impure_tale

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Do you know I never fancied ships in my youth? I had in my delusions, as a prisoner given to an obsession with numbers, once predicted that the letters I was receiving included secret 'signals' that I would be exiled to Barbados the following fortnight. This sent me into such a passion that I wrote probably some of the most unkind letters to my wife that I had ever penned -- not of course because I loathed sunshine, just the seas and all vessels that floated upon them.

I'm tempted to suggest this one does not count. Perhaps it is the absence of any real water.

Lucius Malfoy, I am making quick work of your file. I expect that we should meet very soon, but until I have committed this information to memory, we shall have to settle for conversation here. Have you any pressing quesetions?

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a) They resemble my quarters at Azkaban. If you have read my file, you know what this is. When compared to the rooms of other "inmates", this is soundly unfair.
b) See below.
c) Thank you.
d)

I see you are taking these roles to heart. I will do you the honesty of stating plainly that I do not

Perhaps meeting would be more appropriate. State your preferred location and be there within the hour.

Oh no, that absolutely will not do at all. I will see about reasonable accommodations.

[Because fuck prisons, is the Marquis' way of viewing things]

Since you're feeling brave, my cabin is room four on the third level. Large iron door; you cannot miss it. Be careful; the ship has been a little less than predictable of late.

[ There is no reply. Only the assumption that Lucius will keep to his own word, within said hour.

And he does, just shy of it by several minutes. Dressed nicely if not excessively, in shades or black and burgundy. If he had only his prison garb at his disposal, his complaining would have been a lot louder. His hands are empty of his cane, otherwise he'd use that to knock against iron door - instead, his knuckles rap smartly against it and he steps back, hands folded behind him.

'The Marquis de Sade' being a common mantra in his thought process, and only starts again now that he's knocked. ]

[Immediately the sound of a dog barking can be heard on the other side. A gentle 'Renate' is heard, and it goes silent, though it's obvious there's an animal on the other side of the door. A moment later, a man opens the door -- the man himself, in fact. He's dressed up, himself, but not as one would expect. He hasn't worn the wig in years, and since being introduced to modern fashion he's most definitely been going sans-culottes.

He smirks.]

Monsieur Malfoy?

[ Of all creatures, dogs probably bother Lucius less than most. He has two of them, for all that they are more accessories than beloved companions, and appropriately quiet as befits them.

As the door opens, his pale stare is quick to assess, expression impassive over haughty-cut features. When he speaks, it's with tailored diction. ]

Yes. And you, yourself, go by Marquis? [ Eyebrow raise. ]

You are correct.

[He steps back to allow him entry. Renate, a young adult Groenendael, sniffs at the air and leads the way to the sitting room. A fire is lit, and on the table two goblets of wine and a decanter wait.]

Make yourself comfortable.

[Renate lies down before the fireplace.]

Quite impossible, I'm afraid, given the circumstances.

[ That said, Lucius still steps inside the cabin, taking measure of its dimensions and the things inside of it, dog included, and the fire in the hearth. He makes for the offer of wine, but is polite enough to take a seat first. ]

I noticed from your correspondence that you fancy yourself well informed on magic. Your caveats are sensible enough, but I wanted to reach an accord of my own with you.

And from your quips I notice you fancy yourself well informed of me. [He raises an eyebrow as he takes his seat at his chair and takes up a goblet.] I've been here for some years, now, and have encountered numerous magicians, and I have often enough heard Monsieur Snape's remarks on the rights of witch and wizard Inmates.

[ Taking up his own drink, Lucius listens with bland interest, eyes hooded and attention directed down the length of his nose. His mouth twitches in the beginnings of something that never fully forms into a smirk of his own.

Too unsettled to do anything but conceal that he is unsettled. ]

I know your name. Of you in person, I could hardly guess.

[ A measured sip of wine goes here. ]

If you know of magic, then you know of your place with regards to it. There is no separation between a wizard and his magic, wands handed to us at age eleven, and thus, I appreciate that you will restore to me what is rightfully mine. I am not a child, after all. But I will be quite clear: I will not brook using it as leverage, and I would have 'best behaviour' clearly defined before I agree to it.

And I certainly do not wish to take up an occupation to earn it.

[The Marquis chuckles as he sits back, rolling the goblet slightly in his hand before taking another taste of the wine.]

First things first, Monsieur Malfoy: That is the last time you will attempt to lecture me about my place with regards to your affairs.

[ Stare turns steely, a sneer beginning to form, but Lucius otherwise schools his expression into neutrality. ]

Well, I shouldn't like to repeat myself anyway.

A quality we both share. Moving onward, you will not tell me you are entitled to a wand, no questions asked. Your wand was taken from you when you were arrested, was it not? That would suggest to me that your government sees equal justice in withholding magic from its citizens who prove they use it for ill means. I will be no different. If you use your magic to harm or coerce other people on this ship, myself included -- if your wand is used as a weapon, specifically -- then you will have no wand.

[ Lucius directs his attention away from the Marquis to level glower to some other corner, but he is listening, nursing goblet of wine. By the time it is his turn to speak, he's gotten impulse under control.

Mostly. His voice is still like ice. ]

I can agree to those terms.

'Best behavior' is just as it sounds. Your wand is not a weapon, firstly, and as with all other Inmates aboard this ship, you are expected to hold down an occupation. There are several from which to choose, and believe me when I say that the more you have to distract you, the better off you will be. The object in being here is experience, after all.

Hm.

Marquis, forgive me if I am incorrect, but I would expect that you were once an inmate yourself. Pray tell, what work did you experience? We are both men of...

[ small, delicate pause ]

...relatively noble bearing. Call me curious as to what work the Barge provides for men such as ourselves.

You're quite right to ask, cherub. In my time as an Inmate I worked in the library, primarily. [He shrugged.] A writer who reads less than he writes is a poor amateur, as an old friend of mine once said. In my spare time, when I did not write, I also organized and directed a play to be performed on the stage in the dining hall.

[ A look that is somehow both very flat and pointed is what the Marquis gets for endearment, but it would be conversationally awkward and petty to protest it with words, so Lucius. Listens. There is a hint of interest at the concept of working with paper and text, at least, over anything else, but his reserve is a thing of steely resolve. ]

How delightful.

I shall look into it. [ Slowly. ]

Edited 2011-10-16 01:56 (UTC)

Now, you made mention of certain 'common luxuries'.

[ Longer sip of wine, as if that were reminder of it. ]

Wardens, I take it, have the power to request things, and Inmates do not. You indicated you'd request better accommodations and that should take care of my more immediate needs. I was more interested in your future willingness to provide.

I understand that depends on my behaviour. [ Tone is dry. ] I suppose too much to ask would be access to my wine cellar and dressing room, but more privacy than these communal shower facilities can provide would be much appreciated.

Parchment, quills and ink would suffice for now.

I will see what I can do. [Of course he was an Inmate back when any form of book or journal served as a means of communication, so his access to quills and ink was needed. To consider whether such a thing is necessary now, when it has been such an intrinsic part of his life on the Barge, feels strange.] The journal devices, however unconventional, will have to suffice for the time being. [He finishes his glass but chooses to wait before pouring himself another.] You may expect for me to make suggested changes and requests of you time and again. It is my duty to structure your life here in a fashion that will aid with your rehabilitation, based upon what conclusions I choose to draw from your file and in our interactions.

[ Lucius finishes his wine in turn and sets it down, not going for the decanter either. Fingers lace together as if unsure what else to do with themselves. There is a lot he desires to argue about. He considers now not to be the time nor the platform, at least in reaction to this. They've got nothing but time, anyway.

So he diverts. ]

Ah. My file. Pray, what did you think of it?

[A sigh, there] I am reminded much of the Revolution, actually, and I am not unsympathetic to your plight.

Is that so?

I suppose that's good news for me.

It makes you no less dead, unfortunately. [He leans forward now to refill his glass and pauses to offer him the same.] But I can remember lifting my head as the smoke cleared, seeing those that had risen to power and being most careful to say what they wished to hear in their countrymen. It must be exhausting work to make an entire life of that.

Edited 2011-10-16 04:29 (UTC)

[ A prim nod marks acceptance at more wine, leaning then to take hold of the glass. His mouth quirks into the beginnings of a smirk, the last glass having done something to relax him enough to do that much. ]

And yet, I'm so very keen to get back to it. Death notwithstanding.

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