taxonomites | oo2 ∞ this is jezebel in hell [visual]

Zorya has gotten reasonably acquainted with Taxon, in her estimation, and it's time to get to know the locals. She's had a perfectly adequate excuse for laying low for a while, but socializing comes too naturally for her to stay in the background long. She switches her tablet on while sitting in the middle of the indoor stairs inside her beloved and incredibly lavish Palais Garnier--yes, she's living in the Paris Opera House, she loves it--flashing a lazily pleased smile as soon as she knows she's broadcasting.

"I just wanted to thank dear Mr. Rayne for doing me a good turn when I arrived. And the rest of you who chimed in helpfully; I was a little stressed," even if she...didn't really do a lot to demonstrate as much, "but as you can see, I've found what I brought from my world and settled in quite well, in my opinion!"

She has a bottle of alcohol nearby, presently unopened (Johnnie Walker Excelsior, because if she's going to drink, as she is considering, it's going to be both potent and absurd), and rests one hand on the top of the bottle, considering it absently. It's visible at the edge of the tablet screen.

"But some things you can't get from home. Newspapers. Certain aspects of culture...we're all foreigners here, aren't we? None of us more important than the others." She sounds amused by the prospect, but maybe she's used to it. "Some of us are missing specific previously omnipresent cultural figures- like a man I knew who said, and he was so very serious about this one: 'Let me tell you something else about the character of God. If necessary, God would raise up a tyrant--a man who might not have the best ethics--to protect the freedom and the interests of the ethical...and the godly.'"

She mimics the preacher's sonorous, emphatic manner of speaking, finishing with a tremble of something almost like laughter in her voice, as though she can't keep up the act.

"He was famous for saying things like that. Kind of hard to be famous here, isn't it? I like that. Anyway, all I wanted was to thank my good Samaritans; if you want a drink, you just let me know, I am certainly not going to finish this thing all on my little lonesome."

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Well, far be it from me to turn down a beautiful woman's gratitude or her fine choice in alcohol.

I do have good taste. How are you, Mr. Rayne?

Much, much too sober. And how about yourself? Settling in?

Of course. It's not so bad here.

When would you like to come by?

[ ethan actually likes taxon. ]

Soon. Is that where I think it is?

Come looking, and let's find out.

He was hardly a good Samaritan - far, far from it. There's so much in her words that he could disagree with, that it is possible to be famous here. Though perhaps 'infamous' was the better way to look at it, a role that the Doctor had achieved and the Master was carefully trying to sidestep. After all, even with the time that had passed, he was still not properly grounded into this city.

But with recent mishaps, he's found himself treading more cautiously again. So his tone is soft, his appearance more loose than formal. A regular man who has been in this city for far too long. He's sitting before the tablet, a window at his back revealing the city.

"I'd have to agree with you... it is nice, isn't it? Every one of us are more or less on equal ground. You don't get that in a lot of places."

Arguably Zorya's perception of fame is somewhat skewed; she thinks in terms of celebrity, not infamy, although she'd also probably call, say, Valerie Solanas a celebrity. She smiles, tossing her hair, regarding the stranger on the tablet with what for her passes for 'polite curiosity' (and thus is somewhat more intent than is generally considered polite in normal society).

"To begin with, anyway," she agrees, thoughtfully, "like a fresh start, if you're lucky. No paparazzi, no interviews--and we are all being watched. Which I don't mind, since our audience seems largely impartial...as far as I know."

She's willing to concede that she presently knows nothing about the mysterious, unseen group in charge of this city.

"Yes, the paparazzi is troublesome. Getting all in your business whenever you hope for a free moment alone." He waves a hand about the air in brief disdain. The Master had a grand time with the paparazzi of Great Britain, of course. Interviewers were a hit and miss. Some of them had to be taken care of.

"Can't say much about those watching us though... I'm in the dark, same as the next person."

She makes a sympathetic little noise- she's all high drama, this one, but dialing it down a note at the moment, so while it's paired with a playfully commiserating expression, it's not as obnoxious as she...totally could be.

"Maybe we'll all get very, very lucky, and that will change- though I do, personally, prefer to make my own luck. So! If we were back in your neck of the woods, why would you be escaping the eye of the press?"

Edited 2010-03-21 19:42 (UTC)

"Shaping your own destiny, yes." He allows himself a bit of pride now. "I was formerly the Prime Minister of Great Britain," he says, downplaying the full Harold Saxon smile. He doubts it would appeal to her, and he has to make friends right now. "They were always breathing down the neck of my poor wife, hoping to upturn scandal."

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