In the darkness and in the flashing lights. Between the rhythm of 120 heartbeats. In the layers of music. Did you know?
     Did you know you loved a Paris institution? On the dance floors of the city, in the clubs and discos. You can see it now. You can see it now as he eases into The Phantasmagoria. Like a native... like a natural...
     Dressed in python, in the green and black. In rounded leather boots. In a black shirt that may as well not even be there. Only muscled shade it leaves in its wake. All else is golden.
     Will they notice, ami? Will they see the practiced moves of blinking and breath? It is a good first night. A good site for as they say in English... a trial run. And the smile has not ceased. And it will not cease. Feel my hands. My mouth at your ear. Feel my laughter as I murmur, "Show me..."
     Show me...
     You who know so much, show me what this life is like...
     And he moves beside you, and already the music moves through him. So much. It is so much, ami. To hear. To look at. To feel. Valan moves slowly past the door with you. So slowly. He almost stops.

     That is when his hand tightens around yours. The sights, the blurring colors that fill every rod and cone. The noise that screeches so loudly. Too loudly. Can any make out distinct notes? And smells. Of every variety. They fill the nose with an indistinguishible mix of every odor possible. Overwhelming and overloading.
     Edward remembers that much. Being blinded by the senses. Perception useless until you figure out how it works.
     "I'm here," Edward replies, moving you among the crowd. He wears black leather pants, covering silver-tipped boots. His shirt is sheer, black and silver simultaneously.
     You were greeted at the door as Edward was cheered by several of the staff. Where have you been -- they asked. He gave polite replies, grinning replies that left the answer shrouded in mystery. But then, he drew you to himself. Here is your answer. And with that, he smiled and led you both within.
     "Are you alright?" he calls in French, making sure he's heard. Perhaps it's the first time Edward's used French in Phantasmagoria, but it is undoubtedly not the the last.
     A seat appears ahead. A familiar table as people part. With you approaching the edge of this dance floor, patrons begin to recognize something happening, and heads turn. Friends give voice and some try to wrangle out of their current liasons to head towards where you both arrive.

     He would have vomited, if he could recall how. It was that overwhelming. But as you grasp his hand and as you move him, he finds a sudden focus. You are the fulcrum about which he revolves. You pull him in and you steady his whole world...
     At the door, and after the greetings, Valan pulled upon your mouth. Suckling. He can still feel it on his lips. You.
     The scent of your skin and your cologne...
     And he smiles, wide and warm. "Oui, je suis parfait! Il est juste tellement, cet endroit. Mais j'obtiendrai utilise a lui..." Did you catch any of that? And his stride is a stroll along with you. A motion close to yours. A walk that is cojoined.
     Ah look... a commotion. He can feel the attention. It is palpable. Should I be worried? Valan laughs. Delight. Warmth. Anticipation. His hand steals what may well be a last touch for a while...
     At the small of your back. "Vous etes la personne la plus belle dedans ici..."
     The most handsome in here. And I am with you. Glorious, no?

     He only smiles, your Edward, leaning in to kiss you at the back of your ear. And then it begins as he offers the curved booth seat to you.
     "Edward!" screams a woman, dressed in a skintight blue catsuit with patent leather boots that reach to her thighs. "Oh, my God, so fuckin' brilliant! Where ya been? I was looking for you!"
     Viola's never been one for quiet. "I just knew you'd either gone off and gotten into some shite..." something bad presumably. And then her brown eyes scan to see you, Valan. A blink and smile. "Hey," she waves genially, also slipping into the booth, bypassing even Edward. He's here, so everything must be alright with the world.

     He was to speak, but her stream and sitting only gets a spin of Edward's body to follow her passing him. He chuckles as she sits, stepping up onto the raise platform where the booth is.
     "Yeah, I'm fine, glad to see you're so interested," he grins, moving to your side...

     She smirks at Edward, but eyes are on you. "I'm Viola," she smiles, sticking a hand out in dangling crook. "Who're you? A new friend, eh?"

     Golden hair hangs into gold-green eyes. It makes every smile smooth and sly. Lilting lips at the corners, spreading warmth. He is not shy, but he can play the roll. The Shy Foreigner. "Ah... forgive the English... Viola...ah, yes... a new friend... Valan," the English comes low and broken, carrying through the music to her as he takes her hand, a little squeeze of her fingers. The accent so heavy. So French. And his smile twists.
     Gold and green, a flicker and a grin to you. Such brilliance. Valan eases into the booth, his eyes distracted for a minute, but he looks back to her and to you. "So you ... have ... known him... ah... a long time?" Oh beware... he may pluck out a story or two. Devilish the look. The smooth smile to you.
     I am too much, ami. Just as you like it...

     As you two banter, Edward looks over towards the bar. But someone is already coming. First things first...
     "Yeah...like..." Viola begins, leaning to see around you, "...how long's it, Eddie? Two or three years? Something like that," she waves at you, neverminding it all. But he's distracted. Viola sighs and returns to you. You're so much nicer to look at.
     "Eddie and I are real friends. He's a good bloke, I like 'em," she says, slowing down her speech. But the music is so loud that many words are caught between beats.
     Save to your ears, this is true.
     "You're French, huh? Are you visiting or something?"

     "Holy shite, look!" comes a guy's voice as he moves around the back of the booth. "Oi, you bastard, where ya been?" Brown haired and lithe, he's dressed in PVC pants and no shirt. Certainly someone from the upper dance floors...he's covered in sweat. A pass of his gaze at everyone in the booth, and the guy leans over to pat Edward on the shoulder.
     Looking up and twisting, Edward narrows his gaze. "Penny," he snorts, a bit surprised himself, "...you're in with the cat shite. What are you doin' down here with the arrows?"

     "Jes' came looking for a friend," said Penny remarks, his eyes upon you squarely. Well, one can talk while looking elseplace. He tips his chin and says, "cheers," giving his gaze back to Edward soon after. "And you?" he says to Edward in reply, eyes straying your direction.

     A lean in and gold brows knit together a little. As if he has to strain to hear her. He does not have to, but he knows he has to seem to have to. Is that how it goes? And he pauses, as if translating. "Is it ...ah... very obvious?" And his eyes dance a little at that. "And... I came for a visit... but as they say it is... under my skin? So... I am staying now..."
     But there is another voice, Edward in motion, and Valan turns his head. A smile, brilliant. And he lingers on Edward. The smile dragging there, wanton. He can't help it. Look at you. So admired. Well, it's not a strange thing. Not out of the ordinary. He gets another nod, and Valan gives one back. "Cheers back," English words but decidedly un-English. And now his gaze is thrice divided. Valan leans toward him, a hand out -- and it's convenient that the motion allows him to brush and press against you Edward, along the way...

     Penny catches the brush, and cocks his head at Edward. His hand comes out regardless, and you are given a firm shake and an approving look.

     Edward turns about and grins at you before turning self-congratulating smirk to Penny. "Been busy," he says to Penny finally, "...travellin'. You know how it goes. This..." his hand touches your side, "...is Valan."

     Viola looks up at all the hand motions, twisting her lips. "Anyway," she says to you, "...you're visiting and now staying, huh?" eyes passing to see Edward a second. "That's nice. The City is way fuckin' brilliant. You'll like it. I never liked Paris much," she goes on, fishing cigarettes from the top of her boot. The pack is offered in your direction.

     A firm shake and Valan looks between Edward and Viola as he leans back. The smooth smile breaking into a grin. Surrounded. And it's not a bad thing. Gilt-green eyes flashing. There is nothing but comfort, casual, even as he's looked at. Is he studied? He doesn't mind it. "Pleased to meet you," he lets out over the music. No, he's not of this land...
     And a hand eases across the leather under the table. A thigh. A grasp. A hand, a touch. And fingers spread and find their familiar way...
     Valan turns and leans in toward Viola, his one hand still hidden in darkness of leather and table's shadow. "Please to light? Ah, and Paris is not so bad. But you have to... ah.. know where to go? Or no one will ...ah...help you. It is very...hmm...what is it in English? Stuck up? You...you go to Tours or ...outside of Paris. There are good clubs..."
     A pause and he grins. "But it is not London. I like London..."

     She nods and fishes the lighter out in follow, sticking a cigarette between her own lips. "Yeah, that was it...they were...too on themselves, yanno?" She bends to give you a light first, and then do her own. It clicks as she lets the flame dart out before dropping it back into the hightop boots. "Maybe I will go to the other places," she nods. "You from Paris?"

     Penny smiles as he sighs, returning to Edward. Nice looking boy really, his waggling eyes say. "Look, I gotta get, Eddie, but maybe I'll see you at Orion's or something later. Nice to meet you too," he waves at you.

     Edward's already distracted again, even if his hand tells otherwise. Someone's moving over with a tray of drinks, a young woman in a short dress. She bends and begins the process of unloading them onto the rounded table.
     "Right-o," Edward says to Penny, nodding as he reaches for one of the glasses. Short drinks. Something of bourbon or vodka, mixed. "Maybe tomorrow night?" he wonders, picking up one and handing it to you.

     And he cannot help the laughter. And it comes from him in smoke. Too on themselves. "Oui... and everybody else... me... I am from Bordeaux..." His free hand lifts and pulls the cigarette away so he can speak. But he is turning, already, again. So much!
     My senses are assaulted. I need a moment. But there isn't one. Always, someone speaking. But I smile, even though it is dizzying. "Bye," so says Valan, this to Penny. And his hand beneath the table slides, fingers curling under a leathered thigh. "What is this..." he wonders, fingers of his free hand balancing a cigarette and reaching for the drink you offer. His smile ... upon you it is brilliant. Brilliance. The familiarity is...
     Blatant, really...
     "Ah..." he twists, bringing Viola back into it all, "... from Bordeaux, but I ... lived in Tours... better clubs. Prettier... richer people..." and he laughs out loud at that. Hand pulling up the drink, balancing the cigarette. A sniff, and a sip. And then a drag and pull of smoke.
     He has been practicing. It almost seems... human...
     But there is a ...study and practice to such motions now. Motions that once were effortless...

     Penny is already moving, giving you a gratuitous onceover as he heads off. "No worries," he says to Edward, hand in the air low as he disappears into a crowd towards one of the stairs. And as quickly as he arrived, he's gone.

     Edward turns back to you, picking up his own drink. "Bourbon," he confirms, in case your sharper senses have missed it. "What did I miss?" he grins, leaning into you to see Viola better.

     "Jes talking about France...he's so nice, Eddie," Viola chirps, ignoring the fact that you're sitting between her and Edward. "He was saying he's not from that stick-up-the-ass Paris place," she catches him up. "Bordeaux, huh?" Not that she ever knew such a place existed. "I was sayin'," she goes on, "...that maybe I should go there next time, if I ever go back..."

     His hand lifts from beneath the shadows of the table, lifting from the leathered thigh and he takes the drink. A deeper swallow of the burning bourbon, and he smiles. His own pythoned thigh spreading beneath the shadows of the table until his leg meets your own. Touches are constant. You, his anchor. In this turning, shining, loud world...
     "Oui... Bordeaux... it is on the coast... very lovely. But... I cannot curse Paris too much... it is ...what it is, yes? But I am in love with London..." And green-gold eyes sparkle at the double meaning, or rather... the true meaning.

     The heads and the eyes have not stopped turning. The crowd is thick. It is merely taking some longer to get here than others. And there is another... remember her? Viola's sometimes companion in your afterparty ... adventures. And she's dressed in red vinyl. With more of her short dress cut out than actually covering her. Her hair is cherry red this week -- who the hell knows what it'll be like next week. "Eddie..." Fingers curve against your shoulder. "Who's been hiding you?" Her accent is coolly British. Not of these streets but of the wealthier West. She, a daughter of the Upper Class. A party girl who can truly afford it on her own. And her mouth is painted red and bright. "I have been looking all over for you... Oh, hello there, Viola dearie..." A long wink and she gives a look to Valan. "Hello..." but she doesn't linger on Valan. No. She's back on you, easing into the booth... and onto your lap. "So... ducky... are you going to tell me or am I going to have to pull it out of you... oh, and the rainbow drinks are being made up in the back. I've ordered a round..."

     He was looking elseplace, even as she approached. And then suddenly, out of the blue, someone was in front of him and seated upon his lap. Even now, Edward's gaze is rising, brow furrowing in the instant as mind catches up.
     "Tell you what?" Edward says calmly, face even with his guest's. He should want to stand and dump her upon the floor, but after years of being so...accessible...why would anyone have expected any different tonight. "I've been busy, still busy," he smiles, "...nothing to it."
     "And this is Valan," he says fluidly, turning to the young man beside him, hand under the table instinctively touching him. Notice how close we sit?

     "Hey," Viola chimes, almost rolling her eyes in the process. Sometimes, that girl is a fuckin' loon. She sighs and looks back to Valan, twisting her lips in a 'sorry about that' silent apology. "I like the City, ya," she agrees, picking up your last sentiment. "It really is the only place t' be, you know?"

     It will take a while, will it not, Monsieur Playboy... for the world to catch up. For the women and the men to understand you are not available. Accessible. Ah, after being so accessible for so long. This night, to them, is like any other night when you are here...
     And they are all vying for your attention...
     Except one, you notice. The one at your side. Who now is laughing. Softly. She misses it, but you hear it. And Valan leans in, with a wide grin. With dancing eyes. Tickled. Look at how they lavish attention at you, ami. One might feel sorry for them all...
     "Hello," he says, and his lean in toward her is more to place himself against you. A hand comes up. "Pleasure to meet you. Do you come here often?" She will miss the joke. But you catch, do you not? The oh-so-practiced English. The knowledge in his demeanor. She wants you. I have you. What apology is there to make to me? Rather, we should be consoling the poor woman, who seems to be in need of... so much...
     Valan leans back a little, just a little, turning his head to Viola. And the grin remains. "I am... ah... beginning? to see this..." Such a droll tone, his heavily accented English strays against his tongue. And adds sparkle to the laughing light in his eyes.

     But, of course, she missed most of the intent. The thudding 120-beat of the current stream of 'music'...

I know what you want. I know what you want from me...

     There is a look of befuddlement as she takes Valan's hand. "Cheers..." And it takes her a minute. A classic minute to ... get back on track. "Well, where you've been, of course, Edward. You haven't been to the fan-fucking-tastic Phantasmagoria in... jesus, I think it's almost two months..." And she laughs, and then she gives her little kitten smile. The one that was always so charming after a lot of drinks and screwing about.
     And then the drinks arrive. Red. Green. Blue. Violet. "Ah-ha-ha," she warbles out, "here we are! Thank you, Lido dahling..."
     Lido? One of the bartenders. With lavendar and platinum hair cut in a bob. "Sure, Dahlia... it's on you..." Lido glances to you, Edward and smiles. "Hello, Edward... long time no. Take it easy, wot?"
     She doesn't stick around.

     "Okay, Dahlia, you're boring," Viola mumbles so that you might hear her, and then shrugs as she reaches for one of the drinks. "Here," she smiles, offering you a blue one, "...you'll like this a lot." A genial hostess, she must truly be a 'friend' of Edward's. Maybe he hasn't even slept with her. "Just...don't drink it fast, okay?"

     A tip upwards of his chin is all Edward gives to Lido. It's busy, you'll have to forgive. He looks back at the drinks, woman still upon his lap. And then to you. You seem better than I. Edward watches as Viola gives you a glass and winks at her. She's much too sisterly.
     "You're generous tonight," Edward says coolly, the accent more non-descript tonight. Not so East, not so West. His distant voice. But Dahlia would not know this. "Thanks," he adds, reaching for the red one. He glances again at Viola's warning to you, glad that someone has said it. In truth, he was avoiding such tonight. But perhaps all it means is that the night will be cut a little short. That, he does not mind.
     Edward shuffles, making himself more comfortable and allowing his arm a bit of space to hold drink and girl. He still hasn't answered the question.
     "I'm sure it's been boring," he looks around, "...since I was gone, right?"

     "What is it?" he mumbles back. Quietly curious. Despite the 120-beat Wolfgang Press trance version of StarMaker. Still that laughter in his eyes. Green and gold. They lift from Dahlia and Edward, from Viola herself and land their attention lastly on the blue liquid cupped in the martini glass. Gold eyebrows lift a little. Wondering. And then he smiles, winking. Sipping.
     "I will be careful, I promise. I will try not to spill any on myself..."
     Such a comedian, your ami. But there is a particle of truth in it. He who not so long ago couldn't crack an egg without destroying your kitchen. Cool. Crisp. A nice martini. Valan takes another sip and looks back to Edward. He is drinking slowly. But he is drinking steadily. And he looks from Viola to you. And there... his gaze fixes. If any at this table were not aware before, they have to be now. Unless they're utterly blind and daft, that is...

     "Alright, now that I've done my good deed for the decade," Dahlia purrs, shifting... starting to stand, "I really do have to pop off. Valan, was it? A pleasure, dearie. Viola!" Dahlia leans forward and across Valan, "You really should come with me to Andreas' tonight. His party, dearie... you're sure to love it. Alright! Now I'm bored!" And with a kiss, Edward, she leaves your lap. Her fingers pluck up the purple drink, winking as you take the red.
     She takes it for a sign.
     "Tah..." The purr is low, at your ear, and then she swerves, sips and saunters off.

     "Do you think she realizes she's starving? Should we feed her?"
     And Valan grins at the rim of his martini glass, lifting it for yet another sip.

     "That's fashionable," Edward murmurs, only lifting his glass as Dahlia departs. He'll look aloof, certainly, despite the fact that he's happy to see her go. He exhales and twists around a bit in the booth, better to see you both.
     "Sorry," he murmurs softly at you, grinning at Viola in a grateful fashion. "Guess she figured it out," he waves the glass, taking a sip.
     "I was not going to let you find these tonight," he says to you, drinking most of his. "Did you tell him?" Edward lifts at Viola.

     "I'll be there!" Viola chimes, watching Dahlia go. But her attention is already to the two of you, she blinking at you both as she resettles with her drink. "Huh? Oh, no, Eddie, ne'er got that far. We were talkin' about other things," she smiles, almost glad to have made a friend in you, Valan.
     "It's not so much about th' spillin', love, as th' fact...it's got chemicals in it, okay?" There, job done. With that, she grins at you both, taking a sip of hers and swallowing, free hand lifting to mark that she's about to say something else.
     "So..." Viola begins, "..so...I wanna know...what's happened?" hand waving again between you. "You were gone so long," she says to Edward, "...and when you come back," fingers flutter at Valan as if to say voila!

     Oh...
     And it pulls in the smile...
     Crystal clear cupping brilliant blue. The glass is tipped, and a healthy swallow taken. It won't take long. Oh no. It won't take long at all. And in the preparation, Valan begins to stretch out. A lean back against you, Edward, twisting a little so that his back is against your side. And one leg lifts, a foot to the surface of the booth, the other relaxed wide. Agile. Flexible, isn't he. And the smile is wide and warm. "So... is it the kind of drink that will make you want to dance ... vertically?" Gilt-green eyes sparkle behind a veil of gold hair, "... or... ah... horizontally?"
     You feel his laughter at your chest and side. He tips back his head a little, turning it to look at you past the long, hipster forlocks. And then to Viola, a softer smile. Warm. I like you. "I met him in Tours... at a club... you would like...ah... it is called L'Empereur. In French, its name is actually The Emperor's Mistress. I think you would like it... you should go, Viola... lovely men and women there..."

     "Really?" she chimes, peering between you both. "You were in a club, Eddie? In France?" She'd never have thought it. Bobbing her head, she encourages the story onward.

     Edward smirks and bends to kiss you at the nape of your neck. "I'll leave you to guess," he says softly, peering across you to see Viola. Yes, he minds not talking with her and telling the story. He nods in agreement, lifting arm over your head. "Yeah, it was in a club. I was there with some friends and....Valan was there..." he says simply, as if the rest easily followed. A smile and he takes a bit of his drink.
     "You might like the place, though, Vi, it plays American jazz," he notes, knowing that would not be her style. Edward's free hand comes to rest at your hip and he seems more comfortable now, for some reason.

     And so, that's the end of it...
     The blue liquid is swallowed, finished, and with a smile, Valan reaches out and sets the glass aside. Empty. How long will it take? Will we dance, Edward?
     I am already in motion. I can hear the vinyl of the booth squeaking beneath the python. Green and black. Shining. Close fitting. And the shirt. I can feel it all.
     "Il commence. Il se sent merveilleux..." You hear him say. You hear him breathe it. You know it is beginning. It is starting. The bubbling froth against the blood. Easier to feel for newborn immortality. "Hmm... so..." he starts again in English, "... we had a... good time..." And his voice holds in his throat, a purr of his own. "And so we are still having... a good time. And so... am I alone in loving American jazz?" That said louder, for the benefit of all nearby.

     "Oh, I guess it's alright," Viola replies, twisting her bird-like nose. Not really her scene. "When I hear music, I wanna dance...not think about it." Jazz is so cerebral, isn't it?
     Her eyes watch you as you rise, and she smiles all the while. For some reason, she seems pleased for her club-friend. Who would have thought any cared so much.
     "You should go dance," she motions at Edward. It will give her a chance to wander around some. "I will...go see what's happening downstairs," Viola shouts, making sure you can both hear. She tosses back her drink and begins to push off the booth.

     Edward smirks, "Not my thing, ami," he enjoying his drink in a slow clutch at his chest. But as Viola speaks of visiting other people and spaces, he nods understandingly. Leaning over your shoulder, Edward calls, "Find us later..." bobbing his head at the sentiment. He means it.

     "We will be here or we will be there! Find us, Viola!" he calls out to her, a gesture to the moving bodies. "We should go out there... I like her," Valan interrupts himself, turning to look at you. "She is a good friend, yes? She is pretty, I should be jealous!" The French lilts from him. Picking up in tempo, dancing.
     Yes... it has begun...
     And you feel his leg is bouncing, and he begins to move unconsciously. Small movements in time to music. "I think you still have a line forming..." and he laughs softly, where only you can hear it. "I love a man the whole world loves. It is it's own aphrodisiac..."
     You are truly amazing, Edward Meurelle.

     And so there is. You hear your name. A familiar pair of faces. Moving your direction...

     "She's alright," Edward smirks cryptically, not wishing to admit that Viola is a pretty alright woman. He nudges you and begins to push up from the leather booth, content with the notion of dancing. "Come on," he whispers at your ear, lifting as his name is called.
     Edward turns about, raising a brow. Who now?
     Already Viola has slipped into the crowd...

     It's the bird and her blonde attachment. You know... that pair. But there are bodies yet between you and them. Time to make a get-away...
     The music is a constant swirl. A pulse. Hard pulse. And driving. All notion of Beginning and Ending are gone. A musical expression of immortality. How else should you and Montague move?
     He is moving. He catches himself moving before he realizes it. In the dark, who can perceive the speed? And you see his eyes. Wild gold and wild green. Like amber stones with a center of citrine. And he smiles. Come on. Come along with me...
     He lifts sliding over your lap and to the edge of the booth. Agile. Growing more so every evening. He has you to thank for that...

     Edward shakes his head. A cross between No and Sorry. He's being dragged away. But what a wonderful excuse. In black, he suddenly reappears from the backdrop of the booth, standing his full height near the darkened seating.
     And he watches you there for a moment, grinning from ear to ear. So much to watch and notice. Sometimes, it is hard to be a simple observer. He is too taken with you. Even now, the club seems to bore him, save the experience of being out and about. But it is too experimental in that way, and Edward bristles at being so aloof. Before you, his mind was not so clearly analytical. But now, he cannot help be so observant.
     And it bothers him to be so thoughtful. It takes away from being in the midst of it all. Whatever it is.
     "Ready, hmm?" he wonders, following you into the shifting crowd. Edward laughs faintly, finding humor in your audaciousness, but soon enough he manages to let himself go and simple meld with things as they are Becoming.

     Thoughtful, Edward...
     And though they are not here, can you imagine you several 'associates -- perhaps even all twelve of them -- smiling at the notion? Who knows, if it can happen to you, it might even happen to Davydd...
     houghtful, observant. A study of him. Shall he make a Decadent of you?
     Yes. He says it with his eyes. The curve of his smile. You know the fangs have distended behind them. You can see it in his eyes. Yes. And the smile spreads, slanting. Fingers curl around your fingers, and he turns as he backs into the folding and enfolding bodies of the forever-morphing dancefloor. Inward, outward. It is organic. And you... you who feed off life...
     How could you ever resist it?
     And as soon as you and he are swallowed by the humanity around you, the drug surges against his blood. Can you feel it? You can see it as he unfolds into dancing.
     Your party boy. Your club youth from the City of Lights. It is easy to think him in swirling lights of a Paris disco. He is... in his native land here... in lights, in music, in a swarm of bodies.

     Shall we be like this for eternity? Edward coyly agrees to the reverie, moving closer to you as his own arms lift above his head. We could be at this all night, really, well until the sun begins to rise, and we rush home in gales of laughter. Edward closes his eyes, encouraging the thoughts to dissipate, banishing them to another time, another moment where he might be pensive and reflective. That time is not now.
     When he opens them, the world is rejuvenated. He laughs brightly, but never leaves you. Touching is not optional. Thighs, hips, waist, chest....they touch and shift, moving in time with you. Hands come to rest upon his dark hair, curled into fists, and he sways easily, remembering what it is like to be home.

     There will be suns that rise and laughter that echoes in retreating shadows. There will be gales and bright peals. Roars into the last moments of consciousness. And then the sun will go down and it will begin all over again. Do you doubt it?
     Tonight will be the first night... the first night you and he go roaring into the sunlight...
     Hips. Hands. Waist. Arms. Chest. The separations and space that move between you do so briefly. So that you always feel him. He is all around you. And flashing beneath his sheer black shirt, you -- only you -- can catch a flash of silver. Your chain. Your gift.
     I join your laughter. Loud. To me, it is louder than the music. I am racing. Fitting into place, suddenly, with the universe. Moving without thinking about moving. Feeling you. And fitting there. There.
     The python shifts in colors black and green, and in the colored lights skimming across the dancefloor goes iridescent. The shirt, translucent. You can catch glimpses of his skin. The muscles beneath. The strong arms, the lean form. And he opens his eyes. He smiles.
     And it is golden...
     His arms raise, and fingers slide against your own...

     ...The ride home was cheerful enough. Edward was content to smoke his cigarette as he drove through the streets of the city. Quite well too -- he appeared mostly unaffected by the quantities consumed this evening. But his quietude continued, even if punctuated by smiles in your general direction.
     The beauty of going home in the early morning...London traffic goes the other way. Oh, yes, there is the crossing of town, and that's a pain, but once on the west side, the Cobra ran counter to most of the world's tussle into city center. And once Knightsbridge was breeched, well, the streets were dead silent. Darkness begins to give way to rosy-fingered morning, and the garage door opens at 156, black sports car disappearing from the public streets.

     And he, being young -- in both worlds -- has not the constitution you have learned to have. That has been forged by the many years and eras. He, this young remainder of the noble house of Montague, was floored by his first icicle meth martini. Well, floored is not the right word...
     He was ecstatic...
     Ecstatic on the dancefloor. With you, it was a vertical, virtual romp. He was unstoppable. And then you were there. You were there with him when a mortal boy, seeing your romp, was encouraged by it. And he was entertained...
     ...but only for the duration of his first sip...
     It was a dance that ended with the flick of a tongue, and the young mortal boy stumbled into the dancing crowd...
     And the drive? You were quiet. Valan was singing. To whatever came through your stereo. Moving, constantly. Confined in the small space of the cobra. His body hardened, about to burst. Not just from the Brujah gift you gave him, but with the meth, and with whatever intoxicant that boy was on, and spurred on by the music. He barely sat still enough for the ride. And now the garage door is closing...
     Valan stills, finally, turning his head to you. Such beaming. Such apparent adoration. His emotions, everything. It is on the surface. Gold-green eyes sparkle. "Ami," he murmurs. "Ami, that was brilliant..." His English is so thick. But he uses it. He has used it all night. Are you proud?

     "Oh, yeah, was it?" Edward laughs, leaning in to kiss you quickly before leaning over to push open the car door. He'd hate to watch you fumble with latches. He snickers and shakes his head, reaching in to fish out another cigarette.
     He's needed them tonight.
     "You seemed to have a good time," he murmurs with the smoke between his lips. Edward's head bends faintly as he cups his lighter to the tip of the cigarette. Not really needed in the still air of the garage, but much more habit than anything else. The lighter clicks as his head rises, and he inhales deeply as he tosses the flame into a slot on the dashboard. "Sleepy yet?" he smiles, glad to see you so enjoyed yourself.

     "Dieu! Non!" You spared him the fumbling with latches, oui, but getting out of this car is another matter. And so, full of grace, he half tumbles out of it. But at least he lands on his feet. "I am not going to be able to sleep..." The door closes, ah such a lovely sound, solid engineering. And Valan rounds the car and then you. Arms around your waist. He is only an inch shorter than you or so and so his mouth reaches your ear with no trouble. "But... I am ready for bed..."
     You don't say...
     Fingers curl at your stomach and Valan laughs, softly -- god be praised for that -- and then he sighs. A bend of his head, a kiss left at the crook of your shoulder and neck. "It was brilliant. See, I knew you were a dancer... it took all I had in me," his French tumbles from him now, starting and stopping on odd cadence, "...not to lay down on my back on the dancefloor. But now... we are at home..."
     You figure, in your age and wisdom, that you probably have another two hours of this to contend with. And then, he will fall into the instant sleep of youth who has not yet learned how to disobey the sun. You have seen it already. When he goes stiff into sleep midsentence. Unless, of course, you lull him beforehand...

     Cool skepticism creeps across Edward's features as he looks at you askance, but with humor and love. He does anticipate that this too, will not last. But how you make it seem it will go on well into tomorrow. "Lay upon the floor," he replies between smirking lips, "...that...woulda been interesting."
     Edward pushes up to stand, arm at your waist. "And now," Edward puffs, closing door behind him, "...you think you're ready for bed?" I don't think so, ami. And he chuckles again, pushing the button on his eyes to lock the car and then another that sends the garage door downward.
     The garage door motor whirs as the metal door slowly slides to the Earth. Edward removes the cigarette, twirling it around two fingers to the ground, flicking ash away. With arm at your waist, he turns you both towards the inner door to the kitchen area. "Vi seemed to like you, that's a good thing," he grins, diverting the conversation. "What did you think of it all? Full of shite, eh?"

     "I liked Viola. She was nice. She likes you -- it is easy to see why you like her. She has a brain between her ears, Edward..." Not like Dahlia, or most of the rest of the lot. "She has a sort of... ah... what is it in English?" He pauses for a long time. Going over the slang he has heard. What he has tried to memorize. "Ah...hmmm... motherly like a chicken...?" Mother hen.
     Gold-green eyes are narrowed as he looks to you, as you move him, and he smiles uncertainly, then shakes his head. You know what I mean. "Anyway... I am glad your friend approved of me. The other one... ah... Penny? Who is he? He did not stay long..."
     "Next time," Valan begins again after only a half-breath's hesitation, "I will lay on the floor when I want to lay on the floor... you will see..."
     There is a slight pause as you take him into the house. But rapid French begins again. Rapid and tumbling, even as he is coursing. Vampiric sight, vampiric nature was drug enough -- but the meth on top of it? It is a wonder he is not spinning in circles like some out of control machine. A whirlybird. "I liked it," he says softly. "But I liked it most of all because you and I were on the town. I got to dance with you..." His free arm gesticulates, "...finally... Meurelle. But you know... I like it better when we dance in your living room and fuck on the sofa..."
     Such... elegance...

     Edward snorts and looks over at you, brows furrowing in surprise. "Your language's gettin' appalling," he chuckles and pushes open the door, revealing the inside of 156. "Here, gotta do something with the alarm," he says, leaving you perched at the doorway while he moves around towards the foyer to find lights.
     "And yeah, Vi's a good bird. Never cause no one any trouble," he says louder so you can hear him.
     There. The hallway light comes on. And no ringing alarm. He reached it. "And ne'er you mind, Penny...he's a waste of space," Edward returning to view and turning kitchen lights on. "He's a leather bond, dontcha know."
     Edward sighs and pulls smoke from his lips, setting it into a handy ashtray. When he breathes again, smoke pours around him. "Alrighty. Time for bed."

     London will do that to a man, will it not? But Valan simply acknowledges it with a flush, a grin and a bright laugh. It is true. There is no protestation, no denial. Valan closes the door to the garage, locks it instinctually...
     And then he is striding into the kitchen. His will carries him faster than his mind can register it. He ends up in the dining room and has to ease his way back into the kitchen parlor. Wide-eyed. Que s'est? Gold eyes blink at the light, then narrow at it until they adjust.
     Is he not beautiful when he is wasted? He is the picture of overindulgence... the very portrait of it. Wanton without artifice...
     But he smiles, and the smile is warm though it is not living. And with ... practiced motions he strolls into the kitchen again, back to you. He has learned how to walk. How to mask the practiced intent. But it will take many years before he has it down as you do. It will take perhaps centuries before he could master something more like Plantagenet's liquid stride upon this world. He is like a colt, Valan. All legs and arms and knees. An awkward age is 1...

     "What?" Edward asks, standing shoulder-on in the kitchen archway. He looks over to see you, reaching for what remains of his cigarette. Hand presses a flat button, dimming the lights. He chuckles, "Anyone home in there?"

     Your laughter, ami. It lights your face. It makes you beautiful. Has anyone ever told you this? Or will it all be me -- who gets to tell you these things for the first time ever. Have you ever had another like me? Surely, in 600 years... there was one or two who were special to you once...
     For someone who was so... effervescent earlier, Valan is strangely quiet now. But the smile has never left him. It has not left him once all night. But for when you kiss it away. "Do you," he murmurs at last, standing at you now. Warmth pressed to you. A vision in python and sheer black shirt. Smelling of the club, alcohol, cologne and you. "Do you know how beautiful you truly are and how much I love you..."
     And that was in unbroken English...
     Valan leans in, a press against you, you against the archway. "You are alright? You have been quiet tonight, ami... you are much in thought..." He answers his own question. Do you not imagine there will be a time when you and he finish one's own sentences?
     Or... like Ian and William, need not speak at all?

     "Hmm?" Edward chirps, enjoying the last drags of his smoke, then twisting to crush it out. "Yeah, yeah," he waves off, hand landing at his waist, then around you. He breathes dragonlike, and then moves you both towards the corridor. "And I don't know why you're complimenting me, ami," Edward says in French, "...you must have run out of things to say," he smiles.
     "But really, I'm glad you enjoyed the evening out. I wasn't sure if you were ready," he smirks, "...and I'm still not sure," he laughs. "I think I am getting afflicted with the disease," he shudders. "Worry disease. Shit. I hate it."

     "Why are you worried, ami," comes the warm voice, the soft voice of your lover. His arms circle you. There is no comment for the compliment. You tease me, ami. But I know you tease me. You're still gorgeous. And mine. And it makes the smile explode into a grin. Sudden seeming.
     "I know I am new, oui?" The French comes in a tumble once more, but softer now. "But... I am not easy to break. I had a brilliant time," a reassuring squeeze for that, "...and I bit a man on the dancefloor and no one knew or saw... it was good, yes?" Another squeeze.
     Do not worry, ami. I am not going anywhere anytime soon alone. "Besides... you were with me," Valan murmurs. "And you will be with me for a while, yes?" And he smiles. A while could mean eternity between you.

     "Oui," Edward confesses, arms encircling as you hit the stairs. You're right. "I know..." he sighs, "...you won't break, but you are new. There's just..." Edward releases you so that you might face each other instead, "...there's a lot out there, ami. I haven't -begun- to tell you. And...no, no you are no match for any mortal. This is true. But that...is the bottom of the food chain, ami," Edward murmurs, brow furrowing.
     "Shall I tell you now...of those who hunt immortals. Immortals and mortals alike? Or the werewolves that can easily destroy a..." he smiles, "...a handsome yearling as you are. Even I...would rather not see one," he groans, shaking his head at the notion. "Or things worse, ami. Things worse. You are now in a different pool, and in this pool..." he shrugs. You are the weakest.
     "Maybe," Edward looks down between you, black outfit as shiny as it was when you began this night, "I worry on it too much, ami. But...I just know...how this pool works..."

     Werewolves. That gets a skeptical look. Like in the movies, ami? "Were...wolves?" And there he pauses, eyes narrowed. But he likes the compliment. "Handsome yearling... I like this. It makes me feel..." Gloriously possessed. "...golden and virile..."
     He is quiet and he is still, remarkably so considering the past moments in the club, garage, kitchen. But you are serious, and so is he. "Eduard," Valan whispers, "we cannot worry about that which we cannot control. But what we -can- control is ... how I go out into the world... what I should be taught... things I should know. Perhaps things I should become. That is... how you stopped your own Maker from worrying, is it not? How William and Davydd... did it... if their Makers are even still around, I do not know so much as that. But... you have all done it. It is the trick to surviving. You do not have to be an immortal to have to do this...oui?"
     "As for the things that go bump in the night," Valan shrugs. "For now... safety in numbers... and let the worry go. Who would touch me with you near at hand..."
     This much, at least, is true. Few would want to anger you. Let alone, the ones who love you.

     The following sigh is deep. Edward's chest heaves heavily and he listens attentively, face downcast, eyes closing. It is how he absorbs the world.
     "Even...if I told you everything, ami," he whispers, nose coming to yours, "...even if we are together. There is nothing to say...that another Being...would not..." and his jaw clenches, Edward's face softening in the same moment. Resolution.
     "There's nothing to say that even if you knew everything and we were together that some would not stop to hurt you, ami," Edward manages to say. "Some are like that. See...how some went into Chinon, oui? No fear there, ami. None. And they know what the name Plantagenet means."
     "Look," Edward murmurs, eyes opening, "...I should not be so. I know this. You are right. But I cannot help feeling as this right now."

     "Maybe some night you will tell me what the name Plantagenet means," there is a try for a smile. "I do not know much of the world, or how those I have met fit in it. Perhaps we can talk of it sometime...I would like that." An understanding of the new framework. Or, the framework that has been there all the while.
     And then Valan moves, bending, so that with his hands he may direct your face to look at him, that he may capture those opening eyes when they focus on something. Let it be me...
     "Then this life, ami, is as rich as any mortal's. With the same perils," he murmurs, his eyes intense though his words are soft, "...and the same joys. We merely have more time. If all goes well, we have All Time. That is all it means. There is still... frailty... if there weren't, would the world be even half as beautiful?"
     Valan straightens and he kisses you. A soft brush of his mouth. "There is nothing to say that a wrong fall in Switzerland would have killed me, and yet... we vaulted down the mountain, Edward..." This is the same, this life. "Come, let's go lie down. I will pour you a drink... you and I will lie in warmth, it will be easy to put worry in its place then..."

     He manages a small slant of a smile. Sometimes, he even looks his age. "Sometimes, I do not think I can tell you all you need to know fast enough," Edward smiles. "I will tell you how Maria stopped worrying -- I do not ever think she did to begin. Or...the others. I do not know. I have never asked. Maybe, I should."
     You are more philosophical, perhaps that is true. Edward is quiet, but moves at the notion of resting together. "I...will tell you of Plantagenet...my friends." The others. "That is...the easiest way to begin other things, I guess..."

     Valan nods, and he is quiet again. Himself. Vibrant and golden, but the party boy of Paris is nowhere in sight. You are among the very few -- non, you are the only one -- who knows the Valan beneath the party boy of Paris. And so he takes your hand. He is still warmed by the blood and the club and the dancing. There is always electricity when he touches your hand. Dieu. You are so ...
     "What would you like to drink... scotch, wine or brandy?" And with these quiet words he leads you from the corridor to the stairs. You and he -- your journey shall end at the bed tonight, rather than fits against the sofa, carpet, dining room table or first available wall...
     "I know the name... from history... obviously," back to the subject at hand. Plantagenet. "But... what is its relevance to the modern world where there are few kings, no empires left, and ruins for castles..."

     His fingers wrap strongly around yours as Edward begins up the stairs. His feet thud heavily upon the steps, sounding along the balustrade. "Oh," he exhales for a long moment, "...maybe...scotch. It goes well with my mood," Edward chuckles, finding humor at last.
     He takes another few steps, then says suddenly, "Well, it is a name now like...Rothschild, deKyuiper, or...Gagarin. Old family names that still...walk the earth. Move and pull strings. Still deal in things that most of the world thinks has given way to multi-national corporations, governments, agencies, and geo-economics. They are...geo-economics," Edward smiles.
     "Didn't know I new big words, did you, ami?" he grins.

     Rothschild. deKyuiper. Gagarin. Such names. And among them... Plantagenet? "I thought they all were gone. Ended with... what was it... the humpbacked king -- Richard, as history tells...? He must move in secreted ways, the brother of Richard I..." He does recall your earlier brief lesson. When you confirmed the suspicions William's paintings created.
     As he heads down the passage to the bedroom, he is laughing, your Valan. Turning to look to you. Such words. "I am trying to keep up, ami... and... such language, such words, ami. You're, as you say, wretched sexy..." Mon Dieu, but he has picked up your vernacular of English...
     He settles again, strolling now past the door, your fingers clasped. "Geo-economics," he softly repeats, waiting for you to continue. You have his attention, his serious attention again. Fingers loosen when bedroom is reached, and he turns, pausing at the makeshift bar -- a collection of drinks left from other nights loitering within. And scotch is fetched and two glasses.
     He's going to try it?

     He blushes at the notion of being sexy when using large words. Edward shakes his head, moving through the door. "They all move in secreted ways. Many you think have gone...are not, ami. They are...just different now. William...is like that. And the world still trembles when they decide something," Edward grins, watching you move to the bar. He...flops onto the bed, bringing his feet up to remove his boots.
     "The Medicis...ah...they still enjoy art and the papacy," Edward smirks. Unlace left. "Anjou? A few of them still bother the Spanish. Mountbatten? Saxe-Coburg? Borbon?" he shrugs. "Why should any of them have gone?" he says softly, boot thudding to the floor.
     "And...not all of the Romanovs were killed at Ykaterinburg," he adds, distracted by something on his right boot. Damn. A scuff.

     And this is why, his gilt-green eyes echo, Our World is full of the old politics. You see it snap into place. "It is not the echoes of those who once were kings," Valan murmurs, "who set up the... city-state like provinces in our world, but... the ...former kings and kingmakers...themselves?" Shocking. Extraordinary. His eyes narrow, his face... his porcelain like complexion -- that creamy, golden porcelain -- stilling after you speak.
     "I... suppose that is so," Valan continues, "...in a world where beings might live forever. You are right. Why should any of them have disappeared? Their... disappearances? Are for their own... convenience?" He is at the bed not long after. So young. So modern. To hear of such things. Is it any wonder that he is in wonder at it?
     "Ami..." he murmurs and he holds your glass of scotch now out to you. Bottle and remaining glass on the side-table. "And so... what geo-economics does Plantagenet control, that the world shudders when he speaks?" We will get to you later.... yes?

     "Hmm?" Edward blinks, really taken with his boot. He lets it lower, seeing you there with extended hand. "Some are those themselves, others are people...who were from those times and simply have not changed their ways. But...are smart. You...learn to live," he finishes in a whispers, taking a swallow of the scotch. "Ah, thank you, ami," Edward smiles, setting it to the side to finish his boot.
     "Plantagenet still deals in art, in money. Politic. He is...was...one of the Princes I have told you about in our pool. He, Dunross," Edward bobs, trying to remember, "...hmm. Now Davydd wants to be Prince of London. Girault...he has done the job too. But in another life," he smiles, touching your cheek, "...when they were as you once were too...they were...Medicis, Angevins, Llewelyns, Borbons. But ah...you have not met Alfonso," his finger lifts and he nods. "One day you shall."
     "And lest you think otherwise," Edward's French comes, "...some did die at Ykaterinburg," he nods, "...but we managed to secret away two," he murmurs with a smile. And now you know one of the Secrets.

     He may only blink. At this. Such things. And so he lets it sink in. To dwell within him for a time. For the space of sitting on the bed and reaching out for the bottle and the second glass. He pours again as eyes study the color of the liquid. The quality of your voice. The words you speak.
     "And this is why what happened in Chinon was shocking. That anyone... and here is your lesson," a glance to you and a smile, "...that one who moves the world should have been so vulnerable." I understand. Valan sips at the scotch and then sets it aside. He can only take it in the smallest of sips. He pulls off his own shoes. When he bends to give them a tug, the shirt pulls upward, and you can see where the sinews and form of his back dips downward into the python. Such a form. But he looks not long from you. Soon his eyes are back on you again. "How were the Romanovs saved." A pause. "Were you there?" and his eyes widen a notch. You said we.
     And the shock ebbs into another look of quiet wonder. Curiosity. His mind alive. Crackling thoughts against the air and his eyes shine for it. "And this is Plantagenet...and Llewelyn and Medici I have met. He must own much art that paintings should cause the world to... tremble... an odd vocation for the brother of Richard the Lionheart. I would not have thought it..."

     "Well, it is...one of his many abilities," Edward blithely goes on, as if speaking of the weather. He reaches over for his drink, kicking boot off simultaneously. "He...has a skill. For seeing beautiful things. And, yes, he is a fighter too. He is...many things." Edward states. The scotch is swallowed, and he turns his attention to you, elbows on his knees.
     "Anastasia and Alexei," Edward launches, "...did both leave Ykaterinburg. We...yes...myself and one other... were asked to go. A favor for a friend of a friend of a friend. I did not ask," he grins at you, stopping you before you ask, "...as goes many thing. Someone owes someone else, markers are called in, or for some reason, it is important for Kindred to step into mortal situations. That...is how things go. And so...we went," he sighs, shaking his head. "We...crossed what is now Germany, Poland, the Baltics...but when you see those names," he looks up at you, "...you see politics. You see the map boundaries. For us...the boundaries were invisible ones. Werewolf country. Dark, old vampire places. Witch coven lands. Those are the ways we see...how the world is divided."
     "And so..." he goes on, as if weaving a tale by camplight, "...myself and Marcus...ah...a friend that Marcus...we saw to this favor. We do favors," he grins at you, "...so others owe us favors. It's not unlike how your father works, oui? Or any others? Ah, well, so, we made it to Ykaterinburg, but at the same time the White Russians did as well." Edward shakes his head then, face darkening.
     "Friends of the Baba Yaga, those are," he says softly, as if remembering something horrible. "They are her work. And...you know the rest." The Romanovs were killed at Ykaterinburg, in the wine cellar of their hiding home. Save one, as the oft-spread rumor went. And then two, as more modern DNA told. And it was true.
     "We left them near Regensburg," he recalls, squinting. How stark. The club clothing and this conversation. "In the Duchy." The real powerholders in Germany before the Bavarian consolidation, Wallenstein.
     "But even that...I should not have told you," Edward smiles. "The very knowing of it...some would wish to still discover. We live in a world with secrets inside secrets inside lies..."

     Shoes are gone, and the shirt after. And after? The python begins to coil away from his hips. Beneath it, emerald-to-forest green boxers. Silk. Some habits never die. He is quite coordinated, as it turns out. An eye for fashion, your Valan. Do you ever wonder if you made some Toreador quite unhappy with your choice, Meurelle?
     And all I can do is shake my head. To wonder. To look at you and to marvel at you. "I will ... say nothing, of course. I ... should imagine that... the name Plantagenet is not used in... mixed society? And such words as you ever tell me... these I keep to myself, oui?" Besides, who else does he talk to? If not you? Valan rises with a smile, and the python falls away. Stepped out of, then are left to the floor for now. He'll hang them up tomorrow. "Amazing. It is the word I have repeated since I met you. I do not think there will be a time when it shall not seem so, ami. And so? This is where Plantagenet stands. He is your ally... your cousin... your friend... and more. Who is this Alfonso? You have so many friends, ami," and he chuckles, softly. Still, with that wonder. "So many that you know or have known. Do I ever seem... small to you... in comparison? So new, as to be like a child?"
     In nothing but the boxers, Valan moves to sit again, reaching outward for his glass. His remaining, golden scotch. Shimmering. He is shimmering. And he is yours.

     "Not a child," Edward grins, head tilting to the side as he gives you a lingering once over. "Never that, ami," he smiles. "How...could I have made love to a child?" He shrugs. You are nothing close.
     "I think," Edward's head leans to the opposite shoulder, "...that you are inexperienced and ripe for someone to hurt in this world," he murmurs. "That is my main worry. Or that you...are unfamiliar in this universe and so may...not think of the implications of things...like having too much of anything so soon." Edward grins, thinking of the night's chemicals. "But yes, it is best to keep things to yourself at all times, ami. Let nothing show, okay? I'll...tell you about my friends," and now Edward uncoils himself from his seat, taking a shot of scotch and putting glass down again, "...if you come lie down, hmm?" His fingers move to his waist, beginning the task of disrobing.

     There is much that comes with a live of decadence and pleasure. Did I ever think it would be free? Did it cross my mind when my eyes opened for the first time...
     No, the second time...
     Valan smiles, laughing quietly. Laughing at himself. It is true. I am naive, ami. Naive in this world I barely know. But it will not be the end of me. "I will ... let nothing show, in this life... as my last. I am... used to giving nothing away, ami..."
     Silk slides against the sheets, slides against his skin. He can hear it. He can feel every fiber. He leaves his scotch behind. It is not his taste tonight. And turning, easing beneath and between covers, Valan twists to watch you. His eyes sparkle, gold and green, and he watches you. From behind a veil of gold. And the mouth makes its motion, pulling in a smile. How could he not watch you uncoil from your clothing...

Posted by rowan at February 11, 2001 07:51 PM