Daytime sucks. At least, that's always tended to be Drancy's motto, and after recent events and her night-time visitors, sleep has been of paramout interest to her. Wrapped in blankets until the only thing that shows are a bit of one shoulder and a tuft of flaxen hair, some might say she's even cute when she's asleep.
     Some might also get punched in the nose, as the wise recall.
     Still, day eventually passes into dusk, and that appears to be the punk's alarm signal - she shifts slowly, tossing away the blankets and groggily pushing her way through her 'morning' routine - shower with clarified sage shampoo and cucumber soap from Harrod's, towel off and wring her hair out like some great impossible sponge, and dress in jeans old enough to be almost translucent from the threads being worn so thin, a mulberry-coloured tank top, and a shark's tooth necklace, symbolic of her mood if nothing else - she pads forward to face, if not the world, then Hwyll, at least.
     "Mrf. Coffee or tea left?" Good morning, Hwyll.

     When he's awake, he's wide awake. When he's asleep, he may as well be a rock. Sometimes in the morning, that's exactly what he'll be. A huge rock in the middle of her living room. It'll be an adventure, living with Mr. Fancy Pants...
      There is no lump of man in the blankets, on the pillows and cushions he's brought from... well, every place he could think of. A little Japan. A little China. A little India, Morocco, Saudi Arabia, and one golden pillow, his favorite, from the Otherworld. It plays soft music when you lie your head down. Always a different tune, that. Nifty, no? But he's not there. The blankets are folded neatly, everything in its place.
     There is an unusual amount of light pouring into the small living room. Due, of course, to the fact that the canvas curtains have been pulled aside. And pressed to the glass are a multitude of butterflies, desperately trying to sun themselves -- in London, in spring. Beautifully colored wings pressed outward like fans. Green and violet, red and orange and yellow, browns in every shade and white and black. Moths and butterflies ... everywhere...
     And no Hwyll... well... at least not in an expected form...

     The sunlight that pours through the window. Clean. Clear. Spring sunlight. The shadows cast upon the walls and floor by the butterflies.
     Coloured shadows.
     Shadows that appear to move independent of the butterflies. Subtle movement, but movement none-the-less.
     The clocks tick. Twice. In rapid succession, and simultaneous.
     A thrumming in the back of the head, fluttering, follows the clocks. A ripple in the floorboards, imperceptible to most. The sound of something rushing forward at incredible speed.
     Then silence, and there are now two more in the apartment. "Last stop, London." Says one. The one with a faint crimson sheen in the corners of his mouth. Blood. Bleeding. That one looks hurt, as he slumps to the floor.
     Where did they come from?

     "But I don't..." one of the two speaks, his words in slurred Italian. He blinks and then narrows his eyes, words picking up again in florid Italian to his companion.
     But then he notices the friend has slumped.
     Dropping to the floor, the young man's hands are a blur as he kneels to pick up his friend's head. Words still fly in thick Italian, but the name Nathaniel comes repeatedly. Well, and the requisite 'shit' in heavy English.
     Wait. There are people in the room.
     A black backpack falls to the floor next to the brown-haired man, and as he twists, the weapon in the holster within his jacket is visible. A flashlight rattles at the belt of his zipper and pocketed pants.
     "Who are you?" he asks in English, almost demanding. One hand holds 'Nathaniel', the other fishing a vial from a pocket.

     Well... at least she had time to get dressed...
     A number of possibilities flash through Drancy's mind, including the possibility of a staccato shriek of general fed-upped-ness. The sight of the weapon certainly does make her changeable eyes go wide with alarm, but rather than grabbing for a knife or anything, she grabs for her throat - oh, great. She left the charm off, in the other room.
     Still, Huw would no doubt be thrilled to pieces by her implicit faith in him and in the charm...
     Now the apartment's gotten a bit crowded, the mediumish living room crowded with cushions and blankets these days, with the only furniture usually in it the stereo system and telephone. Drancy glares at the two men, letting her hands fall to her hip, and doesn't quite bother with a real answer for them.
     "Who am I?" Belligerence wins out over common sense. "Who are you, and what the bloody FUCK are you doing in my apartment?"

     Not that he's ever been crazy about the British. They're passable.
     "I'm trying to..." he manages in rough English, "...make sure my friend remains living," he states, ignoring the enraged woman. Cesare sighs, moving the vial beneath his friend's nose. He seems unworried about the young woman for the moment or the oddity of appearing out of Nowhere.

     ... butterflies feel the ripple...
     ... the slightest movement of air...
     Air is what sustains them...
     Of Air is what he is made...
     Shadows and sunlight scatter and burst as the butterflies lift...
     Lift and spiral and coalesce, until they become a form, roughly lifelike. A tall figure. Delicate wings spread and then there is a face. A body. Folded arms of a Quite Tall and Lithe man. Beautiful. To the point of being painfully so. His is clothed as Drancy has seen him before. As Himself.
     In iridescent armor, like the wings of those butterflies one might notice. "The door is over there," he points out. His voice is soft. Quicksilver blue eyes, sky blue, shift to Drancy and he drolls, "No one knocks anymore..."
     But he moves, quick as wind to stand between the Intruders and the young mage in training. Hwyll tilts his head. "He does look a bit sick. Lay him down on the floor... over there..." A tilt of his chin upwards, indicating his pillows. "I'll take a look-see..."

     Eyes, newly clouded milky, flutter open. The scent from the vial. Grotesque. The milkiness swirls like clouds before the sun.
     Nate licks his lip, only managing to spread more of the blood. "I'm good." quiet. "I'll be good."
     Is someone moving him? He doesn't seem to notice. He does look around, perhaps not blind? "This isn't where we should be." Movement causes his henna designs to climb out from behind collar and cuff. They seem alive. Guarding.

     Not likely. Cesare frowns at the supernatural, keeping Nathaniel close to himself, head near his chest. "No thank you," he says, moving the vial back to his pocket as he tries to put Nate's head on his bended thigh.
     He speaks in Italian again, glancing up at the two figures while he tries to assess Nate's condition. No, it is not home. Yes, it may be London, he cannot yet tell. There are people here...well, one isn't a person.
     Cesare watches Hwyll, hands bringing Nathaniel up to sitting.

     The butterflies. It bloody figures. Drancy lifts a hand to her forehead - barely awake, and already she's got a migraine threatening to crowd in.
     "Is shite like this going to happen all the time, now?" She asks it more of the air around her than of Hwyll, or Nathaniel or Cesare in particular, and turns to go into the kitchen, shaking her head.
     "I'm no kind of bloody nurse. I can call for an ambulance, or I can make tea or coffee - your choice, fellows."

     A blonder than blonde eyebrow quirks up. And Hwyll's expression focuses. Nice tats. Arms fold again, once more against his chest and he eyes the men, not with suspicion but with study. Keen study. "Tea would be nice," Hwyll says without looking at her. "But only if you have honey..."
     With the study there is a tangible curiosity. "Your choice. I don't mind looking. I promise not to do anything... queer or unusual," he says. And then he grins. Sunlight at the edges of it. A breeze moves through the room, from west to east to west again. "You ... do this much? Drop in? Must be painful." Looks painful. "But then... rips through the astral always are. Did you see the beast with ten heads and twelve claws? He's always a pain...He's nearly gotten me once or twice..." Astral realm small-talk, like chatting about the weather.

     "Not Astral. Not my purview." Apparently Nate knows what this thing is talking about. "Merely fold and unfold." still quiet.
     "Tea would be good. London, yes?"
     "I'm sorry about all this." Clouds in the eyes swirl, revealing for a moment the sun in one eye and the moon in the other.
     Silk shirt, white, but now stained with a few drops of crimson shifts as he moves himself. "Have we been introduced?" He seems to be talking to the iridescent one. Perhaps he can't see Drancy? The henna appears like bramblework, waiting.

     Oh right. He never has trouble with weirdness. A seasoned time traveller, does well with the local natives. I'll have to explain about the butterflies later.
     Cesare goes to stand, looking much more like Nathaniel's bodyguard than anything else. He remains quiet, letting Nathaniel get his bearings. Eyes glance to the moving Drancy, narrowing at the young woman in thought.

     "London, yes," Drancy replies dryly, as she moves around the kitchen. A tea kettle's filled, placed on the stove, which is turned on.
     Well... as least, this one's nose isn't in need of being broken...
     "The only honey I've got, Hwyll, is half-crystallized and has been here for years and years. Is that good enough?"
     She's definitely a local native, but she's not looking too sanguine about these visitors - even if she seems comparatively at ease with gorgeous men forming out of clouds of butterflies.

     "Oh, you know... these things happen," in whose reality? But more on that in a moment. "Crystallized? Really?" Hwyll spins about, wild-eyed excited. "I can't believe my luck! I'll take it!" Apparently, he likes it that way. Spinning back around, glistening as he does so, the great fairy smirks, a slanting grin that cuts chaotic upon his orderly features. "We haven't been, unless you've been to the Astral Realms, past the hellbeasts of Lower Chaos and on the west side of the Upper Realms?" And really, who hasn't who's anyone? "Hwyll," he offers, but he doesn't explain anymore. For the trained ear, sounds like Welsh or some other Celtic derivative.
     "And...ah...." A look to Drancy and a wink. "Current roommate. Long story," he whispers. "And....you are?" A look to both of you. Mage or spirit or both? He glances to Drancy. A most guardian look....

     As the minutes creep on, since the two arrived, the sweet scent of hashish slowly drifts through the room. His eyes seem to let curls of smoke into the air. No, it is more than seem. They do.
     He hears the woman speak, and turns to look at her. He sees her, but not with eyes. Disconcerting. "Is there anything I can do to help?" Does he even realize the state he is in?
     Then his words drift, and he turns to speak to Cesare. "I'm not sure why we are here, Cesare." A shake of his head produces a grimmace. "But I feel like we came through the wall."
     He is always this calm. At least at critical points. When it doesn't matter he's usually as manic as the rest of the lunatics in the world.
     "Nathaniel. divya." He replies at length, to the iridescent one, but not explaining that last word. Seems like a title. He doesn't seem to be quite with the cadence of conversation. Speaking ahead or before others. Replying before questions, or long after. "My feet don't tread the Courts of Chaos. Can't." He seems sad at that. "This is Cesare. He shouldn't be here. My fault."

     Divya. Cesare's attention returns and he bobs his head at Hwyll. Daeva. That does explain him. But as Nate's observation that they are in the wrong place, he simply gives a languid blink and shrug of his shoulders. "These things happen..." he murmurs to his friend. No harm done.
     "I've seen you before," Cesare blurts at Drancy, apparently not sure of where or when. Hands rearrange the vial and close zipper before reaching for his backpack.

     In the kitchen, Drancy is oblivious to looks and glances, the heavy weight of her blonde hair getting on her nerves again. Crystal beads and bells, cunningly wrought, bounce and chime gently as she bundles the tresses back and away from her face before tending to the tea things.
     "You'll have to make do with Earl Grey, s'all I've got." She leans forward on the counter, looking through the breakfront to Cesare. "Eh, wot?"
     Narrow eyebrows quirk up, a ring through one with them. "I don't know. You spend much time down in Cheapside? Betty's Boobs, maybe?" A club, known for the ... eclectic nature of its patrons, and their fetishes. "Or the Gory, maybe."
     She loses interest, looking to the wounded fellow on her floor. "All very interesting, I don't think. Is there anything we can do for you, or you just going to bleed all over my living room?"

     "Cesare. How do," Hwyll murmurs. "Nathaniel Divya." Introductions made. But he still doesn't know -what- they are. Mages, he suspects. Chaos would have attacked him by now...
     Sky eyes glimmer a little and then he has in his hands a soft cloth. Pure white. Won't be white for long. He tosses it at Cesare. "Here, use that. I am a decent healer," he mentions. "Are you... sure you don't need anything other than tea or coffee? While I know of their restorative properties and relatively useful antioxidants, even with crystallized honey it won't help for internal injuries. Solid British brick," he nods at the street-side wall. "Backbone of England." He's obviously been watching telly.
     Arms unfold and hands come together with a sound and a rub and he heads toward the two gents.

     "No ambulance. No doctors. It would be problematic." Emphasis there. Careful fingers touch his own chest. "I should have brought Kali," A shrug. "But then she wouldn't have gotten along with Cesare." Talking to himself, probably.
     He pulls himself upright, then standing. Weakly. He obviously pales as he does so. "Oh, thats bad." Then "Earl grey is good"
     Then hands go to his own backpack, and Nate hunts around inside. "Always bring a gift for your host." He seems oblivious to Hwyll's approach. From the backpack comes a wine bottle. He holds it in both hands a moment, regarding it. "When did I put you in there? No, don't answer. I'll just accept the providence." And this he takes and turns towards Drancy, offering the unopened bottle. Label too old and faded to read.

     "Maybe," Cesare says to Drancy, taking a step back as Hwyll comes forth. Cesare doesn't need the towel, and instead tosses the towel over Nate's shoulder. Nate -- whose last name is now Divya. Nice. "Thank you," comes his English again and begins to look around the room, sizing things up.
     "No tea for me, thank you," Cesare adds towards the kitchenette. Eyes glance and fall at Hwyll, Cesare attempting to remain polite, despite natural inclinations.
     "Maybe we should go, Nathaniel, if you are not feeling so well?"

     She pulls back from the breakfront, coming round into the living room, eyes curious at the bottle. "Wossat?" Drancy bends forward to take it from Nathaniel, glancing sideways to Hwyll. Cesare's suspicious, but well, that's okay - Drancy's just as suspicious in return.
     "You sound like you were expecting to come here," she comments. "Drancy." Either she's referring to the town in France, or it's a name - either way, no -last- name's given or offered. "Tea should be ready soon," she adds.
     As if on cue, the kettle begins to whistle...

     White towel is brought to his lips to wipe away blood.
     Yesterday he spoke Italian. Today English. And yet always as a native. That must make things so much easier, when unexpectedly appearing in the wrong country, in someone's apartment.
     "Wine, I think." He smiles "I wasn't expecting to be here, but I packed just in case." Then to Cesare "I can't return you to Venice, Cesare. Not yet." Nate frowns "The Labyrinth is twisted, here, making it dangerous to Travel. Might end up in China in the next century."
     "And I can't walk far, even if it wasn't dangerous." Another touch to his chest. "I'm bleeding. Can't feel where, though." Still calm. Could be shock. That happens.
     More smoke drifts from his eyes. Blue-white hashish smoke.
     "Ogilvie." He is correcting someone. Obviously. But no indication as to who -- or when.

     "Well, I know you cannot," Cesare sighs, not meaning to get across that Nate should strain himself. "Just..." not here, eyes glancing to these beings. But Nate can't even walk presently.
     "Maybe, if there is a bathroom," English tentative, "...we should figure out the bleeding," he suggests, voice low. At least do that much.

     "Looks like a bottle of wine. Wine," his eyes grow wide with pleasure. "We could always use more of that. Hard to hold lavish feasts on a budget." Hwyll holds his place as Cesare eyes him. He makes not of the apprehension and in order not to seem threatening -- and there's nothing to seem threatening about -- he folds his arms again. But his mouth holds a smirk, mischief going on in that blonde-brain of his. Eyes flicker with it, sparkle, sky blue. His mythic face wearing a blithe expression.
     I could transform into butterflies, cover him with a hundred moth paws and it could be done. Or, I could be a spiralling wind, become his breath, twist in his innards and fix him that way. An amulet around the neck. A glimmer in the eye...
     "The cloth will find it... it'll soak up ... whatever you need..."
     And then he disappears. There is an airy voice after. "Nathaniel Divya Ogilvie. Physician. Heal Thyself."

     Drancy stiffens slightly for a moment, glaring across at Hwyll. Now what? She doesn't say anything, though, stepping back with the wine bottle and retreating into the kitchen.
     "Right, I'll just get the tea, shall I..." She nearly drops the bottle as Hwyll disappears, but hastily puts it down on a proper surface, readjusting her facial expression and turning in a bit of a hurry to handle the kettle.
     "Hwyll's reliable," she admits grudgingly. "In his own way. And while I can understand being concerned, just let him fix your friend up, eh? I don't want blood seeping into the floorboards any more than you want your friend to die..."

     "I knew you liked me," comes the airy voice again. And a breeze moves from west to east to west again. Ah there he is...

     Blood on the floorboards? Nathaniel doesn't like making a mess of a hosts's house. Hand goes out, palm down, and the Moment of the blood is undone.
     Undone.
     Caught in hand, and flowing back to wound.
     Falling upwards.
     Splash in reverse.
     The clocks resume forward motion.
     Eyes boil like white thunderclouds, and a blue mark appears on his brow. A dot. Sacred mark of Hindu belief.
     Then Hwyll vanishes, and Cesare is asking about the bathroom. Or was that the other way around. Nate is rapidly getting confused and forgetting the Rules.
     "Where did --? No, never mind." Another shake of the head, another grimace, and he continues dabbing at lips.

     The more he stands there, the more he seems not to like the situation. "Maybe you should sit down, Nate," Cesare suggests, keeping his position still. And maybe stop doing whatever it is you're doing. Drancy's watched for an instant, then gaze given back to Nathaniel.
     "Sorry...for dropping into your flat," Cesare tacks on at the end, for lack of anything else to say. A quiet boy, he is.

     "They do not trust me. You will have to help them, little magician..." The airy voice brushes at your ear. Knowing how he looks, don't you wish you could slap him?

     The punk waves away the apologies absently, staring as she catches a glimpse of the latest developments, almost dropping the kettle. She regains her hold on it, though, and turns away hurriedly again, devoting her attention to pouring the boiling water over the dried tea leaves.
     "Knock it off, Hwyll," Drancy mutters through gritted teeth, carrying a plastic tray out to the living room. She eyes the air for a moment, then finishes her pacing forward, setting the tray down on the floor. "Thanks for not waving your pistol in my face. I don't much like pistols. I'll call it even."
     Hwyll's words then catch up with her and she looks briefly indecisive. "Err. Would you like me to try helping?"
     Like I bloody know what I'm doing, but if it gets this bloke fixed and off my floor...

     Cesare's uneasiness is palpable. "We're not in danger Cesare." I think "Atropos and Phobos would be here if I was." Maybe. "Atropos would be anyways."
     Eyes begin to uncloud. The smoke has largely already escaped into the room. Blue and yellow eyes revealed. He finds a space on the couch and sits. "You are right, mon ami, I should sit." Hands go to backpack. "I didn't bring any thistles." A sigh. "I knew I should have."
     Fingers to chest. "Nothing I can do about it, I guess. Will just have to wait until I can get myself home."
     All this with a sense of faint self-annoyance. Acceptance and patience. The henna is relaxing. "I'm going to have to make this up to you all, aren't I?" "Yes." He replies to himself.

     "I love Tribute. No one pays it anymore..."
     The airy voice now has one direction. It is coming from the other room. The bedroom. Ah... the Forbidden Zone...
     "Look," Hwyll says, "If it helps everyone's sense of... security and safety .... I'm just here to protect the girl. No one harms my little charge, and I stay in the bedroom." And you hear the sound of the television being turned on. "I'll just... stay in here...Oh ~good~... cricket's on... "

     "No, not at all," Cesare replies, scooting over to take a seat himself. He glances to the other room for a moment, attention returning to here. "And I can go find some thistles, if it'd help? I know a few people in the City..."

     The woman's face reddens noticably, and she responds sourly as a result. "Hwyll, when you're solid again, I am going to give you such a kick."
     Drancy turns back to the erstwhile 'guests'. "Look, you do seem injured relatively badly, even if I don't know what the hell you are." Names don't mean much to her, really. "And your friend is right to be concerned. Will you just tell me what you need? Or should I be putting out guest towels?" Okay, now she's getting a little sarcastic.
     She nudges the tea tray forward. "Or should I just play mother?"

     "Um," Cesare murmurs, looking at Nate for an instant. "I guess..." he thinks up, "...he can say how badly he's hurt. Thanks for the tea," though he has not had any, "...we don't mean to be a bother. As soon as we can go," he looks to Nate, "...we can find a place to stay." To figure this all out.
     As for what we are? Well, Nate is better at these sorts of delicate situations. "I study...magics." Well, that's my part.

     Despite his condition, Nate manages to gape at Cesare. That has got to be the worst way to make introductions. On the other hand, a butterfly-man was here just a moment ago. A weak smile. "Yes, I can say how badly off I am." Eyes close over sun and moon "Internal bleeding." And they open again. "Not that this is much of a surprise." Then a mildly alarmed look, that quickly fades. "I can't get us out, Cesare. Chronos has locked the gate against me. We're going to have to Move Mundane."
     "I hope that isn't much trouble."

     "No," Cesare replies. "I figured as much. I can make some arrangements," he offers. We'll sort out how to pay for it all later. "Maybe I should...get on a phone." Such is the way of Italian translation of idiomatic English. Eyes look to Drancy, as if asking to borrow her phone.

      ... And from the bedroom...
     ... The dulcet tones of channel surfing...

     He studies magics. Oh, that's a useful response. "You know, I can't remember the last time I met a nice, normal stockbroker or something..."
     Drancy shakes her head, shooting a glare towards the bedroom that suggests she wasn't joking about that kick, for Hwyll. "Use the phone, by all means, but try not to rack up the transdimensional charges? I'm not wealthy in any sense of the word." Sarcasm, again. "If anyone needs me, I'll be sulking in the kitchen."

     Something glitters in Nate's hand. No hint to where it came from. "I hope this covers the expense of our presence." Fingers uncover it, and a coin sits in his hand. Gold. Perhaps Roman.
     "Where are we going Cesare?"

     "I can get us a room in the City, until you are better," he explains, "...then...we can go wherever. Venezia, or...I can get you a ticket to your home." Cesare looks up at the other two, uncomfortable in their seeming knowledge and own experiences. Not often you stumble upon a girl and a butterfly-person. "Whichever you want," he finishes, looking to the coin in Nathaniel's hand. "I could perhaps get good money for it," he murmurs. "It'd take me a few days..."

     There comes from the bedroom a great and exasperated sigh: "You know, it's sad. The lack of trust these days. I could ... at the very least... move you where you need to go... but will you ask me? No. Why? Because of a little thing of trust. Really..."
     He's quite put out...
     "...This is why humankind will never evolve..."
     Oh, he keeps going. See, he can talk to walls. And is...
     "It's not as if you need to like me to accept my help. I mean, I hardly like anybody, and I still perform a function for Nature. And Nature's cruel as can be. But do I complain...?"
     Other than now?
     "No... I do not..."

     "It's already been established that you're guests here." Drancy shoots another glare, exasperated, towards the bedroom and its unseen (but not unheard) occupant. "I'm not going to take money from you, I just ask you not get me evicted and shite like that." Girl she might be, but there's nothing too outre about her - is there?
     "Just tell me what I can do to help, if anything. And despite Hwyll's current moanings, he probably can take you somewhere if you ask him to. I'll beat him savagely for you later, if you like..." Like fun, she will, but it sounds good, doesn't it? The glint of gold catches her interest, even if she refuses payment. "How d'you -do- that? And ... well, I'd ask more, but if you're bleeding internally, now's not a good time, is it." The war of curiosity versus the war of bleeding to death.

     Days? Nathaniel glances at his hand, where the coin rests and seems surprised. "I meant to grab American. Roman isn't much good these days is it?" Then Drancy's question. "Well. Nothing is to far away, really. You just need to know how to reach for it." He frowns. "Not always the smartest thing to do, and apparently my aim is off today."
     Keep talking. So long as you're talking, you aren't dead. He keeps telling himself this. And he smiles. He looks fairly goofy, as he maintains a friendly, warm smile throughout all this craziness.
     He takes a deep breath, wincing slightly. "I'm sure your friend can move us, but its not safe right now." He is sure of this, though not sure how. "If I ended up here, instead of Venice, God knows what will happen if he tries to bridge the pond."

     "We appreciate," Cesare tries to begin again, "...your offer of help." English sounding strange on such a thick accent. He coughs and looks at Nathaniel again, as if to say, your call. There is concern on the notion of moving, and he says towards Hwyll, "...maybe...you could help stop him bleeding?" A look to Nathaniel, "Anything I know is small ... and would not be so useful if..." if you have large, gaping internal wounds. "Maybe I should try anyway," Cesare says, reaching into his pocket for something tiny.
     "Do you want to...lie down?" More comfortably. Like along this nice sofa here. "Or..." on a bed, eyes glancing at the room.

     "If we discuss helping him any longer, he will be too dead to debate. Though, that would put me at an advantage. Dead patients never argue." Hwyll appears from the other room, eyes widening to match his droll tone. "So ... we agree not to move him. I might be able to restore him inside-out. I can... bring things back to their original condition. I would assume," he mentions, looking to Nathaniel, "...that pre-British brick will be good enough..."
     A look all around and the sparkly Sidhe begins to slowly transform into a swirling wind. Speak now, or forever hold your peace...

     Drancy is hardly likely to argue with Hwyll. Well. Not about this, anyway. "If it'll get him to stop bleeding all over the place, I'm all in favour of it... I'll find some crystallized honey, and order some food, shall I?" She looks critically to Cesare. "He's not going to hurt him, you know. Not unless there's something you've not told." I think.

     It's his body and Cesare is loathe to do anything without Nathaniel's permission. That much is evident. He looks back at Nathaniel, then looks at Drancy post-affirmation. "I will do whatever, as long as he says it is alright," he blurts aloud, just for the record.

     Nate pulls himself up onto the couch completely, and stretches out a bit. "Okay, I'll be a good patient." Suddenly a smirk "Just be careful, I have a thing for doctors."
     The mention of food. "Are there any good vindaloo places nearby?"

     "Oooooh," says the wind, "...honey would be nice..."
     And then the airy column is just that. Air. Invisible. Inconstant. Intangible. Breath. Life. Space. All in one. And right now, just right now, the air one, in particular, breathes...
     Well, that's one way to shut up a Hwyll....

     "We're right over Pashmina's. I think I can oblige." Then Hwyll's gone into Nathaniel, and Drancy's just ... fascinated. The thoughts that go through her mind ... She gives herself a little shake, and goes into the kitchen. "I'll just go and order, then..."

     He's asking for Vindaloo? Cesare moves down the sofa, letting Nathaniel take up the majority of it. All of you are much too calm about this. Maybe I should get out more often.
     "We're over Pashmina's?" he wonders aloud watching Drancy move. Hmph. He blinks and nods, having a point of reference now. "Regent," he says to Nate, but then goes quiet while waiting to see what the column of wind will do.

     Eyes widen. This is new, and thus special. Its almost like he has stopped breathing, so he can focus entirely on what is happening. "Wow." He eventually breaths. Coughs slightly. "That was new. very new. Kali is nothing like that." Excited. Fascinated. So there are things in the world that Nate hasn't experienced.
     A moment ticks by, and he seems less pale. Still slow, unsure, he pulls himself upright and takes a deeper breath. No wincing. "So, I have no idea what that was. Didn't feel the same as I'm used to." He smiles. "But I'm good." Eyes close again, a moment, then open. "I'll be good. Not perfect, but I think I'm out of danger." This does bring relief. His calm attitude of before, obviously just a facade.

     He was in danger? Cesare blinks a few times, then watches to see where the wind goes. He, like Drancy, is utterrly facsinated. Magic-user or no, this is beyond different.
     But much of this week has been like that.
     He sits there, rather not sure of what to do with himself. A room, getting money...all that can be handled with relative ease. Even plane tickets. Cesare brushes at his pants, then looks at Nate and then for Hwyll.

     "Ow."
     The soft voice, airy but not insubstantial, comes from across the room, where Hwyll lies curled up, with a stupid smile on his face. "Well," a laugh, "...at least you didn't sneeze..." But he flickers. Here and not here. Substantial and Insubstantial. "Oh, I wish the sun would just shine already. Is she back with the honey? I may have to get going..."
     And with a last little burst, the far less sparkly Hwyll transforms into a pot of begonias...

     Drancy hangs up the phone again, brushing her hair back away from her eyes. Crisis evidently averted, and food's ordered. "Vindaloo, curry, naan, rice-stick noodles, yoghurt. It'll be up in ten or fifteen." A cupboard's opened, a jar taken from it, and she comes out from the kitchen again, tossing the jar up and catching it again.
     "And honey for Hwyll, for being a good boy." A faintly feral grin coupled with a glare at the space around Nathaniel. "So are you sticking round for the food I've ordered, or planning on rushing off without explanations, now you're no longer endangered... ?" She obviously wants to know things, even if she won't just come out and demand answers yet.
     And then, there's Hwyll, and Drancy actually looks ... worried, crossing to the begonias and bending forward. "Are you okay?" She looks at the other two men. "Uh. Any idea what to do?" - Back to the pot, then. "Sunlight? Well, this is still London, but ... I can put you in the windowsill ... maybe a fertilizer stick?"

     Unfortunately, begonias can't talk. Well, they can but the frequency of their speech is so low that only those of the Otherworld, and those similarly inclined, could hear them. And, of course, the only Otherworldly being around here is the pot of begonias.
     Did any of you study ancient botany? Any druids in the house?

     Begonias. He turns into begonias. Nate can't help himself, he has to chuckle. "Surreal. I thought my life was surreal. But yours must take the cake." He is talking to the Begonia. He catches the scent of Drancy's worry. "I don't know. I don't know much about him, he is .. uh ... hungry?" He frowns. "Some Bygones need special sustenance." He digs in his pockets. "I might still have a trace hanging around. I find it useful when opening portals." That is, of course, if Hwyll takes Tass. It might not.
     As to leaving, Nate hasn't made any motion towards the door. Then a hand comes out of his pocket. Tiny locket, silver. "Not much I know." Its just a locket. "I wonder if he can use it? I don't know much about butterfly-begonia-men."

     Around the begonia, Light falls. The space is illumination, but the source seems to be some random spot above the pot.
     "It's as close to natural as I can get," Cesare confesses. That's easy. "Well," he frowns defensively at Nate and Drancy, "...it's all I can offer," he explains.

     Leaves spread and flowers open...
     Ahhhhh...
     Light good. Botany 101. The plant looks relatively healthy, little buds are starting to pop open.
     Tribute! A locket! If only I could tell him to drop it in my pot. If only my pot had pockets...

     It's an uncertain thing, but well, at least the begonias seem to be happier. "Maybe I should..." Drancy starts to speak, then stops, scowling ferociously. "I hate you, Hwyll." What prompted that?
     She hunkers down next to the pot, putting her hand on the brim, glaring down at the pot, seeming to be getting increasingly angry.
     "Get off my back, out of my life, everything is building up - take the lid off the pot before it blows up..." It's a chant, really, not just random words, a rhythm in the words. "Wake up tomorrow, do it again, yes sir, yes ma'am no sir, no ma'am, get so fed up with your fucking scams..."      Energy builds up behind the words, and Drancy sits down abruptly. "Damn. I don't know what the hell I'm doing."

     Nathaniel seems endlessly fascinated. Now Cesare is doing new things. "I can't do that." He states, matter of factly. "If I tried, I'll likely cause odd side effects and I don't think the Begonia would like that."
     Then to Drancy "What do you think, should I try the locket?" A look at the Begonia "Somehow."
     Nate glances at his wrist where a watch would be. "I think Pashmina's is working ahead of schedule." Sensitive types might notice ~something~ indistinct. Not that the other three realize yet, but the food will be here sooner. A few minutes. Half the time of normal.
     And Drancy's chant. A blink. But he really shouldn't be surprised by yet another mystic type, especially if a butterfly-begonia-man seems to live here. Can't really expect her to be normal in this environment.

     The neighbors must really hate you...
     People going in and out at all hours of the day and night. Voices rising out of nowhere. The occasional orgy -- well, when That Girl Dot is over, it sounds like an orgy. The music. The television going on day and night. The endless channel flipping. Doors slamming. And now chanting.
     What is going on in there? Bingo night for the latest cult?
     What sunlight gives is pure energy. What music gives, or rather what gives it, is inspiration. Between that and -knowing- that there is tribute to be had, petals turn into fingers, slowly. Leaves shift in the spreading of a smile, and as a flower outspreads and becomes a hand, the begonias pop from their buds and stems and fall on the floor. Hwyll sits up, his features more than beautiful, giving off a light that is not earthly, still being bathed in Cesare's illumination. Eyebrows lift to the sparkling gadget.
     "Finally, someone who understands how These Things Work."

     Oh, thank god, he's all right. Drancy's hardly likely to just burst into tears of relief, and even less likely to shower Hwyll with affection, but something in her expression, the way her shoulders lose their tension, indicates her relative pleasure at this turn of events. She scoots back and picks up the jar of honey, holding it out to the unearthly male beauty. "How -what- things work?" Her voice is still cross.
     She glances sidelong to Nathaniel. "Oh, goody. I guess, then, as the most normal looking person in the room, I get to answer the door when it does get here, hm." The jar's set down, and she glares at noone in particular, climbing to her feet again. "I wish people would just tell me what this's all about..."

     Nate almost drops the locket. Watching a begonia grow fingers, and then turn into a person, has got to be one of the creepiest things he has ever seen. At least for the next little while, he is going to be *very* careful around house plants.
     "If you want it." Nathaniel is a bit off center. "You can have it." You'd think that someone who can bend Time into loops would be more comfortable around shape-shifting butterfly-begonia-men.
     "I'm normal looking" Objects the man whose eyes are distinctly not normal at this moment. "And so is Cesare." Then he looks at Cesare and himself "Though, we do not look dressed for London."
     "If you want to know something, ask questions. That is what my mentor always said. Can't expect everyone to be Telepaths."

     "Tribute and tokens of appreciation," Hwyll notes. A wink to Nathaniel. "But ... we'll just call it a draw today, wot? Keep it..." Your locket. He takes the honey instead. He gives Drancy a wink as well. You know you love me.
     But he's satisfied with the honey. Standing, he takes his jar over to the gathering of pillows and plops down. Hard to get more essential than honey -- unless you go straight to the cardinal essences of air, fire, earth and water. Honey tastes better than raw dirt. I think we can all agree on this...

     Cesare winces at the man growing from the plant. Yeah, that is disturbing. But the light continues on, illuminating the now-man. "Oh," he murmurs, "...guess you don't need that anymore," and the light disappears after following Hwyll to his pillows.

     "Looked in a mirror lately, mate?" Drancy's sardonism is thick enough to cut with a knife. "He's busy doing something with sunlight, well, not anymore, you're ... smoking, and Hwyll's ... glowing." She stomps towards the door, ignoring Hwyll's wink with a flounce that indicates she caught it and doesn't want him to know she's relieved he's all right. "I'll ask my questions, never fear - after I get the bloody door." Sure enough - on cue - there's the knock. Good thing the corridor to the front door has a turn before it opens from the living room. Fumbling her wallet out, she calls irritably, "Yeah, be right there..."

     "A draw. Sounds fair." Though, to Nathaniel, this sounds like they were in a contest. And he can't figure out what they were in competition for.
     "You know, Cesare, its been a while since my last trip to India. Maybe that should be my next jaunt." He frowns "When the gates open again."
     Hmm? towards Drancy, the comment about smoke. "Am I `Doxed, or is it just my Marks showing again?" He shrugs. "Okay, fine, I'm weird looking." He grumps. This one's mood shift quick.

     Marks and Dox? Paradox. A familiar term, but Cesare looks blankly at Nate and Drancy anyway. A turn of his head and he narrows his eyes at Hwyll a moment. "Scuse...but...what sort of being are you?"

     Eyebrows lift and eyes widen a touch, a mouth full of honey on a spoon. He murfles: "Faeb..." A swirl of his tongue and a swallow. "Fairy. Sidhe to be precise. I'm one of the Noble Order and all of that. Hwyll ap Gwynn," he introduces, "...fairy prince of the west wind at your service. Bound to Miss Sunshine over there. Well, at least for a few more days. Then I gotta pack it up for Never-never-land, as she calls it." He cups his hand near his mouth and stage-whispers to Cesare: "She's still not sure about the whole fairy thing. Secretly, I think she wants me. But she's a bit ...touchy. Best not mentioned..."

     Drancy is coming back with the food at this moment, slamming the door with rather more force than strictly necessary, using the side of her foot to do so. "Shove it up your arse sideways, Hwyll. Next time, I'll bloody drop you out the window, and you can find your own bloody sunlight and ... what-have-you."
     She drops the parcels onto the table, giving Nathaniel a blank look of her own. "Marks? Dox? Wot?" Yes, 'Miss Sunshine' hasn't got a single clue about all this... Though she seems aware, or at least unsurprised, about fairy princeships.

     Nathaniel nods. Right, she wouldn't know. He begins rolling back his sleeves. "Marks. Touches of Magic. Some call it Resonance. Enh, it doesn't matter the name." He pauses, trying to find words. "When you grab fundemental principles by the naughties, and drag them to your whim, they leave a touch of themselves upon you." He gets his sleeves to his elbwos. Henna spirals, designs and lacing curl and dance. across his skin. Spinning henna cogs and gears, ticking henna clocks mark the hour. All these things in flat red henna on his skin.
     "`Dox is different. Harder to explain." He begins thinking again, "Gimme a moment to gather my thoughts, and in the meantime can you pass me a na'an?"

     Fairy. "Sith-" is all Cesare can get out, feeling already that he's saying it wrong. "Oh," he simply leaves, nodding at the man with the flair for the dramatic.
     Well. Then there's the henna-colored guy whose tattoos move.
     Cesare inhales and nods, not continuing any questioning. He doesn't understand the answers. The food has arrived, and despite himself, he finds that he's actually hungry.

     "Well, it's more like 'Shee'," Hwyll notes and he rises, capping the jar of honey, spoon still in his mouth. "Now, I am hyper. I may need to go play nicely with others." The jar is tucked in a cupboard, the spoon is left in the sink. "I'm sort of like... well, how best said? A force of Nature herself. Like old Greek dryads, but more fashionable. Drancy here's your garden-variety newly discovered magician. I'm here to show her a few things. Just like I promised. For Hwyll ap Gwynn is a man of his word..."

     Changeable eyes are narrowed in Hwyll's direction at that less than flattering description. "Go suck eggs." Drancy turns away with overelaborateness, towards Cesare and Nathaniel, and then freezes.
     "Oh, Kee-rist..." Her tone is one of unmistakable exasperation. "You're another one of hers, aren't you. Isabel's. Right, that just tears it." An assumption, likely a -wrong- assumption, but under the circumstances...
     "Try not to burn the place down, I'm going out."

     "Isabel? Who?" Nate seems lost. "Uh, you asked" He figures she is mad because he told her what marks are.
     "Did I say something wrong?"

     That was fast. Cesare looks at the fairy, the girl, the fairy, the girl-magician. And now she's leaving. Things happen quickly around here.

     At the mention of Isabel, Hwyll peers at the henna-marked one and cocks up an eyebrow. "Doesn't look like her typical style. That's a bit more... what... that's a bit...well, she never worked in reds. Not that I ever saw. There's this one bloke, has dragons tattooed around his twig and berries. Are those inscriptions? Incantations? Or are they marks of happenstance?"

     Drancy relaxes, even if only slightly. Mercurial though her temper is, evidently it's that thought which ... set her off. "Davydd's? Or some other bloke with dragons? And all right, if you're not one of hers, then..."

     "They proclaim my Mastery over the passage of Now." Frowning. "Thats a bad explanation. How about, because of what I can do these are here. It is sort of one and the same." Left hand comes up and touches below one eye, the moon. "Ditto these."

     To the side, Cesare looks at his own hands in silence. Not much there. He then looks at Hwyll and Nate in turn.

     "Oh, have you seen that one of his, Drancy?" And Hwyll laughs himself silly. Tickled. Purely tickled. And knowing he's about to get a swift kick or bite, he prances into the other room. Funny to see a being over six feet in height prance in sparkling armor, yet, there he goes. "You'll have to confirm whether the stories are true then!"
     He hides behind the guests, making sure to keep them between Her and Him. "Ah, I see," he says to Nate, "... that makes sense. And what about you," he says to Cesare. "You a sorcerer, conjurist, mage or elementalist?"

     Cesare is quiet a moment, glancing at Drancy and Nate. "I don't know," he whispers now. A long road has revealed itself between Egypt and Here. "Maybe a sorcerer," he rationalizes.

     She has the look of someone who has just now been tried a bit past her endurance. Glaring fiercely at the sparkly prancing elf-boy, Drancy darts a glance round - nothing fit for throwing, worse luck. "I have not seen Davydd in the nude. I haven't even seen you in the nude, and hopefully, I never will - it'd be enough to bloody scare my genetics into tying themselves into a knot. Either that, or I'd be too busy laughing my arse off..."
     "I'm not a magician. He is a fairy, though, as if you couldn't tell, the way he's acting, poncy bloody git." Oh, a cushion. She hurls it at Hwyll, trying not to hit Cesare or Nathaniel, if she can avoid it, but cushions don't make the best missiles. "So what're you two doing in my apartment, anyway? Looking for him?"

     "Actually, I was trying to get Cesare home. I took him on a jaunt to Egypt, and we needed to leave in a hurry." He is doing his best to be oblivious of the spat going on. He does, however, shift slightly so the cushion doesn't hit him. "However, half way there, the labyrinth twisted quite unexpectedly and the gates dumped us here."
     "Which, of course, was very much like being in a car accident for myself. Being the one who opened the gate and all."
     He keeps smiling, friendly like. Perhaps by sheer inane conversation this little pillow fight will come to an end. Or maybe Cesare will say something to defuse the situation.

     Cesare nods at the car accident bit. "Much like a bad accident," he murmurs. "Maybe we should have that vindaloo now," he asks of Nathaniel. More inane conversation. Cesare stands up and moves towards the recently arrived containers of food.

     "I'd love to stay and...chat..." he ducks the pillow, "... but I really do need to get some fresh air..." Hwyll laughs, winks and disappears. Fresh air indeed. "Glad you're better, happy to help," the air says, echoing off the wall as the wind reflects against the sides of the room. "Enjoy your stay in London. I know I will..."
     And then he's gone. Hard to tell where. Hard to tell as what. But the room is profoundly more quiet...
     Apart from the sound of the t.v. in the other room. He left it on. Again.

     Drancy glares, slightly dishevelled, towards where she last saw Hwyll. "Bloody jerk." She turns back to the other two, and to the food, pushing hair out of her face with a sigh. "Sorry, right, food. Shall I dish up, then?"

     Mmmm. "Yes, Vindaloo would be great." He doesn't notice, or pretends not to notice, the vanishing guy in armor.
     Then things become quite normal again. Spat over. "Uh, sure." Nate is uncomfortable. "So, Drancy, what is it you do? I mean, with life and all?" Starting small talk. Not one of Nate's strengths.

     "Grazie," Cesare says, not sure where plates and forks are. They could eat out of the containers with the plastic sporks, but that might seem rude. He glances where Hwyll last stood, but gives it not much thought, turning back to the packages.

     She goes into the kitchen, procuring a variety of mismatched, microwave-safe dishes, and cheap tableware, putting it out on the table. "I'm a reporter." Now ... there's something you don't see every day. Drancy then clarifies, "I write for a couple of punk magazines and e-zines."

Posted by rowan at May 29, 2003 07:01 PM