Un Petit Endroit en France PV| Samuel Sauber

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Un Petit Endroit en France

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The streets of the French commune were warm with familiarity by now for Samuel. Cobblestones, the scent of pastry and smoke, idle laughter of kids echoing off stone walls. This wasn't a bad place to retire to. Samuel walked through the streets as if they belonged to him. His role this time was clean-cut, polished. Leisurely. A charming young foreigner spending an stay, whispering sweet nothings in alley cafes. One role that always had him present but never too seen.

A playboy. Ridiculous notion for him to appear as one, but effective.

It was a persona he designed to draw no suspicion while placing himself in an arm's reach of his target. A man whose name never appeared on official lists until about a few months ago, but his presence had left several shadows wherever monetary exchange took place in the France's magical underbelly. Samuel's job wasn't to arrest the preparator. Merely observation, evidence collection and then extracting himself from the location.

And now, the final step.

The flower shop appeared like a stroke of fortune or perhaps it was careful selection. Only Samuel knew.

The flower shop appeared like a stroke of fortune or careful selection. Fleuriste de Rêves. Not garish and definitely not dull. Warm with color and old perfume. He stepped inside, and immediately, the air shifted. Lavender. Warmth. A strange contrast to the cold interiority he’d been carrying for weeks.

A voice called from behind a tall vase, soft but not timid. "Just a moment, please…"

Then a woman emerged, shorter than him, but not in presence. He looked her over once, the way a man in his current persona ought to. He noted the looseness in her posture, the kindness in her smile. She was lovely. Not relevant.

But lovely nonetheless.

"Take your time," he said smoothly, with a warm smile that curled at the edges like something secret. "Though if you're the one helping me, I’m in no rush to leave."

He approached her the counter , unbuttoning his gloves one finger at a time.

"Good morning! I’ll need multiple bouquets," he began smoothly. "Each sent to a different address. With letters. And a few personal photographs for each recipient. Each arrangement unique. And I trust your hand to choose what suits each one."

He opened the other leather folder under his arm and slid it onto the counter between them. Dozens of photographs lay inside. Some in black-and-white, others enchanted to subtly shimmer. Women in cafés. Women smiling over book pages. Some laughing, some dancing, some candid, some poised.

None of them were real.

Not in the way the letters suggested.

Each photo carried subtle evidences to specific and relevant locations and individuals. The letters would deliver the rest.

Before she could begin the judgement, he offered a smile. "France is- generous with its affections, One does what one can." Then, after a calculated pause, he tilted his head slightly toward her. "But if I’d known this place existed sooner, I might’ve spent far less time chasing dreams elsewhere."

His tone was teasing, nothing inappropriate, but nonetheless laced with just enough interest to be noticed.

But Samuel never lost focus. As Edith began arranging the paperwork and preparing her tools, he laid out the letters, each carefully penned with poetic phrasing, warm memories, and gentle partings. Each one in reality however, was encoded with subtle informational cues. Evidence hidden in the phrasing cadence.

He didn’t need to explain, he hoped the Ministry’s decoding team would be competent enough by now.

He let the air hang there just long enough before casually retrieving his coin pouch. The payment was already calculated, counted in galleons with quiet ease. Then he added more; a tip far larger than necessary, tucked into a separate pouch of deep brown suede.

"For your trouble," he said, placing it gently on the counter.

His task was complete. She would wrap them in petals and twine. Five messages would fly across the sky pretending to be pieces of heartbreak. But in truth, they were nothing more than what he had always traded in:

Data.

Wrapped in silk. Delivered in roses.

Letter One

Reducio

To Isabelle,
The time we shared wandering Rue des Martyrs meant more to me than I can say. You reminded me that subtlety speaks louder than noise. But as our paths diverge, I find I must follow different signs now. Keep well, and thank you for your company.

Letter Two

Reducio

To Camille,
Your laughter in the Marché des Enchantés still echoes in my mind. It revealed to me what stays hidden beneath commerce and coin. Our hours were brief, but significant. I must take my leave, however. Something calls, beyond your warm horizon. Perhaps we meet again.

Letter Three

Reducio

To Aveline,
In the silence of the gardens, you helped me see what most ignore: what blooms unseen. You offered me stillness, and I leave changed. But I cannot linger. The clock always ticks in the city’s undercurrent, and I must answer its rhythm once more.

Letter Four

Reducio

To Juliette,
I never told you what I admired most: your ability to find the truth in a single glance. That skill is rare—and dangerous. Our walks by the water reminded me of reflections not always being what they seem. It is time I moved forward.

Letter Five

Reducio

To Odette,
You warned me, and I listened. Sometimes the fire you find is not meant to warm you, but burn what stands too close. In our time together, I learned far more than I expected. I must go now, but I carry your lessons with me.

Decoded Text

Reducio

Target operates quietly beneath layers of French wizarding commerce. Illegal trades are masked as charity sales. Primary transactions occur under guise of legitimate business, often within florists, antique shops, and markets, all fronts. Surveillance successful. Reflection charms distort appearance, identity never remains consistent. Subject is volatile. Burn protocol initiated. Awaiting extraction.

~ S

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@Edith Alarie

Her smile grew as she looked down sheepishly, her hands moving to clear the counter as she rolled up the prepped brown kraft paper. Setting it aside before lowering the radio's volume to a low murmur. Edith could not deny that the young man's comment caused the feeling of butterflies in her stomach to occur, and with a soft chuckle, she grabbed her notepad.

To write down the man's order, of course.

Edith watched him approach the counter that separated them, her tone witty and soft, "Good morning, Mister Charmer." Seriously? Mister Charmer? Edith! She brought the notepad closer to her, regretting her remark as soon as she heard it leave her mouth. "Right... and may you please write down the list of addresses you would like for each of the bouquets to be delivered?" She placed the notepad and quill on the counter beside the leather folder the man had set down, her gaze drifting to the leather folder. A glimpse of various photographed women momentarily caught her attention, her smile faltered slightly, oh.

Well perhaps he may have been too good to be true.

She hummed softly as she gently took the leather folder, Be professional, you don't know this man... Edith looked through the various pictures, mentally choosing the flowers that would look best for each of them, but also taking note of how well taken each image was, He could be a professional photographer... She looked back up at him as he spoke, focusing on his smile as he gave an explanation? Her mouth opened, about to assure him he did not need to explain himself, when he tilted his head slightly toward her, shutting her up before she even spoke.

Edith could say the whole interaction with this man felt like a dream.

One that would leave anyone sitting to wonder what the dream meant after rising from their slumber, yet it was not a dream. Her ears would turn pink as she heard his tease, blinking herself back to reality, "um..." Say something woman! Unaware that her amber eyes turned red, Edith cleared her throat and looked down slightly, "Some dreams do take time to find..." She smiled softly as she felt the leather beneath her fingertips, "Or to understand."

With a short pause, she placed down the leather folder and walked around the counter toward the various flowers. "I do think roses would be a classic choice... There are plenty of colors to choose from..." Edith turned around to look at him before looking offside to his right, "Lavender would add a nice touch as well." Her mind began to race once more, envisioning the arrangements and what colored roses would fit best with each photograph. The sound of paper ripping filled the store as she began to cut five bouquets' worth of brown kraft paper, the radio continued to murmur a melody, and for a moment, she had forgotten the young man's presence.

That was until she heard him speak once again.

Edith turned to look over at him, smiling gently before saying, "I have not even told you the cost, Mister..." Chuckling softly, she shook her head and carried the things over to the large counter, noticing he had already placed down the notes he would like to send. "And it is of no trouble at all... is there a specific picture each letter belongs to or... no?" Tell him he is a player while you're at it. Mentally facepalming herself, she shook her head "I am sorry, I didn't mean..." her voice grew smaller "I meant to ask if they were specifically written for each receiver.." Merlin hex me...

She turned to focus on the bouquets before she dug herself a deeper grave, biting her lower lip as she tried to avoid his gaze, unsure if she had offended him.

If only this were a dream...