The TV Tropes Meme

[alkali]

The rules of the game are simple.

1. Go to TV Tropes.
2. Hit random trope. You get as many randoms as you need.
3. Tag someone with a scenario based on that trope.
4. HAVE FUN.
5. Place bets on how many people try to tag this meme but get lost in the labyrinthine trails of TV Tropes.

Comments

[relevee]

[ not at all! she's in Europe now so that could make for an interesting encounter if we want to handwave the Hannibal shenanigans and just say she's traveling on her own, or has managed to escape him only to land in the clutches of another. ]

[whatmenfear]

( ooc; well, ironically he's currently settled in Italy in his modern incarnation. So... yes, possibly they meet at one of the functions she and Hannibal are attending? He's one of those fixtures I daresay, practically part of the furniture, despite no one really remembering how he came to be that way. )

[relevee]

[ perfect! care to start or shall I? ]

[whatmenfear]

( ooc; would you mind terribly starting? I'm currently phonebound. Vlad uses Basarab as a last name, btw. )

[relevee]

[ Italy is lovely at night, rain-slicked streets illuminated by the glow from lamps that are only lit after the daylight begins to fade. She could have taken a car from the hotel but instead she chooses to walk to the party; it's not a terribly long distance, after all, and her shoes aren't putting her in an excruciating amount of pain for once. She's not alone; there's still a fair amount of people out, at least until she crosses the piazza and disappears down a side street, taking a shortcut the way she often does in the daytime.

It's dark, suddenly, with a chilling sense of foreboding and a pair of eyes on her back; her steps quicken over the cobblestones until she finally gets to the end of the street and back into the lamplight again - long after she makes it inside and starts making an introductory round about the room, she can still feel those eyes upon her.

Her remedy for her discomfort is to enjoy a glass of wine when it's offered to her, taking slow sips as she assumes a place at the edge and watches everyone else mill about. To the rest of the world she is Mrs. Fell, wife of Roman, though her husband's absence will certainly be noticed before long. She takes another sip of wine and then turns, very nearly spilling it on herself as well as the man she's collided with. ]

Oh, mi scusi - signore Basarab, my apologies. I didn't see you there.

[ She's met him before, at a previous function, but their conversation had been brief and perfunctory thanks to an interruption from Hannibal. With the third party conspicuously absent, she wonders how this interaction will go. ]

[whatmenfear]

[ His hands snap up immediately to steady her, gloved fingers curling lightly on her shoulder. ]

On the contrary, signora Fell [ -- his accent is impeccable despite his name marking him as a foreigner, something that is still occasionally remarked upon despite having been a fixture at these gatherings for the better part of a decade.

Satisfied that any crisis has been averted, he removes his hands, his expression one of earnest apology. ] it is I who should apologize. I should not have been standing so close.

[ He is generally more aware of his surroundings, if nothing else. However, something had caught him off-guard. A niggling sense that something was off and he'd hoped to sneak away long enough to at least allay his fears. Mrs. Fell's dress had narrowly avoided being an unfortunate casualty of his paranoia. ] I do apologize.

[relevee]

[ He might be more aware but she had been lost in her own thoughts, which had left her in danger of committing a complete faux pas. In this particular circle, that could certainly be an offense that one does not walk away easily from.

The first time she had met him, she had not noticed anything out of the ordinary per se - her own attempts at Italian are passable, and most of what she knows she learned from thumbing through a dictionary in a libreria a small distance away. It was there she'd gotten lost in the stacks and wondered how long it would take Hannibal to realize she was gone if she just merely... disappeared. That was a foolish thought on her part, she soon realized, but it was one that had taken root nonetheless.

She glances down at her dress momentarily - this one a midnight blue, only accented by a pair of earrings - and then her gaze sweeps back up to his face as she shakes her head slowly. ] Please, the fault was mine. Perhaps I can offer you a drink in recompense?

[whatmenfear]

[ It is fortunate then that between the pair of them they managed to avoid causing a scene – for his part he tends to view the wariness (no longer quite disdain, he's survived that particular trial by fire and has come out relatively unscathed) of his peers with amusement, however, what remains of his chivalrous nature won't allow him to see another dragged down with him.

Particularly when that person seems to be having enough trouble simply adjusting. ]

A glass of the Barolo, then. [ He offers her a smile then, the kind that reaches all the way to the eyes, and then his arm because he is nothing if not a gentleman in all matters that count. ] That is a truly lovely shade of blue, if I may say so. Very flattering.

[relevee]

[ Thankfully, most of the other attendees are distracted by individual conversations and hardly paying them any mind. She and Hannibal admittedly had caused quite a stir during their first introduction into society as Doctore and Mrs. Fell, though now they are settled enough that their appearance at any function is typically met with no more than a casual appraisal.

For as tumultuous as her private situation may be, she has never wanted for anything when it comes to what she is dressed in. Hannibal has seen to that - and she suspects that he has even had a hand in picking out several gowns personally. Even as she takes Basarab's arm, a part of her has to resist the impulse to glance around the room for any sign of her wayward 'husband'. Still, one cannot neglect manners when a situation presents itself. ]

Thank you. You're too kind. [ To her surprise, she feels a warmth on her cheeks, the faint hint of a blush beginning in response to the compliment on an otherwise fair complexion. ] I do hope I'm not keeping you from anything important.

[whatmenfear]

Nothing that cannot wait. [ The faint flush only adds to the picture, he thinks, fingers curling lightly around her arm as they move through the crowd toward the bar.

He is curious, however, as they are all curious in fact but this is the first opportunity that anyone has had a chance to speak with her without the silent spectre of her husband looming over her shoulder. ]

If nothing else we can always rest-assured that the bar is well-stocked. [ There is a definite note of amusement in his voice. ] To ensure that a tedious evening passes quickly, I imagine.

[relevee]

[ While she is often left to carry on her own conversations, it is always with her in his line of sight. For the first time in several weeks, she finds she is breathing somewhat more easily - and when her smile comes, it is relaxed and genuine.

She puts her glass down on a passing tray, though her fingers are still somewhat sticky with the champagne. ]

Is that your method of getting through the evening as disengaged - or unscathed - as possible? [ They're circumnavigating the groups of people clustered in the center of the room, effectively bypassing the need for mandatory small talk; it's something she notes with a small, appreciative quirk of her mouth. ]

[whatmenfear]

[ That startles a laugh out of him, his head shaking softly. ] I'd be lying if I said that it didn't become harder to feign interest after awhile. There is very little in the way of new conversation to be had at these sorts of gatherings, you'll find.

Here --[ He pulls a handkerchief out of the top pocket of his jacket, offering it to her. ]

[relevee]

Oh. Thank you.

[ She takes the handkerchief between two fingers, pinching it until she has the opportunity to subtly dab at her hands. ]

I give you full permission to abandon the conversation if at any point you find it harder to feign your interest.

[whatmenfear]

I shall be sure to keep that in mind. [ He waits for her to finish before offering his arm once again. ]

So, to the pressing matter at hand: how are you finding our fair city?

[relevee]

[ There is much she has had to lie about - her reasons for being here (my husband's recent appointment as curator), why she has found herself more inclined to adopt a diet consisting of seafood and acorns (I'm trying not to eat anything with a central nervous system).

Here in this moment, on the other hand, is one of the first and perhaps only times she will allow a flicker of honesty to shine through, taking his arm without pause. ]

It truly is spectacular. How long have you called it home, signore?

[whatmenfear]

Oh, it must be the better part of a decade now.

[ In Florence, at least. His stay in Italy at large has been far longer, of course, very nearly a century and a half all told. ] I lived in London before, but the climate didn't agree with me as I'd hoped.

[ He waves a hand, fingers spread. ] Too loud. Though not without its charms.

[relevee]

A decade? Then you must be very familiar with Italy's charms as well.

[ His age was somewhat more difficult to determine, but based on appearances she suspected he was slightly younger than she. ]

Well, the weather in London does tend to be much less agreeable.