It was the middle of the night when you received her call a few nights before. She bantered with you for a bit, then eventually asked if you minded a visit from her. Being the gracious host you are, and adopted 'brother', you granted her the request, much to her relief. London was a bit... crowded for her right now, she said. There were things on her mind she needed relative quietude to sort out, which she could not get there.
     Your vagabond sister: Victoria. Vagabond because since she left the 'new world', she's not yet settled. Never staying in one place for too long, almost stubbornly refusing to stop and relax, Tori continued to travel over the last year or so, seeming to be searching for something.
     Oh, you likely heard tales that she was seen in Paris for a very short time, likely catching up with the infamous Madame. And then over to Berlin and Hannover. Then she was back in London once more. Now, she's bound for Scotland.
     She took a private jet by night. Stepping off the small plane, she shields her eyes from the blowing snow and pulls her heavy coat a little tighter together. Moving her gloved hand briefly, she looks for the car that would no doubt be sent for her...

     A car has indeed been sent. Not the limousine, that would be standard, and certainly not the old Jaguar, vintage 1935, luxurious though it is. The weather is too harsh for it this time of year. The roads in the moors too tricky for sportscars. So, what has been sent is a brand new Land Rover, jet black. The lights flash to you, signaling.
     And the driver gets out, amid the blowing flakes of snow. You landed just in time. The frost may keep you here -- unless you want to leave by train -- for a day or two, at least. But then, you probably thought to stay that long anyway...
     It is when the driver emerges that you feel a tingle on the air. And you would know that tingle anywhere, no matter how... changed the appearance may seem.
     William moves toward you, making sure you see him -- how could you miss him? Dressed in a long wool overcoat, a kind of grey-brown, it overlays layers of cinnamon brown and crimson. Gloves and long scarf worn to protect against the weather. And his hair -- it is so short! Not even blown by the wind, barely disturbed at all.
     "A bit more rustic than usual," about the car, "...but I did bring a little something for you to drink on the way..." You know from previous trips that you're about an hour outside of the castle Strathfayr.
     And he is resplendent. Layers of.... something... peeled away from him. Centuries gone, with the snap of his fingers. All that's missing from the Duke is the armor...

     Those delicate hands that have played so many nights on both keyboard and harpsicord alike grab her luggage nearby as though they weighed nothing at all. She is getting stronger, perhaps. As she gets closer, a smile turns her lips up at the corners into a wide smile.
     "William...brother..." she says in a relieved tone. She so dislikes sitting in the back of the limo with a stranger for a driver, driving in silence, left with the turmoil of her own thoughts as her only companion. "It is good to see you, mon ami," she adds as she sets her luggage down so that she may hug her dear friend.
     As she moves closer, waiting for you to respond to her outstretched arms, she looks up and sees the new 'do'... "Oh, William... your hair... it is all gone? I like it." But she misses the locks that used to give you that roguish look. She will not say this, however. Something is... different about you, and it's not just the hair.

     The rogue may be gone, but in his place is the Duke that was there all along. The face of the rogue, the smirking mask has been lowered, discarded utterly. What is left behind is him in the full of his power and Self. Unmasked. Unhidden. The William that so few had ever known, in this time or that. Uncaring. Unrepentant.
     His hand is out to take your bag -- and he won't take no for an answer -- and with his other arm looping around your waist, he smiles, leaning in to kiss each cheek. Instant, mortal warmth -- yes, seemingly quite mortal, natural -- against the cold of the air around you. "It is good to see you, amie," he murmurs, his accent ... odd. Strangely mangled already, for all his speaking of Gaelic since he and Ian arrived. But French still drags and pulls. "It is mostly all gone," as is the beard and any semblance of it. "She did a good job, n'est ce pas? I may have to bring the young woman to the castle. Here, let's get out of the cold," he turns and takes as much of the wind as he can, shielding you with his height and his bulk. "We are so glad you called and have come north.... you should stay through Yule, if you can..."

     All of this boggles her a bit. Why the sudden change? It hadn't been that long since she saw you last, but she hasn't exactly been the best at keeping in touch during her semi-lengthy travels further east.
     The bag is handed to you as she chuckles, and even snuggles into your warmth for an extended moment of time. She is cold to the touch, but she always has been... or is it just the weather? It feels good to leech a bit of that warmth which she has been privileged to feel from time to time.
     "Yes, she did a nice job, indeed," she admits, letting you shield her from the bitter wind and snow. As she moves to get into the car, she smiles, murmuring, "Yule... I'd... I'd like that, actually. Only if I'd not be a bother for staying so long." She's never liked to impose.

     "Ah, of course not. We'd love it. We're just spending a quiet Yule at home this year. No trips. No gallavanting," he murmurs. William lingers the hug, happy to share the warmth, in truth. And there is much of it. And heartbeat, too. He ushers you into the front seat -- yes, with him, he no chauffuer -- and as he holds your hand, helping you up into the raised auto -- as much as a knight would help you mount a horse or stair -- he laughs, "We will be glad for the company. Winter in Scotland is long and dark, full of snow and wind. Ian likes the company... and the distraction..."
     He turns, setting your bag in the back. There is sudden stillness, sudden warmth when all doors are closed and you and he are snug inside. The engine never 'killed', the heat has been running. "You will of course have to suffer my driving but... you like to live on the edge, do you not?" William laughs, and in the lighting of the car, you can see so clearly the aspect of the man you are with. There is something... well, one might call it pure if one didn't know him better... but there is something about him. It is strange. Beautiful. But strange.
     He doesn't belt himself in -- and you can snuggle up if you want. "We're still trying to get a bit settled. We were in France most of the year... for the first time in a long, long while. But we have the tree. I helped to cut it myself. How have you been?" he switches topics as he pulls out of the tarmac.

     She accepts the help up graciously, pulling her long coat up a bit as she climbs in. A booted foot can be seen for an instant beneath a long, heavy winter skirt, then it's covered by the coat once more. Gone are the jeans and tank top, it seems. At least for now. Toreador likely change their clothing preferences quicker than most people change their socks.
     If it were anyone else, she would likely buckle up. But she trusts you with her life, and so it remains ignored as you settle next to her. She does actually slide closer and leans in a bit, murmuring, "You're warm..." Mind if I leech a bit? The smile broadens a bit once more.
     "I accept your offer for Yule, then. But if I overstay my welcome, please tell me." Ever worried, this one is. "Oh, have you decorated the tree? I bet it's the loveliest tree..." she comments almost excitedly. As you ask her how she's been, she murmurs, "Oh, I've been fine.." This is not said with the same excitement about the tree, which returns as she says, "If you haven't decorated it are you going to? Do you want help? Blue and silver always looked beautiful together..."

     "Magic," he murmurs, and the grin -- the rogue's grin -- well, you can't take that from him. It springs from a source natural, like an undeground spring. And he doesn't mind. The car is automatic, he has a free arm. He lays it against the back of the seat, opening the way for you to lean in.
     Magic. What sort of magic warms the skin. What sort of magic makes a heart. What sort of magic makes the immortal seem as mortal as anyone. And that is the nature of the purity. William seems... mortal. It was Ian who noted it first...
     "No, not decorated yet. This year, instead of bossing the servants around.. you and I and Ian will do it ourselves. That is a wonderful idea." Yes, he is quite decided on this. William looks to you as the Land Rover moves out, as the airport in Inverness becomes a memory behind you.
     "I'm glad to hear that," William murmurs. "You have been travelling? I heard you were in Paris. I for one am glad to be out of France for a little bit. I am tired of the bitching." He laughs, eyes brightening.

     Chuckling about the magic comment, Tori does indeed lean up against you, snuggling up like a small child. The cold of the winter still hangs about her, but thankfully she wouldn't necessarily be chilled. Still, she misses the warmth her body once had in its mortality. She could produce warmth if she wished it, but it's too exhausting for her. She'd love to know the key to your success... but for now, she'll just suspend her disbelief and murmur, "Magic, eh? Well, so long as I'm not putting a burden on your heat supply.." A soft chuckle escapes her lips as she finally settles and stills herself, letting out a deep, elongated sigh.
     "Decorating the tree with the two of you would be fabulous, William. I haven't decorated a tree in... centuries. I think, I'll not wilt it if I give suggestions of where bulbs could go... or if I put one on the tree, then move away quickly." The effects of her dead Sire must be finally working themselves away from her.
     "Yes.. I was in Paris, visiting an old friend who came looking for me in London, but apparently missed me. But I didn't stay long. I had other places I needed to go." She chuckles about the bitching and murmurs, "They can be a whiny bunch, oui."

     There is a snort of laughter at that. A knowing smirk. Fuck them. "Well, I made it interesting. I should not blame them, simply. I have ... a way of creating those situations, n'est ce pas? I act like a king, I should expect the bitching that comes with it..." The world has grown quite dark. Now you and he are the only lights around. And the illumination makes diamonds of the snow that fall...
     "I think it shall be a great holiday. Family and friends. I need to go to Edinburgh and pick up a few more things for Ian. I have gotten him... one thing," it is the way he says it. Likely extravagant. "He's had a busy year, a strange business year. And always he gives the biggest gifts. He is hard to shop for..."
     "In Paris? Did you visit the Louvre, the Mecca of Toreador?" William chuckles, eyes on the road, but shifting to you now and again as he speaks. The road is slick, but he manuevers it easily. "I have not been there in many years. Centuries maybe.... the Toreador and I do not see eye-to-eye so much as we once did. But for my friendship with Girault...." And you.

      "Well, Paris was always... a spoiled brat," Tori comments with another chuckle. Well, it's so true. She doesn't mean certain individuals, but the city as a whole. "No, I didn't visit the Mecca, nor the Louvre. No time, in truth. Next time."
     Strange... she hasn't been to either place in over two centuries and now she's acting like they are second fiddle. But then again, after her experience with Morgan's death, she's had little patience for the fickleness of her Clan and others. She's gotten a bit harder in that respect. Perhaps she merely didn't want to be delayed by the 'brats' who live in the spoiled city.
     Shifting a bit, she murmurs, "I'm looking forward to Yule, now. I... I would have spent it alone this year. I appreciate the company of good friends, so thank you." Her eyes don't even bother watching the road. They watch the snowflakes in the headlights, the darkness surrounding the vehicle pass, your jawline as you speak. She's always watched the other things in life...never the most obvious ones. She falls silent for a moment, watching you, as though trying to get a firmer grasp on what has changed about you..

     He has the exacting features of his Nordic line, from the structure of his high cheekbones to the line of the jaw you note. The Frankish line, the line steeped in the Holy Roman Empire, is more prevalent in his coloration -- hair, skin, eyes -- but also in the fullness of mouth, the 'oil' in his demeanor, that... smoothness so refined it is almost...serpentine. The brashness comes of points north. The untrustworthiness of his looks? That is wholly imperial...
     He drives carefully -- far more than he would usually -- and the car handles the narrow, unlit highways easily. But it's all with afterthought. He pays more attention to the conversation than to anything, in truth. The eyes -- as dark as you recall. They look to you, settling only briefly before returning to the world out ahead. "You're most welcome, amie..." William murmurs. "Truly, life is now becoming simplified, and I desire little more than to have friends and family around me. I have so little patience for the rest most nights..."

     She can sympathize with that sentiment, but not truly understand. Next to you in years, she is but a babe in the cradle. Nodding, she murmurs, "That's why I called. I needed quiet. Needed space. I need to sort out some things in my head and I can't do it with all the silly bustling that's happening over there." In London. In other places.
     "And since I really don't have a home of my own yet, I thought I'd intrude on my dear 'brother's' life," she adds with a wink during a moment when you look down at her. Soft laughter erupts from her, then quiets.
     This quiet stretches a bit, momentarily, then is broken as she murmurs, "I looked for him, William." Pause. "I looked for him. I called for him. I've found nothing." There's only one 'him' she could be referring to... Darius.

     There was a moment of laughter at the notion of 'intrusion'. It is anything but. And by the easy expression you may see that it is so. Though he says nothing of it. But then the laughter eases until it fades into the quiet that stretches. There is just the sound of the car, and to your ears and senses, the sound of breathing and a heartbeat.
     Indigo eyes settle on you a half-second longer than previous such settlings as you mention Darius. There is a setting, a frown of concern, of the attempt to comprehend. "I am sorry, amie," he says finally. Softly. And there's himself in offerance, if you need to hold something -- there is 6'3"-odd-inch and 220 pounds of Norman. "I do not know what to say, but... that I know how it can be... I have lost a love or two." He counts the several times he nearly lost Ian in his estimation. And Catherine of course. "There is no cure for it but time..."

     For a long moment, she says nothing. Perhaps she is lost in her own thoughts, or merely dwelling on yours. Letting out a breath quickly, she replies softly, "I don't expect you to say anything, William. It is something I am going to have to grow accustomed to. Something I am going to have to get over." Another pause breaks up her voice as it trails softly up to your ears, then again she speaks. "I guess I really am not looking for advice or anything, but merely to tell you. To let you know. I've not given up, but I have searched and am discouraged that I will not find him again. I figured we were already talking about Paris... you'd soon ask about Germany and why I was there, so ... I just filled in the blanks before they were presented."
      Her shoulders shrug a bit before she snuggles into you a bit more. You are solid, here, and willing to let her lean on you. He is not. And so, she takes what comfort she can in that. "I will... survive," she finally says, waving a hand distractedly for a moment. "So, this too is why I am so grateful for the invite at Yule. Not just because I get to see you and Ian, but because of this. So, thank you."

Posted by rowan at June 16, 2003 02:23 PM