Even after Drancy took her leave of Hwyll, her composure was still more than a little shaken, the pieces of her fragmented, angry and bitter shell still unsolidified. She spent the rest of the night (day? who can say what time is, among the turrets and towers of Faerie?) weeping harshly, as quietly as she could, into her own lap, as far from everything else as she could arrange.
     Eventually, sleep claimed her, and with too doe-like eyes and vaguely pouty lips, she's again regarding her surroundings, resentfully, and with a strong longing for greasy fried foods of the sort that Faerielands seem ill-prepared to offer.
     "Right, then," she says aloud, having pulled on her jeans and shirt and boots and spiked up her hair as best she can without recourse to gels and sprays, "where the fuck is everyone, and what sort of nonsense is on the agenda today?" She wraps her belligerence around herself as if to hide flaws and cracks in her armour. It -is- her armour, today.

     The 'room' you had been given, or where you always seemed to end up after a long hard day-night of putting up with these Folk, was quite comfortable and sumptuous at least. Lots of cushions. Lots of clean clothes. And yours came back, by the way, smelling oddly of dew and morning glories, and on earth -- at least as far as anyone can tell -- morning glories don't actually have a scent. Well, here... all colors have their own scent, and being that fairy morning glories are particularly potent-indigo and purple, the scent is heady, sweet, and oddly longing.
     But you'll find, as you wake and as you dress, that there's no furniture turning themselves into horny fae men, or glasses becoming beds or anything of that nature. In fact, it's all quite hush-hush.
     Weird...
     And then there comes a knock at the door -- or maybe it's even the door asking for your permission to open. Who knows in this place...

     Drancy hesitates for a moment, considering how to answer the door. She's oddly tempted to mimic Captain Picard - but, well, do faeries watch Star Trek, even Next Gen Star Trek? Finally, she shrugs.
     "You can come in, but you'll be a lot more welcome if you've got a Croissanwich with you," she calls in a sullen mutter, sitting down and waiting, watching the door with a certain ... wary element to her gaze.
     I'd kill for fried potatos in oil with plenty of pepper... and maybe some mayonnaise...
     She sniffs cautiously at her clothing for a brief moment, admitting in the privacy of her own head that it does at least beat the scent of Tide.

     The door opens, rather than transforms, and it opens slowly as pushed by two pairs of male hands, belonging to a pair of fairy men, neither of whom wants to piss you off. Apparently you've made an impression...
     When the door moves ajar, you see the beautiful faces of Hwyll and Huw. Huw dressed in mottled browns and greens and blacks, leather mostly, but with mottled cloth dyed to give the appearance of leaves upon the earth. The cloak hanging heavily around his shoulders, ripples of thick hand-knitted wool it appears, are knitted shadows. He smells of the earth, the sweet and the musky...
     Hwyll is brilliant where Huw is earthy. Armored in something past silver, more like platinum, his golden hair unbound, he peeks in over Huw's shoulder, eyebrows lifted as if wondering: is she dressed?
     But he's smart enough not to ask...
     "Ah... no... croissanwich," Huw says, lips twisting and he begins to fish through his pockets while blocking the doorway. "I have some mushrooms... some... bah," he throws out the lint, then keeps fishing, "...hazelnuts, acorns...those are pretty bitter. I have some rowanberries," he says hopefully, lifting his gaze to you. Then smirks, "It's not exactly a croissanwich from McDonald's, but..." You're welcome to it.
     Huw stumbles in with a shove of Hwyll's hand and great Hwyll, huge Hwyll, moves in past him. "Don't want to rush you, take your time, but are you ready?"

     "If there's no grease involved," Drancy decides - as if she hadn't already, "I'm not interested. You lot do decent grub, but really, is it so much to ask for something which doesn't seem like health food?" She's being deliberately outrageous, slipping into her punk mien as if to make up for the slip - exposing her vulnerable side, exposing her more illustrious upbringing.
     With further reluctance, she acknowledges that the two men do make an attractive image, a flicker to her gaze as she transfers her glance from one to the other. Drancy combs her fingers through her hair, smothering a laugh at Huw's sudden stumble.
     "I was born ready. You're not wearing that, are you?"
     God in Heaven, we won't be able to get a block before they're asking about the movie premier, or locking us up...

     Earth and Sky are forever at odds, and here they clash but with primal good humor -- each one knowing that neither can win the day, but exist in the balance that is created by the struggle ever-ending in a draw. And so Huw throws out a punch to Hwyll, and Hwyll, light upon his feet, dodges it with an airy smile. "Not wearing what...?" he wonders, then looks down at himself. "This? Oh... I'll think of something on the way... don't worry..."
     Worry.
     Huw bends, picking up his berries and stuffing one in his mouth while the remaining go back into his pocket for later. "I'm going to lead you both back. Hwyll hasn't been to the Material Plane since Hurricane Andrew," that's reassuring, isn't it? "And no tornadoes," he says admonishingly to Hwyll, finger pointing.
     Hwyll lifts his hands and grins, "No cyclones, you're no fun. Alright, alright," the West Wind answers quickly to that... arrow-look shot at him from Huw's eyes. "No cyclones. It'll be an easy ride," Hwyll assures you, with a bow of his head to boot. "So," hands come together and rub, and a breeze kicks about the room, messing with your hair, Drancy. "Shall we go?"
     Huw wears an expression of exasperation for at least a half second -- long enough for you to notice it -- and then he moves toward you. "So, this is goodbye then, Drancy. At least for a while. Here... I want to give you something," fairies and their gift-giving. As he comes to you, Huw fishes around in his pocket some until he brings out a little velvet bag.

     With a scowl, she collects her hair and pulls it back. If he's going to mess with it, she's going to tie it back... spoilsport that she is. And she's already becoming paranoid for what Hwyll's next stunt is going to be.
     I agreed to this? I must have been drunk. Or high... what do they make their wine out of, anyway?
     "Oh, great. Bloody typhoons, is it?" Hwyll and Huw get equal looks of disfavour. If she's impressed the unholy two somehow - and she's just swift enough to realize she has, and is still wondering how she pulled it off - she'll do her best to press the advantage. "My home is not fair game. Let that be known right now."
     Then she's being approached, for a gift-giving, and there's a tense wariness. "You're not going to try hugging me, are you?" Oh. It's a bag. Is she relieved or disappointed? Only her psychiatrist knows for sure. "What's this?"

     Gloved fingers -- his gloves also bearing the look of fallen leaves -- pluck the treasure out of the velvet bag. A more-than-silver chain holding a more-than-silver pendant, a globe spotted with gems. "It's a charm," he says matter-of-factly, knowing you probably won't be impressed, or maybe not even accepting. But he gives it anyway. "I loved your great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-grandmother very much..."
     "We all did," Hwyll notes, hard to tell what he means by that, but it's a bit more serious than one might expect...
     "And... we can't all be with you forever. I guess you won't care now, and maybe you're looking forward to that day," Huw smirks. "But..." an exhale and he gives over the pendant charm, "... if we're parted long, and you're lonely. Or... if you need help... if you wear this and speak my name thrice," you'll hoot like an owl if you do it quickly enough, "...then help will come, or company for a lonely passing winter. Or..." whatever. So, take it already.
     Hwyll smiles, he rarely is without such a look, "Magic 101. Charms and Amulets. We'll cover that next week..." he whispers. "It also acts as a compass in case you get lost, if you say: North... you'll know where North is. And so on. Great gift. It's how trackers learn their way."

     Drancy tilts her head to the side, grudgingly impressed despite herself. It isn't that magic doesn't impress her - it's that usually, she has so little comprehension of what's going on, that her brain doesn't stop to say ... hey ... wait, that's magic, that is.
     "That's a lot of greats," she mutters, accepting the pendant with a jerk and duck of her head. "I assume I shouldn't wear it except when I really have to? - Fat chance," she adds belatedly, "of me being that lonely, though. You can stick to wanking off to Cat Fancy."
     Well... she has an image to maintain.
     Hwyll gets a look; you just know he's going to be getting a lot of those, in the coming months. "I'm going to inflict Dot on you," she says almost companionably, with a certain amount of malice.
     "We ready to go, then?"

     "I think I missed a few, but," a fairy shrug of his shoulders and Huw nods, "Wear it all the time. Or not at all. But the charm won't work if you're not wearing it." Does he seem offended, or does he just...hate to see you go? "And Now is as good a Time as any. Whenever you're ready, Hwyll..."
     Hwyll's mouth was mid-open to ask about this Dot person, or thing, or whom/whatsoever a Dot is, but then he simply smiles. Beautifully smiles. As Huw moves away from you, tucking belongings back in his pocket and mildly sulking, Hwyll steps up to you, and then he's All Business. "The first lesson," he sing-song whispers, "...is that of trust. In order for you to get home, you have to trust us. Close your eyes," Hwyll murmurs, and his hand lifts to touch your cheek.

     By way of answer, she drops the charm around her neck, hesitating before tucking it into her shirt, with a suspicious glower at Huw as the one who handed it to her. After all, it just might be yet another male fae, ready to gloat over location, location, location. She does so anyway - Drancy being who she is, assumes Huw's offended, and turns her back on it abruptly.
     Another suspicious glare - trust? May as well ask the stars to stop shining. But, well, lack of choice is a mother of decision, and she folds her arms over her chest, barely refraining from jerking away from that touch as she closes her eyes.
     "Is there at least going to be an in-flight movie?"

     "Not if we're lucky," Hwyll beams, but you miss it. You actually do what he says. He'll have to write this down in his diary when he gets to London...
     What else you feel, Drancy, was as this...
     As soon as he spoke, at the edge of his smile, you felt his hand upon your head, a light-strong touch that then glided to Nothingness. Gliding, even as you did. There is nothing to see, for you have no eyes. You have only the sensation of touch, as if your entire body was a finger -- you can feel everything. Every slide of air and wind, every dip of current. For the breath of the world is what holds you.
     You are a feather...
     You are a leaf...
     You spin as if you were being danced in a spiraling circle. Do you get dizzy. Do you wonder where you are...?
     It's best that you do not know...
     From Order to Chaos, upon the line in between, a singular leaf makes the journey of a lifetime, shielded by shadows. Pulled from grasping fingers. Lifted out of the clutches of three-headed, sharp-clawed beasts. Guided upon wind and by tumbling earth that leads the way. From forest to meadow to desert to oasis...
     ...You glide upon a river's stream, surrounded by forests that could only be imagined in the Modern Day. Oh, if you could only see them. Trees that put the sequoia to shame. Maybe you will dream of them one day...
     ...Falling...
     You feel yourself falling. Falling that seems to have no end. Surely the earth must be somewhere. Where? Will you hit it? You seem to fall at such a speed, such a great speed...
     But...
     Just as, perhaps, the soul was expecting to crash, you feel yourself cupped. Protected. Eased downward as if by gentle hands. Do you dream of a lover someday, who might lie you down as gently, as tenderly as this? There is softness. Security. A feeling of drifting warmth, like the last portions or the first portions of a dream...
     ...And then your phone rings for the fourth time. You hear the click -- yes, you hear it, it is nearby -- of your answering machine. You hear your voice: "Leave a message. Whatever. Sod off." And then a voice you recognize.
     "Drancy..." Davydd pauses a moment. "Drancy, if you're there and just pissed off at me... pick up the phone." A pause. "I'm in London. I'd like to see you. Maybe I can explain things better. Anyway. Cell number -- 03 - 07 - 133."
     The machine clicks with the ending of the call and beeps twice.
     You have a message.

     Stirring at the sound of her own voice, followed as it is by a voice she recognizes, she flails somewhat at something akin to consciousness, sitting up without opening her eyes, hair all askew about her head.
     Drancy lifts her eyes to her face, rubbing the palms loosely over closed lids as she mumbles out loud to herself.
     "So... it was all just a dream, then..."
     Just a dream...
     It's disappointing, almost crushingly so, in some ways, but she's so good by now, at denying herself. She owns property in Denial, by now, has equity, or should.
     "Guess I'd best go see what he wants." And she opens her eyes.

     Or was it...
     You'll notice it first in your bedroom, but your entire apartment is remarkably clean. Clean until it sparkles. Things put in their place...
     And remarkably cat free. Even the litter box is gone...
     Clothes are folded. As if your mother had come in as you slept, tidying up after you...
     And there is a sound of windchimes. Did you own windchimes?

     "What the fuck? Did I have reverse burglars sneak in and steal my stuff?" But no, it's all here. Wait a second...
     Drancy scrambles up to her feet remarkably quickly, looking around with frenetic sudden energy. She spares a glance for what she's wearing, too, just in case, one hand grabbing for bedsheets or the like. "Not hallucinating, am I... maybe I need coffee..."
     They do love doing this to her, don't they. Some part of her brain reluctantly acknowledges the possibility that this is just one more case of why faerie denizens are known for trickery....

     You are wearing the clothes you wore that night, the clothes once washed by fairy maidens, smelling faint now, just clean. Like Tide clean. Maybe All or Ultra...
     There is a soft sound coming from the living room...
     Soft like breathing, can you hear it?
     Maybe it's Dot. Maybe she was worried about you and she picked the lock and cleaned your room out of depression and worry when she couldn't find you. God only knows how long you've been gone. Maybe you've appeared in the apartment you used to rent, but that is now being rented by some old lady who's sleeping in the living room. That's the trouble with Time and Space, it's not linear and is prone to go on without you...
     Maybe it's Dei...

     All of those thoughts jumble in her head until she's buzzing with concerns, and out loud she says, annoyedly to herself, "Quit it!" She looks somewhat wild-eyed around the room. Everything's here, even if it's far too clean. She won't be able to find things for days...
     Cautiously, with a certain amount of trepidation, Drancy tiptoes towards the living room, half-hopeful and half-fearful for what she might find. If it's Dot, well, she can cope with Dot. If it's a little old lady, she might just leg it out the nearest window, or grab for that amulet - if it's there. One hand creeps up to her throat, patting for it under her shirt.
     And if it's Dei...
     Well. That depends on which 'one' it is...
     Peering furtively around the edge of the doorframe, Izzy's paranoia mounts. "Hello?", she croaks. Mice. Definitely mice.

     Snoring. It's definitely not Dot. And it's male. You can tell that when it moves, bare -- and strong arms -- becoming visible beneath a pile of cushions and pillows -- those are new -- wrapped in a rug that's new too, with a shock of golden hair. Unless the dye has washed from Dei's hair...
     That's not Dei...
     And you know it's not Davydd -- he just called. Well, that and the man's body isn't blue. And isn't half that broad, Davydd being a tank of a man. No, lean, muscled. Very naked, where he's not buried in rug and pillows.
     Maybe he's a kissing burglar...

     Shock. She's in shock, almost numb with it. The little part of her mind which isn't in shock, is taking in the details of that body. Mmm... nice.
     She never used to notice these things...
     Tiptoeing to her hall closet, Drancy reaches in for a cricket bat, just in case. Naked men in her living room aren't one of the apparitions she's gotten accustomed to, just yet, and she wants answers.
     She turns back towards the figure, bat in hand, holding it at the ready. "Right, then," she says aloud, nudging with the wide end of the bat and averting her gaze from potentially obscene areas of exposed skin, "who are you and what are you doing in my living room?"

     He wakes, quite suddenly, as soon as the bat touches him. Cricket, anyone? And in so doing flails backwards, hands inadvertently sending pillows scattering, including those that had been strategically placed. Quick thinking, he manages to fumble one back into his grasp to cover himself for Humilite's Sake.
     He doesn't look quite the same. Until he gives you That Look. The lifting of the eyebrows. The tug of his mouth in a slant. "Resting. Or at least I was. Sure, it was easy for you. All you had to do was lay there." Hwyll settles back down, his other hand trying to grab back the rug in an effort to cover himself. "I apologize for the nakedness, I'm not trying to lure you. I was ...just... too tired," Hwyll gruffs, "...to think of what to wear. Do you have one of those...magic boxes..." Television. "Maybe," he yawns and stretches, and the pillow misses a little of him there -- and there's enough going on to need a pillow's full attention, "...I will find something that won't get me arrested. I can't handle all that iron..."
     And then he's covered, curling back up into a ball. "How are you feeling? Your apartment keeps talking to you," meaning the answering machine no doubt. "How is a fellow expected to recuperate with the apartment chiming every fifteen minutes and talking about seemingly unrelated issues. How do you get any rest?"

     Drancy turns beet red as she inadvertently sees more male flesh uncovered than she had any intention to. It's not like she doesn't know what it looks like... punks aren't known for their adherence to social niceties, after all... but it's somehow different, when it's in her living room, like this. And someone who... well, she thinks it 'cute'.
     Pulling the bat away, she lets her shoulders slump a little. "Not a dream, then..." It's a mutter, to herself, then she blinks, parsing the flow of quasi-information.
     "There's a television in the bedroom, if that's what you mean. - No ideas!" Drancy's look is suddenly severe, mouth primming up a bit, pursing slightly. "I, you can watch there, yes?"
     Feeling... I'm confused, and you keep throwing me off guard, without appearing to even try, I don't know what to do, what to think, what to expect anymore.
     Aloud, she says, "That's the answering machine, not the apartment. I'm ... fine. It just means people are trying to get hold of me, and I need to call them back. Why don't you go watch the telly while I see who's been calling?"

     He doesn't shimmer like he did. And althought still handsome, at least empirically -- though some may not find him to be so subjectively -- he does not give the radiant glow of Pure Beauty that he had when you met him. But with his delicate features there is something classical about him. Classical Greek beauty almost, though not Mediterranean per se. Course, maybe it's just the fact that he's made the rug into a kind of stiff toga as he's rising.
     Still damned tall. Over six feet, built like a soccer player, a touch more to the lean side. As you can see when he stands. His hair is golden still, but muted. Muted. That's a good word for it all. Tempered. And still long. He'll have to do something about that.
     "No ideas!" Hwyll echoes, only one hand lifting, the other clutching the rug to his person. "I'll sit and watch the pictures. Don't you worry about me." His voice trails off as he heads into the bedroom.

     Your answering machine mailbox is now full. There are thirty messages...

     It's difficult, sometimes, being the way she is... not able to show or give in to weakness, that Spartan thread wounding into her soul.
     With a little shake of her head, Drancy sets up a laptop on the kitchen counter, so she can download her mail. She hits play on the answering machine, and then turns her attention to the kitchen.
     "He must've cleaned my entire house... how long was I gone? - How long was I asleep?" Not the neatest housekeeper is she, so it had to have taken a while... unless he used magic. She chases thoughts of nude males away by sniffing at a carton of milk.
     "Well... at least I appear not to have been evicted."

     The television comes on in the next room. BBC 1 -- the evening news...
     "Good evening, and welcome to the six o'clock broadcast. Police are still looking for leads in last week's club riot. So far, no one is taking responsibility, and investigations have not been able to confirm eyewitness testimony of a bomb." Another voice: "At this point, we don't know what to call it."
     "Nah," Hwyll rolls, can you hear him settling himself on your bed, making himself comfortable. "... too stodgy..." The channel changes.
     MTV UK. You can hear the music of the latest Sensation Of The Moment, followed by the likes of Modest Mouse. He leaves it there. Great.

     On the answering machine...
     "Drance... it's Dot." You can hear police sirens and traffic sounds. "Ah, look, sweety-darling, I've been out all night looking for you. If you get this, call me okay? Don't worry about the time, just... call me..."
     "Hey," Dei's voice, drowsy or drugged, hard to tell with him, "... I'm sorry about last night. I know you're pissed. I'm sorry. Anyway, call me when you get this. I came by this morning, you weren't there. Last thing I saw was you running..." A pause. "Anyway. Call me."
     "Drance. Dot here. Okay. Fuck. You're pissed. Dei says he called you yesterday. You haven't returned my call. I'm really starting to worry, they say it might have been a bomb. Called hospital, so I know you're not there. Will you call me, okay?"
     "Good morning, sunshine," it's Davydd. "It's 6 in the fucking AM, caught wind of the goings on in London the other day. Little bird told me you were okay," literally, "... but... just calling to check on you. Never heard back from you on whether you still needed me to come out there. I have some business in London, so... I'll be there in a few days, maybe a week. Hope all is well."
     * click * ... * click *... (two hangups in a row)
     "Drancy," it's Dei again, "... two days, wow, you must be pissed." He sounds upset. "I haven't been with anyone, I just want you to know that. I thought we might have something. Fuck. Anyway. We're heading back to Iceland. Got a call from my mother," his accent is very thick on that word, "... got to go home for a little bit. But we will be back. My number in Iceland is... country code 354 - 033 - 01 - 09."

     "Last week? Fuck." Well.. the television going on has answered one question, at least. She grabs a pad and pen, leaning forward on the counter, ready to write things down.
     Dot's upset, probably pissed off as all hell by now. The notion of Hwyll dressed as a news anchor causes the corners of Drancy's mouth to lift almost imperceptibly for a moment, but... well... this is distracting. She doodles on the pad a bit, taking down a list of names, then numbers.
     "Six in the morning?" Another lift to her mouth. "He must really care... or have been on his way to bed." It prompts memory, though - of a bloody field, and herself held mute while someone else used her body, and that kills Drancy's grin quickly enough. "Duly noted."
     The hangups prompt an eyebrow to be raised, nothing more, then... "Fuck," she swears softly again, promptly jotting down the number before she can forget. "Three, five four... oh three, three oh one, oh nine..." Guilt. She's not immune, after all - Dei's got to be worrying about her, and worrying about his mother, that's just not a good thing. Especially with her own uncertainty...
     Is it really him I cared for? What about... demons? I don't know, I just, I don't. And it's not like I could've called him from wherever the hell that was.
     She makes the note, and turns on the tap, pouring herself a glass of water, rummaging for aspirins that she suspects she'll need as she listens to the tape continue to unspool.

     Another band, another song. Something on the pop-side of punk. Good goddess, he's going to come out of there with ripped clothes and blue hair, isn't he. And what if he did...?
     Two more hang-ups...
     "Whatever to this message," Dot is drunk. "Look, since you're not, like, returning my calls I'm going to meet Sieg's mother. I might be Missus Vaard by the time you see me next, if you see me that is. Not that you care..." sudden giggling, "Stop it! I'm trying to be pissed! I can't do that with your face up my skirt, ass." A clearing of her throat. "Sieg says Dei called again, left his number in Icyville. So, guess fucking what... you're going to have to call him if you want to call me. Oh, and by the way, he's fucking depressed. I think you're playing hard to get is working. If that's what you're doing. Alright, enough talking, since you don't care. I'm going to get shagged."
     Another round of hang-ups. This time three.
     "Hmm..." the rumble of a dragon's voice, "... you're not answering my calls." As if thinking out loud. And surprised that you're not answering him, quite frankly. "I'm in London. Should be here for a few days. I'll look around for you."

     "Whose face is up whose skirt?" Hwyll's accent, decidedly northern. Could be Welsh, could be Scottish. It's gutteral. Rumbles like Davydd's, actually. Do you miss the dragon at all? So many men, so little time...
     And when you see him, he's dressed for London. Damned swank actually. Suede britches, doe-colored. Navy blue shirt, button-down but buttons undone near his throat, enough to show the white t-shirt beneath it. Hair shorter, spikier. Boots, same suede. Now, he's sparkly again. "So that's a Dot," he mutters, and smirking pushes off the edge of the wall and heads into the living room. "Sounds like you better let them know you're alive."

     She turns, slightly, and she's upset and trying not to be. Guilt's clawed its way deep into her gut. She shouldn't care. She won't care. Dammit. She cares.
     "You look like you're trying to get your face up someone's skirt yourself," she snipes, crankily. "Yeahr. I was getting the numbers so I could call..."
     Who to call first? Well. Everyone's worried, everyone's upset, and she's half-tempted not to call any of them, and have to face them. She sighs. "I should've bloody stayed in Never-neverland..."
     Picking up the phone, Drancy cradles it between cheek and shoulder. "Guess I'll call Davydd first," she says aloud, biting her lip. "I don't know what I'm going to say to Dot..." Or Dei...
     So saying, she punches in the cell number given, trying very hard not to think about it, while trying just as hard to ignore the male presence behind her.

     That makes him blush, Drancy. Wide-smiling, though he is. Glittering eyes full of winks, a brilliant blue they are, and he peels himself away, plopping down on the pillows in the living room. Spreading out with a long exhale. Just like home. Almost. Sort of. Well, not really, but it'll do. "Never-neverland and fairy tales. But I thought you were getting tired of honey and sugar and all things sweet and wonderful. It can get ...cloying after a while. Like a beautiful woman with too much perfume." Hwyll looks around your apartment. Pondering renovations...
     ...and meanwhile the phone rings twice. A soft sound, and then you hear that voice. That other rumble. "Noswaith dda," Davydd murmurs. You can hear him, the noise around him. He's in a pub. Big shocker, right? Surprise surprise...
     "Why... by my caller ID, this should be a Drancy," he rhymes in thick Welsh-laced English.

     "It can," she admits, "and it was. But if I'd stayed, I wouldn't have to answer hard questions. Math is hard," she mimics herself, disgusted with her own cowardice. "Anyway."
     She's oblivious to that roaming, renovating eye - just as well, she'd likely defend her territory as savagely as, well, anything else. And then there's a voice at the other end of the line.
     "Yeah, it's me," Drancy acknowledges. "You called. Twice, unless you were also some of the hang-ups on my machine. You've something to say?"

     "Yes and no," you can feel the grin, wide and fae-edged as it is. Now that you've met some others, maybe you recognize them in him. But with him, there is something else. Darker. His way... is a bloody way. "First, glad to hear you're alive and alright, that is if you are alright and not just being brave on my account," and he's smoking, again, no great shocker, a pause to exhale smoke, the residue of fire, and to flick away some of the ash, "... and the rest of it... I don't want to talk about on an open line. I should be in town... two more days at least. Sandrine's working at the shop. Perhaps we could meet for a drink at your place."

     Do you see Hwyll stand up and start to wander about? Looking at your knick-knacks? You get prime viewing, if that's what you like to do. He moves with a warrior-fae's grace, that Hwyll. Cutting sharp figure in modern dress. A bit conservative for you. More suited for Soho and Trendyville. But then, in truth, so are you...

     And anyone saying so to her face would be risking getting a bloodied nose, at best...
     Oh, Drancy does look - it's a distracting sight, a distracting experience, a dragon on one end and a fae on the other, for all that she so vigorously plays the prude. The distraction's transferred, slightly, to her voice as well.
     "I sort of have... company... but, ah, yeah. Come on by." Restlessness prompts decision. "Maybe you can help me figure a few things out. I'm not having much luck on my own..."
     That frustration, with her own helplessness, prompts Drancy to make an addition to the comment. "Just don't bring the horse. You need the address, or've you got it already?"

     The horse. What fucking horse? Davydd is quiet on the line for a minute. "No, I know where you are," he murmurs. And it's up to you to wonder whether him knowing where you are is a good thing. He starts to ask about the company, but leaves it be. "I should be there in around an hour or so. Gotta finish my Guinness and Bailey's and... I'll pick up something for dinner." A guest never comes empty handed. "So... I'll see you then," there's a slight wondering tone, a questioning tone. Will your guest be gone?

     Hwyll glances up from his inspection of the living room. In fact, he's on his way back to you, eyes curious on the item you're holding and the other thing, that flat box on the counter. Some bits of technology he doesn't remember as well, or perhaps ... has never seen.
     "Should I make myself scarce?" he wonders, mouth twisting a little. You have another man? The nerve. Actually from the sounds of the messages, you have several. You little minx you...

     "You'll see me," she assures, distractedly. Caught between opposing forces - Drancy's so popular. Or something... mostly something.
     "If you want to bring food, sounds like a plan. There's nothing I'd trust to eat left in my refrigerator anyway. I've got a few calls left to make, anyway..." She could warn him, about Hwyll, and Hwyll about Davydd, but ... she's curious.
     Curiosity has killed cats before, but ... how will the dragon and the wind react to seeing each other? Will they recognize each other? It's something Drancy intends to find out...
     "So I'll see you in around an hour, then?" She shakes her head to Hwyll, covering the mouthpiece. "Stay," she orders, as if you were canine - perhaps appropriate, in light of the markings. "Make yourself comfortable, I've still a couple of calls to make."

     Hmm... and curiosity goes both ways. And it's certainly now a tangible force, running along the current of wire and cell towers that connect you, alongside your voice. "Oes," Davydd says, in soft Welsh affirmation. "About that. I'll... see you then." And the connection is ended.
     Somewhere in London, a cigarette is stamped out and a Guinness downed...

     Hwyll looks at the phone as he hears a click, head tilting like the RCA Dog and then he nods to you. Alright. A smile and he wanders through your kitchen. Well, it's not a large kitchen, not much to wander in. Better said, he goes into your kitchen and starts opening cabinets. Searching for food probably. "Strange sensation," he murmurs, "...belly rumbles. Do you have any honey?"

     "Honey?" Drancy seems to spend increasing amounts of time repeating things. "I don't think so. What d'you need honey for?"
     Now, there's a straight line if you've ever heard one...
     Already, though, she's depressing the button, ending her side of the connection and staring morosely at the notepad. "I've got to call Dot, and Dei," she says aloud. "Fuck me if I want to, though." But duty, always duty. Her finger hovers over the button.
     And, in truth, she's just ... a little bit jealous, of Dot ... meeting her boyfriend's mother. Whirlwind romance ...

     "I like it. It is pure sunlight," he murmurs. "I will have to get some. It's what I eat." Fairy diets are a bit... peculiar. "Do you have your own bees?" And he begins to look around the apartment again. Well, somewhere. Not in here. Hwyll respects your privacy. A light touch upon your head -- it'll be alright -- and then he heads to the living room, plopping down on the pillows again. Sighing into a stretch. Perhaps he'll take another nap again. The trip was rather tiring. "I have my own bees," he drawls, beginning to curl into a large ball of male fae, "... they make my wine and mead. I eat their honeycombs." And it turns into a little song... (better get used to this)... and his voice holds the purity of beauty as his face once held in Tir Na Nog...
     "Tyrian bees built a kindom of wax
     (With honey as gold as flax)
     A palace, a castle, an empire of gold...
     (With treasure in every hold)
     I knelt down before her, the Tyrian Queen...
     (the prettiest maiden I ever had seen)
     And she gave me her honey jar..."
     "Anyway," Hwyll says after a moment, opening his eyes, lifting his head and looking into the kitchen, "... you should tell them you're okay. It's been six nights and seven days..."

     "Well, at least you'd be easy to cook for..." Drancy doesn't mean to snipe, not really. But she just is at a loss for how to handle these, these men. Already, she's dialling the number Dei left on the machine.
     "I'll see about picking some up. No, I haven't any bees - where would I keep them?" You've been, by now, through the apartment enough to know there's no fields of flowers and sunlight hidden away under the bed, much as you might wish for them. It's just a slightly cramped London apartment, bigger than some, but none too big.
     "Heh. Keep it clean, eh? When company comes, you two'll be having contests, I'm sure..."
     Drancy hops up onto the counter, leaning back against the cabinets. "I know, I know, I'm calling. But what am I supposed to tell them? That I spent a week in Fairyland? Not only will they not believe me, they'll either think I'm lying, or that I've gone insane..." And there's all these complicated 'relationship' issues to figure out, too...

     You certainly have your pick these days, though one of the strange men in your life is not up for the taking. Still, to have the attention of one, let alone three, that look like these gents. Maybe sugar isn't the best thing to catch strong flies. Maybe being a virgin has its advantages. Maybe men are suckers for mystery, bad attitudes and being told to shut up. Maybe that's what they all secretly want. A little discipline.
     Well, it's a nice thought anyway...
     There is the tell-tale series of clicks as you make the international transfer...

     Hwyll quirks up his eyebrows and grins. "Singing contests? Hmmm..." his voice rumbles in piqued intrigue. "Maybe. It would take much to beat me. I'm regional champion." Sitting up with an exhale -- he moves around a lot, he has a lot of energy -- Hwyll tries to give you privacy but his curiosity just makes him stare. "Well, people used to think the earth was flat and the moon was made out of cheese." He grins. "But... all the same... I'd just tell them you... went to see your folks or something. An aunt in the country. Would they buy that?"

     ...and then there's the connection. The pause. The ring. Ring-ring. Pause. Ring-ring. Pause. Ring-ring. Click-click. "Hello?" Actually, it's said in Icelandic. A woman's voice, cool and even. Must be his mother.
     Oh, great. I get to deal with his mother. And I don't know a word of Icelandic, unless you count 'Reykjavik.' "Hi, could I speak to Dei, please?"
     Not home a week, and already he's got strange girls calling for him...
     If it's discipline, well, Drancy's got the leather, though probably not the spike heels and whips. But they'd probably burst out laughing - any of them - if she turned up dressed like such. "I was thinking more the rude remarks," she replies, covering the mouthpiece for a moment, "more than the singing. And considering how I disappeared? I don't think they would, no... besides, Dot knows I haven't got such an aunt."
     Back into the phone, then, voice expectant. "Amadeus, that is... this is Drancy calling..."
     Will he still want to speak to me? Do I really want to speak to him, knowing it might not have been him? I don't know what I want...
     Worse than a child in a candy store, and with less reason, isn't she.

     "Oh," the mother says, and maybe that's a smile on the other end, hard to know when you don't know her or her tones. "Just a minute," she says in very heavily accented English. "Dei... phone for you..." and back to you, "... he will be here in just one little bit, Drancy," she says. And she hands off the phone. You can hear her whisper: "Good luck."
     A clearing of a throat and then: "Hey..." Long pause, although maybe that's the connection. "Are you alright?" Finished being angry and all? Or are you brooding like I am? Maybe not like I am...

     Hwyll grins -- that smile, it is the keeper of the Glamour, the birthplace of radiance, and he settles back, "I'll try to keep it clean." Sure. He laughs. Then quiets as you speak. And hospitality and courtesy get the better of him. Hwyll rises and heads into the bedroom. You hear him settle on your bed with a sigh. Just think, later on... you will have to throw him out of it.
     Well, you don't have to...

     Knowing Drancy, she will, whether or not she has to ... if only as self-punishment for something...
     Puritanical she is not, but she still seems to have a line in hair shirts. "Hey," she says awkwardly, into the phone, turning her back on the retreating faerie. "I'm ... mostly all right. Been worse. You made it out all right, I gather?"
     What the hell am I going to say to him... "Dot all right?"
     Right now, she feels as if she'll never smile again, staring hard at the faux wood grain of the cabinet.

     Maybe the biggest lesson taught will be forgiveness. It's possible...
     The television is switched on -- press enough buttons, and it's liable to work, seems to be a good philosophy so far -- and he hasn't found the volume for it yet, so it's still as loud as it was before.

     "Yeah," he says, he wishes he were smoking. "We should be back in London... in about a week. Had to come help my father," if that answers your question. "He hurt his back on the trip in, someone had to unload the fish." How's that for glamour? "Anyway," Amadeus exhales and his mouth twists in a sardonic smile, "...it's good to hear you are alive. I was worried, but then... after the first few nights I figured you might be laying low or... fucking pissed off and just stewing... or following your beat, or whatever. Look, I'm really not good at this," relationship crap, "... but..." another sigh, "... are you interested, at all? Or... is it too much or too cliche or whatever..."

     What am I supposed to say to that? I don't know what I want...
     If she was feeling guilty before, now it's increased tenfold. While she was off staring at cute men with pointy ears, Dei was ... unloading fish ... not even flirting with more waitresses at Betty's Boobs or something. Drancy cringes down a bit, rounding her soulders.
     "I got yanked incommunicado pretty much immediately, I only got home about twenty minutes ago." Well, that's true enough. "I wasn't trying to avoid you, or make you folks worry."
     God... what do I say, what do I say?
     She bites down on her lip, hard. "You're a decent bloke, Dei. It's not that it's too much, or cliche, it's just that..." I'm not the safest person to date, let alone anything else. "Maybe we should talk about it when you're back in London? Hope you know I'm not asking you for anything you're not willing to do. Wouldn't make any sense."

     "No, I hear you..."

     "Just tell him the truth," was that whispered or was it from the t.v.?

     "Yeah...okay," Dei fumbles. "It's not like it's do or die or anything. I just don't want to go down a road you're not interested in walking. So... yeah... it makes sense. We'll hook up then... in a week or so and ... see what road we're on then. Glad you're okay. Dot's been worried sick. She's alright. Staying with Sieg and doing whale tours. She likes it here alright, but," a chuckle, "...she'll get bored in a day or so. I can give you Sieg's number... if you want to talk to her? She misses you, the boys all miss you too. By the way. We'll be doing Betty Boob's again. Maybe the Electric Elephant. Maybe you can help us score a gig at Ziggy Stardust's. You know, tout your credentials and get people to listen to you. You're good at that. Better than you know."

     Hwyll couldn't stay still. He leaned against the doorway for a minute then moved into the living room. He's not trying to be heard by your boyfriend or whatever he is, he just can't help wandering. Like a breeze. Flitting from place to place, thing to thing. The air crackles with a little magic. He adds a few more pillows.

     Drancy almost smiles a little. Whale tours. Her expression fades a little again - this is really stressful for her, burdened down as she is by her own guilt. She shoots a suspicious look towards the television.
     The truth? Right... I was kidnapped to fairyland, and I'm not sure if it's you I really like, or the you that was when you were possessed by a demon...
     Oh, that'll go over real well...
     "Sure, give me the number, I'll call while waiting on dinner," she says aloud. "And sure, I'll see if I can't help." I owe you that much, at least - especially if I have to break your heart...
     She eyes the wanderings back and forth with arched eyebrows, but no comment. None for that, anyway. "Give my regards to everyone, and let them know I'm more or less intact, except for my sanity, all right?"

     "Well, no one was expecting that to be intact anyway," he drolls. Ah, he still has his wicked sense of humor! "Alright well... I'll see you soon then. Maybe by then, I won't smell like fish." Droll again. Dei's on a roll. "Okay.. quick-like, as this is costing you a fortune. I'll help with the phone bill. Sieg's number is 354 - 05 - 05 - 010. They're probably humping, it's all they do. But fuck 'em. Call them. If you don't," he smiles, "I will. Alright... hmm... g'night, Drance."

     Hwyll smirks. And within you, coursing within your mind, his voice. Warm. Sweet. Honeyed.
     Alright. Admittedly the truth is Way Out There. No, how you feel, Drancy. You know he's not the one. Besides, would he even understand the things you've seen?
     Blinking, he looks back to the pillows, plops down -- yet again -- and spreads out. Delightful for most, but what about you?

     "Three-five-four, oh five, oh five, oh ten," she repeats. "Got it. G'night..."
     She twitches a bit, Drancy does, as she hangs up the phone, twisting round plaintively. "Don't do that!" A scowl. Never mind that you're absolutely right, but ... she can't help it. She sighs, moving to pick the phone up again, trying to ignore the virtual smorgasbord of masculinity. If libidos had physical forms, Drancy's would be emaciated far beyond a fashion model's state by now...
     And she picks up the phone again, moving towards the door experimentally. Surely Davydd'll be here soon.
     Boop boop, boop boop boop, boop boop, boop, boop boop. Another Icelandic number... maybe she can charge it to her expense account. Thank goodness for her habit of treating deadlines like the enemy and turning things in months ahead of time...

     "Sorry," Hwyll mutters, arm slung over his eyes. "I didn't want to say it out-loud. I'll show you how to do that sometime." And he smiles. Later. That's one of the later lessons. "Then you can make people think they're thinking rude things about themselves. It makes for evenings of amusement, I can tell you. Whiles away Eternity... that's for certain..."
     But you're dialing again...
     And it's been about half an hour...

     Another series of clicks. Another transfer. Another couple of quick rings. It's answered by a droning voice, sounds like you woke Sieg up. "What?" he says into the phone. As if he was expecting to be bothered.
     "I'm thinking enough rude things about myself without your help," she snipes, not even entirely realizing it's said aloud. And, well, it's honest and true, for all that. "Does Eternity get that dull, then?"

     Oh, good, the phone's being transferred. "Such a gracious response, no wonder you get paid the big money." She's got to be humourous, it beats bursting into tears. And Sieg, well, Sieg really wouldn't know how to handle that. "I didn't call to wake you up, so if it's so much of a hassle, just put me through to the naked woman next to you, and let me talk to her. If it's not Dot, well, then we're all in trouble."

     He grunts, and that's when he's at his most eloquent, and hands over the phone with a muttered, "Drancy..." which you can barely hear over the following sound, which is that of Dot squealing. "You Hussy! Where the fuck have you been?" But though her words sound accusatory, she's laughing. "You tart. Well," a sigh, "...I'm glad you're alive. I was worried sick to my tum-tum, then the boys brought me to Iceland, which I'm loving, apart from the fact that it is totally grey totally all the time. And it's fucking spring. Not that you'd know it by the weather. But it's alright," she purrs, and you can imagine she's doing something-or-other to Sieg in the process, "... I don't mind staying in bed."
     And Sieg laughs.
     They're made for each other.
     "So! Like to start off by telling me just where the fuck you were? Oh, and since you got to me, I presume you've talked with Dei? He's a sea captain, dead sexy. If I weren't already in love, I'd shag him rotten..."

     Hwyll can hear her all the way across the room and lifts his head. So that's a Dot...

     "I spoke to him, yeah, got the number for you two from him, in case you hadn't guessed." She evades questions for all she's worth. Dot... well, Dot isn't any better equipped to understand than Dei - this Dei - is.
     "Sounds like you're having quite a lot of fun, though I hope for your sake Sieg's better at giving head than he is at giving phone." Get her onto the topic of sex, that's always safe. "So when's the wedding? Am I invited, or did you already have it?" Oh, that would be a bitter blow, if so. "And since when has being in love ever stopped you, anyway?"
     Drancy carries the phone away from the door, into the living room, arching eyebrows at Hwyll. In a way, the phone's a good thing - it keeps her from being quite as alone with a male presence. "You do realize if it's that serious, you owe me, right?"

     "Yeah," comes the heave of a sigh, "I fucking owe you. Well, we're not married, in fact, makes him kind of queasy to talk about it, even though, truth be told, I passed his little test with his family with flying colors. His mother loves me. And his father does too, though I think for different reasons. Icelandic men are all rather horny. You should keep Dei around. He might come in handy. Eventually." You know, when you finally do it. "But anyhoo, no ring yet, unless you count the one around his John Thomas," she snickers. "But, between you and me," and Sieg, who is overhearing it, "...I think I'll get a ring out of him eventually. But not till we get back to Old Blighty. Or maybe I'll just get him to pay for my next piercing and tattoo. That way, we both get something out of it. And he's great at giving head. Comes from being bisexual." You hear her light a cigarette. "Doesn't it darling," she coos to him. "And he's got quite the monster. Learned how to use it from other monsters, so yippe for me. Anyway," back to you, "... even if it doesn't work out and all, we all love you. You'll still be an honorary Ex Babe. Sieg and I want you to know that, okay? So... no pressure. I just want you to be happy. Like you've made me. I owe you. Big-big. So, we'll see you in a couple of days. Sieg and I are bored, so we're coming back early."

     Forty five minutes...
     Downstairs at Pashmina's, a little bell rings on the door announcing another customer...

Posted by rowan at May 26, 2003 08:42 PM