Timing for phone calls when you're dealing with vampires is in some ways tricky. And, in some ways, not. Because theoretically the chances that you'll actually wake someone up are pretty slim. However, if you do, the chances that they'll be royally miffed are pretty good. Victoria, it seems, has opted to ere on the side of caution, calling an hour or so after sunset the day after the call previous.

     When you met him in New Port, particularly once he was Prince, William Plantagenet was known to keep very early and very late hours. Some said he rose when the sun was still high in order to cram all his business and pleasure in. It is true, the sun was often nipping at his heels coming and going.
     But work and toil and America are long behind him. These nights, he's seldom up and about -- in summer hours -- before ten o'clock or -- in winter hours -- before six. He rises not before his immortal spouse but now in concert with him. Lingering many times no further from the bed than his last indentation.
     So when the phone rings, his cell phone, on his nightstand, it is not greeted with a quick lift and you, by extension, given a quick and awake greeting but instead continues to ring as a large Plantagenet hand emerges from a pile of bedding and fumbles for it in the darkness.
     Another ring is muffled as the phone is pulled beneath the covers by his retreating hand.
     The voice mulls more than it greets. There is a breath and then there is: "Hallo..." Another sound stirs in the background. That would be his spouse. You have woken the lords of the Chateau du Chinon.

     "Evening." Victoria says easily in response. She does, it seems, take advantage of her training at hearing the particulars of voice and diction to determine that her caution wasn't cautious enough.
     There's some stirring of paper in the background, probably the younger Ventrue following much the same pattern that her elder did when he was overseeing things in her neck of the woods. A zipper of some kind undone, paper shuffled again to wherever it needs to go with some finality.
      Following all this is a bit of an appologetic sigh, "I'm sorry, I wasn't sure if you'd be up already. I can just talk to you later, there's nothing important."

     A pause, Beautiful face under covers contracts a moment for recognition and cognition and then, "Victoria... hmm... non... it is alright," a sudden word of English amid all that French. "I am awake now," he tries on his English again. Though he may yet claim fluency in the language, one can tell that it is very, very rarely spoken these days. It is heavily accented by the southern-central dialects of French. Not unintelligible, necessarily. And the slow way his language moves anyway is only augmented by the fact that he was asleep a moment ago.
     "I am retired," his voice pulls with what surely must be a smile as he says it and means it, "...I can sleep in if I want, mais oui. So..." A pause as he rubs his eyes, his voice dropping to a whisper, "... what can I do for you?"
     That whisper, dear gods. If it were anything other than dream-lingering-spouse-sleeping-right-beside-him need for quiet, one might otherwise get weak-kneed over a sound like that. The bed sounds the next moment and he is getting up so Ian and Amadeo can continue with their rest.

     The American drops easily into French, after having been here for several weeks it seems to come to her easily enough. Her accent isn't bad, so much as there. But her grammar is, as one would expect from Victoria, precise.
     "I wanted to let you know that I'll probably be there a couple days ahead of the festival. I've just finished with the arrangements on the other wineries I wanted to stop at while I'm here first, so that should be most of it before I make it up."
      Her voice drops a little itself, hearing being what it is in some circles and not wanting to cause any more of a disturbance than she already has. "So, that means tonight's free for me to get to see the caves, which should be nice."

     There is a sigh that can be translated as 'Thank God' when you drop into French. English is work and American is unwieldy. He is moving out of his bedroom and into his large upstairs living room, the former great hall of the Logis Royeaux, and moves past the unlit fireplace where St. Jeanne once kneeled. A servant is there for him already, not blanching at the nakedness -- it's a common enough occurrence this time of night and year.
     "Hmm... that is fine... ah, grazie, Adriano," he says to the servant for the brandy. A moment later and William is sounding more himself. "That is fine, we will be here. The festival will be happening for a week, so there is no need to rush. You are going to see the caves tonight? You have a guide, yes?"

     "I'm looking forward to it, it sounds wonderful." Victoria says easily, getting up herself and moving something, probably whatever got papers put in it in the first place.
     When she's asked about the caves she pauses, "I think so... Raymond said he'd arrange for me to see them tonight since they're normally closed. So if it's something one needs a guide for, there probably will be one there. I did some reading on them earlier so I'd know what to expect, though. So if there's not I think I'll manage."

     Raymond.
     He smiles a little as a pours a drink. "As he seems willing to arrange tours, your should have him arrange a tour of Tours. It is a beautiful city," William notes as easily, pausing for a sip of the brandy. He sits on one of his antique sofas, heavily so with recent waking. "The cathedrals, the smaller churches, the art and history of the region. Touraine is the garden of the language of France, there is much to see and experience. I know you have work," in the States, "... but you should take some time since you are already here."
     He is not going to pry into your evening with Raymond. One, it is not his business. Two, it is not how these things are done. "We will look forward to your arrival then. The rooms are ready," there will be many guests in Chinon for the festival, some staying there -- the most exclusive and best seats in the house for such a thing. "Ian has been working on his lecture cards," he drolls, a smirk held in his voice. "Let me know if there is anything touriste you would like to do while you are here. I will find guides for you or... take you myself..."

     "He mentioned I should make sure and stop at the cathedral and I'm planning on it. I'd love to see other things while I'm there, he gave me a list of recommendations too." Victoria says easily, "But you're right, I think I will. I'm also considering going back for a bit and then coming out again. Spending some time in Switzerland sounds like fun."
     Sitting down again she chuckles, "Good. I'm glad he's got plenty of time to prepare them, he hasn't had the occasion to sit me down for some time. Hopefully he'll enjoy it." She doesn't sound like she's anticipating finding it a great deal of fun, but, neither does she seem like it's got her petrified. Which is a change of sorts at least.

     "Switzerland is always nice. And such a good chalet you have," he rolls out. "I am going to have to buy my husband another house. I have as many houses now as I do paintings, I think." On the other end a smile, a look over his shoulders to the archway leading to his bedroom. "He kept giving away his properties," William jokes. "And I keep buying him new ones..."
     He doesn't sound like he really minds it.
     "I bought him a new castle just last year. Chenonceau?" You've heard of it? Yes? The jewel of The Loire? "I think I have bought three properties since we left America. And I still have not gotten him the country home he wanted in the south of Scotland." He exhales as he leans back. "He will enjoy it," William grins through his voice, the voice going through the phone to your ear. "I do not seem to be giving him much opportunities for lecturing these days. I have been a good husband."

     "Oh, well, do you think he wants it back?" Her chalet of course, is what she means. The poor girl seems to have very little connection to... much. "I haven't gotten to use it, it's kind of what I was thinking. It's a shame to have it and not have been there. I've corresponded with the groundskeeper, he seems very friendly. At least in letters."
     There's a pause and she gets up again, crossing the room. In response to husbandly duties, "Well, after leaving New Port, it seemed like you were both getting along swimmingly." She bends, there's a crinkle of paper, and she pauses in her conversation.

     "I do not want it back, no. I will buy a new chalet with better heating," he chuckles. And it will hold new memories. "I do not know about him," he murmurs truthfully. "I think if he wanted it back, he would say something. You definitely need to make use of it, however. Or I may have to borrow it for a while." He chuckles. "I want to do something really grand for him this year, this Christmas. I am going to have a hard time topping the last four years of gifts, though. I have a few things in mind, but .... I don't want to say because he can probably hear me in the other room."
     Not far from the bedroom is he. William stretches out, stretching with a little sound to it. "I want something more personal this year. Maybe, I will drown him in smaller things. I don't know." A pause. "I'm sorry, Victoria. I did not mean to make this a Christmas conversation." And you without a man. "Je suis desole," he murmurs. "So," changing the subject, "... as I said, the rooms are ready. You can come whenever you like. You do not have to call us and give us warning. Unless you want to make sure we're out of bed," he chuckles.

     "Oh, it's fine." She doesn't seem to mind the Christmas conversation at all, "The two of you always seem to come up with wonderful gifts every year." Her piece de resistance most likely still being your sun dial. "But, let me know if he does mention it, and you're of course more than welcome whenever you like. I can send you a key."
     "It looks like I do have a guide for the caves though, Raymond's meeting me there to show me around." She says, which, it seems, was the paper crumpling noise. "So you don't have to worry about me getting lost."

     "Raymond is a good man, an interesting man." You could do worse. "I like him quite a bit," he says it seriously. "But nevermind me," he says, "... you go out with him, have a good time, enjoy his company and be beautiful and charming. I am going to go back to my bed, I think. It was warm there," he chuckles.
     The nights are getting cool already!
     William rises with an exhale, "I will not worry for you, you are in capable hands, yes? Your own," he says a moment later, as if you doubted his meaning. William grins through the line. "I will tell Ian that you called and are looking forward to your lecture," his voice drops to a whisper as he must be near the bedroom again. "We will gossip about princes later..."

     Victoria chuckles, "Alright, I will. Oh, and he did like the dress." So, apparently, that's compliments on your advice of gowns. And hopefully a good sign all together. "He wanted me to be sure and tell you that he'll see you both soon. And send his regards."
     "Thank you." She may or may not have understood who was being referenced, but she's thankful for the praise. "And I'll look forward to it. Have a good evening." There's a smile to her voice, "Stay warm."

     There is quiet laughter for a farewell. Stay warm? There is no doubt. And the call is disconnected after that.

     The light pours in from the large, private living room where earlier his voice sounded, though purposefully quiet. A phone call that interrupted most peaceful slumber. Victoria again. Lingering in Lascaux. He steps within, barefoot and utterly bareskinned, pausing beneath the archway to look at the two of you in the bed.
     The two of you...
     Marco is on a secret mission with purchasing authority granted to him by William. Amadeo has shared the bed the last two nights, curling between you both, had by both of you, giving to both of you, sleeping as you then go to one another. He is so sweet, this Amadeo. William has come to not mind him. Not mind him at all.
     He is able to enjoy watching you with him, you having the pleasure of being on top for once. Isn't he marvelous? He so readily laughs, so easily sighs, so beautifully moans. And he understands the beauty of his role. If only this were innate in American women. Women are no longer taught such things, he has discovered.
     William smiles as he lingers a moment more at the doorway and then, naked from his earlier disturbed rest, walks past the fountain.

     There remains some lingering worry and concern for Amadeo. Perhaps it is guilt. But when Amadeo sighs, even Ian's reticence vanishes into the ether.
     "How was your call?" Ian whispers, not really moving. It is a voice that reaches out to you in the room. "Everything alright?"      Are you alright, more importantly.

     The cell phone is left on -- just in case Marco needs to reach him or anyone else for that matter, it's become a crutch -- but is set aside upon the nightstand as the bed creaks a half moment later with William's substatial weight. "Everything is fine," William murmurs, smile lingering. A hand on the waking Amadeo, William leans in, using him as a brace as he leans over for a kiss.
     "And you?" A hand pats Amadeo -- it is time for you to hit the showers and maybe depart for a little bit. At least a shower for now.
     Amadeo's Sigh. If you could bottle it and sell it, you'd be obscenely (more) rich than you already are. He breathes, he stretches, he looks to you, "Buona sera, bello signore," he murmurs sleepily to you Ian, and then to William the same phrase.
     William pauses a moment, looking from you to the Italian between you, "Buona sera, ragazzo bello. Entri avanti nel bagno ed allora ottengavi un certo pranzo per..."
     Amadeo nods, having missed the growling of his own stomach, and then he smiles. Oh, that smile! "Si...si..." He kisses you, Ian, softly. "Abbia una sera meravigliosa..." And then to William, the same. And then he is leaving the bed.
     "Just a future guest confirming their arrival time." He doesn't mention Victoria's name again. "Talking of tourism..." William relaxes on the bed, slipping beneath covers, his arms surrounding you again. "A call I could have easily missed and I would have been here when you opened your eyes, amours..."

     "It's alright," Ian whispers, watching Amadeo go. "Grazie, buona sera..." he says to the young man...
     There's a sigh from Ian as he relaxes back on his pillow, gaze at the ceiling. "You didn't miss much," he smirks, smiling thereafter as he picks up from his 'alright' comment. "I think you have seen my eyes a billion times."

     "I have memorized your looks, burned them on my own eyes," he smiles a little as he looks to you and then to the canopy, head tilting slightly on the pillow. Indigo flickers as his eyes return to you. Such color, such beautiful deep color. "But I never tire of seeing them. I like to look, as you know." He chuckles.
     He's had a glass or two of brandy, you can tell. The languid ease of his voice is not that of one just waking. William turns to lie upon his side, his hand coming to your face, fingertips glancing at your chin and jaw -- a slight press given to turn you to him. "A billion and one," he whispers and kisses you 'good evening'. He doesn't say it, but it resonates through that touch.
     Soon, the heavy arm of your crusader is lying on top of you. "You are thinking..." as if you are ever not, but he can tell there is something on your mind.

     Ian's brow furrows. You tell that so easily, it's almost frustrating. "Sometimes," Ian smiles, "I am in myself, yes. Like now," he grins in admission. "Nothing on my mind in particular, just..." he inhales, "...still in -this-." What's happened in the bed. How things are now. "Sometimes, I'm not sure what to do or make of it all." Unsure of how he should feel. What do I do now?
     "So, sorry if I am quiet."

     "Mmm... oui... and sometimes I am in you. Like last night." He grins, broad and warm and smooth. Eyes cut over to you again and the grin tempers itself into a slight smile, a shake of his head. "Mais non, do not worry about it. No need to apologize. Or talk, if you do not want to. I am here regardless..."
     A pause as he considers what you say a little longer. William looks to you, rolling over to lie upon his stomach, face half buried in the pillow but turned toward you, indigo darkly gleaming. "What to make of all of what?" he wonders softly. You and I or You and I and Them? Or in this case Him?

     "Everything," Ian says upwards. "Me." I don't know. He exhales, crossing his arms at his eyes. "I don't know," he confesses aloud. "You should...ignore me, hmm? I'll be fine."

     His arms only hold you. The one over you is soon joined by the other slipping beneath you. "I cannot ignore you," William says, "... but," a smile of understanding, "... I will not dote you to the point of pestering. I just want to hold you here for a while. I think you should indulge me. Soon we will have people in our house and I will not have the full luxury of my time."
     His mouth finds its way to your neck and it nuzzles there. He does not need to make you bleed or feel you bleed in his mouth. His only need it for this: an embrace serene. Undisturbed by conversation or even wild intercourse.
     His other arm folds around you, light massaging given to your hip. Your worry, your concern, your doubt, your whatever-it-is will pass, amours.

     Maybe. But Ian does not say that. He simply lies there, hands now covering his eyes. Whatever it is, he will have to sort through it himself.

Posted by rowan at October 19, 2003 08:51 PM