|
Post by Archie Cunningham on Oct 27, 2008 16:02:02 GMT -5
Archibald was strutting, a cock in lavender brocade, the style of the day - not his day, as he wasn't to know - dictating a feminine flaring of the frock coat below the waist, improved by a wire skeleton beneath the stiffened fabric. How fitting the structure of his coat was an analogy for his present state! as, walking over the bridge, artificially and fashionably effeminate, it was only the bones of the man that held him to that rigid law. Left to languish more naturally, Archie would likely have thrown his cane into the street to upset one of the passing carriages, climbed the bridge, and stepped into the Seine. Perhaps his wig would bob to the surface. Would that be all the world remembered of him? How much powder would cling to his skin when his bloated corpse floated to shore?
Archie clutched with his free hand his other wrist, rubbing at it with a sullen expression as though it had suddenly pained him rather irritably; but he paused along the bridge as though to admire the view, staring not at the Seine but internally, at himself. It took an exertion of will to relax his hand, and it was not true relaxation but a sort of listlessness that possessed him afterwards. He reached up his hand to straighten out his cravat carelessly, looking unconsciously distasteful as he gazed over the French river. He almost seemed confused at it, as though he had expected something else - the Thames, perhaps.
"Another day, and where am I?" he said under his breath, eyes flickering over the waterscape but taking nothing in. The answer bubbled upwards to consciousness easily, and it was with a sweeter tone of voice that he answered, irony in each syllable. "A very fine bridge," he answered himself, a half-smile curling up the corner of his mouth.
|
|
|
Post by Valmont on Oct 28, 2008 14:29:39 GMT -5
Valmont was passing by, his stride leisurely and feline in its unconscious grace and his coat a green brocade. His stick was slung casually over his shoulder, his wig brown like his hair and subtly evocative of class with confidence. In fact, his entire manner projected confidence, even if it was slightly predatory without being especially masculine.
He was admiring the effect of lavender on a sunny day when he heard the man who sported the color with such aplomb utter those final words. The young man--younger than Valmont, anyway, he thought--stared unseeingly at the water, his expression far more troubled than was sartorially appropriate.
"Far too fine a bridge to contemplate jumping from," Valmont said, pausing in his perambulation. "And far to fine a jacket to contemplate adulterating in the Seine." He said this without any real concern for the man, nor did he much care whether he'd actually been thinking any such thing. It was just the sort of opening Valmont felt like making, to pass the time.
|
|
|
Post by Archie Cunningham on Oct 28, 2008 14:46:44 GMT -5
Archie looked back over the stiff, surly, and wide lapel of his coat, an almost dull expression of confusion in his eyes for a matter of seconds. He wasn't inclined much towards surprise, which needed to penetrate the mind very sharply. As common with most sociopaths of any century, Archibald was difficult to effect emotionally, and things did not stimulate him as they would most people. Nonetheless, he was at least mildly taken aback at having something he has spoken sullenly to the stones of a bridge replied to.
"I'm pleased you have at least some concern for my coat," he said, not sounding pleased, but not sounding displeased, either. His confusion was dissipating quickly and being replaced by a mild curiosity as to why anyone would stop him. "I shall tell my tailor. I'm sure he's of the same opinion as you." He looked back out over the Seine in much the same manner as he had before - not seeing the water, but gazing anyway. "Were I to jump into this river, and him standing beside me, he'd insist I remove it first. Man would probably re-sell it. One does admire the business spirit."
|
|
|
Post by Valmont on Oct 28, 2008 16:05:43 GMT -5
As a rule, depression was fairly boring for Valmont, and did not offer much scope for conversation. Still, he had a general habit of knowing people who dressed as this man did, for such people were his most frequent company and sport.
"Were you to do such a thing, I'd be happy to take it to him myself, and spare you the effort and him the consternation," Valmont offered idly, as if discussing the return of a dropped handkerchief.
|
|
|
Post by Archie Cunningham on Oct 28, 2008 16:28:00 GMT -5
"Would you?" quered Archibald listlessly, peering back at him again. He was not being especially polite, but then again, he had been caught in a rare moment of introspection, and was being true to his own personality. After a moment of trying to intuit personality in the man's expression, he looked back out. That was not his strong suite. He had never been keen on deep psychological questions. He scarcely understood himself. "It's fortunate for you, then, that it's the furthest thing from my mind - or was," he said, glancing backwards at him, although this time not turning his head, "until you placed it there."
He dropped his eyes almost in a businesslike fashion and straightened his rings. His fingers were cold, but the rings were colder. "If you're hoping to see something tragic, it will fail to take place. I have no intention of pleasing you thusly." He straightened his coat then, and took a step away from the stone wall, casting one distasteful look more down at the river. "Good God, that a man's suicide should no longer be his own."
He looked back at the man, still vaguely confused and still vaguely curious. It seemed a curious subject to parler with another man about, particularly when the conversation focused on one's attire. Unconsciously, he was lingering behind to hear what the man had to say - he was enormously interested. But he had no conscious understanding of his having paused before parting for good.
|
|
|
Post by Valmont on Oct 28, 2008 17:57:24 GMT -5
Something about the man's response pleased him--the mixture of curiosity and offense, perhaps, or being answered in as rude a fashion as he deserved--and Valmont's face masked itself with a polite smile.
"Forgive me, sir," Valmont said when the man paused as if in expectation, though of what Valmont knew not. "I fear my effort to distract you and compliment your tailor simultaneously fell somewhat short of my intent. I hazard a guess that you are a stranger, here; if the Vicomte de Valmont can be of any service to you in this new city, you must let me know."
He inclined his head in a desultory, and rather stylized, bow.
|
|
|
Post by Archie Cunningham on Oct 29, 2008 10:37:05 GMT -5
Archie felt simultaneously suspicious of the man's motives and very curious as to the man himself; if this meant he was about to fall right into a net the man had unrolled beneath him, fulfilling his designs, Archibald was scarcely aware of it, and not inclined to care. He was a good deal more interested than he had a right to be, peering at the man with a faint, inquisitive frown. He couldn't tell what he wanted, or how he would react; the man was probably a great deal more conscious of his own behavior than most men were of theirs. Archibald's ability to figure out a man depended on a lack of consciousness, and someone so aware of himself was sure to pique the Englishman's interest.
He couldn't possibly have actually intended to compliment his coat. He didn't expect Archie to believe that; he couldn't. When the man - a nobleman, as it turned out - introduced himself, the fleeting thought passed through Archibald's mind that he might have been meant to amuse the Vicomte. Archibald did relatively little to amuse himself; all things were a means to someone else's end, and if he found pleasure in them it was pure accident.
He did not feel the need to be coy about his tourism. Still meeting his eyes, blinking rarely, Archie inclined his head as well, although his shoulders dipped a bit, too, automatically. There was not enough room to make a full bow, but had Archie been in complete control of his faculties, he would have made room to do so. "Archibald Cunningham. Visiting from England," he said, "and doing all the things I am supposed to do." He tapped the end of his walking stick against the stone of the bridge he had just been leaning over. "You find me here admiring the architecture, which is the most society can ask of any man, I'm sure." There was a note of irony in his voice, but he remained focused on Valmont, preventing him from being conscious of what he himself had done.
|
|
|
Post by Valmont on Oct 29, 2008 11:33:45 GMT -5
"I prefer society ask as little as possible. And architecture is indeed a wide and varied field," Valmont replied dryly. The other man seemed somewhat dazed and out of place, which accounted for his accent. Not a nobleman, but raised among them. And somewhat suspicious of himself, Valmont thought. That was no matter, for it was amusing to watch men attempt to figure him out, especially since he had no interest in doing so himself.
"So you are here for pleasure then, and not business? Or perhaps you are an engineer, and combining the two."
|
|
|
Post by Archie Cunningham on Oct 29, 2008 11:43:53 GMT -5
Archibald had the distinct impression that Valmont was simply being droll with his statement, and although it did not persuade him to warm to him, he felt he were a little closer to comprehending him, even if nowhere near any complete understanding. He was not entirely certain he'd want to completely understand someone like this fellow, considering that the interest was such a large part of the appeal.
"I am a jack-of-all-trades without one," said Archie, perhaps expressing some distaste with the position, but speaking more openly to Valmont than he was accustomed to with anyone - he had no previous ties to the man, but found his company cordial, leaving him rather vulnerable. "A good boy with an allowance from his mother and no sense of what to spend it on." He glanced down as he adjusted his cravat, listlessly. "I don't suppose you know of any gentlemen whose reputations are in need of a duel? I am quite useful in that regard." His eyes flickered upwards again, not surprised to see the man's expression just as much as mask, just as much an invitation to unwary English chaps who finds themselves in his good company, partaking of the delicacy of his conversation.
|
|
|
Post by Valmont on Oct 29, 2008 13:25:33 GMT -5
Not depressed, not exactly, but purposeless. Interesting, Valmont mused. Money enough, and no father. Illegitimate, or merely a successful-yet-deceased businessman? His relatively unguarded answer to Valmont's idle question demonstrated his vulnerability, which Valmont had already sensed but filed away.
"I cannot think of any offhand," Valmont replied. "You consider usefulness a desirable trait, then?" Of course he considered himself useful, in a certain sense, but it was precisely because his usefulness ran contrary to society's needs that he found it acceptable to be so.
|
|
|
Post by Archie Cunningham on Oct 29, 2008 14:32:19 GMT -5
Archie cast him a confused and rather impolite look - still touched by wonder, as the Vicomte de Valmont seemed a man much inclined towards producing it - at the question he asked. He was moments away from opening his mouth and saying, 'God, no, now what has desire got to do with anything about it?' in response, but fortunately for him, he had begun to grow accustomed to Valmont's behavior, and grown less shocked into sincerity, and returning to affectation was much simpler. It helped that they had exchanged names, and that he'd learned he was speaking to a nobleman - which certainly improved Archie's ability to feign behavior.
He flicked his chin back as though tossing his hair - not that his heavy wig moved to comply with the action - and gave Valmont a small little smile, the first of any he had shown the man. His voice was a bit lighter when he spoke, and he reached up a hand to pat one of the curled locks on the dark brown wig. "I aim to please. One does what one can to alleviate the distress of one's betters," he said quite amiably, with no trace of shame or humiliation that he should be so effeminate or so self-degrading. After all, the man was his better, by his standards, and Archibald truly had none.
|
|
|
Post by Valmont on Oct 29, 2008 15:47:01 GMT -5
Valmont watched the man shift his bearing, collect himself almost into the semblance of a persona that he had no doubt changed with the observer. He was, quite suddenly, far more effeminate than he'd been when he hadn't know who Valmont was, as if slipping into the role he thought Valmont wished him to play. He wondered how such tactics had served him in the past; perhaps he lived by them, for he did not seem the type to be dictated to by pleasure alone and it was likely he required the dictation of others. Well, most did, and anyone in a fashionable coat without a title needed to make his living somehow.
He wondered just how far Mr. Cunningham would go in the service of his betters.
"I wouldn't know," he said. "But it seems a sound enough policy. Are you very good at it?"
|
|
|
Post by Archie Cunningham on Oct 29, 2008 17:28:49 GMT -5
Archie continued to behave at his airy-fairiest, like a girl let loose in a shop full of shining and worthless trinkets. This was natural for him, at least in the sense that it came naturally. Archie had behaved in such a fashion from a very young age, and had never learned otherwise.
"As good as I am at anything," said Archibald, eyes shooting upwards as though his eyelashes or the front curls of his wig held the answer. He turned from side to side as though he were hesitant about something, unconsciously debating his options, his shoulders like a daisy head on a stalk someone rolls between their fingers. He looked back at the Vicomte. "Certainly no one has ever had cause to complain." His voice was low, and soft, and it lent it a certain coyness it would not have had if he had been speaking more loudly. It was the kind of softness that required physical nearness to overhear.
But Archie was not exactly boasting. His skills with a smallsword were almost entirely unrivalled; fencing was one of the rare things that gave him unconscious pleasure, the sort he found by accident in something he had not sought it in. He could do it for hours. Unfortunately - or fortunately, perhaps - for him, he never needed to.
|
|
|
Post by Valmont on Oct 29, 2008 18:20:23 GMT -5
Though Valmont was aware that the man was speaking of more publicly acknowledged skills, his rather fey manner would have lent a double meaning to his words even if Valmont were not what he was. There was something rather fetching about him; Valmont either, in watching him longer, saw something unpracticed about his airs or found his subservient position unthreatening. He was not exactly a man given to friendship, but companionship was another matter entirely.
"Then I can only hope I shall have the opportunity to take advantage of you one day," Valmont murmured, though his voice was even and indeed, one could plausibly have convinced oneself that there was nothing untoward about the comment at all.
|
|
|
Post by Archie Cunningham on Oct 29, 2008 21:04:58 GMT -5
Archibald was pleased by the comment, and though this was apparent - Archibald was very rarely pleased by anything, and when it had chance to happen, the small, personal smile that played over his lips gave it away very quickly; his being unused to pleasure, he had never learned how to conceal it, and his airs were never meant to conceal anything, anyway, merely to put something on - he did not remark on it. Archie did like to please; he felt very satisfied in himself when he had done his duty to such a high degree. But something about this particular viscount seemed rather intimate to him - comparatively, at the very least. Archibald was used to being held apart as something of a shield to the rest of the world, kept out of sight for as long as possible - and he had never served anyone so near his own age. The thought of it seemed rather personal.
After a moment of having privately enjoyed this small, pleasurable victory, eyes lowered, he lifted them again to Valmont's, tilting his head to the side rather deeply. "Well," he said, after a moment of lingering contemplation, "I shall do my best to keep myself open to you." Indeed, he should, he hardly had anything to do with himself as it was.
|
|