I'm looking through you
where did you go
I thought I knew you
What did I know
You don't look different
But you have changed
I'm looking through you - you're not the same

Your lips are moving
I cannot hear
Your voice is soothing
But the words aren't clear
You don't sound different
I've learned the game
I'm looking through you - you're not the same

     "I'm no different than you," Davydd murmurs, chin lifting in the tipping of his head. An inclination of strength, and in those green eyes there is little mirth. "Plucked out of nowhere, out of a life I was... living, to the best of my abilities. Given these," hands lift, his left pulling back the sleeve of his right arm, showing the dragons at his right wrist -- you've seen them before. "And the others," he settles back. "That's what I mean by the kinship."
     He pulls his sleeve down again and settles back in the chair. "I'm no different than you. Trying to make the best of what I discovered... and what was given to me," forced on me at the time. "I don't want anything from you. That's never been it, that's never been the motivation behind any of it. I have a business, I have a life, I have a woman I love very much who... doesn't understand this. I'm trying to help her understand it," the candor in that softens his look. And for a moment Davydd looks elsewhere.
     "The first night... I only helped you when you were in pain. I tried to help you understand what was happening to you." Deep green eyes, like the very blood of Cymru, bore into Hwyll, "... it's not fair that one should... have to grapple with the phenomenon alone," Davydd inhales, looking back to you. "And then...when you said ... when that force ... spoke to me.. knowing me. I ...had to know what it was. And ... learning... as it progressed, I could not just... leave you to her, and her to you. I felt responsible."
     He stands at that. "That's my problem," he says to you, he says to himself. "I feel responsible." He looks to his hands as he seems to ponder leaving. "I have placed life and love ... second to helping you, trying to help you, ill-equipped to do that, perhaps." A slight frown. "And you haven't exactly been the most receptive person on the planet..."
     "And you," he snaps to Hwyll, eyes lifted to the fairy and his frown still present. Did you think green could ever been that fiery? They smolder, darkening. "Did you ever think about what the truth would do? Do you ever think about the consequence of the wind's power?"

     "I want you to be able to understand your power," Hwyll says to Drancy, matter-of-factly even. Seriously. And he is rarely serious. To Davydd, there is the flash of a look, the flicker, and then a madcap grin. "The wind blows, it knows, and where it goes.... it goes, Davy-bach. Do not be angry. I have told her nothing she has not needed to know." Relax, your shadows are intact...

     "I've never wanted anything from you that you weren't willing to give," Drancy responds to Davydd, first, matter-of-factly, her changeable eyes grown sober. "And even what you were willing to give, I didn't want. I... " She shoots a look at Hwyll, not quite panicky, but filled with frustration.
     This is difficult... How deep do I rip myself open, to explain to him? Would he understand? Do I want him to?
     Pride is a mother, it really is. She folds her hands tightly into her lap, and pauses for a moment. "I'm not bloody good at accepting things from people." That's as close to an explanation as she's likely to get just yet, at least without the jaws of the nutcracker coming down on her shell. "It's never been you, all right? I don't know if that helps. I ... "
     Crisis of self-esteem all over again - between men she doesn't know and men she doesn't trust, people who she thought she knew who turn out to be something else... the story of her life, in so many ways. "I'm sorry," she says finally. "I didn't mean to cause problems for you. For anybody. I just was trying ... "
     To live my life, as usual, in its odd form of apple-pie order, until something, west wind or no, came along and tore it up and left me strewn about all at sixes and sevens until I don't know who or what I am anymore...
     "What d'you want me to say?"

     "Nothing. I think we understand one another..." Davydd lifts his gaze, and there is... at last... the inkling of a smile. Amusement. This is... terribly funny and so not funny, all at once. He doesn't know whether to beat Hwyll to a pulp or laugh. He exhales, hands going into his pockets, and for a moment he closes his eyes, face upturned to the ceiling. The coat falling around him like a cloak. He looks young and he looks old. And after that moment passes...
     Davydd looks back to you, shoulders rolling a little, his coat settling. He seems suddenly relaxed. "You don't need to ... apologize. It's been... hardest on you, aye? Shite exploding," his eyes twinkle, "... strange painted men running about talking nonsense," meaning himself, "... riddlin' gits runnin' off with you in the middle of the night, showing you shite you ... didn't even know was real. Now..." He narrows his eyes a bit, "... probably don't even know what to believe, where to turn, what's real and what's not. The more you know, the less you feel you know. The further you travel, the poet said," there's a sympathetic half-smile, "...the less you know..." He shakes his head. "I'm not ... good at dealing with folks, admittedly... I'm... a bit of a lone wolf." Wrinkles form at the corners of his eyes and he slants a smile, "... or dragon, if you prefer. So... we're not good at this, so fucking what, I suppose. I'm... sorry if I haven't seemed as helpful as I have ...endeavored to be."
     He cuts another look to Hwyll, then looks between them. "I would ... try to teach you what I know... if ... things in my life were different, Drancy. It's not you. And it's not that I'm trying to keep you in the dark. Far from it. I want you to learn so you... know who you are, so you can feel...comfortable and confident. So you can ... feel like you have your life back. That's what I want for you, you know. I do ... care what happens to you. And not just because you've been a burr in my backside and aim for my crotch when you go to kick me." Davydd smirks at that. "Hwyll... will show you the basics, I imagine. And it'll be yours to learn from there. I'm ... sure you'll be alright in the end."

     "Never fear, Oak King...Saviour of Britain..." Hwyll quips, full of smiles, of sparkling eyes, of mirth and mischief. That's the Hwyll you remember. "She'll be in good hands, oes. So I swear it..."

     Davydd snorts, rolling green eyes. "Aye... that's what I'm afraid of." With an exhale, he reaches into an inside pocket of his coat, fishing around for his cigarettes. "And stop calling me that. I'm just a bloke in need of a smoke..."

     A difficult discussion, no matter which angle you look at it, but the hard part seems to be largely past. Drancy slouches down in her seat a little, and admits, "It's not been entirely easy, no... I'm still ... not sure how to deal with one or two things." She exhales. "Such as Dei."
     It earns Hwyll a quick glance across the table, then back to Davydd and down to her own lap, scowling. Picking up her fork, she begins pushing the food around on her plate, with a complete lack of appetite.
     I don't know how I feel, or what I'm supposed to feel, or anything. I liked him just fine - when he was, evidently, possessed... And if he only got interested in me when he was, does that mean how he feels now isn't really 'real'? It won't make how he feels if I call it off any less painful. But...
     And what of you, 'Prince' Hwyll? I... just don't know what to do. Trusting people with my friendship's always been hard enough. Anything more...
     She glances up again. "The last time you spoke to her. In the field, with your horse, and the blood in your horse's footsteps. She was using my bloody body again." Which might explain some of her comments a bit better, or... make it more difficult...

     "Must have been a dream. I don't own horses," Davydd says. "And dreams... they're never literal, you know. Blood... usually means life." It is not what sustains me... but what it contains. Glamour. Inspiration. The energy of Creation, in its most primal form. His hand finds the pack, and he takes one out, and the silver zippo -- with a red Welsh dragon on it. "Not sure what Freud or Jung would say," he looks up, with a growing smile, "probably that I wanted to shag my mum..." And then that laugh. Madcap. Coupled with the mercurial, sparkling eyes. More like his old self. "Mind if I light up?"
     And now that things have calmed, he doesn't seem to be ...bolting out of here.
     "You like this Dei bloke. He's the one with the guitar, right?" Apparently Davydd does pay attention...

     Hwyll rises, perhaps he's bored with the apparently calm conversation. He begins to rummage through the food, grabbing one of the to go boxes and settling down with some curry.
     Sometimes blood is blood, Davy-bach...

     "I've not been on a horse in years, myself..." Not since she was young enough to still buy into her parents' expectations. Lots of the -right- sort of people that turn up at gymkatas. Good matches, good business deals.
     "Dei. Yeahr. The one with the guitar. Who evidently was demon-possessed, or something, when he kissed me." When in doubt, be flippant. "Makes a girl feel really special, you know?"
     Which is, in fact, the truth of how she feels about it, and it lends a certain added bitterness to her voice for a moment, before she gets it back under control. After all... she really liked Dei, before he changed.
     "Anyway, anyone want some of this wine, or is it going to go to waste?"

     Davydd gives you an incredulous look, brows knitted together. "Demon? Bah," he smirks, lighting the cigarette, then stowing the lighter. "No such thing. You buy that fairy shite? If you like the bloke and he likes you..." cigarette held in his mouth and hands now free, Davydd outspreads his arms. Go for it. "Demons," he exhales smoke in Hwyll's direction. "Next thing you know they'll be telling you about the Easter Bunny and The Boogeyman. Don't buy everything you hear, Drancy... particularly from faeries. They're full of shite and..." a grin in Hwyll's direction, "...hot air."

     Hwyll looks up, smiling beautifully and winking. "Aye well... you have me there, Davy." But he was inhabited by a demon. Such a dark power. I've never seen a shadow that deep before, and it was filled with fire...
     But I found I liked it...
     Hwyll sits back with a box of food and with a full mouth, murbles, "Well... maybe demon was a strong word. Huw's word," he emphasizes to Davydd, "... not mine, Davy-bach. There was something there the old tracker didn't trust." And then he shrugs. "But maybe that was the shadow that was following him at the time. You know... it's hard to be specific when dealing with forces of chaos."

     "Whatever." Drancy dismisses the quibbling over demon ... not demon ... with a wave of her hand and a toss of her head. "The fact of the matter is, I felt stuff from him, before. And now I don't. And while he's a nice enough bloke now, it's ... not the same as what he was like. So either I've actually snapped and he's no different, which I concede is a possibility - I mean, I'm sitting in my kitchen talking to a bloody fairy and ... whatever, I don't know how to classify you," she waves her hand again, this time at Davydd.
     "Or he was possessed by something and now he isn't, and in short, he's not the bloke I fe- got to liking." Right. Like Drancy's going to admit to falling for anyone, even if it was true. She let him kiss her, and everything.
     And if noone else is having wine, well, dammit, she will. She stands and crosses to the cupboard, rummaging about til she finds the corkscrew. "It changes one, I suppose, but I don't know what to think. As it is, as he is -now-, what'm I supposed to do? Tell him, 'yeah, I'm some sort of magic-toting female, better get used to it'? Somehow, I don't think that's a terribly brilliant way to go into a relationship. So it's looking rather like I'll be paying another visit to Ye Old Chastity Belt Shoppey-Thingy."

     Egads, chastity belts. Now that's a blast from the past -- and not a pleasant one. "Well, just because you fancied him... and now you don't so much... has nothing to do with ... the weird shite you're suddenly surrounded with, myself included," Davydd smirks, blowing smoke, and he takes a sit down again, spreading out with a sigh and settling in. "Aye, I'll take a glass of sommat," he rumbles. "I could use a drink." I could use a lot of things. Expending energy. A good romp with Sandrine. If I can convince her. Aye well... I'm into the whole thing much more than she is, to be sure. Nordic females. Can't figure them...
     "You know... I fancy folks and then it passes," he mumbles, cigarette held in his mouth as he's talking. "Till I met Sandrine, that's the way it was." A roll of his shoulders. "Flavor of the week or whatever. It's just part of... how it goes, Drancy. Doesn't mean he was fucking ... well.. anything. I think these blokes," meaning Huw and Hwyll and he gives Hwyll a look, "... 'ave got you worked up to the point of doubting everything, and you were probably doing that anyway... only now... even more so 'cause it seems fucking true." A pause and he looks for an ashtray. Or something he can use other than his cupped, gloved hand. "If you're not interested in him ... as more than a friend... then be a friend," he murmurs. "Best advice I could give." Davydd's voice trails off as he rises, grabbing an empty soda can left over from ...well, god knows when. A week? Probably Dot's. Seems forever that you and the whole band were here...
     "It's a hard thing, trust," he murmurs absently. "You'll spend your lifetime trying to give it and earn it and get the whole love thing sorted. Take it from an old man of near forty..."

     "Aaaaaaancient," Hwyll rolls back, laughing. "The Old Dragon indeed! Oh... wine??" Hwyll's eyes light up and setting his food down he bounds into the kitchen. "Thank the goddess..."
     He doesn't have much to add to all of this. He doesn't much care really, the affairs of mortals don't hold much interest. But the wine...

     She's starting to feel grumbly again - mellowed though she might be, it just never does last. Of course, if it did, would it still be Drancy? She fiddles with the bottle, and it's half of a wonder that she doesn't just smash the neck on the counter's edge and be done with it.
     "I don't know which it is. Maybe it's one, maybe it's the other... maybe it's neither... but you know, if trust and love are all of that and a bag of chips, you couldn't prove it by me." Finally, the cork is free of the bottle's neck, and everyone can breathe a sigh of relief, including the wine, no doubt. "So if it's all the same to you, I think I'll give the entire show a pass, and get back to getting my life on track."
     Drancy pours wine into one of the glasses - she's actually got rather nice glasses, fluted rims and all. "I have to pay attention to this magic shite because, if not, things explode and people try to kill me. That's a rather telling argument... so I'll buy it..."

     Davydd laughs, earthy sound upon a plume of smoke, and he delights in that quite clearly. Join the fucking club. "Well, darlin', life is terminal," for most. He takes a long drag, taps ash in the can and sits back. "Hwyll'll get you straightened out... the rest... you'll learn like everyone else. You'll fuck up and have to get yourself out of a bind. Then you'll learn."
     Why should it be easier for you than anyone else?
     Davydd shrugs his great shoulders and takes another drag. "The magic shite will reach up and slap you from time to time. I smoke to take the edge off. I don't recommend you do it though. Ages you something fierce," though, he shows no wear of that himself. He's looked the same for nearly a thousand years. Well, plus or minus a new hairdo.
     "You'll figure it out, Drancy. Just like the rest of us. In bits and pieces..."

     Hwyll waits upon his glass, eyes shooting a look to Davydd. And just when did the bloodied, sexed and muddied freeborn Prince of Wales become such a philosopher? "I'll show you ways to contain what you have... and then to use it. First, you have to learn how to control it..." he says softly, a soft look to his pupil. "It'll come, never you worry."

     "I'm used to fucking up. I'll make do. And I've never smoked, my vice is vodka - you should remember that." Drancy turns a brief, wicked grin onto Davydd, and carries the glasses over to the table with a toss of her hair back over her shoulder. "I'm told I'm a bloody lousy excuse for a punk - don't smoke, only drink now and again, don't touch drugs, and don't even fuck..."
     Hwyll gets a brief, somewhat tight smile. "Oh, I won't worry," she lies through her teeth. "What's to worry about?" A pause. "Besides, I've got my hands full worrying about you, the first time you decide to leave the apartment and nearly get run over by a two-tonne lorry."
     A knock at the door prompts a scowl. "Who the fuck? - Neither of you invited anyone, did you?" Never mind that, she's already rising to go see who it is, around the corner from the kitchen. She tugs open the door, the sound of the hinges audible, and she starts to remonstrate, "Well, who i- you?" She interrupts herself, voice incredulous, horrified, and angry. "What're you doing here?"

     Both gents in your apartment lean forward, craning their necks to see what gives. Davydd taps more ash into the can and then leans in to take up a glass of wine. It'll probably be cheap, bad wine. But hey... she lives on a budget. Chinon it won't be. His mouth twists at that...
     Fucking Plantagenet. Has the best liquor in Europe, he and Dunross. I should pay them a visit. It's been ages...
     And as you have guests, he's thinking... maybe he should leave. He stamps out his cigarette -- fuck only having two hands -- and then flips over his wrist, checking the time. Aye, well... need to meet up with my Lady.
     After the wine...

     Hwyll's so curious he damn near bounds up and peeks over your shoulder. But he's sipping the wine and heading back to the pillows. Once he gets there, he sets the wine back down and starts pulling off his shoes. Oh, and the outer shirt is unbuttoned...

     The wine is decent. Not up to Plantagenet's standards, but much better than what you'd expect Drancy to have - either she splurged, or it was a gift from someone...
     From the front foyer, there's a male voice rising in response to Drancy's angry expostulation. "Really, Fifi, is that any way to greet a long lost friend? You're looking well, I suppose, though I see you're still ... slumming it. How quaint. Love what you've done with the hair, though. Much more becoming than that mohawk you were sporting last time we met."
     Even from around the corner, this seems to supercharge the air with tension thick enough to cut with a knife, and Drancy's mouth just gets uglier. "What the fuck do you want, and what're you doing here?", she demands. "Friends like you, I'd jump out a window naked to get away from, and hope I broke my neck on the way down to keep from having to be visited by you in hospital. Fuck off."
     It doesn't seem to perturb him, whoever he is, or not enough. "Actually, your parents asked me to drop by. They remembered we used to be such good friends, and as I was visiting my own folks and thus in the neighbourhood..."

     There's a clearing of a male throat after a sip of wine that was surprisingly good. Not what he's used to, but certainly pleasant and drinkable. Davydd shoots a look to Hwyll and grins. Fifi?

     Hwyll's eyes sparkle: that's just too good to pass up. And while he doesn't clear his throat, he does lie back on the pillows, wine safely on the table, and begins to sing Mares eat oats, and does eat oats and little lambs eat ivy...

     Davydd turns about in his chair, sipping at his wine, and looking after you. If it's someone you want gone, there's ways of ensuring that...

     "Fuck you, and fuck my parents," Drancy snarls. Oh, she's in a temper now. And Davydd and Hwyll both thought they'd seen her in bad moods before... "I should have shoved you off that rafter when I had the chance."
     The unseen man's voice takes on a slightly ugly tinge as well. "But you didn't. Instead, you made sure we got caught, and we damned near didn't make it out that year." He appears to catch himself, for his voice smooths out to a creamy, self-satisfied tone. "But it's still a pleasure to catch up with you after so many years. A pity you ... chose the path you did, of course. I'll have to be sure to tell Vicky that I saw you."
     There's a definite feeling of tension coming from the front foyer, almost like the smell of ozone before a lightning storm. But it's not magic that flares first - instead, there's suddenly the sound of a fist connecting with flesh, and bone crunching. "You BIDCH! You bohk bhy DHOZE!"
     "That's not all I'll break if you don't fuck off right NOW!"

     Oh shite...
     Well, thankfully you miss it because you're rather busy, and you probably wouldn't have thought to ask how he got there so quickly, or how you didn't hear him coming. You're picked up by a mountain of Cymri, large arms around little waist, and lifted. "Better clear out, mate," Davydd makes sure he gets that out, and with his eyes on the gent's all the while...
     ... and crackling on the blood, what isn't gushing out of his nose...
     ... Go home...
     (It's not something he's going to disagree with. Shit... probably sounds like a fucking great idea at the moment...)
      ...Just go home... don't bother calling the bobbies... just go home. And leave it be...

     ... And from the other room...
     Laughter...

     Unsurprisingly enough, Drancy struggles, spitting like a cat. (Though Huw might take offense at the comparison.) "Put me down, you bloody great Welshman, or I'll rip yer knackers off!" She's been in the punk scene far too long, or not long enough.
     Meanwhile, the nameless gent with the broken nose and blood streaming down the front of his quite expensive Saville Row three-piece with silk scarf and mohair jacket is more than happy to oblige with both the voiced and unvoiced suggestions, almost slipping on the stairs in his haste to get away.
     Well... if this is how she treats all her old school chums... it's no wonder she doesn't go to school reunions.

     He just laughs. You're not going far. Oh, you're slippery enough, but he's one of the sons of the Mighty, so to speak. "C'mon," earthy rumble of a voice sounding out, edged with laughter. "... you and I... bloody hell," he mutters, dragons starting to move again, shocking, "...stop it... now, you know you don't want to go near my knackers..." Wrestling you still, he kicks the doors closed. "Now... on the count of three..."
     Hwyll's out of his top shirt and shoes, sprawled on the pillows, and laughing his fairy ass off. Rich and boisterous. Musical, where Davydd's is smoky and rough. "And we were worried about her..."
     And that tickles the hell out of him...

     Not as shocking as it used to be, thanks to the mark's she's been bound with herself, but her control is certainly spread thinner than thin, right now. She's like a bloody eel, all wiry tensile strength rather than anything really capable of fighting back - not even any indication of any training as a fighter, just all raw nerves and punk.
     Oh, and one thing's evident... whoever that was, she wants to kill him. Badly enough to still be trying to get out of Davydd's grasp and take after him.
     "Let me go, or I swear, I'll chew them off!" Drancy's starting to run out of breath, though - she's not been going into the mosh pits so much these days, and her lifestyle's not really active enough for prolonged wrestling of this sort. "Nngh... put me -down-, damn you...."
     She swallows hard, and takes a deep breath, going still, and in a low voice, mutters audibly, cursing. "That thrice-damned flea-ridden son of a bitch, may every machine he touch fall to pieces to infest his nether regions with the sharpest prickles of the burrs of Satan's own fields! May he be taken to the pits of Hades and bent over a stalagmite and arsefucked by the Prince of Darkness himself, the cum bubbling and burning in his arse for five thousand years and then five thousand more, without a whit of pleasure for his own receiving - and may his lying tongue fall out, his deceiving feet drop off, his crossed eyes boil to pus, his testicles wither and shrivel away, and his murderous hands turn against him to pierce his own throat - but slowly!"
     No, she really doesn't like him.

     Wow.
     He doesn't really know what to say after that and so with your next twist, you're free. And though he loses hold of you, he's already putting a hand to the door. You might be free to kick at him, but you're not going to run after and kill the guy and get tossed in the cooler for assault. Besides, he doesn't want to have to bail you out. He hates prisons. They give him rashes...
     Davydd's other hand is already anticipating trouble, and goes to block any attempts to kick his knackers up to his eyeballs...

     Hwyll is wailing. Laughter so hard it turns rough. And a sudden drumming sounds as his hands slap upon the pillows and his sueded thighs.
     I'm in pain! Stop! Stop!

     Drancy is too out of breath to immediately run for the door or even assault anyone, so she settles onto her haunches, glowering sullenly. Besides, at this particular moment, if she's going to assault anyone, it's probably going to be Hwyll...
     He's laughing at her, after all...
     Looking around, she grabs the first thing to come to hand - a cushion, of course; what else is profusively present, these days? - and she flings it, hard, at Hwyll. "Bastard." It lacks the level of force and conviction, though, that she offered up to the recently departed fellow...
     Who's probably en route to a hospital to get his nose set...
     Drawing her knees up, Drancy lets her head sink down forward against them, hiding her face. She is Not Having A Good Night.

      "... oh... goddess... sweet..." Hwyll groans, belted with a pillow right in the gut. "I can't believe you punched him... what a hook... if I knew you had that much power in your swing, I wouldn't have handed you my knob... I'll never do that again." He rolls over, wiping the tears from his eyes...
     But Davydd's a bit more perceptive than Hwyll, or rather... he's a bit more compassionate. Hwyll's perceptive, but he lacks a human core of emotion. Davydd's at least been human once. And so as you sit on your haunches, you get an eyeful of Welshman, as he crouches in front of you. "Glad I ducked that time in the pub," he murmurs. "So... what was all that about then?"

     Her lips are twisted into a hard little line which probably says more than any words could, eyes open and unblinking as she stares at her knees as if they've done something to offend her. It's a few moments before Drancy speaks.
     "Ask him, he knows all about it." Oh, her voice is harsh, and as bitter as quinine, breathing shallow and light, just this side of ragged. "Exhibit A for my case, about the absolute idiocy of playing those games."
     She hasn't even graced him with a name of his own, or called him by it, just tried to assault him - somewhat successfully, too. Her knuckles are slightly skinned, but the blood on them isn't hers.

     "Hwyll?" Davydd sounds a bit incredulous at that. As if. Hmm, a rumble of thought is held in his chest. "Not necessary," Davydd murmurs, and he doesn't pry. A large hand comes out, still gloved and therefore softened, leaving a touch beneath your chin. A little smile quirks up at the corners of his mouth. "Had to feel good to break his nose, at least? Hmm? I doubt he'll be dropping back by. Good punch. Reminds me never to fuck around with you," his voice is... almost tender.
     "I think you've... had enough excitement for the night," he whispers after and leans in, planting a kiss on the crown of your head. "What with your long journey. You should sleep a while..."

     The laughter's died down and Hwyll looks up, suddenly frowning. "That was him?" Eyes bore a hole in the echoes of the man's presence. The Betrayer. Well. Hmph. But as Davydd speaks, Hwyll's also rising. "For the first time all night, I'm going to agree with the Oak King. I'll... make something warm and nice. We'll relax and then you'll sleep."

     I refuse to cry... bloody hell, I won't. Not over that piece of shite... not in front of them...
     What price pride, now? It's easier to agree, not to argue, and thus avoid bursting into tears. A rough night all round...
     And, ironically, it makes it harder that they're both being so bloody nice. Harder to fight, in the face of it.
     Drancy just nods slightly, not daring to lift her head. "Yeah, all right." She's agreeing. Something's wrong with this picture, isn't there. "Just no bloody chamomile. I hate chamomile."

     Hwyll just grins, and the room is filled with the scent of honey, cinnamon, clove. Exotic spices, normally carried by Eastern winds, conjured as a gift. Two cups, with small slivers of baklava. Did someone ring for comfort food? "No chamomile... this... is a recipe from Oberon's little treasure..."
     Davydd rises with an exhale, "I'll be in London for a few more nights," he murmurs. "Feel free to call me...if you want to chat. I'm playing a gig at the Black Jack tomorrow. I owed Kelly one..." Green eyes lift from you to land squarely on Hwyll. "Let her rest and be a gentleman. Try to at least act noble."
     He turns after a brief pause and then turns to the door. "Nos dda, Drancy girl..."

     It's just a good thing noone's calling her on that Fifi...
     Drancy climbs to her feet wearily, all her anger and energy dispelled of a sudden. "Yeah, I'll give you a call, or drop by or something... need to get this one used to modern society some..."
     But first... I need to sleep for about a week, and stave off whatever dreams are going to try to eat me...
     She eyes the cups. "Mmf. Little treasure... is everything you lot do a euphemism for something else? - Don't answer that, I don't have patience for it right now." She turns without looking, heading for the bedroom door.
     As she goes, her voice trails back over her shoulder. "He's not going to try feeling me up, because he knows perfectly well he won't get anywhere. Prince, my arse."

Posted by rowan at May 27, 2003 04:54 PM