Later in the evening, the night after the garden party, all the guests staying at the chateau have left to return to their homes. Ending the week of the open house, returning the castle to normal. Or, at least, what passed for normal before the week of low key events closed out by the garden party that went surprisingly well. Everyone seemed to have a good time, the refreshments were enjoyed by all, and people even turned around the paved area in front of the chapel with the string quartet secured from Paris.
     Tonight, there is a workman finishing up hanging a new stained glass window alongside the door to replace the one broken a week ago in a violent spring storm. The lightning blackened tree top already having been removed before guests arrived as not to detract from the lovely landscaping work in the courtyard.
     Victoria sits at her desk, working away on something or other, reviewing files that get moved from one part of the desk to the other as she reads every single page in them.

     "Is that your idea of fun?" Mick drifts into the office, holding a glass of some refreshment or other in one hand, and a pilfered bottle of the same in the other, along with a spare glass. "I mean really?"
     "I know you said you like to entertain, and I can't imagine that you don't enjoy the chance to rub shoulders, but--" C'mon, Vicci! Lay it on me. Tell me like it is. Give me something. I've been good. Not one guest eaten. Not even a blowjob joke. He was like a parent would like to see a child behave: Seen, but not heard.
     And he looks good, all dressed up. A nice sharp, tailored Italian suit and some gleamingly polished leather shoes.

     Looking up with a blink from the file on the desktop in front of her, she makes a note in a margin with a red pen, pausing with the tip over the surface under it, "No, not especially. It's my idea of making money." But, the folder is closed, set back to the pile it came from so it can be reviewed anew once more at her leisure. The stacks are about even, both small, she's half way through. Good.
     "I heard several people say they were glad to get the chance to meet you, most of them from Lausanne. You did a great job, Michael." She sits up in her chair, running a hand over her scalp from her forehead back, pulling hair out of the way, "Did you have a good time?"

     Honestly? His eyes ask her. Of course part of it was fun. He particularly enjoyed the twenty minutes he spent overlooking them all from an upper story and making up alternate dialogue for their conversations. Well, in his head. He didn't really say anything at all. Vampire ears can be very perceptive.
     "Honestly?" Mick folds himself into a chair in front of her and pours her a glass from the bottle. He nudges it forward. "Not terribly." When he hears he did make a favorable impression, he grows more interested. "Which one was Lausanne, again?"

     "Lausanne is a city." Victoria says with a bit of a grin. Not derogatory, just amused. Did you even listen to what she told you about inviting people from the local courts.
     The repairman finishes up, gives a little bow to her where she sits at her desk, "That should hold very well, mademoiselle."
     "Thank you, if you'll see Landry in the north wing he'll give you the information to send the invoice." She nods and gives the man a smile as he leaves through the door to the gardens.
     "Lausanne himself wasn't here." She continues once he's gone. The prince, of course, that is. "Nor was Geneva. Though both of them sent very nice notes in appreciation of the invitation."

     "Oh. Right. Right. Of course. Lausanne," Mick looks at her sharply. "It sounds like a mysterious woman, though. Don't you think? You could get lost--" he halts. "I'll stop the metaphor." And wait for the handyman to take off.
     He changes the subject, looking at the glass, "That doesn't look too bad."

     "It does. I've heard of people in the states named Lausanne before. Or something close anyway." Victoria grants before she stands up to come take a look at the window as it's now been hung.
     Unfortunately, the authentic Tiffany that had been in its place before was destroyed beyond repair. In fact, part of the frame had to be replaced around the window and was filled temporarily by a plain glass pane before the other was hung in its place. Now, instead, there is a Wright piece. All lines and color, no image to speak of. Geometry and form.
     "Thanks. I'm sorry to lose the other one, but it couldn't be helped." Acts of God and all, "It gives me a place for this one, though. It kind of stands out from the furniture." Victorian versus modern. While the same tones are there.

     "And now that you are done with your bills and your paperwork and your hanging glass windows, what shall you do?" Mick asks once more after the lady of the house. But this time he is not leering when he does so, he is simply curious.

     "William and Ian left for home earlier, so I waved them off, made sure they had everything, got the driver to take them to the train to go to the airport." Heading back to Scotland no doubt. "I had breakfast. Checked the garden to make sure everything was cleaned up after the party and there weren't any problems."
     "Now, I've got the thank you notes." For attending the party. "But I shouldn't do those for another day or so." Timing is everything. She's like Emily Post or something. "So, I'm working on choosing another investment manager for a project I'm considering in New York." Technically not done.
     "What about you? What were you up to this evening?"

     "Who are you? Emily Post or something?" Mick answers quietly. He finds the amount of time that Victoria spends wrapped up in the minutia of her life, business, world, affairs to be dizzying.
     As for what he was considering for the evening, he hadn't quite decided. There's a languid humor over him, tonight. "I hadn't thought much past finding what was at the bottom of this," he holds up the bottle of whatever it is he's pilfered from the last of the party.

     Victoria nods, "Manners are important. Especially with people who expect that you and I in particular are going to lack them entirely." That seems to be enough to explain that.
     "Well, what do you want to do? Not just tonight, but in general." She sits down on the edge of the couch in the sitting area, "Spying on me is not likely to get any more interesting, I should warn you. I was much more exciting when I was Primogen and had all kinds of secret dealings with the other clans and their dignitaries and members behind the backs of the dignitaries."

     "I have been coming to that conclusion over the past several weeks. If you'll pardon my rudeness in saying so, you do lead a rather dull life-- unlife, as it were," Mick rejoins.

     She actually grins a little at that, "It's not so very dull for me. But then again, I'm doing things not watching me do things. Watching somebody study or write letters must be even more dull than you'd think doing it was." She's always been an intellectual nerd, dying didn't change that at all. And she has had her parties to organize, guests to entertain, art to hang, lights to turn on, remodeling to check on, new lackeys to train.
     "Well, do you like golf? We've got a little practice green out there from when Ian was living here. Or there's the library if there's something you'd like to study up on. There are stables, if you'd like to think about getting a horse." She offers, "How long are you planning on staying?" Have you made the decision about that bit yet? How long you're going to be interested in looking over her shoulder.
     "I'm thinking about taking a trip to France in a few weeks, perhaps, if you'd like to come meet some people. I was surprised you didn't try and get acquainted with more people at the party."

     She's right there. It is. It's horribly dull. Which is why he sort of alternates between tormenting her, hitting on her, flattering her, and just speculating about her. He's tried all of those things, so far, and none of them have really worked all that well. Maybe it's time for a new approach. He could try to be honest with her.
     "It is," boring he means.

     "Well, it seems a shame to be bored out of your mind in the middle of Europe." Victoria offers. "Particularly when I just offered to buy you a pony."
     "You like helping, if I understand correctly?" That seems to be when you are the most content, at least. More precisely, when you're being told what to do, but it's a nicer way to say that instead. "I'm kind of feeling my way around Europe for the most part at this point. I've got information on many of the people here, but it would be helpful to have more. At least on the more influential figures."

     Mick plays with something or other as he considers the offer. He's decided that the toy of the moment should be a pen. He twirls it delicately between his fingers. "Whom did you have in mind?"

     "The court in Geneva would be a good place to start. And Lausanne after that. They are our neighbors, and everything. And technically speaking I'm under the domain of the Prince of Geneva here." She says easily, perching for the moment on the arm of the sofa, "Though if for some reason it would make sense to try and switch, we're conveniently in the middle between the two cities. I can't see why that would be a good idea, though."

     The court in Geneva. Delightful, just what he wants to do. Hobnob with Eurotrash with French speaking vampires from the United Nations. Still, they probably have better coffee. He probes experimentally, "Do you want to get out from under this prince's thumb?"

     "Not particularly." Victoria says easily with a shrug, "It's actually a fairly open court to be associated with. Old, I don't know that I'll do a lot of socializing there personally, but it's still good to know the terrain."
     "Speaking of plans, have you made any yet?" There was the whole discussion of staying or going back in Venice, and of whose rules to follow.

     She's shifted gears on him. It takes him a long moment to catch up. Plans? What plans? I seem to have forgotten everything but this pen. Brilliant he may be, attentive, however, is something else.
     "I'm sorry. What plans are these? Weren't we just talking about going to Geneva on a romantic little weekend getaway?" It won't hurt if he hits on her like this, will it?

     "We were talking about learning about the people that live next door, actually." She clarifies, though not harshly.
     "Your plans, actually. Originally you were just coming to stay for a little while. I'm officially settled in, it's published in the bans and everything." Lovely thing, harpies, "So, technically your assignment is over." The one about making sure she got over the pond okay, that is. "But, I had extended an invitation to stay longer if you wanted to, you were going to think about it."

     The plucky little speechwriter shakes his finger at Victoria. It's an exaggerated gesture designed to be more obnoxious than necessary. "Tsk tsk. See, now that's where you are wrong. Neither my 'assignment' -- as you so charmingly describe it -- nor its completion are up for you to determine. I'll go when I'll go." Of course he'll stay as long as hospitality afford it.
     Which isn't so say he'll push his luck. "So. What do you say? Eight o'clock? We'll go grab a bite to eat? I'm fond of Italian."

     She shrugs, "A girl can try, can't she?" Too bad, that was going to be the easy way out of that one. "Sorry to have to tell you that your observation subject probably isn't going to be much more entertaining than she is already."
     "I ate a few hours ago, actually." She does get up at a God awful hour and start working before the sun is even down for whatever masochistic reason. "I could go into town for dessert though, if there's an Italian place you've found."

     A devilish demeanor overcomes the younger vampire. He admires her attempt, and flatters her on it's execution. "Of course. You did rather nicely."
     As for dessert. Well, there are a whole bevy of options. He starts with the most obvious of distinctions, "It's not really so much about the place." It's about the individual, his eyes explain.

     "Ahhh. I'll sit that one out, thanks. Group dining hasn't ever been my thing." In the actual dining sense. The kind with knives and forks is fine, "You go ahead and enjoy it though."
     She is very polite in not going into the whole Not Killing People speech, though. You've done pretty well so far, she doesn't seem to feel the need to go into it again. And it would be kind of rude when everybody has been playing so well together.

     He'll bring it up. "It's not like we're going to kill anyone. It's just desert. You know you want to," he taunts her, doing his best to be charmingly evil.

     Well, if we're being blunt.
     "Michael. I'm not seeing you socially, what makes you think I'd want to engage in what is near enough to group sex to pass for it?" Victoria asks with a hint of amusement at the whole idea, in fact.

     "A boy can try, can't?" Mick echoes her previous response with a grin. He did wear his lucky boxer shorts: those usually work, but Victoria is a tough nut to crack.
     "I thought maybe my tie might have changed your mind," he provides something stupid by way of an excuse.

     "Sure. But I'll stick with my bow out." She replies. "And sorry, the tie didn't manage to make enough of a difference this time around."
     "Plus I've got the rest of these files to vet. Which I should do before the floor closes if I'm going to get things started." Wall Street being the fickle beast that it is. "So, don't worry about me waiting up."
     "You could start with that lady from the party?" Warning, abrupt topic change, "I got the impression she's been in Geneva for a while, and she seemed quite taken with your tie."

     Well, it's not Victoria, but careless intimacies with a strange woman are not something to be passed up casually. "Do you have her number?"

     "Of course." Victoria says easily, standing up from the arm of her couch and going over to her desk again on the other side of the room where the infamous contact book resides. Opening it, she jots something on one of her fancy little note sheets that has her name engraved on the top along with the poor girl's name to at least be helpful. "She's originally from Lausanne, if I recall, only in Geneva for the last century or there abouts. So she might be helpful in both arenas. If nothing else she could probably get you into a box at the race track up there."

     Taking the paper Mick admires the handwriting. Yes, he needs to remember the girl's name, so he pays attention to what Victoria has written there as well. So many women, so little time.
     His pithy retort has a touch of pout in it, "Let's just start with dessert. No sense getting ahead of ourselves." Unlike you, miss prissy prude Victoria. Have I told you how appropriate that name is? Well, here, let me glare it at you. Maybe then you'll see.
     Sigh. I can't do that. He turns his eyes downward as he exhales. It makes it seem like he is looking forward to a bawdy night with this other woman, instead of a blistering inner dialogue about his mistress.

     "Well, suit yourself." She says easily, shrugging and turning around again to lean on the desk with her arms crossed easily at her waist, "She was a Toreador if I recall. The one with the black hair." No telling how much you actually do remember.
     "She asked if you were going to be staying on the continent long so it sounded promising." For you, anyway, which she seems to take as a good thing, "I'm trying to remember anything else about her."
     "Oh, I think she was here for the harpy. Though she didn't seem terribly fond of him. I could've read her wrong though, or she could've wanted me to." She shrugs, apparently not having been terribly concerned either way, "It should be a diversion at least."

     "At the least," Mick confirms, and folds the note into his jacket. "Then I shall leave you for the evening, if there is nothing else."

     "Not unless you had anything I needed to look into for you." She's not going to just send you off on errands if you did have something else that she could help with in exchange. Besides just giving you a swank place to stay for the duration. "Did Landry get the adaptor for the game machine for you and everything?"

     Only a prudish vampire would consider a castle 'swanky digs'. Sure, it's a good conversation piece for the chicks -- hey baby, wanna come back to my place and climb the tower?
     He smiles and demurs. "Everything's fine, thank you."

     "Glad to hear it." She stands up from the desk, starting to move back around to dive into her lovely dullness again, "Well, let me know if you do need me to look into something. Or feel free to ask Landry if you run into him."
     "Enjoy yourself in town." And that, it seems, is the end of that.

Posted by rowan at March 27, 2004 07:49 PM