Night falls...

[ironicalsmile]

A newcomer has arrived at the Mansion (hardly an unusual occurrence, really), but his presence is rather overshadowed, quite literally, by the simultanaeous arrival of nighttime. Now, night at the Mansion generally falls with unvarying regularity every twelve hours or so, and the star-studded dark sky should be nothing unusual... Though perhaps it

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[sixpearls]

Mary is a bit nervy of the magicians, really, after Sasha's bad experience, and her talks with Pyetr have expressed this well--but he seems like a gentleman, even despite his making it nighttime, and she smiles and lifts her skirts just the tiniest bit in greeting. "How do you do, Mr. Strange?"

[ironicalsmile]

'As well as can be expected, madam,' he says courteously, with a small bow (it's been a while since he has been in civilised company, but some habits don't fade). 'And yourself?'

[sixpearls]

She smiles slightly, reassured by his manner. "I'm quite well, thank you. I--I do believe I've met your wife."

[ironicalsmile]

'My wife?' His polite half-smile freezes, twisting ever so slightly into what is very nearly a grimace, the sort of expression one might expect to see on the face of a dead Pharaoh in an ancient Egyptian tomb.

'Indeed, madam,' he continues smoothly after a moment, 'that surprizes me. I had no idea my wife was... That is to say, I was unaware as to her current - ah, location. I had fancied she was still in England.' His words are calm and his tone steady, but his expression retains a hint of the death's head grin.

[colored_gowns]

Arabella is sitting in the main room with a book open on her lap. She is making some vague pretense at reading, but from the moment the darkness appeared over the darkness, she has not absorbed a single word. She has not moved, either, nor raised her head.

[ironicalsmile]

Since the events of 1817, Jonathan has gotten into the habit of keeping a candle or a lantern or some such about his person at all times. He now pulls out of one heavy-laden coat pocket a greasy, short candle stub and lights it magically with a twist of his fingers in the air just above the blackened wick.

When the candle is lit, casting a circle of light considerably larger and brighter than it realistically ought to be, Jonathan gazes curiously around the darkened room--

--and when his eyes light upon a shadowed figure in a chair by the window, his gaze freezes into a stare. He cannot see her face, but he doesn't need to. Seated as she is just outside of the candle's circle of light, she is little more than a shadow to him, but he has not even a moment of doubt.

'Bell,' he says, so quietly as to be nearly inaudible.

[colored_gowns]

She hears it, though, and even if she had not, she already knows. She closes her eyes and a small smile spreads across her face-- it does not matter that he cannot see it. It is a moment, just a short one, before she can speak.

"I thought you were going to find a way out of the Darkness." Her tone is light and her voice very soft.

[ironicalsmile]

'I have been trying,' he says dryly, with only a bit more volume than she. 'As of yet, we have been entirely unsuccessful. As you can see. Or, more to the point, I suppose, as you cannot.' He continues for a little while, describing a few of the spells and charms that he and Mr Norrell used in their attempts to banish the Darkness, and though his tone is as light as hers, and his words seem quite steady and even (although anyone with even only a little knowledge of theoretical magic might say that his explanations of the spells and magic used are nearly completely nonsensical), he does not go near her, and the circle of light trembles and shifts a little, as though the hand that grasps the candle is not as steady as his voice.

[glacianbitch]

The light goes out on Karla just as she is reading her book. The clock strikes midnight, and stops. She looks up at it. "Bugger," she mutters, snaps her fingers to summon a witchlight, and walks out to see who has caused this disturbance.

It is a man with a longish nose that pokes out conspicuously from a sheepish face. "Jonathan Strange, whoever you are," she says somewhat petulantly, "What do you think you're doing turning out the lights on me in the middle of my night reading?"

[ironicalsmile]

'My deepest apologies, miss,' he says, turning to her with a small bow. 'Really, I'm afraid it does it of its own accord. Believe me, if I had a way to disperse this Darkness, I would. Unfortunately, I'm under the influence of a curse, you see, and I've yet to discover a counterspell.' He seems more embarrassed by this admittance than anything else.

[glacianbitch]

She sees his embarrassment and her wicked grin blooms. "Oh dear," she says without much sympathy. "How unfortunate. A curse. We shall have to find some way to undo it. At any rate, I suppose I should give you a proper greeting, Sir Strange." She gives an impudent little curtsy. "I'm Karla," she says, then steps closer, looking up at him through long, pale eyelashes. "Kiss kiss, Johnny," she says wickedly.

[ironicalsmile]

He steps back, putting his free hand up quickly (the magically-lit candle held out at his side). 'Oh, no, indeed, madam,' he says with some confusion. 'I'm not a knight.'

[ifanboyroger]

Thom's on his way to the kitchen for something to drink, and stops dead in his tracks when midnight tolls. He scowls and concentrates for a moment, conjuring a purple ball of fire to guide him to the main room and kitchen. "Well. What's happened now?"

[ironicalsmile]

'I'm afraid I have, sir,' says Jonathan Strange with a small, rueful laugh. 'I've been cursed with Perpetual Darkness, which follows me wherever I go, even here to - Faerie, or Hell, or wherever I seem to have landed.'

[ifanboyroger]

"And you haven't figured out a way to break it?" Thom perks up a bit and offers the hand that's not keeping hold of the fireball. "It's not Faerie or Hell, or any of the realms I've been to. It's just the Mansion."

[ironicalsmile]

He shakes the other man's hand with a firm, quick grasp. 'But might it not be some kingdom in one of those realms?' he continues. 'From my experience, they are all very peculiar and each is as unlike another as countries in our own world are. More so, even, really, as magic can transform and alter a world beyond anything in the practical reality of humans.'

[notallworthy]

Unlike some residents of the mansion, Tom doesn't have any magic light makking skills and blunders through the dark until he bumps into Mr. Strange. He is around the same height and his clothes feel the same as Carstone's, and he asks tentatively, "Richard?" The dark has become a place where Tom does not like being.

[ironicalsmile]

'No, indeed,' says Mr Strange, and he snaps his fingers over a candle stub (he always keeps one in his pocket; when one is constantly surrounded by the night, one finds it very useful to have some source of light always on one's person), lighting it by magic.

'My name is Jonathan Strange,' he says courteously.

[notallworthy]

Tom stumbles back quickly at the realization that this is a different person. His voice is polite and almost normal, but his hands wipe furiously at his jacket (which is now once again in the style of the 1740s.) "My apologies, sir. I mistook you for my friend, Mr. Carstone." He bows, but does not extend a hand to shake. "Thomas Jones, at your service, Mr. Strange."

[ironicalsmile]

'The mistake is one easily enough made in this darkness,' he says with grim humour. 'I'm afraid I must make my apologies for that.'