebody -- other than family -- sometimes. Vicki was really impressed with Marc’s social skills. His tiny gestures of affection toward her made her feel very comfortable with him.
When Marc gave his insight about relationships, Vicki hung on his every word and absorbed them like a human sponge. “I’m a romantic at heart,” she confessed to him, shrugging her shoulders as he shifted his gaze. “I believe true love is forever and stands the test of time. Call me a naïve Pollyanna, but that’s just who I am. When you find the right person and fall in love, every day is like the first day together. You never forget it. And you never want to.”
As they continued walking, Vicki’s mind drifted to thoughts of Ethan Young. She prayed he was doing well, and she hoped he missed her as much as she missed him. *
Then Marc turned the tables on Vicki and asked about her marital status. She rolled her eyes playfully. “No, I’m not married. I’m single . . . and searching,” she laughed nervously, the truth of her words searing her heart like a hot iron. “The journey’s been long . . . and it’s not over yet.”
She smiled, tears appearing in her eyes. She was an old-fashioned kinda girl who cherished tradition.
“You were very lucky to have found someone, Marc, even if just for a little while.” Her tears started down her cheeks, real and genuine. “I don’t look down on you for being divorced. That relationship was yours; I don’t have a nickel in that dime. I just hope you enjoyed the moment with that special someone and didn’t take it for granted while you had it.”
She stopped talking to wipe her eyes and compose herself.
“Finding love isn’t as easy for some as it is for others, Marc.”
She smiled and flared her eyes, thinking of a creative way to change the subject of their conversation.
“And, of course, you can count me as a friend!” she exclaimed enthusiastically, giving his arm a tight squeeze. “I wouldn’t have it any other way!”
Deep down, Vicki really hoped Marc would move to Gotham City, but she didn’t tell him that. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to hear those words. She just didn’t want to get her hopes up.
(* NOTE: This thread takes place AFTER the Gala.)
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Post by Deleted on Feb 15, 2014 5:16:45 GMT -5
As she spoke, and they meandered through the park, he guided her, listening keenly to every word. Romance was only an aspect of love. A farcical one, at that. To him, the romance was in every small gesture, in every finished argument. Romance was a slatterly balm slapped to a multitude of sins no one wanted to address, or repent from.
Nodding, he thought to his first marriage. Had every day been like the first they met? Yes. No. Each day was something new, an experience unlike the last. It was filled with ups and downs, tears and laughter. Much like any relationship, it was about compromise. Listening. Speaking. Sharing. An ebb and flow between two people, be it plationic, familiar, or romantic.
Did he want to forget her? Yes. No. She was his love. Perhaps true love, if he cared to think about it in those terms. But he often did feel regret. Marriage was something that one did not enter into lightly.
Squeezing her hand that lay across his arm, he nodded. "That is a shame. More men should be begging you for a chance to experience a meal, a play, a vacation in your prescence. I am sorry. I know for myself, work presses in and begs much of my time. I hope your own profession does not nag as much."
The timbre in her voice changed, a wavering he was quite aware of. Turning to her, he paused, the pad of his thumb rubbing away wayward tears. "Don't pity me. It seemed it was not meant to be. You are still yet young, don't forgoe hope. If you have caught the eye of men, it is their loss. Never attibute monetary value to love. You will only find yourself forever seeking dollars." Firm, yet honest, he tried to reassure her, a hand procuring a hankerchief offered to her.
Curling his arm around her once she had wiped her eyes, he nodded gravely. "A friend. And now you must show me the way, so I am able to get us to this Peyton's. My clothing supply here was not large. I had not thought to spend much time in this city. But the past few days have shown me otherwise."
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Post by Deleted on Feb 15, 2014 9:41:56 GMT -5
Vicki loved the way Marc was listening – really listening – to her. As they walked, she studied his facial expressions, wondering what was going through his mind right then and there. After he nodded his head to her, he seemed to fall into a state of deep reflection for a moment . . . thanks to Vicki. Yes, she had a way of saying things and asking questions that made people look deeper inside themselves. In that moment, she hoped Marc liked what he was seeing. She also hoped she hadn’t stirred up some bad memories for him in the process.
Not knowing what else to say or do, Vicki gave Marc a reassuring pat on the arm and waited for him to mentally return to her. If nothing else, she was a patient woman when it came to her friends. She was also a good listener. She had a heart for people and really cared. In her profession, she had to be guarded though, in order to stay objective. Although she was intuitive, her reporting was based on facts rather than feelings or opinions.
Vicki almost laughed out loud when Mark made an observation about her love life. Her track record spoke for itself. Always a bridesmaid, never the bride . . . .
But Vicki was okay with being single. At first, she had thought being single was some type of stigma – a curse, so to speak. But over time, she’d learned that she didn’t have to have another person to feel complete. She learned to love herself and became her own best friend. How could she ever expect to love another person if she didn’t love herself? It was a shame, though, that she didn’t have that “significant other” in her life yet. She had so much love to give. Then again, most people found love when they weren’t even looking for it . . . .
With that thought, Vicki had to stop and smile at Marc. Maybe today was her lucky day.
Vicki found Marc’s comment about work “nagging” her equally amusing. She was a workaholic! She lived her job -- by choice -- which was probably the main reason she was single. Plus, it took her time to get over the Bruce Waynes of the world. It took longer for her broken heart to mend than any other part of her body. Sometimes she wondered if it ever had truly healed before the next guy came along, broke through the defenses of her newly-erected emotional wall, and shattered it to pieces again like Humpty Dumpty. Each time taught Vicki what not to do next time.
If she was ever lucky enough to have a next time.
They say what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. If that was the case, Vicki was frickin’ Wonder Woman.
Vicki thanked Marc for the handkerchief and wiped her eyes. “Oh, I don’t pity you,” she explained. “I’m just glad you got the experience to love someone . . . deeply. I'm presuming it was a deep love. At least, that’s what I gather from the look in your eye.”
His comment about “attributing monetary value to love” caught her attention. Was that a lesson Marc had already learned himself? Was he speakking from personal experience? It made Vicki wonder.
When Marc asked about Peyton’s again, Vicki laughed. “We’re getting coffee first. Remember? Unless you want us to drink what’s left in your sweater.”
Vicki smiled when Marc revealed that he was changing his mind about spending more time in Gotham City, which excited her. It looked like there was going to be one more Adam in her concrete Garden of Eden.
“Who else have you met in Gotham City so far?” she inquired as they reached Robinson Perk, a coffee shop named after Robinson Park. She wondered if Marc got the joke concerning the play on words.
When they went inside, Vicki pointed Marc toward the menu. “What will you be having? I recommend the French Vanilla Mocha Latte. It’s my favorite.”
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Post by Deleted on Feb 16, 2014 3:00:37 GMT -5
"She was, and is, unforgettable. It was my loss." He said gravely. And it was. "You will get a chance. Keep your eyes open, your heart as well." It was true advice. Advice that he took himself. After her eyes had dried, and they continued to exit the park, he nodded. "Yes. Coffee first. Our conversation has almost made me forget, it's been engaging." He offered, glancing down at his sweater. There must be a cleaners around where he could get it laundered. Perhaps his hotel. Perhaps soon his own living quarters.
Opening the door to allow her entrance, his eyes glanced briefly to where they were going to indulge in coffee. Committing it to memory, he made sure she passed over the threshold, before following himself. Letting his arm rest behind her as she pointed out the menu, his eyes scanned it's offerings. It made him miss his home. "I prefer straight espresso, sometimes with some froth, or foam as some call it. Other times it is monikered a Macchiato. The offerings with sugar, and chocolates are too sweet for my taste. Vanilla, almond, chocolate, espresso, and milk sounds like a heavenly concoction. I am simple. I prefer my beans unadulterated." But still, after she would order her drink, and his own as well, he would pay for the two, and any other sundries she would point out. He always tipped, for making a decent press of espresso was truly an art. When it was not too bitter, not too old, it was a slice of perfection in his mind.
Carrying both beverages, he motioned to the cafe. "You pick a table. I will follow with our drinks, Ms. Vale." Perhaps being caffinated would improve his outlook after his already disasterous morning of ruining his sweater.
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Post by Deleted on Feb 16, 2014 17:21:04 GMT -5
Vicki smiled at Marc’s answer. She loved the way he worded things, and his French accent was simply adorable. She laughed when he told her how he liked his beans, and her reaction made Marc smile as well.
After they got their beverages, Vicki collected some napkins and led the way to a table. As they were getting situated, a kindly elderly woman approached Marc and tapped him on the elbow. “Excuse me, sir,” she said, “but I saw you from a distance, and I just had to come over and say something to you.”
Vicki cut her eyes at Marc and hid a smile. Was this lady hitting on him?
“Pardon me for asking,” the stranger continued, “but are you two married?”
Vicki smiled awkwardly and answered the question for Marc. “No, believe it or not, we just met today,” she replied openly and honestly.
“Well, I’d never have guessed that,” the woman said. “You two act like you’re old friends. That caught my attention right away, the moment you walked in here. I thought you were newlyweds! It’s so refreshing to see a happy couple these days. It’s a rare find in Gotham City. Plus, you look so cute together,” she added, patting Marc’s arm gently. “If things don’t work out between you two, call me, handsome,” she added, giving Marc a wink. Of course, she was only kidding, but she tried to come across as being serious and watched Marc’s reaction.
When the woman walked away, Vicki leaned into Marc and whispered, “Would you like for me to leave so you two can be alone?” A cute giggle immediately followed her question.
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