Re: The Aristocrat/The Carnie
The Count held much regard for the rules of society. They kept him in his place, despite his impoverishment and his banishment. There would be no bitter winds and heavy snows, no drinking tiny glasses of tea with his friends, those who had not been taken to the snow and executed with the brutal efficiency of a new regime. But society affirmed his place on the basis of his title, and society indulged him in luxury. Society rules would have swept the youth out of the carriage on a tidal wave of outraged indignation but the Count's smile played against the corners of his mouth.
He had no belief the youth was innocent. He had frosting still clinging in pearlescent crumbs to the corners of his mouth and his fingers, the Count surmised, were likely sticky. He gestured to the napkin of heavy, spotless linen folded at the empty place now occupied by the boy. He was jarring, hm but the waiter would indulge. The waiters, the Count knew, always indulged when you had money.
"I am rescuing you," the Count said to the boy, with the twinkle of his eyes behind green glasses. His voice was faintly accented, he spoke the English of a man who had been cast out of his country long enough to acquire the ear but he had the back of the throat Slavic vowels all the same.