(no subject)
A man enters tonight, not overly tall, but well built, and with what would be considered, amongst most societies, a remarkably handsome face. While his colouring is almost a pallid white, his hair is dark, and his eyes bright and penetrating.
He's just been notified by his valet de chambre that Baron d'Epinay and Vicomte de Morcerf have come to show their appreciation for the small courtesies; the use of his carriage for the carnival and two places at his windows in the Palazzo Rospoli. So it is with this anticipation, expecting to find himself before these two young men, that the Count of Monte Cristo enters.
"Gentleman," he begins as he steps through the door, but recognizing immediately that he's not in his drawing room, and too late to change courses, the Count doesn't miss a beat, "and Ladies," he addresses the room grandiosely. "I must beg your pardons if I do seem coarse. For it grieves me that I did not foresee this -rendezvous, and thereby lack my valet to announce me. That being said," he smiles, revealing pearl-white teeth, with the confidence of a man who's accustomed to drawing attention, "I make amends by introducing myself, the Count of Monte Cristo."
That done, and pulled off with only the merest sign of perturbance at his whereabouts (and quite a lot of concealed annoyance at whoever is responsible), Monte Cristo remains near to the wall, expression impassive, and gazes about with a keen eye. Determining, finally, to examine these unfamiliar surroundings.
(Typist: Alright, I picked up Edmond Dantès, The Count of Monte Cristo from the previous typist, with permission, so if you could consider him reset, it'd be lovely. If there's something that you want to try to work out, or some passing acquaintance you'd like to keep, I'll discuss.)
He's just been notified by his valet de chambre that Baron d'Epinay and Vicomte de Morcerf have come to show their appreciation for the small courtesies; the use of his carriage for the carnival and two places at his windows in the Palazzo Rospoli. So it is with this anticipation, expecting to find himself before these two young men, that the Count of Monte Cristo enters.
"Gentleman," he begins as he steps through the door, but recognizing immediately that he's not in his drawing room, and too late to change courses, the Count doesn't miss a beat, "and Ladies," he addresses the room grandiosely. "I must beg your pardons if I do seem coarse. For it grieves me that I did not foresee this -rendezvous, and thereby lack my valet to announce me. That being said," he smiles, revealing pearl-white teeth, with the confidence of a man who's accustomed to drawing attention, "I make amends by introducing myself, the Count of Monte Cristo."
That done, and pulled off with only the merest sign of perturbance at his whereabouts (and quite a lot of concealed annoyance at whoever is responsible), Monte Cristo remains near to the wall, expression impassive, and gazes about with a keen eye. Determining, finally, to examine these unfamiliar surroundings.
(Typist: Alright, I picked up Edmond Dantès, The Count of Monte Cristo from the previous typist, with permission, so if you could consider him reset, it'd be lovely. If there's something that you want to try to work out, or some passing acquaintance you'd like to keep, I'll discuss.)