Dark forest green walls are accented with swirling cream-colored patterns. Plush, chocolate-brown carpeting covers the floor from wall to wall. Thick, cream curtains cover the large window on the far side of the room. Off to one side, a large, King-sized bed rests, neatly made with crisp, clean linen. Two dressers made of dark mahogany sit across from the bed, and two nightstands made of the same wood sit on either sides of the bed.
     Between the two dressers, a door leads off to the kitchenette and bathroom - the bathroom boasts the hot tub. Hanging up in a corner of the room, a large-screen television overlooks the rest of the room, offering satellite cable as well as pay-per-view movies. Written in blood upon a wall is the following message:

No more will the Wolfe howl.
I am half of a whole.
     It didn't take long for her to run out of steam after the blast. Something like that just can't be maintained for long. And so, shortly after the psychic blast and then the scream, Tori collapsed to her knees, sobbing.
     Now, she curls up in the middle of the room, hugging her knees to her chest while rocking in short, quick motions. Silent, bloody tears slip down her cheeks and fresh scratches cover her arms...blood beneath her nails. Self inflicted. The room is in shambles. She did a number on both herself and the room, which couldn't hold her anguish.
     Quiet murmurings escape her lips as she continues to rock and rock and rock...

     Downstairs, Sebastian de Rancey gives orders to a couple of individuals, still holding his drink in his hand. The Ventrue court's been recessed early, within the last five minutes. The session had been its usual fanfare of well-dressed men and women, sharing a drink as they discussed the business of the week. Some had just arrived from previous meetings, some concluded their business earlier that night. Regardless of route, they all led to Claridge's, where the Primogen was briefed over the usual laughs and decisions.
     But, deep into festivities, Sebastian and Colleen Manoie grew quiet. Colleen stared at her martini, while Sebastian, in the midst of strategizing, rose from his chair and stood behind his seat, in thought.
And then, his phone rang.
     That's when the rest of the room became aware. Sebastian says little in his call...in fact, there is little more than a yes, followed by a yes, and thirded by another 'definitely, I'll get back to you.'
"We'll convene next week, same time," he says, putting the phone away. Colleen is given a hooked finger, suggesting she stay behind to speak to Sebastian. The rest? They are given smiles and the usual handshakes, then sent on their merry way.
      After a moment, Colleen is sent on her way too, but with directives especially for her.

      "Now, stay put," comes the voice, half-in and half-out of Claridge's front door. An index finger pointed toward the grinning mouths of two plump corgies.
     There's little doubt that they'll obey him. He's not really worried about them, to be honest, but more about what's made that colossal racket in the air. Dark green eyes glance inward as Davydd pushes the rest of the way in, a look to the concierge, to the desk. Wee bit more excitement than anyone bargained for come 4:00AM, he's thinking...
      It was definitely coming from this way. But it's gone now. Just a ripple, just a thread of it lingering. Like a spiderweb...destroyed by the wind...carries on in memory a moment after, in the waving of the last, single thread...
     Fiery brows are knitted, hands are out of his pockets, face is drawn in concentration, and he makes his way through the doors, to pass the desk and to head for the elevators...

     Up in room 303, Tori continues to rock. Incessantly, she murmurs to herself, over and over again. Perhaps it's the same thing over and over again. Perhaps she's carrying on an actual conversation.
      Oblivious to the effect she's had on others already, she slowly uncurls herself. Inch by inch, she crawls forward on shaky hands and knees to the bathroom. With some effort, she pulls herself up to lean against the vanity, staring down into the sink. So ever slowly her gaze raises to peer through a wild curtain of raven-black hair at her own reflection.
     Grey, nearly colourless eyes peer back at her, having lost their usual blue depths. With an unearthly quickness and strength, her fist lands squarely in the center of the mirror, smashing the image before her....shattering it....so much like her mind and soul.

     Drawn to the moving Sebastian, one of Claridge's managers angles towards the primogen to keep up. Sebastian murmurs to him as he picks up the pace to the elevators, motioning over his broad shoulders to the manager to indicate something outside.
     "When she arrives, let me know immediately," he says. "Call," he adds, stepping into a sleek silver elevator, behind a waiting car operator. "Otherwise, keep everyone off the...well, wherever we'll be." In truth, he's not that sure.
      To the operator, he says, "Let's start with three." That gets a curious look from the operator, who's used to guests knowing where their rooms are.

     It's a nice, round number, I'll give you that. He sees Sebastian moving forward, with the management of the hotel in tow -- no good can come from that -- and instead of hollering out or trying to reach the elevator, Davydd takes advantage of the chaos and slips into the nearest stairwell...
     Mounting stairs two... or three... at a time...
      ...even with his eyes closed...
     Davydd brushes a hand against the railing of the stairs, and whispers to the wood, "Where is the one who is in pain..."
     Up, the wood speaks. Up, it speaks again as he rounds the second floor and heads to the third. Up, it says, until he reaches the third floor door...
      Davydd opens his eyes and pushes his way past the heavy door -- damned, old hotels -- and steps into the dark and the quiet of the third floor hall. Early morning. Most folks were sleeping. But the screams have a few patrons standing in the hallways.
     "What's going on..." an older woman asks him. He seems to be moving by with purpose, maybe he knows something.
     Davydd doesn't stop, he continues toward the early half of the 300s from about the 330s, where he entered. Half-turning, he mutters, "No idea..."

     Mirrored glass litters the vanity and bathroom sink as Tori stares for a moment at her now bloodied fist. The knuckles look a bit mangled. Broken, likely, and an easy fix... but she's not paying too much attention to that.
     Slender fingers reach into the sink, selecting a long piece of the broken glass. Shuffling out of the bathroom, she draws the glass across her fingertips and watches the blood well up. Those were the fingers of a pianist...now bloodied and ruined for now.
     Clasping the shard tightly in her left hand, she writes on the wall with her right... only two lines are written, but to those in the know, the message might be clear. "No more will the Wolfe howl. I am half of a whole." As she writes, the shard bites deeply into the flesh of her left hand now. Her body trembles and moves in jerking motions.

     The elevator dings softly as it arrives on the third floor. It's not like Sebastian knew what he'd find. But there are curious individuals on the floor's hall, wondering what's going on.
          This has to be it.
          "Excuse the inconvenience," he says, "...you will want to go back to your rooms now." His voice doesn't left, but the suggestion does seem sensible to the on-lookers. With measured steps, Sebastian walks the hall...
      ...301 to 310...
     311-320...
     Who knew this place had so many rooms on one floor? Maybe I should leave the penthouses more often.
      His bemusement at himself stops suddenly, for ahead, a familiar figure causes Sebastian to pause quietly in his tracks.

     If he weren't concentrating so much on getting to where he's going, wherever the fuck that is really, he'd be half-tempted to whistle the themesong to The Good, The Bad & The Ugly (he'd be The Good, Sebastian would definitely be The Bad), and stand like a gunfighter at the end of the hall. Draw pardner. Yippie-kyay-muthafucker...
     But he leaves the drama to those better suited to it, at least at 4:00 in the bleeding morning. The onlookers withdraw, the doors close, and he stands opposite to Sebastian. A half-second of Vampire Standard Time passes, and when the second's come and gone, Davydd continues to move forward, hands slipping in his pocket.
     Do you hear what I hear? Said the little lamb to the shepherd boy...
     "Fancy this," Davydd says, but there's not the customary quip. His dark, earth eyes focus over one of Sebastian's sizable shoulders. Davydd nods in that direction. Behind you, old bean. "I think it came from back there," he murmurs. Closer to the numbers start... 310-ish... 305-ish...

     The last of the words were written and Tori drops her hands to her side. Still the glass digs into her hand, as she has not released that. Turning on her own words, she presses her back against a clear spot on the wall and slowly slides down it.
     She hugs her knees to her chest once more and buries her face there, causing her tangled mane to toss around her a bit with the motion, blocking her face completely from sight.
     The left hand squeezes a bit more, causing her pain to flare, sending out a perceptible wave to those who would hear. It does not travel too far...not like the previous blast. But to those on the third floor, it might -just- be 'loud' enough to be a cat's soft cry.

     He'd ask, but there's no need. Sebastian's not that impressed that someone else of his Ilk is on the third floor at Claridge's. Nosy-assed vampires.
     Sebastian nods to Davydd and spins back down the corridor, trying to get a better feel for things. Looking left and right, he also occasionally looks up, to check his numbers.
          A noise at a particular door causes him to stop again.
     303.
     Missed that.
     "You know anything?" Sebastian asks, fishing a card key from his pocket. Master codes are your friends. Sebastian holds the card at the top of the swipe-lock. Eyes glance to Davydd, waiting on a response.
     Speak now, or forever hold your peace.

      "Only that I have static cling in my jockeys from whatever the fuck just happened," comes the guttural mutter. "I know that it was powerful. And I'm not the sort of bloke who, having been struck by lightning, doesn't try to figure out who seeded the clouds."
     Parse that out, why don't you...
      Davydd is behind you. He doesn't whisper Handy as he first thinks to, when you unlock the door. The idea of Sebastian having a master key to the rooms here is just too fucking disturbing to think of anything else.
     Maybe this is one instance where Davydd Llewelyn will be ...nice to have around. Not that you'll think you'll need him. Not that you know enough about him to be comforted, truly. But well... maybe...

     The opened door reveals a room in shambles. Lamps have been overturned and even broken. Paintings are either askew or right off the walls, lying haphazardly across the floor. Curtains and rods have been pulled down. Sheets and towels are everywhere.
     But the most obvious amount of damage is the message on the wall in blood and the woman curled up just beneath it with her face hid in her knees. She is covered in deep scratches and her right hand knuckles appear to be bloodied and ruined. The left hand is clutching something.
     Soft murmuring drifts in and out, but nothing clear comes of it all.

     Sebastian only raises a brow at Davydd, only half-tempted to smile. He resists, stepping into the room fully. If he's worried that there is some danger about, it doesn't register on his blonde features.
     "Close with," he says about the door, making sure there is enough room for Davydd to enter with him. For a long moment, Sebastian scans the room before actually addressing the woman nearby.

     The door closes with a whisper. It is seconded by a softer thud, the more solid form of the Cymri landing against it. Eyes dart here and there, taking it all in. There is a frown. There is a whisper.
     Let none pass...
     The door has its orders. Davydd doesn't bother explaining it...
     He comes in, and his gloves come off, stuffed in his pockets. Davydd steps over clutter toward the crumpled form of the woman. There's no thought of danger -- if there was danger to be dealt out to anyone other than herself, that time has come and gone.
     Dark green eyes see the writing on the wall. Literally. Hell of a poem. "Nothing good ever happens after 2:00am," he whispers.

     Tori's being accessed by one rather pleasant female who's worried. Identifying herself as a Toreador friend, she is actually in the room, astrally, but seems to be communicating with full-on telepathic communication. A real beauty, I don't know whether Tori knows Sandrine Jorgenson, however, Sandrine attempts to quiet Tori by asking questions, sitting a step or three away. She mostly wonders if she is at all physically injured, what has happened, and manages to read the lines on the wall, expressing some sympathy. She's ahead of the guys by at least 8-15 minutes, and looks up when the two enter the room.

     "No kidding," Sebastian quips, crossing Davydd's path to check out the rest of the room. Bedrooms, bathrooms and closets are all examined as he leaves Davydd to speak with the traumatized female.
     Some things are not Sebastian de Rancey's forte.
     Sebastian's voice lifts, "There's damage in here...she might be injured somehow," he calls. The sound of crushing glass comes from the bathroom, and the sound of running water.

      Even Tori's astral form is in turmoil, but manages to get some answers across, even cryptically. She doesn't seem...very well, mentally. She's jumpy, agitated and seeming very lost. But she's more 'here' in the astral plane right now than she is in the real world. She's kind of blanked out a bit in the physical world, shutting down from the shock of it all.
      She is physically injured, yes. Most of it is superficial.... the broken knuckles and cuts from punching the mirror... the cuts across her right hand's fingertips from the glass... the deep wound in her left hand which still has the shard digging into it (she's reflexively still holding onto it).
     But the scratches on her arms were made by her nails... aggravated wounds.
     The sympathy you offer is really what gets Tori to talk a bit and share what is going on... she just keeps saying "He's gone... Darius... he's gone..." between answering your questions. She wrings her hands a lot and shuffles back and forth, looking very lost.

     The crumpled woman doesn't move as the men enter the room. She doesn't even look up. She is just very very still. Her body is tensed tightly in its current position. Blood drips onto the carpet from her hands.

     He has a gift for gab, no one would argue against that. Davydd takes a knee beside the form, and a hand lands on the woman. Lightly. "Miss," he murmurs. Gently he tries to see how many and how serious her wounds are.
     And wondering how many more minutes are left in the night...
      "Miss," Davydd murmurs again, eyes lifting briefly to Sebastian's call, "...it's going to be alright," he assures
     Quick survey leads him first to her hands. The drip-drop of blood on the carpet, fresh from fresher wounds. Fingertips bloodied, cut by glass, the most likely culprit. And his large hands lift the much smaller digits. The room crackles, skin pricks.
     The flesh knits and mends as he holds her hand with his left, covering it with his right. The flesh mends, but the blood is left to remain. Glass is brush from her skin, her flesh, rooted out by his call and by his will, brushed from her by the gentle movement of his thumb.
          Davydd tilts his head to get a good look at her face. There is something...jarring about her. Something that strikes him. Something that bothers him. "Aye, she is," he says, voice carrying the distance.

     Sebastian returns, holding a wet towel. "Here," he says softly, looking now at the exposed windows. Dropping the towel at Davydd's shoulder, he steps around to continue securing the room. "I've got a car coming," he states. "I don't think it's good for her to stay here. I can get people to clean up the room before morning," he adds. Twisting around to find poles and curtains, Sebastian steps to re-hang one set of draperies.
          "Can she move?" Sebastian asks lastly, reaching up easily to refit the rod. "Christ, what a mess..."

     At first, the woman does not respond. Her hand is limp in Davydd's own, being dwarfed by it. But as flesh begins to heal, her head slowly raises, her face still hidden by matted hair. "Darius?" a soft, choked voice asks the room, but no one in particular. It is the voice of someone very very lost and alone. Grey eyes as dark as storm clouds try to peer out from behind the curtain of hair at Davydd without really focusing on him.

      Clearly seeing that she's not totally seen, Sandrine turns to see the activities of the men in the room. "Davydd Llewelyn and Sebastian de Rancey," she says. "Nice men, both," her eyes narrowing curiously. "They have gotten there...fast." She seems surprised to see Davydd. "They...can try to help you."
     She doesn't address Darius being gone, save to say that she's sorry that something has happened. Only after Davydd has her hand does she mention that things are not necessarily safe where they all are. Sandrine is very careful in choosing her words, as if she is quite expert in such esoteric movings in the astral plane. She mostly sits and acts as a companion, so that Tori doesn't feel alone. She does say that her name is Sandrine, once the two men have arrived, assessing that Tori must be someone that is familiar to them, she's a vampire, and that there is less worry that Sandrine's stumbled upon some strange creature that doesn't need to know who she is.

     His hands were stroking her left hand in his, working out the last bit of the glass shards...
     He was reaching for her right hand when that...jarring sensation grabbed him full force in the gut. Sebastian's muttering, speaking Greek for all Davydd hears, for when he sees his sister's ring upon the woman's finger everything else dissolves.
     "Oh Christ..."
     Moving in his crouch, Davydd lets loose of her hand and brushes her hair back. Strands of it stick to the blood on his hands. "I'll move her. I know her..." A pause. "Well, I've met her..." he qualifies in a murmur. "She's a friend of William's. Victoria," he murmurs. "It's Davydd. We're going to ...take you some place safe..." He looks to Sebastian as he starts to cradle her, preparation for standing and lifting her. "Mostly her hands. And her spirit. I think the physical damage is minor in comparison..."

     Tori remains seated even in the astral plane, slowly rocking back and forth. The sound of your 'voice' with her seems to keep her calmer here, even if she's still obviously troubled. She can communicate brokenly, her gaze darting around like she's searching for something...for someone.
     Hearing your name, she manages to say that her own name is Tori. However, she seems confused at the fact that there's two men in her room on the physical realm. She looks up at them, then back at you, seeming confused... but understands your concern about danger, with some effort.
     For a moment, she slips into a horrible wailing cry. Then she silences very suddenly as she finally focuses on the man in the physical plane who seems to be talking to her... what is he saying to her? Davydd? Not Darius? What? Confusion is obvious, but she's trying.

     A friend of William's? That's interesting. "I don't know her," Sebastian says, firmly in the expectation that a friend of William's is a Ventrue. His face is contorted a moment as he comes back over from the window, hands on his hips. Some random Ventrue....
     "The car will meet us out back," Sebastian says. "I see you found the stairs...they go down to the service level. They better be there," he grumps, fishing phone out of his pocket and staring at the display.

     No, it's not Darius. For a brief moment, confusion passes over her face... wait, she knows this person...she thinks. Her gaze finally focuses, bringing her attention as fully as possible on Davydd. Crimson tears have dried on her pale cheeks and threaten to become freshened with new ones.
     "D-Davydd...?" she manages to question, then falls silent again as she begins to weep. Utter pain and loss passes over her expression as her emotions threaten to flood the room once more.
     Then those eyes unfocus again, so lacking in the blue she is normally known for. She begins to rock again. Davydd's assessment is bang-on.

      Sandrine attempts to clear up the fact that the two men are Davydd and Sebastian, and that they are friends too, who have come to help. Sandrine pauses on hearing that Tori is a friend of William's, but repeats the idea that they are going to take Tori someplace safe. She tries not to speak over the mens' words, knowing that Tori might have trouble trying to maintain 2 conversations, but she mostly tries to repeat the important parts of the conversation. She also says that she cannot stay much longer, that she will have to go soon, but will see Tori again soon, perhaps. She adds that Davydd will see to Tori and that she can trust him.

      Tori is beginning to lose control on herself even in the astral plane again, but she does manage to nod to everything Sandrine tells her. Once more, the erratic, jerky motions take over her form again as her physical form loses itself to turmoil once more. It isn't verbal, but a thank-you is quickly passed...just barely before she loses her grip on the present even in this realm, letting her physical body take over again.

      "She's a bit of an early Rose," Davydd murmurs. "Gets battered by the late storms. There's a story in it," there always is, he lifts her like a child, and he has experience in that. "At least from what Meurelle told me," not him, too. This Toreador keeps...interesting company. "This isn't the first time she's destroyed something with her bare hands."
     His tone of voice changes, and so too the language. He leaves off the French for the Frenchy's sake and goes back to The Queen's English. "Aye, Davy-bach. Shhh, now," he speaks to her like a toddler daughter as he readjusts her in his hold. "I'm going to take you to a safe place... then we'll get to the bottom of this," he assures her. Not fully expecting that such a thing can happen, but it is better to feed a heart with hope. Even if only in particles.
     "I'll take her down," Davydd nods, and holds her firm, gently. "I may come back up here and...help sort out things here..." If there's time, he intimates. If there's darkness left by then.
     He moves to the door, stepping over the clutter of a life in shambles...
     Good morning, love. A tit for tat. An answer to an announcement. Conversations that are silent, strum the air and strum the blood. Oh well, Christ... at least that. There's not much I can do for her... except get her somewhere ...where she won't be staked. At least for tonight.
     Davydd continues to move toward the door, trying hard not to step on the remnants of Claridge's. Looks like The Blitz all over again.

     Victoria's small body moves limply in Davydd's grasp as she has no compulsion to fight him or try to pull away. No verbal responses come from her again. She barely even blinks at him as she is carried across the room.
     Eventually, she merely buries her face in his chest to block the brighter lights from the hallway out, then stills herself again. She weighs barely much more than a child might, too, giving him an easy time of it.
     This Rose looks very much withered Davydd's arms, without any indication if she could be revived to bloom once more or not. For now, she will merely let herself be whisked away.

     Davydd...it's me. Sandrine. I'm here. In the room. You can't see me, but...it doesn't matter. That girl...isn't well. She's had some psychic trauma? I can't stay, though...

     Sebastian quirks at the idea of Davydd coming back. "I'd rather you not here either, Llewelyn," Sebastian replies, moving across mess to the door. A man with a plan.
     "Hello?" Sebastian says. Vibrating phone. "Yeah, we're on our way down. Two minutes, tops," he says, hand on the doorknob. "Right-o," Sebastian finishes, flipping his phone closed.
     The door clicks when he opens it, the standard greeting of a hotel's key system. Sebastian sighs and looks left and right on the hallway before stepping out into it. "Let's go," he says softly, slipping phone back into his jacket pocket.

     "Alright, suits me fine," Davydd murmurs. "I'm going to have a hell of a time slithering into bed by dawn thirty at this rate." Which indicates he can at least handle dawn thirty. If push came to shove.
     "Doubtful you're going to get anything out of her tonight. I think sedation," Davydd whispers as he moves into the hall, carrying her with all the ease of someone carrying a small and wounded cat.
      "...better at the moment. As long as the secret handshake's intact at the end of the night, let her get her rest, someplace safe. Torie HQ, I take it?" And, yes, he is concerned. While he may not have an obligation to her per se, he does have one to William. Edward thinks she's mad as a hatter, prone to scratch a man's face right off. But William has something else invested in her. Apparently.
     He moves down the hall, a half glance backward. As if looking for the woman whose voice he feels.

      She can come here...we have been talking. It's late, Davydd. Where are you going?

     Toreador. Sebastian lets the door close behind him, pushing a few buttons on the lock before heading behind Davydd to the stairs. He's the only thing seeming to follow, sliding key card into his pocket again.
     "That's fine," he says, "...The Tate." A glance at his watch, and even now Sebastian is worried about the time. Picking up the pace, he moves past Davydd carrying the woman and pushes open the doorway to the stairs.

      "Better idea... give me a lift to Meniwell..." Home. He doesn't take time to explain or argue. Davydd moves down the hallway, bending time and space in that way that You and Your Ilk, of which he is a part, do best. Folding it in successive halves until you reach your destination exponentially.
     And as he passes down the hallway, he hums something soft. So soft only your ears (or hers if she were paying attention) could hear it. And the blood disappears from her hands.
     It's the best I can do. I can fix a battered body. But the soul? The soul is her business. And God's.
     A call goes out to a pair of plump dogs loitering in the early morning lightness. The coming dawn. They know the way home. They'll head that way, leads in their mouths and all...

     Meniwell? Ah, right. Sebastian glances behind as he crosses wide swathes of parquet in the service bay. Indeed, at a large open exit sits a car, engine running. "You sure?" he asks. Taking strays to one's home can't be good. "Her team, their problem," he says evenly. It isn't a lack of compassion -- though certainly, Sebastian can't have much -- but a sense of what he'd rather if the situation was his.
      "Apparently, Thierry's people knew something was going on..."

     At the car, a woman piles out. Colleen, dressed now in black. She runs around to the hotel side, opening the dark door of the limousine.

     "Do you want to take the call from Plantagenet?" comes the droll rumble of the Cymri's voice. "I'll contact Thierry," or the Little Woman will do it, no doubt. Is he even on speaking terms with Tattinger these days after last year's (and the year before's) events?
     "I'm sure," he says, and he ducks into the limo, climbing in, balancing the Toreador all the while. "We'll call ourselves even..."
     Davydd settles in the car with the young woman on his lap. In truth, he can get her home faster himself, but for the approach of the dawn sun he'd do just that.

     Sebastian smiles at the notion of Plantagenet. As if he was worried. "Colleen will take you where you want to go," he finally says. "I'll see to here." Sebastian motions Colleen back around the car as he takes the handle in his grasp. "And...I'll deal with Thierry." Rank and all. Besides, he's the one who called Sebastian. "I told him I'd ring him."
     "Let me know when you're done," Sebastian says to Colleen, bending deeper to see within the car. Colleen nods, putting the car in gear.
     With that, Sebastian rises and looks at Davydd once more. "Let me know," he says, pushing the door closed in the comment...

Posted by Criseyde at June 23, 2003 03:40 AM