It has gone from late night to early morning...
     And for all the earlier commotion, the house... rather, castle and its surrounding walls and towers are now quite still. At peace. As if nothing had happened. And indeed, no particle of it remains. Anywhere in sight...
     Wasn't he here? You could have sworn this was the tower they mentioned...
     Logis Royeaux. The tower that is a castle...
     But when you enter... it is not William you see. Unless, of course, you look to a wall above one of the seven doorways and to a portrait of him there...

     Amazing. Such portraiture. The faces seem alive. There is the legendary King Henry and his legendary queen. And if I stand here long enough, without breathing, maybe they will speak...
     A young man... he must be in his 20s... stands, staring rapt at the large paintings that hang in the hall. He is tall, shorter than an inch by William, and he is of strong but... lean figure. No knight this, but a modern man. Clothed... quite fashionably...in a crimson linen shirt and brown suede pants. And he is living. A heartbeat that is natural. Breath that comes and goes with haphazard, natural care. His golden hair is cut in a Mod style.
     And you see him turn, his eyes following the line of William's family. And he is open-mouthed.
     I have smoked the cigarettes of the son of Eleanor of Aquitaine...

     The silence is interrupted by a sound. Soft. Melodious.
     Singing?
     Yes, it is a woman singing. But the sound is not that of just any woman singing...
     ...it is the voice of an angel. A dark angel.
     The heartbeat of the one within the tower's great hall is not noticed yet, so wrapped up in her own thoughts is the one who approaches. Soft foot falls would be almost inaudible, but to certain ears, it would be the sound of flesh hitting stone softly. She pads along without any footwear. The contact with the stones which speak to her is a comfort after the night she has had.
     Fresh from the baths, the one known as the Goth Diva in the city of New Port, its ex-Toreador primogen, and now guest of the Lord of the 'house' here, wanders through the halls in hopes of checking in with him. Dressed in a fine silk robe which she remembered to pack before fleeing the United States, Tori enters the room, the crimson material floating behind her loosely. It is not exactly a night gown, but not exactly a dress. More of a thing to lounge in.
     The crimson looks much like the blood which she removed from her flesh not that long ago in the baths...

     The taste of alkaline. Sudden. It is the unconscious reaction of a mortal body to surprise. Brief. The same taste that fills the senses when jumping out of an airplane. Or rushing down a mountain. But even as that instinctual rush of Fight or Flight hits him, the sound registers.
     A woman's voice? And hazel eyes lift to the portrait of Eleanor again...
     In a world of immortal knights living in castles, My Queen, ethereal voices are not so strange, oui? And in shades of green and gold and brown, the gaze of the mortal shifts from the portraits in the hall and toward the ... singing, angelic figure in the nightgown. It has been... such an odd night!
     "You have a very lovely voice," comes the modern French. The voice carries in the otherwise quiet hall. A mid-baritone... not so deep.
     And now we will see if you are ghost or woman... oui?

     Just seconds before he speaks, the woman's ice-blue gaze flickers in his direction... his heartbeat is heard, felt, sensed... as is his surprise. Her sharp senses pick up the abrupt emotion and she hones in on it. The singing halts, not abruptly, however, but trailing off in volume until it has ceased.
     Then he speaks, and it causes her to smile. There is a mixture of signals sent out by that smile, however... it increases her beauty, and there is some joy in the compliment, but there is something else there. Sadness? No, that's not quite right also. Maybe reminiscing. If she were asked, she might not even put a name to it.
     "Thank you," she murmurs in a soft tone, standing some distance away from the young mortal. She felt that brief fight or flight urge in him... she does not wish to frighten him away... No, young one, I am no ghost... I am as solid as you...
     She adds softly, "I did not mean to startle you... I knew not that you were here..."

     It is molecular, that reaction. It did not quite reach the brain...
     Turning from his view of the doors and the portraits that hang above them, the young man wanders to a chair. Laughter, lilting. Coming from his throat -- and it brightens him. He is golden, this young man. It is something more than his hair that makes him so. And there is something in the stroll... he is oddly at comfort in a castle. For a mortal, he seems to ... adapt well?
     But it is not his first castle. And ghosts would not scare him...
     Valan looks about, a half turn in either direction... where did I put my...?
     Oh... there it is...
     And he returns to his snifter of brandy. "Ah, non... do not apologize," he replies in French. "I was.... just wandering..." A general wave given about. "...Ah... I am... Valan," he says in tardy introduction and with a broadening smile. "You... live here in Chinon?"
     And the air is alive with him... living. The heartbeat... strong. He is fit. The light scent of cologne. The scent of brandy and cinnamon lingers around him. He has been smoking William's cigarettes...

     Brandy. In this castle.
     She should guessed.
     Her smile slants slightly into a grin as she thinks about how well this one fits in with the rest of the men in this castle.
     Hearing the introduction, she murmurs, "I am Victoria." At least here that's what they call me. "Pleasure to meet you, Valan..." she replies.
     Wandering into the hall a little further, the small woman replies after hearing the question about living in the castle, "Do I live here? Ah, no... I am a guest here. I lived in America up until yesterday. I am looking to move back to Europe and so I have been given a room temporarily." How temporarily is up to William, of course, but she leaves it at that.
     Ice-blue eyes follow the mortal's movements sharply. He is alive, yes... and the scents from him are nearly overwhelming. Drawing in a deep breath, she forces herself to look away from him. Don't even think about it, Tori... he's probably attached to someone here or nearby. What would a mortal who seems so comfortable with all of this be doing in the castle unless he was someone's intended childe or ghoul?

     Perhaps it is the quality of being a man of France. What else could explain it? The laissez-faire air. The confidence. He takes a seat upon one of the chairs, and his smile, though tempering somewhat, is no less warm.
     Curious...
     "Ah... America," and it is English suddenly. Very broken English... heavily accented with French. "I... hmmm... have wanted to go ... there." He pauses, translating. Not a native speaker, you understand. "...ah, where...? ...are you from there?" And he has exhausted his English. Well... not entirely. But it is... a delightful struggle...
     None of the accenting is right, but it is... nevertheless... beautiful. "Forgive," Valan murmurs after. "I need the practice..."
     And the brandy is lifted, sipped with a chuckle.

     The gaze flickers back to him now. Her grin once more turns into a smile as she hears him struggling with the English. In French, she murmurs quietly, "There is nothing to forgive... if you feel more comfortable with French, I can manage, Valan. It is a second language for me and I have been speaking it for a long time." A long time? She doesn't look any older than Valan himself.
     Still in the French, she adds softly, "I was in Oregon for a while. But I am native to London, so I wished to return." You don't know how long she wished for that.
     The smile upon her lips is a charming one as she watches him once more.

     The glass is lowered and with narrowed eyes he tries to place that. Oregon. Hmm. No, it rings no bells...
     But then Valan smiles again. Seemingly, smiles never leave him. "Ah... well... I need the practice," lilts the French again. So well-spoken, he is well-born this one. His French is exquisite. Not the stilted precision of those attempting to speak it... but French of the native speaker, but very well-educated.
     And he sits back, at ease, and his hand gesticulates with the mostly empty glass. "I will be moving to London, myself. I have to learn English... I hear they prefer it there..."
     And he laughs, and he glows with it. Handsome, quite... in laughter and in smiling bordering upon the beautiful. And garnets can be seen, sparkling at his throat. He, in shades of crimson... he looks his best.
     "It is good to meet you. I now know two people in London..."

     "Well, once you are actually there, you can pick it up well enough, I'm certain. You seem intelligent, so you should have no trouble, Valan," the raven-haired one comments to him, the compliment coming from her freely and without hesitation.
     A moment's thought, then she asks, "So, you are a guest here, also?"
     Ever curious... much like a cat... and eyes and a gaze like one, too, this one has... watching his every move. Her mood is still dark from earlier and her nerves on edge, but she is still in a bit of a predatory mode after the events of this night. After dealing death with her own hands, and for the first time, speaking to a mortal almost seems sureal to her in this place...

     "That is what they say. But... intelligence?" The gaze sparkles...
     In greens...
     In golds...
     In browns...
     As if to say: moi? Like it is a joke, yes? That he should be called such. But then Valan inclines his head, tilting it toward you in a kind of bow. "Merci..." Golden hair is brushed forward. His bangs are nearly long enough to hide his eyes. He needs a haircut, yes? But the mussed style, it goes with him. It is as... effortless as he seems to be. "I am... I met William ... a little bit ago. Maybe," his hand moves, "three months. I am... with his cousin, Edward. We... were just on our way back from our Christmas trip to Switzerland..." The brandy is lifted, and finished and the glass is set aside. A tilt of his head to watch it as he sets it down, and then his gaze shifts to you. With. How he says that. How he smiles when he says that. "I think we will be going in a couple of days..." A pause and Valan tips his head back, fingers steepling at his lips.
     Behind them, against them... he smiles. Wondering. Are you like them? "You have known William for very long?"

     Moving toward a bench, Tori trails crimson silk behind her, moving just slightly away from the young man. She knows his thoughts, probably better than he knows them himself... so easy is it to just skim the thoughts off the surface. Ah, he knows something of us... but, it is not in my position to tell him, for what if I tell him too much than what his master might want him to know?
     Let him wonder about me...
     Men, no matter which side of the fence they sit upon, love a good mystery, non?
     Resting herself upon the bench in a graceful motion, she looks back to Valan and murmurs, "Ah, Edward... I believe I met him earlier... Interesting fellow." Too bad this one is spoken for... such a fine specimen...
     Tilting her head slightly, she replies with a smile, "I have known William for a couple of years, actually. Not very long... but we are good friends. He is like a brother to me." And this is true, now. She will not lie in this matter.

     And he... more inquisitive than most...
     As you move and as you speak, answering nothing but asking more questions, Valan grins and sits forward. Golden brows open upward in an arch and hazel eyes sparkle...
     Does he know? Yes. He knows about Edward. He knows about William. He even knows about someone named Girault and Georg. And he is preparing for his own... journey. There is a tangible excitement. Something upon the blood that races...
     Adrenaline...
     "Edward Meurelle..." The name is held upon the tongue and the smile is curving, winding slow. No, savoring. "Mon ami... is an interesting man, oui. I find him more interesting every night. And his friends..." The word trails off a bit. As if he wonders again. Are you one of them...
     "... very nice, I have felt very welcomed. So!" he is animated again, his hands open outward. "You are a friend of William's. William is a friend of Edward's. And as Edward is a friend of mine... that makes us friends in a circular universe." There is a pause and Valan tilts his head.
     "A brother to you... a cousin to Edward... this William... he engenders familial devotion it seems..." And he smiles.

     Valan, could such perfect beauty exist in a mortal? If so, it's rare. Look at the porcelin doll-like creature before you, with the look of the devil about her... a dark angel... and then do the math. She will not tell you outright. There is a certain delight which she takes in this, knowing that with every passing moment, she makes him all the more curious.. if he were not spoken for, she could easily have fun with this one, yes...
     But, she behaves for now.
     Smiling that charming little smile of her own, Tori murmurs quietly, "I would have to agree with that, I believe... that we are all friends here..." At least all those within this castle now are friends. That was not so mere hours ago. One can never surround oneself with enough friends, Valan. Never forget that.
     "Yes, William does have that quality... it is admirable. He is a rare one," she comments with a warm smile, her head bowing for a moment, causing locks of raven-black hair to partially cover her perfect face.

     I have seen those such as you. Perfect beauty such as God perhaps never made. And I see my future in such faces. Perfection... requires time... yes?
     And you will not run out of it. And soon... nor will I...
     And as he sits back in the chair again and as he smiles, you know it. I know it. "I will... eventually... come to know this. I... have really only smoked his cigarettes," lilts the French from the lull mouth. The lips that wear the smile so well. And he chuckles. Golden sound. "He is very generous, though. This I know of him. And the one who is his lover... Ian. Ian I like very much. He has been very kind..."
     How many mortals do you know who have uttered this?
     Valan rises from his seat and looks to you with upraised brows and an open expression. Offering. "Would you like some brandy, some wine? The winery here is very good, very good wines Chinon... and I may say this with professional candor..." Being the son of a family of ancient vintners and landowners.

     And what a beautiful addition to the 'family' you will be, Valan... I wish you luck in your endeavours.
     Her head tilting back up so that she may gaze upon the mortal before her, Tori murmurs quietly, "They are both generous to those who are fortunate enough to gain their friendship or at least liking, yes... It pleases me that you get along with them so well. They are dear friends of mine...and have been very generous to myself, even." And you don't know the half of it.
     To the question of brandy or wine, a delicate hand is raised slightly as she murmurs softly, "Non, merci... I do not drink either.. but thank you, nonetheless. I am not used to their... taste. Perhaps this will change in time, for I hear brandy and wine are practically staple foods in Europe..." This is said with a chuckle. What does she drink, Valan? Have you figured it out yet? Or will Victoria remain a dark mystery for you until you are brought across? Perhaps you will question your soon-to-be Sire about her? Or even William?
     Either way, she will leave you in the dark for now, letting you wonder. Letting you wonder about the source of the beauty which has made men fall over themselves and others nearly kill for it...

Posted by rowan at February 10, 2001 11:34 AM