IC Inbox

[thefirstemperor]

[Absolute silence. Fou-Lu does not know what an inbox is.]

Comments

[shamebat]

[Nadja greatly approves. She grew up poor and only after several centuries of extended long life has she begun to cultivate a more lavish image of herself. She dresses to impress, in old Victorian clothing despite being from 2018 modern Earth, and comes in this garb to meet her new temporary inmate.

She addresses him formally and politely, used to switching between that and her more 'common' language in more familiar company]

No; please forgive me for intruding, I will not disturb you long.

I am called Nadja. I'm looking for the man who calls himself Fou-Lu.

[thefirstemperor]

[He wouldn't really rank formality among the things he really misses. His courtiers and generals and throngs of his people were nice, but he's learned to be fond of people with far more ordinary manners. And been hunted by extremely obsequious souls, at that. Still. This is pleasant. Even if she's here to stab him, he can appreciate the effort.

At the sound of his name, though, he blanches a bit. It's hard to see, as his natural complexion is approximately that of a marshmallow in a snowstorm. But he certainly looks more uncomfortable.]

The mere utterance of that name produces magical ripples such that may attract fell attention. I wouldst warn you away from it.

[He's fucked himself over too many times with his own name not to be very leery of it.]

[shamebat]

[oddly enough, Nadja believes him, and nods back as though this is a perfectly acceptable thing to say. She makes a sign with her fingers, to banish the evil magical influences that may have followed]

Sorry, then what should I call you by?

[thefirstemperor]

[She is already the most reasonable person he's met here. This is pleasant.]

Ryong will do for ordinary use. And thou?

[shamebat]

[It is, and for Nadja too; she's had at least one temporary inmate who murdered her so anyone is a step up from Dancy]

You may call me Nadja.

The Admiral has paired us together for this month. I wished to know who you are and if you are settling in all right?

[thefirstemperor]

[He is far from anti-murder, but just as far from any compulsion to harm polite, straightforward people with good fashion sense in particular.

His long-standing cover story is there, but it feels a bit absurd to someone who has called him by name already Buying himself a moment to debate the question of who he is, he addresses her second point. Having decided he's definitely in this conversation now, he stands at something resembling parade rest in the doorway. He'd offer hospitality, but he has, in fact, several fancy rocks as nearly the sum total of his possessions.]

Far be it from us to suggest it impossible that one might settle well in prison. Nothing that might likely be attained is lacking.

[shamebat]

[Nadja in turn doesn't try to enter. She physically can't, at any rate. Still, she nods, sympathetic]

I know, I am sorry. My husband is a prisoner here too. I wish only to know if you are being bothered by any of the little pigshits here, and if I can't make you more comfortable while we are together.

[thefirstemperor]

We are quite confident in...

[Only here does he realize he's slipped back into his royal we, which was the first thing he learned not to do on the lam. Curses. Well, not much help for it now.]

Our ability to manage... certain upstarts.

[He's actually rather amused. The language has quite a bit more impact coming from one of her stamp than the roughness he's grown used to. But he can't bring himself to match it. Blushing isn't really something he's ever done, or he might here.]

Confinement, we know, must be outside thy power to undo. The place be unrelentingly dull and the company uncouth, but little can be done for either.

[shamebat]

Mmn. Perhaps there is something.

[She steps into the hall, inviting him to come with her]

Come with me to my cabin? We can at least sit down and talk and get to know each other a little better. That will help the dullness.

[thefirstemperor]

[Emperors do not bow, but the nod he gives her manages to be quite formal anyway. He has a slightly undignified job of pulling the door closed again behind him. He's stronger than a human, but the seal on his tomb was simply not meant to be dragged back and forth all the time. He's already noticed damage to the stone. Marble is fragile stuff without the magic of a god to sustain it.

He offers her an arm as he steps into the hall. Emperors don't bow because it's a matter of rank, but politeness persists irrespective.]

Forgive our own lack of hospitality.

[shamebat]

[Nadja looks to the door, and crooks her finger, to shut it completely and psychically. Then she takes the offered arm, giving a short nod. Laszlo too had his strength sapped.]

Of course. Come, this way.

[thefirstemperor]

[If he'd seen that a few weeks ago he'd have been bent out of shape, but he's spent enough time to recognize that the tomb is simply a copy, nothing that could or would respond to his power. He just nods back. Up close, the air around Fou-Lu is cold, and his arm moreso.]

At your disposal, Madam.

[He misses having courtiers. He hadn't realized that, among all the things now gone from his life, but mortals who could meet him as himself, at a place of social if not magical or theological equality.]

[shamebat]

[Nadja feels very much like a grand duchess, on the arm of a true emperor. She beams, and clasps her strangely equally cold hands around his arm. Vampires don't need to feel temperatures]

It's only this way. Are you able to eat or drink anything?

[thefirstemperor]

[She's clearly clocked him, and in ways he's oddly reluctant to bullshit past. He's been insisting on his ruse in the face of all logic for months, but that was people pointing out the inconsistencies in his story. Simply seeing him for some small part of what he is and behaving accordingly? That hits different.

So while he's not immediately going to lay a confession at her feet, he doesn't dissemble.]

We are able, but 'tis not a pressing need.

[shamebat]

Mmn. Then I think you wouldn't mind if I couldn't offer you any refreshments? We don't have any in the cabin.

[She asks, hopeful that he won't take this as an insult. It's been a long time since Nadja entertained people who didn't have her particular diet]

[thefirstemperor]

Nay, 'tis no inconvenience.

[He knows how to do a politeness duel, even a friendly one. It's been awhile, but these are deeply ingrained habits.]

We wouldst far more gladly enjoy the pleasure of thy company.

[shamebat]

[Nadja preens, pleased with such praise, and bobs her head. They reach her cabin, and she unlocks the door to her home for the last 150 years or so. It's the image of an old house but a little...dusty and cluttered with remnants and weapons belonging to the other roommates of the house]

I apologize for the state of things. Our familiar didn't come with me to the ship.

[thefirstemperor]

[He doesn't have a leg to stand on considering his own inability to invite her to anything but an empty copy of a decaying tomb. Besides, it has personality. He finds the barge's plain décor relentlessly dreary. Arches, polished wood, richly patterened walls and carpets, it's all foreign to his sensibilities but has the look of honest effort. He's been to the homes of allies before, and it's an easy etiquette.]

Never wouldst We be so churlish as to complain, but 'tis charming indeed. One must think our... admiral had never heard of tapestry or statuary.

[shamebat]

[She purrs at the sound of olden, out-of-date speech that, to her, is music to her ears. Nadja invites Fou-lu to take whatever seat he would like, beaming]

You are too kind. Here, sit. Enjoy whatever you like.

And yes, it's very sad, the state of this vessel. I think it could do with an overhaul but you try telling that to anyone here and see if they listen.

[thefirstemperor]

[He takes a plushy chair with faded upholstery that might be comfortable enough to sit in through a whole interminable house meeting.]

When one hast elaborate systems of aqueducts and unceasing light sources and not even a small troupe of musicians, one's priorities are unmistakably clear.

[Stupid admiral. So... gouache.]

[shamebat]

[Nadja herself settles on the couch opposite. It's torn up in the back with claw marks but it's old and serviceable]

Mmn. Yes, exactly. Do you play, or do you like to listen?

[thefirstemperor]

[He decides not to take credit now for the few bars B taught him on the piano. It's a possible future skill, not one he can boast of now.]

To listen. 'Tis simply that we understand the plain orderliness of a peasant village that hath not the resources to spare, but ugliness in the face of plenty bespeaks sloth or worse.

[shamebat]

[Nadja pauses, before struggling, politely]

You...don't know many peasant villages, do you?

[thefirstemperor]

[It's really just the one, which was a rather prosperous farming town in a stable part of the empire. He has mixed feelings about it, none of which he feels like explaining. He's considering telling her something more like the truth than he has anyone else here, but not about that.

He chooses, after a moment's contemplation, a careful half-truth.]

I have dwelt only in one.

cw; tales of cannibalism

[shamebat]

Mmn.

[she hesitates again, before deciding to let a part of herself slip;]

I will tell you a solemn secret that only myself and my husband and our roommates and a few cameramen know.

I grew up very very poor, in one of these villages. It is not the sort of romantic notion people have nowadays. There was so much hunger, so much anger. My siblings and I would sometimes try to sleep very lightly because we feared one of us would kill the others and gobble them up, or maybe sell the meat for more food money.