(Untitled)

[bitter_innocent]

The Count of Monte Cristo must have determined, at some point since arriving, that this place is not the residence of his enemies. For though he is pale as always, he is as fit and healthy as ever. And while he consumes but little food or drink, one may get the impression that this is natural. The count has never been one to partake to excess

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[alcuin_delaunay]

Alcuin would care for some conversation, but he doesn't want to bother the Count. He enters silently, browsing over the shelves to decide on reading material, but the book he was reading before is gone. Puzzled, he goes in search, quietly checking the books the Count has taken, before he finds the volume he wants--the poetry of Horace, in the original Latin. He puts a finger on it, then looks up, hesitant to disturb.

[bitter_innocent]

The Count is one of those distinguished individuals who attract attention when they enter a room. But he is also the sort to note the comings and goings of others.

Monte Cristo does not acknowledge the arrival immediately, but does when it becomes clear that the gentleman has taken an interest in a book he'd selected.

"'hopeful in adversity, anxious in prosperity, is the heart that is well prepared for weal or woe.' A wise man, wouldn't you agree?" The Count asks, finally raising his eyes from his own text. "But do feel free," he adds, gesturing toward the book of verse. "It will take some time to finish the rest."

[alcuin_delaunay]

Alcuin's face--a pale face of exquisite beauty, with long white hair--lit up with pleasure, eyes happy. He replies in the language in which he was addressed (Italian, we assume, from a previous thread), softly accented but completely fluent. "You read Horace, my lord?" Alcuin is unfamiliar with the Count, but immediately recognizes that he is aristocratic, and should be addressed as such.

[bitter_innocent]

The Count has noticed the near albino qualities, contrasted by the dark eyes. Unlike his own pallor, Monte Cristo takes it to be natural.

"I read anything and everything, signor," he answers readily. "As you may have determined from my selection there. This does not rival my own library, I regret, but I have discovered a few titles that I do not own." Yet.

[alcuin_delaunay]

Alcuin's face brightens further at the mention of a larger library, and he drops to his knees by the count's chair so as to look up at him respectfully rather than down. He kneels easily, abeyante, eyes watching the count's every expression. "You are a scholar, then." He smiles, happy to have found a learned scholar, there aren't enough of them here for Alcuin's tastes. "I would dearly like to see such a library. I'm rather fond of this one. It's far vaster than my Lord Delaunay's."

[bitter_innocent]

The Count's face is rarely expressive, except in conveying his confidence and general air of superiority. It is not often intended to be offensive, his is simply a commanding presence. To most.

"I dabble in all things, but knowledge is my passion." Especially when it serves his main purpose. Then, more coolly, he adds, "I too should dearly love to see it again, though I comfort myself in knowing that my steward would not allow it to gather dust." Burtuccio will keep those other servants in line, during his Eminence's absence.

[alcuin_delaunay]

Fortunately, confidence and superiority are comforting and familiar to Alcuin, they remind him of his old mentor and lover, the Delaunay of whom he spoke. His face falls slightly with disappointment at hearing his library is nowhere near.

"So you cannot return home, either," he murmurs. "My sympathies."

[bitter_innocent]

"I call no place home, sir. -Never the less," he answers, after a brief pause, "I do find myself unable to return to any of my residences.

Luckily my lifestyle has taught me to be adaptable, so I am as at home here as I would be anywhere." This is not quite true, for here he finds that he can still be surprised, but that is neither here nor there.

[alcuin_delaunay]

"My name is Alcuin no Delaunay, my lord." Alcuin's smile is gentle and inviting, but guarded enough to make it evident that he's not a fool.

[bitter_innocent]

The Count prides himself on being a good judge of character. And Alcuin has expressed an interest in literature and learning, which speaks well of him. The Count has likely already formed an impression, and if he considered the man a fool, it would be clear by now.

"And I am the Count of Monte Cristo." As in a previous thread, he does not bow, due to being seated. "Tell me something of your home," he requests.

[alcuin_delaunay]

Alcuin smiles, pleased at his interest, and remains kneeling as he speaks, comfortable in the Count's presence, and begins to tell the story of Elua. His voice is soft and melodic, and his gestures elegant. "I come from Terre d'Ange, my lord. When the Son of the One God was tortured upon the cross, the Magdalene wept over his body. Elua was born from his blood and her tears, when they mingled upon the earth. Earth's youngest child, he wandered the Earth with his Companions, gentle Eisheth, fair Namaah, stern Kushiel of rod and weal, Cassiel, Shemhazai... They wandered for years, and Namaah lay down with kings and also beggars in the street, that Elua might eat, or that Elua might live. But the One God would not accept them, for they lived too freely of his tenets, and no land would let them stay

[bitter_innocent]

The Count offers a wan smile in return, pleased at the mans ability to relay a history so well. But the final claims earn a raised brow, however, as Monte Cristo regards the fellow coolly. "Then you are a boastful race, to repeat that- almost as though you believe it." But with a shrug, he adds, "Still, as a species, men are too proud."

Angels, indeed. Though he considers himself an exceptional being, in all seriousness, which is likely worse.

(Typist has been ill these past few days. Pls forgive the late reply.)

[alcuin_delaunay]

Alcuin stops, surprised and insulted by his reply. "We are a vain people, yes, but that does not make it any less true, sir." Alcuin rises to his feet, an indignant blush high on his pale cheeks.