She left France in a state of confusion unusual to her. Usually, when she leaves Paris, it's with the solid, heavy knowledge of her choice and all it entails, the firm, angry conviction that she's doing the right thing, bitter though the taste of that particular pill may be. But now... the entire world's gone topsy-turvy... more than just magic can explain, if magic ever is 'just' magic.
He likes me, but ... does he like me like that? He kissed me, so... maybe... I don't know. I'm lost, here. All I can do is - wait and see what happens...
London is a comfort in some ways, even if it is also a set of preconceived notions and roles which have to be played out. Here she walks, down grey cement and familiar grey stones arranged in familiar grey patterns, a grey sky overhead, all as overcast as her mood. Drancy is back in costume, as it were - faded, patched jeans, a tattered sweater in a singularly ugly shade of puce, about six sizes too big for her, and her hair strawlike and jutting out in all directions at once. Canvas sneakers dyed dayglo orange have holes by the toes, and she patently doesn't care, it's in her shuffling gait as much as the fuck off, wankers look she wears.
Oh, good. Pashmina's. "Home again, home again, jiggety-jig," she says aloud, heading for the protection the awning provides from the spatter of rain that suddenly begins.
She's been waiting, like... for something like an hour. Went up to your apartment, knocked, got no answer, put her ear to the door, heard your tv on, yelled at you to let her in, knocked again, pleaded, jumped around in place cuz she had to go to the loo, gave up, ran downstairs, went to Pashmina's loo, and ordered curry vegetables. It's been a full hour of entertainment.
Now she's halfway through her curry chicken and most of the way through her water, tucked in a corner of Pashmina's by herself -- that's a switch -- dressed in cut up fishnets, a green-and-blue plaid ultramini, red Doc Martens, with a pink and white t-shirt the requisite two sizes too small, tied beneath her breasts, which only serves to stretch it more, and the playboy bunny's had just about all it can take. Her hair, newly dyed electric blue (or maybe it's a wig), is up in tiny schoolgirl ponytails, and her make-up is wild. Little girl gone wrong. Oh, and on her chair is draped a very large leather coat belonging to Sieg Vaard, with its Icelandic patches and scrawled and painted lettering marring the otherwise good leather.
It's not that late, so it must be practice time. Not that YOU would know, as you've given Dei the big Kiss Off. Well, it'll just make him famous in the end, then you can have the satisfaction of knowing you're behind every one of this Die Bitch Die songs. Punk love. Ain't it grand?
Dot ploughs into her curry chicken and rice. Like she's starving. But she always eats that way after a good shag... or when she's high...
More likely than not, it'll leave her cold, that sort of knowledge. After all, she doesn't hate him, even if she doesn't feel comfortable around him anymore... It just didn't feel right, anymore. And she'll be spending a lot of time, probably, lining up good reviews and gigs for the band, as much for friendship's sake as to assuage her own guilt. Drancy is good at guilt.
She spots Dot with quirked up eyebrows, and for a moment, she almost hesitates - but, well, Dot is a friend, and a good one. Slightly sheepishly, she rubs at her nose with the edge of her sweater sleeve, and then heads over to the corner. No makeup on Drancy, hair down, not even with the bells and bangles and baubles to chime as she walks, not right now...
"You look like you've been having fun," comes the opening observation, by way of greeting. "Even if you look hungry. H'lo."
"Mmmph... kay...sec..." A garbled mess, and she puts her hand up to her mouth, laughing and trying not to choke. A swallow and then a curried, "Hey! I thought you were ignoring me upstairs. You left your telly on. Good to see you," Dot croons out, to the delight and the... well... not delight... of Pashmina's other customers. She stands up, fork down and reaches in for a good snug.
She's wearing vanilla and patchouli, and as usual there's no bra. Hey, that's what the implants are for...
"So, wanna join me for a quick snack? I'm going to be heading to Betty's Boobs in a bit," yeah they have a gig, but not staying long on that topic, she shifts, "I'm just smackered. Fam-famished, dahlink. So," and she's all smiles, funny how love does that to people, "... what's up with you. Still haven't cut that hair, I see. Gawd, it would drive me nuts with a 'z'. You look naked without make-up, here," and she bends down to get her purse even as she takes a seat. Guy gets flashed. Her fishnets are gartered to her, as usual, allowing quite the peek to those who catch her bending at the right moment. And she comes up with all sorts of cosmetics. "Greens, blues, coppers, blacks, reds, oranges, pinks and purples...and I've been having a smashing time, of course. Always!" Dot exclaims. "I won't bore you with the details," cuz I feel bad about you and Dei and don't want to punish you with tales of amazing escapades. "It's just a lot of... " insert orgasm sounds here, "...ah-ing anyway." A wink and she pulls out a pack of smokes.
She's able to wait, returning the hug automatically. Television on? Oh... must be Hwyll. Aloud, she says, "Yeah, I was out of town on assignment for a while... figured I'd work on scaring away burglars. Not, of course, that I've anything worth stealing but, well, they don't know that." Under her sweater she's got layers, making her almost bulky - t-shirts and undershirts, and somewhere under all that, a sportsbra.
"Sure, I could do with a bite to eat," Drancy admits. "Haven't eaten since I was in Paris." Having a somewhat sporadic meal with a mountain of earth in the shape of a man who isn't exactly human, but a meal nonetheless...
She slouches down into a chair, smiling a little. "You can talk about it if you want," Drancy observes, in response to all the underlying subtext that's being cut out on her behalf. "I don't mind. Dei's pissed off, isn't he."
"Nah, not really. I think he was expecting it. Part of his whole Siegfreid-Nordic-Doomsday outlook. He'll get over it. He's upset though." Just not mad. And sure, dig in... oh Lydia," she calls out to the main waitress, "... could I get another platter of curry please, we're going to share. Ah, you're so sweet!" As Lydia says: of course, right away.
"Paris!?" Her eyes go big around. Wow. "Some assignment... sheesh. You should have called, I would have gone with. So who were you snooping on, cool new act? Meet any new and gorgeous man-hunks?" You little heartbreaker you. "Oh, and I'm just going to say one thing more re Amadeus. You know... we're going to be seeing him, for me it's unavoidable. I just don't want this tossing a bone into our friendship, alright? He'll get over it. He's moody but fuck... who'd notice, he's always moody. Alright, there... I've said it. Moving on."
She starts to dig in again, just as a fresh platter is brought over to you. "Anything to drink, Miss Drancy," Lydia asks. Course they know you and Dot by name. You're regulars.
"Hmm... oh! I'd love a chai," Dot interrupts.
She slides down a notch further in her chair. "Great," she breathes, with a sigh. "Oh well. We all get over things. Except when we don't." Maybe Dei rubbed off on her more than she thought. "Hot tea, please, with plenty of milk and sugar. And a platter of pickled vegetables." She orders casually, though Lydia does get a brief, if distracted smile. It's hard for her to work up her usual energy, with her thoughts whirling in so many directions at once.
"It's okay, Dot," Drancy waves one sleeve in an ambiguous direction, then finds her hand again. "I can stand it if he can, though if he sulks at me, well, I'll just bloody ignore him, won't I? I don't think he was ever really as into me as he's thinking he was. More ... well, up-and-coming band, reviewer, it just sounds sweet and romantic, dunnit? But that's not me, or not enough me. And he's good enough to become famous, and ... I wouldn't make a good rock and roll wife."
It's a little sad, but she'll get over it. She has enough to worry about without worrying about that. Like finding her anger again...
"Eh well... sometimes men think they have it hard for you and it's like an idea in their heads and they don't even see the other person in the room, you know? Not that I'm saying that's what it was. But you know, it'll pass and all that rot." Dot waves it away. "If he sulks at you, tell him vikings don't sulk. It always stops Vaard," Dot grins, "...that or head. I've got that lad right where I want him."
She doesn't light up, too much food and she's still too hungry. "It sounds shite romantic, but there are better stories. So... what was up in France? I should take the Chunnel over sometime and hit some of those gay clubs of gay Paris..." thinking out loud. "Just for some window shoppin'...so give!" she says, waving at you as she starts to shovel in food. "Why the hell were you there of all places. That's like me going up to Kensington for tea..."
She chuckles a little, wryly. "Come off it, Dot, we both know where we really come from, even if the rest of the world doesn't." Drancy does have the grace to keep her voice properly low, of course. It's not something she wants getting out any more than Dot would...
"I was scoping out a castle outside Paris, a bit south, I think, where they think a band's going to be shooting a video. Getting some prepwork, pictures, chatting up the owner of the place, things like that." How offhanded she is about it. If she could, she'd conjure up William to really impress her friend... "Spent the night there, then went up to Paris by train, spent a few there, working some ... shite out."
Leaning forward, Drancy spears a pickled carrot with her fork, expression shifting slightly. "Not really sure where my head is at, right now. Tell me, have you told Vaard yet? About yourself?"
A castle? What?!? "You can't just lay it there and leave it hanging. You talked with the owner of a castle. How the hell did you get in?" She laughs, delightfully, it's a singing little laugh. "And you got to stay over night? Damn, the next time you go, you better call me, you minx. Keeping that all to yourself. What an adventure. So what was he or she like then, the owner of the castle. Must've taken a liking to you... or did they make you pay?"
She breaks off naan, smirks and gives you That Look. "Fuck no, I haven't told him shite. Course, he's asking now that I got to meet his mum and all. Nice family, that. You'd never know it by looking at him." She snorts a laugh. At least she knows him well. "It's not that he'll freak out or anything... I just... you know... I haven't exactly talked to Sir and Madam for a little while now. Pushing a year, I think. I just... you know, it's just so... confining to be around them. They'd fucking freak," and then she thinks about that. You can hear the gears of that whirring in her skull. "Hmm... well... it is the party season...hmm... well... we'll give it some thought. Not sure how he'll take it, I expect he'll ask to marry me if I tell him I have fat loads of cash. But I reckon he'll ask anyway. You know. He keeps -looking- at me. It's quite unsettling..."
"They offer guided tours, for a price, Dot." Drancy's a little amused, now, sitting up a bit straighter. "I paid for the tour, same's everyone else. And when I was there, I ... recognized the owner, and he remembered we'd met before... invited me to stay for dinner. It was .. sticky." And in so many more ways than one, and so disconcerting, it's led to some fairly radical changes.
She shakes her head, blonde hair falling across her eyes until she brushes it away impatiently. "He's all right. Rich as Croeseus, handsome as the devil, and with a mouth that butter wouldn't melt in. I'm sure he's got people throwing themselves at his feet all the time. I didn't." Of course. If she had, she wouldn't be Drancy. "I think that amused him."
Now Drancy picks up a piece of naan and begins crumbling it, bit by bit, between her fingers, in a nervy little gesture. "I think he wanted to see exactly how rudely I'd turn him down, by asking me to spend the night in one of the guest rooms," let's just make -quite- sure you know what I did and didn't do, Dot, "and since I knew he wasn't expecting me to say yes... I did."
Topic shift, now, away from herself. "Yeah, I know what you mean. My parents sent someone to check up on me, can you believe? Someone we went up to school with. I'll probably be called up soon though and have to go do some or other 'official' showing. Let Society know I'm not dead or pregnant or something."
That gets a small smile out of her, even if at the same time it makes her feel small and sad. "Hey, at least you know he loves you, right? Or d'you think he's just looking at your tits?"
"Yeah, he does. It's pretty wretchedly obvious, but then he goes on stage and catches underwear." She winks. "I know the real Sieg Vaard. The rest is just tarted up for rock and roll, you know. It just wouldn't do in Polite Fucking Society. But then, maybe that's where the fun comes in," her eyes go wide and she blinks with Innocent Non-Innocence. "Maybe we should go to the opera and the fuck like bunnies in one of the boxes. I'll give it some thought..."
She's finally had her fill, it seems, or maybe there's only so much her outfit will let her eat. Dot sits back unladylike, arms folding under her tits and she laughs. "He likes my tits though. They've been worth every penny of Sir's money. Faboo investment. Wouldn't do without them. You know... I've been thinking of getting a job..." Go ahead and laugh. She'll tell you all about it in a moment.
First things first... the castle owner...
"Wait a minute, wait a tic," she says sitting forward again. "Rich. Handsome. Invited you to stay the night. You didn't shag him? Shite, if you're going to ever do it, dahlink, always do it with someone filthy handsome and rich. That's about as No Strings as it gets." She looks at you strangely. "You've met himbefore. Where the fuck was I?" Not that it matters now, but hey... she's not someone who's going to forget she has eyes. "I think you just need to do it and get it over with," she smirks, "...it's never going to be perfect, men are all shite, might as well fuck a man in a castle. What a story that'd be. Is he single?" she purrs, and then laughs.
"Oh, I think you and I should go to the next ball... maybe even as one another's dates. Wouldn't that just be the shite of all shites?"
Fucking William... that'd be like playing Russian Roulette with five bullets instead of one. "He's married to another man, Dot. Even if I wanted to 'just get it over with', I'm not going to do it with a married man - gay, bi, or straight. It ... wouldn't be fair." To herself, even if Ian can look after himself. But then, she's never met Ian, that was Isabel.
"I met him when the Gory reopened. You weren't there, I've no idea where you were - I think you were still with that bloke from Belgium, the one who wanted to be a big DJ? Or was that one of the others?" She's never quite been able to keep them straight.
One hand lifts, fingers threading through her hair slowly, as if sifting through unruly sand. "He's ... nice enough, I suppose."
That's a lie. I'd describe him as many things, but he's not nice. He's not safe. I don't know if he does it on purpose, or ... maybe it's his hobby, but spending time with him is like spending time in the lion's cage. I've always gotten out in one piece and uneaten so far, but ... if I were smart, I'd stay far away. Wonder if I'm that bright a lass...
"Which next ball? And you know I keep who I am separate, Dot. Besides, no offense, but I've spent the past how long fighting off the rumours of my lesbianism? I'd really rather not jolt them back into life." She takes a deep breath, gaze unsteady for a moment as she skews it sidelong, voice lowering.
"I've met someone, by the way."
Dot blinks in quick succession, her other questions and answers halting on her tongue and she just gawks. You've -met- someone? "Wow," she says after a minute. Hey, and if you kicked Dei to the street, this bloke has to be pretty amazing. "Um... in France? Wow. Tell me all about him..." she says it like she's still trying to grasp the concept. And, well, she is. "Um... what does he do? Does he live here or are you... you know... seeing him LD? And when did all this happen?" she quips suddenly. And then her eyes get big. "When you were gone that week and no one fucking saw or heard from you? You were with another man, oh...gawd... Drancy... you naughty kitty you..." The whole thing tickles Dot. It's so ... not you!
"And beautiful gay men in castles don't get married," she adds, having heard all that. "Hmm... Gory. Well... maybe he'll come by some night when I'm dancing," tah-dah! "So..." Dot clears her throat and leans in, giving you the eye, "... what's his name?"
"One at a time, one at a time!" Drancy holds up her hands, mock-protestingly, smiling a little even though her eyes remain troubled. "I'll try to answer your questions, but not all at bloody once, dammit." And no guarantees on those answers, mind.
She puts her hands on the table's surface, bracingly, even as her face reddens. "I didn't run off for a naughty holiday on Dei!"
I was kidnapped by faeries, but I can't say that!
Settling back down a bit, she says more calmly, "I met him ... before then, originally." It's not quite a lie - she tried to punch Huw out the day the windows blew, and that night, she did the first interview. "Before I even met Dei. And he ... well." Deep breath. "His name's Huw..."
Does that little breathed syllable count, towards the beginning of that charm? Do his ears prick up, somewhere Else, even if only slightly? Drancy covers the charm with her hand, even tucked under her sweater as it is.
"He ... travels a lot. I don't know what's going to happen. We're not dating, or anything, we're just ... friends, I guess. He knows I like him, though, and he's said he's interested in getting to know me better." It sounds so colourless, like that. But Drancy's face makes up for any lack of colour, even as she looks down at the table uncertainly.
Well. Well. My. My my. Dot puts elbows on the table and her face propped up in her hands. Her eyes take on a dreamy glistening and she smiles sneaky-sweet. "Hugh," she pronounces it tres English. "So... give it up. How tall? Muscular? Cute? Color eyes, musical preferences," she winks, "I assume he's not a Goth. You've got better taste than that. So... he travels a lot. Hmm... that means he has a job. That's promising. Means he has his own and ain't expectin' you to put up with his ass and wipe it too. But that... sounds good. He says he's interested. He's not a shite and hasn't come out and said shite he don't mean, I don't reckon. So..."
And she waits to hear it. To hear ALL about it. "Alright so... one at a time..." Answer all my questions. Come on. You know you want to. You're DYING to. Wow, for someone who sometimes hates men, you sure have your pick of them lately. Men in castles, lead singers of rock bands, traveling god-knows-whats. "Hugh. Hugh. Hugh. What a lovely name..."
Oh shite. She can't activate it... can she?
Oh shite... And her with her hand over the charm, too. She looks around, wild-eyed, as if expecting to see Huw rising through the floorboards to scare Lydia into dropping a full platter of food. That would take some explaining...
"Uh, er, ah," Drancy stammers a bit, still looking around as if expecting something to leap out and bite her. Why not - everything else's happened, hasn't it? Well, not by half, but how little she knows.
"He's cute. Tall, strong enough to pick me up with one arm, and probably one of the most ... stable, calm people I've met yet. Not that he doesn't get worked up, just ..." If it's going to happen, it's going to happen now, isn't it? "Nothing fazes him. Not me trying to break his nose, when we first met, not bumping into me dressed up to deal with family business." In other words - he knows.
Oh, fuck me running... sometimes I halfway think Dot's in on the entire thing... she's so good at these bloody little coincidences. Good thing she and Hwyll never did meet... is this going to explode, now?
By now, Drancy looks ready to dive under the table to cower. "Maybe we should go ups- no, maybe not." Hwyll's there. Shite. "Look, how about we get out of here? Like, now?"
"Um... sure. Want to head to Betty's? Or... would it be too weird? If so... we can go to the Gory. I gotta get my schedule anyway." She motions to herself. "Cage dancer extraordinare..." That's new. "I really am jonesing for a high and a fuck anyway. I'll go get wasted with you and then trot over to Betty's. Sieg likes to spend some time in Crimes and Punishment before heading on-stage. I tell him he shouldn't, might take the edge off. But Sieg's got... a lot of edge..." She laughs at that and is standing, tossing pound notes on the table. Yeah, she's got her own money now.
Sir and Madam are going to love it when they hear their daughter's dancing in a cage...
"Shite, he sounds like a keepah," Dot grins. "Oh isn't this marvy! We're both tight in with amazing blokes, about to have a good time, and throw fuck-offs to our folks. Drancy, dahrlin', this is shaping up to be a goddamned fine year..."
The world is quiet. Still. There's not a sound of him anywhere. Nothing coming up from the floorboards. No wild eyed fae breaking through glass. Nope, not a sight of him. Maybe you're the only one who can call him...
Ain't that just precious?
Of course, now she's strongly tempted to go ahead and do so. She doesn't really want to go and run into Dei, or any of the ... usual crowd, she's not too sure of her own edge. And she's not too sure of anything else...
Maybe it's his strength that attracts her, because some part of her is so tired ... that she can rely on his energy, when her own finally peters out. In any event, he's not here, and she isn't sure of herself, even if he's plain enough where he stands.
"I don't know," Drancy says aloud, doubtfully. "It'd be ... kind of weird, not because of Dei. I mean, that'll be weird, but c'mon, Dot - I don't really want to be a third wheel. No offense, but you and Sieg are a couple. And I'm not bloody likely to join you for a threesome," her tone grows dryly humourous. "If you want to go to the Gory, I guess we can, but I haven't even been home yet - spotted you before I even went up to throw my bag down. And I should change, if we go out that far."
Hwyll or no Hwyll, she's got an appearance to maintain... it's part of the job, as much as if she were being the full-time lady. The costuming's just ... different. And maybe, just possibly, there's an edge of disappointment - no Huw. And she's not as fast as usual to shove that aside...
"Well, you wanna just pop upstairs then? Or are you trying to give me the slip so's you can call your Man?" She winks and grins. As if she knows, which she doesn't. "Oh! I should go up anyway, give your puss a hello and check my messages. Do you mind?"
Well, maybe it worked and he's nearby. Who knows. What you do know is that he's nowhere in Pashmina's...
And you also know that Hwyll is upstairs and has been alone -- presumably -- in your apartment. For a few... what.. .nights now?
And you know that it's hard to tell Dot 'no'. And she's grabbing Sieg's coat, wrapping herself up in it, and kicking her chair back under the table. Bag at her side, Prepared to go upstairs...
Best to give in to the inevitable, and pray that Hwyll's not going to be as fibbertegibbet as he so usually comes across. "I don't mind, but I don't know if the puss'll be around..."
Seeing as puss and Huw are one and the same... Should I feel jealous at her having petted him? But hell, I did a lot I'd not have done if I'd known it wasn't a cat but a man..
She flushes suddenly, remembering something said a while ago, about the size of that feline's 'equipment', and hurries with her bag. "Right, then, let's go up and see if my apartment's still there." Knowing Hwyll... it might not be recognizably hers, anymore.
"What, did you turn him out? Oh well, he's a puss of the streets anyhoo. Cute bugger though. The size of the balls on that cat," she cackles and arm-in-arm walks out of Pashmina's with you and heads to the green door and the stairs to your flat. "You should have kept him and gotten a female puss. Could have lots of lovely kittens to pass out at the clubs." Street kids love their animals...
"Oh, say... can I go through your closet for a scarf? I didn't know it was going to be blustery. I mean shite... it was warm earlier. I'll let you borrow something of mine, no worries. Oh, and I'll get you back your earrings... I should get some fur this year. I want pink fur..."
In the hallway stairs she starts singin'....
Well... at least Hwyll'll have plenty of warning...
Her face goes brilliantly red at the mention of the cat's balls. Fortunately, she's a bit behind Dot right now, turning to fumble with her pockets, to find her keys. "Yeah, sure, you know - whatever I've got that'll fit, you're welcome to borrow, unless I'm planning on wearing it myself. - Pink fur?" One eyebrow does arch up at that. "I don't know, Dot - I think you look good with blue-black."
She's got her face under control by the time she straightens up again, sliding the key into the lock and giving it a twist. "Anyway, I think my feet're bigger'n yours, so my boots are all safe... but you can borrow the purple one, if you like. Won't go too well, of course, but then - like you're trying to match up?" And then her hand's on the door, turning the knob with a bit of a wary grimace.
Be worried. It's absolutely quiet, apart from Dot. Even the telly's off. Which makes Dot smirk a bit. "Huh... could've sworn it was on. Maybe the puss unplugged it." She's right behind you as you turn the knob, and a hand goes to the door, to help you open it. "C'mon, c'mon. If there's any robbers in there, we can take 'em. We'll dazzle 'em with our beauty and stun them with our Martens..."
"Oh," she whispers, "I'll rummage, but your boots are safe. Mine're brand new, actually. Love them," she coos out...
And your apartment. You left it in the care of a fae spirit of Air. Wow. No telling what it'll look like. Well, might as well look, wot?
When you push open the door, you notice -- for one -- that the apartment is spotless. But nothing... looks new or out of place. Not obviously. Though somewhat brighter, what with the dust all gone. Take comfort! It appears you worried over nothing...
You do, however, hear some rustling about. Hwyll's definitely here. Those are the steps of a man. Dot looks at you and mouths: Oh Shite.
Contrarywise, Drancy relaxes just a tad. She whispers, "Might be another friend, who I asked to feed the cat... keep cool, a'right?" She's a writer - she can come up with quick cover stories, sometimes.
Deliberately, she steps forward. "You wait here, and I'll... see who it is. I'll be fine, really. I know kung fu." A blatant lie, but what's she going to say? 'It's probably just an annoying but cute faerie rummaging around in my closet'? Even Dot would call the loony bin, and the cops...
Quickly, before Dot can hold her back - though protests could, of course, still be registered - Drancy darts forward, towards the bedroom, one hand going to the charm that's nestled under the layers of clothing, against her skin. "Hwyll? Is that you, checking up on the cat?" she calls loudly, giving cues. Don't please let this be one of those bad people they warned me about...
Well, you get more than you bargained for...
About to open his mouth as you call out for Hwyll is Huw, sitting in a chair, dressed in a long leather coat, pvc britches, a heavy shirt (pullover), and shite-kicking, steel-toed Doc Martens. The shirt is brown, the rest is black. His brown hair has been cut and is spiked all over. Around his neck, several talismans, all silver or platinum or like yours: one of them is exactly like yours.
Hwyll is there, dressed more Uptown, looking all Soho, white-blonde, blue-eyed, dressed in khakis and layers. Very Abercrombie & Fitch, as it turns out. "Oh aye," Hwyll calls out from the corner of the bedroom, from the bathroom. He appears, glancing to Huw, smirking and folding his arms across his chest. Apparently, they've had quite the conversation. You, magical one, can pick up on the sparks in the air. "The cat got out, sorry. I did my best to lock him up," definitely not British, that accent, somewhere between Welsh and Scottish. And he looks to Huw.
Huw just grins. "The cat was a sly bugger," he murmurs, brown eyes twinkling. "Seems he was quicker than Hwyll, here." He winks. Surprise. Then looks to the doorway, peering at Dot. Oh. I remember you.
Dot just looks... shocked. Stunned. Amazed. You have two men in your apartment. She leans against the door closing it. And she smiles, painted lips spreading. Hmm.... who's this then? "Hi," she says, smiling, wiggling her fingers, "... Dot." She looks to Drancy then, plucked eyebrows quirking up.
Lucy, you have some 'splaining to do...
Introductions???
Drancy's mouth stays open for a moment, then she closes it with great care, blushing to the very roots of her fair locks. If she blushes any harder, she's going to become a redhead - at least she's in no danger of passing out, all the blood is definitely in her head right now.
"Oh, ah... do you two need me to leave?" Please say yes... I don't know how to explain you two. But I know that I can't get that lucky, can I? Do I even want that? "Um."
She turns a bit, folding her hands in front of her in a gesture as unconscious as it is uncharacteristic, dropping her chin and retreating behind the tatterdemalion strands of hair. "Dot, the one in the khaki is Hwyll. The one... checking up on the cat." It comes out a bit lamely, all things considered. "And... the other one's... Huw."
I think I need to sit down, before I fall over...
There is a smile on Huw's face, secretive little curve that it is, and his eyes glint with it. Shocking, no? Good thing I showed up though, ducky, or you'd be walking into a Turkish bordello...
Both Huw and Hwyll turn toward Dot, Huw looking over but not rising from his seat. Both gentlemen are a nudge over six foot, with Hwyll being taller than Huw and a bit more lean as well. "Nah," Huw says, a nod to Dot, "Hallo," and then back to you, "...I figured I'd stop by though, and see what you were doing, ran into Hwyll," actually came here to talk to Hwyll, we had a bit of a row, but it's all sorted. "Forgot that he was here tending the cat whilst you were away..."
Hwyll, for his part, smirks like the very devil, and is sure to give Dot the once over. "And I did a little straightening you see," Hwyll notes, eyebrows quirking. A glance about. Notice anything missing?
Like a pile of pillows...
All traces of honey...
Nothing sparkly...
No butterflies...
"But since you're here... I'll be on m' way, I reckon," Hwyll continues, a look to Huw. You owe me.
Dot strolls in, smile spreading moreso, "Hi," she says again, "Drancy's told me all about you, Huw," oh no...
That makes Hwyll and Huw quirk and they both look at you. No charades? "Ah... well," Huw says, "... that you're smiling, I trust she only told you the good stuff," and not the magic stuff. That'd be hard to explain. And I don't want to have to answer any wishes or shite like that.
She couldn't be more off guard if she'd taken a quick blow to the back of the head, a slightly dazed expression on her face. The blush slowly begins to fade, and she blinks a few times between the two men, and then to Dot. "She was concerned about me," Drancy half-explains, "because of calling things off with Dei..."
Which probably doesn't explain a whole hell of a lot, but hopefully, enough. "She's dating the guitarist," an elbow comes out to nudge Dot, and a sidelong look, almost prim, first to Dot and then to Hwyll. Drancy is having more trouble than usual shaking her ladylike persona.
"Thanks, uh, for cleaning up. And for... looking after the cat," she mumbles. She has no idea what to say to Hwyll right now, shooting him a look that has something akin to trepidation. Right now, she doesn't want people angry with her...
Diversion time, definitely time for a diversion. "I brought some wine back with me from Paris," Drancy turns rapidly, backpedalling her way into the kitchen, the dandelion-like tufts of hair flying in every direction, heavy yarn sleeves flapping at her sides. She looks the ragamuffin, and that adds to her lack of self-confidence. Clothes may not make the man or woman, but they ... help. "Anyone care for some?"
"Oh," Dot says, smiling like she's eaten more canaries than either of these cats could -ever- know -- and probably has, "... I should be going. Sound check's probably over. Gotta meet Sieg in Crimes and Punishment. Can't pass up a first class fuck for some wine, even if it is from Paris." She spins to you. We HAVE to talk. SOON. And smiles, "Thanks though, dahrlin', for everything. Glad you're alright. You'll come by the Gory for my debut tomorrow night, ya?" Dot turns about, looking to Hwyll and Huw. "I dance at the Phantasmagoria, both you gents welcome to come. No cover, just give the girl up front my name and you're good as gold...Tah for now, dearie!" she shouts out to you, Drancy.
And as she heads to the door you catch a pointed look: call me.
To the call for wine you get a resounding, "Yes," from both men. No fae worth his salt turns down good French wine. And they share a look as Dot blusters about and then finally leaves. Huw finally rises from his chair. "Hwyll will be leaving tonight. We've come upon an agreement. We should drink to it..."
Now that Dot's gone, Hwyll's true mood becomes known. He's a little put out, but his feelings aren't hurt. "I hate losing coin tosses," he mutters. "So, it seems, Pupil To Never Be, there's been a change of plans. Huw the Hunter's going to be your teacher. I'm heading back to Tir Na Nog tonight..." All because I'm lousy at dice.
Oh, thank God.
She doesn't say it aloud, but it's a near miss. Dot gets a slightly wan smile, and she follows Dot to the door, closing and locking up behind, before turning and sagging against the wood. But no point getting relieved too soon - Drancy casts a wary, half-nervous eye over the two men still there.
"You two didn't really think I would let -that- slip, did you?" She mutters it, rather than saying it aloud, pride not -quite- hurt. She straightens up, then, and goes to get the wine out of her bag. Her aunt's cellar is her usual supply, and periodically during the year she'll even 'cheat' and have a bottle shipped over...
Fumbling with wine glasses and corkscrew, she suddenly comes to a halt, peering round the corner incredulously. "Wait, wait, wait... I didn't hear that right, did I? Did you two toss a -coin- over me?"
Well... better than fighting a bloody duel, but still... I'm not sure whether or not to be put out... or maybe just relieved he's not angry. Somehow, for all his henwitted act, I don't think I'd want Hwyll pissed off with me...
Huw looks more like the alleycat this way. More like London. More settled into earthly garb than Hwyll did or ever has. He folds his arms over his chest, hands grasping opposite arms. "No, course not," he says, "...not literally. Though, I did have to convince Hwyll that he should return to the Otherworld, and in order to do that I had to beat him in a contest..."
"Normally," Hwyll says, his form shifting back to its beautiful, accustomed shape and vestments, his armor, the long blonde hair, the pointed ears, the glittering eyes. His expression is sardonic. "...the contests would involve archery, which I would win," he adds in an aside, "...outrunning the fairy herd, again... which I would win," a smirk to Huw, "..and ending with a great drinking contest..."
"Which I would win," Huw cuts in, and he smiles. "Without a doubt. And the drunken sword fight afterwards. So, not having a fairy herd nearby, or room enough for archery and swordfighting, we had to settle for something at hand. But... it's not as if we were betting for your heart by flipping a coin." He snorts. "What do you take us for?" Oh. Wait. He clears his throat, and his arms unfold. "Well, anyway," nice segue, "... we trust you. You trust us. Hwyll's leaving and all's well that ends well." He's suddenly Shakespearean.
She almost opens her mouth to answer that question, but then Huw continues, and Drancy closes her mouth again, though her expression is still mildly suspicious, with an underlying quizzical glimmer. Oh, now... wouldn't she just love to know what they actually had to say to each other...
But there's wine to be poured, and sipped, and here she is with corkscrew and bottle. She fits the two together, working on extracting the bit of cork with its vineyard's mark out of the bottle's neck. Rose, this time, the wine is. Pink liquid, smelling of earth and sun and fermented grape juice, sweet and tart with a chilly warmth to it.
"I'm glad you didn't try to have a swordfight in my bedroom. I'd worry about you finding and skewering my teddy, or something." Her voice is lightly facetious - polite small talk, more something Fiona would say than Drancy. She lifts glasses, carrying them out carefully. "So - you're not pissed off, then, Hwyll?" Let's get this clear.
She holds out the glasses, one in either hand, and adds pointedly, returning more to herself, "You are going to tell me about this little ... discussion of yours, right? You two didn't look like you were just cheerfully settling the end of a bet when we walked in. I bloody well nearly had heart failure on the spot, seeing you both, and Dot right on my heels..."
Hwyll rises to the most of his haughty height. "I will not lie. I outrank Huw. I beat him to the quick with you. And the right should be mine. And I think I am the better teacher. But... he has explained," a look to Huw, "... that my tactics may not be the best for you, and that my... inexperience with the world was certainly a disadvantage. On this point, we agreed." Hwyll looks to his feet, his eyes lifting to you, Drancy. And he smiles. "He has my blessing, and as he has beaten me, he has my agreement. I got some nice parting gifts. It will be alright. And you, you will learn. And perhaps one day we will see you in our kingdom again and I can welcome you as a Sidhe prince should." He won't talk about the affairs of the heart. He takes the glass meant for him...
Huw smiles, taking the glass meant for him, and he settles back in the chair, exhaling all the way. "Oh sure, we fought a little," he says. "We argued. He pissed and moaned. I grumbled." He waves his hand. You know, the usual. "But... we do need to talk about how this is...going to work. So you know... when to expect me. And ... so you won't come home to anything you have to explain, aye?"
Drancy seems to keep blushing today, and has no idea how to stop. She's never been a random blusher. Ever. Even before...
She ducks back into the kitchen, coming back with her own glass, rubbing at her cheek absently with one knitted sweater-sleeve that's slowly unravelling. "I'm afraid to ask what sort of welcome that entails," Drancy grumbles half-heartedly, though with a quick look to Huw.
How much did you tell him, of ... what happened, and how I feel, and who else I am other than as I appear?
And it occurs to her, in a vague, uneasy sort of way, that if Hwyll'd known that, things might have been different as well...
She takes a mouthful of the wine, sitting down onto the floor with her back to the wall - a solid, reassuringly firm presence that's unlikely to go anywhere or turn into anything, and her eyebrows lift inquisitively. "I can talk," she agrees, a little warily. "Where do we start? And, well, Hwyll... I have to admit, I have a hard time picturing you down at Betty's Boobs, or the Gory..."
Fairy men never miss a blush. It makes the air sing. It swirls the magic hanging around in the air between you all. But they at least try not to out and out stare at you. Huw sips at the wine, Hwyll takes a healthy swallow and turns about.
"So... I should be going..." Hwyll quips, smiling, hands coming together in a slap and a rub. "Huw, I'll see you in Never-Never-Land. Drancy," Hwyll pauses and there is a look of pure mischief on his beautiful face. "...be patient, take care and most of all... listen..."
When his hands come together next, they dissolve into butterflies, butterflies that further dissolve into leaves, that further dissolve into tiny feathers, and then... with one feather drifting to the floor... Hwyll ap Gwynn is gone.
The one feather remains. Violet and white speckled.
"A gift from Hwyll ap Gwynn, the terror of womankind," Huw says, lifting the glass in toast. "Treasure that." He smiles, relaxing a touch now that the Blowhard is gone. "Come 'ere," he says, nodding you over. "We'll talk it out. Oh, and I didn't tell His Majesty anything about... the other night. I am Huw the Hunter," he smiles, "...keeper of secrets..."
She steals forward, slightly warily, to pick up the feather. "Treasure it?", she echos. "Why, what's it do? It's not just a feather, is it..."
Nothing ever is just what it looks like, with you lot. Will I ever get used to it? Sometimes, I wonder...
Climbing to her feet, she approaches, not quite sure whether to relax, now that Hwyll's gone, or ... to become more nervous. Now it's just you and herself.
"I'm glad you didn't tell him," Drancy adds, honestly, as she finds a safe place in her wallet, for the feather. "I have a feeling he'd either get his ego hurt, and sulk, or he'd laugh. And I'm not really in the mood to deal with being laughed at. So." She looks around, as if not recognizing her apartment, even though the only thing that's changed is the cleanliness. "Umm... What do we talk about first?"
"Things are seldom as they appear," is Huw's answer. He won't expound on that. Hell, he's not even sure what the feather will do. Just better to be safe than sorry. He looks hopeful and holds up an empty glass. "Any more of this? Really good, I like the pepper, it's earthy. Not so sweet." He doesn't have a sweet-tooth either. "Well," a breath and he sets his empty glass aside for the moment, "I guess we should first talk about... what it's like having a tracker for a... friend..."
Let alone having that ... friend as a teacher. That's conversation number two...
"And... if you have certain rules about popping in and out that you'd like me to observe and follow, now's the time to hash that out. We'll shake hands on it, make amends, and then ... maybe go out on the town or something. No hocus pocus," he assures, "...but maybe some music..."
Seldom as they appear... Well... there's a bloody shock to the system, innit?
She puts away her wallet, then nods, turning to go collect the wine bottle, bending to pour it carefully - keeping her eyes on her task. She's somewhat subdued today, energies and body language equally muted with her caution. "I'm glad you like it. My aunt's vintner insisted on putting aside a good amount of it as an investment, and, well... It adds up."
She steps back again, still holding the bottle. "What it's like?" Drancy doesn't quite look like she knows how to respond. "As for popping in and out, well... as long as we can come up with a suitable cover story, I don't mind. I just - wasn't expecting you both to be here, and barely came up with a story to explain Hwyll, let alone the both of you. Dot, though, well..." A slight hint of colour rises again. "I can explain you away to, easily enough..."
With a slight nod that sends her wild curls shivering along her back, she retreats to the kitchen, to put away the bottle. "What sort've music d'you like? I've got a wide variety of places, kinds, but it tends to be ... mostly sort of, well, in line with my work. Not entirely, though." A pause as she comes out again, eyes slanting to grey-green. "Why'm I telling you this? You know this already. Right, then. Next item?"
And she sits down again, curling up on the floor to look up at you, expectantly.
"I'll try to keep sudden appearances at a ...low roar, I think you say." He lifts the wine and sips at it. Enraptured by the pepper of shiraz. Woody. Earthy. He... really likes it. The second glass is already half gone by the time you sit down again. He holds the glass carelessly careful, butt of the stem resting on a PVCd thigh and he leans over, head resting on his hand. Slovenly ain't he. "Let's see... how best to explain it. I guess...I should start with me. I serve as a... sort of a sentinel or...scout, if you will, for ... my people." Eyebrows knit together. "It will make no sense, you see, whatever I say," a smirk, a sigh. "Suffice it to say, I won't be... under your foot night and day. I have to follow the trail of magics where and when they're felt near the borders of my reality. I watch the earthly entrances to it...so, sometimes... I'm going to be away. But... I can always be called. And... when I am here," like now, "... I can stay for a period as long as nine days and nine nights, consecutively, before my strength to be here gives out..."
I am not of your world, Drancy. Remember that...
"So... whatever guise you give me to your friends, make it a travelling one. One that wouldn't be missed. Whatever is easiest for you to explain. As for lessons," he pauses for another swallow of wine. Now, it's one swallow away from finished. "I figure... we should do something nightly for the first little while... then ... when you're more comfortable with the whole thing, it'll just... come as it comes, aye?" Huw smiles. "I like all kinds of music. I don't mind the loud. It's the ...energy that drives me, not the actual notes."
Using both hands, she gathers up her hair, pulling it back and away from her eyes and face. "You watch the borders, and keep ... bad people, from sneaking in and spying out the lay of the land, or sucking up your magic, and stuff." It's said matter-of-factly, expression drawn into attentiveness. "Basically, you're a policeman."
Oh, and isn't that a rich irony? It's almost enough to make her laugh. Bittersweet humour at its best.
"I'd rather not have someone hounding me night and day, anyway. Dealing with Hwyll was ... interesting ... but if I'd had to put up with him on a daily basis for much longer, one of us would have ended up in serious pain. Not sure which, but one of us." She manages a brief quirk upwards at the corners of her mouth, passable as a smile. "And ... I can tell them your job involves a lot of travelling ... they won't care, as long as it sounds right."
Just not a musician, Dei's bitter and sulky enough as it is, over it all...
"I do have a question for you, though." She tilts her head to the side, rubbing her cheek with her sweater's sleeve again, as if testing the texture of it. Leaving her head tilted into her hand, she tries for a lighthearted tone. "Are you tattooed, too, like Davydd and Hwyll?"
Ha. That is rich. Policeman. You're 'dating' a cop. That'd piss off both your parents and your friends, wouldn't it? The ultimate rebellion...
He chews on the word policeman for a while, for the length of another swallow, and he's done. "So, I think that'll be fine. I won't get in your way. And Hwyll was bound by the same law. I reckon he never got around to telling you that, though. Course, we can conserve it and gain it. It's possible to be on this plane for a while, if things go right."
There's no blush at the mention of tatts. Maybe he's unable to blush, but then again you and your friend have had conversations about his equipment so maybe after all that, a tattoo isn't much. "No, not marked. The tattooes are... living incantations. They allow.. Davydd, as an example... to do things he otherwise would not be able to do. Davydd has... nine. The perfect number." There's a significance to the number nine. Nine days and nine nights. Nine tattoos on Davydd's body. "He's quite powerful. Hwyll has only two, I think, that cast spells for abilities he would not otherwise have. I do not have any extra gifts but those that came when I was born. It is enough for me, what I have. And our artist has been gone from us for quite some time," he finishes sadly. "Her name was Isabel. She is your ancestor. She is the one who marked you. She is the one who marked Davydd before you. Her equal has not been born."
"I ... sort of got that impression," she says a bit dryly. "That she'd been powerful, that - she was responsible, and stuff. And quite popular, besides, from things you've said."
You, and Hwyll, and even Davydd... and maybe, is it jealousy that prompted her asking? A lack of desire to have Isabel's handmedowns?
"Seems a lot Hwyll hadn't gotten around to telling," Drancy then comments. Her voice isn't as bitter as it would've been a week ago. Is this what acceptance is like? She lies back on the floor, tucking her hands behind her head. "So I ... need to pay more attention to symbolism, don't I, then. Is it because of her that I have this ... magic? Or just the luck of the draw? What can or can't I do? D'you want to be teaching me, or would you rather not? I didn't really ask, did I..."
A flood of questions, one after the other, and she sits up, twisting to lean forward, so she can watch you - see how you react, the nonverbal clues as well as the verbal replies.
"How do you feel about cinnamon..."
"I love it. Cinnamon from Zanzibar and Madagascar and Mexico." He says that rapidly upon a tongue that lilts Celtic, but no strain of that in particular. Not Irish. Nor Scottish. Nor Welsh. Older. Brythonic. "Scraped, rubbed, whole, the oil..." He pauses there, and maybe he does redden a tad, but it's not from shame or embarrassment. Apparently, you've hit a nerve of Enjoyment. Even the brown eyes go smoky cinnamony. "I like it on everything."
Huw settles back, hands folding against his stomach, the twist of a smile. "She was popular with some. Very popular with others. Hwyll was one of her many famous paramours. Davydd was another one, years ago now." Centuries ago now. "But I ... never knew the artist in that way. I knew only of her skill as a magician. I knew many fairy men who picked toadstools for her by the moonlight, hoping to be marked, if not tattooed." Marked by her nails, maybe that's the assumption. "I was never one of those. My ways were more shadowy than bright. They still are. And Hwyll reveals as Hwyll wishes. Hwyll ap Gwyn is a great force, stormy wind and grey seas. He gives as he wishes, takes what he wants. But he honors his word, when he gives it. As do I. And... yes, I want to teach you. But only if you want to learn. I don't pull teeth or force horses to drink. It is there, if you want it."
Huw watches you, you are doing much better than you were. He doesn't force, he merely doesn't give in. He's learned to do that much with you. "Symbolism is the language of the universe. Like mathematics. Symbols are the way in which it communicates with itself and with the rest of us."
She nods slowly, thoughts moving behind her eyes, flickers of contemplation and self-doubt vying for control. But she's listening...
"I'm ... not her." Drancy says it quietly, then with more force. "I'm not her, but I look like her, don't I. It's why Hwyll particularly looked at me, and why, when he realized I'm not like her, he didn't mind so much - going back. She was more like he is now, than like I am."
She doesn't need magic to guess at this - it's more a thing of her sex, an intuitiveness coupled with new eyesight. Standing, she folds her arms over her chest, holding herself carefully as she paces, kicking off her sneakers with a strenuous little jerk, so that her feet can rest directly on the floor.
Hwyll wouldn't just take me, because it's her memory he's after, not my flesh. Made it easy on him, but if I'm right... it had to hurt, a little, seeing me, if I look like her that much... And being rejected for Huw had to hurt more, even if only his pride...
"I want you to teach me." An active way of putting it, though she doesn't turn as she says it. Drancy rests one hand along the windowsill, letting her hair fall in its unruly spray, down her back and shoulders again, crashing along her thighs silently. "I'll take whatever I can get... I can be greedy, sometimes, even if I haven't been, not for a long time."
I want to be with you, Huw the Hunter... even if it's frightened me, even if your strength is more than mine, or perhaps because of it. I want to be greedy, and know you with all my senses. I don't know if this is because of Chinon and its master, or something Dei started but didn't finish - demon or no - or an offshoot of having met Davydd. Or perhaps, what you said to me, yourself... 'To not love because of him, just lets him win...'
Aloud, she asks, "Where d'you want to go?"
Posted by rowan at May 31, 2003 11:29 PM
