And so time rolls again, and I am in another evening. And I am in your arms again. Time rolls effortlessly. Like the water of the shower against my back. Or now... as my tongue does against your own. Warm and fluid. It is like that. How easily the decades must move past you. How odd. Centuries. How much time has passed since this kiss was begun?
You feel the warmth recede, like the passing of the sun beneath the horizon of the earth. Cosmic. Every parting, every joining of a kiss. Parting now. And the draw of softest wool -- your lover's sweater -- against your skin as he leans back. Just slightly leans back. Once again his finger plays in your hair. "We should dispel with the myths," Valan murmurs with a smile. His eyes bright, the smile just upturning at the corners of his mouth. His mouth, blushed with the blood that had risen to the surface. Its warmth still a phantom upon your own. Close quarters, Edward, this is how it should be known. Discussed, even as it was first introduced to him -- words murmured upon the edges of a kiss. And another. And another...
His hair is in its disheveled style again. But it is getting longer. Growing. Changing. He will have to get it cut soon, or this style will no longer hold. Or his bangs will be too long when combed flat in the Mod style -- it will soon cover his eyes. Another two... maybe three weeks. His eyes... they seem more green and brown tonight. Perhaps it is due to the darkness of his shirt, and the green and black python he is wearing. The outfit you saw him in when you returned from Ireland.
"Tell me, ami... is it true... the stuff in the movies..." comes his whisper at your ear. The brush of his mouth. "No crosses... no garlic... no water from a church's sink?"
The parlor is dark but for the light the fire gives. And again the stones of the hearth are a firmament. And the crystals embedded in the stone of the surrounding walls. And he is clothed, but the night is cold, there are also furs and blankets. And you. You and he upon a sofa. And plum wine -- oh yes, it has been tasted... it is good there were two bottles -- at hand...
That sound!
Edward's eyes finally open, so languid from the centuries-old kiss. He finds his hands again, wrapped and hidden around the pile that is you.
Oh. It was your voice.
"Hmm," he exhales, licking his bottom lip as if he had to unwend his tongue. "I don't think I've ever kissed so much, than since I have known you," he breathes, almost exerted from the effort. Sucking his bottom lip now, Edward shakes off the cobwebs, returning to the conversation that you've initiated again.
"And no," his voice low, nothing forced tonight, "...no crosses, garlic...running water. Though..." he smirks, thinking of the recently infused irony, "...stakes can immobilize, loss of blood immobilizes, and well...taking off a head always insures a sense of Finality," he smiles, reaching up to touch your hair. "If we do this," Edward whispers softly, "...you...will have to decide...how you will look," his voice changing as he explains, gaze to yours, "...um...when...you are Embraced...that's what it's called, you Are the way you were...when you last were living..." Long hair and all, his trickling fingers seem to say. "You can change things...but normally, you always come back...as you were, the next night."
He shifts now, giving shoulders and arms a lax. They have held you for so long in the spiraling kiss that even they need a shake. Edward reaches over, his grey sweater thick around his arms and waist. He needs not any blanket, but one is tossed lazily over you both, a sign of sharing. Edward picks up the brandy and settles back against the back of the sofa, shoulder into it.
"What are you thinking?" he asks before tipping the snifter to his lips.
"I am wondering... should I hit a gym?" He laughs. "One last season of really fine conditioning... Dieu... how do you decide to remain... for an eternity?" A pause. How do you decide. It makes a cloud of the mortal mind and for a moment there is nothing. A hand reaches for the snifter after you have sipped -- for you are sharing. It is the only way to preserve the bottle... and to ensure he is not so immediately drunk. William... never does anything in partial doses. His brandy is the strongest. His cigarettes outstandingly potent. And so... the gifts -- as with everything else with him -- must be dealt in moderation. It is so with the brandy.
"There is so much, I do not even know where to begin... hmmm... so... it is true about sunlight... and the stakes...um..." And then Valan laughs. "Ah ... ami... forgive me. Such questions. But... all I know is Anne Rice and movies..." He sips at the plum, closing his eyes through it. And then offers the glass back to you. "Tell me... is it so, what she wrote? That... your senses... that taste and touch and all of the senses are heightened. That the world at night... is beautiful. Do you miss the sun at all?"
"As you are, Edward recommends," he whisper eaisly, offering the snifter and letting his hand fall, "...that is the best way to remain. Seriously. And yes, your senses," he smiles, "...are different. For example...I can hear Ysla and Stefan cleaning the kitchen. Or...how I picked you," he smiles, "...or how I manage to get a shirt and put it on before you finish a sentence," he says with conspiratorial voice.
"There are all sorts of different abilities," Edward goes on, watching the play of the fire upon the snifter, his own amber reflected upon the crystal, "...everyone has. And there are others yes. From...being invisible, to...well...you name it. I...happen to be a...well...I don't have many of those talents. I...tend to fight well," he shrugs. Nothing so cerebral for him. He missed the lines with the more magical abilities. "But I guess one can learn almost anything."
"Oui... and so... in time... may anything be accomplished," says the mortal. With his eternal hope -- that of his soul. His heart. Valan tilts his head, and he watches his fingers play through your hair. Feeling the quality of it. And of your skin. At the nape of your neck, where his mouth so often likes to trail. And now he understands why you stiffen so... turn to stone. His fingers dip from your hair to your neck. So pliable, like the living. "What... was the hardest part for you... was it... leaving your family behind?"
"And...what is the most beautiful part of it... the best part of it for you. Something not obvious: like not dying. But... something that was unexpected, but a joy and a pleasure to be able to experience?" For I am not so foolish as to think that it is all, as they say, wine and roses, pleasure and endless possibilities. There is a balance in between, is there not? The twilight... between dark and light, day and night.
Valan leans in -- you can see and feel him coming -- and his mouth brushes just beneath your ear. "You will ... teach me... the things you were taught. How to eat... how to fight..." Exhiliration. It is electric at your neck. "You will show me the world..."
He closes his eyes. "You're asking too much, ami," Edward pleads. He hates to think of it at all, but can understand your own enthusiasm and interest. Eyes open and Edward tries to smile, "I'm sorry ... just ...I know it's exciting for you, ami, but, I've just never talked about any of this, alright? And I don't spend time thinking about it." Intentionally.
"I didn't leave my family behind as much as...I couldn't stay. I...was Embraced. And I was dead. I couldn't explain it. I left after a few nights, there was...an accident. It was easiest." No emotion. He's worked hard to have such, one can guess. No regrets, no sorrow. "If..I sound like...I'm cold about it, ami, it's not that I want to be...but it is...the best way, alright?" The downside is this. "But, it's like stepping behind a curtain that no one else can see through. Another world. And strings...." Edward's eyes sparkle, "...only cause hurt and trouble down the road." Lesson one. "This is to say, you don't have to be like some...and just...become hard. Many do. I don't want that. But, just you ask things sometimes that...I have no answer for, because I've tried not to really linger on it?"
A swallow and Edward tries to think of your questions again. "The best part..." he smiles, "...I...tend to walk among mortals. The Living. Like you," he nudges. "I don't miss being...alive...all the time. I just never thought of myself..." his face contorts at his comment, "...as one of The Dead. Just...I thought of myself like you ...until now. Just long-lived. But..." he shrugs, "...that's not true, I am reminded," his gaze downcast. "Kindred...it's what we call ourselves...are not known for being the most...human," Edward murmurs sardonically. "And of course, I will...make sure...you know what I know, of course. How to...meet the right people, take care of yourself. That's the most important, ami, okay? How to take care of yourself..."
"I do not care...how it is you ..." a wave of his hand follows, "...all... think of yourselves, oui? But I will say this, Christophe Phillipe Eduard Meurelle, you are not... dead." No, I do not like that term. You are too living. And I... I love you. I cannot bear to think of you such. Nor... ami... nor could I become... dead. "You are... something else... you should come up with another word..." Valan murmurs even as he leans back again. An exhale. He reaches for the glass again. I need another sip of that brandy...
... or a cigarette ...
"I ... do not know what to do about the Montagues," he whispers. "It is ... like I wish to see them... one last time... and yet. Maybe..." Hazel eyes fasten upon the furs at his legs and feet. "...maybe it would be better if there were a ...skiing accident. It would...hurt them... but... maybe it would be... better." He shakes his head. Another exhale. And then his hands gesticulate, as if reaching blindly, seeking to grasp something. "I do not know, ami... I do not know what to do. I do not know what is best... for them." A pause, and his hands still. "I am not worried about me. Me... I am resolved, oui? I... am ready..."
Green, gold, brown the brightness of eyes that are returned to you. And Valan stands. Almost as if he shall salute. But when his arms and hands move, it is only to remove his sweater-shirt. Revealing the physique of the aristocrat -- that which was a gift of birth, forged by fencing and his pursuits. And at the torso, just above the low-sitting waistband of the python... the silver chain.
I am yours ...
"I... understand," Valan murmurs, "...that it is difficult, ami... but... I need to know some of these things..." The shoes will be next...
Stop it.
"Why undressing?" Edward wonders, looking up from his comfortable seat. "Warm?" he asks gently, unsure of each moment.
"Binding... it's just too much with the furs and all," a soft and honest answer. "I don't know why I dressed up... as if I were going out... " Valan's eyes widen a bit. "I should go upstairs and put on a robe or somthing...but... maybe in a bit..."
A pause.
"I think it's the brandy..." A hand lifts and gestures to his head. And he smiles. Yes, it is potent stuff...
A nod of dark hair follows, understanding. Edward makes a place for you again, taking another swallow of the brandy.
"I won't tell you what to do about your relatives, ami," eyes looking into the glass, "...maybe you should see them. I do not know. But..." he purses his lips, "...before we speak of...Embracing...let me bring up another option. It worries me, but you may be interested."
"You remember those who visited? Girault and Mariko?" Edward looks up to watch you, his eyes sometimes slipping to the chain at your waist and hips, "She is...another option. She is ... well ... mortal, but simply more long-lived, as it were. She is not like me," he simply states, "...but she has had her time extended," his eyes squinting skeptically at you. "She is a ghoul. She...perseveres from the...life blood...of the one she is attached to. In her case..." his hand waves. That's Girault.
"But..." he sips from the snifter, attention there again, "...if she misses...having his lifeblood...suffice to say," Edward laughs, "...it wouldn't be pretty. I will guess," he looks up at you, "...she's at least a century old if not another fifty years onto that..."
"And learning things," Edward notes, "...is not the same. Much much harder..."
The shoes are gone, and his eyes are yet tending there. Thought. Oh think, Valan. To have both?
But to what end... it is only a delay of the Inevitable. Embrace or no, Montague, you will die. That is the only thing written in the stars for all of us. Nearly all of us.
The furs lift and soon his warmth returns. Now, more so to you... the warmth of his skin. He pulls up the furs and settles partly against, partly beside you. His head resting against your broad shoulder. Upon the broad shoulder of my love, mon chevalier. "Non," he whispers. "When I follow you, I will follow you completely." Gold hair moves against your shoulder, and he turns his head toward you. "Even as I love you completely, Eduard..."
Such meaning. Such honesty. Such fearless honesty. His gaze is unwavering in it, glittering with it. And his expression is still, serious. Gold lashes sweep downward as he looks to the expanse of your chest. "I... think it will be best... done here..." he whispers. "Where I first learned. Where you asked... and where I said ... yes." His hands. You feel them again. One wandering over you beneath the furs, the other reaching for the glass again. "Girault... your friend... he is one of you..." Realization. And somehow, it's not quite as shocking. Girault is so unreal.
"We... will have a glorious life," Valan continues. "I... feel it...will be so..."
Ach! You do this too easily. Are you not worried? Frightened? Concerned? Edward's face shows the questioning and seeming...dislike of the ease of it all.
Where you move to sit and take his glass, he immediately stands. "Should have gone skiing tonight," he says flatly, hands coming to his waist. Before you can say anything, Edward faces you and lifts a finger. Don't.
"Maybe...you should see your family again," he says softly, something building within him. "I think...that's not a bad idea..." Hand falls away, palm upturning before landing soundly at his leg.
"How about that run?" he says simply, moving around the table.
Well... what am I supposed to do? With the fantastical? With what should not be real but is? What good is worry? What does 'worry' even mean? Or fear.
I am afraid and I am not afraid.
I am concerned... and I am not concerned.
I am standing in the exact center of the world. Between Life and Death. Between the Mundane and the Extraordinary. It is not easy.
No. It is not easy. But downing the remaining brandy is. And he does so. "I have upset you..." And mark this down. It is the first time since you have known him... that he has frowned. Slight though it is. "Look... I'm sorry for even bringing it up... I'm... just trying to... work it out in my head. To understand it, Eduard... as much as it can be understood. And maybe..." his hands wave, gesitculating again, "maybe I should not try so hard..."
"I know you are," Edward inhales, the simmering that is Brujah rising again. Where had it gone? He needs to move. To get out. Too long in the chalet, being horizontal. "Let's go for a walk, huh?" he murmurs, "Just for a while."
...Well, this is a fine mess...
Not the situation, mind you, but the walking in the snow. Edward's sweater and boots were the right idea, but damn, it's still cold.
He seems paler out here, Edward does, and without a cigarette, his hands cannot decide what to do. They should wrap around you, if they had their druthers, but for now, they remain stuff within the small pockets of Edward's pants.
"Too cold?" he asks you, dark hair stark against his skin. The frozen breath swirls at his lips, but quickly dissipates. He has lead you away from the chalet, down the road where the cars come up. It is snow covered, but in comparison to the perfect glacier around, it's an easy path to keep track of.
Feet crunch snow, and his sound flat and heavy. The weight beingtransferred to the ground along with any frustration. He quickly follows with, "Sorry...about inside, ami," shaking his head. Already, he seems improved.
"It is alright, ami," comes the murmur and with it sparkling ice. A momentary storm where the heat of his breath meets the glacier air, freezes and then dissipates. "It is hard... the need to ask, the need to answer, the desire for it to be... easier to decide. I am sorry for pressing you...I know... it is not easy for you either..."
I cannot feel my face. That is how cold it is. And I was not smart enough to bring one of the hooded knits. What shall you do with me!
Valan is clothed in layers. A shirt beneath a sweater beneath a coat beneath a ski jacket pull over, water resistant. His legs encased in a layer of leggings, corduroy, and ski pants, water resistant. And his gloves, the fleece-lined ski gloves. He is dressed for a climb in the mountains as much as a stroll. There is a kind of delicacy to him. Ah, but you would know most of all what a delicacy he is.
Valan lifts his head, smiling easily. His cheeks and nose are red. "It is cold. But I am not yet frozen. You can thaw me, yes? When we get inside..." And you know... in the usual manner. His gloved hand reaches out, a touch skimming your own jacket. "I like it here," Valan breathes, his eyes taking a survey of the surroundings. "I could get used to this... " For a long time. "I... am looking forward to our trip to Florence, though...the warm nights...swimming..."
Edward smiles when you touch him, make reminders of more enjoyable moments. His hands slip from the pockets, and one moves to grasp yours. "I like it here too," he says, "...I was telling someone that the other night. Maybe we'll get some listings in the town and see what's around?"
His hand is warm. Blood coursing in magical swirls. He should be as you, but he is not. It's all false.
The path crunches still, the tired grooves of Land Rovers your guide. Edward looks up, leaving the topic of Florence alone. "Maria..." he goes on, feeling less ... caged ... as he did in the house, "...she was beautiful, ami," Edward confesses, twisting to see you, disbelieving smile on his face. "When you see her...you will know why I followed her...to the forests." When he was Embraced. "She..." he swallows, planning to tell the tale, "...had come to...well...the courts. I will say that for 'France' as you know it was not so, hmm? Remember your history class?" he teases, moving closer to touch shoulders in a teasing nudge. "She...was at Reims, Blois, Poitou. That is where I met her first..."
He laughs quickly, as if to think, how could I have forgotten? "Ah. And Chinon, of course."
This is how legends are told. In steps leading toward a forest both real and remembered. Here, surrounded by the purity of snow. Like in all of the greatest fables. With a chalet, so like a castle, at our backs. Here, high in the alps. Yes, this is how it is done.
He takes your hand, his fingers through the gloves give yours a squeeze. He does not care for what is ...real or unreal. Reality...as he learned in university... is far more formless than we imagine. It is more than we imagine. Was that not the line in the play about the Dane? There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio ...
And so now I know. Maria... is not your mother... but she is... the one who came before you. Like in the stories. Valan glances up and to you -- eyes off of his steps for a moment -- and he smiles. "Chinon... ah! Somewhere you and I have both been, ami!" He laughs to this and grins. See! We can make this work . With a softening look and a nudge, Valan gestures for you to 'carry on'. "Go on, ami... I am sorry to interrupt..."
Ice hangs upon his breaths...
He grins. "Everyone likes Chinon," Edward laughs and sighs simultaneously. Ah well. It's always been like that. He chuckles and squeezes your hand, going on.
"She...is like a vision, ami. When she came to France, what was I..." he laughs, "...a snot-nosed almost-Prince, hmm? I should be seen with her, bed her, and move on. She...came of noble stock, of that most of us," he laughs to think, "...who stood around, observing such young women, had already known that." He licks his lips and looks down, swaying your joined hands. "She chose me." And that brings high-laughter, enough to make his sable eyes sparkle with a golden hue.
"Ah, anyway, ami. I was caught. A knight with a prime beauty. The most beautiful creature any had seen in the courts in ages. A beauty of the southern parts of Spain." He shrugs. "It was so for a few weeks. I should have known then who was indeed truly caught..." his lips pursing. How silly he was. How full of himself, his station, his life, his own desirability.
"I look back now," Edward goes on, "...and realize that where once I was the hunter, I was the hunted. None of my men knew, those who followed me, debauched with me in my leisuretime, who churched with me when were to be Good," he chuckles, waving his other hand. "I'm digressing though. So, anyway, there she was. And soon enough, there I was...being slowly led out of doors at night to meet her. Siren's Song," he smirks.
A light touch. A flake. Snow beginning to drift...
What is not to like about Chinon. He cannot argue. She has wonderful architecture, sprawls like her own universe, and owns some of the most wine-rich fields in all the Loire. Ah now, see who is digressing...?
"A beauty such as that... she sounds like... Aelinor," the Queen who out-rivaled all queens. The beauty of two crowns, who they made us study in school . His commentary is always soft, a breath. Coming with a blush. As if I can tell you anything about the Middle Ages...
Soon, your hand is not enough. Valan moves to walk nearly in your space, his arm around your waist. I have the most handsome man of his age, yes? A knight, who followed this lady, this noble lady from the southern courts of Spain. And now... he loves me.
Unbelievable!
A light touch. The falling of a flake touches my cheek as I turn to look at you. "It is beginning to snow again, ami... you know the way? We will not lose the way..." Conscious now... not only of the cold you both walk in, but that you... can only walk so long...
"Yeah, I got it," Edward smiles, his jacket rustling as his arms go around you to walk. Directions? He know those.
"One night," his story picks up again, "...I thought it was to be it. I'd bed her," he always smirks deprecatingly at the arrogance, "...it'd be glorious and that...would be that. When I got her message that night from one of her trusted bedmates..." he pauses, as if editing. "Well, I went. I was to meet her outside of the immediate grounds of Poitiou, in one of the outer gardens. A grove really, rather thick. A hotbed of intrigue," he smirks, "...if you know." How things used to work then.
"I went, alone, of course, dressed in finery. Finally, my chance would come," and Edward looks at you, "...suffice to say, it did not go as I expected." And there you are. He goes quiet, walking a few steps further with you.
"You should see your loved ones, ami," he breathes, looking to the stars. Somehow, it comes back to that. "You will not lose me. I will not be far away. But you should see your parents again, the way you are now."
You are right.
Valan's eyes wander from you, to the stars, back to his feet. Watching the way. Thinking even as he walks. The crunching of snow, rhythmic. Our steps match, ami. And he takes a breath. You are right . "I will, ami. I ... you are right. It is the right thing to do. Where will you be, while I am in Bordeaux?" Practicalities, upon the edges of legends. It makes him smile a little your Valan. "It is still so much, Eduard..." he murmurs. "You entered those gardens, the grove... and I... wandering between the tables in L'Emperor." Strangely, not so different the one from the other. "As you pursued her... I ... you. As she caught you... so you... me..."
A pause. "This is the same Maria on the phone..." Just a quiet confirmation. "What will she think of me... Valan Montague..." murmured, even as you might imagine she had said it to him, with that cat mulling curiosity.
He goes along with you. Feeling you as you walk. Noticing you... down to the last detail he can manage. I love you . He can hear it at the edge of every step. "I will tell them... I am going to America..." he murmurs. "As I have promised... so many times. Maybe to New York..."
And you, of all can hear, Eduard, the beginning of another tale...
Instead of worry, Edward smiles. You will spin the story as you see fit. He tightens his embrace and looks to the sky again. "Snow again," he whispers, his lips pulling to the right. This is how it begins. "It's the same Maria. She will love you, Valan Montague. She will understand," murmurs sweetly. Confidently. It has taken six-hundred years. She will welcome the moment.
"Wanna go back inside?" Edward's voice light. "I'm happy to walk more, but maybe you're right..." now you are this time, "...I shouldn't head out too far tonight."
A pause. "I guess...I will be in Blois, when you are ready," Edward's voice shallow. "And we...can go from there."
"I would like to feel my legs again, ami..." And he laughs. Even if it is true. Your Valan, delicate though he may be due to his own mortality, is not a coward. And is not one to call out for mercy. What a life among you he shall have. Perhaps your Existence, your World has needed a sharp flash of sunlight. Just a flash...
"I will find you at Fleurlil," he murmurs, continuing, even as he leans in toward you. A touch that does not want to break. "I think I will ... stay in Bordeaux for a week... make certain my accounts are in order...or close them, so I can create new ones...whenever..." It is done. With however it shall be. You will have to teach him that as well. Or ... perhaps this is something your Ventrue cousin could help you with...
"But... that is then. For now... I want to walk back to the house and get a hot drink, feel my legs and then... maybe we will take a run down the mountain? If visibility is still good, oui?"
"Good idea," Edward chuckles, turning you around in the path. But the horizon changes, he lowering to pick you up. There. "I could come to Bordeaux...I have friends there...if that would make you feel better, ami? Maybe you could see me after dinner with your familie?"
"I would like to show you the villa...oui... one day... it will be ours. Overlooking the sea..." Yes, he has been thinking of this as well. The villa, it shall always be in family's hands. Even should they decide to sell. And maybe, they would decide to. After father, Michele will want to sell... but he will wait. He will wait until mama and papa are both gone. And I... I will simply wait for Michele. I have time. I will have time...
There is laughter then, throaty and full as you lift him. "You know...this chivalry... I am getting used to this too...yes, yes... I would like you in Bordeaux. We will... meet at night... " During the day, I will be in the villa. With mama. Looking at the villa, the ocean, the lands.
Memorizing everything...
"Okay," Edward smiles, feet quick to move up the road again. He looks at you in his arms, cradling you carefully. "You're going to be tired though," he notes, snow falling steadily now.
"You never said...the other option," he murmurs, "...you...don't want to consider that?" Mariko.
"Non... I should... do it or not... not halfway..." Too much risk. It seems like there is too much risk. Better... if you are going to do it, then do it quickly and let it be done.
"I want... us to be...on the same path, ami. That is all. I want to be with you. Though ...I am in your arms now, hmm? We are still on two different roads. I want to be with you."
And then he laughs. Frost lingering upon the air. Laughter crystallized. "Ah...oui... well... all meanings apply, n'est ce pas?"
"All meanings apply," Edward beams, looking ahead to the path and the growing chalet. He seems more comfited now, a decision made. All that is left...are some particulars.
"I still can't believe it all, ami," he breathes, half-chuckling. Ermine eyes widen, his head shaking. "I guess I should get over it though," he smirks, "...but I don't know how, yet. Was...the story I told you...did you understand?"
"We will... in time. You know... just because you are... so much older than me, ami," ah here it begins, the mull of his voice, teasing along. "... does not mean that this is... easy for you. You have not done this before. It is certainly new to me . So... in time... as with all things..." It will cease to seem so strange.
"Two months ago, my life was aimless... drifting in a cafe haze... and now... I am in the Swiss Alps, in the arms of the most celebrated bachelor of France, immortal no less, and about to embark on the journey of a thousand lifetimes. How is that for a story..." A pause. "Just like yours, only... with cars and cellular telephones... hmm?"
"It was snowing," Valan begins, his voice sing-song in recitement, "...and on the high mountain, a chalet..." Just like all stories begin. Or should...
"You can tell me more, if you like," Valan continues, arms around your shoulder, braced. Not quite used to being carried wherever he goes. "And tell me when I am too heavy and I should walk..."
Everyone has their story. Of how they began. Not so much when they first appeared, but when they first realized they were Here. Everyone has their story. Of when eyes first truly opened. Of the quality of laughter. Theirs. Which is individual in all the universe. Just like the falling flakes here near Georg's chalet. I imagine... not every story included a castle and a beautiful princess... but isn't it nice to know...that some of them did...
The most celebrated bachelor in all of Europe! Edward blushes and laughs royally, his eyes like saucers, his skin flush. His head falls backwards and he simply howls, his chest thumping at your side where he holds you.
"Mon Dieu!" he rails, "You have got to be kidding, ami. Maybe six-hundred years ago, but now?" he shakes his head negatively. "Once..." he takes some pride, "...I was. But that was ages ago. When knights meant something. Oh, the crap I got away with...some of it I would truly be jailed for now..." which exactly, he does not say.
"And I like that your story begins here. Wait until you tell it....a half-millenia," his face sparkles at you, your tale!, "...from now." A little tickle and he picks up the pace. It is cold. "With celphones," he smiles.
It was meant to inspire laughter. But it is, nevertheless, true. Perhaps that's what makes it so funny. The laughter is shared, even as the story is shared. And the blush! Mon Dieu, look at you! It only deepens the laughter. "I am the only one I know of my celebrated circle who is dating a count... a prince... and a knight from the Middle Ages. You will... have to pardon me if I am a little...grand about it..." He throws out an arm as he speaks of grand . Grandiose. Effusive. You know.
"Je serai le hipster immortel!" Now who is blushing and mad with laughter? "Je danserai par cette vie, vous ne croire vos yeux..." You will not believe your eyes , so he says. Ah, your young man. Bold. Brash. Loire. Are you ready for this forever, Meurelle?
An immortal hipster? Edward just laughs at the notion. "Everything will change, ami," even your sense of fashion, "I swear." His feet charge on and his real strength is felt. Not a moment or hint of tightness in his body. No struggle. Preternatural. Edward crosses from the end of the car path, striding across the fresh snow to the porch.
"Ah..." he finally sighs, refreshed. Once on the porch, the wood creaks with your combined weight, but seems not to give. "Maybe you're good for my ego, hmm? After all this time, I think I know my place in the world better and so...much of the murdering rapist is gone," he laughs, still liking that description. "Amazing what happens when a petite girl shows you a lesson, hmm?"
A look comes. Edward smiles, "Maybe you should keep those hipster pants though, ami, I like those..."
He will cut a wide swath. He will blaze a path somewhere. He will be of the 2nd Millennium, forever. With its cell phones and Internet. It's sensibilities, modern. Its tastes. Its dynamic sense of living. With its... Pepsi Cola and its flashing signs. Buy this, come here, buy now. And its coffee and cigarettes. Oh, its love of vice. Forever.
"I will endeavor to... encourage your ego...it is good, hmm? It keeps the spirit young and full of sin..." Valan chuckles, his voice lowering. A pat upon your shoulder. You can put me down... if you want...
"I will ... keep the pants...my sensibilities, and particularly my suede..." He says nothing of the murdering rapist ... ah, come now -- knights weren't fairy tales... any twelve year old was fair game. "So... should I know anything before meeting Maria...? Other than to... speak quickly..."
He chuckles, brows flickering. Dangerous question. "No," Edward finally decides, bending to lower you to the porch, "...just...if you don't want to hear something again...and again...don't tell her," he smirks. "That's all. She's..." he grins warmly, "...an amazing lady, really, ami. She..." he rolls his eyes, "...doesn't know when to stop sometimes, but that's the worst I can say about Her." She-Who-Taught-Me-A-Lesson. Who taught me so much. "She might make you dance, but..." he smiles, "...you might enjoy that. And if she gives you a hard time? Ignore her...or do the same in return," he bobs.
A lot for a No answer.
"But yes," his arms staying around you, "...please. Fluff my ego," he laughs, "...you're about the only one who will," he smirks, "...well, you and the chemicaled crowd in London," he laughs, remembering them all suddenly. "They're always good for my ego," his brows wiggle lasciviously.
"And who, ami, may I call to help should your ego need to be...hmm...temporarily eased. You know... so you can still pass through doors and fit into your automobile? Your cousin?" Shall he be my family too? Valan laughs, steadying himself upon legs he can once again quite nearly feel. "You know... I don't want to over-fluff. I should be careful. You're French... undiluted, strong Loire wine..." And with such potent stuff, one must be careful.
Turning in your grasp, he lifts his hand to your face, to touch you, even if through the gloves. "I will dance with her if she asks. She who... gave you to me..." Whether she knew it or not. Or expected it or not. So it is.
And then there are no more words. Your lascivious look stolen, for himself. Laughter converted to a kiss. A sudden rush of warmth. To love. To thaw.
"Mmm," Edward murmurs, indeed feeling a rush. His hands hold your waist, and he grins at the puckering. When he draws away, the smile is well-humored and his nose remains at yours. "Don't tell her that though, ami, she will want me back if she thinks she is giving me away."
Another kiss. Quick. "And what's this about my cousin, hmm? You keep mentioning him...though I keep trying to forget him." He keeps coming up. Hand pats your rear, and Edward's eyes light as he bounces you both within, still thinking of the Londoners. Hmph. He almost misses them. A bit.
"No reason," comes the easy reply. "Other than he was with you when I met you, I smoked his cigarettes, and he seems to be a member of your distant family..." A roll of his shoulders turns into a stretch as he enters the chalet. The stretch that becomes the stripping of the outer ski jacket.
And now in the warmth, he can truly feel how cold he was. There is a little wince as nerves spring back to life. As blood quickens. "I will never mention his name again, then... if he is one you are trying to forget. I thought you were closer..." And that I should include him like family. But... I do not care, ami. However you wish it. I do not know him that I should care about him. "Some of his brandy though, yes?" He chuckles at that. "We will finish of the last bottle...and then bit him adieu..."
"I was kidding," Edward grins, "..mostly," under his breath. He smirks and tickles you anyway, having gotten so serious. "It's like having an annoying cousin the same age as you, hmm? And, like I mentioned..." when he first began this tale nights ago, "...we're not really relations, just...I have known him for a long time." You can imagine, perhaps, how that goes.
He sighs, running his hand through his hair. Hmm. "Can I confess something?" he murmurs, it sounding as if it's been lingering a few moments. "About..London?"
The bottle is lifted. Plum brandy. Potent and heady, and only a half bottle of it remains. And Valan turns, twisting a little. The bottle is set down and his hands busy themselves with removing his coat. The one that was beneath the ski jacket. "Of course, Eduard...though, you know... I am not such a good priest. I do not know the ritual of absolution, but..." smooth the smile that winds across his mouth, "... I will listen, ami..."
Shoulders roll, and the jacket is removed. The sweater beneath, of a soft wool as if hand-knitted for him especially, is white. Not a color he wears often. But it looks good on him. His hair seems all the more gold...
The sofa sighs with his sudden weight. First things first. Remove the unnecessary gear. And then the drinks.
"You may always tell me anything ..." That is the way it should be between us.
He smiles, following you to the sofa. Where you take a seat upon the cushions, the large boy instead takes a seat on the table across from you, so he might face you. His knees touch yours, and Edward moves to remove his jacket.
"Let's just say...after...all this time," he smiles, "...I manage to remain popular, hmm? I don't want you to go to London, for us to live there, and you to find out after the fact...when we go out someplace." The jacket is unceremoniously tossed aside, and Edward pushes the sleeves of his sweater up, exposing his forearms.
"I...have gotten around in London," Edward's head tilts faintly, his eyes upon you, "...and I made no pretentions about it. It...is just the way it is. Granted... now..." he bobs his head at you, "...it will stop ... but ...when we go out, people will expect the same...access...to me as before..."
"I... did not exactly lead the life of a priest in Paris and Tours, ami..." There is understanding. "I will... be understanding of this, of course. Do not worry." He smiles. "I know your heart and where I am in it. And... I know... myself." The hipster does not worry. He knows what his touch does. Where he goes and how he goes, and the response it illicits. Such decadence as I learned in my travels with The Circle. Non. There is no fear of Them. However many there may be. Confidence. Knowing...
Once you have tasted truth...there is no going back ...
"So... non... do not worry for me..." Valan leans in, the smile warm and wide. "It will ... give me a charge... to ... see them fawn over what they cannot have. Why should this upset me?" Hands give your thighs a squeeze and he sits back.
"You are... very desirable... who would not want you? I ...shall be the last one to blame them..." All of them.
Oh.
Well, that was not quite the right answer, but Edward smiles for it anyway.
"Well," his brow furrows as he clears his throat, scooting closer and pushing sleeves again, "...I...um...that's good, ami," his brows arching open, head tilting, as if trying to find words, "...just...I mean ... you...want me to stop?"
Well, he had to ask.
"I mean, if that's what we want, sure, I can have them all...lose..." he blinks, "...my phone number..."
"What am I saying?" Edward smiles, "Look...when we go back to that world...when we move to Dannerly," he nods, "...I'll just tell them all that...you know..." I'm with someone. "They'll get it."
Hazel eyes narrow. Grasping. Where has this gone ...
"Ami... I... do not think you understood what I meant... ah, hmm... maybe I ... did not," he exales, "... take it seriously as you meant it. Yes... of course... I want you to stop."
"I want them to lose your number..."
"We are... a couple. What we're talking about is.. not... casual. It's everything ..." Life. Death. Eternity. "I ...was just trying to ... inject a little levity," the smile returns a little, at the corners of his mouth. The sigh comes with a little laughter and his hand waves. "I am sorry... for confusing you. Tell them... the truth... or... however much of the truth you want them to know. I will be satisfied with Unavailable."
Oh. You did mean it.
Edward nods slowly, lips puckering. A push. A pull. Another nod. "I'll tell 'em," he agrees.
Now, what to do about his own black book.
"So..." he smiles, "...want to sit in the sauna a while, ami? Or are you tiring, hmm?" He suddenly bends, unlacing his boots.
I will burn mine in a ritual, tossed in the heart of Dannerly. Page by page in the middle of a boiterous exorcism. That is how it should be done. Past lovers burned in the fire of the new...
"Sauna... I need to thaw..." Again there is laughter. Even sometimes...when we fall out of step with one another... it is still...so easy to laugh. Ah well... missteps. They are part of it. What is love without the twinge of jealousy and fear?
And so I rise. Eyes upon you in a downsweep of golden lashes. And his hands reaching for yours. "Allons, l'amour, viennent avec moi..."
Posted by rowan at February 08, 2001 04:14 PM
