Powis has for some hours been empty of Fiona's presence - oh, it's the daylight hours, and the master of the castle safely ensconced in both slumber deep and his own bed. And she didn't depart with the intent to stay away, to judge by the remaining suitcases, nor by the kiss bestowed to brush against Davydd's forehead before she took her departure.
     But a girl can only live out of suitcases for just so long, and there's a million and one little things that daily life requires which she has to make some provisions for ...
     It's quite early in the morning that she had departed to return to London, most prosaically by train rather than by magic. The train route's been repaired by now or that could prove problematic too - but she's gone, and during the course of her absence, taken care of various little errands - bills to be paid, rent taken care of, mail picked up, clothing and sundry articles and elements packed.
     Not for the first time is she grateful for her tendency towards minimalism outside of her closet...
     Certain items, she simply packs to bring back with her. The others...
     Well, she'll have to discuss with Davydd...
     And there's still decisions to be made about her career which she's still putting off to some degree. Still. Time enough for that later.
     It's a fairly casually clad Fiona that returns to Powis, late in the afternoon. She's had a shower at home, and she'd called ahead to have a car bring her from the station to the castle, with her sundry effects, and a strong back about to help her carry things inside. Two large boxes of clothing, one large box of general effects; one large shallow package; an overstuffed backpack, and a series of medium-sized boxes which rattle with cds and books. These are brought in through the front door and, at her recommendation, put to one side, stacked neatly. Davydd can tell her where to stuff it, after all - she's not going to unpack until she's spoken to him, and it's a bit early for that. All but one item, that is, which heavy though it is...
     Fiona grasps the thinnest package, hefting it despite its height, and begins crab-walking it towards the stairs after dismissing (and paying) her help.
     "Dammit," she mutters. "I'm going to have to do this part later." Clad in white jeans and a long-sleeved turtleneck in the exact shade of red of a candy apple, she's got her hair in a french braid to keep her dangling onyx and gold earrings from tangling in the locks. At the moment, fashionability is not of much consequence for maintaining an effect; she's too busy half-hiding behind the wrapped painting which she's intent on trying to get to the stairs, up the stairs, and into Davydd's bedroom. "Bloody men, anyway - why did I think this was a good idea again?"

     What was that colossal noise?
     What is all that racket?
     The clickety-clack of corgi nails sound from down the hall, the marble making everything echo, sound louder. It's like a herd of dogs moving toward you. A veritable stampede! Where Inconvenience is called by name, and Trickery and Humor, they can be found. 'Bugbear' Bwci and his partner in crime, 'Freedom' Rhyddid.
     But that's not the only sound. There are a man's footsteps, a stride that sounds like Davydd's march. A whistle that sounds like him, too, high and piercing and echoing through the house though the sun's still up...
     Does the heart skip a beat?
     The dog's come into sight, two rolling cannonballs of fur and tongues and ears and wide grins, and just two moments behind them is a man reminiscent of Davydd, where he not a bit more golden-haired and an inch shorter and a bit broader. If Davydd's a welsh mountain, then Kelly Morgan's a boulder...
     "Hello there...?" he says, voice now an eerie echo. Davydd's son, Kelly Morgan, is rounding the hall and looking to the small body of a woman hefting a painting toward and up the first few marble steps. It's rather like watching an ant lift a rock and try to carry it to the hive...
     "You're going to kill yourself, certain. Here... let me take that ..."

     "Down, you two," Fiona orders, however ineffectually, the sound of the nails by now a familiar one. "Fuzzy traitors - see if I share my cakes with you at tea again!"
     Of course, she will... she has a weakness for cute furry things, which Davydd falls into the category of as well...
     She stumbles, partly in the effort of bracing herself from corgi assault, and partly in sheer shock. Is that him? But it's still daylight, isn't it? The painting is dropped narrowly avoiding landing on Fiona's toes as she straightens up to look over its papered rim, cornsilk braid thumping against the wall nearest.
     "God, you scared me," she mutters. Fright might not be quite the right emotion, but still... "Um. Hi."
     Her face has gone abruptly red, and she arranges both hands on the painting's edge, peering warily over it as if ready to duck behind it at any moment - a pair of blue eyes and high forehead, a pair of dainty hands with red cuffs. A picture even William wouldn't paint...
     "I can manage it, really," she adds stubbornly from behind her bulwark. (He looks too much like his father! Shite, shite, shite, what do I tell him? If he hasn't recognized me, he's about to - you know, there are distinct disadvantages to dating a man eight hundred and twenty years your senior. Such as his SON being hundreds of years older than you and him about to find out you're sleeping with daddy!) "Really."
     The colour creeps further up her cheeks, to the bridge of her nose, even her ears growing warm.
     (Granted, there are certain advantages to dating a man eight hundred and twenty years your senior as well, Fee. - Shut up, self.)
     "Rhyddid, don't you dare chew on my laces right now."

     Uh-huh. The expression is none too convinced and for stubbornness, you'll meet your match. The painting lowered, well dropped, as it was, Kelly is able to see your face and he doesn't appear to be overly shocked. "Oh, I'm sure you can," his voice is slightly lighter and tone and wont to lift in a pronounced accent, speaking English quickly, as if those syllables, vowels and consonants were meant to roll like that of Cymraeg. "But I'm going to insist all the same, Fiona..."
     The dogs lift little dog brows at the woman, the painting, and then to Kelly. Back and forth, back and forth like watching a match at Wimbeldon.
     It smells funny...I don't think that's a big cracker, Bwci...
     Maybe it's a biscuit...
     Kelly smirks at something and looks down to the dogs. "Alright, boyos... it's time for your daily constitutionals... go get Marti, tell her to let you outside...I want a rabbit in the hand by sundown..." He looks to you, coming up the few steps to join you as the dogs trot off merrily. "Don't let's get into a tizzy," he smiles at your blushing. "It's alright...I won't say anything if you won't..."
     His hands take the painting -- wrapped as it is -- and he lifts it far more easily than you. "Where are you trying to take it?"
     He can guess where, but Kelly's not wanting to make any assumptions at the moment. At least for the sake of your complexion. Seeing your discomfort, Kelly leans in with the slant of a mouth, an inherited expression. "It's alright, Fiona, you're not the first woman I've helped upstairs..."

     Taking a bit of a breather, Fiona leans back against the wall, tilting the painting for a moment, then surrendering it. The bloody thing isn't just heavy, it's awkward - at least for someone of her size and relative proportions to the object. She swaps to Welsh, perhaps in the hopes of gaining some element of surprise or vindication.
     Always assuming, of course, that Kelly hasn't seen a certain broadcast as well.
     "Silly dogs. Go on, do as he says - Marti might have some soup bones with scraps of meat on them for you, anyway," she mutters, folding her arms over her chest defensively. "You don't expect them to actually bring back a rabbit without eating it, do you?"
     Telling her you won't say anything if she doesn't - well, that rather rests upon her not saying anything. Futile point, that. She's still blushing heatedly.
     It's one thing to fall in love and lose one's virginity... something else to then have to deal with people finding out. But living in a bubble isn't possible for Fiona anyway... sooner or later, she'd be shouting it from the rooftops.
     In some cases, almost literally...
     She starts to answer the question, and then the comment prompts comment of her own. "No, I would rather imagine not, Kelly. You're a man of the world in your own way, though I'm a bit hesitant to ask you to help me upstairs. Um. Anyway, it goes ... up there." She points vaguely to the stairs. "Davydd'll still be asleep, I'm sure," even with us talking about him right underneath him, "but I - well. And for the record," she adds almost belligerently, "I didn't get him drunk!"

     "Good," Kelly laughs, tossing a casual smile in your direction, "...he's a lousy drunk. Gets all emotional, belligerent, sometimes cries in his beer, it's a sad sight to be sure. And one best missed." But you've seen it. You've seen the Welshman glower over a pint and be sorry for all the world.
     Kelly lifts the painting easily, it's not heavy, and he's taller and broader, so it's not quite as inconvenient, though he still marks feet upon the marble steps and glances up to his clearing in the stairwell. "The house'll be getting full in the next week... spring in the gardens." Light green eyes look to you, red-gold hair kept very short to keep the curl down to a minimum. "Glad you'll be here for the start of the festivities. We'll have to have a concert in the garden..."
     A welcome into the family...
     "You... staying for a while then?" he wonders casually, as if it's just a matter of making sure they have enough food on hand or you have everything you need. He pauses inside the first floor turret hall, his father's room not far. He doesn't seem to need a breather exactly but maybe it's to reposition the painting. Kelly glances down the hall, as if to remember where the room is...

     "I sent him home, you know," Fiona mumbles. And not the next morning, either...
     Though it was more a case of him going of his own free will - she did tell him to go, and he went...
     Explanations seem too complicated, too fraught - there's too much Meaning in things for simple words, even as she moves to follow towards the stairs, up the stairs.
     "He's said that it tends to fill up, though I hadn't realized it was as soon as all that," Fiona admits, more audibly, colour still resonant in her cheeks, even as it does subside to some degree. "A concert sounds pleasant, though I don't want to be intruding."
     The Welsh changes the way she speaks, just a little; there's a slight ramble to it as she passes from one inflection to another easily, rounded tones and indirect geography of her language. One hand comes up to bat her braid away.
     "Would you like for me to go ahead and make sure any doors are open?" She's surrendered the task without further argument - it's easier, and there's other hidden caltrops of topic for her to be paying attention to, now. She slips past to glance around, pausing for a moment.
     Does she dare to make the beeline to Davydd's door, or does she not? She maintains her pause as if for speech. "Well, as to how long I stay depends on how long I'm welcome for," Fiona murmurs, with a downswept glance, then glancing back up. "Wouldn't want to wear out my welcome, would I?" She bites her tongue a moment later, and shoves her hands into her pockets.
     My, aren't we being civilized.

     "You're welcome as long as you wish to be," Kelly says, gentle Welsh lifting and lowering quietly, looking a little contrite for a moment. "The families come down first, the tourists come after, well...first day of spring. We're just taking advantage of the ...early season. Gwendolyn will be here, the Llywelyns and the Morgans. Some of the Herberts too. It'll be packed," he smiles warmly then. "And you... lonely Arundel amid so much Welsh..."
     "I saw you on telly," he remarks, lifting the painting again. "I dropped a perfectly good Harp, you know. Beer all over the goddamned place. I didn't know..." he continues, his Welsh slowing as he moves with the painting down the hall to his father's room, "...that you could speak it. Here, I thought you were the long-haired replacement to the punk with a nice voice, brings in a good crowd, and likes the old man."
     But you speak Welsh as well as we do...
     And you're moving in...
     It appears...
     About your question of doors, Kelly shakes his head. "Nah, it's good. No need for you to work. You should enjoy the castle and village and gardens. Well, so long as the breezes are good and spring-like feel free to open windows. They're all crank sorts." And so we're at the door.
     "It's none of my business," Kelly notes with a nod. "I had no business asking, and you can feel free to tell me so. It's not that much of a shock, really." He smiles then, light green eyes sparkling as he opens the door.

     "Well, it's nice of you to say so," Fiona answers in response to her being welcome, slightly mollified even if still a bit wary. It's hard to know what to say to your lover's grown and older than you son. "I've only met Marti so far, but I really haven't been here very long."
     The new installment. Maybe Davydd should put in a revolving door.
     The mention of the telly gets a small laugh out of her as she moves down the hall alongside of you, careful to give enough space. "Long-haired replacement to the punk with a nice voice? Kelly, I was punk. If you mean the one who threw the punch at Davydd's nose? Don't tell me you didn't know..."
     Or maybe you do and you're just being humorous...
     Being the perpetual straight man to the universe has left her in doubt...
     "I speak Welsh," Fiona agrees a moment later, placing her hand on the doorknob nonetheless. "I suppose you could say it's something I acquired. We all have our dirty little secrets, don't we?" Black Jack Davy's son. "It is pretty here," she adds wistfully a moment later.
     "Trying to figure out what I ought to do about it, really..." Give up on London and her job, or ... "As for none of your business, well, no, it's probably not, but that's never stopped me before, why would it stop you? I don't mind talking, I don't suppose - depending what you want to know."
     And, really, she's going to have to talk to somebody about it. Somebody not her mother. Somebody not Dot. But whether that someone is or should be Kelly... "Speak for yourself, not a shock," Fiona mutters, stepping out of the way as you move to open the door, peeking for a moment into the room. "I suppose you had advance warning, but I sure as hell didn't."

     "I'll make sure to introduce you around if he's still sleeping when folks descend," that is, if you're about during the day. He's quiet as he enters the main room of the bedroom suite, the stairs leading to the bedroom, but there's no door. "Oh, I knew it was you who went to punch him," he whispers and smiles. Then he smirks at myself. "He can hear me anyway," he notes. "I'm not going to tell you what he just said, mind you..."
     He pauses then smirks, setting down the painting, letting it lean against the sofa, steadying it, and then folding his arms against his massive chest, that too inherited. "I'll just say it has to do with the apples of Avalon and your breasts and leave at that... you'll have to ask him later...so... you wanted this...?" A glance upstairs and then around the room.
     "It was a bit of a shocker," the Welsh quips and he looks to you again. "But ...well... he talks to me more than anyone else... well... now other than you," he notes. "Anyway," hands come up, "...he didn't tell me so much as I saw the way he was looking at you for all the singing. I knew the score, that's all...so....if you want it upstairs, I'll wait till he wakes. I don't want to disturb him." Kelly then looks at you, the painting wrapped between you. "What do you want to do?" He makes a motion for you to sit, to join him. Happy to talk about it, apparently. "I'm sure he's made the pitch about Powis and Cardiff and done his bit for Welsh tourism..."

     If the present situation is any indication, she is at least capable of being about during the day. Fiona follows into the room, glancing to the stairs. "You knew? Okay, then. - He can hear you?" Again, the blue gaze lifts - from the stairs to your face and back again.
     Davydd, you're entirely too full of surprises and tricks...
     "He talks entirely too much," Fiona answers tartly, reddening just a trifle. "And everything's about food, with him, anyway." Food, or sex. "I'd like the painting upstairs - but now I'm not so sure. Maybe I shouldn't encourage the Old Man, it might give him ideas, such as that he can get away with everything."
     Pepper to her voice, starch to her spine, she marches to the foot of the stairs and glowers up them, then settles a moment later, turning to face you, with half of a smile. "I was thinking of putting it upstairs as a surprise for him, for when he woke up, actually. I like being able to provide pleasant surprises for some people." Unpleasant ones are rarely though occasionally intentional. "Figures, you'd know the score," Fiona adds quietly, without any bite. "You being a musician yourself - you can read the sheet music probably better than I can."
     Not entirely talking about music now, is she...
     Pushing from the wall, she moves to the seat, sinking down onto it. It's been a long day. Wales to London, London back to Welshpool and Powis, and now ... this. How much sleep she got is probably minimal...
     "He's made his pitch," Fiona agrees, curling up and bringing one knee up to her chest, wrapping an arm around the calf to hold it in place. "It's a pretty picture, and ... I'm feeling a bit conflicted, is all. He hasn't demanded anything of me."

     Kelly takes a sit as well, laughing softly as you glower and pepper your words. "Aye, he can hear me," he notes. "Well, more like he can pluck what he wants from my feeble little mind and put things back in. Normally it's just random noise. It came in handy when we were robbing the King's highways, though, I'll grant you that..."
     He looks at the big painting, then at you again. "Not strangely it's all Bwci and Rhyddid think about too. There are two litters of corgi puppies down in the village with their names on them," he quips. "And I'm sure he'll like it...and," chuckling, "...he doesn't exactly... require encouragement. The wind is encouragement." Pause. "Sadly true..."
     Kelly turns toward you, settling back on the sofa, head near the painting. "..'s not his way to demand," he shakes his head a bit. "But I can understand the conflict. You've a life in London... hard to just... pick up an go, no matter how fanciful the other choice is. I mean, a job's nothing to sneeze at, money, independence. I could stop working myself, but ..." he shrugs, "...I like it... and I get to make a contribution to the family Cause," upstairs sleeping. "Besides," Kelly grins then, a chip off the Old Block of Oak, "...where would he get his free pints if I weren't there?"

     "True enough. I suppose I shouldn't be so surprised. But really, he does keep surprising me." Not just in bed. Fiona curls forward, chin on her knee, letting her other leg dangle downwards. "He told me a bit about that - showed me what he looked like."
     And damned if she wouldn't have fallen off of his lap if his arms hadn't been around her. "Bwci and Rhydidd have the excuse of being dogs, though," she remarks with some asperity. "Though I suppose I could try scratching Davydd behind the ears and see how he reacts. He'd probably like it too much."
     Old Man...
     She uncurls again slowly, until both feet are on the floor, one arm folded downwards so her hand is in her lap, the other under her chin with elbow propped on the edge of the seat. "Actually, that's the funny thing," Fiona admits half-sadly, with a lopsided smile. "My job's in London, but I've pretty much cut ties to everything else that's there - before all this happened. My old social life's pretty closed out... I recently moved to an apartment that's too damn big for me and my stuff. My old place was half-empty as it was, and this place, you could fit my entire old place into the living room alone. I never got too into the habit of acquisition."
     Well, aside from clothes. That's another thing she and Davydd appear to have in common - the need for costuming, if nothing else. The long braid's pulled forward, hand lifting from her lap to do so, the end brushed back and forth between her palms.
     "I don't need to work. Mother and daddy're pretty happy with me on the whole, since I stopped spending all my time with people with spikes through their ears," and other parts, "and daddy keeps insisting on giving me money, even though I've got a job and a bit from my aunt's estate. I've always worked more because, well ... I had to do something..."
     It's more open a conversation than she's had with anyone bar maybe Dot. One doesn't talk about money - it's vulgar, really. Fiona smiles halfway again, pale eyebrows arching. "I don't know if it'd be a good idea, though, to quit. I mean, I'll still need to be doing - I can't lock myself up here and play lady of the manor. For one thing, I'm -not-, and for another, you all seem to have it pretty well in hand, I'd just be in the way. I was considering going back to freelance writing, or maybe if the Beeb offers me that position in Cardiff - but I don't know if I want to be on telly. Fun's fun, but the novelty wears off quickly. I'm talking partly to hear myself talk, so chime in at any time to tell me to shut it, by the by."
     One set of toes rests pressed up against the other set for a moment, then shifts again. "I suppose I'm a little hesitant, too, to change anything until I see how permanent this arrangement is," Fiona finally finds voice to admit. "I ... hate closing off doors I can't open again."

     Kelly cocks up those red-gold eyebrows and then his mouth slides to the side, "I won't lie then, I enjoyed it. What else did he tell you about me?" He's sort of curious now, not to make it all about him by any means, but...well...he is his father's son. "I'm sort of the... Sancho to his Don Quixote," Kelly grins after another moment. He likes that. You can see the sun of it shine over his fae-blooded expression and then it turns to laughter. "Yeah... that about sums it up I think..."
     Davydd as Don Quixote? Could there be a better metaphor for him in this world than that?
     "In fact, if he could be out during the day, I'd suggest he go for the lead," he laughs, "...on the West End, no less, could you not see it..." Kelly shakes his head, exhales that dream away for now and looks to you, nodding. "The Beeb's nothing to sneeze at, girl," that must be an inherited endearment, or maybe just Welsh. "There's a future in it... and a way to anchor yourself to the world, you know... we still need our anchors. A place to call home. A purpose, even if a mundane one at times. Me, my pub's a source for inspiration to aspiring musicians, a welcoming sort of place, a home for some I suppose, a way to fund the education of aspiring young women. Who's to say that your work with the Beeb wouldn't be an avenue for you to do a good turn for the world... to give back for the prosperity given. That's the way I've looked at it...and ....aye... Powis goes on, well-tended... you'd get bored up here all the time. Davydd doesn't spend that much time here. He's either in Cardiff or London or out on the henges... he has to be active..." He flushes a little. "Well, you know what I mean," Kelly gruffs.
     He leans his head on a hand, keeping his attention on you. "I'm not going to say you should keep your doors open, I don't know what happens between the two of you. But closing doors is never wise if you can keep from doing it. You never know what the world's going to bring you. You might need that door as a floatation device or sommat one day..."

     "Well, I know that you're old enough to be at least my great-grandfather, easily, and possibly add a couple of greats," Fiona responds, not quite sharply, but with a bit of emphasis, almost embarrassed. "I've been giving him a bit of hell for robbing the cradle, I suppose you could say. He told me how the two of you did work together, yes. He does think highly of you - oh, and that you were trying to protect my virtue, that last time I saw you..."
     To which she inquired what virtue she possibly still had remaining...
     She quirks up a smile a moment later, her own moods mercurial of late. "We were discussing doing a musical group," she admits, "though I don't know how seriously. And no, I'm not sneering at the Beeb so much - just, I ... I'm used to being more behind the scenes than that, and a lot of working for the Beeb -would- amount to being a painted doll. And dealing with politics. I'm doing production work right now, in London, thought I'd give a front job a go - let's face it, I've got my vanity to feed as much as anyone has. But I'm not sure this is what'd be right. It'd be closer to here, which is a lot of why it's so tempting right now. Not so much because of what I'd be doing."
     And she has had that need to be passionate about her endeavors. Well, it's worked to Davydd's advantage, hasn't it?
     "No, I know what you mean - and you've made Davy's a place where even someone as perpetually at odds with the world feel relatively at home, so I wouldn't knock what you've accomplished by any stretch of the imagination," Fiona agrees, smile returning, a brief full blossoming - she can give such compliments with open generosity, meant truthfully. "Even if I would never've ended up there if it weren't for Old Man Methuselah and his nine bloody dragons, up there. I've half a mind to go kick him awake, but he'd be cranky if I did." Afternoon has a way of turning into evening soon enough, anyway.
     She grows quiet, leaning back. "No, you're right. I'm just - not very good at in betweens. I tend to go entirely to one extreme or the other, and right now I'm wanting to do one extreme while my common sense is telling me not to. Wouldn't have credited me with any, would you? But enough about me and my silly stuff. What brings you out today? Making sure things're set up for the descent of the families upon the gardens?"

     Kelly laughs boisterously, then covers his mouth, glancing upstairs, looking all of ten for a brief moment before looking back you, hand lowering. "I'm a far sight older than that, still managing to find something to live for. I have a part I play, you see, a fit into the world. So long as I enjoy it, I may remain. Try... four centuries," he suggests. "Well a little more than that," he corrects. "I look good don' I?" eyebrows perk up and light green eyes widen a touch. He looks all of thirty, actually. About the same as Davydd...
     "Robbed the cradle," Kelly chuckles, "I think he's just knocked it off the cliff, followed it down and burned it, personally, but that's alright. I'm not about to criticize a man for liking fair young lasses. I ... fancy them myself actually. You've seen the waitresses haven't you?" He waggles his brows and goes a bit pink.
     You don't really want to know the score on that for either of them, do you...
     "Thanks for the compliment. You're welcome for a free pint any time, you know that. And I hope you take the mic again. Charlie and the lads really like you, with or without Davy," he notes. "And since you're Davy's girl..." Kelly blinks at that, "...well, then you're not only family, you're one of the lads." He smiles. "So! About that group... you're serious about that? You know... maybe you don't... Davy, myself and Charlie have been talking about that for some time now. How and where to do it..." he shrugs, "... we thought of London, Cardiff, Dublin...but that's if we keep to... what we've been doing. And while it's natural to us, we're not necessarily partial to continuing that genre... Davydd's quite the writer, actually." And the way he says that, he expects you know that. "He's got tomes of poetry, and with you...well... we'd have ready lyrics wouldn't we? And we can all arrange musically, that seems to be no issue..."
     And so he runs with the idea...
     "I could turn Davy over to one of the Morgan boys. It damn near runs itself so long as they don't run it into the ground... oh, me? Here? I brought the beverages," he grins. "Got a truck out back, loading up for the spring. And making sure everything's ready for the rest of the kinfolk. I think Gwendolyn'll be here shortly. The children descend next week, so there's kid-proofing to do..." He pauses, eyeing you squarely. "It a huge family, Fiona... you going to be okay?" And he grins.

     There's a blush to follow the four centuries, and Fiona stands up - she needs to move, right now, as close to Drancy as to Fiona, the two halves in balance. "Yes, well, I'm beginning to think that around the two of you I ought to just go find my old school uniform," she retorts, "and twist my hair up into pigtails and act as if I don't know anything from anything. Half a year ago I'd've said you were too old for me just based on looks alone, and Davydd the moreso, and now..."
     I'm in bed with a man eight hundred and some years my senior... even if you're half that ...
     "You don't look your age, but I'll spare you the hard time I give him about it. I give him shite over his age pretty much all the time," she admits, unrepentantly. Her hands go into her jeans pockets, with a wandering shrug of her shoulders. "As for liking younger women, I'd rather think you'd both have to - it'd be a damned sight harder to find many older. Without resorting to a spade and shovel, and I don't think either of you're into that."
     Well, at least she's being herself, even if it's a little bit out of nerves and uncertainty - the bite and snap of her usual method of communication, softened out of friendliness and no real need for assault. "You keep offering me free pints," she notes, "and I'm going to think you've got ulterior motives..."
     Even if not of the bedding sort, of course. There's a brief flash of a grin, and a shake of her head. "I'm serious. I never really got into being on that side of the stage for - various reasons, but if I'm going to be on that side of the stage, I'd like to be doing something more ... creative than just parroting the daily news that somebody else has decided is fit for consumption. I like pretty things," she admits, "and I like playing dress-up as much as the next girl. But honestly, I've seen the tapes of my stint on the Beeb - didn't I look as if my face would crack if I smiled too widely?"
     She begins to pace up and down, back and forth, meandering about the room and looking at its contents without really looking. "I've not written -much- music," Fiona adds in cautiously. "I've written things - but I was a reporter, and loads of opinion pieces. I can halfway sing and play guitar, but you've all got tons of experience on me." Even those of you who aren't centuries old. "But I like the idea better than I do going to work for someone else... it isn't as if I'm in it for the money, oes?"
     And that marks her first use of that particular tag. Wales is rubbing off on her.
     She turns round, sitting on the edge of a sofa, hands folded primly in her lap. "Morgan boys? And oh, I see, makes sense you'd handle the drinks. Who's Gwendolyn?" Fiona arches up both eyebrows, half-curious, half-wary. "As for whether or not I'll be okay, I don't really know. I'm nervous, I admit," she confesses. "But mainly because - well, it's a hell of a way to meet the family. And it's not like I've done this before. I - don't have a lot of experience with relationships. Well. Any, really."
     Which means, of course, either all her past encounters were one-night stands, or that Davydd's the Welsh thief in the cherry orchard, doesn't it?

     "Looks can be deceiving," Kelly notes with a smile, the smile conveys as much shadow as it does light. That's the look of a man who's been around for a while. "And... as for the notion of school girl uniforms, you might want to keep that one to yourself," now the grin is all teasing, "... he might restrict your wardrobe to such trappings, and I'd hate for you to be trapped in a perpetual adolescence. It's bad enough the first time, in't?"
     He watched you pace back and forth, think on your feet and gesticulate, to be a girl, an energetic young woman, a woman in love and a woman faced with a view of a whole new world. "He's his own man and more than able to stick up for himself. He dishes it out well enough, and takes it well enough. He does like to dish it. But then, that's not telling you anything you don't already know,"
     As you meandered around the room, Kelly looked at the wrapped painting. You can see the curiosity burning a hole in his pocket, but he doesn't unwrap it. Not even a corner. "Gwendolyn's his daughter... she's younger than I am, so don't worry," he quips. "We're not all ancient oaks around here. There are three families that branch out from Davydd," he explains, "...the Llywelyns, the Morgans and the Herberts. I'm one of the Morgans that the current family springs from. They're my descendants, too, though I'm Davydd's direct descendant, they're more distant. The echoes of children long, long dead now. I have none of my own at the moment." They are all dead, presumably. "Gwendolyn is a Llywelyn, a half-sister. Our mothers were not the same, though distantly related. But she, like me, is Davydd's direct issue. There are three others... ancestors of the current families and part of the family all at the same time." He looks to you and grins. "Don't worry if it's confusing. Davydd should draw you a map."

     "Looks can be, yes," Fiona agrees from where she's finally come to roost. "As for school girl uniforms, no, I don't think I've got to worry too much - he likes clothing too much to try to restrict me. And besides, well," there's a defiant toss of her head, and the momentary steel glint to the blue and grey of her eyes, "well, he could try, couldn't he?"
     Trying is half the fun, isn't it? Even she's not taking it too seriously at the moment, though. "Oh, he can take it - I mean, hell, he says he loves me despite my trying to break his nose that time, and I think there's at least once I threw things at him," she agrees, a smile tugging her mouth wide, defiance turning to a warmth and sparkle in her gaze. "But I'm not easy on him, and just because I love him doesn't mean I'll suddenly start."
     He wouldn't want her to, after all.
     She follows your glance to the painting, and she's seized by the puckish desire to go ahead and show it off - the hesitance is less on Davydd's behalf than on her own. It's her nudity there, after all...
     Which will win? Mischief or modesty?
     "I'm young," Fiona remarks fairly placidly, "but my family isn't, as it happens. Yours might be older than mine, I don't know - but I actually have a little genealogical experience." Thanks to daddy. She rises to her feet, pacing closer and closer to the painting, with a contemplative glance to the stairs. "Davydd's told me a little about the families, but not much - more or less I'd meet them in due course. Which of course I told him means he's going to have to meet my family as well. Pity him."
     One hand comes to rest on the edge of the painting, and slowly, she begins picking at a bit of the tape holding the brown paper in place, with a covert glance to the window. Hmm... "I'm looking forward to meeting everyone, on the one hand, but a little nervous of what they'll make of me. Any recommendations for what I should or shouldn't do, apart from wearing a Union Jack?"

     "Just be yourself. They'll see through pretense and bullshit, it's a family trait. They're good folk, real folk... well, some of them are real," Kelly grins and he rises. A glance to the windows, and to the sinking of the sun. "I ... should make myself scarce. Last thing he'll want when he wakes expecting to find you is to find me, or a room full of people. He's not exactly Mr. Sunshine when he gets up in the evenin'..."
     Mr. Sunshine. That's another good nickname.
     "Well, Fiona... we should talk about the music ... you, me and Davydd... maybe get Charlie in on it, too. Hell of a drummer. Once we know what's what we can pull Gracie in. He's not much for gab. He'll just say 'yeah' or 'no' or go quiet on ya..." He looks at you for a moment, smiling. "You're two peas in a pod, and you already seem to know the ways..." To get to Davydd, challenging him, throwing fists at him. Not giving in too easily. He is a creature of resistance...
     "Welcome to the family," he smiles. But even though he's standing, making to leave, he's noticing you picking at the paper. "Do... I really want to see it?" he wonders.

     "I don't know what else I could be but myself," Fiona answers with a small smile, and the edge of mischief showing in her eyes again. "But you're probably right - tempting though it is to throw him a curve, you don't need to get in the middle of our little pushing and pulling matches..."
     It's only fair, after all. You haven't done anything to deserve it.
     She continues plucking at the tape for a moment, nodding assent about musical discussions. "I think what I'll do is I'll prod Davydd about that avenue - see if it's what he really wants. If it is - then I'll politely give my notice, and add another stamp to my resume, as it were, and go on my merry way. Sunshine and smiles upstairs can then deal with what it'll be like to actually have me around on a somewhat regular basis, and we'll see how well he can put up with me then."
     She lifts one hand to push back at her hair, and the grin she gives is one of pure mischief. "As to whether or not you want to see it," Fiona slants her gaze and her voice alike, "...that depends on how much you want to have to explain to the Old Man... But it's alright if you'd rather not. I'm going to drag it upstairs and put it where it'll be the first thing he sees when he opens his eyes."

     "You'll never get it up there, and he'll kill me if you break your neck while I went to pop open a bottle of the finest," Kelly says. "I'll do it and then... I'll go and you can unwrap it in peace. I've no desire to get on the wrong side of the Prince," eyes widen at that. He's seen it, apparently he doesn't want to see it again.
     He gives your shoulder a pat and then lifts the painting carefully, heading for the stairs...
     ...and behold the sinking of the sun...
     Slowly and by degrees, the world becomes darker and darker, gold turning to pink and magenta, the Welsh sky streaked with colors. And upstairs in the bed, a form begins to slowly shift, a deeper breath taken. The first stretch of muscles of a body still at rest...
     Consciousness is still ebbed, lingering in the dreaming world, his soul and power elsewhere until the sun sinks below the horizon of Welsh mountains.
     At least he doesn't live in the plains...
     ...Kelly carefully moves carefully upstairs, painting tenderly balanced and he disappears into the bedroom, consciously trying to soften his steps...

     "Thanks, I owe you one," Fiona answers, regarding the moving of the painting, smiling. She's not convinced she'd break her neck - but it's not worth a fight. "I do appreciate it - it's a bitch to move. I hadn't ever intended to move it from where it's been since I moved..."
     She follows you up the steps with a glance towards the window, smiling faintly for a moment, footsteps paused.
     Other women might wait out this time for their husbands to get home from work. She waits for her lover to be restored to her with the serene confidence and nervous anticipation of someone for whom rush hour traffic will never be the holdup.
     She murmurs, "Well, Davydd... hopefully I can still surprise you, at least. Apples of Avalon indeed." She snorts with laughter, turning to follow into the bedroom with a shake of her head.
     He'll be hearing about that one, later. But for now, she'll settle in to wait for the sun to have set below the rim of the world, after positioning the painting and unwrapping it just so, poising herself somewhere off the side and behind...
     It will, at least, be an interesting start to a new night.

Posted by rowan at March 20, 2004 01:42 PM