houseofcards_rp | He doesn't grieve well

There was more than one problem with Lance's death.

The biggest one being that when Julien felt...well, felt too much, it was always Lancelot he ended up finding and needling and fighting. Sometimes talking, true. But more than a few of Julien's scars came at the Jack of Clubs' hands.

He'd re-paid that favor, of course.

But now the man is dead. Or gone. Both. And there's no one suitable to vent his rage on. No one worthy. Oh, David, perhaps, if he wanted to tear the Spades to shreds. And he doesn't. Victor maybe...if the man weren't still currently a cripple. He'd even briefly considered the King of Clubs, make it into something of a tradition, and the only thing that had stopped him was his utter contempt for the man.

So instead he's hidden himself away in some un-used room in the Castle with little in the way of furnishings, save an old, threadbare couch. And a few bottles of truly terrible whiskey, of the sort that set your insides on fire as it went down. Julien tended to believe that if you were going to get drunk, it was best to do so with something that hurt.

Come find the Ace of Spades at your own risk.

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Oh, no.

No.

Trust the Nine on this, Julien. Terrible whiskey - while it has its place - is hardly suitable for this sort of situation.

"You will forgive me intrusion, my Lord." His tone is mild, as always. Calm without a hint of irony or humour. "But I thought that, given the circumstances, you might prefer something --" a little less likely to rot the insides of your stomach "--more palpable."

It's a grand tradition you're interrupting, Nico. If he's going to get drunk, he'll do it with something terrible. And he's well on his way to drunk.

"No....not really."

He turned and looked over the back of the couch at Nicholas, his expression clearly stating how the hell did you find me?

"Why're you here?"

He has his ways, Julien. You don't live the sort of life that he has lived - survive as many attempts on his life as he has - without picking up a few things.

"I was concerned." Which is true to an extent; Julien, as their Ace, is vital to the running of the Suit but he is also a man when it comes right down to it. One that has experienced a rather significant loss - on top of yet another loss, one that it is unlikely that he has dealt with.

"However," he says as he sets down the bottle. "You appear to be busy. So perhaps I shall simply take my leave."

Julien let out a short, sardonic, bark of laughter. "Concerned about me, Nico? Why do I find that hard to believe?"

Concern for the Suit he might find more believable. Or at least understandable. He cares about the Suit, too, after all. Which is why he's here instead of rampaging through the Castle.

"You should stay. Have a drink."

"I assure you that no one is more shocked than I." There's a flash of a grin, one that shows far too many teeth.

"But, if my Lord insists. Who am I to say no?"

And, really, one could probably have far worse company when drinking themselves into oblivion.

That's quite alright, most of Julien's grins tend to show far too many teeth as well, so they're in good company. So to speak.

"No one, Nicholas. No one at all," but he'll shift enough so that the other man can sit down.

It's probably good he's brought his own bottle. Julien doesn't look inclined to share.

Nico's absolutely fine with that.

He will, however, raise his bottle in a silent toast. This is one of those evenings that the less said the better.

Julien takes a long swallow from his bottle, grimacing as it goes down.

"What do you think about them, then?" as he waved toward the one window which just happened to provide a view of the Arcana Embassy.

Because getting drunk and contemplating torching the damn thing was such a good way to pass the time.

Them -- oh, the Arcana.

"I've yet to have the pleasure." He'd been concentrating on matters a little closer to home, after all. Perhaps this would change soon.

"Maybe you should."

Not that he'd call it a pleasure, but that's obvious enough from his tone.

"Perhaps I will."

Once he'd gotten a few of the other things out of the way -- Eli, first, since he was the most immediate issue. Andrea next, though that could probably wait a little while longer. "Though I'll admit I have heard some interesting stories."

"B'lieve everyone has."

And he's not particularly in the mood for stories right now, Nico. Unless they go something like, and the Arcana's greatest weakness is....

"However," he adds almost as an afterthought before he takes a swig of his own drink. "It does lack a certain balance, the five Castles."

And it probably says something about him that this, more than anything, is what he would notice.

Julien cuts a sidelong look over at Nico that clearly says that's something I'm supposed to care about?

And then he drinks some more. Because that doesn't even deserve a verbal response.

Katya thought long before seeking him out. They were not friends. People like she and Julien had few friends. David was easier to work with, yet she was not David's, had never belonged to any of them. Above it all, Julien is their Ace and has received blow upon blow. She had not allowed David to mourn alone. She would do no less for Julien.

She brings her flask and another bottle for the Ace before searching the unused portions of the castle. She will find him and sit and if he is willing drink toast to a fine man who should not be gone. And if not, well, she will ensure no servant loses his head for interrupting their Ace this night.

And that no ambitious number thinks to take advantage.

"I have brought you whiskey, but I see you are ahead of me," she tells him quietly when she finds him at last.

Julien looked up at her, a sneer curling his lips. "You should go."

The Queen of Spades just might be on the bottom of the list of people he'd prefer to see right now.

Of course, technically everyone is on the bottom of that list right now. Just someone in her position even further down than that.

She had not expected welcome. She would not have been surprised if her arrival had been greeted with flying knives.

She unscrews her flask and hefts it. "Dlya tekh, kto ne s nami."* She will drink her toast, for Lancelot, for Pyotr, and then she will leave him.

*For those who are not with us anymore.

"Pustʹ oni idut k chertu," he muttered in response as he took a swallow of his own drink.

Without realizing he'd momentarily lost his grip on English.

[May they go to hell.]

Ah. She had wondered. Pasha had been overly interested in their Ace. She says nothing at the slip, only approaches him softly and deposits the bottle at the side of the couch.

Her glance swiftly takes in his appearance. Then she stands and backs toward door. One does not take eyes off wounded lions.

He doesn't grieve well

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