I. What I want is information: not useful information, of course; useless information. (Video)

[epigrammatical]

[For a man of his era, Lord Henry has picked up the basics of the computer with surprising alacrity and ease. Perhaps he has been motivated by the understanding that it provides him with a platform of unprecedented scale.

So behold: a well-bred Englishman in his mid- to late-forties: if his good looks are a bit worn around the edges, he is still quite handsome in a way that suggests he cut a truly rakish figure when younger. His voice is exceptionally pleasant and musical, and when he speaks, his words are accompanied by graceful—though not excessive—gestures of his slender hands.]

I am given to understand that this device offers a podium to rival the pulpit at Westminster Abbey. Capital—although I assure you that I shall not bore you with a sermon; I can't abide a man who makes of himself an amateur curate.

Allow me to introduce myself—Lord Henry Wotton, late of London, which is not nearly so exciting as the vision of Moreau in which I now find myself. There are many questions with which I'm rather concerned at the moment, but most importantly, where does one find a tailor in this city? And, tiresome though domestic matters are, I suppose I must enquire after a valet. There are many indignities a gentleman may suffer in silence, but not an inadequate selection of poorly-pressed shirts.

Comments

[video] Lord Henry is my favorite *3*

[littlecousin]

[On the screen is a very cheerful, very underdressed young woman, which fact Henry is likely to notice before he spots the pointed ears, strangely arched eyebrows, and, if he's paying careful attention, the tightly-shut gill slits along each side of her neck.]

Hi, Lord Henry. I'm Nita Prentiss.

[Nita seems both comfortable using the title and entirely unimpressed by it. That is because she's an actual princess. She certainly won't think to mention it, though.]

Favrielle is totally the one you want for custom tailoring. You can find others in Earth Sector, but she's the best.

[video] I only hope I can live up to expectations!

[epigrammatical]

[Henry's neither blind nor ignorant; he's divined that the people here are from all over and live by what one might call very different standards. A brief slow blink is all the visible surprise Nita is going to get at her appearance, although that's quite a lot by his standards.]

Thank you, Miss Prentiss; that is fine news indeed. I shall seek out this lady forthwith.

[video] <3

[littlecousin]

[She's gotten used to people being surprised at her appearance, so she politely fails to notice Henry's reaction at all.]

No problem! Favrielle lives in Water Sector. It's where all the best restaurants are, too.

[Nita will uncomplainingly eat practically anything, so she should not necessarily be taken as an authority on dining.]

video;

[virginprice]

[It's been long enough since his own arrival and all those wonderful things associated with it that he has time to check the network again- and lo, it is a question he can actually answer.

He does, not bothering to change his console away from the video setting, revealing himself to be a very pretty young man, with white hair (not just pale blond, but milk white), skin that is almost equally pale, and dark eyes that provide a striking contrast to his delicate colouring.]

That seems a common question today, my lord, but I believe I can direct you to a clothier of much talent- her name is Favrielle nó Eglantine.

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[epigrammatical]

[Wonders, it seem, shall never cease; what an extraordinary creature this young man is. Quite unlike anything Henry has ever seen—at least since he first met Dorian Gray.]

Ah, this is the lady Miss Prentiss mentioned to me earlier, I gather. One recommendation is a useful suggestion, two is practically a command.

Might I have the pleasure of knowing your own name?

video;

[virginprice]

And you would be wise to follow it, in this case- her taste is excellent, and her skill undeniable.

[He fingers the collar of the tunic he's wearing. It isn't in the style of Lord Henry's world, from what he can discern, but he has no doubt that Favrielle can adjust. He has confidence in her, for all that he's only known her less than a day.]

Ah, my own name? I am Alcuin nó Delaunay, my lord.

video

[depicted]

[Dorian has abandoned the Victorian era and many of its conventions, and so it wouldn't do for him to fall into a faint at the sight of a familiar face in, say, the window of the conservatory, or indeed in a communicator in a world between life and death. And for a moment, just a moment, Dorian has the idea that this is a figment of his own wrecked mind—but he knows it can't be. Harry is too old to be as Dorian first knew him and too young to be as he was at his death.]

[When Dorian finally replies, it is with a smile on his face and warmth in his voice. Yet underneath, there is that distinct strain of tension of the kind that makes a person just slightly miss his mark in pitch and tone.]

I shouldn't be surprised that those are your first two concerns, Harry. I must third Miss Favrielle nó Eglantine in the matter of your tailoring. I won't wear a thing by anyone else. As for a valet, there you may be well out of luck. I haven't found one myself in two months.

[Of course, Dorian hasn't been looking. He hasn't had a valet in over half a century. But one thing at a time.]

video

[epigrammatical]

[In another vernacular, what Harry feels at the sight of Dorian might be summed up as what in the name of god is this day? He's astonished, incredibly pleased—his smile is broad and unforced—so much so that he almost doesn't catch that underlying tension. But he is nothing if not perceptive, particularly where his dear friend is concerned, and it makes him wonder.]

Dorian! My dear boy, I had no idea that you were here. What an extraordinary pleasure. Why, I had just returned to London from Selby Royal before I washed up here. [He will not allude to the weekend's sordid events in public, and assumes they are reasonably fresh in Dorian's mind.] How long have you been here? Long enough, clearly, to enjoy the services of the clearly inestimable Miss Eglantine, of course. Had I known you were about, I should have come to you directly, for there is no one whose taste I should trust more.

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[depicted]

[The apparent honesty of Harry's warmth in greeting doesn't entirely surprise Dorian, in part because he is already on edge, already seeking out hints of the when in Lord Henry's where. Harry's comment gives a good estimate.]

Only a few months. [Inexplicable to himself, he relaxes a little as Harry's beautiful voice takes him back more than a century.] Do you have the number of your residence? I would love to see you in person.

video;

[flawedgoods]

[It's been an eventful day, with Alcuin arriving and seeing him settled, the first from her country to arrive in all of the six months that she's been on Tu Vishan. Still, with such ringing endorsements from Nita, Alcuin, and Dorian, and the promise of business for a man of refined tastes (for certainly any noble accustomed to keeping a valet must be used to finer quality in his garments) she will make herself available. Luxury items are not high in demand from the kedan who are not flush with resources.

Like those before her, Favrielle responds with a video feed. She is wearing one of her best dresses in dark blues that complements her hair, making it seem more vivid, more colorful. Wearing her own work of course makes her a walking advertisement, which means the question of the quality of her work never comes up. The only other thing of note is the scar over her lip, one that pulls at her lips as she gives him a polite, professional smile.]

Lord Wotton, my name is Favrielle nó Eglantine. As others have mentioned I am a clothier and would be pleased to schedule an appointment for you, should you wish it.

As to the matter of a valet, I may be able to put you in touch with one of my contacts if you've no objection to hiring one of the locals.

video;

[epigrammatical]

[So this is the lady whose skills come so highly praised. Harry is most intrigued—and he finds the scar, far from detracting from her beauty, only makes her more interesting.]

Ah! A privilege, my dear, to at last speak to the lady of whom others have praised so highly. [As he's standing—more comfortable than sitting, and it keeps him from feeling like a tradesman—he offers a small bow, and somehow it doesn't quite seem as ludicrous as it could, bowing to an image on a screen.] I am charmed, Miss Eglantine, most charmed, and I would be delighted to meet you in person as soon as possible.

If the locals may be trusted, I have no great objection, and I should value the judgement of one familiar with this place. It is quite bad enough in London; finding a reliable valet is worse than finding a doctor. Worse, for the valet's work is seen by everyone.

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[flawedgoods]

[Goodness, Favrielle might have suspected that a friend of Dorian's would have such manners, but here in Keeliai she's become so accustomed to such informality that his bow takes her by surprise. Her eyes widen fractionally, and she in turn inclines her head, deeper than he bowed. If he does the courtesy of a bow, she can afford him the same courtesy and acknowledge his rank in doing so.]

I understand the potential issues very well Lord Wotton, though I do warn you that it will be difficult to find any here who will not require some training as to the duties involved in being a valet, beyond learning your personal tastes. If someone suitable is found I will recommend them to you promptly.

[Her smile widens nonetheless, a little warmer, though no less professional.]

Until that time, I have appointments available the day after tomorrow and can provide directions to the suite where I conduct my business, if Dorian cannot be persuaded to show you. Do you have a time of day you prefer?

[video]

[cowled]

[But good there is a marked influx of people of considerably well-spoken nature. Bruce is no stranger to such circles - after all, he's Gotham aristocracy unto himself, and it's no challenge to slip into an appropriate demeanour.

So his smile is pleasant, charming, utterly airy and without particular cause or care.]

There's a distinct shortage of well-trained valets, and should any arrive I believe I have the prior claim.

[But it's obvious enough he's not being particularly serious on the matter.]

[video]

[epigrammatical]

[Oh look, it's an American, and one who thinks he's funny.]

Is there a waiting-list? How very orderly.

[video]

[cowled]

I thought as much, myself.

[When it comes to aristocracy, Bruce is a bit of a troll. So he just feigns complete obliviousness to Henry's reaction.]

I'm Bruce. Bruce Wayne.

[the_other_eight]

[The woman who looks back at Lord Henry must seem very strange to him. Her red hair is pulled back into a rather tight looking bun and her clothing looks as if she's wearing a men's suit. In truth it's a women's suit.]

I can assist you with finding most of those things here if you haven't found them already. My name is Pepper Potts.

[epigrammatical]

How do you do, Miss Potts.

[He's only a little thrown by her appearance; more than anything he finds the combination of what his era considers masculine and feminine elements in her dress to be rather intriguing. Of course, considering the sorts of women who affected masculine dress in the Victorian demimonde, he's also halfway to the wrong conclusion about her—shall we say—preferences. Not that it bothers him.]

I have located a tailor who appears to be a lady of some local renown, but the matter of the valet remains an open question.

[the_other_eight]

Unfortunately there are few of those who would be able to fulfill your needs. I'll look into it, but I suggest looking among the local population.

[wholenewstory]

[Cassandra's just finished her morning exercises. She's dressed in loose, damp sweats, sipping a mug of something like tea as she sits at the console.

Her first response is an amused smile.]

Really...the most important?

[epigrammatical]

You disagree.

[It's not a question. It's also a statement—judgement, in fact—on her appearance, which to him looks like a scullery-maid in mid-August.]

[wholenewstory]

[She sees that judgement, and if anything it amuses her more.]

Yes. Doesn't matter - what you look like. Matters what you do.

video;

[wintershepherd]

[ It's the manner of speech rather than the content of the words which catches Jack's attention, that being the kind he hasn't heard for quite a long time. He activates the video feed in response from his house's console, though whether Henry will be able to see him or not, remains to be discovered. ]

Late of London... when, exactly?

video;

[epigrammatical]

[Henry can hear the voice perfectly well, but what he sees on the screen looks like an empty room. Out of the corner of the eye, he seems to perceive some kind of shape, but perhaps it's just his imagination, and whoever this person is, is somewhere off screen.]

Oh, the year eighteen—

[The precise year is a source of no small amount of headache for Harry's player, so imagine that he says something between 1889 and 1891.]

[video] Anonymous. Let's have a big round of applause for the net cafés everyone!

[wallcrawler]

[And enjoy your first introduction to the costumed superhero scene, you temporally displaced gentleman, you.]

A valet? Like the hotel guys?

[He may or may not be trolling. Probably the latter though, considering the most common definition's changed a bit over time. And it's not like Pete's ever had enough money to know about the other kind of valet Henry's talking about.]

[video]

[epigrammatical]

Perhaps you are thinking of a concierge, or a porter.

[Oh, Americans.]