Chapter Text
To the Celebrated Artist’s Model in a Suite at the Royal Bethlehem Hotel
How in the Neath have you found a room at the Bethlehem? More to the point, why would you elect to room at the Bethlehem? No matter, I’m sure it’s something to do with a new suitor, some slack-jawed, honey-sozzled paint-dauber who’s declared you his muse. You needn’t notify me if I’ve guessed correctly; I know I have.
Regardless, onward to more important matters! (By which I mean me .)
As you know, I’ve begun sniffing around Mahogany Hall. My days are so empty without the intrigues of the Empress’s Court. You were right, darling — perhaps I should have kept my head down and given up on the Imperial Residency. But I was bored, so bored. And you understand how it is, naturally.
But, yes, I’ve been spending time in Mahogany Hall, and Jasper and Frank — you’ll remember them as toughs, grunts, the Unfinished hands of the Masters — have requested my services in training a Louche Devil to… Well, I’m not quite sure what I’m training him to do, in the end. I’ve been asked to teach him to pass better among human society, I suppose.
I tell you, my dear, this is hardly what I had expected. As you know, I am accustomed to a certain level of regard, a certain amount of respect — deference, perhaps — from my time at Court.
I’m sure you’re laughing as you read this, remembering fondly our Veilgarden days, when we kept more Bohemian company and spent all our evenings too wine-soaked by far to spare a thought for respect or deference.
After all, the image of you that lives in my mind is the painting that I once glimpsed, shortly before we had actually met. That Rising Artist painted it, though he was Struggling quite desperately at the time. He unveiled it briefly to me, hoping to impress me. (By then, we had been pursuing one another for quite a time, and what a time it was!)
I remember your shoulders were bare — scandalous now, yet so tame then — and your hair rushed over them like one of the Duchess’s cats, silky-dark and wicked. You’ll hate that comparison, I’m sure, since you’re a known hater of cats. No matter. I love the little bastards, so you will have to content yourself with the compliment.
But I am losing the plot here, darling — I was trying to describe my trials in banishment. Yes, I am tutoring a Louche Devil, and it seems I am doing a rather poor job of it. The problem, and I am sure you recognized it the moment you read the words Louche and Devil , is that I’m tasked with convincing him to change his ways, and I confess I have little desire to do so.
See, the Louche Devil is a delight, in some ways. Tall and handsome in an awful sort of way, which you know appeals to me. I never did like anything good for me. Terribly crass, which is fresh — I admit he brings out my more base side, but if I’m going to be disgusting, I’d rather do it here in Mahogany than in Port Carnelian, where I’ve got a governorship waiting.
Oh, pardon me, how could I have forgotten to mention it? I’m to be Governor in Port Carnelian, in case you haven’t read. You can direct all congratulations, felicitations, and adorations to my rooms above the flophouse. (And no, for the last damned time, I haven’t moved out. I can’t afford it, and you know that perfectly well. If you don’t like the conditions, you’ve always got the option to stop sleeping over.) But before your sobs at my forthcoming absence grow too deafening, you can go and calm down — I won’t be off across the Unterzee for a while yet, as I haven’t a ship. Seems rather essential for zee-travel, don’t you think?
Oh, but the Devil. He’s dangerous, of course. Can’t go half a minute without him making some move for my soul, but I rather like it. He’s easy, though he fancies himself a cunning creature. His only goal is my soul, and he never pretends otherwise. I can be honest around him as I am around few others, can make it clear all I want is his… Well, you can finish that sentence.
Yes, I did sleep with the Devil, and, yes, it was quite enjoyable. The only problem there is that now the images are all in my head, so that when I look at him bungling his elocution and acting like a child over the concept of morality I can’t help but remember that we could be having so much more fun, and then the next moment we are. I’ve been told I have poor impulse control, and of course the Devil has none at all. We can never get anything done now, and I’ve no idea what to tell Jasper and Frank. Sorry, he still walks and dresses like a tatty Revolutionary, and he can’t eat soup without slopping it down his front, but at least he’s a marvelous lay now. I can’t imagine they’d take that news very well.
Of course, I would offer you a turn, dear, but you wouldn’t like this one. I know your tastes by now, and you like the clever, sophisticated ones, hungry for praise and ambitious beyond their station. The Louche Devil is a little dirty for your tastes, and I don’t mean in the bedroom. I mean there’s always blood under his nails (though I won’t ask how it gets there) and I can’t convince him to clean behind his ears for love or money. You would hate it, and I can already predict you’ll make me bathe before you touch me again.
This is the part where I would say I miss you, and Please visit soon, and I long for your caress, and all that rot if I were one of your soppy young admirers.
But I’m not so naive as to let you get your hooks into my heart, and so I won’t say anything remotely sentimental, as I know emotions are a surefire way to drive you off. I’ll just say this — there is a former mayoral candidate of my acquaintance who has asked that I introduce him to you, and I am keenly aware of your occasional Rubbery proclivities. Reply soon, and I can make all the necessary arrangements.
Disrespectfully yours,
The Libertine Diamond-Heir