*with instinctive respect for him given his manner* I know not, but I can tell you that it is a strange land where those long dead walk among us as though they never went down to Hades.
*...tenses immediately, almost imperceptibly -- his first thought is for those he has left dead that he never wants to see again, but there are those who have died he would give the world to meet again, so he recovers quickly and his tone is only mildly curious* Aye? That's verra interesting indeed. *inclines his head towards her* And your name, miss?
[Typist: ...hi. Your puppet is making my ever-present temptation to pick Orestes up all the more difficult to resist.]
I am Clytemnestra, formerly Queen of Mycene. Your accent is strange to me; may I ask where your homeland is?
[Typist: Oh, it would be so fun if you picked up Orestes!]
. . . We've established that it isn't London. Or any other recognisable place, really. *and his tone is friendly enough-- but considering that his inner monologue is presently running along the lines of, "Hey, I've heard that name bef-- oh, bloody fucking hell, isn't this lovely," it's possible there's a slight (okay, maybe not so slight) edge of awkwardness in it*
Och, aye? Well, I didna expect London, considering I was verra far from there to begin with. *notices the awkwardness, of course -- he can tell these things -- but he won't comment, because he's Jamie* May I ask your name?
London's just where I wandered in from, and a few others. People here seem to come from just about everywhere. --Gavin. Gavin Strood. It's . . .
awkward nice to meet you. I've been told a lot about you already.
*this is a beam* Jamie! It's wonderful to see you here.
*...and grins* John. And you, man. What sort of place is this?
*isn't going all swoony, but if he were, it'd definitely be very well hidden* *as it is, though, he's fingering the sapphire ring on his hand, smiling* Well, it is ...certainly a unique one, I must say. I doubt even you've seen the like of it.
*grinning, yes, because a best friend is always a good thing* Och, something I havena seen? Will miracles never cease. Will ye tell me about it, then?
*grins* Hullo. Haven't seen your daughter about, have ye?
Shush, Roger, she'll be about as soon as I get her icons made.
*laughs wryly* That depends. Have ye seen your mother-in-law?
*amusion* If I had, ye'd surely be the first to know. How are ye, man?
*absently* Good question.
*can't help looking briefly taken aback -- he's seen much, but this is new, so he'll speak slowly* Aye, so I'm beginning to gather.
*nods vaguely to him* Zaknafein.
*bows* Bonjour, M. Fraser. I'm Armand St. Just.
*bites his lip as the tries yet again to answer this impossible question* It is the Mansion. Neither here nor there.
You are from Scotland?
*bows again* Bonjour, M. St. Just. *grins* Is it verra obvious? I've spent my share of time in France, anyway. *and nods, slowly and thoughtfully* I see.
There are strong ties between the two nations. *smiles*
It isn't hard to adjust to being here, if you are flexible in your thinking, M. Fraser.
Well, I wouldna call it such, but I am glad to see your hospitality. *grins again* Flexible in my thinking, aye? I think I can settle in, then.
*he bows, for even-- especially-- a prince could not not bow to a man with such an air of (in Telemachus' mind) a king*
*nods to him, appreciating the bow (even if he doesn't entirely believe he merits one)* May I ask your name, lad?
Telemachus, son of Odysseus of Ithaca.
*as he did with Clytemnestra, looks -- briefly startled, then bows again* An honour, Prince.