He fishes a cigarette out of his pocket while talking, while carefully presenting for her his (yet another) proposition, though this one is of a nature that she can’t as easily ignore, cannot in her position choose to disregard. It’s a weighty proposal he’s making her now, Jean Louis Duroc, one that she may have to consider carefully, but not for too long. In politics, decisions at times require making in a split second, in the blink of an eye or the eye may be fooled altogether, overlooking what it shouldn’t have missed. No one shall say that Mireille is merely a politician for the power of it, nor does she work in Parliament only for the influence, but she was in Father’s party first and has now started her own to see -- the outcome. As much as the people itself does, Mireille wishes to see results and albeit she is by the public presumed made from silk fabric rather than iron, like the leading ladies of the UK and Germany, she shan’t simply (shan’t ever) bow down before she has been presented with those same. Results. It is what she promises her voters and Mireille Barrault doesn’t make it habit to lie. If she can avoid it, however relative the truth is.
Watching him fumbling through his trouser pockets for something, presumably something with which to light the cigarette dangling from between his lips, she steps closer to him – only one step, only enough to reach up and into the small front pocket of his jacket where the outline of a lighter is quite detectable against the flatness of his chest. “One must presume, of course, that we’ll be expected to answer to you to a certain degree, State Minister,” she concludes while coaxing the lighter out of his pocket with two fingers, holding it out to him once she’s gotten it free. It’s a self-evident shift from Monsieur Duroc to State Minister when they’re talking politics, their interaction in that regard usually limited to Parliament and the podium of official address. This is different. A mix of professionalism and privacy. She welcomes it, if only for the opportunities it represents. “The question being, then: How tightly will our hands be bound?”
If she’s to lead a committee of any kind, she must know where her limitations are. She has no desire to toe any lines, not lines defined by herself and certainly, not lines that aren't defined by her. At the same time, she shan’t deny that there’s something rather… attractive about the thought of another project of her own. Her party is doing well, considering its budding age and political range, but to truly set it apart from the rest of the Luxembourgian political terrain with a task such as this? Mireille looks up at Jean Louis. Very deliberately refrains from stepping back. She is only human, she’s aware. The ability to desire something is nothing but a natural part of her humanity.
no subject
Watching him fumbling through his trouser pockets for something, presumably something with which to light the cigarette dangling from between his lips, she steps closer to him – only one step, only enough to reach up and into the small front pocket of his jacket where the outline of a lighter is quite detectable against the flatness of his chest. “One must presume, of course, that we’ll be expected to answer to you to a certain degree, State Minister,” she concludes while coaxing the lighter out of his pocket with two fingers, holding it out to him once she’s gotten it free. It’s a self-evident shift from Monsieur Duroc to State Minister when they’re talking politics, their interaction in that regard usually limited to Parliament and the podium of official address. This is different. A mix of professionalism and privacy. She welcomes it, if only for the opportunities it represents. “The question being, then: How tightly will our hands be bound?”
If she’s to lead a committee of any kind, she must know where her limitations are. She has no desire to toe any lines, not lines defined by herself and certainly, not lines that aren't defined by her. At the same time, she shan’t deny that there’s something rather… attractive about the thought of another project of her own. Her party is doing well, considering its budding age and political range, but to truly set it apart from the rest of the Luxembourgian political terrain with a task such as this? Mireille looks up at Jean Louis. Very deliberately refrains from stepping back. She is only human, she’s aware. The ability to desire something is nothing but a natural part of her humanity.