"You're welcome, amours," a murmur, warmth, love in that. William looks to Victoria. "I can help you with Italy and southern France to some extent. Florence, Venice... I can help more. Toulouse...Bordeaux. Tours and Poitiers you are doing on your own, you seem to be managing well enough, though certainly with Poitiers I can provide additional assistance."
     William returns to his seat, his place near Ian. Cigarette finished, he stamps the rest of it out in the tray and reaches for the bottle of wine and his glass. Oral fixations switched again...

     "But, knowing the courts and visiting is no substitute, still for setting up your powerbase, as it were, from a particular city," Ian goes on, looking down into his glass. "For you? I would recommend...Tours and Poitiers. They are both upcoming, and could use familiarity with someone who has been a primogen. It lends them a little brash American signature luster as you gain within a structure with more age than you have. It will be less work than trying to make a powerbase in very old places, with very old individuals who have no use or need for you, and certainly would not want to give away anything."

     William sits back with a glass of wine, long legs stretching out again. "Mais oui, either one," William murmurs. "But... if you do this, Victoria," indigo fastens onto her. "You are going to have to distance yourself from me somewhat. You are not going to want to ... talk of me to excess, or mention me at all in some cases. The last thing you need is for anyone in Poitiers or Tours to think that you are my eyes there or that I am using you somehow. I would hope they'd think me more resourceful than having to do this," he smirks. "But it is ... politically touchy, hmm? Best to seem to be your own woman than to be mine..."

     Victoria nods, going over to pour herself more coffee on the server. There are nights when it seems cruel not to be able to at least get a little drunk. "My experiences from New York aren't totally useless, too, I guess. It's only come up infrequently, and hopefully less here in Europe of course, but I did learn a lot about dealing with the Sabbat." She wrinkles her nose at even the mention of them. Which might be one of the first to hear from her.
     "One of the things about growing up in a city invaded all the time was I got to hear a lot of strategies from the council when I was assisting Maximilian with his administrative things. It helped a little in New Port when a group tried to move in on the docks." She shrugs, "You never know when things like that might come in handy."
     She nods to Ian, "And at least so far, Poitiers and Tours are disposed to like me. We've got some things in common besides just being younger than some people would like."
     William is granted a bit of a grin, "You don't think I should talk about going up to summer at Chinon then?" She smiles, more seriously, "I take your meaning, though. It wouldn't endear me to many people. Other than the ones it already has."

     "Not in truth," Ian glances at William, then to the visitor in turn. "Just...take care not to seem overly friendly with William. That you know him, yes, but none of the name-dropping so common in courts. To use his name, just for said sake. Only in meaning. And so, it means rarely, unless someone else converses about him. Do not seem overly intimate."

     The look is pointed indigo, though not without humor -- something of the sheen of his eyes, belied by the slight upturn of his lips. "Summers in Chinon are out," William quips a little, but not overly much because he means what he says. A glance to Ian and then the humor dissolves for Victoria in the next moment. "You must use names with care, because names still have meaning even in this modern world. Use me... when you need to use me... but not upon every occasion. Never casually, never with ... intimacy as Ian," a look to Ian, that is the word, amours. "...has stated. Never frequently. If it is to hold power for you, then it must be a thing rarely used. If it is to hold power for me," the smile returns, "... it must be used with care. I will trust you to know the difference. Now, of Tours and Poitiers...Ian is quite right, as he usually is," a grin for his spouse even though he doesn't look at him. "Both cities are young as far as Camarilla structures go, and while there is some age upon the newly formed council, the overall structures are very...as you say... up and coming. It is a good fit for you. Bordeaux and Toulouse less so, these are older seats. Italy is a political quagmire," that mouth spreads into a knowing look and a knowing expression. "In a century, maybe you can cut your teeth on it. I would not recommend it at this juncture for you..."
     William takes a swallow of the wine and earlier... issues... seem to dissolve like so much sugared drink upon the tongue. "I think you might find that ... being your own woman," said as if there were quotations around that, "... in either city will have its advantages. Of the two, I will suggest Tours, not because you have a relationship...of a kind... with the prince, in fact that would be reason enough for me to suggest you do the opposite, so it doesn't appear to be... bed-hopping or desperate. But," his hands gesticulate in the midst of a shrug, "... better to go to Tours I think. Alire d'Avignon and Poitiers would be... I think it would look as if you were clutching to the strings of an apron. Not far enough to be considered serious. And the more you drop my name in Poitiers, the more like that it will appear. I say Tours, even though it is closer to Chinon and you know the prince, because it has the appearance," emphasis there, "... of being far more independent of my influence than my mother's city..."

     Ian nods, crossing his legs with his refreshed scotch at his knee. "I would...recommend the opposite choice...and with the reasons William have explained. Either is acceptable, just realize that Tours and Poitiers have particular appearances for you and you will need to work against them..."

     "I will always be connected with either city... I am Guillaume XI of Poitou," another slight roll of his shoulders. "They are mine, even though they are not mine. And I, more importantly, belong to Them," the cities, their histories, this land. "There is a choice either way. One, maybe you are coming there for Raymond and not yourself. The other, you are living with your uncle's friend... not quite ...old enough to make your own decisions..."

     Victoria smiles briefly at the response to her light joke before nodding, her expression sobering a bit as she takes another sip of coffee. Her pacing has naturally ceased in the process of listening more astutely, head inclined just a bit in interest.
     "I definitely think staying out of Italy is wise. Maximilian started here, after all, so his ties while being outdated are still present. And even more so than appearing as though I was trying to establish some foothold for you," she glances to William, "I'm sure it couldn't appear to be anything but even if I worked to present another image. And it would be dozens of times easier for him to pull the rug out from under me there if he wanted."
     "What about beginning with both?" She asks curiously, glancing between Ian and William to see if her idea has any merit at all, "D'Avignon and Tours are friends as I understand it? So it wouldn't be as though I was playing two sides. But since I'm not likely to take a seat officially or anything at either for the time being, the two do seem tied together? Then if one looks to be more solid than the other, it becomes a foundation and the second an extension?"
      Maybe? Or is she totally off base...

     Ian shrugs noncommittally, "Both are possible, but that is work. A delicate act." He finally takes a taste of his scotch, and while his glass is turned up, Ian sits back, letting William reply on more detail, or with his own opinion.

     William glances to Ian briefly, lips quirking. "Poitiers is more relaxed, more open I thin rather. Tours, perhaps, more important. Ah, it's a toss-up." He looks to Victoria. "It depends upon what you wish to work against. Sexual desperation and bed-hopping, of little merit because you are a woman and look... behaving like one, too. Or, you are in Poitiers... it is a good city," he shrugs, "...nothing really exciting happening, Alire is a good prince, a better man... but...you mention my name and suddenly Alire is your big brother or uncle and obviously you weren't thought talented enough to go to... I do not know... Tours or Paris or Lyon..."
     To the notion of both: "You can't have your cake and eat it, too. Look, the more ... indecisive you seem, and two cities would be indecisive, the less good it will do you to be anywhere. You have to commit to something, I'm afraid," he smiles a little. "It will look like you don't know what you are doing, that you can't make up your mind, or... worse yet... that you are trying to do something that you may not be able to pull off. Well... let me go back..."
     "You can be in both cities," a hand waves, "... so what, no problem. But," eyebrows arch and he leans in, yes, he has been around Italians a good deal in his immortal life, he acts like one, "... you should not try to have the same level or depth of relationship with both cities. You will want to make your base... perhaps in Poitiers then... and visit Tours frequently... perhaps more personally. Think of yourself as an emissary and you shall become one. Tours and Poitiers are...not joined at the hip and they will resist anyone from the outside telling them any differently," William settles back. "They are not of the same 'nation'... they consider themselves unrelated. There is an undercurrent of pride there... Touraine and Poitou. They are tied together for you ... only because you know me... and I am the link in that chain, mais oui?"
     William settles back again and finishes the wine. Another lean, and he deposits the glass upon the table nearby. "I would begin in one... and work your way into a role, perhaps, that allows you to gain in both. That will take time. If you are considering something of this nature, then I will change my recommendation to Poitiers. You will have more success there with the notion of emissary... of maintaining a bridge of communication...right now, Alire and Raymond are new in their seats. Both men are level-headed. They have no issue with one another that I know of. But they are of two different clans... and they will not always see eye-to-eye..."

     Victoria retains her thoughtful expression and walks back over to the seat she had attained earlier, next to her shoes. "Well, in all honesty, I'm not planning on moving back to the States. At all, really, unless something drastically changes. So long term is fine." She shrugs, "I don't have the luxury there of abstaining from the political sector at all, because even more so than here if I simply exist somewhere it's going to be seen as a threat of some kind. Either as a scout for my sire or in my own right waiting to take control at some time in the future after I've created a base for myself. Or, the alternative is I start to be seen as a potential challenge for Maximilian himself. If nothing else as insight into his plans."
     Victoria drinks from her cup again explaining, "I don't want to destabilize him at all. I may not be terribly fond of him at the moment, or in general, but he is good for his city." She seems to think of it as his city despite the fact that he's not the prince, which isn't only her opinion in many ways, "And for the clan and the Camarilla that particular linch pin being unstable even simply to change primogen could be disastrous in many ways." Fewer cities are in hotter contention and still kept out of the hands of the Sabbat, after all.
     "So, Europe seemed to be the best answer. And I still think it is, I like it here. I have enough independence to... have some." She sighs, "The issue becomes, however, the timing. He's doing this now because he knows I don't have things in place to be able to ignore him yet. And I don't want to make trouble for Raymond or d'Avignon. Which it would likely be easier for him to do along clan lines than outside it without causing himself more trouble."
     She frowns thoughtfully, taking another drink before turning to William, working through all the pros and cons, "Do you think one would be better for the clan than the other? One city is already controlled by the Ventrue obviously, though the other one is, as you said, not against us for the moment."

     More relaxed, Ian focuses on his current scotch. His part of the conversation is essentially done. Politics, these days, bore him. Once, it was a part of his survival, even when participating in the depths of such machinery was really not required. He didn't know. He couldn't see it.
     But now, politics leaves him cool. Perhaps its now in its place; a tool only for victory. For no matter how much he changes, there seems a love and need to win.
     One just doesn't need to use a 50 caliber to kill flies.

     "I hope they remain friendly, my house is situated... rather inconveniently in between," he murmurs. "My only desire for both cities is ongoing peace with one another and within their confines. In fact, if I have a political role at all these days," William looks to Ian, eyebrows lifting. "Or in the future," he adds, "...then it will be to maintain this. Not selfishly for my own comfort. My expectation is that I never have to do anything as the old voice in the land. Do not misunderstand me. I would not wish for you to conquer the city of Tours back for Clan Ventrue." He smiles at the notion. "So... in that sense, there is no difference between the two as far as clans go. Both have very young structures at the moment. Either one should afford the nimble an opportunity for advancement and prosperity."
     "As far as Maximilian is concerned," the voice takes on a thoughtful depth, some might say a darkness. "I do not care if he is old than I am... if he fucks with France, he will regret it." There is a smile that means it -- for there is no humor to back it up. "I don't think that will be an issue. Raymond and Alire are very capable princes, leaders of their own clan, very respected. There should be no reason," eyebrows lifting, "...for Maximilian to wish to do something that would endanger established Camarilla cities in a decidedly Camarilla country. All the way from New York." A pause. "Don't give him power that he does not deserve, Victoria. That is how he perpetuates himself. The trick with dealing with a hydra is knowing which head to cut off first. Consider this your first blow."

     She folds her legs sideways slightly after sitting down, leaning on one arm of the chair with her elbow, letting her hand settle on her chin above that. "Oh, I don't want a city. It's lovely and all, but the whole point of trying to be independent is that I can try and figure out what I want to do. If I wanted to have to work out being told what to do by a council of Primogen, I might as well have just stayed in New York to begin with." Just different kinds of control, really.
     "Well. I suppose Rolle wouldn't be bad. There'd be me... and me." She smiles and shrugs, the village itself only interesting to kindred in general as a waypoint between Lausanne and Geneva, "But I see your point." Her mouth quirks up in a half smile, "That's always been one of my problems. He isn't all powerful. He just likes to seem that way to me at every opportunity." Which, all things considered, is less hard than she'd like. "It's too bad the Tremere are such bastards, that bond-breaking ritual would come in pretty handy."

     "What bond-breaking ritual?" Ian quips, finishing his scotch. "You read too much Tremere propaganda..."

     "You're far too young to become a hermit," William shakes his head. "There is work that you should do... contributions to make to your Familia," as Girault calls it. "... to your Clan. You haven't even figured out what that is yet," he smiles a little. "It is too early for you to retire. Me on the other hand, politically I have done what I could. I'm old. And while there are no more world wars, and the Camarilla doesn't need an old crusader general anymore, there is still work that I do, contributions I must make. A tithe, let us call it, for my continued presence on this planet. You serve no purpose in Rolle but gardening, Victoria. You must participate or..." William looks to her. "...those things without purpose do not last long on this earth, immortal or no. It is time for you to make your own...stamp in the world, to leave your fingerprints behind. I think this may have been a part," smooth baritone lifts in question as he turns to look to his spouse, his sire, "...the reason why you were given such ... valuable and extensive," William looks back to Victoria, "...properties to ...do with what you wished. To make your own mark and to take care of yourself. No one is going to do that for you, my dear. Least of all your own sire..."
     William rises. It is less a signal that advice is over and therefore one's audience with him than it is to pour another glass of wine. "Do you want something, amours?" he asks Ian. "Maximilian," William begins, "... like any of Us... anyone... only has the power that he is given, by willing hands or those less willing. It is all the same. If you do not wish him to be all powerful, then do not give your power away. That is something that you can control. Ian could advise you better on that score. He has done what few childer do. He bettered his sire," William notes, pouring wine. "And then made him irrelevant. I, on the other hand, will never be wiser, smarter, more powerful than mine. In some ways because it was never important to me. In others because... Ian is simply greater than I and I have the courage to admit it." A pause. "To those of us in this room," William clarifies with a grin.
     He laughs warmly to Ian's quip. "Don't get him started..."

     Ian looks up, but the expression is a little surprised. Pleased, but hesitant. He licks his bottom lip and looks away, thoughtful.
     It is one thing to do those things, it is another to hear someone speak of them. Said by someone else.
     "It was...self-defense," Ian whispers, offering his glass to William again. "A double, laird."
     Does everyone in the room know this tale?
     "You sound..." Ian murmurs, "...like I used to." About power and the nature of it. Self-evolution and definition. "But yes...property...is a tool." He'll not go over it again.

     The glass is taken with silence that Victoria is coming to realize isn't silent at all. A pat upon the arm, from man to man, from spouse to spouse, a light touch is full of a thousand things. A picture may be a thousand words. If so, then between them such images convey entire tomes.
     A double it is. Of gifted scotch, older than Victoria herself. The scent of it fills the chamber as William opens and pours. While words may be in short supply just at the moment, Admiration and Respect are not. They lie thick in the air, as obvious as the smell of scotch.
     There is nothing so obvious as a kiss. There is simply the passing of drinks back and forth. A glass refreshed and returned to a waiting hand. And William's return to the sofa with more wine.

     A small smile is given to Ian and Victoria nods, "Oh, I know. It would just be nice is all."
     "Well, no, they're not." She sighs, chin still in her hand, "But there's nothing that I do better than anyone else. Or, more pointedly, that I don't know someone in particular that can do whatever it is better than I can. I could move into research, but Ui's better at that than I am. I don't have any particular talents outside of that. I'm hoping to be able to help Tori, but Girault is doing a better job of that than I can, I think. The only advantage that I have is she feels relieved that I'm a friend from before everything happened, and so it's less of a... inconvenience perhaps for me in her mind."
     "As we've already established, politics in general bores me. I'm not so very bad at it, I can generally figure out what someone else wants and is trying to do better than some of the people around me. But not all of them, certainly. And if I'm not going to put that to use it doesn't help me much."
     She glances to Ian, "And I do truly appreciate everything that you've given me, and I can manage it and grow it and have it produce more revenue or expand, but then I don't know what to do with it after that. It seems rather... pointless just to grow it for growing's sake. And, honestly, with that frame of mind I'll never do as well with it as I could with something in mind."
     "I'm not competitive enough to strike up a rivalry with someone else. I tried that in New York with Neil somewhat and..." She shrugs, "You have to want it for its own sake at least a little first."

     "Why," William begins, "... are you here then. At all?" He leans his head on his hand, fingers propped up against his temple. Maybe he has a headache? It is a thoughtful pose, perhaps. And indigo eyes do focus on you. Peer at you. You are a strange creature. "If you had to ...boil down your life's purpose... if you had to give your life a purpose, what would that be? Why should you continue to exist at all? I am not hearing very good reasons in that, Victoria. Were I your sire, I would know that I would not have to exert such... obvious forms of control over you. You already cut yourself down for me. All I have to do is stand back and drink my wine..."
     William exhales. "All I am hearing is that you can't do things. So... I change my recommendation. Do not go to Poitiers or to Tours until you can do something. We have cities full of useless children who sit around and do nothing..."

     Well. Ian looks from William to Victoria, his brows arching while asking silently, Well, why are you here?
     "His point is excellently taken." As if someone's finally said what Ian's tried to put across for years now.
     "If there's nothing you want, and growing something for growing's sake is not your interest. And it's not politics, business, self-growth - even decadence is a reason - why are you still on this planet, vampire or no?"

     One might expect that someone confronted with such observations from their mentors would be angry or indignant, or at least defensive. But, then again, she did kind of say it first herself.
     "That's just it. I don't know. I know what I was embraced to do, and that I'm not going to do that. So, that's a place to start. But not a very good one. I could make my purpose for the moment to show my sire that, but then that's giving him all the power again. And it's something. Not too terribly bad a something, comparatively, but... it's..." She sighs, "It seems petty? Doesn't it?"
     "I could make up something. It worked alright in Portland for a while. Climbing a ladder to get to the top. Again, something, comparatively." It doesn't seem like it gets her juices flowing at all though as she sits there with her chin in her hand.
     "Self-growth is worthwhile, but it seems as though there should be some... well... point at the end. Which I suppose is what I was planning on working on, figuring out a point of some kind. But I don't know that it's going to come to me in a vision from on high sitting in my garden." She glances to William, half joking, "Which is very nice, by the way, even though I only designed parts of it. I like the library plans more."
     She sits up again, glancing between the two of you again, "I know this is terribly frustrating for the two of you, and I'm sorry. But... you've got a place, and a goal. William has his art, and the preservation of the art of others. Ian has Scotland and William and being better than the rest of us at everything." She seems serious when she says that, in agreement with William's earlier sentiment, "I don't belong anywhere, I don't have any presently displayed talents to cultivate."

     The wine is drained -- and that is a sign. The glass is set aside with -- while it is a careful thud, the glass being delicate, the thud is decisive in nature. "You should get thee to a nunnery, Ophelia." What is it with me and Shakespeare lately? Is it Italy? "Maybe you can find God and ask him what you should be doing. Until you find your purpose, we will be unable to help you find your place. Until you have a purpose, you have no place."
      William appears to appreciate her apologies for being herself but there is no commentary other than a stare. He rises with an exhale, appearing done. There's not a drink poured again. The wine glass was left behind. Yes, he is done...
     William passes by Ian and again there is a slight touch. It could be translated to: Let's go to bed or Let's go to the veranda or Good luck, she's all yours. It appears that Plantagenet is going to let Ian decide upon that. In the meantime, he pauses by another table in the expansive living area of the equally expansive suites and takes a pack of cigarettes and a lighter.

     "Here is the point..." Ian says sharply, suddenly. He lunges from his relaxed state against the sofa, to sit up instantly, at the edge of the cushions. Yet, it does not appear that he's immediately set to follow William. Drink is held in tensely clasped hands.
     "There isn't one. You were not made," Ian says disdainfully, "...for any good reason. Making undead," Ian shakes his head, "...is not about anything wonderful, God-planned, or wholesome."
     "It is about everything worse. Self-absorption, fear, destruction, insanity, greed, sadism. You name it. That is why you make a creature built to withstand the ravages of age, and, at some level, fundamentally created to destroy."
     "If mortals bear childer in a hope, faint," Ian rolls his eyes, "...that the next shall be better than the last, then that is something that vampire should perhaps consider. Better evil, better good -- one cannot say. But why is it now..." Ian's tongue touches his inside cheek, "...petty? Why would you not want to be better than Maximilian?"
     "As for some point, mortals never had any, save what their faith gave them, and so shall we be."
     "And if Ian has William and being better than everyone else," Ian mocks in rather good voice, now pointing a finger at Victoria, "...it's a better goal than having nothing at all. My goals are mine. And I have placed value and faith in them."
     "What have you chosen to put your value and faith in?"
     "Mine, Victoria," Ian says simply, "...is in myself. William. Nothing more."

     Fire makes a beautiful face in another part of the room go golden and red, incandescent. Iconic for a moment before it fades. There is the scent of burning herbs, hashish, cinnamon, and something far more potent. Electric. William takes a breath of fire, and smoke curls from his mouth as he watches from the background.

     "If you have to," Ian now stands, "...then make it up. You'd not be any different than any living mortal or vampire. You are not special. You have to find it, just like everyone else."
     "How you are different," Ian relaxes now, "...you have much more time to find out than poor mortals. And you are aware, unlike them, that there is much out there trying to destroy you."

     There's no commentary for him to make. William has said, it would appear, all he has to say. The lighter and the cigarettes are set aside, gently tossed. He appears to be...well...what he is: here for Ian when needed or wanted, sword and shield, and husband and friend. An eyebrow rises only when Ian mentions his 'faith'. That is the only show of emotion, or even that he is obviously listening.
     Casually he is turning now in search of an ashtray, covering space in a blink as he finds it...

     Her expression changes to one of surprise at the sudden volatility of Ian's response, back straightening slightly at the explosion of emotion. Her eyes follow William briefly, though her attention even then stays on what Ian says to her instead, and it circles back to him once more.
     "But..." She sighs, closing her eyes and running a free hand through her hair to pull it back off her face again before looking to Ian once more, "You said it wasn't enough before. Making it up, politicking in Portland and going through the motions wasn't a good enough reason to stay there. I needed to find something more than that." Taking a breath she holds that hand up to the air, "And I'm trying."
     "I didn't mean to sound derisive towards you, I'm sorry it came out that way. Excellence is a good goal. And you've achieved that, anything that was able to make life difficult for you to enjoy either wouldn't last very long or would have to try hard to do it."
     "Making it up is fine... I can make up lots of things... I actually generally even manage to get them to sound good." She half-laughs at that, "But I know they're made up... And if that's all it is in succession until it either makes sense or something's managed to kill me, then that's all it is."
     She sighs, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make you angry."

     "I am not angry," Ian states, composing himself. He sighs and looks left, then right, leaving the momentary silence. "Sometimes, you go with what you have, until you figure out what truly works."
     Ian steps around his seat, and exits abruptly, adding, "I don't think I can help you, Victoria."

     "We are your clan, and by that extension, we are family," William says from his spot overlooking the view of San Marco at night. The scented smoke leaving his lips now acts as incense on the chamber. Cinnamon. Hashish. Opium. He gets into the rhythm of smoking. It relaxes him. Half-turning, he watches Ian stand and move away and then he looks to her.
     "When you know who you are and what you want to do... please tell us. We will help you in any way that we can. But... until you answer your own questions, until you have some goal or some notion of who you are... there is nothing we can do. We can only help with direction if there... is direction. We cannot create that for you. It will fail. And we do not like to fail."
     William exhales, tapping ash away and turning from the window. It appears that he will be following Ian. That is where he will be needed. He pauses in the center of the room, stopping in his own thoughts and then looking to her. "What Ian and I have... we have gained over lifetimes of struggle. I do not expect anyone to understand it. I do expect it to be respected. There was a time, Victoria, when I did not paint. And yet, still... my family... my Clan required something of me. I have decided how that contribution, that obligation will be spent and given. You must do the same."

     Indigo eyes glance to the invisible trail of Ian Dunross, and then back to the young woman.

     "But I don't know how to figure that out." Victoria says honestly, not without a little frustration, setting her coffee mug on the table, "I can't just take time to figure it out on my own, looking around which was my less than auspicious, admittedly, but first step."
     She sighs, "I don't expect to be where you are over night, either of you. I know you've both worked hard and made sacrifices and done things you'd rather not to get there. I'm willing to do that, but I keep getting confused as to how. It's like trying to go from A to X without knowing what X is..."
     She looks as Ian goes and turns her attention back to William, herself not trying to follow after obviously since that would be futile. "So now Plan A is shot, and Plan B is shot because I don't have the time to execute it effectively, and I don't have a Plan C." Bringing up her hands to pull her hair behind her ears again she takes a breath, going through to answer her own question, "So... I guess I'll go figure one out then. I wasn't meaning to ask you to do it for me. And you're right, you shouldn't. Having other people make the plans is kind of the root of my problem, it looks like. Since I'm having so much trouble doing it."
     Standing up and stepping into her shoes, she glances over to the door Ian took to go through and adds, "I'm sorry I spoiled your evening, I didn't mean to."

     "Sit," William murmurs, and he gestures to the sofa you just left. "Nothing's ruined." Indigo eyes smolder and the smile spreads slowly and smoothly. "Don't flatter yourself, Victoria. It takes more than this to ruin a night of mine. Usually," William mulls out quietly as he settles abruptly in a chair, "... it has to be from something I said..."
     He exhales scented smoke, the perfume of some eastern creature, and again his head rests balanced upon fingers at his temple. "The way you figure it out is by living. Unfortunately, as with happiness there is no...end point. It is ..." he frowns a little in thought, "... a process? That is not the word I am most looking for, but.. ah, a progression," he says, finding it. "One, I would stop comparing yourself to people who are older than you are... it is not fair to yourself. Secondly, you are going to have to determine, again, what you will be, why you should exist. If it's to buy the world's best collection of glass," eyebrows lift slightly, and his hands gesticulate, "...then so be it. That is something. You pick a thing and you go with it until the next thing comes along. When I was embraced, I was a general who commanded armies, a duke. I was a prince who was heir to an empire. But all of that went away with me, with Guillaume XI who died. Do you know what I did for myself when I got to Scotland? I fixed our fucking roof, that's what I did. And I found food, and I built walls over time until we had four and a roof. I spent a lot of time hunting, a lot of time in the rain. That was my purpose. That was why I was on this planet. To build a roof for Ian. To help him make a keep out of the ruins. Maybe you ... stay in Rolle, build Rolle, whatever you are going to do with it. Maybe you do that and leave Poitiers and Tours be for now. When you have more of an idea of who you are, of your purpose, then you can worry about becoming an entity on the political stage. I do not think you are ready for that. You need to... establish your own existence. Truly. For and by yourself. Or you will always be Maximilian's tool..."

     She sits down again, shoes still on, however, rather than kicking them off again. "I'm not trying to compare myself to people older than I am, I'm just... trying to do what I'm supposed to do." It's just that, apparently, that keeps changing. Three times tonight, in fact.
     "I would be happy to go back to the chateau, finish with the renovations that are going on, paint my own stupid room the color that I want, and move on from there. But it's..." She sighs trying to figure out a way to explain her problem.
     "It's like I've got a tugboat pulling on this rope attached to me somehow. And until I get it severed, it's always going to be pulling me back to New York. And presently, painting my room isn't going to make it go away. He'd be even more happy if it never got painted at all. And it's not that I can't overcome that, I think I can, I just... I thought I had more time before it became an issue. And apparently, I don't."

     "I think you finally answered it," William notes. "The thing which you must do. Your first goal, the thing that is keeping you from everything else has always been...and will always be... Maximilian. All of your roads seem to lead to New York. It is like...gravity, mais oui?" He exhales again. "Until you solve that, nothing else will make sense. Not Poitiers. Not Tours. Not even Rolle."
     You said so yourself...
     "I cannot tell you how to find or initiate your freedom. Have you thought of it? In specific..."

     "Yes, even before I came over tonight and we had the discussion about the whole issue of establishing power so that I'd have some sort of position of strength to maneuver from, which I'm currently lacking."
     She says leaning back on the couch slightly, "The first idea that I had was the one I mentioned earlier about Michael. Which is a little plan, but there's a chance it could be enough to loosen the reigns so that I can get on with my life to the point that it's a moot issue." She holds up a hand absently counting things off, "He's not expecting it, it proves the point that I'm at least independent enough that he can't send other people to bother me, and it helps Michael. It's not anything that's going to destabilize him, since I don't want to do that. But it's... dramatic enough to make an impact."

     William starts to retort, a casual quip but he stops himself. Would you like to check the weather outside and make sure it is not raining toads? Turning, he knocks off the dead ash at the end of the cigarette and then looks back to her. "It sounds elaborate. Care to ... elaborate?" a tease with English. He smiles.
     Opium...
     Smoke curls from that mouth, even from his nose. His eyes are sharp, keen and he seems not distracted in the slightest. William is the only man who can smoke opium and think more clearly with it than without it.

     "Well, it's not really terribly complicated, really." She says with a shrug, "I just have to convince him that being independent is more advantageous than being an errand boy. I'm not sure that he's actually interested in it enough for it to matter, but there's a seed of it there. If nothing else he's very bitter about being undervalued, which is something to start with."
     "He doesn't have the same issues that I do, well, not all of them anyway. He's not his childe, his sire died just before I came to New Port. And he isn't even in his bloodline. He doesn't have the... prospects I suppose, so he's not enough of an investment that Maximilian is going to think he's worth bothering much to follow up on. Or at least I don't think he will. So what was my first step should be his only one. And at least that's something I've done."
      "I've started that process already somewhat, I just have to talk to him later and see where he is on things."

     William says nothing after a time and simply stares at her. The stare slowly transforms to an outright peer. "I do not think I understand the reason for the orchestration. Why do you simply not leave and not tell him where you're going? Why are you bothering with this...Michael person... I do not understand the connection, I am sorry. It is your life and your freedom. Fuck Michael..."
     That was incredibly matter-of-fact and absolutely serious. "Maybe... that is just my perspective... having the brothers I had, the family I had...but... I do not know why you are wasting your time saving him when you are having a hard enough time saving yourself, Victoria."

     "Because the point isn't saving Michael." Victoria says plainly, "Hell, I don't even like him much. If he ended up doing laundry for Maximilian for the rest of eternity it wouldn't keep me up during the day. I haven't even spoken to him since I left for New Port until I was passing through New York on the way back."
     "It's showing Maximilian that I've at least got things together enough to knock out his first plan for getting me to come back." She considers, "Well, really his... fifth or so. The other one's I've dealt with already."
     "I could avoid Michael without much trouble at all. I could get another hotel room somewhere, go home rather than going back, whatever. And I could move, I suppose, and not tell Maximilian where I'm going either for that matter. But then, in a way, he wins. Because I'm just continuing to avoid the issue."

     "You showing Maximilian... whatever," he makes a wave and inclines his head, "...isn't going to prove anything to Maximilian. The man would have to truly want your independence, and he does not. Nothing you do will change that. That is the ultimate flaw in your plan. Believe me when I tell you this. My grandsire couldn't give a flying fuck what I did... and doesn't," William mentions.
     Egads, he knows his sire of sires? That can't be good...
     "Nothing I did or said will ever change...one...his opinion and two... his motives or decisions. He will always be who he is and I shall always be who I am. You are wasting your time, Victoria. And though you have plenty of it, give or take, why spend it creating some elaborate scheme, and in my book this is elaborate, to convince him of something he is never going to acknowledge?"

     "Well... because not convincing him hasn't worked?" She says.
     "You're right though." Frowning slightly she crosses one ankle under the other, "It's probably not worth it. I don't actually think he's ever going to believe I'm anything other than chattel. There are days I wasn't entirely sure he knew that I was allowed to vote."
     "But if I don't come up with something, he's just going to keep sending people or things or... whatever to try and make my life miserable. Which I've avoided pretty well to a point, but it's getting... tiring."

     "No, he is never going to believe you are anything other than chattel," William confirms. "He will never value you. He will never admit, also, that he failed you. You could outright rebel, as I did...I don't recommend that, as it will come home to roost eventually. So, don't start stripping for a living at vampire functions," he points the cigarette to you and smirks. "But... if you can assert yourself, over time," he cautions again, "...in Europe, then his... meddling in your life might start to seem as if he were meddling with ...whatever city you happened to be in..." he seems to be thinking aloud. "New York is New York, but most in Europe would take exception to being told what to do..." He pauses, frowning slightly, "...in Latin no less, by someone five-thousand miles away," or however far, the wave of his hand says.
     William exhales and extinguishes the cigarette. "You will figure it out," he murmurs. "For now... I need to...take a bit of a break," the lips begin to form a smile. "All of this talk ... " It is not good for the soul, so much talking. William rises. Now, the audience is over.

     "Oh, I'd make a rather horrid stripper." Victoria says with a half smile in response to the smirked comment. "But, hopefully, that's enough."
     She stands up from her seat, "And I just need to remember that I don't have to be responsible for whomever he sends to make trouble. I didn't ask them to behave the way they are, so if they cause problems for themselves, they aren't mine to fix."
     And that, as they say, is that. "Thank Ian for me? If you would. That is, if the mention of my name over the next few hours doesn't send him into some kind of minor fit." That she leaves better judged by someone other than herself. "And thank you, William. Eventually I'll be less of a pain, I'm sure." She smiles again, slightly, though tired herself rather obviously, "Or, if not, hopefully you'll have stopped worrying about it by then and it won't be you that I'm paining. Have a good evening."
     With that close of the chapter in the seemingly never concluded issues surrounding the young Ventrue, she turns to go, allowing every one else some peace and quiet for whatever remains of the night to be had.

Posted by rowan at March 05, 2004 06:10 PM