#valentin talbot

Date: 10th of May, 1904 Place: The Arcadia Club, London Status: Closed for @valentin-talbot

Of all Abbernath Weston’s guilty pleasures, this probably did not even make it into the top ten.

The air was thick with cigarette smoke. So much so that is made the few lights pointed at the stage cut through the haze with sharp defining lines. And what these lights illuminated was what attracted most of the club’s patrons. Beautifully built men in clothes designed to leave little to the imagination. They danced and paraded, some even sang, though Abby was sure nobody came here for a musical education.

The crowd that amassed each night was also almost exclusively made up of men, though women were not strictly speaking barred from the establishment. And once, Abby was sure he’d copped a feel of something a little too soft under the jacket of a gentleman whoes jawline was a little too delicate. He hadn’t minded of course, in fact he had been rather thrilled, and was hoping he’d find them here again one night. Still, the average visitors were the kind of fairly average men who needed somewhere to indulge their slightly less than average desires. Provided they could pay the small entry fee, of course. Or flirt their way past the doorkeeper.

The men clutched drinks, or cigarettes and stared hungrily in the direction of the stage. And when they grew bored of the stage, turned their starving gazes to each other instead.

Abbernath had grown bored with the stage.

His boredom was amplified by the realisation that most of the other men here were, as previously described, fairly average. So he was scanning, scanning, scanning for something...

Ah! There!

Why was that slight young man looking so glum? And why, unlike everyone else in the room, was his body angled away from the stage? He still looked of course, it was hard to resist, but his attention was brought repeated back to the drink he was nursing.

Abby had his target. He sidled over.

DATE: May 18, mid-afternoon (possible date change if this one doesn't work!)

PLACE: St. Maur/Conway Townhouse

STATUS: Closed for @valentin-talbot

With the Season now well underway, London seemed to be bustling more than ever. But, as had been the case with Clevedon, Marian was beginning to get used to it. She divided most days between helping Lady Florence and carrying out the duties that Mrs. Luison and Mr. Eshborn asked of her, and although running about London was quite a bit more tiring than doing the same in St. Maur, Mr. Gupta's promise that there would be much less of a workload for her during the Season seemed to be coming true.

Although she had learned quickly not to look idle in front of Mr. Eshborn, who still resented the presence of the St. Maur and Clevedon servants in his house and had a talent for finding ways to keep them busy. Today he'd all but ambushed her in the kitchen pointed out that "idle hands were the devil's workshop," and sent her off to dust the drawing room. Though his stiff, sanctimonious manner annoyed her, it was hardly a difficult task, and she didn't bother protesting.

She was about halfway through when the door creaked open. Startled, she turned around, almost tripping over herself in her haste, and bracing herself for Mr. Eshborn's other aggravating habit of checking after her as though he doubted whether she could actually be trusted to do what she was asked to. But the person standing in the doorway was a far more welcome sight, and her face broke into a wide smile.

DATE: June 9th, towards the middle of the evening

PLACE: Outside the ballroom]

STATUS: Closed, for @valentin-talbot

Roger hadn't been sure about the ball in the least. He'd worried about making a venture into high society and wondered whether he was truly ready for it. He'd felt like an idiot in his ridiculous outfit. He'd even had trouble, for the first few minutes, keeping a smile on his face.

But all that was over with now. Now, a few hours into the ball, he was truly enjoying himself for the first time since he'd come to London.

There had been food. A lot of it. And drinks, although he was more moderate with those, knowing he'd have to keep his wits about him and maintain his accent if he wanted to keep himself truly anonymous. He'd been more than happy to embrace a different sort of character for the night than the one he usually played, and there'd been a steady stream of ladies equally as happy to let Puck charm them into a dance or two.

At least until those stupid leaf-shoes made any further dancing a difficult prospect. Then he'd taken his leave of both the ladies and the dance floor, and, just as in the play, vanished.

It didn't take him long to find something else to occupy his attention, inserting himself neatly into a group of Lysanders who seemed to have deserted their respective Hermias (or Helenas, he could never remember which was which) in favor of clustering on one of the benches for a little conversation. The subject, luckily enough, was business, and in no time at all he'd taken complete command of the discussion, managing to make it amusing enough that none of the other gentlemen minded.

Somehow, after about half an hour or so, the talk had turned to more recent ventures here in London, over the course of the Season. And, having only one such venture to speak of, Roger had proceeded to speak of it. He left out names, of course, but he described in great detail the deal he'd struck with Mister Forester, and how eagerly and naively the other man had fallen for every word of it.

"Of course I meant what I said, about helping him get started in business," he finished. "Perhaps someday he'll be making the same kinds of deals. But I'll be helping myself, too, and naturally, I'll be my first priority."

When: April 13th, night time

Where: Outside of church

Status: Closed for @valentin-talbot

Two days have passed since his birthday. Two days have passed since that morning of confessions, and the tears that spilled and spoke of love. Two days this rage has been sitting at the pit of his stomach. But he waited, for Benny’s sake, maybe this rage will subside over time...  it didn’t. Especially not after Samuel was rummaging through his mess of a desk for a specific news article he saved, and his eyes caught the card Father Valentin sent him.

When Samuel got that card his first reaction was to smile. Of course it was. It was a sweet gesture, even slightly touching, that Valentin would care enough to send him a card at all. But then that rage started boiling inside, and he remembered Benny, with his tears and breaking voice, and he nearly threw that card into the fire (if he couldn’t burn the coat, maybe the letter will suffice).

Date: 21st of March, 1904 Place: St Mary’s Church Status: Closed for @valentin-talbot

Zachariah’s finger’s ran over the well worn keys of the little organ. He did not press down, did not make the organ sing, it was simply a ghost of a song. It always felt odd, playing in an empty church.

It would not be empty for long though, he had arranged to meet Valentin today to discuss plans for a choir. Part of him had been surprised that priests did not remain eternally poised n an alcove, though of course this couldn’t be true. He had seen Valentin out and about with his own eyes, though he could not say the same for Father Lancashure.

DATE: March 17, Evening

PLACE: St. Mary’s Church

STATUS: Closed, for @valentin-talbot

For the most part during her time away from St. Maur, Marian had been too busy to spend much time thinking of home. But there were certain places, certain memories, that had managed to linger in her mind, and one of those places was Saint Mary’s Church.

Not because she’d spent a great deal of time there; religion was one of those many things that she had been forced to set aside as she grew older and the pressures placed on her began to rise, and her attendance at the church was sporadic at best. But on the few occasions she had managed to steal a bit of time and slip away for a service, often at her mother’s side, she’d found a peace, a settledness that she never seemed to find anywhere else. Dim and dusty as the little church was, it held something for her, something she didn’t fully understand but kept in the back of her mind all the same. Nothing else had ever given her that feeling, and when the weight on her shoulders became heavy enough that even an hour was too much to ask for, Saint Mary’s was one of the handful of things she allowed herself to miss.

So when she’d been accepted at Clevedon Court, and found herself back in St. Maur, she’d made up her mind to find the time for Saint Mary’s again. It had been strange, going there by herself, and she’d kept to the back of the room and done her best to stay beneath anyone’s notice, but if the place was a little dimmer, a little shabbier than she remembered, it still felt just the same- like a respite, a brief shelter from the world outside and all she had to wrestle with when she was part of it.

There was a new priest, too, another Talbot. Between him and Lady Florence, she was beginning to wonder where the dreadful rumors about that family had gotten their start; so far she had seen nothing that raised any sort of alarm. The priest seemed less concerned with the words he was saying and more focused on the people he was saying them to; there was a warmth to him, like he really did care what happened to this town and the people in it.