More information than she ever needed to know, about Sieg and about Dot, and their ... life together. But hell, she asked, sort of. "I'm glad you're happy." And that, at least, Drancy can say in all sincerity.
     "All right, then, I'll talk to you guys when I see you, and we'll see what happens." No promises, especially not now. "I'm going to ring off, though, this is costing a bloody fortune - but hey, I'll do you another favour, and not tell your parents that you've found Mister Right..." Or that he's a bisexual budding rock star... "So you can owe me for that one, too, eh? Ta, then. Have fun, I know you will."
     She replaces the phone into its cradle, and stares at the opposite wall for a moment, before commenting dryly, "If she hadn't hooked up with Sieg, she'd likely have been perfect for you, you know." Ha. Take that.

     He has curled up again, a blend of doe-suede, deep blue and white. Odd color combinations, but perfect for him. And he looks up from the pillows, blue eyes sparkling with a thousand winks, with humor, and he cocks up an eyebrow. "Are you calling me easy?" Hwyll props up his head on his hand, elbow in the cushions and he laughs. "Just because I shake hands by using my knob?" And how does it feel to have once grabbed what you now have seen? "I'll have you know that's an old fairy custom. If you ever want to learn any others, let me know..."
     "What do you mean by that, anyway. She'd be perfect for me." He raises a skeptical, golden eyebrow. "I'm pretty selective. Fairy Princes don't just... shake knobs with anyone..."

     "Old fairy custom, my arse... if it's so old as all that, then why didn't any of the others try it?" Drancy tries hard to maintain a scowl, but it's pretty hard to do, and she's so tired... not physically weary, but inside.
     "Hey, wait, I thought you said you weren't really a fairy prince. And ... don't they?" Now she's curious. "Never heard of them being all that exacting in their tastes. Scullery maids, princesses, shepherdesses and swine herds, all the girl's got to do is be pretty enough, from the sound of it - oh, and 'nice' enough, not 'evil'." She rolls her eyes. "Whatever."

     Both brows lift now. "Oh. Did I say that really?" Hwyll twists a grin. "I really need to keep better track of my stories." He hops up, rubbing his hands together. And he's approaching the door. Head tilted. Hmmm....
     By the pricking of my... well... you know... something... wickedish this way comes. What was that rhyme? "You've got a shadow approaching. Expecting anyone?"
     Just Davydd...
      "Speaking of which, who's this Imminent Guest? An old friend? And who are we going to say I am to you? College buddy staying for a couple of days?" Hwyll smiles, too prettily, "...maybe a new flame...that'd be fun. And shepherdesses are overrated. And they smell like sheep..."

     Drancy rises, making the observation as she does, "To know -that-, you'd have to have gotten close to one... and say what you like, he'll draw his own conclusions anyway." Perhaps unnervingly, she smiles in return, a bland, smug smile.
     I know something you don't know... for once...

     She goes to the door, shooing you back. "So are you or aren't you? A prince, I mean. I need to know what to do, if I get turned into a frog... or if I'm wasting my time." Sharp as ever, her tongue is.
     She undoes the chain on the door, then the latch, counting under her breath - one, two, three - and then tugging it open, stepping slightly out of the way so that Hwyll and Davydd get their first looks at each other, ideally, with her not in the middle...

     "So... I admit to a shepherdess or two," Hwyll quips warmly, grinning all the while. "That doesn't mean I'm a complete harlot. And..." a great exhalation, as if you've wrested a secret from him, "...I'm telling you the truth. I am a fairy prince. Said to be quite the catch. If one can catch the wind," full mouth curls at that smile, damn near feline, and he chuckles, "... or chain lightning. You're not ...wasting your time." Whatever that means. And just what does it mean? Hwyll settles the teasing, even as he did before and as you open the door curious eyes follow you, and then land on the figure. The shadow darkens your doorway...

      ...My way is a bloody way...
      ... footsteps are heavy on the stairs, Davydd announces himself thus, his hands full of Hindi take-out, still warm from downstairs. Preceded by the smell of naan and curry. He glances up at the sudden downpour of light, lifting the packages as he steps through the waiting threshold. "Hey, hey," he gruffs out, good natured, an affectionate growl. His eyes go upward...
     It's been a while since you've seen him. By now a few months. His hair, coppery, is short short, curls tamed by it. His dark green eyes dark as any Welsh wood. And his shirt, long-sleeved even in spring. You know what the fabric hides. The shirt is periwinkle, bringing out that hidden color from his eyes. The trousers are grey wool, matching the overcoat. Quite smart. Quite fetching for an Old Veteran.
     No blood dripping anywhere...
     But before he can say more, his eyes are forward and find Hwyll before they find you. And Davydd stops, green eyes locking onto Hwyll. Giving study. You see it, don't you. The look of Recognition.
     Are you here for me? Are you here for her. And what of the one who .... doesn't know where she is and can't control herself. Are you here, Hwyll ap Gwyn, to take her back unto some final rest?

     Blue eyes widen and eyebrows open upward in a grand sweep. A look from The Champion, to you Drancy, back to Davydd. Hwyll bows his head.
     Davydd drops the food. Thank god for plastic and styrofoam...

     All right, I've had my satisfaction.
     It's a bitterly humourous little thought, as so many of Drancy's are, when they're humourous. She bends to pick up the food and says conversationally, "Well, I can see we really do have rather a lot to talk about, don't we." Statement, not question. She lifts her eyes, challengingly, first to Hwyll and then to Davydd.
     One-love, for me, and I intend to win...
     "Come on in, Davydd, mind your head on the lintel. I've been spending the past while feeling my head for bumps, no need for you to join me. Hwyll, do I need to run downstairs, or do you eat curry at all?"
     And she waits for Davydd to enter, so the door can be closed on the too-curious stillness left in the hallway...

     The Oak King gathers his coat about him, head inclined with regal bearing. One he has earned, over the passing of Time. With a cut of a look to you, and another to Hwyll ap Gwyn, Davydd ap Owain steps in. When the trees were carrying me the rumor, would they had told me the tale in full. I know better than to have ever expected it. But to have expected this?
     Hands in his pockets, he strolls in. "Hwyll ap Gwyn..."
     What are you doing here?
     Cloaked, and cloaked well. I could barely feel you...

     "Why... if it isn't The Oak King, saviour of Britain," Hwyll sounds out, smiling broadly. "An expected pleasure, but unexpectedly soon." Though I expected to see you eventually. Or call you. You know you're going to be called again...
     Hwyll pivots, turning to Drancy. "No, curry will be fine. I supped with Oberon once... his little Indian boy makes the most delightful yellow curry. This will do." How shadows tend on you, Champion, after a near millennium of Night and Blood.

     Do you turn, or do you catch the shaking of hands? The great warrior's hand engulfing Hwyll's. Hwyll, the taller of the two. There are no words that pass between them for a while, but... that doesn't mean they're not conversing.
     As you yourself know, courtesy of Hwyll earlier...

     Drancy's eyes are narrowed, heavy in suspicion that makes her glower sullenly again for a moment, but, well, there's nothing she can do about it. Even she knows when's a battle that's lost before it's fought.
     Which doesn't stop her from sometimes fighting them anyway, mind.
     She assumes hostess manners with a sudden ease which might come as a surprise to both men, having known her only as Drancy and never from her life 'before' punk. "Then, as you two seem to know each other," as if she didn't know or guess, "why don't we make ourselves comfortable. I do apologize for the spartanness of my furnishings, but as you know, I've never been much of a one for interior decorating."
     Moving to the spool table, Drancy pulls chairs out, turning to find a bottle of wine in the fridge. That, at least, won't have gone sour. "Please, do make yourselves at home, won't you?" When she purrs like that, there's trouble brewing...

     The two men look to one another, turn to look at you and then share another look. Even with one woman, we are outnumbered. "Oes," Davydd affirms, that same Welsh used as before, and with his quiet, and still stunned, demeanor, he turns, looking for a place to sit. There's a chair, he claims it. "I have not seen Hwyll in quite some time." A pause, and Davydd turns about in his chair, his eyes, periwinkle-flecked, are fixed on you, Drancy. "Where did you two... meet?"
     When you said you had Company, I had no idea you had a Sidhe in your apartment. Sweet Jesu, this is going to be a long fucking night.

     Hwyll grins, mouth twisting with delight as he settles back upon his cushions, his future bed -- at least for a while. "Tir Na Nog. She was abducted.... well, not for the standard reasons. I never did get to have my way with her," Hwyll says, leaning back and resting propped up on his elbows on pillows. "But to save her from a Master of Shadows, according to Huw," that gets a look to you from Davydd again. "... or at least," Hwyll continues, "...that's what it sounded like. Force of Chaos was looking for her. Demons have wanted to kiss her. And then there's you. And I'm not sure how even to explain that..."
     Ah, but she's not just any woman, is she.

     "I'd guessed that," Drancy says dryly. "That you know each other, anyway - even if I hadn't, the look you two gave each other at the door, well, if I had a camera..."
     Could've made herself rich in blackmail fees alone. She bustles about the kitchen, now, finding glasses, dishes, tableware, napkins - all good hostessly sorts of things.
     She shoots another one of her patented looks at Hwyll. "Not for your lack of trying, and you'll note you didn't succeed. Despite your little tricks." Finally, she seats herself, propping her elbows inelegantly on the table.
     "He's told you just now more'n he's told me, and most of what he just said makes about as much sense to me as Thatcher did. So think we can work something out, Davydd, or am I going to be wrapped in cotton wool and shoved in a drawer?"

     My universe. My carefully crafted universe, the architecture of nearly a thousand years is crumbling at my feet. All I can seem to do is stare. Evenly. Blankly. I do not know what to do now. Maybe none of it matters at all. None of the secrets. The mysteries. I am unravelled.
     "I'm not sure I followed any of that myself. But... yes... I know him. What is it, do you think, that we can.... work out? What is it," he turns his head, his gaze to you, Drancy, and there is a strength there that previous encounters have perhaps tempered. But there is no tempering now. "...that you want out of this. You managed to find Hwyll. I don't expect you require anything additionally from me."

     Hwyll looks back and forth between you both. Yes, how are you going to get yourself out of this one, Your Majesty? Tell her the Thing That Cannot Be Spoken?

     Drancy takes a deep breath. Don't make me play my ace in the hole, her gaze says, though likely in a language Davydd just plain doesn't know. After all, how could he? He doesn't know...
     Doesn't know that she was there, for that dream meeting, and that she was conscious for it, doesn't know the depths of her Need To Know, or her resentment and desires and frustrations. Poor Davydd. Poor Hwyll. Poor Drancy. Poor world.
     "I didn't find Hwyll," Drancy says evenly, "Huw found me, while I was in the middle of a fight with my semi-boyfriend - who I started dating while he was possessed, it seems, by a demon, and that's the only reason he originally was interested in me, not for me myself." Oh, how that stings to admit, even now, but she doesn't let it show, save for a slight ripple of her shoulders - a shudder she turns into a shrug.
     "Huw turned me into a rock. Hwyll tried to embarass me," and succeeded, "and is here to make sure I don't do anything too stupid, like, I don't know, strip off all my clothing and run around screaming about naked faeries - I imagine he figures if he's here, he can at least enjoy the view."

     "Huw and Hwyll have a talent," Davydd quietly says, and his eyes are forward. Primarily. But they lift and settle in turn upon you and upon your guest. "You will find him... a suitable teacher. He was my own. One of my own. I have no doubt that you will find his instruction to your benefit." You may even find him in your bed. Hwyll has a way with that, too.
     Gloved hands are visible, they come to rest on the arms of the chair, Davydd looks to you. You know the Medieval Prince hiding within the Modern Man. "What I ... wanted to speak with you about... has to do with your Ancestor. And it is good that Hwyll is here. He can hear it for himself. The one who... tattooed you in your sleep, who ... did things... you don't recall doing. Her power is fading, becoming more erratic. I caught her... possessing a heroin junkie and singing in the street yesterday." Green eyes cut over to Hwyll. You should do something.

     Hwyll looks to Davydd and then lastly to you. A helpless expression there. What can I do?

     "You could help her," Davydd growls. "You loved her once. For all we know Drancy may be your ancestor and not mine. There, you have it," he hisses at the end, eyes turned to Drancy. "You want to know the little secret, why I helped you, why I'm concerned. I thought you might be mine, a daughter of daughters. It is why I have risked everything I have and everything I am... to save your oft times ungrateful hide..."

     This news is more shocking to Drancy than she allows to show on her face, hands folding on the table in front of her, fingers interlaced.
     "I don't understand," she says finally, after a long pause, "what you've risked... or how you've saved me. You've done an excellent job keeping your secrets, Davydd." Which is true. "I'm sorry if you feel I'm ungrateful, but whereas now I can see in colour as well as black and white, the colours still keep going outside the lines..."
     She hesitates, debating whether to use that key she was given by Huw, wondering if Huw knew she would, or if she's reading too much into it, and as she deliberates, she shoots a glance to Huw, shrinking back a little. The notion of sleeping with her many-times great-grandfather does a lot to kill that instinctual tendril of lust.
     She sits up again, as straight and erect as any modern-day princess, though of lower-case virtue. "What do you two want from me, with me? I need to know things, if only so if I get myself killed, nobody else goes down with me." She's accepted that possibility, evidently.
     Are you surprised, Princes of earth and of faerie? I've been reconciled to my own death since long before this... when I spent the night shuddering and tossing in an almost forgotten place of human evil in a lesser-known part of France, to prove a point.
     It's all about making points, and if noone else is willing to die for them... well, someone has to.
     "I need to know things," she repeats, and she pulls the necklace, the charm out from inside her shirt, so it can be seen.

Posted by rowan at May 26, 2003 09:05 PM