#c: felix merivel

[nothing-ventured]

Solo, tying with the Trash Timeline of @mr-henry-lascelles

Phyllida breathes in the steam of her cup of tea. What a sweet scent—and it will make her face attractively rosy without resorting to blush. Her cheeks dimple as she looks across the coffee-shop table at the unmarried man she is shockingly having tea with in public. Or, well, it would be shocking, if Jane wasn’t sitting in the next table over. Her sour, respectable face the best guarantee of virtue any lady could wish for, even if she does sit out of range. In any case, Phyllida is nearly forty—another year and she will be practically immune to scandal.

They have had quite enough preliminary chitchat. “My dear Henry...” She sets the cup down in front of her without having taken a sip. “Would it be terribly rude of me to assume this is all about our mutual friend, Captain Merivel?”

“Astute as ever, your ladyship.”

“Oh, don’t try to sweeten me ladyships and compliments. That stiff neck of yours isn’t impressing anybody. I can tell you right now, you will not get what you want today. That dreadful man is holding my poor dear Magda prisoner, insisting she put up with whatever he wishes or he will take her son away from her. It’s simply unbearable!”

“It’s marriage, your—Phyllida.”

“Not my marriage.”

Lascelles inclines his head. “Your marriage is, I dare say, an exception in many ways.”

Phyllida lets out a frustrated puff of air. “I really don’t see why you insist on interfering on behalf of that man. He is no Mr Norrell. That was the most natural thing in the world. I understand he brings you stories and curiosities from exotic places, but I know you have nothing to do with Liverpool smugglers. You would consider it beneath yourself; besides, merchants tend to be Whigs. So either he has something on you, or you simply… like the man. Which would be very unlike you, I must say.”

Lascelles has a specific way of sighing which Phyllida knows very well, and which even at this moment she can not help but find endearing. It is a world-weary sigh, a sigh of loathing—his gaze drifts away as if he were deathly bored, and the air puffs out sharply as if his anger is only just about to boil over, only he can’t be bothered to act upon it. Like a pot of water beginning to steam. He lounges in his chair, resting his cheek on his fist. “Leaving aside the matter of my motivation for the moment, isn’t there anything I can say to persuade your heart to harden in this one case? Shall I remind you she is penniless and friendless, foreign, barely civilized? Many women in her position would do almost anything for the protection of a man of Merivel’s means. Furthermore, he assures me he does not intend to interfere with her life, so long as she stays in the house he set up for her and lives a quiet life. And there is the boy—he is very much interested in Newton’s future. And there simply isn’t one if the woman has her way.”

“Money is no excuse for tyranny.”

“And so you would replace it with a different kind of tyranny? Allow the mother to dictate when the father sees his son, or whether, and let him have no say in his education?” He clucks his tongue. “This is a family affair. Neither of us should be getting involved at all.”

Her eyes dart to the side. He has a point. It isn’t the done thing, especially on a slight acquaintance. Jane had told her as much. “I only wish to see my friend happy. To allow her to enjoy freedom, to a certain extent, and control her own destiny.”

He sits up and leans over the table, joining his hands in front of him. “None of us do that. Happiness? Why shouldn’t she be happy in the country, in a house he has given her and rarely visits? They quarrel—so let them live apart, but not separate entirely. Isn’t that precisely the arrangement you have with Lord Francis?”

Her temper flares. “Chucks would never talk to me the way that man talks to Magda.”

“Nonetheless--” He speaks firmly. Gracious, does he have to get firm with her now, of all times? “Nonetheless, I maintain you have no obligation to involve yourself, no guarantee of a happy result if you do, and a not inconsiderable risk of making yourself look foolish if she ends up embarrassing you. Not to mention you would be giving yourself a great deal of work that no one asked you to do.” He pauses; she glares; he is undeterred. “Allow me to make this easier. If you do not stop your campaign to deny my friend his natural right, our friendship will be at an end. I will attend no more soirees, dinners or balls where you are the hostess--”

Phyllida laughs. Her soirees can survive without one particular gentleman’s patronage, however well-dressed and influential.

“--nor take your or your husband’s part in the public sphere… Should we meet by chance, I would cut you directly, regardless of company. I will do no worse, as I know you could do as badly by me. But if you do give Merivel a chance to arrange his affairs to his own satisfaction...”

She has been sniffing her tea again, sipped it ever so briefly—she cannot abide tea that is too hot, or not seeped sufficiently—but at this she looks up, into his intense face. This is all rather thrilling, isn’t it? But why does Henry care so much? It is excruciating not to know.

“I promise to share with you secrets beyond your wildest imaginings.”

“Oh Henry,” she purrs, “you underestimate my imagination.”

He shakes his head slowly. “Not this time.”

She sets her cup back down in its saucer, mesmerized. It isn’t only his words that cast a spell on her. Even after all this time, that arrogance is intoxicating. She purses her lips. “Give me time,” she concedes at last. “I will do nothing to jeopardize my friend. But I will think about what you have said.”

Henry sits back. “And take no action before discussing it with me?”

She nods slowly. “If you promise me the same.”

Henry smiles, and for a moment Phyllida thinks she has made a terrible mistake somewhere, but his voice is perfectly mild as he nods and says, “Of course.”

That feeling follows her all the way home. "Jane, have I done the right thing?”

“That’s not the question. The question is what you will do now.” Jane shrugs; she has given her piece on the matter already. Phyllida plops herself down on a chaise longue and Polyhymnia struggles up beside her. She curls around the dog and sets about to do her thinking.

[eyeonthemirror]

Dashing rogues! The both of us. Like Robin Hood or something! Role playing. Love it. Absolutely love it.

“Oh, I assure you, I wasn’t planning on giving to the poor.” Henry straightens his tie, then loosens it, eyeing himself critically in the mirror. This suit does have a little something roguish about it.Of course, Felix will look roguish in anything. He steals an appreciative glance through the mirror at his friend as he adjust his cuffs. “I’m not sure I’d call a decent suit role-playing. It’s just you, dressed to kill.”

[eyeonthemirror]

@captain-f-merivel

[text] Theoretical question.

[text] Scratch that, this isn't theoretical and it's not a question.

[text] I'm a drunk, dirty old man and I need your perspective.

[text] Vandal, answer your phone. I need you to come slap me around. I can't fucking think straight.

[nothing-ventured]

➰

(scar meme)

“You seem curious about that one. Am I correct?” Thomas presses his hand on his left abdomen, on his shirt over the mark of Pluto burned into his flesh. “That one is… from New York. It was in late eighteen-twelve, after the farm failed and Michael… after we had parted ways. I came to New York City to find work enough to pay for passage back home.” He smiles faintly and shakes his head at his own folly. “Instead, the city stripped me of what little I had left. I slept where he could, but even that had a price.

“I survived because I had sleight-of-hand, learned to amuse children. I displayed it on the streets for some pennies and the occasional pint. I was posing as a Frenchman at the time… The English are not welcome in those parts, not these days. My Parisian was convincing enough. A gentleman from the north of France liked it, liked my tricks, and took me under his wing.

“He, like most people in the area with any money, was a smuggler and a mugger. Though I was far too old for the game, he taught me how to pick pockets. There was money to be made, he said, in having a distinguished air. A gentleman of his acquaintance who fit this description had recently succumbed to yellow fever and, doing so, had left a vacancy in the ranks of his friends which he meant for me to fill. They called it an association of Pluto, on account of their stake in the local graverobbing business.

“It was not all smooth sailing, I’m afraid… which is how we get to this.” His hand went back to his belly, rubbing it nervously. “There was a row about me. In the end of it, my sponsor told me to lie still and quiet on the table as he branded me with the mark of the gang. If I could take it without once calling for either God or the Devil, I would be in, but on probation. Less a member of the gang than, ah… property of the gang.

“Well. I got in. I survived, as you can see.” He finishes with a mild smile, though his eyes are, for once, distant.

[nothing-ventured]

@captain-f-merivel

Thomas drags the table set against the wall off to the side and his easel to the other side of the room, making space in the small area that is his only room aside from the windowless den of his bedroom. He has invested in a mirror, which hangs on the wall opposite the skylight, reflecting some of it into the shadows.

It will only be preparation today, of course, but he wants the light to be good enough for him to make preliminary watercolour sketches as well, if possible. He stops to take the kettle off the fire just as there is a knock on his door. 

He opens it with a cheerful smile. He is not worried about this encounter--the captain is with a young lady, after all. “Good morning, captain, Miss Pratt. Come on in. Can I tempt either of you with a cup of tea?”

[nothing-ventured]

Who's being mean to you, only I am allowed to be mean to you, tell me who they are and I'll show them who's the mean one here! [M]

I confess you had me confused for a moment, captain. I see what you are referring to. I... goodness, you needn’t worry about me. Everyone has been perfectly lovely to me. Including you...

[nothing-ventured]

📝

(meme)

Crumpled up letter: 

My dear Captain, 

Forgive me for putting this in writing. I realize it is not terribly prudent. It is a difficult temptation to resist when this new messaging system in London is so convenient. One finds that the opportunity to scribble down any old though spurs one on to all forms of indiscretion. 

I wonder if one can discuss these matters in a more roundabout way, so as to confuse whoever might receive such a missive in error? You may have noticed I omitted your name in my address. And on the other hand, perhaps my habits of secrecy are as misplaced as they are sporadic. Perhaps, indeed, I am nervous to write to you merely because the gentleman who I am about to mention is one I have now wish to be in any contact with, and the matter is awkward. So, then, if I tell you that I have discovered some very old sketches of a mutual friend and that I think you might find them of interest, then 

Letter sent: 

My dear captain, 

I have rediscovered some sketches you may be interested in. I have enclosed one. 

Yours, Martin

[nothing-ventured]

Mr Thomas, if I didn't know better I might have thought that you are trying to seduce me.

Thomas hides his face behind both hands. “Captain, I–I do not know what came over me. I am a ridiculous man, but you do know better, sir. I have not forgotten myself so far.”

He lets his hands fall and laughs. “Come, will you let me show you my work? I have another miniature commission very nearly finished.”

[nothing-ventured]

☠ for Merivel

(meme) What do you most hate about Captain Merivel?

“The Captain can come off as intimidating, but he must, mustn’t he, for his profession? I have seen him be kind when he had every reason to be cruel. I have seen him angry, and yet never cross the line into violence where so many others might have. How could I hate him? He has done nothing to deserve it.”

[nothing-ventured]

💓 for Merivel

(meme)Would they start a relationship with them? 

Thomas shakes his head firmly. “It is quite impossible. He is terribly–he is an man I hold in great esteem, and the most talented–er… but no, I couldn’t possibly.”

[eyeonthemirror]

☎ (from M)

(meme)

The call comes at the break of a pale dawn. The voice on the other side is slurred, but insistent. “Rhythm zero. Cut piece. Same idea. I just realized. Cut piece came first. Are you getting this? It’s all recycled. Like first-person shooters. That means that nothing means anything. Nothing matters. Vandal. Video games are killing me.”

[nothing-ventured]

☹ for FL

(meme)

Thomas turns back towards the street, his hand loosely resting on the door to Caligula’s. He is relatively sure someone just called his name down the street, but it is a dewy evening with a moderate crowd and he can see no waving arm. As a result, when the door is shoved outwards, it hits him about the cheekbone and forehead, making his skull ring.

Thomas staggers backwards, grasping the door for balance, and ends up hanging upon it as it swings, but at least he has not toppled down into the muck of the street. “Ah! Oh! Oh, I am sorry!”

[eyeonthemirror]

The task: sit and play Portal with me. The reward: I'll stop nagging at you to sit and play Portal with me. Also a selfie in a sweater. (I'm modest, I know) M.

You drive a hard bargain. All right, but Halo later.