|alois trancy. (fairykind) wrote in marinasylum,|
@ 2011-10-04 16:03:00
|Entry tags:||alois trancy, anise tatlin, ciel phantomhive, gilbert nightray, helix wamtani, izaya orihara, miwako sakurada, nill, ribbons almark, ritsuka aoyagi, roy, sheik, shinwoo han|
[ oh, marina asylum! good morning! a rather pretty pretty face is presenting itself in the communicator. it's a bit belatedly, but oh, well, right? the cheeks are round (a bit of remaining baby fat), eyes blue and pale, eyelashes extraordinarily thick and long—although, golden not black or brown—and hair honey in color, but a little unkempt. it's incredibly youthful, and girlish just as much as it is boyish and vice versa. for a brief moment, there's a really concentrated look, and then— ]
It's really personal to be able to know all of that—[ the break between speaking is very slight; the accent is british, light and airy, and a little more raspy than what's normal for him. (his throat is a bit raw, you see.) ] My entire life. If you're going to be so sodding personal about it, the least you could do is address me properly. It isn't, "Welcome, inmate," it's: "Welcome, the Earl Alois Trancy of Buckinghamshire."
[ this is clearly important. clearly. his face rises a little and he slides his eyes shut in what's supposed to look like offended dignity. acumen, you are such lowlife. ]
Oh, but perhaps we don't even need titles. Oh, no. Let's just do without them completely. [ it's funny, because there's a half-truth to this. for all his aristocratic and snobby airs, he really fucking hates nobles. legitimate nobles. people born with silver spoons in their mouths who act as though the world owes them everything, and isn't that a laugh? hypocrisy? oh, hell yes! but, he doesn't care. ] Addressing the Earl by 'Alois Trancy'—or, hell, even Alois alone should be dandy, shouldn't it? But, inmate is not acceptable.
If I'm to remain here the rest of my li—
[ there's a quiver in his tone, a choke. his teeth set, his eyes clench, and he swallows very, very hard. —alois arrived sometime during the night, and being easily prone to night terrors, he had not slept through it. he awoke and imagine his dismay, of course, when he found he was not in his own bed. the majority of the rest of the night and early morning, once arriving, was spent throwing the most massive tantrum.
he screamed, hollered, wailed, sobbed, and called out for claude—his butler—time and time again. 'Houheo taralna, rondero tarel' was chanted again and again and again, in throat ruining desperation. he wrecked his welcome basket and did his best to throw himself against a wall, because someone needs to be punished for keeping him from claude (he didn't walk away without a few bruises, either). it's been hours later, and claude still hasn't appeared. he is devastated and furious. and!, in spite of his needless complaining, he's teetering. poorly trying to keep himself together. to say he's 'calmed down,' is an overstatement. he's simply bitter. ]
... Life. The rest of my life, then you'll call me 'Alois,' at the very least. [ 'inmate' sounds like a thing and fuck that, if he's going to feel like an object again. ]
Oh—! Though, I have to tell you: this is my first time seeing the ocean! [ his voice pitches here. it's lilting, amused, like suddenly he's having a friendly chat. (yeah, what? this kid.) ] I always knew it would be beautiful, because it's so large and so fucking deep, [ oh, best brace yourself for crude language, too, ] but I hadn't imagined to what extent. A lot of things are really easy to imagine, but there's probably not enough room in our brains alone to comprehend all the things that can be found in the ocean. In a way, I suppose you could say, you've given me something I've always wanted.
It's true, it's my first time seeing it, and I always suspected when Claude would finally take me to the shore I would only get to see the surface. And, as far into it I'd go would be up to my shoulders. The surface is really lovely, too, though. How it sits so close to the sky, like they're kissing. I've seen it in paintings and I'm always so jealous of the ladies who are painted next to them. Rivers and lakes aren't as beautiful. They don't have that sort of blue. They're only green and dirty. 'Paint my portrait, too, Claude,' I've asked him, but we're always too busy and much too far from the seaside. From anywhere, really. I don't think I've been anywhere outside of Buckinghamshire in ... hum, well, quite a long time! [ he giggles a little, and the recording shows him rocking slightly. he's sitting upon some mats, doing his best to avoid exercising entirely, and kicking one of his legs with youthful enthusiasm. ] Oh, ahaha, I've almost forgotten. Of course you must have known all that. You watch very closely, don't you? I wonder, just what kind of 'artificial life form' you are, Mister Acumen? Should you be evaluating yourself for crimes, too?
—Ah. [ his eyes widen a bit, and he stills. his head cants. ] I'm really well taken care of, you know. Just what do you intend to have me do about food, and bathing, and dressing?
(bitty ooc note!: ack, i um. could be wrong about this...? feel free to correct me! but, as it's tuesday, i'm assuming alois is in sector six for exercise today. c: please, feel free to run into him or visit him or whatevs!)