Of the many ways they say that you can look into a man's mind, the eyes are probably the most widely accepted manner in which to do so. Gateways to the soul, limpid pools, whatever your personal metaphor may be it cannot be argued that the topic hasn't been done to death. As you would learn in a conversation with him, Mr. Rasskazov doesn't, and never did, believe in such nonsense. Good liars (which are hard to find, though he could point you to several) have already been told a thousand times that the eyes are a gateway to their soul, and thus know to lock the metaphorical door behind them. Fine, yes, he may slip up and forget his key inside now and then, but by and large all you've done by boasting about how easy it is to measure a man is make yourself easier to trick. After all, who is the easier mark--the suspicious man, or the man who assumes himself correct?<br/><br/>It was in the middle of explaining this to the young Michael Williams that Mr. Ivan Rasskazov was interrupted. He had just gotten to telling him about good liars (which Master Williams was obviously not, prompting the whole diversion) when the door had opened and Alan, the boy's attendant, stepped into the studio. On a day like today it was quite lovely--the Williams residence had a view an excellent view of the Thames and the docks and uncommonly tall windows that allowed for excellent lighting. The lightly colored wooden floor kept the room bright even in modest lighting, and the mirror along the right side of the room made it seem more open than it was. A perfect place, all in all, to get the young Master Williams properly to speed in his swordplay, but between the lectures and Alan's busy-bodying it was clear that they would get little done today.<br/><br/>"And this time?"<br/><br/>Mr. Rasskazov's irritation was clear, his voice sharp and curt as he looked to the manservant. Rather than allowing him to interrupt further, he took a quick step foreword into a cut to the head--that, at least, got Michael's attention. The boy was bright but easily distracted, and he's allowed his arm to falter in the face of his manservant's assault. He was quickly back to par, however, if only to save his sandy-blonde head, and metal rang on metal as the blow slid properly from the blade to the side. Still hesitant to riposte, he allowed Ivan to continue on in the scything pattern that had become their standard. The boy needed to learn to strike back, or he'd be overwhelmed with ease.<br/><br/>Alan watched the assault with guarded eyes--he didn't care much for Mr. Rasskazov, but knew better than to make such opinions known. This time, however, there was a slight smirk at the corners of his lips--if only for a moment, he could maintain a bit of ground on the slippery instructor. "For you this time, Sir. You've a lady caller."<br/><br/>This, actually, caused Mr. Rasskazov a slight hitch. Michael was paying more attention than he thought, since he took advantage of the interruption of the cut to stop-thrust for the forearm past the guard. The wrong strikes--easily blocked by a simple sideways motion of the wrist--but the right timing, and the former was far harder to teach. Better, that he had it already. A quick flick of his off hand had their little engagement called off, however, and Mr. Rasskazov was already retreating and moving, whipping his saber in an almost reflexive motion into the scabbard at his side. "I take it she's waiting at the door?"<br/><br/>"Oh no, sir, she's waiting in the foyer." The dry amusement in his voice was as notable as the glimmer in his eyes, and Mr. Rasskazov didn't appreciate either. Still, he would deal with the butler when he hadn't something more pressing on his mind. As he slid the scabbard from his side and lay it against the doorjamb, trading it out for the slim cane he walked with, his mind raced trying to think of quite who could be calling on him. The ciphers of communication and wheels of contacts generated matrices of interaction, true, but they were few, far between and carefully controlled. Who would--<br/><br/>He was preoccupied enough with his thoughts that he barely realized he'd arrived at the foyer until a pair of breasts, large and surprisingly soft, pressed to his back. A pair of arms sprouted from beneath his own and massaged his chest in sensuous circles, and if the woman behind him was tall enough he was sure she would have whispered in his ear.<br/><br/>"Mm, looking awfully dashing there, Razz. If I didn't worry about your ticker so much I might just--"<br/><br/>"That will do, Eleanor, thank you." Mr. Rasskazov said pointedly, attempting to hide his amusement (however slight) with a sigh of exasperation. With the sound of a kiss close beneath his left earlobe, the woman disentangled herself from the older gentleman and sashayed herself onto one of the love seats carefully arranged around the elegant wooden table. With a slightly wicked grin, she propped her booted feet atop it.<br/><br/>To be fair to her, Mr. Rasskazov was not exactly dressed in proper attire to be meeting up with her. Give the lady an inch and she'd complain quite loudly about how she wished you had a few more under your belt, and dressed in the billowing white linen shirt, opened low enough to expose some of his curling white chest hair, even at his age Mr. Rasskazov looked dangerously close to a rake.<br/><br/>Though to be fair to him, she wasn't really supposed to be there at all.<br/><br/>"Let us skip the details of how you've found me here and instead focus on the<span style="font-style: italic">why</span>?" He said curtly, remaining standing and folding both hands atop his cane. While he liked Eleanor well enough--and she certainly had her uses--he was less than pleased to have her show up in an estate like this. While gossip was useful, he had no desire at all to be forced to haul her about on his arm when he attended specific venues.<br/><br/>"Someone's no fun today." She said with a slight sniff, pulling out a small clasping mirror and examining her pouting red lips. They almost exactly matched the color of her curls, a flowing, luminous red that seemed to roil down over her shoulders and back and almost managed to make the outfit she wore modest. At least she'd dressed up to come--a surprising consideration on her part. "And here I was thinking I'd found something you might find terribly exciting."<br/><br/>"Which is?" He didn't say it without prompting, but when it became clear that she wasn't going to give in without a fight he sighed and opted to play her little game. The beleaguered sigh in his voice was palpable.<br/><br/>She reached between the creamy tops of her features--she would--and drew out a small square of folded paper, opening it up with dexterous flicks of her ruby-tipped fingers. "Something fun, I'd imagine." She said with an air of detachment, now, aloof and uninterested as she folded the flyer out to it's full glory and held it out a ways for him to take. "Something for<span style="font-style: italic">your</span>kind of people, I've been told by those in the know. Something I<span style="font-style: italic">know</span>you're not thinking of going to without taking me."<br/><br/>"Something worth the risk of making yourself more of a bother than benefit?" He offered pointedly, and for a moment she looked as though the jab had cut her deeper than he'd really intended before she let it fade into anger and turned away haughtily, arm still outstretched.<br/><br/>"Well it<span style="font-style: italic">that's</span>how you feel then take the sodding thing. Like I'd bloody well go with you." He'd offended her, but this time he kept the sigh in his head as he closed the distance to her with a few gentle steps. Before she could withdraw her hand and get to her feet properly he'd caught her wrist and given her a gentle tug to catch her attention--he was smiling when she looked at him.<br/><br/>"Language, Eleanor." He said, in that quiet and gentle way of his, a slight accent marring his otherwise excellent English in a way the poor lady quite mad. She moved to speak but he cut her off at the pass, a gentle tone to his voice. "Thank you for bringing this to my attention. Consider yourself invited, if you'd like to go."<br/><br/>She chewed it over for a moment, finding that she didn't really want to tug herself free of even that slight grasp between them. There wasn't anything romantic between them, but it was somehow delicious to pretend there was. He was much too old for her, but somehow he made her feel more...refined. Elegant.<br/><br/>She only hoped that she made him feel like the dirty old man she was sure he was at heart, and found herself leaning in a bit to look at him through batted eyes.<br/><br/>"I'll think about it." She murmured coyly, moving to stroke her cheek against the side of his hand for a moment before breaking her demure and kissing it roguishly. A dab of bright lipstick smeared across his skin, and she grinned as he frowned. "Wear something nice for me."<br/><br/>And with that she strode from the room, leaving Mr. Rasskazov to ponder the rhyming advertisement.<br/><br/><span style="font-style: italic">His</span>kind of people, hmm...<br/><br/>He turned and made his way back to his student, preoccupied enough to leave the hint of her lips on his wrist. If looks could kill, by the end of the day, poor Alan would have been dead as dirt, the smirking git.<br/><br/>-------------------<br/><br/>And so it was that Mr. Rasskazov was in attendance when the doors slid open and the music wafted out from the hall, the lady in red at his arm grinning beneath her feathered mask. For once, he thought with a subtly playful smile, he would hide in plain sight. What better way to make an impression than to be himself?<br/><br/>He dressed all in white, from his shoes to his lapels to the top hat above his head, with a dark gray tie and a long coat that. The buttons and trimming were silver, as was the intricate pin at his lapel, and the mask he wore was an austere thing that hid much of his face and complimented his full mustache quite nicely. His skin looked tan from a distance, and though he walked with a cane he did so with surprising elegance. For an older man he was quite handsome, Elanor assured him, and she took his elbow with surprising reserve and poise.<br/><br/>They slid into the hall amidst the crowd, a pair of spies hiding in plain sight.