【Special 1】S00E01 Yu……
《文笔绝佳的网文：苍水阁》《都市热血必读：沉默小说》【Special 1】 S00E01 Yuletide Obligation
24th Deceer 1979, Christs Eve.
Within a brightly lit London ballroo awash with shiering gowns and dark dinner jackets, flowed a trickle of chaagne and a far re exhausting torrent of platitudes.
Alistair dish was fulfilling a Yuletide obligation.
A polite sle, a perfectly judged nod, a brief, watertight response. He ved like a finely calibrated instrunt, intaining an ieccable social grace adst the din.
At last, in the lull between topics, he found an opening and, without drawing attention to hielf, slipped out of the noisy vortex.
He retreated to a relatively secluded er at the edge of the ballroo his back resting lightly against a arble n. He had barely begun to allow his taut o relax when an unwele guest approached, exuding an excess of both spirits ahusias a near-ety glass held aloft as he de a beeline for Alistair.
Alistair''''s gaze swept over the n, his ry instantly retrieving the relevant file: Jere Wito a servative bacher. Insignifit stituency, boisterous, with views less radical than sily ill-sidered.
Evidently, Jere had just erged froa debate at the other end of the rooing so trivial ittee vote, and fancied he had achieved a ''''victory'''' of sorts.
A plication, catalysed by both alcohol and cheap success.
Jere strode up to Alistair and, with the boozy warh of a n proclaing triuh, clapped a heavy hand on his shoulder, declaring in a voice loud enough to pee several nearby versations, "Victor! Old chap! I knew you were on side! See? Struck du, the lot of the Now that''''s what I call a victory! Well done!"
''''Victor''''?
The ued na and faliar physical tact caused Alistair''''s body to tense alst ierceptibly, but his nd reined sharp, pleting its assessnt: a drunken, uniortant politi who had staken hifor soone else.
To corre inebriated n in high spirits? That would be to willingly step into a pointless social quagre, inviting only re uion and vapid pleasantries.
No trace of surprise at being sidentified, nor any hint of annoya the interruption, appeared on Alistair''''s face. He rely raised an eyebrow, the slightest of vents, and offered Jere the briefest of polite, yet entirely frigid, nods. Frohis throat erged a non-ittal hu an aiguous sound sowhere between an aowledgent and a question, which skilfully intaihe selance of e while yielding no substantive ground.
Then, drawing upon years of experienavigating plex works and subtle cues, Alistair steered the triuhant drunkard bato the in fray with a few well-chosen platitudes that sounded agreeable yet ant nothing, ch like guiding an errant barge bato the in el. He let out a near-inaudible sigh and, with a discreet vent, brushed his shoulder where he had been clapped, as if dusting away an invisible te.
This eableau, as it happened, was observed by Charles Hyde, who, having just escaped a garrulous banker, was now drifting aiessly along the ballroo''s periphery. Jere''''s theatrical slap on the bad boong voice had drawn his attention, and his gaze had locked onto the n being accosted.
Alistair stood at the boundary of light and shadow. His slicked-back platinuhair caught the cool gold of the deliers, and a sli single-breasted dinner jacket with satin peak lapels perfectly atuated his tall, lean fra. A flawless black silk bow tie was k the collar of a crisp white shirt, and frohis breast pocket peeked the er of a ticulously folded white linen square.
He was surrounded by an aura of quiet, reserved grace that was utterly at odds with the ballroo''s glitzy frivolity, like a reli a bygone era.
Intriguing.
Charles raised his glass, the aer liquid swirling within. After Jere had staggered away, he de his way directly towards this gentlen called ''''Victor''''.
"Good evening." Charles stopped at a respectable social distand raised his
24th Deceer 1979, Christs Eve.
Within a brightly lit London ballroo awash with shiering gowns and dark dinner jackets, flowed a trickle of chaagne and a far re exhausting torrent of platitudes.
Alistair dish was fulfilling a Yuletide obligation.
A polite sle, a perfectly judged nod, a brief, watertight response. He ved like a finely calibrated instrunt, intaining an ieccable social grace adst the din.
At last, in the lull between topics, he found an opening and, without drawing attention to hielf, slipped out of the noisy vortex.
He retreated to a relatively secluded er at the edge of the ballroo his back resting lightly against a arble n. He had barely begun to allow his taut o relax when an unwele guest approached, exuding an excess of both spirits ahusias a near-ety glass held aloft as he de a beeline for Alistair.
Alistair''''s gaze swept over the n, his ry instantly retrieving the relevant file: Jere Wito a servative bacher. Insignifit stituency, boisterous, with views less radical than sily ill-sidered.
Evidently, Jere had just erged froa debate at the other end of the rooing so trivial ittee vote, and fancied he had achieved a ''''victory'''' of sorts.
A plication, catalysed by both alcohol and cheap success.
Jere strode up to Alistair and, with the boozy warh of a n proclaing triuh, clapped a heavy hand on his shoulder, declaring in a voice loud enough to pee several nearby versations, "Victor! Old chap! I knew you were on side! See? Struck du, the lot of the Now that''''s what I call a victory! Well done!"
''''Victor''''?
The ued na and faliar physical tact caused Alistair''''s body to tense alst ierceptibly, but his nd reined sharp, pleting its assessnt: a drunken, uniortant politi who had staken hifor soone else.
To corre inebriated n in high spirits? That would be to willingly step into a pointless social quagre, inviting only re uion and vapid pleasantries.
No trace of surprise at being sidentified, nor any hint of annoya the interruption, appeared on Alistair''''s face. He rely raised an eyebrow, the slightest of vents, and offered Jere the briefest of polite, yet entirely frigid, nods. Frohis throat erged a non-ittal hu an aiguous sound sowhere between an aowledgent and a question, which skilfully intaihe selance of e while yielding no substantive ground.
Then, drawing upon years of experienavigating plex works and subtle cues, Alistair steered the triuhant drunkard bato the in fray with a few well-chosen platitudes that sounded agreeable yet ant nothing, ch like guiding an errant barge bato the in el. He let out a near-inaudible sigh and, with a discreet vent, brushed his shoulder where he had been clapped, as if dusting away an invisible te.
This eableau, as it happened, was observed by Charles Hyde, who, having just escaped a garrulous banker, was now drifting aiessly along the ballroo''s periphery. Jere''''s theatrical slap on the bad boong voice had drawn his attention, and his gaze had locked onto the n being accosted.
Alistair stood at the boundary of light and shadow. His slicked-back platinuhair caught the cool gold of the deliers, and a sli single-breasted dinner jacket with satin peak lapels perfectly atuated his tall, lean fra. A flawless black silk bow tie was k the collar of a crisp white shirt, and frohis breast pocket peeked the er of a ticulously folded white linen square.
He was surrounded by an aura of quiet, reserved grace that was utterly at odds with the ballroo''s glitzy frivolity, like a reli a bygone era.
Intriguing.
Charles raised his glass, the aer liquid swirling within. After Jere had staggered away, he de his way directly towards this gentlen called ''''Victor''''.
"Good evening." Charles stopped at a respectable social distand raised his