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monte_countess in thespiderslogs

it's been raining for days

Oct 17, 2009 00:58

WHO: Haydée de Monte Cristo and her guests
Where: Haydée's Apartments
DATE: October 17th 1935
WARNINGS: Fanciness, drinking, social awkwardness
SUMMARY: The housewarming party of New York's new countess.
STATUS: Present your invitation at the door, metaphorically speaking.

[[ooc; (it's tomorrow now right? probably... going to sleep for a few ( Read more... )

trigon, miles edgeworth, haydée tebelin, namine, quatre winner, leonard mccoy, dick grayson, tim drake, angelina durless/madame red, kristoph gavin

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MILES EDGEWORTH DOESN'T CARE ABOUT THIRD PEOPLE, BY WHICH I MEAN THIRD PERSON (p.s. tl;dr) mentis_reae October 17 2009, 15:37:34 UTC

I had brought this night upon myself. I had done so at Tony Stark's party, when I had humiliated myself and shown that I wasn't yet capable of even asking for funds. I had done so a week later, when the furor from the shooting had died down and the District Attorney had asked me if I had in fact managed to raise any funds and I had sneered at him. And I had done so the night before, when the D.A. had seen upon my desk the invitation to this event and asked me if I were going and I had responded with a long and absurd and self-righteous tirade about how I did not agree with his methods and if he were going to ask me to debase myself once more to beg for money then I frankly had no use for him or his philosophy or anything of the sort. I'd brought it upon myself when his expression of genuine surprise and vague hurt had shaded instead into anger and outrage, and even so I had not stopped until I had come to the end of my speech and he, levelly, ordered me to attend ( ... )

THAT'S FINE 8] monte_countess October 17 2009, 16:37:53 UTC

I knew the comings and goings of my own party. One did not live and love with a man like the Count without learning some of his tricks, his attentiveness. I knew Mr. Edgeworth had come, that Bertuccio had cleared him through and his coat had been taken by one of the petite maids who had returned with us from Greece. I knew too that he committed the interesting feat of slipping past me and hiding himself away for some time. Ali looked up at me curiously, mute lips pursed to wonder if he should investigate. However, I had heard the fantastic tale of his dinner with my dear Angelina. Her predictions had turned out to be quite correct, while my hope that she should leave him with the memory firmly fixed in his mind had also been lived out beautifully. He didn't need to be pushed, he couldn't hide forever ( ... )

OH GOOD. P.S., I hope the Count would actually like Dostoyevsky. If not, er...tell me and I'll edit? mentis_reae October 17 2009, 17:09:58 UTC

Engrossed as I was in my own thoughts, I hadn't been conscious of the woman's approach until she spoke. When she did, I looked up with a start and an involuntary, convulsive grip on the book that caused it to close in my hands. I cursed my nerves, cursed my jumpiness, even cursed this woman who had evidently been so generous and gracious as to take pity on a man she no doubt assumed lonely. I could not help but despise her kindness ( ... )

monte_countess October 17 2009, 18:14:32 UTC

I watched over him with quiet amusement. Ali knew better than to betray his thoughts to the room, but I could see that he too had some sympathy for the man's discomfiture. Mr. Edgeworth didn't yet know who I was, and that was refreshing in its way. I had no real compunction to enlighten him and I settled back into the cushions more leisurely ( ... )

mentis_reae October 17 2009, 18:41:51 UTC

"I, ah - " I cursed her generosity once again, despised her thoughtfulness, as I was obligated to put aside the protection of my book to accept the proffered refreshments. With the Turkish Delight in one hand and the glass in the other, I was unable to take the novel up again; without Dostoyevsky, I had nothing to use to avoid looking at her ( ... )

uhuhuhuhu 8] monte_countess October 17 2009, 19:29:48 UTC

Ah, the crusader had at last been forced to throw down his shield. I could, at last, meet his eye. They were a rather sorrowful gray, and with Dostoyevsky on my mind, my sense of poetics wandered through cold Russian streets and across bitter endless planes. There was an earnestness to them, despite tight pull of pain at their edges. Nervous then, an acceptable enough explanation for why a man would chose to shield himself from his peers in such an openly convivial environment. For all his protestations that he could not be trusted, I retained my opinions of him. Instead, it was my feelings about my observations which changed ( ... )

hay haydee i like ur boobs uh books idk why i said boobs mentis_reae October 17 2009, 20:19:59 UTC

I looked up from my drink and met her eyes, genuinely startled by her words. I had been to enough of these events to be accustomed to those who populated them. The men who spent their time in pursuit of social diversions were, almost to a man, overly hearty and overly presumptive, given to cheerfully making sweeping statements about me and my career and how much I would or would not accomplish and how long it would take before I turned just as crooked as the rest of them, assuming I was not all ready. The topic of corruption within the government was to them a grand jape, something that was to be snickered over rather than mourned ( ... )

my bosom is also lovely, yes, thank you monte_countess October 17 2009, 21:28:46 UTC

I smiled at him slyly in response to his startled gaze. As if it were some great secret that I should dare to deviate from the insipidity of my 'peeresses.' A worthless title that they alone gave meaning, for I hardly considered them as such. My father had taught me long ago that peerage was born of love and respect. This game that the rest of society played with each other led only to ruin. This was a fact my beloved had taken great advantage of in ensuring that selfsame ruin to those who left him buried alive in the depths of their jealousy. I was not his wife for my beauty, nor even for my intellect, though he should never have had me without the latter. I was his companion for love--the deepest and truest love, I believe, the likes of which only men who have caught falling stars can ever comprehend--and for respect ( ... )

i didn't notice what stop laughing i didn't what goddammit mentis_reae October 17 2009, 23:23:06 UTC

"Hardly," I said, bending my head once again toward my drink, away from her gaze. Usually, even I would have the discretion to sidestep the topic of death, but - my thoughts had been bent that way all day. Her brushing against morbidity seemed to me quite meet. "Life is nothing of the sort. It's not grand. It's more akin to a candle than a sun; we may come in with a cry, but we go out with a whisper ( ... )

monte_countess October 18 2009, 18:22:21 UTC

It was a curious transformation, I would admit. I was confident in my conversation abilities, but not to quite such an extent. For a man who had a moment before hidden behind the dense and tiresome Fyodor Dostoyevsky, and before that behind my washroom door, to become such a font of speech was... I glanced at Ali quietly. He ducked his head in his customary silence and left his place in attending over us ( ... )

God, this is almost embarrassing. Let's say it was a big glass of punch. mentis_reae October 18 2009, 19:51:05 UTC

"I fail to understand how you could find Eliot any less than remarkable," I said, looking down to find my glass empty. "Indeed, life-changing. I recall the first time I read The Waste Land. I was sixteen, sitting in a cafe just a bit away from the Sorbonne, when I found a copy of it discarded...It was a strange experience. For all that the poem itself is phenomenally personal to the author himself, I felt as though it was universal, in a way, as well - as though Eliot had somehow looked inside of me and taken my thoughts, as well, to incorporate into his poem. Which is an odd thought, since I was only eleven when it was written, but that's neither here nor there. In any case. It's just - certain lines, you must understand. I don't know if it's the effect of the words, or the sentiments, but, ah ( ... )

lol Edgeworth. Lol. monte_countess October 19 2009, 00:17:34 UTC

He was quoting poetry now? I smiled at him fully, listening to his ramblings. He seemed rather confused by the empty glass and I supposed I had been right to send Ali to get the poor man a glass of water and something to eat. I wondered if I should feel more guilty for pushing the drink on him when he so clearly had not anticipated the effects and yet... He was recounting a rather sweet but personal experience from France. He had traveled as a child, it was an interesting little piece of information. When else would I have the chance to hear from him so openly and unguarded ( ... )

God, THAT'S JUST EMBARRASSING. mentis_reae October 19 2009, 01:53:35 UTC

"I grew up there." I frowned slightly when I realized I'd been given another glass of something, as I frankly didn't remember taking anything at all. It revealed itself as water when I sipped at it. Rather a pity; that punch truly was delectable. Quite remarkably so. "I was ten when I moved there and, ah, seventeen when I left. Seven years," I said, and then frowned slightly, rotating the glass between my hands ( ... )

uhuhu monte_countess October 21 2009, 16:41:36 UTC

He grew up in Paris? Perhaps that's where he had learned that brusque nature of his, but shouldn't it have then be tempered with more grace and poetic appreciation? But there was worry in his brow, pinched by his frown. He hid it passably well, even in his nervous state. I watched him intently as he kept himself distracted with the gleam of his glass and the food. A poor insufferable thing ( ... )

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