INT - Seiiki Casino; day
Alfonse "Fonz" Bouchet: sat slumped at the bar with a vaguely bewildered expression, staring at the bartender with narrowed eyes. "What do you mean His Majesty can't have a sword at the bar?" he demanded. "I ain't swinging it at anybody! And what the hell am I supposed to do with it? Leave it tied up outside the door like a dog?" He slapped his hand on the bar, leaving a larger stack of money on the table. "Look, I'll pay extra! And, hell, people shouldn't feel nervous just 'cause of this! If anything, they should feel LESS nervous! It means if anything happens, I'll be here to protect 'em!" he insisted, jabbing his chest with his thumb. The bartender stammered, seeming to be uncertain how to begin to respond to this strange, loud little man.
Dorian (alexandros.lycomedes) wandered through the Seiiki, smelling of horse. He'd had his morning ride and afterward felt no rush to go home where his upset twin might be to try and tiptoe around her ire. Irene, like any beloved pet was a great comfort to her rider. The very act of riding her was fulfilling a promise, the likes of which he'd broken with regard to his twin. Irene suffered transport across the seas, with a promise paid to her which he made every day onboard their Callisto-bound vessel that he'd give her a ride each day to the best of his ability so she'd never know being inordinately cooped up again.
At length he found his way to a favourite haunt when fallen out with Dinah, on the Japanese side of town where his very Windgraceness raised fewer heads. Having gone through the same thing with a sword on his own hip in days past, after chuckling to punctuate his amble in, he'd speak to the barkeep in Japanese, avowing, "<<I am sure my friend here shall cause us no problem at dawn. Let me speak with him.>>"
Trying to speak the language went a long way, the man who was wise past his apparent youth had learned long ago. Even if the sentence bore a timestamp that made little sense. Beside that, the man who'd walked in clad in riding gear always paid well and drank plenty which the tender knew. The pair inclined their heads to one another as Dorian tacked on, "<<The unfiltered one from Sendai, if you please.>>"
Only then did the middlest Windgrace turn to the man who'd caused the kerfuffle, with eyes keener than any man his age had cause to bear, shining silver from his face under curly blond mop. There was a gravity just under the surface which this diversion had broken causing a smile to erupt as he purled in his urbane English tones, "Good day friend, I am sure you understand it is just standard procedure. These are not Sengoku times, this place is not the wilderlands of the new world. I suspect, if you lay your weapon on the bar we shall see an end to arguments about it." A shrug punctuated this suggestion.
Alfonse "Fonz" Bouchet: blinked at the blond in surprise as he intervened, looking between the two with keen interest as he processed what appeared to be going on. "Ahhh... Gomen, gomen nasai," he said with a deeply awkward accent, his English already strangely accented with something that sounded vaguely lower-class French, but also not. Carefully, he laid the sword on the bar, raising his hands - his dangerously clawed hands, any non-mundane being would be able to see - and sitting up straight, as if it had finally occurred to him that manners existed. The bartender, giving Dorian one last look of relief, nodded, taking the offered cash and pouring them both their drinks. Fonz nodded as he lifted his cup to Dorian, saying, "Thanks. I'm new here, and it's easy for me to forget how to act around people sometimes," he said, looking down at the sword. Other than the piercings in his ears, It was the finest thing he had, the shirt he was wearing torn and washed thin, the sandals he was wearing worn and scuffed. "Frankly, I kinda wish it were Son Goku times," he mispronounced. "I haven't been here long, but..." He sighed, looking around exasperatedly before looking back at the amicable stranger. "It seems like there's a lot of problems around here, but nothing I can see to fight? It's driving me crazy," he shook his head.
Dorian (alexandros.lycomedes) watched his soon to be compatriot and listened with unobscured interest, taking a moment's glance at the attire and the weapon in question. Taking the other gentleman in, as it were. The grin etched up one side of his face was friendly, even if graven into an otherwise troubled expression. The diversion was entirely welcome. Moreso when the other was speaking his language, even if accented like the ancient foe of the Englishman across the channel. In the Seiiki the pair of them were still the strangers, the foreign ones. Sidling onto the seat beside the Frenchman? he'd answer with enthusiasm, "You, my friend have just stumbled onto my chiefest frustration. To solvable crises over morasses of weather and emotion, hear hear." He lifted his little sake cup and would down it all in one go before he'd chuckle with a fraction of true mirth missing, and rejoin, "Problems solved on a blade's edge usually actually end, do they not?"
Alfonse "Fonz" Bouchet: lifted his cup to that. "Hear, hear," He said, swallowing. His eyes went wide for a moment as he swallowed, and he smacked his lips, murmuring, "Shit, this is good stuff. Uh - Arigato," he said to the bartender, pointing at the cup, bowing his head. "But that's exactly what I mean! You get it," he said enthusiastically. "Give me a monster to fight? No problem. Gordian knots, I don't flinch at, either," he said, chest puffing up. He made a face, shook his head. "But a brother who's been working at a whore house and a fog that won't lift for weeks? Hell, where do you even begin?" He shook his head. "If I could actually reach the guy, I'd just drag him out and smack some sense into his head, but we're sharing a body at the moment, which is very much NOT a part of the plan and also stops me from seeing him face to face to talk to him," he rolled his eyes, looking exasperated. "But, shit, you didn't come here to listen to my problems. Sounds like you got plenty of your own," he said, looking at him with interest, seeming ready to listen.
Dorian (alexandros.lycomedes) listened and even before his companion could entirely finish he was murmuring, "Extraordinary..." rather than comment on the other's misfortune and the particulars of it, as was not mannerly, his voice got fuller throated as he went on, "--so you do know what it means to try so hard to stop someone you care for from running directly toward the monste- the monstrous things. My beloved runs to danger, willfully. Nothing I can do will stop her. I did come here to listen to you, by the by. I just had not known it. Dorian." He pointed to himself as with his other hand, he lifted the bottle to pour them both a new helping, teetering full.
Alfonse "Fonz" Bouchet: nodded, answering automatically. "Alfonze Bouchet the First of Nouvelle-Aquit-" He closed himself, stopped the almost mechanically produced introduction, swallowed it. "Fonz," he introduced himself, nodding. "It sucks when you can't stop people you care about from running straight into shit. She strong?" he asked, head tilting, brow furrowing as he automatically leapt to trying to put his head together with Dorian on this.
Dorian (alexandros.lycomedes) knocked back another cup of sake whole holding up a finger to declare his intent to answer after. once he'd cleared his mouth of the milky white but strong good stuff whose stores on the isle he'd single-handedly put a large dent into, he explained, "Very strong, smarter than a whip, she is.... magnificence. Who has not known such persons? Only for me, she is my twin. We do not precisely share a body, but we do share a soul. What does one do with an intractable sibling, hm, Monsieur?" The added deference was due to the proper response to such a name being given, manners meant much to the Englishman. Something about the other fellow's sleevelessness called to him, ignited fires of righteousness and perceived understanding.
In answer to his own question, he'd pour for them both again, explaining, "This vintage comes from the north, well not so far north as Hokkaido. I find it agrees with my palate and my intentions, which are, frankly, to drink until I am no longer worried about it." A snuffle of mirthless laughter concluded his remarks.
Alfonse "Fonz" Bouchet: 's brow furrowed as he listened, and he nodded. "So if she's strong and sharp, you've probably got time," he concluded. "But... being that close with her, that's still gotta hurt," he sighed, putting his elbow on the bar, his chin on his fist. "Listen to them, I guess," he sighed. "My brothers... they're strong and smart, too, but they're weird. They're just fucking weird," he rolled his eyes, looking exasperated. "One's a lech who won't take anything seriously, and the other one is... shit, I don't even know where to begin with Corbet," he shook his head. "But one thing is, I'm always glad when I, what's it called, suspend disbelief for a second, and really think about it from their perspective. Sometimes I still won't understand it, but it makes me feel better about the massive fuckup I think they might be about to make, since I remember the good things about 'em, too - the things that make them strong, the ways they can take care of themselves. Just because I want to take care of 'em so bad, doesn't mean that's what they most /need/ from me, you know?" He said, looking Dorian in the eye. "Hell, sometimes what they need most from me is just to listen, or to believe in them. I'm pretty sure that's saved our lives sometimes," he said, looking down at his empty cup again. "And frankly... it was harder than fighting would've been."
He smiled at the title, sitting up a little straighter, clearly pleased to be addressed to - even if the title was common and he did not percieve himself as such, the respect in it was inimitable, and clearly spoke to him. "Good stuff," Fonz agreed, sniffing the cup, licking the bottom of it like a dog. His nose wrinkled, as if he was uncertain what he was tasting, perplexed; but then he shrugged, looking at Dorian amicably again. "I'll getcha another - as a sign of friendship. You seem like my kinda guy, uh... Mr. Dorian? Sir Dorian?" He tilted his head, squinting as he tried to determine which title would be appropriate.
Dorian (alexandros.lycomedes) presumed that he could call his sister beloved without turning heads. He hadn't said out loud that he wanted to have babies with her, even if it was true. And also was not, because he did not wish to share attention any more than he already did with a certain serpent, her studies, her students, and lately her temper (however earned). While tracking over that in his mind he almost missed a bit of really. excellent. advice. All at once Dorian's silvery eyes went far away and he was dumbfounded. His first response was, "Blimey."
Rather than chug and fill another one, from the nigh empty bottle on the bartop, he'd look Alfonse right in the eyes past both their fringes and shake his head while he did. When the head shaking stopped, he'd have a hand out to shake, though the other had clawed digits, Dorian did not seem put off in the slightest by this anymore than the strange tale of sharing a body. "Just Dorian will do, though full disclosure I am a Windgrace of the Cheriton Windgraces. How glad I am that our people are not at war this generation." As if his accent and bearing did not give him away, he declared himself nobility with his admission of names, given his family's ships bore it when they'd been coming in, and yet did at various ports round the world. "You have just broken this silly coconut that is my head wide open, I see we are to be friends, indeed." After the dumbfoundedness there had arisen a new several dawnings on the blond. Ones that were even yet taking shape.
Alfonse "Fonz" Bouchet: blinked at Dorian in surprise as he offered his hand, but smiled broadly - and fangily, though it seemed no less friendly for it - and shook his hand with one firm, enthusiastic shake. "Dorian it is. You're a Windgrace?" He asked, brow furrowing, eyes flicking up and to the side as if he were remembering something. "... And we're not? Then, /fuck,/ me too," he huffed, looking genuinely relieved. "I'd definitely rather be allies with you all than anything else. And you in particular," he added, still beaming. "You seem like a great guy! Like, you actually got a sense of humor and are nice 'n shit," he said in his crude fashion. "Do you sword fight?"
Dorian (alexandros.lycomedes) shook firmly, had a warm hand, and tilting his head to the ceiling after he would remark upon turning his face downward again, "Gods be good. They can be. Just when you think maybe they don't, they seem to see every thing. Hahahahah sorry, I must sound mad! I am a bit, I am a Windgrace, afterall... hahaha and I am sure that we are allies again. Which is why I was able to enjoy Paris before I came here. There's this boulangerie that I went to almost every morning, they used this sheepsmilk brie. C'est tres magnifique." His French was English accented, but earnestly applied without mockery that was on purpose beyond how it might hit a native ear. Also he'd last been to Paris in the 20s, but looking his age that might not make sense.
When Dorian beamed there were only regular looking canines, but he didn't seem afraid of any toothsomeness he perceived, rather he'd brighten, "Do I swordfight? My friend, I only knew their sword policy because I came here with mine own some months past. I see we are to be good friends, for I have no sparring partner. I wish that I could help you as you have helped me this day, I am, believe me, soon to be very much in your debt." Reconciling with his sister was priceless to him afterall. Enough that he was looking by shades like a great weight was being lifted from his underlying trains of thought.
Alfonse "Fonz" Bouchet: laughed once, grinning, brow furrowed as he thought that through. "Ha! Yeah? How long ago?" He asked directly. "I wonder who has Paris these days. ... Look, don't look at me like I'm crazy, but strictly speaking, I'm not sure what year it is," he said seriously, looking at Dorian hopefully. He broke into a grin. "Damn good to know they're still making bread with sheep's milk Brie if I can ever get back there once this fog lifts, though," he said, playfully knocking Dorian's shoulders with his knuckles. It was gentle, but there was strength in his arm. "You're makin' me feel a lot better about this whole thing, you know?" he said plainly, beginning to look more optimistic, himself.
As Dorian said he had no sparring partner, Fonz's jaw dropped; it was as if he had told a 4 year old that he had a spare unicorn that needed a new home. "No shit? I am here for that!" he exclaimed, fist thumping on the bar (hard enough to make a noise, gentle enough that nothing broke.) "I gotta say, one of the things I miss most about not being stuck in a damn body with my brothers is we can't spar anymore. I'm going crazy. You'd be doing me a favor," he said, nodding at him. "Just tell me when and where. ... You sure you gonna be okay with your sister, though?" he asked, head tilting. "With my brothers, sometimes it's tricky. With Corbet, I've gotta get the exact right words, or else he won't think I get it - and I've gotta bribe him with cake. With Lucas... ugh," he shook his head, nose wrinkling as his eyes rolled. "It takes hounding him all day to even get him to admit that he's mad in the first place so we can have an actual conversation about it. I don't know what yours is like when she's mad," he said, looking at Dorian with interest.
Dorian (alexandros.lycomedes) answered without thinking, rather while thinking about ten thousand other things to do with Dinah and his schedule and how much he wanted to get out there with a sword, "Take heart my friend, dear Alfonse, for it is still only 1943. I was there in... it was 1919 or 1920 since I visited that jewel of a city. And why don't you tell me where to call on you for our spar because as soon as i can clear the time I shall! As to the other thing, with my sister... I shall be able to sway her with a grand gesture. I believe it shall be sooner rather than late given I now know what to start saying to her. She and I shared a womb, and are rather very close. Perhaps not as close as you and your brethren though, hm? May I ask... no, forgive me. It must be a hard thing to be without them as you are is all, even though they are with you, after a fashion..."
Alfonse "Fonz" Bouchet: 's brow furrowed, and his eyes moved back and forth as he thought. "1943... Thanks," he said, nodding to him. "Kinda before my time, actually, but that's fine, we'll get there," he nodded. "As for when we could spar, that's tricky because of the brother thing. I'm not always sure when I'm gonna, well, wake up as me," he rubbed the back of his head. "We switch while we sleep, see. But I've been able to go to the things I've made plans to go to so far, so maybe it just sort of... happens, when it needs to. The best place to leave a message for me would be with the people who know my brother, Lucas - he's always at that Kitty Kisses Cafe place, the one that's falling apart? So that could be a good place to leave a message. And he's also shacked up with November Morsus, that tall, skinny doctor? I bet he'd pass one on," he said, rubbing his chin, thinking.
Fonz nodded as Dorian explained his intentions of performing some grand gesture. "Sounds like you know how to show her what she means to you. I'm wishing you luck - let me know if you need help," he nodded.
He sighed deeply at that last question, and nodded somberly. "Yeah. Honestly, it's been a while since we had to operate without one another for this long. Normally we're a team, we do everything together. Keep each other safe," he nodded. "This shared body thing, it wasn't our idea - we don't even know how it happened for sure, so we don't know how to stop it. The sooner we find a way to split, the better, but I'm not sure where to start, except with this freaky plant lady who might wanna cut off my..." His voice trailed off, and he scratched his cheek. "... You know what, that's not important. Anyway, she's suspicious as hell. Calliope? You know her? ... She's awesome, though," he grinned, blushing a little.
Dorian (alexandros.lycomedes): "Perhaps we are to be best friends, for you see, my twin is friends with a November Morsus, so I can reach him with her help. Or you may reach me. I believe that cafe is near to mine own home, though.... I always thought the place was a rumour. And also we are three. My twin and our older brother, we are a team too. I would be lost without them so I... I can only begin to imagine your pain. I think the three of us survived our childhoods solely because of one another." Not to mention the intervening centuries since then. He was not going to yet. He did not correct himself about having been to Paris a few decades past when he only looked a few decades old because his new friend hadn't blinked about it. "As I was saying, you must know where the manor is, big white house on top of the hill. This time of day most days I am just back from my ride with my horse. When I work it is morning or evening, when the ships are coming in, you see. As for this plant lady... I would be wary my friend of anyone wanting to separate me from any of my parts... there must be another way! Even if you are sweet on her, eh?" His family was one of the few Victoriana families with such means that left their home on the ground with the rest of the mortals, rather than taking themselves airborne on floating isles. It was good optics among their employees, and it meshed with the concept of their family as a Callisto cornerstone, a placement which the Windgraces very much desired and considered themselves.
Alfonse "Fonz" Bouchet: blinked at Dorian in astonishment. "Ha! Literally, same here!" he exclaimed. "There were actually a bunch more of us - we were the only ones who survived because we were helping one another out!" he laughed, as if this was a funny story, and not vaguely horrifying in its implications for everyone. "When I'm the one awake, I'll just go around back to see if you're around, then. He blushed again as Dorian cautioned him against the plant lady, waving a hand. "Nah, nah, it's not like that! She's cool, but she's already got, like, this goth vampire dog wife or something," he pouted. "Don't worry, I'll stay wary. I can always grow 'em back though, it's not such a big deal," he shrugged. "And she was willing to wager one of her own, so it's fair. ...I'm surprised you haven't met her, if you live close by. She's not easy to miss. Big and orange, smells like mangos... Though I guess she does change a lot," his brow furrowed. He seemed to think nothing of saying all this in public; it might have been a mercy that he was not speaking the native language of the majority of the people in the establishment.
Dorian (alexandros.lycomedes) listened with interest and obvious amusement at points too. And a hint of prudishness hiding his face over a goth vampire dog wife once the words hit him. After a moment he'd stop shaking his head and chuckling to rejoin, "The way you speak dear Alfonse.... your parlance reminds me almost of a friend of mine. A lively fellow who has made his way here from what was New South Wale-- no from one of the New World cities. Though he uses madder words to be sure" To Dorian the Americas were always going to be that given his origins and his peoples efforts at colonizing places which just were too stony or too something to allow proper English roots to take. He'd seemed interested in this unmet neighbor, and explained, "Until recently I was running the shop, so I was out and about in town more then. I feel I have gotten myself on such a routine as to frequently see people I know already. You shall change this, until you become one of those people too. So it is possible that I could see you and think you were you, but you would not recognize me? Because I do not know your brothers yet?"
His question was cast quietly as if he just remembered that was a volume that existed just at the end there. Even if he was unphased by much, that did not mean he needed to blab his new friend's business all over the place.
Alfonse "Fonz" Bouchet: broke into a grin. "Yeah! The big western continent, right? That's where I really learned English. I was pretty bad at it in school, would have lost my head if it wasn't for Lucas feeding me answers on tests," he murmured, shaking his head. He furrowed his brow, looking at Dorian. "You must've been around for a while, thinking of the Americas like that. Most of the folks I know who think of it that way have been," he reflected.
Alfonse "Fonz" Bouchet: grinned widely. "Glad I could shake things up a little." He seemed a little confused by Dorian's next comment; then recognition dawned, and he nodded. "Yeah, if Lucas or Corbet is out instead of me, chances are they won't recognize you. But don't worry, they look really different. Lucas is this tall redhead with green eyes who wears his hair down to his ass," said Fonz, gesturing to indicate the length, "And Corbet is this little purple haired dude with big eyes and webbed ears. ... If Lucas starts trying to hit on you, or Corbet starts hissing, just tell 'em Fonz said to cut the shit out," he said firmly, nodding. He adjusted his volume to match Dorian's automatically, though he didn't seem concerned about being overheard. "They know how to behave, you just gotta remind 'em."
Dorian (alexandros.lycomedes) replied blithely, giving away no more than he already had, as he danced around it, "I am a little older than I look, you know how these things go." Afterall he was talking to someone mystically sharing a body with his siblings. Callisto was known worldwide and getting to be even more known for the haven it was to the extra-natural sorts. "Should I meet either of them, I shall make my acquaintance with you known. So do you leave each other notes? That must be the only way you can speak, hm?" Dorian was considering the intricacies of sharing a body with a sibling. As with Alfonse and his siblings, the other two Windgraces had interests so apart from Dorian's own that it would be a hard thing to share a body among the school, the new family Drystan was welcoming, the magical studies, the painting all as well as pursuing his own interests. "By the way, I shall tell my sister that I made a new friend who is wise and capable with a sword who helped me figure out what was important as I had forgotten it. That way she will know I have good influences."
At present his twin was very cross with his other close friend, after all that had transpired post-masquerade.
Alfonse "Fonz" Bouchet: grit his teeth as Dorian asked if they left notes, sighing. "That's the thing - we've tried. But it doesn't work. As far as we can tell, any notes are being stolen or erased as soon as another of us wakes up. Lucas even finds he can't keep a journal because it keeps going missing," he shook his head. "We can only communicate through other people. Something fucky is goin' on, and I badly want to know what it is," Fonz growled, cracking his knuckles as he looked down at the blade of his sword. "Lucas does this thing where he can command animals, and even when he sets them to watch a note or journal, as soon as he asks them what happened, it's like they don't remember ever having got the order. Like he just asked them to stand there and do nothing. I've never seen anything like that happen to him before," he shook his head. "And I can't sense any kind of magic that would do it, like a curse, or anything. So... we're confused, and annoyed," he sighed.
Fonz barked a happy laugh at that, grinning proudly. "Yeah! Well, His Majesty is always happy to meet his fellow noble people," he said, straightening his collar, chin held high in the air. "She sounds awesome. ... I guess I better try'n keep my nose clean so I don't fuck it up," he contemplated, squinting into the distance as if at an uncertain future.
Dorian (alexandros.lycomedes) was not sure what to make of his friend referring to himself as his majesty, but he made a note to get to the bottom of that later. There was so much to dig into. And something to apologize for, he realized, "I beg your pardon. I have known of your calamity for the space of a few minutes, yet sit here trying to resolve things that are none of my business. It does sound like something strange is transpiring, though, as if the act of communicating with them is being barred on purpose. Hmmm." Once he was on good terms with Dinah again he'd surely be running this conundrum past her given her magical know-how.
Until then he had to rely on his own limited brain power, and the knowledge that he could be a friend to Fonz. "I hope we see an end to this that you may be reunited once more. Family is so important. Until then, you have a friend in me, all three of you do. You need not visit only to spar, but if I can be of help in any way, as I said, I owe you. It was good fortune to have met you this day, and I will not be pleased until the same is true for you."
Alfonse "Fonz" Bouchet: seemed not to notice his confusion around his self-given title, instead seeming astonished at his manners. "You musta kicked ass at finishing school - you offer to help me with a problem and apologize cause it's not your business? That is some high class shit. I should take notes," he said sincerely, looking Dorian up and down. "His Majesty has repeatedly received feedback that his diction and elocution is fuckin' nasty, and not suitable for a guy of his station," he said, reverting to the third person again; it didn't seem to be a joke so much as his muttering to himself, thinking seriously.
"Any help is appreciated. We've been spinning our wheels, going nowhere. And, same here - you need a friend or someone who's got your back, you call on me any time," he grinned wide. "Meeting you seems plenty good fortune to me. ... Just let me know if you come across anything big, nasty, and powerful that you don't want around. His Majesty has yet to find anybody worth eating," he murmured, putting one hand on his stomach as he glanced towards the woods and took his sword from the bar. He gave Dorian one last jubilant grin and waved, then tromped off to the woods without another word.
Dorian (alexandros.lycomedes) slipped off of his stool as his friend was departing and offered a lax salute with knuckles to the brow in the royal navy's fashion, trying to decide if he was in fact speaking to a prince. For all he knew he was, and it would not be the first time Dorian had met one that was rough around the edges. He chuckled at the self-castigation, and called after the red-headed man, "I am glad to have met you, and look most forward to telling you the good news when we meet next."
Dorian put down a few more pounds as a tip before making his own way out of the Seiiki. There was much to do and now a lighter heart and clearer head to face it all.