News travels quickly, but not as quickly as it does in the Kindred community. And what's the news of the night? The court buzzes with it, the streets hum with it.. there is excitement in the air, because She is back in town. And where She goes, the party is sure to follow.
     She dwells nearly in a perpetual state of a party... and they are always sure to be on the wild side. Actually, that's likely putting it lightly.
     Claridge's staff are familiar with her, with her money, and with her distaste for questions being asked. So, when she is in town, they keep the floor she is staying on free, in case she has other guests decide to stay, or in case the party gets a bit wilder than usual. It wouldn't do for the local authorities to show up, because then she would have to get serious and deal with them.
     There's always a party where The Madame is, and she certainly hasn't wasted any time upon her arrival this evening. As soon as anyone gets off the elevator or climbs the stairs, the thumping sound of music and sweet laughter and chatter from her guests can be felt first before heard. Tonight must be particularly wild...it sounds like there's a DJ tonight. Nothing like having a traveling dance party...which inevitably devolves into other things. Pleasure is her business, and business is her pleasure, of course.

     It is a traveling caravan of constant celebration. In some corners renowned, in others reviled -- but in all parts known. It is an atmosphere he has not seen for many, many years. It has perhaps been as long as a century -- could it have been so long? -- since he has seen her, stepped into her caravan wagon, into the swirl of sensations that is a Madame Sponsored Event. Longer still since he has joined in the celebration.
     He doubts very seriously if he shall be recognized...
     In the 1700s, it must have been -- perhaps as late as the reign of Emperor Napoleon -- that he last visited, that he last was felt in this court-on-wheels.
     Layers of chocolate, mousse, truffle and sauce -- so his suit appears in its layers of cocoa, jacket, trousers, crewneck cashmere. Short hair -- and that face. That face! There is a smile as William Plantagenet eases through the suite from the outer hallway, picking up a glass of Something -- he has to sniff at it to see what it is, champagne he thinks (hopes). Languid stride carries him among the colors, and he moves like he is stepping into a painting...

     The scene before you is described best in one word: bodies. Bodies everywhere. Thriving, bumping, grinding.... mostly dressed, but some are not so much. Not everyone is moving. Some sit and chat, drink or eat. Others stand in small crowds, flirting and laughing at someone's jokes. And yes... there is a DJ tonight.
     Food and drink are plentiful. If you but asked, you would receive. Eyes are on you everywhere you go.. or at least those who aren't too inebriated to look up. Food isn't the only thing on the menu at The Madame's 'functions', of course, and everyone knows this.
     If you're looking for Her, she can usually be found in the midst of it all, usually surrounded by a crowd... but which one?

     In the middle of it all he takes it all in, joined at times, offers made in his wake, but he leaves the offers untaken -- not quite discarded, perhaps only postponed. Hands glide, a dance stepped out of, laughter edging his expression, but he is here only as spectator tonight.
     There are a few here who know him, your "regular customers", members of the elite. There is astonishment among those few -- few who rarely see him these nights, these years, for some it's been fifty. Even when they hear he is in London, he never stays. Never. He passes through like a rumor, becoming myth at his departure. "Plantagenet," is spoken. And like a rock dropped in the center of a pool, the arrival ripples through your party until it reaches your ears...
     You will find William, if you seek him, standing next to a small crowd talking and playing voyeur upon the prospect of horizontal dancing by the couple wrangling nearby. Beauty draws all eyes. William becomes a part of the spectacle you are offering...

     The combination of the name, plus the sheer magnitude of your presence causes The Madame to cease her story in mid-sentence. "So, we were just about to have some fun, when--" The amused smile slips a little, changing to something... not unpleasant, but quite different... surprise? Disbelief? Pleasant surprisal. The platinum- and green-locked beauty turns her head, her eyes (shocking green tonight) seek out their prey, so to speak... and widen. A palpable silence spreads over those in her group. With the flicker of an eyelash from their Mistress, the sea parts for you, dear one...
     "Guillaume...is it really you, mon ami? Do my eyes deceive me? Is this but an oasis of glitter and glamour before me, a figment of my imagination? Or is it He, in the flesh, come to visit this humble lady?" Her words slip through the air and onto your ears like honeyed wine... so long has she had to practice eloquence, and her voice has been known to seduce even the most faithful of men... or women.
     Full lips painted in a shimmering white curve upward into a delighted smile even as her arms outstretch, her hands being held outward, palms facing down.

     As it is for all married men, when he is at his most faithful he becomes most desirable. The longer he is out of the 'party circuit', the more his name is upon the lips of those who are there. This is, in fact, the first official party he has attended in Europe since World War II ended. And since his return to Europe, who has seen him but a privileged few who have spoken of him, incredulous that he could be more than he was even remembered to be.
     Some perhaps are cynical and call Plantagenet's refusal to join them mere marketing. If so, who is to blame: the seller or the buyer?
     He laughs, warm and incandescent, at your surprise, and one of your hands soon finds him. A kiss is placed upon each cheek. When you saw him last, he was bearded and in leather, the Rake, yes? Isn't that what they called him once? But now...
     "Oui, est moi," the baritone moves over the modern French as smoothly as his smile upon his features. "Et si je suis venu toute cette maniere de vous trouver seulement soudainement humble, je serai decu." He looks to those you are with, dropping into English. "I heard you were here again -- I could not pass the night without paying my respects."

     The kisses on the cheeks are returned simultaneous to the ones she receives. Her hand is warm... she takes great pains to seem as mortal as those around her, while still retaining a nearly otherworldly presence. For those who can sense it, that is.
     Her smile broadens into something more wicked as she replies with a purr, "Ah, but of course... you see through my ruse as you always have, Guillaume. I am truly blessed this evening. I arrived tonight, and a party sprouted up around my very being," as it always does, "and now I have the distinct pleasure of your company... but for how long? Hm? Will you stay a while? Partake in the festivities at all? How is Ian?" All these questions slip around you, curling around you like an embrace. It's all in her charm, really. She's known for it. Mortals cannot resist... and some Kindred, too.
     She knows she could never sway you from your True Love, but it is fun to flirt nonetheless. "You have changed so much...I barely recognize the beautiful man before me." With a look, she dismisses her followers without a look. They scramble off, seeking other sources of entertainment. Who needs an audience, afterall... well, she's used to it, but perhaps she feels you would feel more comfortable without it.

     He is comfortable wherever he goes. He looks after your followers, watching each of them go, and then finally to you -- his undivided attention. Not many could ever claim such. "You did not have to send them away because of me," he murmurs, "...and I shall linger a while, of course. Maybe I will even have dinner," he grins.
     William takes a seat on the setee, he offers you his hand, even his lap. "If there were not an orgiastic display of music, drinking, Bon Vivant and la dolce vita around you, I should think the world would end. I hope we never see that day, mon ami. So, you must tell me how you have been... tell me of the delights you have spread from Paris to London. What brings you to London, cher? It cannot be the weather. Have you come to help the British lighten up?"
     Dinner. Yes. His eyes are looking. Both upon young men and the young women with them. But he has not found a mark. The night has only just begun for him. "Ian is doing very well. I will tell him you asked about him," that always brings him back to where he should be, his mind on his lover, even if he shall have you on his lap. "And I thank you. I cannot believe it has been so long since you have seen me but I fear it has been years, cher. Yes?"

     "Pah! They have an entire suite of people to be with... I can spare some undivided time with an Old Friend, can I not? It is my whim to do so. Besides... it is not often or for very long that you tarry in London, as I am told, so I must take advantage of my good fortune," she teases and compliments you. In fact, if you take another glance around, the crowds have all pulled back, allowing you both a bit of privacy while still being in the middle of it all.
     An offer for the Best Seat in the House? How can she refuse? Nearly purring like a kitten, she accepts your hand and slips onto your lap, lounging on you like a chair. She takes advantage of her position for a moment and murmurs in your ear, "I haven't had the pleasure of doing this for a while..." Then she pulls back and laughs. Ah, the company of good friends. It is lovely.
     "I have been well," she responds to your question, then comments, "though there was some trouble a while back. It has been quiet, but I am always on my guard these days." For a moment, her voice is lowered, serious, and the lines of worry crease her forehead. Then her face smoothes again, as though concern never marred that pretty visage. "But, I'm sure it will pass. This is why I am in London again. I get.. edgy in Paris, and come back here. I'll likely be here for a little while again."
     Talk of Ian makes her smile, murmuring, "Oh, I do miss him. I'm glad he's doing so well. Tell him he is always welcome. We have plenty to go around..." If you know what she means. There's always beautiful boys here. "Ahh, yes... it has been years. But long are our lives.. so years are mere moments. I feel as though we haven't missed a day... a sign of good friendship, oui?"

     His lap is always bettered by having a woman perched on it. So it has always been and so shall it always be. A knight's grasp surrounds you, a little thing in Norman arms. He laughs at the murmur at his ears, smile slanting and in his eyes there is the dark illumination of humor ignited. "Mmm, mais oui, nor I. Not many women come this way," he purrs back, chuckling at the edges of his words.
     He speaks close to your ear, and the world around you will take note of the intimacy. It will fuel talk for a few nights at least. And at least two notable women will wish it had been them. "I am sorry to hear about the trouble. You will let me know if I can be of help, yes? But that is good for the quiet -- well, for the kind of quiet you would attract," he mulls, a glance given to the decadent display around him. "But," a slight bounce of you upon the duke's lap, "...if you say you are well, I will believe you. And...that is understandable about Paris. I have not been there in a few years now. I think I shall be seeing them next year. You have seen Edward, I am sure? He knows you are here," he would assume so, he never misses out on a party. Or at least he never use to.
     William's face is claimed by the smile, his laughter is quiet but warm, as you speak about Ian. "I can see that," an eye to the beautiful young men. "But you know him. He likes his decadence to be singularly focused. He's not much of one for spectators, though he doesn't mind a crowd of young men to attend him."
     Yes, one must keep an 800-year old relationship 'fresh' and 'exciting' somehow. And somehow they seem to manage...

     Her arms find their way around your neck as she looks at you, the crowd, wherever as she speaks. She hangs off of you as one might off of a lamppost or a tree when hanging out with friends... casually and comfortably. Her laughter comes easily and it lights up not only her face, but the air around you, so to speak. It is light, yet sincere... not false and put-on as some courtiers tend to do. The laughter increases as she is bounced or as something is murmured into her ear. Oh, yes, there will be talk. Let them. She revels in this. You, Ian and she know there's nothing going on, so what's the harm?
     "Ah, well, I am privileged, then. All the better," she teases, about how not many women come this way. "All the more for me!" she exclaims and hugs you briefly, still teasing, still flirting. It's all a game...all for fun. That is what she lives for, after all... fun.
     "Too bad Ian won't join in, but... well, he could still show up to a party, even if he doesn't partake in certain parts of it. The invite is always open. Perhaps someday I shall have to come and visit the two of you... assuming I'd be invited, of course. How rude of me!" One of her hands flies to her leather bustier-covered chest, lightly resting there on her fingers as she looks shocked at herself, with a hint of a grin. She's terrible, isn't she?
     "But no... I haven't seen Edward... yet. I'm sure he's around and will show up eventually. He had been asking about the trouble in Paris.. I should track him down sometime soon. Then again, like I said, he should turn up eventually. Maybe I'll just wait." She offers a wink, then looks around at the crowd. "Aren't they beautiful? Sometimes I just have to sit back and watch them... I could get lost in them."

     You turn your head, and his mouth is at your ear, your neck. There is no blood, there is no kiss, nor shall there be, but is not such promised by the feeling behind and around you. And everywhere, suddenly, the scent of cinnamon. William smiles at your ear, your neck, his eyes shifting to take in the crowd. "When we are in Chinon next, perhaps in the summer, you can come see us then. You will find my doors open, my bed comfortable," he grins at your skin.
     "I will tell him," he continues, voice softening when he speaks of Ian, the smile pulling at that mouth of his again. "Maybe before we leave London," for they are never here long, "...I can persuade him to visit. I will tell him how beautiful your boys are, and that he is missing a feast for the eyes and the mouth. And, mais oui, privileged," William grins, inclining his head, his hand lifting, a finger tapping your lips. "I have missed having a woman on my lap. Long has this playboy," a wink flickers indigo, "...been without a bunny. I have had nothing but hare," men, "... for years now. I will say I do not miss the drama," eyes widen a touch as he grins, "...but I do miss the blushing, giggling, perfumerie of it all."
     He says nothing of Edward. He merely nods. "They are beautiful. I have not seen such loveliness gathered in one place since visiting L'Empereur. So, there must be gossip you can share with me. What is being talked about between pants and grunts, face down in pillows these days?"

     She nearly snuggles down further into your embrace, getting comfortable. Do you feel like you are suddenly her favourite chair? She will sorely miss it when it's gone, back to Chinon. She purrs at the feeling of your lips against her flesh, even if nothing comes of it except words. Ah, memories are wonderful. "I shall have incredible dreams tonight, Guillaume, and you will be at fault for that... I suppose I should thank you," she laughs gently, closing her eyes a moment.
     "Perhaps I will visit sometime. I will call of course... not just drop in as I am prone to doing," she murmurs, grinning. Yes, she is aware of her habits and the pompousness that some less enamoured Kindred probably envision her with. "But, ah, I miss my old friends. I need to visit them more. Please tell him what he is missing, yes... perhaps he'll come even for just a glance and a hello. That would be nice. Of course, there are other pleasures to be had." Alcohol. Food. Opium. Just about anything one would desire could be found.
     At the comment of the playboy without a bunny, Annabelle's eyes open and she lets out a peal of laughter. "That... that is a good one, Guillaume, my friend. Oh, there are many bunnies who no doubt mourn that... perhaps myself included. But I'll survive and so will they. I'll just have to drown myself in twenty or more of the lovely bodies that are here later...or something equally decadent."
     She reaches up and plays with your hair a bit as she looks back at the crowd. "Ah, gossip.. well, those who know you have of course comment on your absenteeism from the parties...that you are missed. Or rather, that certain attributes of yourself are missed." There's a quiet snort and a wink tossed back at you. "And, well, there are always the normal gossips of who is sleeping with whom, who has been scorned, ad nauseam. I hear that Buttons has been harassing poor Villon. He can't seem to shake the poor thing. She is just so enamoured of him...but it's cute. She can be heard saying, "Such a pretty, pretty man," from time to time as she's latched to his arm. Her watcher is always nearby talking about The Great War, as usual." An amused grin steals onto her lips at this point, as this is obviously all very funny to her.

     Opium would be appealing. He can smell in on the air -- for now, it is enough. He cannot partake of that tonight. There is much yet to do. When he gets home... well, when he gets to Kensington Palace... that will be a different story.
     He smirks at the gossip about himself. Attributes, indeed. "My wit cannot be so much missed," he mulls, words elongated with much consideration, and then a chuckle follows. "Hmmm... Aureliana," he says of Buttons, one of the few who know her actual name. "When her mouth is gagged, she is among the prettiest women of Europe. I could not take the chatter," he quips. "But she is exceedingly lovely. Now, you know how I like my women, yes? Energetic, but not in conversation."
     William inclines his head again, dark eyes fastening on your features. "You have survived well enough without my lap and they without me at their functions. I would not mind going to a few, perhaps we shall this year, Ian and I."

     "Hmm, you are right, she is lovely. I'd dare say she is more lovely than myself. But... Aureliana... bound and gagged. Now there is a lovely image that you have brought to my mind. You are an evil, evil man, Guillaume, for putting such thoughts into my head," she chides lightly, tapping you gently on the nose. The Madame has no hang-ups about who she 'plays' with... flesh is flesh to her. Male, female... they're all labels, it seems.
     "But yes... I know how you liked your women, mon ami. Not saying that it's necessarily a bad thing... but I do tend to like my playthings to be more vocal. Not necessarily coherently so, but..." Ah, yes, the screams of pleasure are music to her ears. "But, I digress!"
     Running a finger along your chin, still taking advantage of the privilege she's been granted for this short time, she murmurs, "Well, no pressure to come out and play, but we'd love to see you both. The door is always open, you know that. Even if it's just for a quick bite." And there are plenty of 'dishes' to choose from.

     He laughs, "Ah, to be honest, amie, I no longer know what I like in women. I like noise, I simply do not like endless chatter," William corrects. "And it is an image, for certes, this is true," mouth spreads in a grin. "You should share it with Villon. I am sure he could appreciate the sentiment, non?"
     The chin is smooth upon which your finger runs, beards of the past, and masks of the past, now a distant memory. William bends his head, his eyes lifted still to your face (or something in that general region), and his mouth is quick to capture your finger. Edge of a fang and flick of a tongue. "We would lord over your rooms, take all your men and boys," he murmurs there, voice throat-held and deep. He smiles and sits back.
     "Speaking of which, you should show me your best," he murmurs. A suggestion that is not a Suggestion, but still it comes with energy, thickening, his gaze moving to your crowd. "Something French or Italian or Spanish..."

     "Hm... perhaps I will share that with Villon the next time he graces my presence.... or I grace his." There is a wink at this. She's always nearby but for the most part, she understands that Villon has a job to do, so she doesn't cling to him as Buttons or others might... unless invited to do so. Grinning, she adds with a chuckle, "I'll just be sure not to say it in front of Biggles..."
     As her finger is captured momentarily, she gasps and looks back at you. "Tease!" she exclaims and pulls her finger back. "Such a naughty boy. Taunting me with what I cannot have. For shame," she purrs with a wink. Leaning in again, she speaks, her lips upon your ear, "Don't make me try to convert you, mon ami. I would enjoy it too much." There is a chuckle after this. It is an empty threat, but fun to toss at you nonetheless.
     Then, leaning back, she looks back at the crowd. "Mmm... we could have a show, yes. Let me see now... there is Philippe over there in the blue vest... and Marcello in the red and white... very nice indeed. Shall I call them and others over then?" She goes on, beginning to Summon several of the pretty men and boys over, intent on giving you a very good show, indeed.

Posted by rowan at February 14, 2004 07:40 PM