III. But I don't like scenes, except on the stage.

[epigrammatical]

[In which Lord Henry treats the text feature as if it were a telegram service.]

[Text, private to Dorian Gray]
[This message is sent after two days' discreet waiting after Toby's arrival. Henry is not blind and definitely noticed Dorian's reaction, but (wisely, probably) did not interfere, and has allowed time to pass before approaching Dorian—and has also been studiously avoiding Toby. He has no idea whether his friend will answer, but even if he doesn't, that will tell him much of what he needs to know.]

Are you well? I do not wish to intrude, of course, but I could not help but notice a certain amount of recent excitement.

[Text, private to Alcuin nó Delaunay]
I hope this finds you well—would you be available to dine or for a drink sometime soon? I should like to hear of your progress with our yellow book.

[Open action nice choice and not so nice, post-trainwreck choice]

[ETA: Disturbing conversations about murder and possible eventual bad behaviour within.]

Comments

OPEN ACTION - HAVE AT

[epigrammatical]

[At some indeterminate point before or after the above, anyone is welcome to encounter Lord Henry somewhere in the city. He tends to wander with apparent aimlessness, but in so doing is gathering information and taking in the sights.]

[He has also found a book-dealer in the Wood sector with whom he has come to an amicable arrangement of apparent non-employment: he seems to be loafing around there for a few hours every day, but is in fact engaged in discreetly organising the place and getting to know the local poetry, all for a regular wage that is sent round to his house rather than handed to him directly. You might find him there, too.]

Book-dealer

[iron_ego]

[Engaged in discreetly organising, you say? Then most profuse apologies, for Tony Stark has just entered his place of non-employment and picking up books at random, flipping through them as he takes a few steps, then placing them down on the first available surface. Every few volumes earn a thoughtful sound from him before they are snapped shut and, for the most part, he looks only marginally entertained in being surrounded by so many books that have yet to be transcribed into a useful form (that is to say: electronically).]

You there, garçon!

[He snaps his fingers and points at dear Lord Henry, unconcerned that the mystical linguistic properties of the turtle has reduced his French to a mere 'waiter' call out. In a bookshop. Yep. Like I said, profuse apologies.]

[epigrammatical]

[Who is this rude, loud American and who is he yelling at? And he is apparently mad as well, calling for a waiter in a bookshop. Henry pauses in the process of picking up one of the items in Tony's trail of books—just to look at it for himself, surely, and not to put it back—and glances over his shoulder, wondering if the man is calling out to someone behind him. Seeing no one, Henry merely returns his attention to the book with a barely audible sigh, studiously ignoring Tony.]

[iron_ego]

[Tony is not used to being ignored, but then, what can he expect when the owner of this shop has obviously taken pity on the slower minded type in giving this man a job. Diversity, equality, and chances for all; he's all for that (check the Stark Industries mission statement for proof), but it's not helpful when he's looking for something.

He snaps his fingers again and points directly at the slow bloke to make it clear that, yes, he means you sir.]

Books. Science. [He enunciates the words to avoid confusion.] Where are there? Make it snappy. Not all of us have all day.

[epigrammatical]

[For that, Tony gets a nice cold glare and a response in the very driest of tones.]

Forgive me, I thought perhaps you were disoriented and thought it better to let you come to your senses. I'm afraid you'll find that science is not a specialty of this shop.

[There is some, but Henry is now in no mood to be helpful.]

[iron_ego]

[Aw, it sounds like someone doesn't like him. Remind him to send the owner a note for making sure the atmosphere felt 100% authentic.]

Never said it needs to be. [Tony's not providing detail in that regard, instead gesturing at the shelves of books.] There's bound to be something amidst the corset-rippers and self-help titles. Don't hold out on me, friend, pony up the paperbacks.

[epigrammatical]

[It's a measure of Henry's self-control that this gets no significant change out of his expression.]

I am sure that it's occurred to you that science is a broad field, with many subjects contained within. Do you intend to pursue all of them at once?

[iron_ego]

[Henry, your self-control shall go down in history as the most amazing.]

Been there, done that, and all I got were these lousy doctorates. [By his voice, that almost sounds like he got the short stick.] But that's enough about me, so how about we get around to helping me. [Another snap of his fingers.] I'm looking for any and all volumes documenting what this little turtle-topia calls science.

[epigrammatical]

[Henry lets that request hang in the air for a few seconds before finally gesturing toward the (as yet unsorted, Henry being bored with the subject matter) shelf in the back that does in fact contain a few scientific treatises and even a thing or two resembling a textbook.]

There, as you will see, is the extent of Daowei's selection on the subject. I hope it will suffice.

[Funny, when he says it, it almost sounds like the nineteenth century equivalent of "fuck off and die".]

Book Dealer/Vendor

[inseine]

[Sometime in the late evening quite near closing hours, a tall, upright man enters the book shop. He is dressed in a simple East Asian-esque workman's outfit, something not perfectly tailored to his awkward frame and obviously pulled straight off the shelves from the Earth Sector. He has a matching cap, drawn low over his face. He looks like a man who has just come off of a long work shift, slightly dusty from head to toe and smelling vaguely of metal and asphalt.

The lights are dim, and it might be a trick of the light, but a close look at this stranger's face would reveal some strange marks and bruises clustered around his neck and jaw. They are well on their way to fading, but one week is not quite enough to heal up from a dreadful fall, after all.

With a deep grimace, the man approaches the first set of shelves and studies it closely. He searches like a man on a mission, but it seems that he is having some trouble finding what he's looking for in a language he recognizes. An employee's aid might be nice right about now...]

[epigrammatical]

[Henry is lounging in a chair nearby, again maintaining perfectly the appearance of complete idleness with his nose in a book, and glances up at the newcomer, watching him thoughtfully. After a moment:]

There is some rather good poetry on that shelf.

[inseine]

[Oh, the face Javert makes when he hears the word poetry pronounced. Certainly not what he was looking for!]

Damned if I can see that. [Javert murmurs to his collar. He thrusts a hard, disappointed glance at the shelf. Without looking back at the lounging Henry, he asks through the corner of his mouth,] English is a dominant tongue here. That makes it difficult for the likes of me. What do you have in French? Anything? Not poetry. I don't often read poetry.

[epigrammatical]

You don't? That is a a terrible shame, for there is quite a lot of fine poetry here. But taste is a personal matter, of course.

[He closes his book, but doesn't get up.]

The proprietor has acquired some small number of books in French, I believe, but mostly pamphlets and short works of fiction.

[inseine]

I'll see them.

[Javert takes a few solid steps toward a neighboring shelf, his eyes quickly sweeping over the titles on the spines for any recognizable French words. After a moment of silence, he draws himself to his full, impressive height, and turns around. The intensity of his gaze, combined with his abrupt manner, comes off as rather rude if it were not for his perfectly calm tone of voice.]

How about the local law code? I was told it is available in translation. Is that included in your pamphlets?

[epigrammatical]

[Henry doesn't seem at all ruffled or offended by Javert's admittedly imposing figure, though he is wondering exactly who put all that starch in this man's spine. He meets Javert's gaze calmly, still not getting up from where he's sitting.]

Ah, the matters bureaucratic. I believe he keeps copies of the code up front, where the volumes collect dust very nicely. Why the interest?

[inseine]

[Javert... blinks. Once. Decisively.

Why?

So he doesn't break the law. But why have further interest than that, when he has no intention of seeking a position in law enforcement ever again? If it were at all conceivable, he manages to draw himself up even further. He makes a rather uncanny imitation of a brick wall.

In reality, Javert's hesitation does not last for longer than a second or two. He answers flippantly,]

It will keep me busy.

[Even if it is dreadfully dull and difficult for him to get through. Loathsome reading! But if it is for the sake of educating himself, he will do it.

A curt nod, and he starts making his way toward the front. He supposes that the dustier they look, the more likely he is to find the books in question. The foreigners here did seem a little too fond of disorder and lawlessness, if the network communications were any indication.]

[epigrammatical]

[After a moment Henry trails after Javert; he idles up toward the front of the shop somehow without appearing to have done so deliberately.]

Are you a lawyer, sir?

[polyhistor]

[He's been here for sixteen days, nine hours, eleven minutes and a handful of seconds. But idleness has never once even remotely entered his mind. Reid prefers to be busy. There's something to be said about old habits and dying hard, but the truth of the matter is, he doesn't want to think about this. Any of this. Being here, being away from his team, superheroes, extraneous usage of the word doth.

Instead, he's thrown himself into his first and favourite pastime - learning.

Pattern recognition is an important part of linguistic interpretation. The kedan language is unlike any he's ever seen, and lacking in any Rosetta Stone equivalent he's all but working blind. But after a time, certain themes can be found in the local written word. They have six distinct pronouns for gender, for instance, and the grammatical structure is... interesting, to put it mildly. The gender of the subject (and each subject is gendered, falling into one of the aforementioned six categories) completely changes the overall composition of the sentence. It's one of the most illogical languages he's ever come across, and he's functionally literate in almost every one on Earth.

He spends about forty minutes picking out several volumes, from slim poetry booklets to the encyclopaedic hardcovers you could probably kill someone with (not a murder weapon he's ever seen, and in his line of work that's actually a good thing) and when he's done he approaches the small vendor's check-out. There's no one there, which leads to a few moments of awkwardness in which he stands on his tip-toes to peer into the back, rocks back on his heels when the motion doesn't attract anyone and glances around the rest of the store.

Well.

There is a bell.

So he reaches out and taps it, because surely that's the purpose it serves, right?]

[epigrammatical]

[In a corner behind a shelf where he is quietly trying to reorganise the wreckage left by an earlier customer, Henry is so absorbed in his task that he completely fails to notice Reid looking about, and he almost doesn't notice the bell. Because, after all, he's been trained to ignore bells; they're for tradesmen and servants and porters, after all.

And then he remembers—he needs to pay attention to these things now.

And Daowei is out. Again.

So with a quiet sigh he shelves the book in his hand and emerges. Just because he's an employee, though, doesn't mean he has to act like one. At first glance he might appear to be just another customer.]

Good afternoon. Are you looking for Daowei?

[polyhistor]

[Well, if it's one thing he's good at it's recognizing certain characteristics about someone based on available information and cues. It doesn't even occur to him that Henry might be an employee, he's too... obvious aristocracy.]

No-- well, sort of. I was hoping to pay for these. I could just come back later. Are you friends with him?

[epigrammatical]

Yes.

[Said without hesitation and not even the slightest inkling that it might be a stretch of the truth.]

Lord Henry Wotton, at your service. Daowei has gone out, but I'm sure he won't mind if I assist you with your—[my goodness, that's a lot of books]—selection.

[polyhistor]

[HOW DOES SHOT SOCIAL CONVENTION. Of course he knows theoretically how to interact with a Lor--

He blinks.

With Lord Henry Wotton.

He's known there's a man here going by the name Dorian Gray, that there's superheroes and people who speak in Old English, but-- encountering book characters is another thing entirely.

Spencer answers him with a smile, only the slightest bit tight at the edges. He really doesn't need more evidence that he's possibly lost his mind. To someone for whom books were more a reality than reality itself, encountering a character (fictional?) from a favoured novel is... not pleasant.]

Spencer Reid.

[That's sort of blurted out reflexively in answer to Henry's own name.]

I-- um, if it's no trouble?

[epigrammatical]

[Henry is a perceptive fellow and that blink-and-smile doesn't entirely elude him. He's not sure what to make of it at this juncture, though.]

It is no trouble at all, I assure you. Have you found everything that you are looking for?

[Which is mostly a comment on the number of books he's collected.]

[polyhistor]

[He's still stuck on that point don't mind him...]

Hm? No-- I mean-- it's all I'm looking for today. Right now. I'll probably be back tomorrow.

[Tomorrow is payday, after all, and books don't come cheaply in this city.]

[epigrammatical]

You will be quite welcome, I am sure. [He's certainly a massive improvement over the other fellow, in any case; so long as he continues polite, Henry certainly won't object.] Have you a particular subject of interest? I am sure Daowei would be happy to set aside anything you like.