"In order to know virtue, we must first acquaint ourselves with vice."
Independent Roleplay Account, NSWF
She knew he was taunting her some, but it did not bother her, and she smiled. It was never part of her belief that she should estrange someone for not sharing her ideas, political or religious. “If someone would want to worship their own home and the things inside, well I say let them do so, it is their own wish.” She relaxed some at his words. “That is the same in Paris, it seems. There are people who live to spread such whispers, and I have had to learned to not let it disturb me.”
He smiled for himself. He saw that this was the kind of woman who would never defy him strongly enough to anger him and he was quite surprised to find that people like her still exist, in this haunted picture of today’s France. “Indeed,” he said simply with a smile playing on his lips. “The mob is always so eager to spit on those who are better than them. I would know this too well,” he smirked. “Whispers may ruin one’s reputation, or enhance it. Depends on the point of view, I suppose,” he chuckled knowingly.
The Queen allowed herself a light laugh at the man’s self-depreciating wit. “Not so, Monsieur Marquis,” She shook her head to him, enjoying his sense of humor. “You needn’t worry about such things. I can assure you that you make a fine companion indeed. And your charm is very much intact.
I believe a breath of fresh air shall do us both some good.”
"My Queen is too kind," he bowed his head as means of expressing thanks. "O I could not agree more! My days are spent between dusty books in frozen halls and I barely see the sunlight!" he exclaimed. Everything he was telling her wasn’t exactly true. He was rarely working or being productive in any way, most of the days he had truly spent lying on his sofa reading. He had never needed to worry about money or any of his property, so he could devote his life to common pleasures.
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Ignorant and uncaring for the artistic medium of the written word, Ludwig had never before read, or heard spoken, the works of the Marquis. Though his name was vaguely familiar, the weight of it did not affect him as it would have other, more learned men. “Donatien-" He murmured, more-so to himself than to the other man, the French name feeling and no doubt sounding foreign on his Viennese tongue. "Marquis de Sade. Honestly, if I were a younger man, Ishould throw off my reservations and learn your language. French influence is spreading like the plague.”
"The plague?" he let out a little laugh. "You better not talk like that to some of our true patriots. Those fools would scratch your eyes out for insulting our great land," he said and shook his head. "French is a beautiful language, but I cannot possibly imagine a German speaking it well. The melody, nuance of every word and the art that every sentence is… Your hard and clumsy tongues are not suited for it," the Marquis smirked as he spoke. "In other words, how could a bear every understand the language of a nightingale?" He had little love and respect for the Germans and Austrians, as he had always prefered his own nation, among with the Italians who were almost as graceful as his own people. It was only a part of his nature to mock something that he thought didn’t deserve his attention.
Heels clicked upon the cobblestones of a city that would never lose its allure nor it hunger to lure humans and creatures to its land. The sights, the sounds, the beauty in the structures revealed a smile upon the features of The Countess.
Yes, this would be a city she would accept its lure and its glamour, for here she would begin her form to develop her dance hall. The Countess held a need to hold a parlor, a household where she would bring forth humans to dance about with the need to be free. While she held favor towards the proper way to dance of hand to hand, The Countess favored the dance where one’s heels struck against the floor and the humans revealed their true forms. In their true forms, would she acquire their weakness.
A weakness to reveal if they held any virginal blood kin or a weakness to be exploited for her needs.
Tis why now, The Countess observed one household after another before her mind pondered on the one male who may aid her. The one male she did not find to be held close to company, yet, he may aid if it would come to mean a proper household. She was made aware of where he lingered solely by the females of the streets. Those to sell their flesh for coin and were aware of the hungers this male held for he paid heavily for their services. The male whom now The Countess sought out this evening.
The Marquis de Sade.
With a sigh to fall off her lips, The Countess raised a hand and knock three knocks upon the door, awaiting the debauchery ridden male.
Closing the book he had been gazing into, he yawned with boredom. The candles were illuminating the room with soft light and a dark night dwelled outside the halls of his house. It felt quite strange, to be back in Paris after such a long time. He remembered growing up there, in the city of sin and filth, though he didn’t get outside the walls of Palais Condé as a child, when his mother protected him from anything that might corrupt his young mind. He smiled at the memory of her, but soon shook his head and chastised himself for becoming oddly sentimental.
This house, however, was quite the opposite from the Palace he grew up in. It was barely suitable for an aristocrat and he couldn’t help but feel a glimpse of shame that he had to reside in such poor conditions. But what happened in Marseille made his rent rather shorter and his decadent lifestyle required plenty of coin, so he prefered to spend his days between cheap walls, but he made them full of expensive pleasures.
He put the book aside, Candide by Voltaire – quite a boring book indeed, hardly matching its reputation, he thought, and poured himself a cup of wine. It was Châteauneuf-du-Pape, this year’s harvest, and he found it was as good as ever. He was pleased to know that there were many more caskets in his cellar and he didn’t regret his bargain at all.
Then a knock on the door disturbed him. He didn’t have a servant, not yet, to open the door for him. He had quite a numerous staff down there in Provence, but hadn’t thought he would be needing anyone here in Paris. Soon he found that he was wrong and he was too lazy to even get to the door. He got up from the sofa and walked to the door with a long sigh. It was the middle of the night and he didn’t order anyone from Madame Boucher’s brothel, so he was only curious to find out who was disturbing him in such unusual hours.
He opened the door and gazed upon the woman who stood before him. The Marquis didn’t recognize her, nor he thought he had never seen her before. But in the darkness of the night, he didn’t feel bothered by her presence, as she was full of odd vibrations through the air which were sending shivers down his spine.
"May I be at help, madame?" he asked courteously.