Music from the music room. How long has it been since this parlor has shone so? With the heavens arching overhead, the constellations gathering it would seem toward the sound, the perfect patterns of the marble floor, it is proper that Purcell's 'Dido et Aeneas' lifts lightly from the harpsichord...
     Jeweled fingers, slender banker fingers, the digits of a prince, move lightly upon the black keys, and from his fingertips music springs. Quickly they move, the rubies on his fingers catching the light of the chamber, though low it is. And cinnamon eyes look to them, detached. Girault-Antonio di Medici is not truly watching where his fingers go, how they get there. They move, and there is music, and that is all.
     But his attention is keen upon the sound. And all sounds. The sounds of this house in its evening stirring. The sound of approaching lords and masters, princes and earls and knights. And up above, there is a woman sleeping, a disturbed sleeping beauty in a vampire's tower...
     It has the ring of a story, does it not?
     Girault sits tall, straight, his hair is softened curls that extend over his shoulders, unbound, dark brown over the brown jacket he is wearing. His almond and olive complexion. His face that he seemingly stole from a Raphael painting. He clothing very modern, very impeccable. Brown suit from Milan, crimson shirt from Rome. Brown Italian shoes. Everything tailored to the highest and richest degree.
     He arrived some time ago... and where were the two of you? Late to rise? Or was it early to bed? He has been made perfectly comfortable. There is a selection of cognac and scotch, both of the finest the house has to offer. Naturally. And small delectables, some of which have been tasted.

      It was a little of both...
     After a night in the vaults of Strathfayr, cushioned between his husband, the furs and the stone, it was back to the business of running this house, of checking in on the guest, of making calls and, for William, painting. But there was a moment, a moment taken and a moment secreted in the steam of the morning's shower. Girault was driving up then...
     By the time Girault was up and over the bridge and being warmly escorted into the keep, they had parted ways. William was upstairs, tending to Victoria. Ian was on the first floor, tending to other necessary business. One prince moved into a studio and dusted off a few sketches brought up from the vaults. The other prince made a few phone calls.
     After Girault settled within the music room, servants were able to get moments with them both, separately...
     And now the sound of feet may be heard. The languid approach of the house's darker lord. From above, around the spiral stairs, passing beneath an arch. The air lies itself low for him when he arrives. Black hair short, mussed in the modern, clothed in a dark blue trousers (a good match for his eyes), a fitted white shirt, short of sleeve.

     The music stops. Cinnamon colored eyes lift. A black eyebrow quirks. And Girault-Antonio stands. "Guillaume..."

     The phone calls were essential. He'd not have done them otherwise. One to Sidhe-Bai, as she's called, and others to the US. Ian immediately rejoined William, upon hearing of the latest guest's arrival, and once the door is open to the music room, moves out of William's shadow to become visible. Dressed in black and light green turtleneck, Ian's a reminder that spring can still be a bit chilly.
     A smile comes as William is greeted, and Ian remains quiet during the reacquainting.

     For a moment, I am speechless. Me! Of all people to have nothing to say! I do not know that I have ever seen you so... so. You. Girault looks from William to Ian and then is his smile quick to you both. "My friends," Girault says out of his reverie, standing away from the harpsichord and its bench, his arms coming out wide, as if he shall embrace you both. "It is good to see you. It has been too long. And were it under better circumstances, still it is a joy." And, yes, you are embraced. William first -- who could not want to hug this man? -- and then you, Ian, a proper European greeting.
     He stands back a minute, to look at you both and then he raises his eyes up to the Almighty. "Such men, Your Worshipfulness," he murmurs and then he smiles, one rubied hand -- he is wearing several rings on both hands, the rubies are incredible -- gesturing to the drinks and the glasses. "I am having scotch and brandy and cognac. You have, to my shame, the greatest stores of liquor in the world. I will argue that my wine collection is better, but this, a masterpiece. Your servants impeccably well-mannered and generous, they are a testament to your greatness. You will both have a glass with me," that didn't sound like a question.

     "A brandy," William confirms, since the guest will be pouring. "Too much scotch..."

     "No, you are right, amice," Girault pipes up, "...I cannot take your singing...and for you, Ian?" He smiles at you, he does not have to ask, but maybe you will surprise him. There is always that chance, is there not?

     From the embrace and the pouring of drinks, William looked to you. He watched Girault embrace you. Platonically. Very platonically. He has nothing but pride for you, what you mean to him, and how you look? You can feel it across the air, what there is between you. You are amazing. You shall have two men to sing your praises. One has. One wishes. William smiles, small movement of his mouth meaning so much, showing so much, and dark eyes look to Girault as he finds a place in one of the chairs. He looks around, noting the comforts afforded Girault, and the smile slants. "You have been given the royal treatment mais oui," he says, his French languid, voice deep and quiet.

     "Cognac," Ian chooses, deciding something different for the occasion. He exhales, letting go the faint nervousness he had. Who knows what Girault might say or do? But there was nothing uncomfortable in the greeting, and so Ian's smile grows brilliantly. Blinding in his own beauty. "And yes, apparently everyone knew who had arrived," Ian charms, smile angling to a grin. "They are a good group, yes, thank you. And you're too kind about our bar...one day, I will be so lucky as to see your cellars." He can only imagine.
     "Our apologies for being distracted for a few. We knew approximately when you would arrive, but not when, precisely. Was your travel alright? Nothing untoward, hmm?" He takes the cognac, causing his sweater to rise a little, exposing his wrist.
     How comfortable he feels. Ian keeps himself at William's arm, grey eyes flickering between the two of you. A blush has taken hold at his cheeks, as he feels eyes upon him. No two men make him feel more handsome than you.

     Girault makes a soft sound, like a tush, it was nothing' sound. He pours the cognac for you, another brandy for William. For himself, also cognac. The liquid is itself amazing, it is as brilliant as you are. Girault must steal a look, still it comes with the air of Platonic, See I Am Only Looking, William -- I Have Eyes. There is nothing outwardly lascivious about it. Are you beautiful? Yes, one of the world's most beautiful. Does Girault appreciate it? Yes. Yes, he does. And your charm works on him. It works on them both. "Ah, you must come the both of you, to Italy," Girault warmly but softly says, it is not a grandiose statement, made with his usual flair but with something more personal of Him. "I will show you the cellars in Florence. Besides, there is work William must see in Italy, when his schedule clears," a pointed cinnamon look to William. You are too long with Jezebel! Give the rest of us a chance! "I should like both of you to visit my poor palazzo," he smiles, the smile exudes affectionate warmth. He doesn't make any sexual advances. But, as he would say, his eyes are not broken! There is only so much a man may do...
     The hand that cups the glass of cognac to you, Ian, is strong and slender both. Graceful. Not a warrior's hand, but an artist's purely. An administrator's. There are four ruby rings altogether, two upon each hand. Those on his right hand, which extends the glass to you, are cut in marquis style -- one is a ruby surrounded by diamonds, the other is a diamond surrounded by rubies. Those on his left hand are cut in a rose style, a style popular in Venice in the late 1500s, much like your magician's ring. "For you," Girault says, proffering the glass. He smiles at you and then he looks to William. "And for you, my friend." The brandy given to William by his other hand. He takes his own glass and sits once more upon the harpsichord's bench. "My trip was good, Villon was disappointed that I was leaving him so soon before we could play with his puppets," a running gag, Girault's mouth puckers at it, holding a great grin in check. It shines in his eyes. "And you both... there is something in Scotland's water? You should bottle it and sell it. You look ... amazing."

     "If we bottle it, then everyone will have it," William murmurs, "... and what would be the point of this?" And then that smile, that devastating grin, it slays wherever it spreads. He accepts the compliment with a half nod, but turns to Ian even as he accepts the glass of brandy. The smile takes on a deeper note. I would kiss you now, but he would enjoy it too much. "It comes from good living," William explains, lifting the glass for a sip. He and Girault both stare for a moment, and both wake from it -- William stirring from the reverie by settling into his chair, Girault by lifting the glass and sipping. "Merci," William whispers, and a glance to Ian again comes with an indigo wink. "You were not waiting long we hope. I had to check on her," Victoria, ".. she seems to be resting well enough..." Of course, Dominate helps. "She will need to eat again soon," William quietly notes.

     So much male energy in the room. So much of it you stir. They both want to stare at you, openly. They want to do nothing more than to talk about you, or to hear you talk about Anything. They don't want the other to see how they are affected and they don't want you to feel uncomfortable at the center of so much male attention. But it stirs on the air like fragrance.

     "Puppets?" Ian frowns, not understanding this. He shrugs, not really caring much, and as William takes a seat, he moves to sit close to him. The nearest comfortable sofa arm. The two rings on his hands, one on each, are about the only ornaments he wears, save the cross at his chest. Too understated for most, but each item has a personal signifcance. It's the only way such gets worn.
     "William has done such a good job with her," Ian compliments, looking down at his mate with a smile. "He has more patience than I," and when did that happen? "Patience about business, certainly, but for people? I find that I have always had more difficulty in this arena. William is much more compassionate," he confesses, smiling before he takes a drink.
     "It is good you could come, Girault. For though compassion and planning may be here, she is...in quite a difficult state. Some nights, I wonder if she should ever really recover," honesty there. Ian inhales, brows arching in sympathy and nearing defeat. "If you cannot help her, no one can, Dignitary."

     Girault sips upon the cognac, and then it is cradled as closely, as dearly as if it were a beloved child. "Si," he exhales with a slight frown, but in truth his expression is more academic than anything else. "I have been visiting with her," he says.
     "There is hope, but it will be a long road." Girault sets his drink upon a coaster that rests upon the harpsichord itself. It is not his first glass. "The good news?" he asks you both, eyebrow lifting. He assumes you would want that first. "I have not found any evidence of tampering, that the blast that was described to be was done to her. I do not see any karmic curse, anything of that nature. Her soul is intact. But," and here is the other part of it. Girault exhales, "Her mind is splintered. I spoke with three," hand held up for emphasis, number indicated, "...distinct facets of her Being. Her soul," he ticks off with his other hand, "... her pain and her mortal memory. I am sure that I will find more. As with things like this, this kind of trauma, the mind is trying to protect the body, protect the soul, but is doing so at the cost of its own destruction."
     He lifts the glass for a sip. "But, this only have I learned in transit," while he was on his way. "I may discover more as I go deeper." Girault frowns, looking to you both and then to his own hands. "I do not believe you can do more for her than you are already doing," Girault murmurs. "Compassion and planning, being her friends. She will have to have very intense care, very intense work to get her ... put back together again. To even hope... to get to that point. I wish there were better news, my friends. But that is what it seems to be."
     Girault takes another sip of the cognac and his beauteous face holds a beatific smile. "Si, si," a hand gesticulates. "The puppets. Did you not know that Francois has an entire Punch and Judy set? But of all the ones he has, he is especially fond of the Messereich." The grin blossoms and his sips again at the smooth and fiery drink.

     There follows the clearing of a Plantagenet throat. The audible swallow of laughter. He will get to Villon and his hand puppets... later. First, there is more important matters to discuss. His expression is placid, with laughter only at the very edges of his eyes. But soon even that is gone. William is quiet for a time, indigo eyes lifting from his mate and his compliment to the glass of brandy he holds, cradled at his stomach. The white shirt does nothing to conceal the physique that lies beneath it. There is no masking that either. But as his thoughts settle, so too do his eyes on Girault.
     "From what I have seen on the outside, not having your View," an eyebrow lifts, "... I would say that she would need around-the-clock supervision, if not care. This sort of care taking," William admits, "... it is not my forte, amice. Despite what my husband says." A glance to Ian, a quick smile. Merci. "However, I am...adamant," and indigo now becomes pointed, keen and William leans slightly forward, "...that she be with someone I would trust to do this. You know... how short a list this is."
     After a moment, William settles back, leaning into the crook of the sofa and against the golden man who sits upon the arm of it. He sips at his brandy. "What do you recommend? Send her to Spa?" William shrugs. What does one do with the immortal and insane apart from a stake in the heart and a quick blade?

     "Not Spa," Ian murmurs, just in case such needed to be said. "There is nothing for her in Spa. And she could be turned over to Villon," he reminds. "Perhaps he or the Justicar could assist."

     "I have thought of this, naturally." Girault says, he twists and sets his glass aside, his fingers thereafter lacing upon his stomach. "Certainly she could benefit with Villon. We tease him," Girault smiles warmly, "...but the fact remains that he is who he is because of the works he enacts. Like him or not, and there are those who do not I understand, he has a proven success rate. You have sent Toreador to him before, I believe." Catharine. "A violinist from America. Sometimes, letting go is the surest way to have one's end achieved."
     Girault looks to Ian (it is hard not to), inclining his head. You are spectacular. I know he knows it; he knows that I know it. What can I do? "I have no doubt that Villon or Christian could see her placed well. I have confidence in them both. But... I am thinking... they would call upon me at any rate to help try to put her together again. I can think of no better restorative place, no better place to hope to find oneself again, than in my palazzo. And in my care." He looks to you both. "You may protest it if you like," Girault smiles warmly. "You will not hurt my feelings, yes? Besides, I love and respect you both. If you do not agree please, my friends, just say so..."

     This whole matter is ...troublesome. There are no good answers. You know that William struggles with it. Helpless to do anything but watch. He knows there is nothing he can do, nothing more he can offer her. William exhales and swallows brandy. "You are kind to offer, Girault. A woman you do not know. You have business that will be interrupted..." Whatever it is that you do. Indigo lifts to Girault and then to Ian. Settling his attention on you, William lifts an eyebrow.
     What do you think? Not that it's any of our business really... I suppose...
     And he, like Girault, takes a moment to look at you, be affected by you, he all the more so. The air is alive with it, you feel it against your skin. You are brilliant.

      "Not to be intrusive," Ian says politely, hand upon William's shoulder, "...but...are you not occupied with Saarbrucken?" Yes, even Ventrue have heard of that. "That work is...very important." To everyone, actually. "William is right," Ian murmurs, looking at his cognac. "Victoria is not your problem. And she would take...much of anyone's time." It's much like contemplating sending a family member away.
     "She is...family...to us," he sighs, not knowing what to do. And as family, may be their responsibility, even if they are not really able to assist.

      And when you touch him, that feeling moves through him. You carry love in your fingertips. William is quiet. He drinks his brandy. He listens.

     "Saarbrucken has demanded much time, yes. There is more work to do, but the panic has begun to settle somewhat. Structures," Girault sighs and he now wears the same concerned look you do. He lost an old friend. It is a hard thing. He understands. "....are still in progress of being rebuilt. It is true." You are right. Such a compelling woman she is -- all who see her open their homes and hearts to her. Even the Dragon.
     "If she is family to you, then... she is family to me. For we are, si..." Family. He embraces you in his world, his friends, two men he holds very dear. One he would wish to hold closer, but one cannot have everything. Girault takes a breath. "I would be involved either way but... si, perhaps for her ... residence, for the mainstay of her care she should have someone less... prone to being suddenly Involved Elsewhere." Girault nods, his attention fixing on Ian. For many reasons. "Where would I be, amice, without your words of guidance. You are right, Ian. I will help however I may, for as long as I may. As for her benefactor, you two are no less busy than I am -- no matter what William may say, as he insists he has retired and is having a relaxing time at home," a wink to William, "... you have no more time than I do. Perhaps it would be best for Villon, Christian and I to come up with a safe alternative to my palazzo." Cinnamon eyes look to William then. He expects he will have more to say...

      "I do say that," William wryly murmurs. "One day you will all believe me, non?" A short chuckle and he finishes his brandy with a sigh, his breath fogging the rounded bowl of the snifter. He sets it aside. "I will trust you to do what is best, Girault. You know where Ian," indigo lifts to you, "...and I both stand, how we feel about her. I expect that knowledge goes far. Victoria is close to both of us," she is privy to information, she knows who we are, what we have done, what we have been through. "I would prefer that all... psychic work be handled by you in confidence. The rest," those great shoulders roll, "I... simply trust that to you. You know my mind."

     "I worry more," Ian notes, "...about what Girault says though...what happens when he is not available? Your palazzo is glorious, Dignitary, but...they are strangers to her. They know nothing of her or her needs. And while we are not the best to deal with her mental state, we are, at least, a home here. Perhaps," Ian nods, "...I know it is asking much, but have you visit with her here? We can make any sorts of arrangements. And when she is more mobile, we can bring her to visit you," and your psychiatrist's couch.
     "Well, visit here, until such time she is able to choose her methods of help."

     Ventrue and their information. Girault nods to William's concerns, a small smile at the corners of his eyes. Girault brings his hands to his mouth, fingers steepling. His lips pucker and then he smiles, broadly, grandly, his hands opening outward. "And it will give me a chance to see you both, si... si... I can do this. Si," his hands lower back to his thighs with a soft sound, "...this is a good compromise. It is... I think... what will be best for her. You are sure?" He looks to you both.
     "And not just because I will be here from time to time..." Girault grins, looking at William in particular. I will try to behave, amice! "It is not so far from here to Saarbrucken. It is a convenient, if cold, decision." Girault looks to Ian. "If you both agree, we will proceed with this..."

     William is quiet for a time. Having Girault around a lot more frequently. Are we sure we want to do this? But he relents after a moment, nodding. "I think it is best for all concerned, oui. Best for her, especially." He exhales, leaning forward and then standing with a pat of his hand to Ian's thigh -- I will be right back. "Anyone want a fresh glass?"

     Ian nods, offering his glass with a smile. He'd just finished the last taste before your serendipitous offer. "If you would allow this, Dignitary...it is much for you to do," Ian says. "But, she would wake up in a strange place with...people she did not know or understand. Or trust, to begin with. She would need you all the time at the palazzo, until she was comfortable. Here..." Ian motions to the room. She knows us and here. "We can trade and she knows those who work here, at least. Even if all we can do is make her comfortable."

     "Please do not think that it is not every bit as vital as reading her karmic fate," Girault smiles to Ian as William rises and pours. He picks up his own glass and offers it to William as well. "Your love and shelter do her...immeasurable amounts of good. For my part, I will try to stay out from under your feet." Girault smiles warmly. "In fact... hearing this, knowing this... I think without your presence, your shelter, your compassion... she would not progress well. She will have the best of both worlds." And I will get to visit with you. Frequently.

     William pours three refills. Two cognacs, another brandy. He glances to you both, a pivot one direction, and then the other. "And I will try not to kick you," William murmurs, grin slanting. "I agree with Ian, we can make it work. Here is best. Or Chinon, if we are able to move. If not, I may have to ...take some time away to finish the Caravaggio. I cannot shelve it completely," he murmurs to you both. Leave you alone. With Girault? Am I crazy?

      "Chinon is another option," Ian nods. How could I have forgotten? "She knows Chinon as well as here. She was introduced to both at the same time. So, she may feel as comfortable there, though..." Ian looks at William, "...she did have the incident there." With her Sire. "But...it is closer to both Saarbrucken and Venezia," Ian agrees, nodding. He likes that suggestion even better than Strathfayr.

     "We can move in the summer, as we planned," William murmurs, glass offered to Ian. Girault is next.

     Girault listens to you both. He looks at you both. It is impossible not to and difficult not to stare. The two of you together? It is almost too much. Cinnamon eyes go back and forth as you speak, and he sips at the cognac. It is time for a cigarette. "However you wish to do it. Chinon or Strathfayr, it does not matter. I will let you two decide the wheres and wherefores," Girault murmurs. That is for you to decide. "I will be wherever I need to be."

     William returns to his seat, looking to Ian. "I am fine with staying here for now. But... we can talk about it in a bit." He looks to Girault, inclining his head. "You said she was fragmented.... stress reaction. Do you...have any questions, is there any thing else we can do or provide to you..." William, grasping at some function and purpose in this. He does not know how to merely sit by...

     Ian's gaze moves from William to Girault, interested in the response. He takes a taste of his freshened drink.

     Cognac is rolled in the curve of the glass and Girault shakes his head. "Non, Gui," he murmurs in the familiar. "You, Ian," his gaze travels to you again, "...you have done much already. As for information, I think I need one more visitation before I have additional questions. Your hospitality is unmatched. If my praise of you both is heavy, it is because..." Girault smiles, lifting the glass. "It is simply deserved." He drinks of his cognac, cupping it to him afterwards, he looks to you both. "I will probably settle for the night, make contact with her briefly, and then begin work in earnest tomorrow. I want to make sure I know just how many fragments I am going to have to deal with..."

     Ian sighs softly at his spot on the sofa's arm. He continues to look at his glass, unsure of where all of this is going. It's not sadness he feels, but a sense of disbelief that such a thing could be transpring at all. It is not how Tori's story should have gone.
     "Thank you, Dignitary, for coming," Ian murmurs, seeing the conversation moving towards an end. He stands from his spot, upholstery and linen brushing gently. "If there is anything else you need, please let someone know."

     William has been quiet, mostly quiet for the past intervening moments since the drinks were refreshed. He looked between you, but his mind, too, was elsewhere. Closing his eyes, the brandy is completely drained. One long, Plantagenet swallow. Indigo eyes widen a bit as he sits forward and deposits his empty glass upon a side table. He stands after Ian. "I have asked that you have a personal valet. I was not sure if you would have brought one of your own. And for your...preference... I have provided a countryman of yours. His name is Amadeo."

     Girault rises, eyebrows lifting in a grand arch. "Gui, you are too kind to me. Opening up your home to me. Giving me your Italian men." He comes up to you both, extending his hands. "I know this is difficult for you both," he murmurs. "We will fix this, hmm? We wish her to be well. At her heart, she wishes to be well. We start there, yes?" Si. Girault embraces you both, even as he did in greeting. European, affectionate, a kiss upon each cheek along with the embrace. Girault steps back. "It is good to see you my friends...truly..."

     "You too, Dignitary," Ian smiles, nodding at the cheering words. "Despite the circumstances, it will be nice to see you frequently," Ian adds, hands slipping into his pockets, elbow at William's.

     William's eyes widen a touch again. "Under the same roof again, amice. Who would have thought it..." He grins in a slant then turns to Ian. After you. I want to watch you go...

     So do I, for that matter. Girault laughs quietly, "Si... well, this time you will be parading Italians in front of me. I suppose I have earned that, my friend. Good night... both of you. I will see you ...later..."

Posted by rowan at July 05, 2003 01:50 PM