"I’ve often heard that redheads have a fiery temper, and Marquette is certainly no exception. One time I saw Philippe locked out of his apartment without his pants on! She made him beg!! It wasn’t until she heard Henrietta saying something rye that he was pulled back in his apartment!” -Bertrand Faure
She sat back and wondered if she should make love to him or dissect him. One couldn’t help but wonder if the Praying Mantis was a distant relative. Without a doubt she is the only temper in the building that can rival that of Henrietta’s.
Marquette resides on the Sixth Floor: Room F2.
The Vignettes
Philippe and Marquerite slowly dance on the apartment rooftop arm and arm. She gives out a giggle as she feels his beard tickle at the nape of her neck to kiss her. A cold gust of wind blows giving Maquerite a chill, causing her to shiver like a leaf. “It is much too cold Philippe!” “I'll warm you!” In a clever retort she coyly moves away. “So, you have...” She kisses his cheek and runs circles on the roof as he freely chases her down like a fox on a fawn.
Annette Bouthillette and Marquerite Navarre are dressed for a night out in Paris. With their best dresses on they quietly wait for their husbands to come down to the lobby. Until they wait and discuss the excitement of dinner at a renowned restaurant, or a famous play at the theater just around the block. They were not sure what their husbands had planned, however since they had both made a big deal about the evening to come, they were quite excited.
In the long wait Annette's eyes shifted to the familiar stranger who had been walking through the lobby with a certain familiarity, though he did not appear to be a resident at all.
"Say, I think I know him, but I can't say where." Annette remarked as she eased back into a state of casual observance.
He was dressed in a long coat, and wore glasses and a hat, as if he was a character in some silly disguise.
"You don't suppose that was the spy Old Blunderbuss has been going on about do you?"
Annette and Marquerite at once stated at each other and began to laugh at each other, startling the mysterious man, causing him to stumble out of the apartment buffoonishly.
Marquerite Navarre shouted at her husband Philippe at the top of her lungs. "YOU GAVE HER WHAT?!" Philippe barely covered Marquerite's mouth to silence her screams. Henrietta hearing the sound of muffled groans sounded only to her like arduous love making at work, causing her to blush.
Marquerite's eyes narrowed and Philippe, biting down on his hand, making him scream.
"Our first class tickets to Morocco?!"
"I could not help it, we needed to pay the rent, and it was the best way to secure the rent!"
Marquerite marched towards the kitchen.. "I'm sorry M, really... it was the only way to pay the rent!"
She at once came marching back towards Philippe with her iron pan in hand. "I'll teach you the meaning of sorry!"
Philippe quickly ran out of his Apartment and braced his back against the door. "There was no other way!"
The door burst open sending Philippe forward. "You should have told me!"
Fearing for his safety Philippe ran towards the stairs, tripping over his feet. His eyes shot wide only to see himself tumbling forward and down the stairway, rolling down flight after flight.
Marquerite twirled the pan in her hand looking down the various flights that stretched the length towards the Lobby. A wicked smile crossed her lips to see multiple heads poking out down below to catch the source of the commotion.
Marquerite Navarre is incensed outside a shop window. A beautiful tapestry she has seen for much less has been bought and sold, and everywhere she went, she saw it for a most ridiculous price. The shop before her was indeed the last one that would carry it, and sure enough a small fortune she did not have.
Tapping her foot on the pavement she became more and more irritated, and more resentful of the image on the tapestry.
A Japanese Rooster on a farm with its tail feathers stretched out in the wind, in all of its glory.
She always hoped for a life on the French countryside someday, a peaceful existence and surroundings, far from the industrial roar and clamor of Paris.
She yearned for one thing to take her back to a place that felt familiar, the old farm where she had once grew. Walking through fields of wheat with her arms outstretched in her moments of solace.
That image was the closest kinship she had to the days of her youth.
Her mind reeled at how she might acquire it. Headed back to her apartment she schemed and schemed.