Café de Nuit

The Chateau Malchance, Quartier Marchand, Port-a-Lucine; March 9th, 770, 12:24 AM
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yalenusveler wrote:"The tree spirits will be twisted and nasty. Maybe not outright evil...nature's like that, it's not good or bad. Fire burns, it's just...what it burns at the time which makes it good or bad in people's eyes..and..I'm probably not making much sense."

"Hee..." Cerise made a face somewhere between a grin and a grimace, if such a thing were at all possible. "Demons aren't natural, though, not in the slightest. Whatever they are, they're evil to the core. If they're like fire, it's a fire that only burns things you cherish, and don't go thinking you can turn it to your side, even if it seems willing. It'll always whip around and burn you."

She perked up. "I have like fifty books on the subject if you want to borrow them. Just don't read any of them aloud after midnight, alright?" she offered with a good-natured wink.

The Whistler wrote:And then, in a flurry of motion, she was downstairs again, banking herself toward the front door.

“Coo-ee! Maintain yourselves a moment longer, Messieurs! I should be most distressed if you were to remain unremunerated!”

DocBeard wrote:Clapping Blackwood on the shoulder, Tomas motions to Kerrian. "If you still want to come, I'd hurry. If Lessard stands in one place too long some old friend is liable to walk by and shoot him out of habit."

Professor Lessard had not managed to get himself shot in the five minutes since he had returned to the Chateaux, though he was at the moment in very great danger of being run over.

It said something of Professor Lessard that he managed to step to the side before Celeste mowed him down in her well-meaning haste, and something a bit more that he managed to do so while still maintaining his dignity. Perhaps he had spent too much time with his former professor's cat underfoot. Even so, he surreptitiously straightened his glasses, and his hair happened to look a little more windswept than the walk outside could have accounted for. He politely cleared his throat to try and catch Mlle. Viardot's attention.

"I hope I'm not interrupting, mademoiselle. I simply wanted to tell you that my friends and I shall be at the museum at 7:30 tonight, and that Professor Quenu will be joining us half an hour later," he said. He obliged to raise his voice slightly, in case Mlle. Viardot didn't stop to hear him out.

"Oh! Are you headed out, sir? Which museum are you visiting?" Alice had come inside from her gardening, smoothing out her hair slightly as she pulled the grey sun bonnet from her head.

"The Guigol Museum," Lessard answered, then favored her with a short bow. "Would you care to join me? I seem to have missed a few people in my invitation, but everyone is more than welcome to come."

"A Chateau-wide outing? What a splendid idea," Alice said, giving the professor a pleased smile. "My brother and I didn't get a chance to see anything in the city yesterday. We've only ever been here on short visits before now."

"You tell a sad story, mademoiselle." Thierri slid down the stair banister, peering over the railing with his arms crossed. "Such deprivation is not to be tolerated. I see that we have seven hours before our appointment at the museum. Allow yourselves to make up for lost time."

"A fine idea, if I knew where to start," Alice said. She didn't seem quite sure what to make of the spectacle that was Thierri Boucher, so for the moment she seemed to have settled on amusement.

"And there you are in luck." The magician somersaulted over the banister, landing on his feet with a flourish. "For your new roommates are well acquainted with the pleasures of Dementlieu, are we not, Mlle. Viardot? Surely we cannot satisfy our new neighbors with touring a single musuem, professor?"

"I didn't-" Professor Lessard began, but Thierri immediately continued.

"There you have it. Let all of us here start our outing early, and give the newcomers to our city a taste of the Port of Lights," Thierri concluded, with a smile.

"Yes," Alice smiled, joining into the spirit of it. She took Thierri's arm with one hand, and Lessard's with the other. The professor raised his eyebrows, but obliged. "Let's."

Thierri is inviting anyone who is interested on a quick tour of Port-a-Lucine. If anyone wants to take him up on it, or run some errands or talk to some NPCs before the Museum Scene, just contact me or Isabella for some side-RP.


Guignol Museum, University of Dementlieu, Port-a-Lucine; March 9th, 770, 7:21 PM
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It was still light when you gathered on the steps of the Guignol Museum, a fairly imposing, four-story edifice near the heart of the University of Dementlieu. It was one of the newer buildings on the campus, part of the same architectural revival that had struck Dementlieu in the 740s and left behind the Guignol Museum, the De Casteele Building for Arcane Sciences, the new Library of the Dementlieuse University, and others.

"Good evening, everyone. This is reminding me of the Expedition," Professor Lessard said as he viewed the extent of the group he had saddled himself with. He stood on the front steps of the Museum, not that the painfully tall blond man needed any extra height. Still, the philologist carried on bravely. "We've about an hour and a half before the museum closes. This is the last day for the Founding of Dementlieu exhibition, by the way, so if anyone wants to see the Sword of Leon or the founding charter of Dementlieu, now is the last chance. Tomorrow everything goes back to its owners."

"I've also arranged private reservations for six at the Cafe David at 9:45, Lia, Tomas," Lessard said, casting a look over to the pair. "If you would like to come."

"Andre and Sebastian will... be joining us?" Devereux said, looking at Lessard.

"Prof. Theroux will be meeting us in the Exhibition room, he's been helping with that." Lessard said. "As for Professor M, he should--"

"--be coming right up behind you." The museum's large doors opened and a tall, aristocratic-featured man stepped out behind Lessard. "I made a virtue of pleasure and dropped off a financing report while I was here. Took all of my wit and courage to get out alive again." The newcomer examined the small mob before him with some amusment. "You've become quite the organizer, Remy. De Casteele should've made you the organizer, and not Maleagant."

Remy Lessard smiled briefly. It wasn't a very broad or enthusiastic smile, but there was genuine warmth there. "Live and learn, Professor. It beats the alternatives."

"There I cannot argue with you. Good evening Tomas, good evening Lia." Professor Sebastian Marchand-Renier had aged very little over the last decade. He was still tall, with the refined facial structure and piercing gaze that was part and parcel of being a Renier. His brown hair showed only a scattering of silver, though the lines on his face were deeper than had been the case so many years ago. "I would say you haven't changed a bit, but that tends to be a dreadful insult when you're younger than twenty-five and a fulsome compliment when you're older than forty. I admit to being not sure how those in the middle take it."

"In any case, it's good to see you again." Sebastian Marchand-Renier smiled, only a little sardonically. "Shall we go inside and see if we can't find the last member of our little company of survivors?"

"...acrobatic." Tomas comments Re: Boucher. He vaguely disapproves of him being so friendly with another fellow's wife(or is she his sister?) but figures it's not really his busniess.

LATER,
"That sounds like a good name for a hero." Tomas grips Remy's shoulder, pointing his other arm forward. "The astounding adventures of the incomparable Professor M! Thrill as he bests the machinations of Sigfried von Sigfried, brother to tyrants, the Living Phantom, and the Core Crime Cartel, led by the insidious Doctor Crime!"

"Sebastian!" Tomas turns around shamelessly, offering a hearty hand to the old grouch. He seems to have mellowed, and Tomas returns the favor with a grin and a wink. "Really, Professor Marchand-Renier! You know by now I take all such insults as the simple truth, these days. Keeps me out of trouble."

"Sebastian," Lia greets Marchand-Renier, a subtle little smile on her lips as she gestures at Tomas. "Look who I found when moving into my new home. Or did you already know he was there?"

Lia actually chuckles a little at the comment about compliments and insults. "You haven't been by the opera lately," she notices as she falls into step beside the linguist. "You've been keeping busy, I imagine?"

Oh, how wonderful, Cyrus thought, We'll just stand around while these boring old academics have their little nostalgia moment and forget anyone else is around. I am so glad I came on this trip.

The elder twin stepped forward. His booted feet clomped on the museum floor and echoed across the walls. The steel chains on his clothing clinked gently and his holy symbol flickered in the museum light.

"I don't suppose," he said, pointedly interrupting the little reminiscence party, "That you'd like to introduce us so we feel less like fifth wheels?"

"Professor Sebastian Marchand-Renier, genius linguist and master professor of the department of linguistics at the University," Lia says, indicating Marchand-Renier with one gloved hand. "I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you all to introduce yourselves since I have met you only so recently, and do not know everything about you as of yet. In any case, professor, all of these people now reside at Château Malchance, prof - retired professor Devereux' abode as boarders."

"Dommer Cyrus Isfahani," Cyrus smiled his snakelike smile again and inclined his head in greeting. "A pleasure, professor. Professor Mourneswaith must have high regard for you indeed to refer to you as a 'genius.'"

"Oh, indeed I do," Lia says, responding to Cyrus' snakelike smile with a more demure-looking one of her own. "But then I have had occasion not only to study with professor Marchand-Renier, but to work with him and admire his skill and talent from up close."

After a rather accademic discussion...well, more an accademic being talked at about the nature of demons and the infernal, Kerrian wasn't about to intrude on a conversation between accademics, managing a quiet "Kerrian Mauganson" by way of introduction, then going back to marveling at the architecture, and just the sheer enormity of being on the grounds of the universeity. It was almost overwhelming, but in a good way, not a running for your life way.

Guignol Museum, University of Dementlieu, Port-a-Lucine; March 9th, 770, 7:21 PM
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Lia wrote:"You haven't been by the opera lately," she notices as she falls into step beside the linguist. "You've been keeping busy, I imagine?"

"Keeping busy is one term for it, I would imagine." The Richemuloise academic said with a wry smile. "Myself, I prefer the term 'horrifically overworked'."

"Lord de Casteele has me auditing all of the university departments." Marchand-Renier sighed, then glanced at Tomas. "That's Simon de Casteele, not his father. As if that wasn't enough, there's social obligations. I have to go to that damned Tessier Gallery opening the day after tomorrow, so there goes my evening and any hope of a good night's rest."

Cyrus wrote:"Dommer Cyrus Isfahani," Cyrus smiled his snakelike smile again and inclined his head in greeting. "A pleasure, professor. Professor Mourneswaith must have high regard for you indeed to refer to you as a 'genius.'"

"I'm flattered, actually." Marchand-Renier let his gaze move to Lia as he held the door open to go inside. "Compliments from Professor Mournswaithe are to be treasured. Isfahani? The name is loosely familiar. I was in the country two years ago doing research for a Vossath Nor article. An article that is still not out thanks to Lord de Casteele's accounting assignment." The accounting was a slight sore point with the academic. "Spent most of the summer in Toyalis, the Church of the Lawgiver was actually moderately helpful. You serve...?"

The Guignol Museum opened up into a huge hall underneath the glass and brass dome that had made the building famous thirty years ago. Sunlight streamed in through the somewhat dirty panes of glass, giving the entire hall a somewhat underwater-feel.

The crowning achievement of the hall was the display called The Charge of the Marsh, commemorating a cavalry charge by proto-Dementlieuse knights some four hundred years ago. It was actually a bit of a joke, since the charge had foundered and most of the horses and soldiers were lost in the muck, but people had been dragging bits of armor and weapons out of the swamps in east Dementlieu for decades. The Guignol Museum had cleaned up a full dozen of the knights, mounted them on stuffed horses, and displayed them rather handsomely. It was widely considered the greatest testament to bone-headed stupidity in the University.

There were other exhibits in the main hall as well. Captured suits of Falkovnian armor, the Governor's Argument, a 64-pounder cannon covered in gilt and bright paint, and quite an impressive collection of weaponry. Various hallways led off to other parts of the museum.

Prof. Marchand-Renier wrote:"Lord de Casteele has me auditing all of the university departments." Marchand-Renier sighed, then glanced at Tomas. "That's Simon de Casteele, not his father. As if that wasn't enough, there's social obligations. I have to go to that damned Tessier Gallery opening the day after tomorrow, so there goes my evening and any hope of a good night's rest."

“Ah, you shall be at the opening as well!” By her tone, Celeste appeared to have wholly ignored the fact that the professor wasn’t looking forward to it. “Most splendid! Such an enchanting space…and such a very personable owner of it. Dear Donatien…I myself am not wholly acquainted with the gentleman, you understand, but from what little we have spoken I cannot help but consider him the finest of company. Such a terrible pity about his father!”

It was at this point that Mlle. Viardot remembered that she was talking to someone else. “But I forget my manners! I am Celeste Mirielle Viardot, of Bienassis, Professor—what a distinct pleasure to make your acquaintance in person! I have been dreadfully remiss on the subject lately, but there was a time when I counted archaeolinguistics among my most closely treasured studies; why, I must have witnessed your work cited in every second journal I perused! Your theory on the common origins of the various Iotheric dialects...simply exquisite!”

Those in the know may have been able to identify that the Professor did, in fact, lay claim to such a theory…but that Celeste pronounced “archaeolinguistics” as if she’d never actually heard the word spoken.

She gave Marchand-Renier a broad smile and a bow as she passed into the exhibition hall. “I very much look forward to seeing you at the opening, Professor! Such a divine slate of exhibits may only be improved by the blessing of pleasant company.”

Narrator wrote:The crowning achievement of the hall was the display called The Charge of the Marsh, commemorating a cavalry charge by proto-Dementlieuse knights some four hundred years ago. It was actually a bit of a joke, since the charge had foundered and most of the horses and soldiers were lost in the muck, but people had been dragging bits of armor and weapons out of the swamps in east Dementlieu for decades.

While she likely knew the history, the unfortunate outcome of the battle had no impact on Celeste’s enthusiasm. With a mutter under her breath that could have been “What robust ironwork!” she scampered over to the armor displays and parked herself in front of them, contemplating. The interest was sustained, and apparently sincere: for the first time that day, Mlle. Viardot took her time.

"You have to say it like that." Tomas stands up straight, perhaps a bit aggressively, tips himself over in an imitation of Cyrus's adder impression with one hand behind his back and one motioning forward like he were the villainous vizir in any borderline pornographic legend of "the Mulani Months". "Ah-Dommer, yes..." Comes an over the top rendition of Cyrus's voice, silky in the way that underwear in need of a wash is still silky.

Tomas procedes to slide out of character with a grin and a wink, before speaking like himself again. "The whatti gallery, now? You have to forgive me, the last time I was at an art gallery it was because a crazy painter my sister was dating at the time wanted to use my blood to make a portal to hell." Tomas shrugged as if this were an everyday hazard when accepting invitations from one's possibly easy little sister. "Had a nice spread, though. Those little wheels of cheese? Three kinds."

"We are a very, very old family," Cyrus said, quite congenial despite the viper smile. "We go back many, many generations. We have a few townhouses in Toyalis, and many of our relatives are clergy. So perhaps you had a chance encounter."

"My immediate superior is Aerkebiskop Turasan Kadri," he continued in answer to the professor's last question, "He is quite a man."

The priest allowed Celeste to come up and gush over the professor with nothing more than a broad smile. For a moment, it looked like he might try to hit on her, but he fell into step just beside Tomas.

"Eisenwald, wasn't it?" he asked, still quite the conversationalist, "Be careful you don't strain yourself. It takes considerable effort for someone of your posture to do that."

He paused, as if admiring a piece on display.

"I seem to remember you had a run-in with the Church some time ago," he continued. "I never thought I'd be meeting you face-to-face, let alone living with you."

Again, Nerit watched before she spoke. Here, though, her excuse was by way of examining the artifacts. She couldn't help but smile at the beating of the chests between the men. To her, masculinity had an ironic, charged undercurrent. It wasn't about the women they were trying to impress, it was about their interaction together, their upmanship. Everything, to men, was about coming out on top -- however one should interpret the phrase.

The nun sidled up to Richard with her hands clasped in front of her. "A most fascinating display, wouldn't you say, M. Blackwood?" Her eyes were clearly focused on the central conversation, and her voice was far less timid than it had been earlier that afternoon.

"I don't mean to be rude, but isn't having the grand masquerade right now kind of stupid?" Kerrian suddenly piped up with, having made his way over to Sebastien. "With everyone masked, an anarchist could slip in easily. And despite the nobility caring about art and culture, people who can't manage to make ends meet won't care so much if the new Lemerciers get spattered with blood." Kerrian shook his head.
"Conrad Tessier already got killed..it would send a strong message if the Anarchists managed to take several other nobles out at the thing he founded. Or deface the art there. Considering how long Lemercier takes to paint..."

"Professor Sebastian Marchand-Renier, genius linguist and master professor of the department of linguistics at the University," Lia says, indicating Marchand-Renier with one gloved hand. "I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you all to introduce yourselves since I have met you only so recently, and do not know everything about you as of yet. In any case, professor, all of these people now reside at Château Malchance, prof - retired professor Devereux' abode as boarders."

Mr. Agale who had been keeping toward the rear of the tour group apparently lost in thought broke out of his reverie "M. Agale, pleased to meet you professor." To the acutely perceptive, he appears to be wearing a different suit than he was earlier in the day.

* * *

"A valid concern Mr. Mauganson." Mr. Agale interjected. "But I would be surprised if these anarchists had the organization necessary to execute such a plan successfully. No, the greater calamity I think would be a cancellation based on such concerns. If that wwere to happen, then these anarchists would have won a victory without lifting a finger."