Journal of the Marquis de Sade

I wish to thank everyone for their thoughtful, or at least universally appealing, gifts. I think that perhaps, if I find my Inmate graduated by next year, I may return to Paris for the holiday, however.

I would not mark myself a religious man, but the old traditions can be enjoyable at times even for those that need them only as reason to be close to the people they care for.

Or at least have fun, if they have few of those.

[Well, that was a lot less nice than he was planning.]

Monsieur de Lioncourt, it is time we had that proper meeting. You will find my quarters on level three, room four.

[Private to Riddick]

How are you settling?

I suppose if my wrists ache too much to write at the pace to which I am accustomed, I should perhaps look for other diversions to fill my time. As it is, I might benefit from a few books from the library, if anyone would be so kind as to fetch them for me.

[Spam for Riddick]

[Most of the Marquis' time has been spent in his own bed resting. He has been seen, usually around lunch time and dinner time, fetching a meal for himself and Renate in the dining hall. At these times his cane has returned to regular use, and he has not stayed long, not even to chat. Now he is once again resting, with a small pile of books at his bedside that have been read and reread many a time and now therefore lack their old luster. Renate has gone to the main deck on walks with Riddick but beyond that has, with much concern, remained faithfully at her Master's side, often sleeping with him on the bed to share her warmth with him. She is settled with him, facing the foot and the rest of his apartments beyond, including the door leading out, her ears flicking back and forth while he turns the final pages of yet another book he has read at least three times in the years he has been here. His journal sits beside him, open and awaiting further comments. He looks tired, as though he may only need a few more pages before he is able to drift off into a short nap.]

This was really much easier when I was an Inmate and not surrounded by so many horrifically jaded people. Now that I'm respectable and graduated, you people act as though you are accepting of my faults and particularities.

Rob an old man of his fun, why don't you?

[Warden Filter]

[And the Marquis' demeanor shifts with surprising suddenness. Whereas a second before, on the public filter he was his usual, quipping, playful self, he now just looks very tired -- not even just tired, more like he hasn't slept a wink.]

Many of the people that we came against in that port -- perhaps not a vast majority, but many -- are now dead. I cannot account for those that any of you or your Inmates encountered, but I can say that the last time I saw with my own eyes so many men die so quickly and in succession, without the defiances of reality that the Barge affords, it was on the front lines of an actual battle, and these were men that fell to rifles, bayonets and canons, wielded by countless others. Their ends did not come at the hands of a wicked minority.

Those are the horrors that make up my darkest writings.

...Though I will admit, my tales tended to involve more nudity and fewer costumes. [An odd pause, as he looks at something beyond the camera, and he murmurs more to himself] There is something still very--

[And he lets that thought drop. Shakes his head. Continues]

Somehow, I suspect that some of you, or at least your Inmates, did not even bat an eye. I know that mine did not.

I am not asking for advice, merely opinions, personal experiences. What do you, as Wardens, do when the use of Level Zero will serve no real purpose?

(ooc: Since the return to port the Marquis has not ventured out often, save to walk Renate, and he hasn't spoken to anyone or taken visitors.)

[The Marquis appears onscreen and holds his journal in such a way to reveal the chamber in which he and Riddick and Renate have found themselves. It is sterile and clean like much of the facility, with a whole wall open to the landscape beyond -- far less hospitable than where they are now, but only for the moment, perhaps. There is some mild interference in the camera, the lightest static.]

We've been in this room some hours, now, and cannot find [buzzzzzz]-o move forward or go back the way we came.

[An odd, electronic tinkle of notes can be heard, a slow and flowing bar played, and one can see there appears to be some light coming up from underneath. He turns his journal to show it]

However, this happens every few minutes or s-- [static]

Monsieur Riddick, is it? I believe we have delayed long enough, and I crave a proper introduction.