Dusk. The young Ventrue seems to have the trait that so many of the young have of rising early, catching the last rays of the sun to begin business and keep their empires in line.
     That, however, is not what this Ventrue is doing. Instead, she stands at the ends of the tips of the windows once more. Or, more precisely, their reflections on the floor. The colored panes of glass refracting the last rays of sunlight and diffusing them into pools of lighted art in a mirror of the recreated artifacts themselves.
     In a travelling outfit of comfortable light woolen slacks, a matching short jacket, and a cream silk blouse, the contrast between her black and white ensamble and the myriad of deep hues in front of her is marked.

     The view is something to behold, and it draws another -- a Toreador. Slowly, her soft footfalls come closer to the other woman admiring the splay of colours on the floor. However, this one's feet stop her well away from the colour and that which causes it to fall upon the floor. Her fear of the source is too great for her to get closer, leaving her to nearly skulk in the shadows.
     "Like a moth to the flame..." comes the smooth, lilting voice, so soft and quiet...was it merely a memory from these old stone walls, or was it from something more solid? Perhaps something in that voice is familiar... and yet so alien. Hearing it here after hearing it so far across the waters in New Port, does it cause you to turn and seek her out? How long has it been since you've seen the one once called the Goth Diva?
     Her skin is so pale against the shadows that partially conceal her and the darkness of her attire. The expanse of her pale throat lies hidden beneath the soft folds of a black turtleneck, which is tucked into a long cord skirt of the same colour. Boots peek out from beneath the hem. Raven locks have been pulled back into a long, severe ponytail and her eyes remain hidden behind a pair of blue-hued 'specs'.
     "Hello, old friend," she adds softly, letting a small smile slip onto her lips.

     At the voice in the distance against the stone, Victoria turns curiously first towards the private doors from the lords' chambers, and then to the opposite door where the rooms of the guests are held.
     A smile slips over her features as she recognizes the voice, and then finds the speaker. "Tori."
     She moves away from the tempered rays, something akin to bungee jumping for vampires maybe. She even dares to step through the edges, apparently fine, though not so brave as to move into the middle of the images.
     "I'm sorry I didn't get to catch up with you after the opening, I had to run back to the States again. I was hoping you'd be here, it's wonderful to see you again..."

     Tori manages to step forward a little, eyeing the filtered sunlight on the floor as though to ensure she has safe clearance from it. Then, she glances back up at the woman before her. "Victoria, you look fantastic, as always," she comments quietly, moving forward with arms outstretched to embrace her friend.
     "It has been a while. And of course I'd be here... Raf and I arrived a couple of nights ago, but this place is so huge that it's easy to get lost in it." And she likely did. But lost physically, or lost to the memories and whispers of the old castle? "I'm so glad to see you, really. How have you been? What have you been up to?"
     Her voice is calm and quiet. Controlled. When she was at the gallery showing, she may have seemed nervous and even a bit panicked in a controlled way. But now, she seems reserved and controlled... but with some effort, perhaps.

     "You look perfect, as always." Victoria smiles yet, coming into the embrace easily and returning it with affection, "It seems like forever."
     "Oh, Primogening." She pauses and gets a thoughtful expression, "Is that a word? Anyway." She steps back and shrugs a little, "I'm here for a week or so more, going to Tours, seeing a few things, and heading back. Temporarily anyway."
     The polish from New Port is still there, though now it's smoothed into a bisque. A glaze. Naturally luminous over the younger Victoria's person. A contrast to the trained poise that took its place when she was only a few years younger. The change is what makes it notable, when earlier one would've said that she came from breeding, now one would say she -was- that breeding. Though, at the mention of returning to her home there's a moment of uncertainty.
     "You?"

     "It is damned early..."
     At least one of you might have heard the steps. Both of you likely would have felt a sudden crest of electricity or... was that the sun? When William appears, it is as if he were birthed from the carved limestone. It is not a distant metaphor that he and his castle share the same skin. And when he appears, and it seems very sudden really, he steps away from the doorway (presumably that's where he was) and crosses the colored light reflection of Guillaume XI.
     Himself...
     And he is as splendid and for a moment as unreal as that glass, the colors of his own image splaying against his shoulders, making the chocolate brown clothing go oddly violet with the light. Such a suit. It must be from Paris. It may cost as much as an automobile. The three-buttoned jacket, the crew-necked sweater, the trousers a blend -- everything the same rich cocoa. He's like a triple-layered confection in that. William -- heretofore known as Guillaume XI -- continues toward you both, the colors of his window falling from his shoulders, back to the floor.

     Where once a blush may have appeared on the surface of her cheeks, the flesh remains pale and cool to the touch as she presses it briefly to the other woman's in a European-style embrace. Stepping back, Tori murmurs, "Primogening... even if it's not, I like it. It's... fitting."
     In contrast to the younger Victoria, the influences of New Port are completely absent. Where she used to wear clothing that revealed herself, she uses it now to hide within. Not even a trace of make-up can be seen on one who was once so used to being in the limelight. It doesn't hamper her beauty, however... it seems to have enhanced it somehow, giving her a nearly unearthly beauty. The two Victorias contrast each other, perhaps -- light and dark meeting in a stone hallway.
     "I am... well. And I have been... getting an education," Tori responds carefully, giving another small smile. Again, so controlled. But an education in what? Her head tilts a bit, as though she listens to something that no one else can hear. Then one of the Lords enters and she is saved by the bell.
     Turning her head towards that voice, Tori calls out, "Yes, and it surprises me to see you upright at this hour." Was that a tease? A slight tinge of mirth in her voice?

     Turning and keeping her place next to Victoria, the Ventrue tilts her head to the side with an amused little grin, "He's old. It's catching up with him."
     William, for his trouble with rising so very early and making such a show of it, gets a teasing wink before she turns back to the other woman, "He likes to laze about now. Or hadn't you heard that?" She grins, "But, it probably suits him."
     This from the girl who's been up every sunset to watch the windows since she caught the show by chance the night after her arrival. Though, chances are she would've been up relatively soon after that in any case, if not before.
     "Still want to go to the abbey?"

     The mouth holds the smile, couching humor, deeply. As that mouth could only do -- each expression, no matter how slight, resounds. Black eyebrows lift and the smile becomes a grin. "I am surprised, myself... mais oui. But I heard that two beautiful young women were wandering aimlessly through the castle," indigo flickers in a wink. "Of course, I had to come see for myself. And, yes," William half-pivots toward Victoria Gifford, head inclining, "...aristocratic sloth suits me very well. I haven't seen this much of the sun in over a year." And then he laughs. It is true. How strange that it has been that long.
     "Yes," he says excitedly, eyes and eyebrows widening a touch, "I am happy to take you to the Abbey tonight." He pauses half-a-moment, turning to Tori, "Fontevrault, or Fontevraud," slight variation on pronunciation but barely noticeable really. "Victoria wants to go visit the family crypt..." And that of the Bourbons as well. "You are welcome to come with. In fact...I'm going to insist."

     Is it a trick of the light or did Tori just smirk? "When has William not been known to laze about? That's what I want to know..." Smart-ass. At least some of the old Tori is still in there, somewhere... perhaps just below the controlled surface.
     At mention of the abbey, she glances from Victoria to William with a curious expression on her face. Tori's own Inferno had an area that could very well have been a crypt, if not for the bed and piano in it.
     "Sounds interesting... but only if I'm not intruding..."

     Dr. Gifford grins to William, "Well I'm suitably impressed."
     Turning back to Tori again she waves a hand, "Don't be silly, of course you're not. I haven't gotten to see you in forever, if you didn't make it, I'd have to decide if I should stay or not." The abbey has been there for a few years after all.
     "Definitely come." Linking her arm through the other woman's decisively she looks back to William again inquisitively, "When do you want to set off?"

     What? No one is going to grab my arm? He grins to his own thoughts and then turns toward a selection of drinks. For one so frequently drunk, he appears to be quite sober. Well, as sober as William Plantagenet ever is. Without wine, he appears to be his languid self.
     "Now is fine, I'll call the driver and have him ready the old Jaguar," the vintage limousine, nearly one of a kind anymore and limited when it was produced in 1939. Black, of course, with red leather interior, naturally. "It will give us time to wander at leisure. It's a big place, the Abbey of Fontevraud." He pours a small glass of something black-violet. That would be plum liqueur. From an unmarked bottle. Mark it potent.
     "Or as soon as you both wish to go. I am fine to go now. I haven't been there in a while myself. Years now," even though it's barly 10km away. "The last time I was there, Ian and I rode to it on horseback, stayed overnight and continued riding. That was..." William pauses, looking up to the ceiling to retrieve the memory as he caps the bottle, "... the spring after your visit to Strathfayr," he says, looking back to Victoria. "I'd suggest horses again, but I've moved them all to Chenonceau," his other French castle.

     As her arm is taken, Tori's expression changes slightly to something more like... what? Confusion? Hesitation? Whatever it is, within the flicker of an eye, it passes. Perhaps the familiarity merely throws her for a moment. Most have tried to keep their distance from her as of late. A hug initiated by her is one thing, but unsolicited touch appears to shock her. Regardless, it is gone and she is smiling a bit at Victoria. "Well, if you put it that way, I can't refuse, can I?" comes her reply.
     After a brief glance at the arm locked with hers, and then looking up at William, she holds out her hand to him as though hearing his thoughts. Small fingers splay in his direction as she murmurs, "I'm game whenever you are... though I'm glad we'll be taking the Jag. I don't know how the horses would take to me...." Ah, yes, that lovely taint of her sire still kicks around and the staff have no doubt been baffled when they've found a wilted plant or burned path of grass about the grounds. She's usually careful about this, but these days... she's so unpredictable. "Can we have someone tell Raf where I'm going? He'll worry."

     "I don't know that I'm ready to tackle horses yet again myself." Victoria says easily after Tori's relief, "I went out a few months ago at the winery and... it wasn't necessarily what someone would call a success." The winery did have its own stables, though they were empty for a bit after it was turned over. Apparently, the stalls have again been filled, or at least somewhat reoccupied.
     She shrugs, apparently not all that concerned, "But, I'm ready whenever you are. I left the evening cleared for it since I wasn't sure how long we'd be."

     William takes Tori's hand for a moment, gives it a squeeze and gives her a wink. There is a moment, just the briefest moment, of quiet. Of concentration. Of a servant called as he leads you both out of the hall. There's no rush, of course. Never that.
     Not from the Prince of Sloth...
     "We will go ahead then. That will give you plenty of time with Richard, Henry and Eleanor," as if you're meeting them for tea! He grins at the idea. Well, tea in the 12th century would have been nice. Tea was still centuries away.

     A servant appears, one of the valets. A young man, as all of the valets are, and handsome, as there must be some requirement, he wears the uniform of one of the private quarters -- that is, a very fine and fashionable attire of trousers and a light sweater. "Yes, sir," he says, tone of voice and eyes expectant.

     "Have Francois bring the Jaguar around," William speaks modern French with an easy grace, coupled with an easy smile. "Tell him I am taking the ladies sight-seeing to the Abbey. Have him call when he is at the bridge..."
     The valet nods, "Absolutement," he smiles. He departs down the hall to make the call presumably.
     William looks to both of you, taking a moment to lean against one of the carved walls of the entrance hall. Grand splays of limestone arching overhead. "Next time you visit," he says to Victoria, "you will need to see Chenonceau and ride the horses there. More country, less village." And then to Tori, remembering suddenly, "Oh, I forgot about Raf. Oui, I will have another servant tell him. I'll call from the car."

     Nodding, Tori says softly, "Thank you. I could just picture Raf scurrying about trying to find me...panicking." There is a quiet chuckle, then silence from her again.
     Richard, Henry and Eleanor, hm? Midnight tea? Sounds lovely, really... and if they were to actually show up? Would Tori know the difference?
     Standing between the two of you, she murmurs, "This is so nice... like old times... but with none of the stress of America."

     Releasing Tori's arm since it seems like the three of them are about to depart, she smiles to the valet as he comes in and out again, ever polite. Victoria turns to William, "Is Ian going to be joining us?" Speaking of old times and all.
     "I've been looking forward to this since you mentioned it, I'm sure it's going to be lovely." The countryside, the abbey, the tour itself. Particularly for a history junkie like the good doctor.

     "Ian is smart, he is still in bed," William grins. "Or he was when I last saw him. Non, he will not be coming. And, as he would likely say himself were he standing here, why would he want to see a bunch of dead Plantagenets when he has one in the flesh closer to hand." Dark and vivid, indigo eyes hold the humor, and the truth, of that statement.
     "Sir, your car is here," the valet says, appearing again. "It is pulling up to the bridge now."
     "Merci, Frederic. Ah, if you could do something for miss Whitethorne," the valet looks to where William is directing. "Her attendant may be looking for her. Let him know that she is with me and with Victoria at the Abbey."
     The valet nods, "Of course, sir."
     William turns, gesturing to the door of the Logis Royeaux. Beyond it the gardens and grounds of the Milieu and the waiting car.

     The raven-haired one chuckles. The sound seems strange to her, causing her to pause. Then she continues. The thought of Ian commenting on seeing dead Plantagenets struck her as very funny at that moment. "So true," she comments, trying to stifle her giggles behind her hand.
     She manages to calm herself as Frederic arrives. "Thank you," she adds before he manages to step away.
     With that, she turns to the indicated door and begins to move, saying, "You think the sun is gone now?" Tori glances back to see if the pattern on the floor is gone yet. She was so focused on the conversation that she never thought to look.

     "Well, that only makes sense." Victoria says with a smile, following along with Tori after the retreating announcer towards the car. Ian is terribly practical like that. And the chances that these dead royals are going to be conversant is slim.
     She turns to look at the windows at Tori's question, the reflections on the floor having waned to nothing, the only light coming through them now from the lights in the garden below. Darkening the jewel tones, "Looks like we're clear."
     Too bad about not being able to catch the scenery on the way over to the abbey, but, really, there's only so much one can expect, "I'm sure it will be a pleasant drive."

Posted by rowan at November 10, 2003 12:56 PM