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2014-04-27 06:33 pm (UTC)
"Sometimes wealth makes a pig of a man. Sometimes because he was raised that way, sometimes because the moment money protects him from life's troubles he forgets those still plagued by them. He gets full of himself. He gives no care to how his actions trouble others." Daimon's lips twist.
"My father is the Maharajah of Ceylon. Like our friend here, he takes the 'noble' right out of nobility." His eyes narrow as they follow Roxbury around the room. He keeps himself carefully interposed between her and the man's line of sight as they head for the punch table. "Such people not only deny their misery but take it out on others."
He draws near the punchbowl, taking note of a gaggle of girls huddling together like frightened chickens nearby. Roxbury is headed for them like an arrow. "The man is diseased, in more ways than one. When he's not sending his latest wife into an early grave with pregnancies, he's abusing the whores of Whitechapel." One of the reasons Daimon had decided to avenge the whole East End against him.
He takes up two glasses and ladles up some punch as he watches the wormy noble's invasive attempts at flirting. "I'll keep him off you, don't worry."
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