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

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

[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.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Are they? In all honest I have sometimes felt that one body is very like another to a certain extent—but then, it is that synthesis of body and mind that makes the difference, is it not?

It truly is. I have seen quite a few patrons, and never once did any want just the same thing- while my learning gave me a base from which I could understand how to please them, it was only a foundation, not the whole of the task.

I notice you use the word "patron", where others might say "client" or—well, there are any number of less graceful terms, are there not? [He seems to dismiss those terms with n airy gesture.] It implies to me something more than a mere transaction. Or do I interpret too much?

[Alcuin's smile gains a bit of a crooked quirk to it, a hint of bitterness aimed mostly at himself.] If a thing cannot be done gracefully, d'Angelines hardly consider it worth doing at all. But you are right- the Service of Naamah is more than the exchange of pleasure for coin. It is a sacred service. We are consecrated to it in her temple, and we are blessed by her for it.

[Or at least, those who were properly called to it. Alcuin never found the grace in her service that others did.]

[The comment about doing things gracefully earns a grin; Henry couldn't possibly agree more, in point of fact. He notes the ambivalence in Alcuin's smile, though.]

What must you make, I wonder, of some of the more puritanical worlds from which some of us hail?

Terre d'Ange is unique in our world as well. There are few who love so freely as we do- we are seen as soft because of it. A nation of whores. [He shrugs and laughs, then grows somber.]

Still, the idea that in some places a man may go to prison for loving another man, or that such a liaison must be kept secret... it is alien to me. It is wrong.

[A rare moment of seriousness from Henry.]

It was not so long ago that such a thing would have earned a man a hanging in England. It is too bad, really too bad, that the state cannot accomodate the tiny detail of one acting as one's nature bids, in so doing harming no one else.

[He shrugs, then his tone lightens.] But where I come from, I expect little else, rules as we are by a widow queen and her stiff-backed ministers, all of whom believe that the lower orders can only be improved by a never-ending parade of virtue.

I believe Terre d'Ange is strengthened by its acknowledgements of such bonds. If kept secret, they will tear people apart, and a nation divided is not at its best. [Not that Terre d'Ange is not divided. His death and Delaunay's are proof of that... but at least it is not divided by that, but rather by politics.]

I am sure the 'lower orders' do not care for such a stance. Morality dictated by the higher classes is often ignored by them.

And they become dreadfully outraged whenever anyone in the nobility dares to transgress—it is quite as if they felt such behaviour was their own preserve, and we are poaching on it.

[Is he joking? Maybe. But maybe not, either. Henry is an aristocrat at heart, after all.]

In the end, though, there is only misery to be found in denying one's own nature. And one can deny it with an excess of virtue, or an excess of vice, but either way it ends poorly.

Or they believe that those who encourage morality should live it. I would not know- our morality is so different from yours.

[He shrugs, taking it fairly lightly.]

'Know thyself', as the Hellenes said. It is a difficult proposition, to face one's nature unblinking and accept it- and even harder to live in accordance with it. One would think it the easiest thing in the world, yet it has great challenges.

It is one of life's great riddles and I cannot claim to have solved it either, despite the liberty afforded me by my station. [He smiles, as if it were of no real consequence, and drinks.] One continues to try, however.

Perhaps the liberty is at fault. In dire circumstances, one does tend to come face-to-face with your own self. [He shrugs, just as casual as Henry.] But in the absence of such unpleasantness, I suppose trying is as good as one can ask.

It has been speculated by another with whom I was discussing similar matters that our placement here presents an unusual opportunity to learn more about ourselves in a setting completely new, with the new perspectives afforded by the others we meet here. Whether that was the intent of this unexpected diversion or not, I must say that it is certainly a benefit.

And have you learned anything interesting, Henry? [He lets his tone slide into flirtatiousness, though he is sincerely interested in what Henry might have discovered about himself.]

I have learned—

[He pauses for dramatic effect—leans forward, as if imparting a great secret to Alcuin, and indeed it very well might be, as he lowers his voice and says with a touch of not entirely feigned embarrassment:]

—what it is to earn a living.

I confess myself shocked. [He smiles- mostly teasing, with a touch of sympathetic understanding. The work he does now is very different from the work he did at home. He can imagine it would be a greater change for a nobleman like Henry.]

How are you finding it? I hope you are doing something you enjoy.

Be a good fellow and don't let on. I shall never hear the end of it if it gets around. [He's joking. Except not at all.] There is a bookseller in the Wood sector who is happy to let me spend a few hours perusing his selection, and if I can render some small amount of advice or aid to other literary-minded folk in the meantime, we are both satisfied.

Never fear, I shall keep the silence of Naamah. [No, Henry isn't exactly a patron, but nevertheless.] And that sounds like most equitable arrangement. You are very kind to assist such folk.

Oh, kindness! That scarcely enters into it; I simply cannot bear to see a person stumble about in ignorance. [Not really true.] In any event, I am at least becoming acquainted with the poetry of the kedan as a result, and that at least is almost entirely pleasant.

You are a generous soul. [Yeah, he feels a little doubtful of that for some reason.] But that does sound interesting. You must show me some of it sometime, I would truly love to see it.

[He has more than a passing interest in poetry, after all.]

[Henry makes a gesture of unserious self-chastisement.] I have a volume at home that I should have thought to bring for you, especially as you are now finished with the Husymans. It is a book of light lyric verse, nothing so challenging as the novel you just finished, but charming nevertheless.

Oh, that is a shame. I would have liked to have something new to read for pleasure. I am making my way through a scientific paper that was written up for me, but it is... somewhat complex. Perhaps next time? [Unless Henry's house is nearby and perhaps they could stop to get it.]

[You're in luck, Alcuin.]

Well—unless you are otherwise engaged after we are finished here, my suite is not too far from here. Perhaps you might join me for a drink, and I can give you the book?

I am not engaged- that sounds like a most excellent idea.

[He smiles at Henry's kind invitation and remembers to apply himself to his food. It really is quite good.]

[The rest of dinner passes with continued conversation on matters literary; Lord Henry offers an anecdote or two about the writers and artists he knew in London, though one might note that the name Oscar Wilde never really comes up. Afterward they adjourn to Henry's suite; once settled, he pours himself a snifter of brandy and offers one to Alcuin. Despite te strong wine that accompanied dinner, Henry still very much has his wits about him; his constitution in that regard is strong as only a 19th-century Englishman's can be.]

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