milliways_bar | (no subject)

Morte looks downward. "Oh, wait, I seem to have misplaced my feet, and my ability to make footsteps."

"And I can be charming." He clears his throat (or makes the appropriate noise, anyway).

"How fare thee, sweet lady, my name..uh, be Morte. Of Sigil."

He bobs himself in what a bow would be, if you had no body.

...you know, he kind of is. Charming.

She curtsies, grinning (it only seems appropriate, vis-a-vis a skull). "I'm faring quite well, M. de Sigil. My name is Satine. Of gay Paris."

"Wherever that is, I'm betting they don't have the floating undead?"

"Not on the whole, though we can throw magnificent parties. Have you ever been to a Carnivale?"

"Haven't, but like the sound of it. It a celebration of somethin' in particular?"

Satine taps her lips. "Flesh, actually."

Oops.

"Well, there's also Halloween and the Day of the Dead. One year a Mexican came to the Moulin Rouge and designed the most spectacular event. I think you'd have liked it. You'd have the best costume on the floor."

Morte actually doesn't mind the figure of speech in that context.

"The flesh? My favourite kind of shindig!" he exclaims, clicking his teeth together like castanets.

He spins around. "I like the all-white look. For me, it works."

She laughs. "It is very striking. Have you ever considered spicing it up with a little something, though? A little sparkle, a little razzle dazzle?"

It should be noted that she is not consorting with Raven, only a fellow who looks like him.

There's a moment of hesitation before Morte goes back to his casual cheeriness.

"Like what? Any ideas?"

"Well, like... sparklers? Ribbons? Glitter? Confetti? A stunning and artistic combination of any of the above?"

Morte has two scenes in his head. In one, everyone he ever knew from Sigil appears when he's all glammed up and points and laughs.

The other one, well....

"Would you be the one to put them on me, chit?"

And there's that leer in his tone. You know. That leer.

Satine affects Mortal Offense. "I wouldn't dream of leaving such a task in the hands of any other than a real professional, sir! You could one hundred percent count on me to do you justice."

Leers are rubber, Morte is glue... er, wait.

Morte clicks his teeth together.

"Well, now that I know I'm safely taken care of, how can I refuse such a beautiful...request?

"You a theatre-type in trade, then?"

Morte gets a sassy, lopsided grin. "I'm a professional, yes."

Morte grins back. Not that that's saying much.

"I know a thing or two about acting, myself. Had to constantly convince a certain amnesiac friend of mine that I had no idea who he was. It's a strain-- was, anyway."

Morte: subtly bringing in the backstory.

"Really! I'd have thought you'd have made your debut by now. What a perfect Yorick you'd make."

Like that's never been said, I'm sure.

"Why do you have to keep pretending around your friend?"

It's never been said before, actually. You don't meet many thespians in Sigil.

Thus, Morte tilts himself to one side. "Yorick?

"Had to keep pretending because I never knew who he'd be when he woke up. One time he thought I was his skull and tried to force me over his brain-box. So, played the 'Hey, never seen you before but why don't we team up?' card. A. Lot."

"Oh yes! One of the most famous scenes in one of the most famous plays ever written features a personage just like yourself in a very prominent philosophical moment. You'd shine." Particularly if he was beglittered. But we digress. Also, then the play would have to be called Glamlet.

Satine is sympathetic. "That sounds terribly wearying. I know there are certain acts I get very tired of when the situation arises." Which is often.

"...Barmy burg, Paris," is what Morte mutters. He's not used to the idea of skulls in any form getting any sort of attention. Except from evil wizards and evil warlords with evil interior designers.

The skull sounds sympathetic in response to Satine's, er, sympathy. "You do a lot of repeat roles?"

"When I'm back home? Every night. Do you know how dull it is to think up variations on 'Why don't you and I take ourselves away from all this?' all the time? I'm not even going to start on what happens once we're in private."

Morte glances at Satine.

"You can start if you want," he says quickly. "I'm always eager for details."

Satine glances right back, amused.

"You aren't urging me to disclose anything of a personal and confidential nature, are you?"

"I can keep my bone-box locked tighter than a chastity belt," the skull wheedles.

"But still, I would know if I had betrayed anyone's trust. It would simply eat away at me. I couldn't allow that."

"Ah well. You ever feel up to letting something slip, hunt me down. I'm around - and not hard to miss."

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diamndcourtesan.livejournal.com - 2006-01-20 05:28 (UTC) - Expand