Your Fallen London character sounds interesting. For entirely academic literary reasons, would you talk about them?
Sure! I'm gonna try to avoid late-game spoilers, but here goes:
The Uxorious False-Scholar inevitably causes certain confusions.
The wife to which they are, by name, slavishly devoted is not the one that graces their rooms at present, though they are known for courtesy and care in love. There is another, somewhere, but speaking of the fact would be a gaucherie of distinction.
They are styled a False-Scholar not because their credentials are in doubt (the reputation of their atelier-laboratory is beyond reproach, or at least that reproach is unimportant). They are a scholar, rather, of the False-stars that make their slow, scuttling orbits in the roof above.
There are, of course, rumours.
The menagerie of their rooms goes silent at a guest's approach, briefly, and the eyes of a beast should not hold such chill calculations, nor so varied a collection act as one.
In a brief career as an artist and playwright, their stock-in-trade was satire; broad and bawdy, biting and dangerous. Society accepts their presence as a known enemy, safely filed. It is unwise not to be thus accomodating, when dynamite is so easily obtained.
The bazaar and its masters are ravenous for tales of love, though outsiders must make inquiries in this direction circumspectly. Attempts to induce affection by chemical means are especially controversial, and the False-Scholar is strident in their condemnation. Love is the only force that shifts the character of the human animal, they say; we must strive, always, to find its true distillation, and make or ourselves worthy vessels.
It is uncertain what shape a worthy vessel takes, but the scent of amber lingers on their skin.
