It is not long after the sun decides to slip out of the sky for its nightly rest that the one known to some as the Goth Diva slips out of her hotel room for a night on the town. Still staying at the hotel, as though she is still unsure as to whether or not she will make London her home once more. It has been so long.
     But it doesn't take her long to begin to remember her way around the old parts of the city and pick her way through the newer, unfamiliar parts. The buildings may change, but the land doesn't. Prowling through the streets, Tori scouts around for her evening's meal, but doesn't rush. She's out for some fun this evening and she's dressed the part... it's as if she had been poured into the black PVC outfit she now dons. The pants and shirt shine beneath street lamp light, and the leather of her overcoat and boots pick up the light in a different manner. Her hands are shoved deeply into the overcoat, which catches the breeze as she moves.
     If it's a little chilly, she does not seem to mind, even if it causes a few glances in her direction.

      Somewhere not quite on the other end of town, a gloved hand waved away the offer of a car. It's a crisp autumn night -- the city should be walked, not glanced at past glass. And so the ritual has begun, once again upon the heels of Day...
     It always starts at the river, and he follows its banks like the soul traveling on the heart's main artery. A cigarette -- his third -- dangling from his mouth. Gloved hands hide the roughness of the former warrior prince, the blue tattoos of an old Celt. Grey wool overcoat sends the start of fog scurrying at his heels. The black sweater, knitted by some lovely girl from the West Country, the black trousers fitting neither close nor loose. His vestments obscure him until he passes directly beneath street or lamp light...
     Sometimes, he even walks it with his eyes closed...
     But whether he's seen or not... he is most certainly felt. One of the oldest souls around, they say, in this city of the young and scrappy...
     Davydd pauses at the intersection of Regent and Coventry, vaulting his cigarette from his fingertips like a comet. He exhales smoke and as he turns to glance at the traffic and how it turns, the nearest streetlight casts its shine on him. Coppery-bronze hair, shorn short till it has tamed the curls, shows itself, and a streak of white light moves over his grey coat. His coat the color of London fog...

     Do you have the ability to sense the presence of another of your kind, like some can? Do you sense something passing nearby... something predatory? Something nearly dancing by...nearly daring anyone with the ability to notice?
     Or are you oblivious to it? Are you deaf in this manner, as many of your kind are?
     Light catches something across the street from you as a shadow moves into the light. The shadow leans against the lamp post, coming more clearly into view. Light flashes again, bouncing off of her blue-lensed specs as she crosses her arms over her chest and tilts her head slightly.
     "Well, well... fancy bumping into you," comes the female's voice... melodic... like the voice of a singer. Tori watches you from that lamp post, damned well grinning like the Cheshire Cat.

     He acts oblivious, but he isn't...
     He feigns that he is shocked, when he seldom is...
     But what's the point of ruining the surprise and fun for everyone else?
     Hands lace behind his back and Davydd gives a swivel. Upraised, fiery brows -- a tilted smile upon his lips. Already. Like it had been there a while. "You know, if you make the circuits around the taverns of London often enough, like it is you'll get an eyeful of me. Victoria... right?" And so Davydd turns about, his stroll wandering your way now. His green eyes lift here and there. Upon you, away from you, to the city, to the overcast sky, to his empty hands. "How's your stay in London goin'? Still at Claridge's?"

     Pursing her lips, Tori chuckles quietly, "Hmm... are you really so shocked to see me, Davydd? It is really a small city for people like us..." She does not come out with the fact that she knows you were feining. She keeps this little secret for now.
     "Yes, Victoria... or Tori. You have a good memory for meeting me once," she replies, smiling now. "I suppose I could start hanging around the pubs more, now that I know I'd have a reason," she adds with a teasing wink over her specs as she tilts her chin down a bit to do so.
     Raising her face again, she looks around and holds her arms out, saying, "My stay has been wonderful, and yes, I'm still at Claridge's. I've not found a new place yet and they just treat me so well there... I actually wondered when we'd meet again...I figured we would probably want to do some more chatting, considering our mutual friend." William. She must mean William.

     "I wouldn't say I was shocked..." The word is drawn out, rough and almost growling. But it's coupled with a broad grin. And he has to laugh. Small? Some nights it's damn near five to a bed...
     Just like the old days...
     There's a rumble of a laugh in the broad chest as you mention his memory. He'll not confess how far it reaches. "You just missed 'im, actually," he quips, voice congenial, quiet. "His Majesty was here yesterday, spirited off before I could whisk him away and get him in trouble." A whistle leaves him, and Davydd makes a motion with his hands. As if William being in London was just a figment of our imagination...
     "So," Davydd starts in not a half-beat after his quip, "...what awful stories and lies has he filled your head with about me?" Arms cross over his chest, and Davydd leans in with a grin. "Particularly recently..." Such a grin, such a look from his eyes. He must have given William some... recent reason?

     Again, she chuckles at your response. Ah, this evening is going to be interesting. Finally, she laughs out loud and says in a low voice, "I should warn you, really... I'm surprised William has not done so himself. Guard your thoughts, lest I might overhear them, Davydd, then no matter what I have or haven't heard from William will be irrelevant... or relevant as the case may be."
     At this point, she reaches up and removes her blue specs, revealing the ice-blue orbs beneath as she continues to chuckle a bit. "As for what William has said to me... In truth, nothing. And, I was not even aware that he was in London until now, so I've not really been in contact with him since coming here," she replies with a grin.
     "As I said, I'm surprised William has not warned you about me," she repeats, tucking the sunglasses away in an inside pocket of her great coat. PVC shines again as she moves.

     "Bah, as if I'd take Plantagenet's advice on women..." comes the low-rumbling. As for his thoughts? That only brings a smile, winding and wild. And coupled with green eyes that dance with humor. As if anyone would want to get inside my head...
     Course, you can see that with your extra special spidey senses...
     "But I'm a bit offended," his voice lifts in volume just a half-notch, for drama's sake, and he outspreads his arms, "... that he didn't tell y' the first thing about his oldest friend in the world, looks like..." arms fold again, "...I'll have to take matter into m' own hands...what are you doing for the next hour or two?"
     He seems serious...
     Even though the grin is half-cocked and poised upon exploding across his features.

     Pursing her lips, attempting not to grin at you, she replies, "Well, now... let me think. Do I have any pressing appointments? Hmm..." Her tone is a teasing one and mock-business-like as she looks up a bit, appearing to go through some kind of mental rolladex. Looking back to you after a moment, she crosses her arms, echoing your stance as she finally answers, "Well, I think I can squeeze you into my hectic schedule..."
     Something in the way she emphasizes hectic makes her expression finally break into a huge grin. "Hah... no, I have nothing to do, Davydd, in truth. I've been bored to tears over the last few nights, in truth. I would be pleased if you had plans which included me," she replies with a pleasant smile.
     Running a hand quickly through her raven locks to push back some stray strands, she chuckles, "And, don't blame William. It just means I'll have to work a little bit to find out more about you myself." Light glints off of the ruby upon her finger even as she grins at you.

     "How about a coffee, then? We can drink at William's for free, and it'll almost be like he's there with us. Besides, he owes me..." A debt that can never be paid, if you ask Davydd. His arms unfold and there's a wide sweeping gesture to a non-descript building. An old building. Doesn't look like much, does it.
     Apart from the neon sign, that is. That's quite swank. Says The Abbey. Leave it to the crusader to be all medieval about it...
     "I've a while before I have to be off for the night... " The red headed Welsh mountain nods toward the Abbey, and grins. C'mon...

     "I would be delighted," Tori replies with a smile, looking over toward the old building and the sign. She tries not to let her smile turn into a grin as she begins to move in that direction, wondering what it is with these old crusaders and their symbolism and sentimentalities.
     She hesitates only briefly, making sure that you're definitely going with her. Her booted feet then move more confidently, heading into the gods only know what kind of evening...

     He strides like Mars with the sharpness of Mercury. And while William may give off the heir of Divine Right regality, Davydd is not without his own majesty. But his... his is more the earthy sort. The older, more primal sort. When to be a prince was to be the lifeblood of the people and the land alike. Not half so golden, no. But several degrees more real...
     The grey woolen coat moves in the stride, as Davydd crosses the way to the Abbey. A pivot, a grin, and he swings the metal door and the inner gate wide for you...

     The door and gate is held for her and Tori steps inside without further hesitations. However, when she steps inside, she pauses and gasps. This is most certainly William's place... it brings back memories of another place like it overseas... on the west coast of the US...
     She blinks visibly and looks down at the floor for a moment, away from all of the pieces of work, then back up again. "This has his mark, alright," the raven-haired one murmurs with a grin, marvelling at it all.
     Turning toward you, she adds, "Are you here often? I did not even know this place existed." No, William never mentioned it. Perhaps he figured she would eventually stumble across it.

     "I come here for the free coffee mostly. Usually when he's in town," he smiles in a slant and waves a hand at the surrounding artwork -- all modern. "It's a bit flashy for me... I'm not much into modern art." A roll of great shoulders.
     No, Davydd is not what most would call an... art critic. Unless the piece is from the 14th Century or earlier. That, he has opinions on. Tapestries. Especially tapestries...
     And especially lately...
     He nods toward the curving stairs. "The cafe's upstairs. Aye? Never told you about it, then? Sweet Jesus, he's had this place forever in one incarnation or the other." Green eyes, brilliant in this lighting -- as is he -- flare as he narrows them in a broad grin. "Apparently, he's got a few secrets left in him. Amazing... for a man his age..." A wink at that, and Davydd heads up the staircase...

     With a smile set upon her lips, Tori moves through the room, toward the stairs. Her gaze flickers about, touching on piece by piece, not missing a thing. She calls after you, "What kind of art do you prefer, then?"
     As to William keeping his secrets, a grin crawls onto the raven-haired beauty's lips as she murmurs, "I am a close friend of William's, but I cannot claim to know all of the man's secrets. Life would be boring around him if I knew everything, don't you think?"
     Her booted feet carry her up the staircase behind you, her laughter following easily...

     The only folks in the place at the moment is the cafe staff. Young men, some of London's finest, hover around. There's soft music here -- wavering from Jazz to Swing. Yeah, that's Billie Holiday...
     Behind the counter is the cafe's lone woman. The barista. She gives Davydd a smile and then the woman behind him. And the guys start to at least pretend to be busy...

     "I'm not much into art. That's been William's thing.. but you know... I fancy a good illuminated text or a well-made tapestry. Lost arts, both. Otherwise, it's all just colors on the wall to me..." He laughs at that, a quip to the sound of it and as you both arrive upstairs upon the balcony and in its cafe, he makes a gesture to one of the tables. One with a view of the gallery below.
     Glancing back over a great shoulder, Davydd grins. "I have a strict don't ask, don't tell policy with d'Angevin... How's this? Or would you rather..."
     And his hand gestures to one of the 'confessionals'. The alcove benches that can be enclosed. And even as he gestures, he half-pivots. Expecting that to be your choice.

     Ice-blue eyes flicker slightly, taking the scene in. She actually grins a little as she sees the guys pretending to be busy, but the grin turns into a smile as it is returned to the woman behind the counter.
     "William's always loved art, since I've known him... mind you, I've not known him long. But I've seen some of his own works, so I know it's a true love of art with him," Tori replies with a smile. Much like the love of a Toreador. But this remains unsaid.
     Looking toward the confessional set-up, the woman nods in your direction and murmurs with a smile, "This one is just fine." Immediately, she moves to seat herself within the enclosed area, saying with a chuckle, "Well, I've never been afraid to ask William anything, but I figure that we have a while still, so why learn everything all at once, hmm?"

     Coat lands in the corner of the confessional...
     And he is seated across from you, settling in. It couldn't have been a moment after you started to settle in yourself. Ventrue bending time and space to suit his own comfort. Green eyes dancing with light, glinting as they glance from the mortals around to the woman across from him. "He's been in it a while," the French is perfect. Without flaw and without accent. Soft and landing between you and he only...
     The tone, and the walls of the confessional itself see to that...
     "Want a drink? They've a damn fine cappacino here..."
     That, in English...with north Welsh accent riding high...
     And then to you again, with a grin cutting across his mouth, the old dragon murmurs unaccented and fluent Francais, "I've known him for a long time. A long, long time..."

     This does cause her to blink for a moment, but she smiles easily, covering her hesitation quickly. Her own coat is shrugged off to fall behind her, bunching up behind the small of her back. Her gaze lowers for a moment as she adjusts it to become a good back rest behind her.
     The ice-blue raises once more as she hears the French, however. This causes a raven eyebrow to raise slightly above the other momentarily as her lips purse into a small smile. "Oui, I would think he had been in it a while... and figured you could easily confirm that, merci," Tori replies easily in French back to you. Switching back to English, she murmurs, "I will try one, sure..." Is that a London accent creeping into her voice? Perhaps she is merely feeling more comfortable around you now.

     There is a glance about, and eyes find their target...
     "Two cappacinos," actually, wouldn't it be cappacini? "... one dry, one wet. Oh," Davydd leans in, sudden animation, in eyes, in hands, "...and if you have any of those honey walnut scones, I'll take one of those as well...I'm famished," that said to you as he settles back in the booth. "But you know, sometimes I get a taste for normal cuisine. I've never gotten over that."
     And the waiter's long gone. He'll be back sooner than he was noticed in the first place...
     "So, not to make this the William Hour," that sounds amusing in polished French, but so it goes, Davydd's fiery brows give a rise and the grin returns. "Love him as I do," he continues, "... it's just our connection, yes? So, you met him in America... when he was in San Francisco?"

     Grinning, Tori murmurs very quietly, "I have difficulties with normal cuisine still... but I am working on that." She almost seems a bit embarrassed by this fact and looks down at her hands which have since clasped together before her.
     Hearing the question about William, she manages to look back up, all traces of awkwardness seemingly gone. Shaking her head, she replies, "No, no... I did not know him until he was in New Port. I had been in New Port for about ten years or so before we met, in truth. I've never been to San Francisco, even though William keeps promising he'll take me sometime." She chuckles, then murmurs in French now, "Mais oui, he is our connection... but we will just have to find other connections, non?"

     "Well, actually... we have another..."
     I wasn't going to tell you, Victoria Whitethorn...
     I was going to sweat it out of you, but lately things have changed for me...
     The world is not as it was...
     "The ring you are wearing..."
     Davydd looks up, the madcap, comet's grin replacing his more even expression. How he changes. "Ah, beauty... thanks, mate... you'll like this, Victoria... I got it nice and foamy for you. Bit more on the creamy side, goes down a bit easier for the uninitiated," red brows waggle and he laughs. That rumble of sound in the dragon's throat and chest.
     The waiter sets the two large cups, Italian porcelain, and saucers down. It's more a bowl than a cup, really. And then there's another plate, of the same porcelain, bearing a sweet, honied concoction.
     Davydd grins at the rim of the cup, both large paw-like hands lifting it to his mouth. And his eyes are now on you.

     The ring?
     Her gaze slips down to it quickly, but then is yanked back upward as the waiter brings the drinks.
     Offering a smile to him, then to you, she replies easily, "Ah, thank you... I'm sure it will be lovely and that I will enjoy it." Lowering her voice a bit as her hands part to pull the cup closer to her and the waiter moves away, she adds, "I'm certain it will be easier to drink than wine, which I seem to have gotten quite used to."
     Delicate fingers hook about the large cup and raise it to test a bit of it. All she gets is foam at first. Realizing some of the foam sticks to her upper lip, she laughs and lowers the cup, wiping at her mouth quickly. "Oh bother... is there a trick to these things?" she asks, laughing a bit more.
     Setting the cup down for a moment, she remembers what you began to say and holds out her hand, letting light catch the ruby of the ring on the delicate finger. "I'm sorry... you were saying about this ring, Davydd?" she asks curiously, looking down at it.

     "I'm an ale and whiskey man, myself. Wine's too sweet for me. But I make allowances for mead, the occasional brandy, oh and mulled wine at Yule,"
     In other words, he makes frequent allowances...
     The large cup is lowered and a smile tilts at his lips, more to one side than another. There's no comment for the foam. Offering the ring out halts that. He looks at it, he looks at you.
     Deep green eyes cast a glance to the surrounding mortals... and suddenly...
     Does it feel sudden?
     They all seem to be off doing their own thing...
     You don't see any of them hovering about...
     Or maybe it's due to the semi-privacy that the confessional allows...
     "The ring," he begins in his quiet French, "... belonged to my sister..."

     It's a good thing she set the cup down because she may have just dropped it otherwise, based on the expression on her face.
     Her gaze flickers back up at you, ice-blue orbs seeming huge as they widen and her jaw drops, allowing her mouth to open very suddenly in shock. For a long moment in time -- or does time pause? -- she remains speechless.
     Then, catching herself, she closes her mouth and blinks a bit. Finding her voice, she manages to ask, "Your... your sister's ring? You are... were... are..." she stumbles a bit, then says, "...his brother-in-law?" Her voice is lowered greatly, and she does carry on in French, taking your cue.

     Davydd has spread where he sits, relaxed, claiming full half of the booth in his barbarian sprawl. But for all that, his posture's straight, there's no slumping about. And he watches it sink in. And then he grins.
     So, he has told you about me...
     And he's told you about her...
     "You wear a good lady's ring," Davydd lilts, his French lifting easily upon a Cymric tongue. "I assume then he thinks you a good lady deserving to wear it. I will admit," he leans in and narrows his eyes in a slant of a grin, "I was annoyed when I first saw it. But you know..." A roll of great shoulders as he sits back. "It's his to give. He gave it to her, afterall. And I trust him to give it wisely. It was a silly thing to be upset." With barely a pause, Davydd continues, a hand reaching out, a finger tapping the head of the stone. "The ruby is from the seat of Jerusalem. William's uncle was king of Christ's country. I think the story goes that William and Richard both were hoping to set William up as King of Jerusalem had the Crusade been successful. I think... when he gave that to Catherine... he was meaning to make her queen of the Holy Land. She died, of course, before that could happen. Which is just as well, the Crusade was a shambles."
     Green eyes widen as he laughs at that. "I'm glad I missed it. I was too busy guarding my borders from his jackass brother..."
     Prince John. That Prince John.
     "I am that very Llewelyn," he confirms, Welsh breaking up the unaccented and precise French that preceded it. "I thought you'd want to know a bit about the bauble..."

     Ice-blue eyes widen again as she sits there in a bit of a state of shock. Blinking, she shakes her head and murmurs, "I'd hardly call it a bauble, myself. I... I knew it was hers when he gave it to me. But in truth, I argued at first... I couldn't believe he would give me such a piece of his history, of someone else's history; something so sentimental. But, he insisted, and so it's never left my finger since."
     Looking down into her mug, then back up at you, she whispers softly, "You have a right to be annoyed, Davydd. It was your sister's afterall. But, I am glad you are not so affected now."
     There is a tangible pause, then she nods, murmuring, "In truth, if you were to demand for the ring, I would not hesitate to give it to you. I would give it to only you, or William, if either asked for it. I have no claim on it, save that it was given to me by a very good friend, who obviously had reason to give it." Pursing her lips momentarily, she looks you in the eye, then asks, "Do you wish to lay claim on it?"
     She has already pulled it off and holds it out to you in the palm of her hand. "I do not wish to cause any problem," she says softly. History surrounding it is ignored for now.

     He shakes his head, nose wrinkling up -- and for a brief moment the old cymri, forever older than William, looks about five years old. At least the freckles are gone. "Nah," his hands lift the cup of cappacino, elbows on the table as he sits forward, "She's been dead a long time, Victoria. I don't need the ring. It gives you joy, I think it'd make her happier to see someone wearing it and taking joy out of it. She was a good egg." Green eyes sparkle in the wink and he sips at the coffee balanced in his hands.
     "But thanks for the gesture," the English is worn again, soft falling and lilting with a non-English cadence. "I'm glad he gave it away, actually. Means he's not carrying her around with him anymore. I mean, I loved the lass as much as anyone, she was the baby of the family and the only girl in a household of men," a smirk for that, "... but sweet jesus he carried her around like a personal crucifiction. You keep it now," he whispers. "And if you have a childe sometime... pass it down if it please you. That's the way it should be..."
     Another sip and the cup is set aside. Davydd settles back again. "So, do you know Dunross as well then?" He grins at that, cockwise and warm.
     Mischief...

     The small hand closes about the ring slowly as she keeps her gaze on your face a moment longer. Nodding, then moving to put the ring back on, Tori murmurs quietly, "Well, no thanks needed. It's just I didn't want to hold onto something that maybe really belonged more rightfully to someone else, truthfully. It wouldn't be right." The girl's got a sense of morals, truly.
     "But... well, if I have a childe, I will keep it in mind to do so, Davydd, certainly," she adds, leaning back a bit for a moment, as though needing a moment of air. Small hands now wrap about the cup again as she begins to lift it. Just as it reaches her lips, her gaze flickers up again to you, a smile forming against the porcelin. "I think I am only really now getting to know Ian, in truth..." she replies, then peers at you strangely, perhaps picking up on your mischief. "Now, now... just what are you suggesting, kind sir??" she says a little more boldly, laughing... laughter pausing as she attempts to take a second sip from the cappacino.

     "Really?" Fiery brows cock up at that and Davydd crosses arms on the tabletop. "Well, when you have some insight, call me. He's a tough nut to crack. But you know... that's a Scot for you. Quiet bastards. Sneaky and crafty. You know...every summer, Scots come down to the south country and to this day in Somerset they still lock up their women and children..."
     Or in Dunross' case, their beautiful, firstborn sons...
     "He's a good match for Will'am," Davydd murmurs, nodding to it, eyes to his hands, to the coffee he lifts. "But more than that I can't say, I don't know him well." Green eyes are several shades combining -- forest and meadow, hills and mountains, flecked with a kind of periwinkle now and again. "Bah, kind sir," Davydd rumbles with a slanting grin, "I'm none of that. So, you're in London for good then? Leaving the New World behind?"

     "Well, I can't say I know Ian very well... but I'm getting to know him more than I have in the past. He's always been kind to me, though, so that's enough," Tori replies as she lowers the cup this time without too much foam being stuck on her lip. Looking into the drink, she murmurs, "This is pretty good..."
     Your comment about Scots only elicits a snorted laugh from her. Nodding, she adds, "Yes, they are good together... I don't think I could imagine a world with just one or the other... or with the two apart for long."
     Tilting her head a bit, she smiles warmly and murmurs, "Well, I'm in London for now. I'm considering staying, but I'd like to get a bit more traveling in... though I guess I have plenty of time for that, now don't I?"

     "Aye, so you do..."
     Davydd finishes the cappacino and he nods. His expression, while still warm, is quiet. Is it thought? Is it the hour? Is it curiosity? He is a strange one, this Davydd Llewelyn. Capable of the loudest laughter. And the softest voice. What he seems to be, he is. But it doesn't end there.
     "You won't be bored, I trust. London's full of busy-ness and business." A roll of his shoulders. Whichever one most interests you. "There's something here for everyone. Political power," he chuckles at that, "... parties, clubs, theatre... pubs... fancy living," green eyes lift, survey and return to you, "... art, fine or not. You'll get on fine, I suspect..."
     There's nothing said of Dunross, but there is a smile. Knowing -- well, it seems to know something. A hand busies itself by reaching and toying with his cup. A tilt of porcelain. "I don't mean to pry..."
     Here it comes... you know he's going to pry anyway...
     "And it's none of my business..."
     But he's asking anyway...
     "You said last time... your man disappeared. Have you thought of... going to some... power of the city, your city or some power of... clan... to find him?"

     "Aye... some of the city is much as I remember it. I'm from here, actually. It's where I was created. Many of my own were shocked to hear I'm back, in truth," Tori says quietly, smiling a bit ruefully into her cup. "But, it gives the Toreador something to talk about, non? Something to busy their fopish little heads with," the Diva adds with a chuckle and a wink. "But, yes, I will no doubt like it here..."
     But then the subject changes.
     And her smile and wink swiftly dissolve into a visible wince... a pained look scrunching her pretty features quickly.
     Your question obviously cuts her deeply. She attempts to cover this with a bit of a smile, but it's likely too late. Defensively, she shakes her head, causing some stray locks of hair to block her face from unhindered view.
     "If he doesn't wish to be found, he won't be found," she says simply and quietly.

     He seems concerned because he is...
     I mean, in our world... folks just don't go missing...
     Things happen...
     Davydd raises a hand. A motion of apology. But he can't back off of it. "How do you know he doesn't wish to be found if you haven't looked for him. You loved him, aye? I am new to the whole love thing, myself, but if my woman went missing I'd lose my fucking mind." There's a pause.
     Defensive...
     "I ... have been on this earth for many years," Davydd murmurs, "...and I've ... ways of finding things. Let alone William. Give me his name, at least you'll know he's alive. You had sabbat trailing you from the Colonies to Chinon...and it's not just any vampire, lass, who'd think to assault the old castle of William Plantagenet. That was serious business." Green eyes narrow and the brow furrows, eyebrows knitting. "He could be in sabbat territory now, hoping someone is bloody well looking for him..."

     Those ice-blues look up at you again, through the curtain of hair... but where is the blue? It's only grey. Leaning forward, she murmurs, "We are bonded, so I know he's still alive. And he's traveled through the most inhospitable lands that I could imagine...and came out kicking and fighting. He has a tendency to wander, Dayvdd. For all I know, he's just decided to go on walkabout again..."
     Pushing her cooling drink away from her, she continues, "I can give you his name. Even William could give it to you, or Ian. He is Darius Wolfe. A Toreador, like myself." She falls silent for a moment, looking at the ruby on her finger before adding clearly, "I try to find comfort with strangers each night, Davydd, so that I don't lose my fucking mind." Those grey, lifeless eyes look back up at you again... with a hint of something... an edge.. an edge of what, though, who knows.

     He says nothing for a while. There's evenness for your emotion. Stillness for your motion. He is, in fact, the opposite of all you now are. He might not have been there at all, but for the tapping of his index finger upon the porcelain saucer. A statue, he seemed, that Davydd.
     There's no one around who'd remember what his Sire was like...
     Virtually no one...
     But there are times when those few, those very few indeed, would see the elements there. Now, would be such a time. As Davydd seems to withdraw for a moment, traveling inward and elsewhere.
     But green eyes sparkle brightly when he returns. For many moments it is the only other motion he makes. And then he lifts a fiery eyebrow and exhales. "But if it's him you want, settling for thousands just like him won't due. Or do you want to break the Bond? There's ways around that," a vocal shrug. "I guess it depends on what you want, Victoria." And green meets the grey. "I just thought it was strange... that he disappeared right as you and Edward have said the others started following you. You said yourself, there was no note, no nothing. Sounds a bit odd. But then," he exhales and reaches for his coat. "I've been driving out the now dwindling scourge for many centuries. One doesn't free cities in Spain without learning something..."
     There's a glance at the wall, a glance to you, and he seems prepared to move. "I've got to be off," he murmurs in English. "Bit of an appointment I have to keep..."

     A deep breath is taken by Tori, as she physically tries to pull herself out of the funk which seems to have overtaken her. Blinking, she brushes some of her hair back with her hand, amost absently. The blue has returned to her gaze, also.
     "Ah, yes, well... I have time to think on it, surely," she murmurs dismissively. Offering you a small smile, she adds, "Forgive me, Davydd. I did not mean to upset the evening. And please... don't let me keep you. Perhaps I might see you again, say in a few nights?"

     "Oh sure... I'm always about somewhere, lass..."
     And there's the wink again. The face that erupts in a smile. Quick as Mercury. With the bearing of Mars...
     "And you've not upset m' evenin' in the least. But you know, I had to ask the question of the woman wearing my sister's ring..." For if you're the kind of woman to abandon love or loyalties, he'd have to demand it back, you see...
     "I'll see if I can find him. Least he could do is leave you a message, aye? It's the modern age..." and hands wave for effect at that.
     He's already risen. The coat is back on. And once again the waitstaff can be seen. Now, they're getting ready to close. "Course, if you're looking for a Toreador to hook up with," he whispers, smile cocking slantwise, "you might want to look up a gent by the name Vincent deFranco. Local art collector. Something of a William wannabe, but I hear he's... an entertaining chap..."
     O, Davydd...
     You are just too rich!
     Green eyes sparkle as he checks his pockets for keys and smokes. "I hear he hangs out at Lord Grey's, one of those olde English bars near Kensington area..."

     Beginning to rise, Tori chuckles and murmurs, "I understand. In truth, if he's just on a walkabout, he's going to get a piece of my mind like there's no tomorrow..." And she's dearly hoping that's all it is.
     "As for the Toreador... I have yet to be able to make solid contact with any of them, so I will certainly look up deFranco. Thank you," she then says, offering you a smile of gratitude before reaching for her own coat..

Posted by rowan at May 05, 2003 12:11 AM