impure_tale

I find myself in better spirits of late. Renate does not tire me so easily on her walks any longer, though they are still rather trying. I do not go into the enclosure without my cane because I will find myself leaning upon it sooner or later. The pain returns like clockwork, but not so intensely. Often in other ways, as though the small ruptures in bone are not the problem so much as every organ, nerve, and sliver of muscle around them are working especially hard not to come into contact with them. It's a feeling of strain, most certainly.

Not the manner of agony I would use to inspire me, I'm afraid. I would thank Monsieur Sexby again but I fear at present all he shall do is stare at me blankly, like a cow at an oncoming coach. I cannot trouble myself with such things as memory loss, for I am feeling nostalgic.

I remember when I first came to the barge I found myself rather smitten with an innocent young Warden who had come aboard, by name of Giselle. It is so very, very rare that I feel the impulse to slip away from my familiar and comfortable perversions, the amusement that comes of shocking the more conservative, of discourse with persons given to a greater plane of understanding when it comes to my playful eccentricities. On occasion yes, even I find myself desirous of the preservation of more...innocent inclinations. Giselle was one such individual, perhaps because her innocence was so very genuine. This might come of the fact that she seemed to have existed in a world free of the evils that scarred the cratered, bloodsopped landscape that was my first life. I deigned to offer my arm as a gentleman would. I spoke sweet odes, wooed her as I would the gentle ladies and courtesans of my youth, tried ever-so-hard not to permit my body its characteristic stirrings when she would throw my arms about my neck and embrace me, trusting always my intentions and never knowing the struggles that come of traitorous bloodflow. It was some months before I no longer suffered such instinctual responses, and our relationship had changed considerably, understandably.

She and my Paviche, perhaps my two great loves aboard this ship, and of two very different breeds. My mind is too often set upon my work and little else. I rather think I would relish my next glorious pursuit, and so long as my dear Prefect is content to continue playing hard to get, I suppose I shall have to choose another, oui?

L'amour, my barge. We should all benefit from a little more of it in our lives.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

It differs from person to person.

[Smirk]

Though on a lady I am never one to ignore a perfectly formed backside, sometimes the most lurid and alluring aspect might be the playful dimple that touches the corner of her mouth when she smiles. Here I am waxing poetic.

[Raising an eyebrow]

At times I find myself rather fond of scars, too.

Women. I don't mind them, if it's on offer and rude to refuse. Prefer gentles and their hindquarters, personally. There's something to the odd quirk, though. To the purse of a man's lips when he's sour about something. The oddities of hands.

...Scars, I suppose. Got to ask. Do you like looking at them. Or making them?

[Some folk in service house assume things about his habits; he's aware of it. He's avoided it, thus far.]

[This is going well :3]

I've made very few, no matter what the history books say. But looking, touching -- touch, you see, can make things very interesting. I believe I prattled on to Pavi once, the vulnerability you draw out of a person just in favoring their scars.

Well. That's a bit menacing. Aren't all the interesting things?

[He tilts his head as if things will resolve themselves at a different angle]

I'm newly arrived. I don't know how much trouble you're likely to get me in, if I forget I'm here to seal a deal. And you're in danger of getting me distracted.

[Doesn't sound like 'so I'm not interested'. Does sound like 'I probably shouldn't.']

Welcome to our humble barge, Monsieur. The Marquis de Sade, at your service. The Marquis to friends, acquaintances and enemies. Donatien to the favored few.

Chief Stildyne. I've got another first name, but there generally has to be a relationship of some kind before it's used. Acquaintances, you understand. Colleagues. Things of that nature.

[He tries to look innocent and fails regrettably. Never one of his strong suits.]

So I suppose I shall be calling you 'Chief' or 'Chief Stildyne' for the time being. ...It rolls off the tongue well. I could certainly grow accustomed to that.

Warms my heart. A kinder thing to call a man by his given name, than Mister.

What are the conditions one meets to be worthy of handling 'Donatien'? Only curious. You understand.

Those I am close to. ...Or perhaps I simply like the way it sounds when they say it.

With a voice like mine it'd have to be the former. Hypothetically speaking.

[Stildyne: when he starts getting abstract, you know he's flirting in earnest.]

Not at all. Your voice is not necessarily typical but it has its charms.

You are fond of scars, then.

[Because even Stildyne's windy, gravel-and-glass voice is a testament to the strikes he's taken to the windpipe and it's the rare soul that appreciates what might be ironically called its musicality.]

I'm just at present looking to get my clothes laundered. I'm in no state to pay a visit to anyone. If I were to wander by, after, would it be disagreeable?

Not at all. You may find my cabin on level three, room four. The metal door. You cannot miss it.

I may well be by.

[He will be.]

In about an hour and a half. We'll continue the discussion?

[For euphemistic values of discussion. And continue, as well. And isn't this the most welcoming ship he's ever been on? See if he complains...]

Certainly. I'll be waiting.

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