31 October 2013 @ 09:34 pm
[Here is a grave faced Charles addressing his fellow passengers on a few matters, and clearing his throat as he glances at the screen, then away, then back again. And well...]

It has come to my attention that along with the memories that I have been given, that several of mine may well have reached some of you as well. Should anyone have specific memories of the first French revolution, and of being aristocracy in Paris during such an event, I would ask you to approach me as a matter of course.

As another...

[And here, Charles looks down, uncertain, sighing, before looking up again. Bahorel had encouraged him that such things as his name did not matter here, and, while it was true, old habits certainly died hard.]

I have lied to the entirety of this ship and crew as to my identity in my earlier postings here. I am not only Charles Darnay, French Tutor and emigre. I was, also, before I came to England, and LONG before I managed to find myself here, a Marquis called Saint Evremonde. I hid from my family, attempted to distance myself from them much as I could, but some things cannot be outrun and though the revolution would have had me hide my status...things are surely different here, and I do apologize that I mislead you as I have.

These memories, those of you who have gotten them, have lead me to understand there is no point in hiding myself or my past any longer, and so here I am instead. I would hope we might still get along somehow.

Thank You.
Current Mood: anxious
18 October 2013 @ 11:18 pm
[The video opens up on a man sitting too close to the screen, poking at said screen to confirm that the settings are all appropriate for his purposes. He looks positively pissed and has a wad of tissue stuck up one nostril. Though the ship-induced insomnia has ended at last, the subsequent identity issues have been especially taxing on a man who has spent the entire last month working through the meaning of life after death while delirious with lack of sleep, antagonizing his closest friend (entirely on accident), and still acclimating to the various ... quirks of the future and The Tranquility.

Not being able to think as himself has thrown him for a loop that he is not best equipped to handle -- and which he tries so valiantly to resist.

It has not ended very well, if the constant nosebleeds and piercing headaches are any indication.

So it has come to this. Bahorel clears his throat and looks directly at the camera, now reasonably spaced away from it, though still not at the most flattering angle. He'll never quite figure this thing out.

His voice is a little gruff and stilted at first, as he is not exactly sure how to address this matter, let alone a full ship as audience. But he sure as hell is sick and tired of this unnecessary invasion of his usually manageable headspace, so he's going to get this out, one way or another.]

Hello. For those of you who do not know, my name is Ambrose Bahorel. I hail from Paris, France, of the 1800s, and am often associated with a handful of others who call ourselves Les Amis de l'ABC.

[A pause. This is so dumb and awkward, and he is really fighting the urge to roll his eyes into the back of his head.

... Nope, lost that fight pretty quickly there. That was less a fight and more a massacre.]

To be absolutely frank, I hope that anyone who recognizes me or my voice from one of their foreign memories will contact me immediately. After the travesty that was last month, now is not the best time to be playing mind games, and I would appreciate settling this matter promptly.

[He contemplates turning the goddamn thing off already, then adds as an afterthought,]

Thank you.

{{ OOC: This will be Bahorel's catch-all for all mid- to late-stage links! Naturally is open to all, and for anyone who wants moar empathy links for any of the stages, you can find a quick ref of Bahorel's available memories here! PM this account or [plurk.com profile] paraverbal if you need/want more deets. :3 }}
14 September 2013 @ 04:57 am
[Charles appears in the vid screen, looking, well, he is wearing clothing that appears better suited to him at least, but there's certainly a heaviness to him that has not been there before, for anyone who's interacted with the man before. He's holding a bit of creased paper in his hand , and starring heavily at it for a moment, as he's spent the last several days starring at it, before he glances up into the screen, his gaze quite haunted. ]

"If it had been otherwise; I never should have used the longer opportunity..."

If it had been otherwise, he says.

Forgive me, but I've had news from...home I suppose,[It's odd to think of what to call where he came from now that he knows there is no way way.] that I've not known what to do with or been ready to share with anyone until now.

My...I do not know what to call him...

[Carton was a friend though, in the end truly, if the pieces Charles has put together are correct, which they must be. His drugging and his waking here, the letter that he found, the letter Carton had ordered him to begin writing after they swapped clothing. Together they point to a obvious conclusion Charles had been too stunned at being on the ship to process last month, and that conclusion is, if nothing else, striking.]

My friend , though he would not have said such to me or allowed it to be said of him in his lifetime, has done something incredibly stupid, incredibly brave and incredibly undeserved by me and even if I were to return home, there is no way that I could ever begin to thank him for it.

Though none of you know him, of course, it must be said at least, that Sydney Carton gave his life for mine, and I have known no better, truer friend than he.

In the memory of a good man who has given me more, and deserves more than I could ever return to him, in either that world or this, I would be honored if anyone who wishes to would join me for a glass in the pub tomorrow evening.

[A drink for anyone who wants to toast to Carton. Well. At least it's something that the man may like.]
Current Mood: thoughtful
09 August 2013 @ 03:53 pm
[Video turns on to show the garden in the background and an Elf in the foreground looking neutral.]

Before the jump, my son and I began making mead. We have returned to...unexpected results.

The different casks, though they were begun at the same time, have...aged differently from each other. One cask is spoilt as though many years have gone by, two are ready to drink, and one has yet to finish fermenting. Do what you will with this knowledge.

As we now have two casks of good mead, one shall be given as promised to Chuck, who provided the honey. The other we will open three nights from tonight, and we invite you to join us on the second level of the gardens with whatever food and drink you wish to provide. There will be music and dancing as ever.

However, remember the gardens provide you food and air to breathe. Enjoy your revelry, but if you so much as bend a leaf you will be asked to depart.

Health and joy to you.

08 August 2013 @ 10:53 pm
[All right. Well. He has somehow made it through the process of being shuffled along to gather his clothes, which smell like prison, and Carton's, which smell like whiskey, and Charles is hardly sure which is worse, though he takes a certain perverse comfort in the latter, or he would if he had some idea of what was really going on. When the feed opens, he is starring into it, taking a few moments to gather his thoughts. He realizes it is on, but...as far as what to say...The expression in his eyes is particularly shell shocked at first, and he is ducking his head after about a minute of this.]

I...forgive me. We have nothing like this where I am from, and men have never even heard of... I'm certain I'll adjust in time if all of you will just bear with me as I...

[Charles is pausing again, appears to be considering what to say, and then laughs, trying his best to be friendly, and to put a brave face on things.]

Well! In other situations like this, I found myself quite alone. It's been a while since I've been around people and I think I'm out of practice. If this ship IS to be my new home, and all of you my new neighbors, I suppose we ought to get to know each other.

[Here is a moment Charles has not considered before. The matter of his name and which to use now. Does he invoke his family's sins and own them, and what's happened to him? Does he lie? Cease to make things an issue?

Among the Frenchmen here, it's hard to say how one Marquis who wanted to escape it ought to fare, and it's been some time since he has even remotely liked the marquis or wanted to be him, but is it lying to conceal the truth? Well, no more lying than he's done before at any rate, and his tentative smile grows a little as he looks straight into the camera, taking a deep breath.]

My name is Charles Darnay. Is there somewhere less awkward I can speak to those of you who might like to meet in person?
Current Mood: anxious