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18 April 2008 @ 04:42 am
LOCKED: Manfred Von Karma's Study  
*He's spent the few days since he arrived quietly observing and learning all that he can about the nature of the place in which he has found himself.  The occurrence of so many versions of the same people was jarring at first, but he has become accustomed to it, and started to study individuals to determine the best way to tell them apart. Miniscule differences in body language, vocal infection, mannerisms - things that would be of little importance in the outside world, yet in here take on a significance all of their own. His own presence seems to have called little attention, and from that he deduces that there must be or have been other versions of himself here, although he has seen none.

The many versions of the boy that he has observed is disconcerting, and there is a deep revulsion every time that he encounters one -  although thus far he has succeeded in remaining outwardly impassive.

He has also learned the art of creating rooms, although it was not intentional. The day he arrived, he spotted a door that he thought he recognised, and upon opening it found himself in an exact replica of his study in Germany - stone floor covered in heavy rugs, walls lined with bookcases and cupboards - ancestral portraits filling the gaps between. The familiar heavy walnut desk and several blue leather upholstered chairs are deceptively perfect replicas of his own. The oversized stone fireplace behind the desk had a welcoming fire in the grate, and his sword cane and a small hunting knife had been where he expected to find them in a cupboard by the door - the latter now concealed in his pocket as was his usual practice when at home.

It had always been a sanctuary, and it is now, as he sits at the desk with a laptop in front of him and a cup of Earl Grey cooling rapidly beside it next to the inkpot and quill. The conversation he is having on-line concluded, he sits back with his eyebrows knitted in a frown,  a slight smile playing on his lips still.

He reaches for the cup and takes a sip of tea, staring at nothing in particular, but with a deeply thoughtful expression on his face.*

Hnnn...  we shall see.

((OOC: Locked to jedetotesprach, in the first instance. WARNING for TL;;DR central and vampires doing what they do best, if that is likely to bother anyone.

Anyone else wishing to thread with MVK who would have good reason to find his hidden study, please IM me and we can set it up))
Current Mood: contemplativecontemplative
Kristoph Gavin: [ white shirt // oh really? ]jedetotesprach on April 18th, 2008 05:06 am (UTC)
Now fed, he's feeling much more up in his spirits. His exploration continues, as it perhaps always has before he's found himself mostly settled in LA, and now he's here, so it's reawakened inside of him.

This door he has to literally fight the urge to sprint from when he opens it. His master's study, he knows, the books, the rug. It's different, though, he realizes after he fights that immediately flight instinct. There's a fire in the grate - his master's was always empty. The blue chairs look unfamiliar.

The computer. Computers are still new to him, really.

The pale face, the grey hair, the elaborate jacket is not new to him, and the flight instinct rears again, stronger than ever, feeling like bile in his throat. This time he can nearly feel the wings sprouting, face puffing, body shrinking in less than a second. He has to fight it back hard this time, fingers twitching.

"Master," he says, and bows low.
Manfred Von Karma: Spectaclesderbildhauer on April 18th, 2008 01:53 pm (UTC)
*He looks up from his reverie when the door opens, fingers still wrapped around the tea cup and his chin resting on the china rim.

It's the first time that door has admitted anyone but himself. No one else has even tried, which has led him to the conclusion that somehow this room is shadowed to most - that the door can only be found by those who know what they are looking for, or are familiar with what is within and wish to see it again.

He puts down the cup slowly, rises to his feet, lets his hands rest lightly on the desktop in plain view for a few, slow, measured heartbeats. Then he steps sideways so that the chair behind him no longer restricts his freedom to move. Carefully, he crosses his arms, one finger tapping lightly against his jacket sleeve.

His eyebrow arches slightly at the lowness of the bow and his lip curls slightly at the blatant obsequience. To see a man behave that way disgusts him. He nods towards the laptop, slightly*

"Jede tote sprach", I presume.

Edited at 2008-04-18 01:54 pm (UTC)
Kristoph Gavin: [ side profile // i'm watching you ]jedetotesprach on April 18th, 2008 02:17 pm (UTC)
When his master moves away from the laptop, and he lifts his eyes to the man's face - can you believe disobeying orders still hurts like it did so many years ago? - he is struck. He knows that perhaps he should be keeping to himself, staying tightly controlled, as he always should be, but he can't keep the stunned look off his face.

This man has blue eyes. Pale blue. How could he...?

Being dead knocked away his need for glasses. But why would it change a man's eyecolor? Did it change his eyecolor? Was this man truly not his master, aside from more than just personality alone?

he knows that, either way, this man is sharp, perhaps sharper than his fangs. Even if it isn't his master, he has to be on his toes.

"Der bildhauer."
Manfred Von Karma: Smugderbildhauer on April 18th, 2008 02:54 pm (UTC)
Indeed. The Internet is a fascinating thing, is it not? A glamour that allows us to believe that we have learned everything about a person, when in reality we know nothing.

You know my real name, sir, I presume. Am I to know yours?

*Almost casually, he uncrosses his arms and reaches for his cane, which is propped against the desk, leaning his weight on it once he has it in hand.

He regards the new arrival hawkishly, taking in the blond hair, the soft features... and the dizzied expression on the boy's face. That reaction makes his eyes narrow slightly.

With his free hand he gestures to the chair that sits in front of the desk, the one that had always been reserved for Miles, or for his daughter, when they responded to his summons.*


Tea? Or would you prefer brandy?

Kristoph Gavin: [ shadowed profile // this is me ]jedetotesprach on April 18th, 2008 03:11 pm (UTC)
"Kristoph Gavin." He sits down in the motioned-to chair, regaining control over his expression.

When he speaks, von Karma might notice too much white. Normally, he talks with his mouth mostly shut, but he's not trying to hide what he is from this man who is not his master, so his mouth moves when he speaks, and every so often, his fangs show for a couple moments when he pronounces those syllables.

"If it would not be considered rude, neither, please."

It takes a lot of energy not for him to fidget. He's never fidgeted in the presence of his master before, but something about this man makes him nervous. He feels about as small and stupid as he felt looking up at his master from the floor a hundred and fifty years ago, only this man's not as old as he is and has blue eyes.

"Your eyes are blue," He says, though he still isn't quite sure what to make of it. "My master had gray eyes."
Manfred Von Karma: Side Snootyderbildhauer on April 18th, 2008 04:17 pm (UTC)
Mr Gavin. *He nods, once only, a very formal greeting*

*Oh, he notices the fangs, not that you'd know that from his expression. It does not constitute proof to him one way or another. Such things can be done for cosmetic reasons, he knows, or by people deluded by romantic illusions or fantasy.*

I do not consider it rude for a man not to require refreshment. Knowing our own bodies and their needs and demands is essential to mental and physical health.

*He moves to cross the study slowly, leaning on his cane. The path takes him behind the chair in which the other man is seated and out of his eyesight, for the few minutes that it talkes to retrieve the decanter of cherry brandy and a glass from the upper shelf of the cupboard near the door.*

It would be ruder for a man to accept what he is offered but then waste what he is given than to accept nothing at all. Don't you agree, Mr Gavin?

*He pours the dark red liquor slowly, sets down the decanter and lifts the glass to his lips. he doesn't yet drink though, just allows the rim to rest there, the liquid moving slowly in the glass as he speaks.*

But I am not your master, Mr Gavin. I am a version of him, true. But I am not the man who expects you to grovel and demands your freedom to gain some false sense of power.

Edited at 2008-04-18 04:19 pm (UTC)
Kristoph Gavin: [ white shirt // oh really? ]jedetotesprach on April 18th, 2008 10:54 pm (UTC)
Again, it's hard not to fidget. Especially when his master (not his master) is standing behind him. He has a feeling that the man doesn't believe him to be dead, and would probably attempt to kill him by contemporary means, and that wouldn't be a problem, but it still makes him anxious. Old fears and hatred of his master seem to come alive differently when he... respects this man. He crosses his hands in his lap and turns his head a bit, glancing out of the corner of his eye so he can at least barely see what the man is doing behind him with his peripheral vision, maybe a few blonde strands interfering with his sight.

"Yes, that's quite true. When given something, one should take the most advantage of it that they possibly can." He pauses, thinking of himself, of the library, of all the things that he knows in exchange for being dead. He wonders, vaguely, what this give-and-take means to this version of his master.

He turns more fully in the chair, watching the man and the red brandy. How symbolic."I am beginning to see that you don't resemble him at all, and it fills me with an enormous sense of relief, sir."
(no subject) - derbildhauer on April 19th, 2008 03:15 am (UTC) (Expand)
(no subject) - jedetotesprach on April 19th, 2008 03:46 am (UTC) (Expand)
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phoslividus on May 8th, 2008 11:41 am (UTC)
[he was just looking to get away from everyone. People rarely agreed with him, and he hated his older-self for what he had done.

He was gently petting Ophelia when he entered, speaking softly to her in German and complimenting her on her clean work. She was, after all. his closest friend.

The door was opened, and he looked around. This was...different...and when he spotted the man, he nearly recoiled out of the door. It was about that time he remembered what his older-self had said about things like that.

He pulled the headphones off of his ears and managed a smile, gently worrying at the attorney's badge he was wearing on his collar. When he noticed the nervous tic, he stopped, and instead set to putting Ophelia back in his bag, whispering to her and smiling.

That done, he turned back to the man, smiling softly again]

Oh...hello there.
Manfred Von Karma: Sidelong Lookderbildhauer on May 8th, 2008 05:06 pm (UTC)
*He's surprised to see a child walk in - and especially one that he does not recognise. This is neither a version of Franziska, nor of the Boy. He wonders what the child must have been seeking in order for him to discover that door.*

Good afternoon... child.

*He pushes away his teacup and saucer, folds his hands on the table before him in plain view, and watches impassively as the boy responds to his presence.

The spider interests him - he knows of the species and of the genus - that they are a hunting animal of great skill and unstable temperament. It seems an odd choice for a boy this age and that, in itself, is worth noting.

His eyes fix on the defense attorney's badge and there is the slightest twitch of a smirk at the boy's apparent need to hide behind it.*

Are you looking for something in particular?

Edited at 2008-05-08 05:06 pm (UTC)
phoslividus on May 8th, 2008 09:44 pm (UTC)
I am not a child. My name is Kristoph Gavin.

[he smiles at that, saying it as if he were softly admonishing one of the teachers at his school. The man may have been older than he, but so far he saw no reason that he should be treated with any more respect than any other human being, who were, in general, simple creatures that were to be loathed.

The question, though, made him pause and think about what his mind had actually been on when he found the door. He was looking for one of his older-selves, and then after his talk with the Edgeworth boy...perhaps his mind had simply wandered. He wondered how much this man was like his older-selves that he would wind up here and not in the parlor that he was so used to visiting. Probably not much at all, and it was just a trick of the dressing room. After all, his older-selves were perfect.

...well, all save for one. The thought of him made his insides freeze with anger. Well, at least Ophelia had made the point clear of how he felt about that one.

The smile didn't leave his face.]

...it's not important, now. Who are you?
Manfred Von Karma: Laughingderbildhauer on May 8th, 2008 10:39 pm (UTC)
Hn? Not a child, is it? Good, boy - an answer worthy of my own daughter.

*He chuckles at that, approvingly, steepling his fingers and observing the boy quite openly for a while, noting the slight look of anger that crosses the boy's face when he's considering his answer. Mentally, he compares this one to the Gavin he has already met - assessing manner, posture, and bearing. It's an interesting contrast - in many ways.

He rises to his feet, slowly, crosses the study in measured paces, steady enough not to startle his visitor, swift enough to make it plain that this is his domain.

He halts in front of the boy, looks down at him for a moment, still half-amused, then clicks his heels, inclines his head in a formal fashion, then holds out his right hand, gravely.*

My name is Manfred Von Karma. I am a prosecutor. Do I take it that you are a prodigy, or does that badge belong to someone else?

Edited at 2008-05-08 10:40 pm (UTC)
phoslividus on May 8th, 2008 10:59 pm (UTC)
[there's a look of recognition that crosses his face. Aha! He knew that name, and the compliment doesn't go unnoticed.

His first instinct is to take a step back, but instead he looks the man in the eyes and smiles, shaking his hand after a moment of hesitation.]

Both are true, I'm afraid. The badge is my father's. I'm certain that if we were still in Germany, I'd have one of my own, but America isn't as...progressive.
Manfred Von Karma: Side Smilederbildhauer on May 9th, 2008 12:37 am (UTC)
Your father's, hn?

*He considers that, processing the name, putting the pieces together as he notes both the hesitation and the boy's confident handshake. He looks at the badge again, and smiles.*

Kristian Gavin, the defence attorney - late of Rothenburg.

It isn't a question - he knows the man well enough by reputation, although he has never encountered him in court either in Germany or Los Angeles.*

A formidable opponent, by all accounts.

*He smiles at the boy's conceit, wonders how much of it is justified - in his daughter he would approve it, but he knows that Franziska has no need for false modesty - her perfection is absolute.*

America is a most foolish country. I am surprised that your father entrusts you to its education system.
phoslividus on May 9th, 2008 01:58 am (UTC)
Yes, late, in your world, I suppose? He hasn't died yet, in mine.

[the smile doesn't really leave his face as he acknowledges the fact] Formidable, yes. He's very meticulous with his cases. I get to read over them as he's working on them.

It is, and everyone is so superficial and rude...and wasteful. [he sighs] Oh, not the public school system. I go to a preparatory school.

[he smiles again. The people there were awful, but they were all beneath him, not the least in marks. They were just jealous of him, after all]

Edited at 2008-05-09 01:58 am (UTC)
Manfred Von Karma: Spectaclesderbildhauer on May 9th, 2008 11:25 am (UTC)
*He tilts his head slightly at the dispassionate way in which the boy discusses his father's death. So different to Miles, with his silences, his lowered head, his unwillingness to mention his father's name, the blubbering that he heard at night, sometimes. This... this is far more interesting, if not any less unfortunate.*

I used "late" in the precise sense that he previously had a practice in Rothenburg, Mr Gavin.

...However yes, you are correct that he is no longer among the living in my world. My condolences. *He inclines his head again* His death was a considerable loss to the legal system.

*His voice lacks any inflection. Gavin was famed enough, but defence attorneys that he has never duelled with mean little to him. They are merely vague figures in the shadows until the day they face him in court and incur the honour of being bested by a Von Karma.*

You are a very perceptive boy...

*He folds his arms, tapping his forefinger lightly on his upper arm, regarding the boy down his nose with a slight smile still quirking his lips*

Would you care for some tea?

Edited at 2008-05-09 11:26 am (UTC)
(no subject) - phoslividus on May 9th, 2008 05:09 pm (UTC) (Expand)
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