It's a miracle...
     The crumbled walls are becoming more whole. Can that be? It seems to be. Where ivy and fruit-bearing vines had begun to grow wild even inside the villa, and with their tendrils creating cracks and vulnerabilities in the stone, there are now whole walls, pruned plants (in pots), and cleared and swept walkways.
     As promised, the master suites were in better shape than most of the rest of the villa. The suites were three master apartments, all interconnected, with fine marble on the floors and open archways allowing unimpeded motion in between. The bedding had to be ... found...then replaced... but apart from that it was quite serviceable. Washing bins for personal care, even a quasi-modern bath facility (though, it needs serious updating).
     But you have already altered so much. So much in him, and now so much in the place that is his reflection, his self, his soul, and Alire moves in it, disbelieving even as he looks in soft wonderment to the changes he sees all around him. The sun is still up, but it is sinking. He does not fear it when it is not at its height. He moves regardless, dressed comfortably, moving easily in his own space. There is a difference about him here. You have seen it already. He seems... comfortable. At ease.
     His steps lead him toward his greenhouse, his interior gardens -- also his study -- the smell of oranges and figs pungent here. "Giancarlo?" His voice fills the halls as he seeks for you, early riser.

     Giancarlo stands near a series of trees, but his gaze is lifted upwards to the panes above and the setting sun. He seems confounded, hands on his hips. "Bello," he says, almost in rumination, "...hmm," he gives up, turning to look at the arrival. "You're awake," he says, shaking off the immediate past. Giancarlo walks halfway along the path to the door, arms extended. "Did I wake you?" he wonders, knowing that is unlikely. It's just that time of day.

     He does not even avoid the dwindling light but stands in it the same as you. "I felt you were not there... it was close enough," Alire says with a smile. "I am ... sufficiently hardy to endure this much of the light. I think it is good for one's perspective to ...see the other side. Every once in a while."
     "And you," he continues, coming to give your morning...evening... pre-twilight greeting. "How are you this... ah," a smile, "it is almost twilight, not close to evening. This...end of your day, let's settle with that. Did you rest well? The... villa... seems to be in a fine mood this morning. I do not see as many cracks. You do not have ceiling dust in your hair," the smile grows. Here it is natural. Here, it is not so slight. Nothing held back. Not here. And not with you.

     "I am better," Giancarlo says, hands alighting on soldierly shoulders. Better than last evening or the evening before. It comes and goes. "Looking at the glass above," he notes. "I am thinking that perhaps fixing leaded glass is not such a good idea." He laughs. "You see where my mind has gone, Alire. I think of glass now." Instead of commanding legions or finding doge's gold.
     Giancarlo smiles, leaving the quiet there for a moment. After it, he looks down between you both. "I...do not know what to do with myself," he says softly, a rueful smile upon his lips. "I...never thought this would happen to me."

     "I am glad to hear it," comes the soft and serious reply, punctuated by the first and most proper greeting of a kiss. It is brief. It does not need to be long and passionate to convey what it needs, and what he means by it. "What is the matter with glass?" Alire suddenly wonders. "It is no less a magical or scientific endeavor than anything else. I ...personally... enjoy glass. It ...makes the world more tolerable. It allows vision, even far vision to other worlds. It was a great discovery and invention."
     Alire touches his hand, a soft hand now, to your face. "Try not to worry. You have nothing to do but to be yourself, hmm? Now... it may help you," a flaxen eyebrow lifts, "...if we were to begin our work? I know how you like to sort through puzzles and mysteries. Why should your life be any different, tesoro?"

     "I guess not," Giancarlo surmises and agrees. "But for the glass: it is old glass. Maybe something without lead would be healthful to your visitors."
     The kiss is gently returned.
     "So," Giancarlo bobs his head, "How do we begin?" he asks, stepping away and clasping his hands.

     Sky blue eyes drift upward and then back to you. "Well, tesoro. I... never entertained," a little joke. "But... you are right. Newer glass." He nods. Newer glass. It is being filed for later.
     "So... beginning. I will get my things, something to write with, write on..." You know, those boring, mundane implements. "We will go outside and then... well... we will see what you can do and I will categorize and notate. Those are my special skills," Alire whispers.
     We all have to have them... yes?

     "Alright," Giancarlo grins, rocking back and forth on his heels. He puts his arms behind his back to wait patiently. "I'll be here," he notes for the record. "Practicing." he nods, winking afterwards.
     "I feel like I am about to be chastised by the schoolteacher..."

     Sweet laughter, warm and from the center of his being, sounds as he turns. "Schoolmaster and student. It sounds like another game altogether. I do not think you will be chastised," Alire looks to you as if over a professor's spectacles. "More like you are a butterfly, hmm? And I am a naturalist. I know...I know," he exhales and gestures, "...it is not as sexy as schoolmaster and student...but it is what it is..."
     There is a wink returned and he turns to head toward his master study-slash-greenhouse -- it is one of several greenhouses in the villa. The most cared for rooms in the entire structure were for the plants, exotics and natives alike.
     "I do not mean to compare you with a bug, tesoro," Alire says as he returns, a small notebook and fountain pen in his hand. "But this is just a study, hmm? A categorization... that is all. So... it may be very dry and boring," Alire protests with a smile, "...but at my heart, that is who I am...yes?"

     "Oh, absolutely," Giancarlo affirms, his brow flattening. "Very you." He walks over, ready for anything. "I make a very good lab observation..."

     "I will take that as a compliment, tesoro," Alire says softly, but brightly. He steps out into the courtyard, glances around. "How much room do you think you will need? Perhaps we should go to the vineyards?"

     "I don't know what you will ask," Giancarlo says. "Outdoors, beneath trees, might be best? I do not know if anyone can see," he twists about, "...a larger space, but with some shading, I would think."
     "And it will keep heat off your brow," Giancarlo teases.
     "And it is a very handsome brow. Oh -- focus," he nods.

     You did that on purpose. He blushes, his mouth twists a little, his eyes roll. "It is a brow," Alire notes. "Very well. I have a better idea. Let us go to the beach. The cliffs provide a natural sunblock and there is not as much to set on fire..."
     Notebook in hand, Alire turns toward the direction of the sea. He waits for you to walk with him and not behind him. His expression tender. "If I get overheated, I will strip naked and wade in the cool water..."
     Now that's a visual.

     Giancarlo does grin, his gaze down to his feet. It is a visual. A few strides, and he soon catches up to walk beside and to the beach.

     Though the way is treacherous, the way is known. The worn grooves of stone in the ancient (but maintained) stairs to the sand, the ropes for the guiding hand. It is not as dangerous as it may appear, as with so many things. Alire, with his notes and pen held in one hand, his other on the rope, moves easily down the cliff he has traversed a thousand and one times.
     He expects your feet will know their way...
     "So... this is how I think we should proceed. First we shall categorize by type and then by degree. An easy start would be to go by elements, fire, air, so on. I believe you do have some elemental abilities? Or am I wrong on this count?"

     There is quiet a moment, a pause to say no - but then Giancarlo thinks better of it and nods tentatively, embarrassedly. "I...seem to..." he notes. "I'll trust your judgement in these matters, Alire. I am magician...and I am not. I seem to be, but it is as if...I know nothing of it. Deluding myself...but...I never knew." Just how much of one he is and always has been.
     These conversations cause him quiet, for Giancarlo must think of all he knows. Not just the life he has had, but then again, evaluate it in relation to a life out of a book. A picture book from so long ago. Instinctively, he recedes to a conversation that constantly continues in the silence of his mind.

     Feet meet the sand and he continues to where the sand is midway between packed and soft. He takes a seat, his shoes removed. For a few minutes he goes about the routine, the minutia, of removing his socks and turning them inside one another to keep the sand -- as much as possible -- out of their fabric.
     "Would it be easier, tesoro, if we just... moved forward with the first thing that comes to you? I tend to want to categorize, by genus, by species, out of habit," the Botanist shows himself. "But this may not work best for you? Let us ...simply start perhaps, and then... once we have things down, I can categorize them later."
     He seems to be most satisfied with that route. "So... we know you have the power of teleportation," a note, "... you have the power of animation of inanimate objects," another note, "...you have creation principles, the making of the globe, I remember. You can shape matter..."
     Another note...

     "Shape matter?" Giancarlo thinks, bending to roll up his pants legs. Easy habit having grown up near water. "I guess," he thinks a moment. "When...have I done this?"

     "You made the globe for me, remember? I still have it," a soft smile follows that, the wind moving his straight blonde hair this way and that way. "And, not only did you shape it...hmm? You put yourself in it, this seems far more complex magic to me."
     "So, we can deduce that you have the power to animate, your talking clocks, your dishes that wash themselves. You also seem to have creative powers, you will have to correct me if I am not on the right path, tesoro. Are you able to create some thing from no thing? Or do you have to start with something and you alter it?"

     "Yes, well," Giancarlo thinks, nodding. His fog is lifting and the educated scholar appears. "Yes, I have...abilities to animate inanimate objects. Charm. Conjuration. " The technical names come back to him. "But now, bello," Giancarlo frowns, taking a seat on a large rock. "It is..." his brows arch, "...not like that. There are....philosophies. Schools," he explains. "And...studies are so tough, the magics do not come so easily. You must study the same small spells over and over again for decades for them to...even to do the most basic of things. The most childlike. This..." he exhales, "..it is how I...was...am..." Giancarlo shakes his head.
     "I am...a charmer, Enchanter. Simple, really. A Conjurer and summoner." Another class. "A few illusions...like the sunset at your friend Samuel's villa. Illusionist."
     "When I have time to prepare, even a few basics of Abjuration - like keeping the water out or the rats away."
     "These are the things I know, amici," Giancarlo says, looking at his hands. "That is...my world." My limitations. "I am...nothing like...the fantastical stories," he whispers. "I am not so powerful or so smart. Not like Nate or...those others I have read about."

     You speak. He writes. "I do not think it is so simple. Your gifts are your gifts. Your skills, your skills. You should not compare yourself to Nathaniel," the way he speaks that name. An obvious attempt at being civil, but he does not hide the partial frown.
     Sky and cobalt eyes turn up to you and he pauses his writing. "But the teleportation, this was new? Yes? It would not be a charm. Nor would it seem to be an abjuration or an enchantment. What would you call this?"

     "I...I...use my..." Giancarlo stutters, as if talking to himself, "...skills to...geomancy. Symbols and shapes. Or...alchemy. Artificer," he whispers, going through the litany of self-evaluation." Giancarlo looks up, his concern is evident. These two years. "What...am I?"

     "What...are you?"
     Seeming like Echo for a moment, Alire tilts his head. "Bello, what is the matter?" The pen and the paper are set upon the sand, the pages of the notebook flipping back and forth. In the same motion, with the same rhythm, the wind moves through the longer strands of his short hair.
     Geomancy. Symbols. Shapes. Alchemy. "Michele... had powers, too." He remembers that from the other villa. That other trip. "They are ... more difficult for you to ... accept?" Alire doubts that is the word. He peers at the air, at you. "To understand... is that it?"

     "Teleportation.." Giancarlo says, brown hair falling to shield his face. "It is...alteration. Transmutation." Yes, that's it. He nods his head, searching the books held within his mind. Something he knows.
     But you speak and Giancarlo looks up. "He has powers, yes," Giancarlo blinks, realizing what you say. "He...I have powers. He is...different. Much different. Things I could never learn."

     "Perhaps not before," Alire notes, "...but he is your book now. Is he not? He is there, within you. He is you, you are he. You can open the book of him and learn what you once knew when you were in another life, another time."
     He takes the notebook back, writing the words: teleportation, transmutation. "His powers allowed you to find me... did they not? In the church... in Poitiers? Or would that be a charm?"

     Eyes widen. Giancarlo looks out to the sea, then puts his hand to his head. Of course. He smirks weakly. "I have...not studied divination so much. I...read a few items. I tried. And...I found you," he laughs nervously, seeing the obvious. "I have never thought of it as you have. Divination."
     "He...I...can do Divination," Giancarlo affirms, swallowing before he turns his head to see you. "Transmutation. Elementalist," he concedes, "...and..." the most powerful, "...an Invoker." The naked force of change, of ultimate mastery of will.
     "The rules say," Giancarlo insists, "...the books say that...you cannot do all of those. That..." he says half-aghast, his education failing his evaluation of the present situation, "...that...some of these are in opposition. That...you cannot do the delicacies of enchantment or conjuration and...be..." it scares him, "...an Invoker."

     "I do not know yet of a book, of one set of rules, that may encompass all the variants in the universe. Particularly, mon ami, such a... unique situation as yours. I think, as you have demonstrated that you can do all of these things, that the rules you speak of... do not apply. Perhaps," a small smile, "... that is not all there is, Columbus..."
     Alire lets you take that in while he catches up to you. Divination. Invoker. "So... now... even with this surface list..." he turns the paper about and shows it to you. "... can you still say, tesoro, that you are simple? Now...I am simple. You could put the whole of my life and skills into a single acorn's cup."

     Giancarlo's eyes move to the paper. His nose and brow twitches slightly as he reads. "You are not simple, bello," he whispers, pushing the paper away but closing his fingers around your hand. "These things are there, but...they are not me." The boy whose mother taught him to be kind to the world. "Not...me," he laments.
     "I...can't...do anything with them. I am...I am...was...my magic is me."

     Your fingers are clasped. Pulled to his mouth, they are kissed. "You speak in quiet contradictions, tesoro," your hand is freed. "You are more than simply the combination of your spells or...abilities, this is true. I am not Alire because I am a vampire, or a vampire because I am Alire. I am Alire and a vampire. And an old knight. And a would-be botanist and naturalist. A self-learned scholar. A diplomat. Even a delivery boy for other, older, more powerful vampires."
     He shrugs a little. "Why should this be anything different? You are your magic, you say, but it is not you. It is a part of you. These are things you can do, you have demonstrated ability. I think you need to not put yourself in a box of your own making, hmm? Would you not say? You say you couldn't be all of these things, do all of these things. But yet...you can. Therefore... you are. You cannot have it both ways." There is a small smile. "No more than I can say I am ...just a cleric, that I do not drink the blood of holy men. I would be lying. To myself and to you. And God knows the truth."

     "I think I need to go home," Giancarlo murmurs to himself. A thought as he looks down to his recently-kissed hands. His breath is warm as it rolls forth in an exhale upon his other's skin. "I..." his brow furrows, "I should be in Venezia." Brown eyes slide left and right, and the following exhale is given to the sky above, a sign of relief.
     "I," he nods resolutely, "...think I need to be in Venice. I have to do this in Venice," he whispers again to himself and then, with lifted eyes, to you. "And in a new place, bello," he grins. Whatever must be done, he must do himself.
     "And you may be needed in Poitiers."

     "I cannot go to Venice. I cannot be seen in such... a prominent city. Not my own." His words are soft and measured, much as his look to you. A moment of looking at the notes, he closes the cover, wraps the cord around it and hands it to you. No sense reinventing the wheel.
     You need to do what you need to do. Even if it is not in a way that I like. You, in another city. Me in mine, and mine is far away. "We should return to Poitiers tonight," courtesy of you. "So that you may pack, hmm? You have preparations and there is no sense in wasting time, even if we are not as bound by it..."
     And it is not as if this villa is anything but what it is, a decrepit, flowered wreck upon the edge of the sea. There is no staff here, no one depending on our being here. And if this is not the place for you, then.... why linger...
     "We will talk later of ... particulars," Alire rises, hands brushing sand from his thighs -- how did it get there? Sand has a way of getting everywhere. He looks out to the sea for a moment, then down to you. "I ... can simply not show up there. There will be too many questions. I have to have... allowances. When ... a prince of my people shows up in a city that is not theirs... it should never be unexpected. So...and you need to be there for...however long you need to be there..."

     "But you have been there before..." Giancarlo pleads, confused by the explanation. "The villa will...continue to repair itself," eyes slide sideways as if to say 'I think', "...can you not ask, whoever," his hand raises and waves, "...and then we can go?"
     The book is accepted by Giancarlo, but as soon as he accepts it, the object vanishes. Sent somewhere safe.
     He blinks and backs up, hands on his hips.
     "I am sorry," Cesare says, lifting his chin. "I understand...you are...important," he nods several times, reminding himself. "I should not be petulant. I don't know where that came from, bello."

     "I have, with phone calls placed, visited before. On leave from my city. But I have a city to run, bello. If I do not return, if I am seen in the principality of another without expressing a plausible reason, I will not have my city long. And my reputation, which is the only coin of value with Them, may suffer. I will need time to set these things in motion. To come up with a plausible reason. And then, I will have to let the prince of Venice know that I am there. And I will be noted by all and watched by some."
     That is the reality of it. "I am not important," Alire says. "I took a political position... months... just months... before meeting you, tesoro. Had I known you were coming, I would not have done so. But now I am in it, and all I can do about it is... do the best job for Poitiers that I can. Princes are not usually... replaced, tesoro."
     Such a euphemism...
     "I am not going to keep you from what you need to do, simply because it is inconvenient for me," Alire continues softly, and he comes up to you, arms surrounding you. "I love you. I would ...could never keep you from doing what you need to do. I will... arrange for a pilgrimage. On my path, it is permitted. It is something that the other officials of the city were aware of when I took the position. But I do not want you to wait for me. You must do what you must do."
     The kiss that follows is tender, brief. "I am only sorry that this is not the place for you. I was hopeful... it is... not a political arena. I will admit to being selfish. And I apologize for it." His hands, large hands, lightly touch you and draw away. "I like your Venice. I will enjoy visiting." But I cannot stay, bello.

     Cesare looks to you, realizing he's been misunderstood. "No, no," his hand clasping a mate, "...what I meant - ah, I did not know I was so ineloquent - I...am to go back only because you cannot do this for me, Alire. I see that." Eyes turn downcast, to the sand. "I cannot run...it is not who I am...but I wanted to. I do not understand my own feelings anymore, Alire," Cesare explains with a smile. "I vacillate, I am of two minds. I will confess this. And I cannot tell which mind is my past or my present."
     "But it does not matter," Cesare thinks on it, shrugging as he smiles at you, mustering some confidence and a brave face. "I know what...is happening to me. These things I cannot control. I wish to be...as I knew of my present," not to say what I was, for there is no clarity in that, "...I want the existence, limited, that I knew. For you and I to be happy in a small flat where the rats are at bay and we talked of botany and alchemy and we cooked fish and my clocks sang," Cesare grins, knowing such is no longer possible. "But even as I say it, it is my newest past," he teases himself. "I have a lot of pasts," he laughs, hands coiling each into yours. From there, he finds strength, inhaling deeply as he presses downward and rises on his tiptoes.
     "And one part of my past hates dank flats with rats. He is not so impressed..." Cesare chuckles.

     "That part of your past should be used to rats, and dark, coarse bread, and other things I will not mention," Alire notes, his hands holding yours. "He should not be so picky but remember that God himself was born in a manger, in a barn, with rats." He smiles a little. He likes to see you tease yourself, to smile, even to laugh. He has not seen as much of it of late.
     And it troubled him...
     A breath is sighed away and his fingers clasp your own. "I knew what you meant," he murmurs. "I understand that you must do it on your own. I should not be selfish. I will.... just miss you." As if you are going away for years. "I know it has been difficult for you, and more difficult than you've said, or could even put to words. I wish I could help. If you were a plant, I could help you," he teases himself now, smiling in that quiet, self-conscious way of his. "I would prune here, water there, nourish here, feed there, and you would blossom. But you are not a plant. And I was never that good with people."
     Blue eyes look to your joined hands, rolling them over, steepling fingers, then sliding them against your own. "You have a lot of Pasts," Alire notes, "...and I have a lot of Presents." Prince, Confessioner, vampire, lover (twice over). "We will never be that pair again, but we have not yet met tomorrow's pair," a gentle reminder as he looks to you.
     "We ...should return to Poitiers. We can lie in a bed there that doesn't have a roof falling down over it, a kitchen that is clean. Maybe we can return here one day. When we are both ready to be here. Until then, it will be as it is. It will be here, waiting for us. We should have a bottle of wine and talk about... how long you will be gone so I can plan my first visit...then I can have my meetings..."

     "Prince, friend..." Cesare smiles, pulling flush while hands continue to mimic just last evening, "...you do have many jobs," he agrees with arched brows. "I grow picky as we," meaning himself, "...learn what we like. What...I now like. And do not like," Cesare snorts. "I...dislike many more things now than ever. In fact," he laments, "...I do not like that I dislike so much. Too picky," he nods, recalling your words. "Very...picky. Determined. More sure of so many things than I ever was...and so sure of much less."
     Cesare looks up, feeling himself drifting. "You to Poitiers. Me?" he inhales and looks around, "I should acquaint," not reacquaint,"...myself with the city of Venezia. With myself. And how I wish to be...now. With you."
     "And so you note," Cesare lifts a finger in quirky habit, "...I heard what you said, bello, about Princes not being replaced. Let me just say on this," humor there, though serious threat lies behind it, "...I am not impressed with that either. Maybe they should know who I am and understand this about their Prince of Poitiers, hmm?"

     "No," it is swift, decisive, quiet. "They should not know who you are. I do not want them to know. It is bad enough that it is believed that I have a lover at all. I know you can protect yourself; they have more to fear in truth. But they should never know this, unless necessity makes it inevitable. Not every vampire prays and is studious and prunes flowers, mon ami. You have read the books," he flushes on this point. He frowns on this point. "Politically, that you know I am a prince is a... huge liability." A flaxen eyebrow lifts slightly. "I have broken the biggest law of all in so telling you.... and my kind has hunted your kind... specifically because of such threats..."
     His hands squeeze your slightly, strongly, there is such power in them. But there is also love in them. "I felt it myself, when I was threatened once by such a mage not long ago. And I am a forgiving man. I do not like being told what to do. Or not to do. I do not like being threatened, and such .... creatures as We," he and his comrades, not you and he, "... do not ...respond well to it. Please, bello, do not do so. Our joy shall be short-lived."
     He calms himself with the intake and exhalation of an unnecessary breath. "Determined." That is a word for it. Picky is one thing, but certainly determined. Alire tries a smile, but as you are drifting, he is receding like the water before a great wave. Turning into himself, to reacquaint himself with his routine. Routine is the lifesaver. "You are going to go now..."
     He can see it. You are not coming back to Poitiers. He will have to spend another night in this villa and then leave the next afternoon. "Will you... call me... when you get there... tell me where you are going to be. Do you need money? I have... whatever you will need, you may have..."

     He guesses that you are correct. Cesare nods, "I am your servant in this," said out of habit as much as anything else. "Nothing from me, unless otherwise required."
     On a brighter note, Cesare smiles. "So, then bello, we return to Poitiers. I will...spend part of my days in Venice, looking for a new home and," he thinks a second, "...what I am to do next. I will see you at nights, as always, hmm? When you wake."

     "You ... will need to sleep sometime, hmm?" The smile lightly scolds. "I think that may have been part of the problem. You staying up all night with me, or trying to. Make sure you rest, tesoro. What is most important to me is that you are happy and well."
     He seems relieved that you do not mean to leave him so suddenly. Or even every night. Though, some nights he has to work. Sometimes, he only sees you a few hours before he spends late nights in his city, in meetings. His early evenings, always for you. Trying to allow you time to sleep.
     "Let's go," he says. Alire gestures toward the cliffside stairs. "We should get our things in the house," before ...zipping off to Poitiers. "So... it will not be months before I see you," he admits a worry, softly. And he laughs at himself. "When you first said it, it sounded like you ... were going to leave me for a while. I am a fool..." A blushing fool.

     "Oh, no!" Cesare exclaims, grabbing your hand as he follows to the stairs. In his other hand, a swipe for his shoes. "No, no, I guess...I should take advantage of my abilities. Not to distrust them or see them as...bad things that will make my pauper life go away," he smiles. Now, how he thought seems so silly.
     "And, I will admit...the money," brought up earlier, "...would be...useful. Until," Cesare nods, "I figure out how to...find regular employment." Something washes across his face regarding employment that he finds suddenly distasteful.
     "I...could hire myself out again," Cesare says softly.

     "I have rarely spent money on myself. As you can see," he makes a broad sweep of his arm to the villa above, "...I do not spend it on the upkeep of my homes. I have only one other property, in Poitiers. My clothing, does not cost much. I have... money... riches," he corrects, "...that I have never touched. And you are my love, and it is yours, whatever you need. I will buy you a home in Venice, one that does not leak when it rains, one whose floor is not uneven with sinking. I want you to be comfortable. To eat well, to drink the dark wine, to have warm clothes for the winter and clothing that breathes for the hot Venetian summers..."
     Alire looks to you as he pauses at the stairway. "Do not spare expense. I will make the call tonight to my team. You will have your own accountant. He will make certain that everything is arranged, you will have an account to draw upon, when you need. I do not want ... you to feel that you have to take employment...urgently. You do not have to take it at all, but I know you have a man's pride and will not be comfortable if you do not." He smiles suddenly. "But you will not need to work, tesoro."
     He lets go of your hand in preparation of the climb, but before ascension comes to you with a sweet embrace. An intense kiss that he parts with a grin and then he climbs, leaving you behind, perhaps with a stunned look.
     He glances back over a shoulder to see...

     Cesare stares up the stairs, smiling as he bites his bottom lip and relishing the lingering taste. "No accountant, Alire. Just a little cash, if you do not mind. Actually -- " he thinks better, "I will...look about a little, hmm? Then I will tell you my discovery."
     "Each night. In person. And I shall sleep, bello," Cesare smiles, "...do not worry." His seeming tiredness has not lifted, it is true, in the intervening year. "But I cannot take your money forever. I will...figure it out." By himself.
     "And you are right, maybe we shall end up here again -- when we are ready. When...I am ready." It is too soon to revisit that far in the past.

     For all of that there is a simple nod. The simplicity of his openness, his life to you, his wealth to you, his heart to you. "You will have an accountant, to buy the home. Housing is expensive in Venice, very expensive, tesoro. I want you to have a nice place. You will have to learn to ...accept my generosity in this matter."
     Alire crests the staircase easily, far easily than any man should. The villa comes into view. "It will still be here. It will... still be overgrown with weeds and ivy. But the grapes that make the wine will sell, and somehow the old wall will refuse to fall down, no matter what the winds do to it. Just like us, bello..."
     He arrives on the graveled path that leads to the house and turns to wait for you. "And if you need more, you will tell me. I do not want you being proud, hmm? And starving. There is no pride to be found in a rumbling stomach, tesoro. If I find out," now he threatens with humor, "... I will show up in your city and make deposits in your account myself. Hmm? Okay," we are agreed apparently. "Now... let's go home. I am in the mood to cook. A final French meal, as you bid Poitiers farewell...?"

     He is skeptical of the accountant and the money. Cesare says nothing in response, save the expression on his face...chances are good that he and the accountant will not quite see eye to eye. There is an exasperated sigh, but no words of agreement.
     "I will not go hungry, bello. That...I have managed to do...no matter the time or age," Cesare says, looking to the villa. He pauses for a moment, then adds, "So...you wish that I not have the spell continue to work on the repairs?"

     "Have it work... slowly," Alire cautions. "It will seem odd to those who work the fields to see it repairing without also the presence of workmen..." He looks at you for the sigh. He knows how your mind works when it comes to money. "I did not mean to insult you, tesoro," Alire mentions softly. "How about this... you tell me how much my accountants shall set aside, and I will make sure that amount is available to you. That way, I can be generous to the man I love and you can be happy that I have not done too much."
     Can we agree on this? "I will get our bags," he murmurs. There was not much that was unpacked. The house was dusty. "I appreciate you trying to fix it, I do not mean to sound ungracious..."

     "It's alright," Cesare waves off, his agitation there. He winces, as if slightly unsure about it. "We'll to Poitiers and I will...pop to Venice morning afterwards."
     "The villa...will take its time," Cesare finishes.

     "You say it is alright, but I don't think I believe you," he is sometimes maddening in his own way. He does not let things go, such tenacity from the Stone of Chinon.
     Even the Righteous can seem self-righteous, from time to time...
     He disappears into the improving ruins, only to reappear some handful of minutes later, with two large bags and two satchels.
     "I am sorry," he says gently. "I did not intend to be rude or ... thoughtless...or demanding," or anything else I may have seemed. "I... just want you to enjoy your city in a nice place. I do not like the thought of you being cold or uncomfortable."

     He was looking at a section of stone as the dirt seemed subtly to erase itself. Brows arch as he gives his attention again, and hands come out to take one of the bags. "I will be fine, bello, I promise. I can take care of myself," he smiles, stating the obvious. "I promise. I will be fine. We should worry more on you..." Cesare grumps, "...and your pit of vipers, it seems."
     Cesare quiets a moment, extending his hand to take yours. "Ready?"

     "Some of my best friends are vipers," Alire softly notes and gives you his hand. "Ready..."
     There is a moment with the passing of the bags, the holding of your hand. "I worry. It is my nature." I worry for you where Nathaniel may still be present. "I will... try not to worry for you..."
     He closes his eyes, and braces himself...

     Cesare smiles, brown eyes staring ahead blankly. But soon the smile falls, and the blank stare becomes empty eyes. From his free hand, something falls, and with it, the universe shimmers and shifts, fluttering like heat above a pavement.

     The duskiness of the coastline becomes a living room, with bookshelves, sofas, and wood floors with rugs. The space is dark, much like it was left, and the cold kitchen waits. Beside you both are bags, and Cesare's hand remains stiff around yours.

     His hand lifts yours to his mouth and Alire...adjusts himself to being back within his own space. It is a little ... discombobulating. But the slightly rattled look fades as quickly as the spell.
     "So, orange mullet, then?"

Posted by rowan at January 09, 2005 02:53 PM