E.L. has already disappeared towards the Scuffed Dance-floor when her mother is addressed by Mr Anchovies.
"Mrs Canning, actually," E.M. smiles, waving away any apologies Mr Anchovies might be offering. "Don’t worry, it’s a common mistake. That’s what happens when you’re married to someone for whom ‘social event’ means there’s more than one grimoire in the room."
(OOC: The Artist’s Model to which EMC is married on her profile is only a placeholder—due to the absolutely scandalous fact that it’s not yet possible to actually marry the Esoteric Accomplice! ;) However, for RP purposes, consider her married to the Accomplice, please.)
"Praise for my work at the Palace? Well, who would’ve thought. I mean, that’s nice, but … this might appear quaint, but I find being faced with incredulity and doubt much more stimulating than all that fawning and grovelling—much more useful from a scientific point of view. Makes you go over your own arguments again and again, polishing them, discovering the gaps and errors in your own logic. What use is someone who’ll agree with everything you say? Indeed, isn’t a barrage of questions also the most flattering sign of actual interest in what one has to say?
"But here I am already beginning to lecture you—so sorry. Occupational hazard. It’s just that the value of doubt in religious or spiritual systems—in any belief system really—is such a focal point of my work, as you may have surmised.
"And thank you, these zee-caramels really are far more delightful than they should be." The plate is clearing rapidly. edited by phryne on 5/6/2017
The auburn haired physics student in the corner sighs. No vodka in sight… well… dances, maybe? Too much hurt can’t happen. A few stepped on feet, but she DID wear fairly light slippers. She sees a familiar face, and decides to go to Dirae. Maybe he could help her… Maria was bored, at least. She didn’t see anything funny in seeing her professor drunk over in a corner.
Anchovies glances occasionally at their dwindling supply of caramels with mild but increasing concern. “The sort to fawn and grovel must be of some use in the Palace, else there wouldn’t be quite so many of them hanging around the place,” they say with a smile. “Although I myself will agree with you on the importance of questions. It’s only in finding and shattering a structure’s weak point that what remains can be built up stronger, and that’s just as true of theories as it is of buildings. Or governments. Even people, in a sense. Especially down here.”
Anchovies pauses for a moment to have another caramel before they vanish. “Now, I’ve heard mentions of your study of archaeology on the Surface, but your more recent volumes must not have made their way to the salons just yet. There wasn’t substantial mention of any field-work since your arrival in London, only your activities at the University. Has your research of late gone beyond those hallowed halls?”
Oscar Remarque, a man commonly found in either a dress or foreign fashion of the last century, and found only in all the places children’s mothers tell them not to go, may be popular in Bohemia but is not a fellow whose peculiarities are commonly appreciated by high London society.
His parties, however, are appreciated by anyone looking to have a good time, and so his name has developed the odd reputation of being the first to cross a gentleman’s mind when thinking of something to criticize in any society gossip session (which always consist of the condemnation of the artistic and bizarre) and the first to cross the same gentleman’s mind when he is looking to escape the restraints of society life.
The sudden sight of him, then, at one of his parties, is met by unsure reactions by those society types still sober and uncharacteristically joyful reactions (which they will deeply regret the next morning when rumor spreads that they conversed with Remarque, of all people) by those who have been sampling his liquor supply.
Such a phantasmagoria of emotions is raised as the bohemian approaches Lady Blackwood’s group at the fungus sweets table.
"Darling!" he cries, embracing Blackwood, "You’re looking radiant tonight! And you as well!"
He swings off of Blackwood, embracing the Stiff Aristocrat, who blanches noticeably.
"Simply stunning!" he declares, slinging an arm around the delighted Intoxicated Royal, "You all must tell me who you’re wearing. I simply must know the designer."
He pulls the Stiff Aristocrat into a deep kiss, the Intoxicated Royal seeming slighted disappointed at his lack of one, and swings around to Blackwood.
He gesticulates joyfully, seemingly (and finally) at a loss for words.
"Darling!" he finally bursts, predictably.
Mrs Canning raises her eyebrows. "Archaeology? There must be a misunderstanding. I was an anthropologist on the Surface. Maybe you’re confusing me with someone else after all." She looks slightly disappointed, convinced now that Mr Anchovies is just another small-talker without any real understanding of deeper matters.
Somewhere else, E.L. stops near the Polish girl standing awkwardly all by herself. "Dear me, if you don’t look completely lost, I’ve never seen anyone who did!" she exclaims. "Come on, the fun’s happening over there! What’s your name, hon?" Without even waiting for an answer, the already slightly intoxicated blonde woman grasps Maria’s hand and begins to drag her towards the dance-floor.
Anchovies pales slightly as their error is revealed. "Is that so? I must have been misled by my acquaintances at the palace. I’m hardly surprised. So many there are the sort who read only so they may call themselves learned.
“Anthropology, then. Have you found much opportunity to continue your past studies since arriving in London? I’ve certainly heard intriguing things of the Neath’s indigenous peoples. Tigers! Who’d have thought?”
The door opens and in strides the infamous Advocate Jonathan Dunn. His clothing is in the latest fashion, but the color scheme seems more appropriate for a production of Faust. As usual he wears tinted eyeglasses and a hat that wouldn’t look out of place at a funeral. Like a diabolical peacock, he draws the eye and his voices reaches the ears of all gathered. "I do apologize for my lateness," he says with a grin "my men have just moved the last few items into my new home. The Brass Embassy was happy to deed me a Sanctum for my hard work on their behalf. It’s so good to be appreciated and few understand value like Devils."
"Speaking of value…" Jonathan strides over to Anchovies and proffers a box of chocolate-covered caramels with a glossy coating. "You might not know it, but you did me a good turn a few days back. Never let it be said that I don’t pay back those who’ve helped me. I found the sweet shop a few weeks back and ended up buying a share. It always pays to have Contacts."
(OOC: (http://community.failbettergames.com/topic22540-character-tropes.aspx?Page=1#post197022) Jonathan Dunn is infamous. Many find his lack of etiquette shocking, but he’s too influential (and dangerous if you know how far his ties to Hell, The Masters, and Criminals go) for them to say anything. He might be listening after all. He constantly pushes for progress both social and economical. He’s also an eclectic artist, with contributions to almost every art form. He’s happy to talk to those interested in the arts or politics, but finds numbers boring.)