The masquerade was beautiful and she had a wonderful time. She had flitted among the crowd like a fae creature, her hair cropped short and bleached nearly white. Many were shocked by the change, many complimented her on it, and still others didn't recognize her. She delighted in giving the slip to Raf, who didn't fret too much about finding her again -- after all, what would she do in a crowd that big and full of her peers and superiors?
     And days later, she still delights in giving him the slip, seeking out solitude or the company of others. He needs a break anyway and she's picked up on that.
     Tonight, however, it is less than a game than it is more of a necessity. Her spirits are not as high as they were when she was masked and she feels the need to get away from him, away from her teacher, Girault, and away from others. Slipping away and into the sitting room, she doesn't look inside, opting to watch over her shoulder as she enters the room. Once more, her hair has reverted back to its usual length and raven-black colour.

     "This hiding spot is taken," Ian says softly, sitting in one of the curved divans. His side to the door, he's required to twist slightly and look over his shoulder to see the golden archway and the latest arrival. "But I am willing to share."
     In front of him, a glass of scotch sits. Granted, Girault would have something delicious in his own stores, but knowing Ian, he's brought his own. A slice of home in a suitcase.
     Though, the most important slice of home is nowhere around. William would certainly have appointments in Venice.
     Ian smiles, but turns about in his seat to face his scotch. He leans forward and picks it up from the coffee-table, crossing his legs as he sets the short glass on his knee.

     Her head snaps around quickly sending her black locks flying about her wildly. She had not expected anyone to be here, obviously. "Wha--? Oh... I'm sorry, Ian. I didn't realize anyone was here... are you sure I'm not intruding?" Discomforted by the thought that he knew she was looking to hide, Tori flushes a bit -- something automatic with her that never faded despite all her changes.
     She is dressed in a silk dress of vibrant blues, the fabric fading and deepening into the various hues down the length of the garment to her knees. Upon her feet, she wears nothing, preferring to go barefoot still, apparently. There is still something wild-looking about her, despite her eyes still not righting themselves.
     Moving further into the room hesitantly, she speaks softly, hesitantly asking, "If you'd rather be alone, I'll leave... I understand.." She does not ask where William is nor why Ian sits in the sitting room all alone... at least not yet.

     "No, no," Ian doth protest, hand lifting and waving. Perhaps he was seeking solitude in the palace, away from something. Yet, it's not as if he and William are residing in the palace during this trip. Though, if Ian truly wanted to be alone, he'd say so.
     "We have not gotten a chance to speak yet, and so," his brows lift, "I think we should." A serious conversation of some sort pending.

     There is a tilt of her head, sending her raven-locks cascading over her left shoulder. Curiosity gets the better of her. Moving a little further into the room, nearly hesitantly, she asks softly, "What would you like to speak of? It is good to see you... I'm so glad you and William were here for the festivities..."
     Finally slipping into a chair across from him, she lowers herself into it, sitting properly -- though she hesitates for a heartbeat, as though willing herself not to pull her feet up onto the furniture, her preferred way of sitting. Instead, she folds her hands into her lap and looks over to the blonde-haired one.

     "I have not seen you for a while," Ian smiles, the pause polite for pleasantries. "We're glad to be here too," Ian says, though the distance is palpable -- for some reason. He shrugs and grins. "We cannot avoid such events, and the chance to see friends."
     Pale brows arch as he comes to it. "I hate to bring up unpleasantries," ah, "...in the midst of all this beauty. But, I do not have much choice. I promised something, and so I must deliver..."

     The smile on her face is genuine -- the last few days have been simply delightful for her. "Well, I'm glad such events happen... even if it's just so I can see my friends," she says softly. There have been some changes in her since New Port, even since her meeting with Morgan and then even when the two of you handed her over to Girault. She is calm, controlled... even if it is merely upon the surface or not.
     "I hope that you both have enjoyed your stay. I know that you are both a long way from home, but it is good to see with my own eyes that you are both doing so well," she adds softly. As things begin to turn to a serious note, the smile wavers, eyes blink slowly, hands move to rest upon the edges of the arm rests. "Yes? What is it which troubles you, Ian?"

     "It doesn't trouble me," Ian murmurs, "though I worry that it may trouble you." The ice in Ian's glass rattles a little as he shifts.
     "I know what has happened to your Darius, and who was responsible."
     "I will also say that I know," Ian adds quickly, "...that they have been duly dealt final blows."

     He could have reached out and struck her in the face and she might have looked much the same. The calm outer shell shatters as her expression falls, turning ashen. All traces of humour and smiles vanish from her delicate features even as her head drops, strange crystal-blue eyes focusing on the floor.
     No one has uttered Darius' name in her presence for a long time. That alone would have been bad enough. But the rest of the news causes even more chaos within her.
     Slender fingers clutch tightly at the ends of the arm rests...wood snaps beneath them. The stinging scent of copper flashes in the air as a single drop falls from dark lashes to the floor. With a strained voice, Tori whispers, "Thank you." Pause. "For keeping that promise." And for any other hand you had in this.

     "I can say that...my role was limited. But apparently," Ian shifts now, some of his coolness falling away, "...others also knew and played prominent roles. I suspect that you will hear more from your own clan on this soon enough. Suffice to say," Ian smiles, "...I must leave such for your clan to convey. Yet, a friend of ours appears to have had a hand in it, and I am sure he will know of your thanks."

     The porcelain-like face raises, her pain etched very clearly there. She has remained so well maintained and controlled while under Girault's care... this is a breaking point, like waves crashing over splintered rock. Eyes welled up with crimson barely focus on you, but do make the effort.
     "Who?" comes the whispered question.
     Her body remains still; she does not rise from the chair... but her knuckles have gone bone-white from pressure. "I wish to convey my own thanks... at a later date, if at all possible. I wish... to know the name of the one who brings an end to my torment." There is no anger there... it is more a mixture of grief and relief.

     There's a sigh from Ian. "I know you do," he says with some regret, "...but I must allow his honor to come from your Justicar first, Victoria. I am sorry." Ian's face is slightly dismayed, but then he chimes, "I am able, however, to tell you of other aspects, if that would assist you in some way? I am sure the announcement will come soon."

     The gaze upon him is unwavering, but she nods once. "I understand... I will... wait," she replies in a murmur, jaw quivering at the effort spent to keep in control.
     "What... what other aspects?" she ventures the question. Tension builds within her with each passing minute, with each ticking of the clock. The other voices wail, scream and fight within her, each trying to gain purchase in her mind, but still Tori clings to reality by sheer force of will.

     There's a narrowing of Ian's eyes. "Victoria, if this is too much, we can wait a while to discuss other aspects that I think you should know. Or, maybe we should call Girault or William, if that would help?"

     "Ian... I..." Tori pauses, suddenly slamming her eyes shut. Through gritted teeth, she hisses, "It is difficult...but... I think I can maintain control." For now. Slowly, she opens her eyes again, blinking rapidly as though to clear them.
     Speaking lowly but no longer through clenched teeth, she says, "Please... go on. I'm sorry. I'm trying to maintain my calm."

     "It appears," Ian goes on to explain, "...that there..." but then a pause. Ian's chin dips and he goes on, "Do you recall that there had been Sabbat incursions into Paris a few years ago?" It resulted in many an outcome, not the best for Alexandra of Navarre. "There is belief that this was...a continuation. Such went on in London as well, along with parts of Germany."
     "This," Ian rolls his glass between his hands, "...is what your Darius may have stumbled upon. And it was a set of Sabbat that found him, diablerized him."
     "This pack...or some portion of it...no longer exist. It has been seen to, and this is what your Justicar will soon make known."

     The Sabbat. Germany. Darius. It all makes sense... though it pains her to know that his end was not necessarily a quick and painless one. Her jaw clenches and unclenches reflexively as she listens to this and nods.
     "I see." It is a simple, short response...but she understands. All too clearly. She is not hearing this as her other new personalities... neither as Faith nor as 'Alice'. She is hearing it and accepting it as Tori, once a Primogen and Elysium Keeper.
     "This ends it then? It is done? You say some of portion of the pack... the ones responsible, however, are... no more?" she asks. There are none left alive who did this to the Wolfe?

     Ian nods. "Those who did this to him are no more. There are others," he admits, "...smarter. But if they had any part in this, it is not evident. It is a large pack, of some age and organization. Those who...had a hand with Darius...are a nomadic set of the larger pack, and there was some dissent on Darius' killing. Four, as I know, were destroyed for their part in this."

     Four! Four against one... this thought grates on the raven-haired one. Darius didn't stand a chance. But there is another nod, even as another crimson drop slips down a cheek.
     "Good," comes the reply, barely containing her hatred and hurt. It's over. Finally. Somewhere deep inside her, something begins to boil...
     Her head dips down for a moment, obscuring her face behind a cascade of hair. A moment passes without anything further.
     And then she speaks... but the voice is not her own. This one is childlike in nature, higher pitched, and obviously frightened.
     "Mister? I know you care... but it's too much..." A frightened whimper. "Sh-she's coming... we can't hold -Her- back... please..." There is a terrified emphasis on 'Her'. "She's gonna... gonna break something again..."

     Ian's eyes widen a little, and he sits back against his seat. "Victoria Whitethorne," his voice resonating with an under-timbre, "...you can do this. You have done well, for a while, and you can continue the same."
     "I am but making more clear what you already know."
     "Think for a moment," Ian insists, his head tilting to the left. White-gold strands of hair dance loosely at his shoulders. "Think for a moment, and know that you are well."

     There is groan of wood, barely audible, as her hands put further pressure on the arm rests of her chair. "Wha--?" comes the child's voice, quickly replaced by Tori's, cracking a bit under the strain, "It's... it's so hard... I'm... I'm trying."
     It would be so easy just to slip out of reality again, would it not? But there is something in the tone of Ian's voice that won't let her do that.

     "In this," Ian goes on, a smile upon his lips, "...you should find glory in that your enemies are vanquished; pride in those who have served you well; and affirmation of your...and his...status and regard. I hear this tragedy reached the highest halls, Victoria. As it should."

     This causes her to look up slowly. Her dark eyebrows knit closely together, her face is drawn, but she manages the tiniest hint of a smile on her lips. There -is- some satisfaction... but her overwhelming emotions will need release soon.
     "I do... even if I don't quite understand why I rank such a status or regard." Perhaps one day she will. "I am sorry... this is a bitter-sweet victory, Ian..." she manages to say before her voice falters and trails off.

     "I cannot say why. Or why Darius merited such. Perhaps because it is in the purview of the Justicar to care when his own are...ill-treated," Ian muses. "For whatever reason, it has happened."
     "I am sorry it is bittersweet, Victoria. I can imagine," Ian offers. He smiles, though his own energy ebbs and flows, much like a flickering light. Strength twinning with something more blurred. But he takes a drink from his glass, finding something, always, in a taste of scotch.

     Perhaps it is something she will discuss with the Justicar, if permitted. And perhaps there is truth in Ian's words. Regardless, it leaves questions in her mind.
     "Again, Ian... my friend... thank you for this news." Maybe she can get on with her life now, without this being forever unsolved, forever dangling in the wind. "I am sorry if I seem ungrateful, for that is not the case. There is no way that I know of to repay you for this," she murmurs with a small smile, unreflected in her tormented eyes. It is not that she is not genuine... there is just little happiness within her right at this moment. That will come as the nights pass by and she is permitted to put this behind her, put some distance in time between her
fragile mind and the unfortunate tragedy.

Posted by rowan at March 23, 2004 02:23 PM