[Here is Franz, posting from his office once again, still rosy-cheeked from being out in the cold, a little snow melting in his hair. He is glowing, as usual, but he looks a little bit tired in spite of his upbeat tone.]So, who's planning on throwing a Christmas party? I've asked after a few different spaces to rent for a party, but I'd hate to ( Read more... )

[It's early evening. Franz is a rather posh-looking office, nursing a paper cup from a coffee shop. He's filming against the backdrop of his window, where the view of a high-class neighborhood of the city beginning to fade into twilight ( Read more... )

[Franz is sitting on a ratty, sunken couch, framed by the ever-so-familiar peeling paint and stained floor decorating scheme of the starter apartments. The young nobleman quite contrasts it, dressed in a jacket and cravat that brings to mind the 19th Century. What truly makes him seem out of place is not his carefully-repaired thrift store clothes ( Read more... )

[Over the network comes calm and steady voice, cultured in its pronunciations, though young and hampered with urgency:]

Computer, try once more. Connect me to Vicomte Albert de Morcerf.

[pause]

Connect me to Eugenie de Danglars.

[Another pause. And the young man sounds quite miserable.] ...Still nothing, all day. Well, I suppose I've no choice ( Read more... )