Café de Nuit

Duchess von Auerbach wrote:"But of course," the Duchess replied, running her delicately filed nails across her fan. "One must not ignore the simple pleasures of merely viewing. Perhaps I could show you some of my favorite selections? I hope to be adding them to my collection before the night is out."

“Many thanks for your gracious offer! But must regretfully decline.” Celeste’s tone of voice sounded extremely thankful, and also regretful. Extremely. “No—tonight, my escort and I wander unburdened of personal desire, our only guide our sense of the aesthetic! No doubt you know what is to be similarly bestirred—though, I can assure you, I have always considered it an unparalleled delight.”

Smile.

Duchess von Auerbach wrote:A duchess, mademoiselle?" he asked, undoubtedly raising an eyebrow behind his golden mask. "Ah, you have been holding out on us. The mysterious debutante in our apartment is in secret a baron's daughter, or heiress to a Vaasi count."

Celeste nodded graciously at Thierri, while (coincidentally) failing to verbally expound upon her own parentage. “Lady von Auerbach moves most enthusiastically amongst Port-a-Lucine’s artistic circles. As one may expect, this has rendered us only the closest of friends!” Celeste aimed a grin at the Duchess that could have shattered concrete.

Duchess von Auerbach & M. Boucher wrote:The ocean blue eyes fell on the stocky young man standing next to Celeste. "Ah, this young gentleman is a new acquaintance of yours? From you new apartment, I gather. Perhaps you would do me the honor of introducing us?"

"Ah, come now, your Ladyship, this is a masquerade," the young man replied, eyes twinkling. "Names would ruin the fun."

“Indeed, my gallant companion has the right of it, dearest von Auerbach! If the gentleman prefers to retain his anonymity, why, what else may we do but acquiesce to the spirit of the Masquerade?” Celeste did not at all look mildly relieved.

“In fact—oh, loath am I to admit it!—our sojourn through this happy gallery simply must proceed apace. M. Ciardi’s Three Fates Ascendant will not observe itself, after all—and one expects the crowd of like-minded on-lookers to be ever so pressing as the night continues. Don’t you concur, Monsieur?”

Celeste cast a glance at Boucher that did not at all indicate an intense desire to be on the other side of the room five minutes ago.

Bedecked in a simple cut, but exquisitely tailored revers, Mr. Agale embarked from the carriage. It resembled a loose fitting long-sleeved robe with lapels folded across his chest reminiscent of a trench coat. The entire ensemble was in a deep burgundy bordering on black with thin purple trim.

Stepping carefully so as not to lose his footing, he skirted the edge of the puddle, managing only barely to avoid an ignominious dunking. He cracks a sly smile at the invitation's magic, then dons a full face mask depicting a broadly smiling cat with silver plated teeth.

He works his way through the room, exchanging formal pleasantries and superficial tidings. He ends his sojourn nearly in the path of the procession of hawk-masks.

Finding an opportune pause in the lead pair's discussion, he steps forward and addresses them. "Hail, predator prince of the skies. If you may recall sir, we met but a few hours ago under less diverting circumstances. Though I cannot say I have made the acquaintance of the moon-masked gentleman."

Cerise wrote:"Of course!" Cerise grinned. "It's all the pale makeup the nobles wear, they fit right in. That's why I don't wear the stuff."

"I assure you, then," Cyrus said with a sly smile and a small flourish, "If any vampires assault us, I will smite them with the full might of His holy power. The vampire will be dust before you know it." He patted Cerise's hand with his free one.

Cerise, cont'd wrote:"Hmm, I probably do, but the masks make it a little hard, let me see," Cerise paused, looking around. "Ooh! There, that guy!" She pointed at the gentleman walking around with Ambassador Veddarak. "It's Councillor Claude LaGrange," she whispered. "I've seen him around the University a whole bunch. They say he's the one handling all the grain negotiations from Falkovnia, which is why everyone else on the council treats him like a pariah. He certainly seems to get along with the Ambassador well enough. Thought you know... I hear some people in Richemulot are offering food imports."

"Interesting," the dommer said thoughtfully, "I think I would like to meet this man."

Cyrus watched the crowd for a few more moments, looking to see if he recognized anyone else of importance -- or if anyone stood out (Perception 27) and then his shaded gaze rested on the buffet table. So much food! Darius would be sorely put out when he learned he missed it.

The Hazlani flashed a grin at Cerise and gestured toward the buffet. "Shall we go see if Richemulot has sent any samples for the table?" he asked, "I am hungry enough I could fall over any moment."

Upon listening to the puffed up bird blather on about the finery and particulars of planning a ball, Nerit's mouth began to twist. One way, the other way. Pursing, puckering...

"Pardon, s'il vous plait, would you excuse me?" Nerit bobbed her hooded head to the small group and spun away. Soon she lost herself in the crowd, where she immediately burst forth in an enormous, unconstrained laugh that was most unfitting for a nun.

This event lasted for more than thirty seconds, surely bemusing those around her. Dabbing precariously at the tears through her eyeholes, Nerit recovered.

"Domina mea," Nerit whispered, still smiling. Now she peered about the sea of costumes, looking for some sanity. After a good space of staring, she made her way back to the Blackwoods.

"Ahh, I have not prepared myself properly for the nobles," she muttered through a grin.

The Tessier Gallery, Quartier Savant, Port-a-Lucine; March 11th, 770, 7:34 PM
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Lia wrote:"Tell me," she says as she casually hooks her arm through Remy's, "have any of you availed yourselves of your 'borrowed patriarch' to learn new languages? I can personally testify that he is an excellent teacher."

The two pale twins exchanged a look, catching Lia's meaning instantly. It didn't have quite the quelling effect it would have on most people. Instead, they laughed uproariously, though they did step back from Lessard.

"Don't make me hit you." Felise said with another roll of the eyes. "Anyway, our temporary patriarch taught me to read old Vaasi, which was nice. Though Christophe is getting the full treatment."

"I'm at the University." The strapping young man explained. "Studying economics, mostly, but Uncle is seeing to it that I know Zherisian, Falko-Lamordian, Vaasi, and we'll be starting Balok soon. Step-mama wants me to take over the family business."

"Little scholar, isn't he?" Bertriz said. Bertram nodded and grinned. "Book learning pouring out of his ears."

"Remind me to hit you with something after the party." Christophe said with good-natured menace.

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Tomas wrote:"These are good." He confides, "Just mutton sausage meat, I think. If we are going to endure torments, frauline, we might as well be fed for our trouble, nicht war?"

"Thank you. Good food can be hard to find in this country." Katja said, no doubt thinking back on the curry incident of yesterday. That had likely made an impression on her, of the horribly traumatizing variety of impression. She glanced at Tomas, her one eye curious. "Have you been in Dementlieu long?"

"Hello Tomas, Hello Kat." Cerise chose this moment to appear at the buffet, pulling along a fairly compliant Hazlani with her. She grinned, snagging a tiny sandwich up. "Seen any vampires around?"

Katja sent Tomas a look, but then considered the question seriously. "I haven't."

"Phooey, and here I was hoping." Cerise shrugged, which made the bat-wings on her head shiver a bit. She bit into the sandwich. "Clever of you two, though, getting to the buffet before everyone else got to it. Or the poisoners did."

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Mr. Agale wrote:Finding an opportune pause in the lead pair's discussion, he steps forward and addresses them. "Hail, predator prince of the skies. If you may recall sir, we met but a few hours ago under less diverting circumstances. Though I cannot say I have made the acquaintance of the moon-masked gentleman."

"Good evening, my feline acquaintance. Ah, and I see the rest of our circle of contacts is present as well." The falcon-masked Falkovnian said, craning his neck slightly to gaze across the crowd. At a questioning look from his lunar-masked companion, Vedarrak explained. "Some old comrades-in-arms, Councilor."

"I see." The middle-aged man's voice was surprisingly pleasant-sounding for coming from such an unprepossessing body. It was like velvet sliding across the skin. He nodded politely to Agale. "I am Councilor Claude LaGrange. I fear you are unfamiliar to me, though your voice says you are of Borcan extraction."

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Nerit wrote:"Ahh, I have not prepared myself properly for the nobles," she muttered through a grin.

"Some things simply cannot be prepared for. Are you terribly angry with us?" Alice asked, her appropriate chagrin ruined by her amusement. "Well, you shall be safe with us. We are proper Mordentish folk, our lives quite untarnished by excitement and frippery. Richard and I will defend you from these ornamented brigands."

Richard looked at Alice, before making a rather sad attempt to look intimidating. "I'll just, ah, scare them away with my manly physique, shall I?"

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Kerrian wrote:"I'm not particularly skilled with them either." Admitted Kerrian, although skilled with them at all would be a better assessment. "At best, it's a start. Something has to be done to break the cycle that we're stuck in though. Common folk think the Nobility doesn't care, some anarchist starts calling for blood..the common folk listen a little. Anarchist does something stupid, the Nobles increase pressure out of fear for their lives...which the anarchists seize upon as another example of Noble callousness, and play up to get more people to listen to their cause." Kerrian sighed sadly, and shook his head.

"Things can't keep going like this. Something has to be found that can get everyone to a common good, Noble or Common. Otherwise, things are only going to get worse." A shrug, then a moment of realization. "I don't believe we've been introduced.."

"Hmm." The man paused for a moment. "I'm Lafayette," he introduced.

"Oh! Certainly, my dear Monsieur Lafayette!" Loiseau began. "Such horrid violence! Why, even this lovely evening has been touched by dear M. Tessier's passing! And to leave his poor son to pick up the pieces! Oh, and that dreadful evening with those poor dearies, just looking for a bite of bread! It is too tragic to be borne! Oh, I shall choke up! Where is my handkerchief? This is exactly why we are holding such a ball, dear monsieur, so this need never happen again! Oh, I am so glad you have agreed to spread the word!"

"I will do it right now, if you will excuse me," Lafayette said, bowing to you both. Taking a cue from Sister Doherty, the man ducked into the crowd, moving with incredibly suspicious haste.

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Celeste wrote:“In fact—oh, loath am I to admit it!—our sojourn through this happy gallery simply must proceed apace. M. Ciardi’s Three Fates Ascendant will not observe itself, after all—and one expects the crowd of like-minded on-lookers to be ever so pressing as the night continues. Don’t you concur, Monsieur?”

Celeste cast a glance at Boucher that did not at all indicate an intense desire to be on the other side of the room five minutes ago.

"I could do nothing else, mademoiselle," Thierri said, with a flourish and a bow.

"Of course. I forget myself," the Duchess coolly smiled. "It would be wrong of me to distract you from such an uncommon evening of high culture. But should you ever find the press of the crowd too great, do leave a card for my servants. I can easily arrange a private viewing for you."

"Your ladyship is nothing but goodness," Boucher replied, the smile on his face nothing but genuine. Without further delay, he offered his arm to Celeste, leading her away towards a rather handsome bronze of a woman carrying a vase. The Duchess von Auerbach attempted to curtsy, only to discover that something seemed to have stuck a corner of her dress to the floor. She did not look amused.

Ever the performer, M. Boucher was nothing but smiles until the Duchess was lost in the crowd. Once she was out of sight, Thierri glanced back, his expression sliding back to neutral, before throwing back his head and letting out a rich laugh. "Ah, mademoiselle," he breathed, still chuckling slightly, "no wonder you can brave such troubling events with such fortitude! She reminds me of a friend of mine, save that he is a taciturn, unpleasant fellow who rarely speaks. It pains me to speak ill of your dear friend, but allowances must be made for favoritism on my part - I prefer the gentleman."

"Very well," Lia replies in a pleasant tone of voice, "I won't." It is, of course, impossible to see through the mask whether she is smiling when she says this or not. Also, it is a little jarring to hear a pleasant sound from behind such a fierce shell.

"I commend you, young sir," Lia says to Christophe, inclining her head. "I hope you will take all the best the University has to offer. Of course I know your Uncle will be sure to steer you away from the worst that you might encounter there."

A little nod to professor Marchand-Renier.

"If you all do not mind, however," Lia continues, "I should like to steal these two formidable academics from you for a minute or two. There's a little something I'd like to discuss with you both about the upcoming faculty dinner. The 28th is the date, is it not ...?"

M. Boucher wrote:Ah, mademoiselle," he breathed, still chuckling slightly, "no wonder you can brave such troubling events with such fortitude! She reminds me of a friend of mine, save that he is a taciturn, unpleasant fellow who rarely speaks. It pains me to speak ill of your dear friend, but allowances must be made for favoritism on my part - I prefer the gentleman."

Celeste was practically on tenterhooks until the Duchess was no longer to be seen—then burst likewise into a wave of poorly-surpressed giggling. “Oh-- Oh, M. Boucher! What…what deliciously rendered comeuppance! I daresay I must keep you close to hand when future social disharmony is threatened, ere I lack the proper adhesive!”

She sighed in happy relief, blotting a stray mirthful tear with the corner of a handkerchief. “Oh, Monsieur, you may keep your Gentleman—only allow me to retain my Lady, that in drawing her censure I may keep her from more sensitive company! Patronage of the Arts makes such uncommon bedfellows... I have tried so frequently to think the best of our Duchess, but—to my shame!—have only succeeded at finding her uncommonly irksome.”

She frowned slightly, more at herself than at the thought of her rival, then looked back up at the magician with a hopeful expression. “Oh, forgive my uncharitable sentiments, M. Boucher! If it is any consolation, know that your timely intervention has pushed such unhappy thoughts entirely from my mind: why, I am set wholly at ease." Celeste smiled again, sincerely this time. "Let us proceed as if the night had begun anew, and so treasure this reprieve as it rightly deserves.”

"Me?" Tomas asked, as he calmly made Katja a quick plate of appetizers he'd judge she would be able to stand, and quickly decided that, of course, she was as uncomfortable as he was. "All and all, I'd say...three years? Not at once, of course, but longer than I've been anywhere else besides home." Tomas pauses, the flash of regret on his face a bit more obvious with his hair slicked back and eyebrows jutting inward at a sinister angle. "...I was trying to find a friend of mine's home village, you see. He passed here and..."

Tomas cuts himself off when Cerise and whichever of the twins she's snuggling up to get within earshot, perhaps feeling that they would not understand. "Guten abend, frauline, padre." Tomas isn't trying to irritate the Hazlani, it's just that he knows Valchani Vaasi better than the more traditional dialects. He looks startled for a second; Eisenwald has been keeping a quiet eye on Agale and the fellow he's assuming is Vedarrak, trusting neither man any more than he'd trust a goblin-forged knife not to stab him in the face. "Vamp-oh! The bat thing. Haw." A quick gulp of punch, as though it were a shot of something harder. "The last time I was poisoned was when I was helping young Yugo Boristi sort out his great-grandfather's collection of Tergish relics." Tomas helps himself to another "glass" of punch, grinning a bit as if a brush with death was a fond memory.

"His sister, T...something, we all called her Tina, but she, you see, thought we knew about how she was using the shed as a rendezvous point and were hoping to catch her in the act so Yugo would get a better chunk of Great-Uncle Carmine's remembrance." Tomas shrugs, as if to say, 'Borcans, eh?', and continues, "So she sets up a spring, right, that went off after the floor felt the weight of what she thought two men would weigh on it, which fired an antique crossbow that she helped along with some...I don't really know what it was supposed to do...but the bolt hit me(As she did not realize my healthy Lamordian physique was enough to set the trap off.) and I ended up being really thirsty for a week." Another chugged glass of punch accentuates that 'really thirsty' is something of an exceptional state of being for young Tomas. "We knew Tina did it because she got her dress sleeve caught on the crossbow, because the Tergs were a practical people who believed the best way to prevent theft was to know who was stupid enough to try and steal from them and there was this locking thing...anyway, Tina is panicking because she thinks we're going to tell her mother that she's been seeing this caliban boy and she was sorry and it was only a little poison so what could I do?"

Tomas grins a little, scratching his nose. "Yugo just charged her for all the wine I drank while I was laid up for the week."

Underneath the mask, Agale cocked an eyebrow at Vedderak's 'comrades in arms' description. If Mr. Eisenwald and Ms. Mournswraith are what the ambassador considers comrades, he considered, then one wonders at the man's conduct with his enemies.

"I see." The middle-aged man's voice was surprisingly pleasant-sounding for coming from such an unprepossessing body. It was like velvet sliding across the skin. He nodded politely to Agale. "I am Councilor Claude LaGrange. I fear you are unfamiliar to me, though your voice says you are of Borcan extraction."

"Your ear does you justice Councilor" Mr. Agale replied. "My name- *oomph*" At that moment, a rather hurried gentleman wearing a dragon mask who seemed more intent on ensuring that he was not being followed than paying attention to precisely where he was headed. The resulting collision was not altogether an ungraceful affair. Agale pirouetted nearly a complete circle then stumbled a step backward before regaining a semblance of stable footing. "-am recently arrived in your fair country Councilor." He continued unabated. Lafayette's own stumble did little to decrease his momentum, and through sheer determination of purpose he scrambled on, widening the gap from his assailant. "While recent developments might be seen as casting a pallor upon things, I must say I am very impressed with the grandeur and vitality present. It speaks volumes of a steadfast leadership and a robust society and I am grateful to have the opportunity to take part in the latter."

If Cyrus took any offense at Tomas using the improper title for his station, he gave no indication. Instead, he politely disengaged himself from Cerise long enough to pile a formidable amount of food on his plate. Then he rejoined his evening date in time to hear Tomas's tale.

"It seems your life is one misadventure after another, Eisenwald," the dommer said smoothly. "You get into trouble with the Church, shot by a Borcan. They say truth is stranger than fiction, but I wonder in your case. Either that or all of this is a testament to your success as a writer and storyteller."

He smiled and paused to take several large bites. "An intriguing tale," he said, "But you are not drinking wine tonight. It is being paid for, why not indulge?" His eyes were hidden, but his smile seemed congenial enough.

"Oh, if you do come across any vampires tonight, do let us know," he said after eating another few bites, "Miss Rondelet and I are seeking an encounter, or at least an observance." He flashed his broad serpentine smile at Katja and Tomas in turn.

The Tessier Gallery, Quartier Savant, Port-a-Lucine; March 11th, 770, 7:34 PM
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Celeste wrote:“Oh-- Oh, M. Boucher! What…what deliciously rendered comeuppance! I daresay I must keep you close to hand when future social disharmony is threatened, ere I lack the proper adhesive!”

She sighed in happy relief, blotting a stray mirthful tear with the corner of a handkerchief. “Oh, Monsieur, you may keep your Gentleman—only allow me to retain my Lady, that in drawing her censure I may keep her from more sensitive company! Patronage of the Arts makes such uncommon bedfellows... I have tried so frequently to think the best of our Duchess, but—to my shame!—have only succeeded at finding her uncommonly irksome.”

"I shall keep him, and if I can lure you away from the considerate charms of your Lady, I shall introduce you someday," Thierri replied, an oddly genuine smile on his face. "Had you but spoken, I have an ample repertoire of tricks that the Duchess von Auerbach would make a perfect volunteer for. This, however, is a night for a different kind of art than the one I practice; it would be remiss of me to perform here. Let us proceed as you have said - lead on, mademoiselle! In this arena it is you who reigns supreme, and I must defer to your expertise."

The magician indicated the bronze statue of the woman with her vase, sweeping his arm to encompass the whole of the statue in his gesture. "What do you think of this young lady?" he asked, eyes twinkling. "You must be her critic, mademoiselle - for if I were to note the liveliness of her figure, or the elegance of her chin, it would be dismissed as the words of any young man to a pretty woman."

"Quite." An older man, his mask hiding most of the creases on his face, tilted his head back from where he was regarding the statue. "Yes, what do you think of it, mademoiselle?" he asked as well, appearing extremely interested in the answer.

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Lia wrote:"I commend you, young sir," Lia says to Christophe, inclining her head. "I hope you will take all the best the University has to offer. Of course I know your Uncle will be sure to steer you away from the worst that you might encounter there."

"I've been careful to keep Christophe away from all frauds, thieves, and politicians while he's here." Marchand-Renier said with a dryness that could do the Amber Wastes justice. "Though Bertram and Bertriz do their best to thwart me."

The two white-masked Reniers bowed in unison at this point.

"In any case, off with you scamps, and try not to scare the locals." Marchand-Renier continued, gazing at the twins. "We need to talk about academic matters, not fit for all ears."

"I'll go raid the buffet then. I think I saw Alain there." Christophe said. "Have fun."

"No invitation required." Bertram said. Bertriz agreed. "Let's go look at the paintings some more, shall we?" "Lets." Bertram agreed.

Felise just shook her head and went off in search of saner conversation.

Marchand-Renier watched them go, shaking his head slightly. He turned back to the two other professors, subtly drifting towards a less crowded area of the gallery. The professor clasped his hands together, rubbing them together slightly. "Why, Remy, Lia, you never said a word," he teased, noting Lia's arm still hooked with Lessard's. "I dare say several young ladies I know shall be disappointed, but I'm certain they'll bear it well enough."

"Get used to this," Professor Lessard warned Lia. "If those two gossip like they usually do, they'll have announced our wedding in the papers by next week." The white mask he wore covered his entire face, making it impossible to tell if he was smiling, angry, or resigned. "It's better than dealing with them face to face, though. Thank you."

"The date is indeed the 28th, but that hardly requires a private conversation," Marchand-Renier said, in answer to Lia's last question. The professor lifted his mask slightly to readjust his glasses, looking grey and tired before the pleasant cat-face snapped back in place. "Nor does anything else involving that dry and colorless dinner. What can I help you with, Lia?"

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Tomas wrote:"...Anyway, Tina is panicking because she thinks we're going to tell her mother that she's been seeing this caliban boy and she was sorry and it was only a little poison so what could I do?" Tomas grins a little, scratching his nose. "Yugo just charged her for all the wine I drank while I was laid up for the week."

Cyrus wrote:"It seems your life is one misadventure after another, Eisenwald," the dommer said smoothly. "You get into trouble with the Church, shot by a Borcan. They say truth is stranger than fiction, but I wonder in your case. Either that or all of this is a testament to your success as a writer and storyteller."

"That's because M. Eisenwald is a real hero. And heroes always have lots of adventures." Cerise said brightly, winking at Tomas. "He writes his stories so people know all about the dark stuff in the world, vampires and Terg traps and things like that, things he already met. Right M. Eisenwald?"

Katja, who was looking at Tomas a touch more skeptically, nevertheless nodded. "It is a good thing to do, and you do it for good causes. I wish you well in your searches for the home of your friend." She said in that clipped Lamordian accent of hers. She glanced at Cerise and Cyrus. "Do you actually expect to find any vampires tonight?"

"...Probably not." Cerise said with a disappointed sigh. "I've been looking all over and I haven't seen one possible vampire yet. I wish I'd brought my hand-mirror for checking. On the the bright side, maybe we can find a haunted painting. They have those in Mordent, you know. Whole gallery, each painting a little prison."

"Painting prisons? Now I've heard everything." A new voice appeared now, dry and cynical. It belong to a tall, dapper gentleman, of generally your age. He had a wineglass in one hand, and was accompanied by a shorter man with dark brown hair and a well-toned physique. "Why would anyone make a painting into a prison?"

"Well, the way the story went, this family of Mordentish nobles managed to annoy one of the Fair Folk and got cursed for it. This happens a lot in Mordent, they've a lot of curses, not just ghosts. But anyway, this family started dying off, sick but without any cause. And as each person died, they appeared in one of the portraits in the hallway, living and moving." Cerise said, speaking with a certain ghoulish delight. "Finally, the whole family died and their mansion was abandoned. The elf-knight who cursed them moved in, and supposedly he enjoyed watching them trapped in the paintings, still suffering from their sickness and agony. That's what they say, anyway."

"There are those who would enjoy doing such a thing, yes." Katja said, otherwise making little comment on the story.

"An impressive story." The tall, dapper man said.

"Alain, stop being so rude." The shorter man said in mild annoyance. He had a much mellower voice, almost at odds for the fact that he looked strong enough to bend a steel bar in half. He turned to you. "Sorry about that, he's a little drunk. Let me introduce ourselves. My name is Christophe Renier, and this is Alain Marmency, a friend of mine. Who has been absent half the party, and is very drunk as a result."

"I am not drunk." Marmency protested, evidence to the contrary notwithstanding.

Insight DC 25

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Mr. Agale wrote:"While recent developments might be seen as casting a pallor upon things, I must say I am very impressed with the grandeur and vitality present. It speaks volumes of a steadfast leadership and a robust society and I am grateful to have the opportunity to take part in the latter."

"Your sense of balance does you credit, M'sieur." Councilor LaGrange said with an amused smile. "I salute you, and bid you welcome to Dementlieu. We have had better years, I should be lying if I said otherwise, but the country is not in half so dire straights as people say it is, and it is in no small part thanks to people such as you. Do you plan to stay in Dementlieu long?"

Insight Check DC 20

"Circumstances permitting, I intend to settle down here and call this country my own." Agale replied in earnest. "Would I be correct in assuming that the elaborate yet subtle magical measures to protect this party from the unwanted are of your own devising sir?"

Insight 24

It was perhaps a testament to either patience or madness that Kerrian had not made an attempt to extricate himself from Mme Loiseau's presence till this moment. But even then, he was just doing it because despite the chance to appreciate fine art and conversation...there was business to attend to.

"Is there any chance you've seen Mme Chastel about?" He asked, turning the topic away from charity balls and the cultural imperatives behind Dementlieuese art. "There was a matter that I thought it might be worth speaking with her about...but with everyone masked..I haven't had the best time of things finding her."

"Well," Cyrus said graciously and glanced to Cerise, "Perhaps we should look for the curator -- what was her name? She might know much more about these haunted paintings."

"I am not drunk." Marmency protested, evidence to the contrary notwithstanding.

"No, I am sure you are not," Cyrus said drily. In fact, the dommer sounded entirely too convinced of Alain's sobriety. He glanced to Christophe.

"Of the Reniers from Richemulot, I take it?" he asked, "I have only met one other who carries that surname since I arrived in this city. A professor. Should I assume you are related?"

The Hazlani looked Christophe up and down, seeming impressed by the steel-bending build the nobleman possessed. "You are not what I expected to see from your family," he commented, "Not many nobles spend time performing intense calisthenics."

M. Boucher wrote:"What do you think of this young lady?" he asked, eyes twinkling. "You must be her critic, mademoiselle - for if I were to note the liveliness of her figure, or the elegance of her chin, it would be dismissed as the words of any young man to a pretty woman."

Celeste inclined her head politely, with a gracious smile to the magician segueing into a pleasant acknowledgement of the older gentleman. “You do me a great kindness—not only in your words, M. Boucher, but in presuming me fit to pass judgment upon so splendid a work! One must never perceive the well-honed opinions of a true critic where a mere enthusiastic aesthete is present—and I should be the first to number myself amongst the latter! Yet, inexperienced though I may be, the pair of you present me with a simply unforsakeable challenge. A moment:”

Mlle. Viardot was some time in her perusal; by her standards, at least. A moment or two after beginning to attend to it, her eyes lit up—“Ah! A Pinot bronze, I see.” Subsequently, a good fifteen seconds passed as she examined the statue more closely, an intent look on her face; at irregular intervals, she took a step or two back or to the side, getting it from all angles. “…Representative of his ouvre as a whole, and yet…Yes! How astute…”

Celeste turned back to the two observers, smiling gently. “Kind sirs, there is a most profound meditation on realism afoot before us. The good M. Pinot has been ever so harried as of late for the sheer lifelike nature of his art, that is to say, his possible use of human models for castings—a criticism which I have always found to be singularly misplaced, given the virtuosity of the final product! Nonetheless, there is in this piece a supremely elegant response.”

She made a top-to-bottom gesture at the statue, indicating the line of the woman’s back. “Notice! The fair lady places her weight on one leg, which to my eyes seems a reference to the sculptors of the Borcan Renaissance—the cast of her features, too, perhaps recalls the early work of a Girolamo.* And who, for their time, could be considered more the epitome of realism than these revered Borcan classicists? Their work is not considered any less transcendant for its adherence to detail.” Celeste smiled to herself, mentally going over the aesthetic pleasures of that period. “I think M. Pinot’s work imparts a lovely message to we happy viewers: in it, we are reminded that no school of artistic endeavour should be passed over simply because it hews closely to the real. Indeed, if that were the case, I should be acquainted with several very disheartened daguerrotypists! No: we must rather strive to be inclusive, and in doing so render ourselves truly open to the manifold pleasures that Art may provide us.”

She giggled pleasantly, presenting a small curtsey to her observers. “There: my judgment has been passed. I fervently hope that it has proved enlightening!” She cast an encouraging look at the older gentleman. “Oh, pardon me! I do go on so. I do not believe that I have had the pleasure of your acquaintance, Monsieur...?”

*Girolamo Alciati, Borcan, 411-443 BC (“Scion of the Malfatti”; “Andral Appears to Piero”)