The point is...
     Now...
     In the end of all things, It is the only thing that counts, the only thing that matters. Breath hitting air and freezing, falling beneath the skis, as if this god of winter is creating his own pack to race upon. Skin feeling the burn but not worrying, not having to worry now.
     Now...
     I have heard the stories of the Past and I have met the players in them. I have seen the complications of the Future, and of the political influences that may one day shape them. But neither of these things mean anything apart from the experience in the Present...
     Hurtling down this mountain, I am not surrounded by princes apart from myself. Lord Jack Frost. I can feel the bumps before the bumps move me. My body readjusts, I feel the dip of air that warns me a fall is near. If my senses were not in this Present, would I be able to react as I would need to?
     A gleam of white sails down the private slopes behind the winter palace of St. Nikolas, the chalet of Georg of Geneva. White face, sparkling with kicked up frost, powder and the accumulating ice of his traveling. For mortals, they would not be out at this time of freezing night.
      But that does not have to concern him Now...
     White ski gear is on him like layers of confectioner's sugar, but his skis are as red as blood, as red as his goggles protecting his gold eyes from the daggers of snow and ice. A blur. Not seen until heard passing the trees, seen only in a crystalline moment, fleeting as Time itself.
     But Valan Montague, like Now, is outside of Time...

     At the side of the chalet, Edward stands. He talks to Ylsa as they exchange skis for something to drink. Then Edward glances at his watch before looking up the slopes.
     "He'll be here," Ylsa says, leaning the skis against the stone and wood wall.

     "I know," Edward replies, noncommittally. A cough clears his throat, and he takes a drink from the large cup that was given to him. Hands covered in pliable plastic, Edward's not in a rush to unlayer himself. Large white billows float from the cup, and he takes another drink.

     Remember the first run on this mountain... the race that ended in a kind of proposal, that trip Then that became his entrance, eventually, into this night world with you, Christophe Phillipe Eduard Meurelle. Sometimes you have wondered: Where did that young man go? But he was there, even as he will be there, however he shall be in that Moment of Time. He is as he is and has he has become.
     A crystallization of Valan Montague. Part truth, part fiction, part pure myth. But it happens to everyone, doesn't it. Everyone for whom the clock no longer ticks. Outside of that most human of states, time-bound civilization and reality, We become Something Else.
     There he is...
     One last lifting jump, sailing to the point of flying, flying to the point of vaulting, a thing in white comes into view, faster than most would attempt, kicking up tremendous powder as he screeches to a halt. His face is white and frosty, his goggles speckled with powder and the ice accumulating from the partial melting. As he stops completely, Valan moves his goggles up and stares at the white, white world. And grins.
     "It is a good night to be alive," he declares, giving his face first to the conquered mountain, and then to the two of you just before bending to unlock himself from his skis. "It is even better than I remembered it to be," he says.

     Edward would have normally made comment, but instead, he laughs at the humor. At least he can appreciate the irony, if not the joke. "That happens," Edward finally smirks, shaking his head. "Too bad memories are frail things. The skiing," he posits, "...may just be easier. Faster." But nothing 'better' in his view of the world.

     Ylsa smiles, bulked up in coat and gloves herself. She grins as she offers a cup in exchange for skis. She won't take them in...Stephan will see to that...but she'll place them where they can lose any lodged bits of ice and snow.

     "How'd you do in Arsnee?" Edward asks, strangely sedate. "I have you here almost a minute earlier, but still..." off the time he'd like to see. "There were a few branches barely buried in the snow. More treacherous than I thought."

     "I lost a few seconds dodging some of that," ice forms in the warmth of his words, if not his breath (the condensation is not quite the same, is it). Skis are handed over in smiling turns to Ylsa. Activity makes the young man beam. Red cheeks from the exposure, but he doesn't mind it. He feels it, but it's different Now. Not as sharp. Or perhaps his tolerance is just higher...
     "I was fast in Arsnee," Valan smiles. "Faster than this, but," he pauses for a cup of warmth. "I will make another run... now that I know where the branches are." As he drinks, a hand comes out for you, a pat upon your arm that becomes a lingering grasp, then a squeeze of muscle -- Mon Dieu -- as he lowers his cup.
     Memories may be frail things, ami, but we are not...
     "Another run," he says, "... it will be a good run. Then I will put them up for a while. It is good up there, very clear. I think I have half the mountain in my lungs." A wink of gold, yes they are gold.

     "I am sure you do," Edward smiles, turning about and crunching snow beneath his feet. For a moment, his back is given, as he watches Ylsa handle setting a second set of skis near the first. "But, are you certain you want another run? Right now?" Edward swallows the last of his drink -- scotch aroma floating in the air -- and hands the cup to Ylsa as well. "I think I'm done for now...maybe in a couple of hours. I need to warm first."
     "Did you avoid the left fork on the way down Goldenrod? There was a sixty foot drop that was marvelous...too bad I didn't remember that was to be there. I thought it was a straight run on the left..."

     He lifts the cup again as you turn, downing another healthy swallow of it. Flesh begins to warm now that it is not being assaulted by the mountain air and the powder of his own flight. He'll hold onto his cup for now, there's still a couple of swallows left. "Sure, ami," he says, voice and mood light, "... in a couple of hours," he marks it by repeating it then smiles to you and to Ylsa. "I'll keep this for now."
     He begins to turn toward the chalet, to follow you in. "I missed it, I thought it was to the right," Valan laughs, then thumps his temple with a gloved finger. "But next time, I am going to hit that one. To the right, it was rough going. I took the path less traveled," a smirk. "So," a pat to your arm again, "... did I tell you already that this was a brilliant idea, ami? I think we should buy a place out here and just stay," Valan laughs. "Go to Geneva, like Georg, when we want to do something else..."

     Edward looks to his side, then smiles. "I'm tempted, but then," Edward grins, French his tongue here, "I'd be bored out of my fuckin' mind," he confesses. "I think about it, ami, us going somewhere else. But..." and he shrugs, opening the door as his hands are free. "I don't get far on it."
      "As for the right, well," Edward grins, 'That's the route I should have done. Left was...unexpected. Some changes in the topology. Maybe we'll see better if we come in summer, but I bet there were some rock falls earlier this year..."

     Edward looks to his side, then smiles. "I'm tempted, but then," Edward grins, French his tongue here, "I'd be bored out of my fuckin' mind," he confesses. "I think about it, ami, us going somewhere else. But..." and he shrugs, opening the door as his hands are free. "I don't get far on it."
     "As for the right, well," Edward grins, 'That's the route I should have done. Left was...unexpected. Some changes in the topology. Maybe we'll see better if we come in summer, but I bet there were some rock falls earlier this year..."

     He laughs, warm, boisterous, living laughter. "Me too. It would not be good, ami, I have a gun. All this quiet and peace. I might have to shoot myself." But he thinks about it, too. And then he wakes up.
     Valan stops just before going in, giving boots a stomp to knock off the excess before stepping inside and unbuckling. He twists, a gorgeous thing in white, to hand you his cup. "I think I want to try the drop off," he says, "... but maybe with additional runs, the right will be a bit better. I think you may be right about the rock falls. It was very rough over there."
     "I say I want to live here every time I visit," Valan smiles, "but it is not true. It is as it is precisely because we don't live here." Such a realist, your Montague. And that seems to be the end of that line of conversation, because next he is grinning and bending to unbuckle the ski boots.

     The cup's taken and Edward sniffs it. "Hm," he says softly, taking a drink. Edward keeps walking, leaving you and Ylsa behind. "I told Georg we may be here through end of January...but it's up to you," Edward says, sighing as he passes through the kitchen proper. His voice lifts. "I don't mind either way -- but check with me in a couple of weeks," Edward laughs.

      "When it is time to go," Valan says simply, following after a few minutes, "...it will be time to go. Tonight," he smiles as he follows into the kitchen, unzipping his outer protective layer of loose white 21st century water-resistant fabric, "... it is time to stay."
     Beneath the outer layer, there is a turtleneck with a zip-front, which further overlies a layer of skin-tight ski wear. The turtleneck is red, the zipper with a silver ring at his throat.
     "But, I will be sure to check your temperature as we go along, yes," Valan grins, face ruddy from cold-then sudden warmth and with his own joke as he passes you to head to the living room and the large fireplace and its comfortable seating nearby. "Hot buttered rum," he suggests, and he hopes.

     Edward nods and strides on through, exhaling once he arrives at the living room. "Got any plans for your vacation?" he smiles. "Reading? Rest? How will you spend the next weeks? I mean," Edward chuckles, "...anything that would have been exciting," like last time, '..has already happened."

     "Let's see. Skiing," Valan says, smile curling, "... that's a given. Sex," his eyebrows open outward, "...I hope to be able to do that. Weather permitting," a wink. He makes a sound of Much Consideration as he twists out of his outerwear. "The rest I am leaving up to whim and fancy," he makes a wave. "Since we may be here for a while, maybe a long excursion, cross country. I haven't really given it much thought."
     Valan sits with a sigh, hand moving through golden hair, mussed as usual but moreso with the head covering and goggles worn earlier. He moves his hand through it to make it look merely artfully messy rather than "hat hair" messy. "I am sure something exciting will come up. Life has a way of doing this, yes? But," hands on his thighs to punctuate his following thoughts and words, "... I am not going to plan. I don't want to miss anything by planning for things and missing out on what actually occurs." He looks over to you, smile slanting.
     The first year was exciting, the second strange, the third difficult, and so the fourth year is beginning with some clarity. Clarity from experience gained. Strength gained. Confidence gained. The rest? He can let go of much these nights. To exist. Perhaps it is enough.

     "Planning's overrated," Edward agrees, plopping on a sofa and then offering the drink back. 'But still. Maybe rest. Cross-country does sound good...we could plan a 30km if you're up to it?"
     Hands lift and fold behind Edward's head as he settles onto the sofa. "Looks like we are going to have a quiet holiday," he teases, exhaling loudly towards the ceiling. "Maybe that's good. After the year we have seen..."

     "I am surprised, with what you know, that you would say such things aloud," Valan says, turning his head against the cushions of the sofa and looking to you. He smiles, he chuckles a little, and then he looks back to the fire. And then... scoots away from it. A look again to you, as if he is chiding himself for being afraid of it, rolling his eyes at his own discomfort. Not taking it all so seriously.
     He did for a while. He took it all seriously. So serious. It was not healthy. But it happens to everyone, mortal or immortal alike.
     "I do not know how quiet I can be," Valan drolls with a slim smile, "... but... maybe it will be a little less hectic than our last trip. I could not believe it then, I do not believe it Now," he says, smiling more. He takes his cup and he looks into it.
     "I do not know. I do not think it was so bad, this year? The one before that," Valan pauses for a swallow, "...that was hard. Last year was busy," he concedes at the end. "At the end of it anyway. But," an exhale, a swallow and a smile. He lifts his cup toward you, "... to fucking all that away," he toasts, "...and to not worrying about it on vacation and to another year. We will see what we will see, ami..."
     "Oh, and a 30km will be fun. Yes... we will do that... that much, ami, I think we can be safe to plan, yes?"

     Edward takes a moment before responding, brows narrowing as he thinks for a moment. "There was plenty of trouble on the docks...Morningside?" Or have you so quickly forgotten? Edward's brow lift, asking the question in silence. "Davydd's...arrival...made short work of that, I guess. Just because we are physically well, does not mean that we should forget, that's all. The...note from my mate, Northumberland. Spain..."
     Well, he's been dangerously busy at least.
     Brown eyes slide sideways, and a smile follows. "It's been a long year or so," Edward restates, figuring you'll probably agree this time.

     He looks at you a moment. The end of the year was certainly ... interesting. Valan doesn't say anything for a moment. He looks back into his cup, gives a last swish of the liquid, then finishes it. "That was a bad night. I was afraid that night," he admits. "Maybe it was the first time I was really afraid since..." hooking up with you. Gold eyes lift to find you. "So, maybe I was editing too much for a good spin." A little smile. He looks at his cup then sets it aside.
     "Have you decided what you can or cannot do about your friend's news? I mean, ami, what are you supposed to do? Sit on it and worry? Or go find it," the threat, "...and end it." A pause. "You are still worried about it," he remarks. "So, what can we do about it?"
     Note the 'We'...
     "And ...what Davydd did was... weird," he remarks, eyebrows narrowing again, then opening outward in a visible shrug of: oh well. "I haven't been 'peeking'," alluding to that gift of his, one of them that he has discovered over time, "... but I think he's definitely more than he proports to be."

     "He is," Edward affirms, "...much more. I should have noticed it before," Edward shrugs, letting his hands fall to his lap, "...but..." he shakes his head. Such is existence. Such is denial. Such is...things not really mattering. "He's a good egg, Llewelyn is. That's the important part."
     "As for...the rest? I don't know. I have," Edward's hand touch idly, '...wondered whether some...one...has gotten a pisser at me. Sabbat? I don't know, ami. And I'm getting tired of waiting for the other shoe to drop."

     "I think he makes it hard for anyone to notice," Valan smiles, gold eyes lifting to your face, suddenly thinking that you are too far away. He slides over, a vampiric slide, and he settles down beside you, body given to you and to the sofa. Here's something for you to touch, idly. "He is a good egg," saying that in sudden English. "A good man. A good friend. He was there to save us. Maybe it's what he does best."
     Valan looks up at you from his position at one of your large shoulders. "Why wait for the other shoe to drop, whomever it is getting to hold the shoes over your head. It does no good to sit and wait, I do not think. Wait for ...what? And in the meantime worry." Valan shakes his head in thought, glancing to the fire but not for long. "I think we should take care of this ourselves. Find out who or what is behind this ... threat or this message of your friend. Maybe it is nothing. If it is something, then we should put an end to it."

     "Oh, you think so, do you?" Edward grins, twisting around as he thrusts fingers at your side. He laughs and tickles, trying lamely to get you to change your mind. "You're ready for a fight, ami?"
     "Maybe we should teach you new things, just in case," his fingers roughly squirming about.

     I am not ticklish. That is what the stiffening of that body is telling you -- I am just moving to give you a little more space. Yes, that is it. Not that I'm ticklish. Because, as you know, I am not. Valan makes his body a liar with a chortle and then he twists, "Non," a croak -- and he laughs when his No sounds too much like a Yes.
     "You should teach me new things," he says, twisting around, his own fingers digging at you. "Just in case. You know... I have to keep up with you anyway... I can't just rely on being the best lay of your fucking life..."

     "Oh, definitely don't do that," Edward laughs, deriding himself really. He groans and rolls his eyes, thinking of the consequences. "Guns are good, but," Edward says, "...it's still the power of the person who wields it that's the issue. Did you ever do wrestling as a schoolboy? Any other hand-to-hand sports?"

     "No hand-to-hand. I did the obligatory round of tennis and some soccer, but nothing that required me to hit anyone until fencing, where I excelled. But no boxing. Non, nothing like grappling," he looks up at you, head tipping back against your shoulder, smirking. "You are going to teach me to wrestle? I think I like this. When do we start? Shall we oil up?"
     Now he's poking fun at himself, a little. He laughs. "I am more swift than I am strong. I am not like you, ami. And certainly I did not get the training you had..."

     "The training I had?" Edward asks, his French blessedly missing the expletive-driving annoyance of his English. At the same time, there's a lack of emotion in his French, something that keeps him in his place. Edward shakes his head negatively, "Training...well, it wasn't that at first." Then, he thinks better, looking up and away. "I guess it was that. I don't think it started that way. I spent a lot of time on the ground. I don't know." He can't seem to recall how he's learned what he knows.
     "Maybe...the boxing...it came later. It wasn't terribly Spanish," Edward drawls, the name said for effect. "They wouldn't have taught it to me. Nor the wrestling..."

     "I spent a lot of time on my back as well, ami, but I could never claim it could save my life," how sweetly that is drawn in French, in a way that English could simply not convey. Valan lifts gold eyes to you, watching you as you think. "The boxing seems very English, something before or right after World War One or Two?" he wonders, hand landing on a thigh and there remaining. His eyes follow his fingers.
     "A gun, like a saber, would just be an extension of myself, therefore I must learn to use it, to be comfortable with it as much as with the saber. But," he posits, "... more than this I need to be confident in myself, and the things this body can do. So, I lay myself to you," a grin, "...and your instruction. However you think it best. You have my trust, absolute, Eduard..."

     It must be something French. Edward looks down skeptically, then smiles, "You're far too poetic," he grins, then moves on. "Well, if you're going to do that kind of work, I guess we should find someone -- I'm probably not the best person for it, really."

     Gold eyes roll and his lips curl a smirk. Fine. Poetic. "What should I have said?" he protests, but then he grins. And then he peers. Not you? "Who would be better than you to teach me? Do I know him? That list has to be very short, yes?"

     Edward's head falls back. "Let me think about it a few nights, eh, ami? I don't who yet. It'll come to me." Eventually. At some point.
     Air rushes through Edward's nose as he inhales a relaxing breath. "But yes, the gun...is only part of it. The real weapon...is you. That's the part we need to find someone for."

     "Of course, ami. As I said, poetic though it may have been, I trust you with everything, absolutely." He moves -- he is quick, as he said -- and now he is a fixture on your lap, facing you. "Do not think about it too hard, ami," Valan says at your mouth, smiling as he gives your lips a tug. "After all... this is our vacation..."
     Who knows that it may be the last for a while at this rate...
     Warmth eases across your lips, a teasing of pleasure, just a quick glimpse into your possible future. A momentary tremble and then it recedes, followed by the parting of a rum-laced mouth.

     The kiss is warmly accepted, though Edward's already distracted. He pulls back, tilting his head to his left shoulder. A relaxed consideration. "Hungry before skiing again?" he asks.

     He has his own distractions and when you tip your head and speak, the moment crystallizes. Now. It is all about Now. There is no other answer needed but the sudden slant of his smile but Valan looks from your quasi-offer to your face. "Refreshments," he murmurs, "...then a run. Oui..."

Posted by rowan at February 15, 2004 11:43 PM