INT. DISTILLERY DISTRICT — LATE EVENING
Dim lights flicker over red brick alleyways. Jazz spills softly from an open patio door. Raven Marchand steps out of a black car in heels that echo confidence.
RAVEN (V.O.)
Most bookings are transactional. In and out.
But this one came with a handwritten note:
“Meet me where the shadows know your name.”
INT. HAZE — SPEAKEASY LOUNGE — MOMENTS LATER
A man in his forties, impeccably dressed, watches the crowd with a glass of bourbon. This is VINCENT — the client. He’s not smiling. Not yet.
RAVEN (approaching)
You must be Vincent. Or a really good decoy.
VINCENT (without looking)
And you must be Raven Marchand. The woman who charges for time but doesn’t waste it.
They lock eyes.
RAVEN (V.O.)
He didn’t ask me to sit. But I did.
He didn’t ask me to speak. But I did anyway.
INT. SPEAKEASY CORNER BOOTH — LATER
They’re sipping cocktails. A violinist plays softly in the background. The conversation is not flirtatious — it’s philosophical.
VINCENT
Ever wonder what people really want when they book someone like you?
RAVEN
Depends. Some want a mirror.
Others want an escape.
VINCENT
What if I just wanted a witness?
RAVEN (smiles)
Then I’m your audience of one.
EXT. DISTILLERY COURTYARD — NIGHT
They walk. Slowly. A hush between them.
RAVEN (V.O.)
No room. No bed. No ask.
Just time, and tension, and talk.
He told me about his wife — lost to cancer.
His daughter — studying in Berlin.
His heart — somewhere in between.
VINCENT
You’re not what I expected.
RAVEN
Neither were you.
INT. CAR — MIDNIGHT
She steps back into the waiting car.
RAVEN (V.O.)
Not every night ends in fireworks.
Some end with the quiet satisfaction of being… seen.
She looks back. Vincent is gone, swallowed by the shadows.
Who Is Raven Marchand?
Elegant, Enigmatic, and emotionally intuitive, Raven Marchand is a Toronto-based companion known for her rich conversational depth and timeless style. From candle-lit speakeasies to upscale corporate functions, Raven’s presence brings mystery and sophistication to every booking.
