"I never used to be this busy, even when I was writing for six magazines," Fiona mumbles to herself as she crawls out of the back of a taxi. "Granted, things are different now..."
     Different, as in she used to write for six punk 'zines, and now she's incorporated, working on becoming wealthy beyond her wildest dreams, engaged to two men, and a fairy queen...
     But all that doesn't matter right now. She has a date for dinner - not that sort of date, but the other sort. And so she's costumed accordingly - black trousers of the riding variety, highnecked white blouse of the same sort, royal blue velvet jacket and long hair worn in artful curls and ringlets piled high atop her head and held in place with emerald combs and quite likely a lot of spray. Her boots are black, very polished, her earrings are emerald to match the combs; beneath the blouse are pink diamonds, and on the appropriate finger, her official fiancé's ring.
     And wouldn't Davydd just love that - the unofficial, the illicit fiance...
     "God, I need a drink," Fiona half-mutters. If she's going to get through this one in one piece, she'll need several, and maybe then some, especially if she wants to minimize her blushing ways. She moves into the restaurant - high-end, excellent, discreet, seafood; people go there to spend lots of money to dine with bored friends or someone else's lover. It's where people go when they're in transition from one relationship to another. The drinks are froufrou to hardcore; the food, more expensive than it ought to be but quite good. The lighting is discreet, as are the waiters, and the dining nooks have enough ferns and potted plants to make one look for a machete...

     Her royal highness, the Daughter of Dame Kent Walters, is dressed both according to her station and according to the haute couture demands of this establishment. Is she even recognizable? Fashionable to a fault, she is wearing a couture skirt cut on a bias, red chiffon silk. Her shirt is chiffon as well, stark white with a Mandarin collar, sleeveless, with embroidery sewn in red. Red crystal chopsticks hold up her hair, her bangs cut very straight and very blunt. She is like the Tokyo Queen. A geisha among geishas. Her shoes are the most expensive item in the whole outfit. Red enamel with titanium heels, and burned on the enamel, cherry blossoms of white.
     She turns as the door opens -- having waited for you in the foyer of the restaurant, and she lowers her kimono wrap, smiling with her lovely painted lips. "There you are..." her froufrou accent is back in place. Where are those punk girls now? In a kingdom far, far away? "Our table's ready..."

     The host steps up, smiling, "Please, if you are ready...right this way..."
     The table is one of the best in the house. Both you and Dot, daughters of petty aristocracy as you are, can command such. It is a lovely table, completely sheltered. Your chairs are pulled out for each of you, menus and wine lists handed to you as you sit. Water is already poured, bread is available.
     "A bottle of the Chateau de Monde," Dot says, setting the menu aside. "So," she smiles to you, "... wedding planning is a bitch," she whispers it, eyes widening. Ah, there's the punk! "We've decided to marry in the spring," next spring. "Off the coast of Iceland... mother's decided not to press the issue, as I told her... if she did... I'd marry bare-breasted."

     Pale blonde eyebrows lift, then settle in apparent approval. "You look smashing, Dot," Fiona greets. albeit with a hint of amusement. "Very-very. Dare I offer approval, or will it land me in trouble?" With their tastes being in some cases so very different...
     But she doesn't pause to continue, instead moving to follow her childhood friend - and the host, but he hardly counts - in to the table.
     She approves of that too, and takes up a menu as if it were her shield and banner and not just a list of drinkables. "Well, at least if you were going to do that here, it'd be warmer. Bare breasts off the coast of Iceland sounds uncomfortable," Lady Fiona Arundel murmurs slyly, glancing to you with eyes very blue, fraught with amusement and something like anticipation. Ahh, mischief... "I understand, about wedding planning. And it's harder, with mothers like ours, isn't it?

      "Rather," she says in very British tones and then smiles. "Thank you, lovely. I went shopping. Loads of shopping," she teases out. "It's how mother appeases me for not having any more piercings." A glance to you, a wink. "And Iceland will be lovely. It will be far more casual, far more meaningful. Besides, all the best places," and she puts finger quotes around that, "...were booked solid. And some of the things I just give up on and let her do it. It's not worth the arguing."
     Dot leans in and smiles to you, "You look very just-so yourself. It's good to see you. I miss seeing you, you know. You've been busy. So enough about me... how's things..." A glance to your hand. Wait. Wasn't your ring red and gold and not platinum and green?
     The wine arrives and Dot lifts the glass to toast you. "To old friends and to the dearest friends. Good health and here's to love." She leans forward to touch her glass to yours. "So dare I ask how your preparations are going? How's madam these days?"

     "Don't you adore shopping on someone else's money? I'm not addicted to it, quite, but having been introduced to it, I admit it's tempting to see if I can do it again." And again, and again - Fiona grins despite herself, crossing her legs and folding her hands demurely in front of her with a little toss of her curls. She sobers slightly, adding, "I place a lot of store in meaning, Dot. By all means, Iceland should work well for you. Anyone important to you should be able to make it, and if they're not important," she, too, lowers her voice, "fuck 'em."
     She takes up her napkin, spreading it over her lap and then settling back into place. "Well, I'm doing fairly well, though life's been abnormally, obscenely busy. I've decided to make loads of cash, so that's been keeping me moderately busy. And of course there's the wedding plans, and, well - oh, good, wine."
     She takes up her glass almost greedily, lifting it in response to the toast, then leaning back out to take a sip that turns into a mouth-filling swallow at the questions. "Mm'mph. Well, I told my mother off." Fiona's expression is - almost demure. Nothing important or momentous about that, no.

     She eyes you suspiciously, then grins like the very daughter of sin. "You didn't," she murmurs, sitting back with her wine, crossing her legs, looking very pleased indeed. "God, to have been a fly on that wall. So did anything get broken? How's your father by the way? He's so sweet, really. He should trade her in and get a new one."
     She sips at her wine and she beams as you speak of Iceland and meaning. "I really wanted something very simple, very meaningful, and so all of his family and friends could attend easier you know. And the beaches are gorgeous. We'll have floating candles and flowers all around. I think we're going to go to Hawaii for our honeymoon. Have you picked a spot yet? For the wedding or the honeymoon?" Dot leans in and waggles plucked brows. "Have you chosen your nightie yet? I'm going with leather dominatrix... red, of course...Sieg will be pleased..."

     "My father's doing well, and really, I wonder sometimes why he does stay with her. I suppose at this point it's simply easier - he does sometimes joke that she keeps him in good debating shape for standing up in the House, which of course these days is more or less his one true passion." Fiona is far too pleased with herself, still, for having finally broken the monster's back. "As for mother - well, I finally had had enough. Bad enough that she was being rude to me, but she started being rude to Rhodri when I brought him for them to meet him. Which ... brings up another little issue."
     Just a small one, really...
     "I told her that if she kept it up, I wouldn't let her have anything to do with the wedding," Fiona informs you from over the edge of her glass, opening up the menu again. "I also told her that if she kept it up, she'd die alone and unloved because I wouldn't visit her and my children wouldn't grow up knowing her, because they didn't need such a poisonous influence in their lives. Once we got that sorted out, things went much better." She manages a doubtful half-smile. "We'll see if it lasts."
     You, after all, know the saga. The trials, the travails, the efforts to please, the final turning of the worm and all that followed. But this - well, it's different, isn't it? For one - who's Rhodri? But Fiona isn't waiting on questions...
     "Hawaii's beautiful, I hear. We're going to India - his choice, but you know, the wedding's going to be such a bitch, I can't really begrudge him taking charge on that, right? I haven't figured out what I'll wear on the Big Night after I'm out of the dress. It almost hardly matters, not like I'll get to stay in it. Oh,by the way," she's so fucking casual, trying to slide it in between sips of wine, "mother and daddy don't know this part, of course, but I'm marrying two men. Unofficially, of course. Officially it's Rhodri. He's the Earl of Snowdon, title's out earning its keep though. Davydd's the Other Husband, open marriage but a closed circuit."
     That having been said, Fiona continues nimbly, without pausing for breath or to let you react, maybe she can pull it off. "Anyway, the wedding's going to be at Powis. You remember Powis, don't you? Mother wanted to try for Westminster, but I like this idea better - out in the gardens for the ceremony, then inside in the ballroom and spilling out as needed for the reception. And I think I'm going to get the angels on horseback to start, do you want to share? With maybe the Dungeoness crab to follow. Another bottle of wine, d'you think, or shall we splurge madly on champagne and cocktails?"

     "Well, old habits die hard. Maybe he has a mistress. That'd make me feel better," she starts. She glances over her menu and sips her wine as you go on. "India, how exotic." Blue eyes glance up at you and she smiles. "You can study the kama sutra," how she purrs that out, swishing her wine in the glass and smirking. "I should buy you a lovely illustrated copy as your Something Old for your wedding."
     But then you keep rolling on and it's a good thing she swallowed her wine because when you get to the two men-open marriage-thing, she's stunned. "What?" she hisses in a whisper to you, leaning in. "Wait a minute, sod the crab for now. Two men? I thought that ring looked different. What the hell is going on?" She's grinning now. "Okay, you need to back way the fuck up and fill me in on this... new situation..."
     You really have knocked her for a loop. She wishes she had a fan. "Okay, so... first... breathe deeply. Who's Rhodri?" She notes. "And ... how the hell did this happen? I just can't imagine it..."

     Wine, ah, lovely, lovely liquor. How she needs it. "Well," Fiona begins carefully, "you ... remember how Davydd put off the marriage. Other things to do, couldn't marry me, and so on. I was really pretty devastated." As you know, having been her prop and mainstay.
     "After I ... got so very drunk," Fiona is still being very careful, and just as careful not to look at you for fear of her cheeks blooming into ruddy colour, "I ended up going to cry on someone's shoulder. Rhodri's, to be precise. And ... well ... you know how I was dressed. He ... liked it."
     Just a bit...
     "One thing led - um, to another," she liked it too, "and ... well, he and Davydd know each other. They also know how I feel about them both, and they don't want to fight it. So ... they came to an agreement, more or less." Fiona takes a long swallow of wine, setting the glass down firmly. There. Now she's red, but it's from the wine, it's got nothing to do with blushing! Really! "So - on paper, I'm marrying Rhodri. In actuality, I'm marrying both of them. And they're alright with it. Well - Davydd still has a few jealousy issues, he's afraid I'll decide he's boring in bed or something, but he's got nothing to worry about. And ... there's not much more to add, honestly. Unless you're after particulars."

     She blinks. For a moment she just blinks. "All of that makes me wish I had a cigarette. Have you started taking up smoking yet?" The wicked thing and her wicked smile. "So... okay... two blokes. One put the wedding off, you still love him, he's still with you... okay. And you met ... another man that night? Okay, let's start at the beginning. What is Rhodri like? Is he well-endowed? How does he treat you, most importantly."
     Dot finishes her wine in a swallow just as the attendant comes for dinner. "Order anything you like, darling," she croons to you. "Your choice, besides from the sound of it you need your strength. We're going family style," she announces to the waitress with a brilliant smile -- she really is a lovely creature. "The best champagne, first and for starters. You take it from here, dove," she says, waving her hand at you while she continues to do the math.
     You...
     Two men...
     One open marriage...
     YOU....
     TWO men...
     ONE open marriage...

     Flick. The menu opens, flutters, scurries. "Two orders of angels on horseback, plus, mm, the prawn salad, oh, and - ooh, conch chowder? Two cups of the chowder." Two women need to fit into wedding dresses eventually still. Fiona is hiding, however, behind that menu. "For mains, Dungeoness crab, with ... asparagus and hollandaise - and the purple crescent potatoes with garlic butter. Just - just keep the champagne coming, but I'd like a margarita on the rocks when the chowder arrives."
     Resignedly, Fiona surrenders her menu - but holds onto the wine menu as if needing it. Maybe to fan herself with...
     When the waitress disappears, there's a roll of blue eyes. "I still adore Davydd too damn much for my own good," she mutters. "And Rhodri is ... Rhodri is Rhodri, it's hard to figure out how to put him into words. They both know how to make me scream, alright? And they both treat me like ... a queen."
     That drags a half-smile out of her, reluctantly. It's true, after all. "Davydd keeps buying me things. Rhodri plans things - he's a planner, an arranger, loves to surprise me. Just sort of sits there, smiling, and then does these fantastic things - like suggesting we have the wedding at Powis and promising to see to it. Like the ring," she gestures, showing it off, now, the deep heart of it, "like ... well, if doors aren't opened for me, it's not his fault. I can't even pay for my own bloody drinks anymore, he won't let me. Between the two of them, if I walk on my own two feet, it isn't for their lack of trying."
     As for well-endowed...
     She's struggling not to blush, but it's impossible. The colour just climbs into her cheeks, plunges into her neck, makes her glow pink and try to retreat behind the wine menu again. "He's ... big enough."

     "So is his prick painted too, or is he pierced instead?" such a light question, a beaming smile for the departing waitress and the surrender of her menu, and then she's looking at you. "I can't believe it. This from the girl who held onto her own knickers so tightly air couldn't pass, now you have two men who've been there and back." Everything in astonished whispers.
     "Well...obviously, Ma'am can't possibly know. So... is Davydd coming to the wedding. Will he give you away, wot? Will he be... joining you on the honeymoon? I'm intrigued as to how this is going to work? How do you juggle so many balls? No wonder you're busy," she chuckles and rests her chin on her hands.
     "Look at you, glowing like a Christmas tree. At least you'll never need a vibrator. So will you all live together, or is Davydd allowed to see other people?" Not that she's getting any ideas, mind you. Well, not many ideas.
     A few...
     "He sounds dreamy. What's he look like? With a name like Rhodri, I'm guessing he's Welsh, too. What are you trying to do? Conquer the country? It's been done, love... you do look fantastic in pink. You should wear pink. I mean, can women who have two husbands wear white? I'm deciding between seafoam blue and pink myself. Fuck the white gown, really. I'm tempted to wear red...but it'd clash with Iceland..."

     "Painted," Fiona says promptly, "but different colours. No piercings, though he's surprisingly kinky. Much kinkier than Davydd, though you wouldn't think so to look at him. He - well, I shouldn't go on about it. Just ... mm." There's a little, satisfied half-meowed sigh, and she picks up her wine, finishing it off.
     "Davydd'll be at the wedding. I've promised him a dance. Well - made him promise me a dance, more like. He's not going to come on the honeymoon I don't think, he's got too much to do here; he wasn't lying, you know, about being so busy." Fiona's satisfaction dissipates a little, and she makes a face. A hundred years still seems to her far too long to be without 'her Davy'..."He'll be joining us probably for a little bit of it, though." Prima nocte...
     "Daddy's giving me away, and I intend to wear white. After all, I mightn't be a virgin now, but they're the ones who've had my virginity," Fiona says firmly, "and I can wear pink after. I want the full deal or why bother having a wedding at all? You know how I am, Dot - all or nothing. We haven't made firm living arrangements, but I'll be keeping my flat for when I've got business to deal with and I imagine Rhodri'll keep his - honestly, it all comes down to time a lot more than anything else."
     There's a pause, and then Fiona adds flatly, "And if I find Davydd cheating on me, I'll claw his eyes out." That's how she feels. She never would - never could, but the emotion is there...
     "You should go with seafoam blue - it'd set off your hair. Well, depending on if you're keeping au naturel for the wedding, at least. What about Sieg, you going to put him in a tux?" A pause as she refills her glass from the bottle, then sets it aside. "Rhodri is ... well. He's tall, he's strong - has a thing for throwing me over his shoulder some of the time and sweeping me off to bed - red hair, he just had it cut so it's long in front and short in back, and let me tell you, it made me almost wish I'd met him when we were in school together. He's very good-looking. I wish I had a picture on me. And he's sweet. A perverted bastard, but I adore him, he says things and I just melt. Like what he said when I told him I wished I'd met him when I was in school, said how he'd have been arrested but happy..."

     "Well, clearly," the champagne arrives, cork pops and glasses poured, "you'll have to introduce me. I should get to know him, make sure he passes the test. You know...before you just give yourself over to the man. He sounds... very...you, really." Dot grins then. "I'm happy for you. Doubly happy, so...cheers!" She toasts you again, shaking her head.
     "Okay... brass tacks. What's his kink? God, I'm so fucking jealous! Two tatted men, gorgeous I'm sure... well, the one was. In that rugged don't fuck with him just fuck him sort of way... so, husband number one is not kinky and husband number two is. Hmmm... I hear jealousy can make for passionate sex as long as you can manage it. So, come on...we're girlfriends... what's Rhodri's game?"
     She sips at the bubbly, painted lips puckered at the taste and at the rim of the glass. "I love champagne. And I think...yes...powder blue. Sieg threatened to dress as a pirate, I should let him. He has an intense costume ...thing." She wiggles her fingers. "But he's going to wear a nice suit, with a matching tie. He'll have a whalebone necklace that he'll give me... and I'll give him one of hematite. Then of course we'll have our vows, he's going to sing his to me he says, and then the rings. That's where most of the money's going," she laughs, "...and the honeymoon."

     "Both of them have a thing for ... pageantry." Fiona laughs, taking up her own champagne, testing it on her tongue. "Mmm... demi. They love it when I dress up. And you know how I've always loved that - remember my Little Red Riding Hood costume that I whipped up when you met Sieg? Davydd about ate his tongue." And then of course, he ate her, Big Bad Welsh Wolf...
     There's a sound, held in the back of her throat, a contented sigh as she closes her eyes a moment. Memories. Remembering. It hasn't even been all that long and already she's collecting some memories.
     "Rhodri's - sweeter-looking, in a way. He's a bit cleaner, but it's all on the outside - inside, he's sexy and rugged and oh my fucking god I can't believe you just did that, really. But he's terribly debonair and social and polished." Fiona sighs. And she, clearly, is loving it.
     "The main problem with jealousy is that passionate sex can lead to getting laid too much," Fiona retorts. "I know, you probably think there is no such thing, but I'm a delicate and growing girl and I need my beauty sleep so I don't turn into a haggard old harridan. Which they seem to have trouble believing."
     She doesn't believe it herself, and her laugh is happy. "the necklace sounds lovely - why hematite? Whalebone makes sense, what with the pirate theme and all. Have you written your own vows?" Blue eyes widen. She's not even given too much thought to the vows just yet...
     "Oh, he's kinky," Fiona murmurs, pinkening again. "He's ... mm. Well, like I said, there's the costuming, but he really likes...you know. Um. Restraints, let's just say - oh, and he seems to've developed a thing for me in boots and a collar and nothing else. Calls it my 'let's stay in' outfit." Ah, girl talk...

     The laughter is not as inhibited for polite conversation -- must be the champagne -- and Dot grins past the glass. "Too much sex? I'm not sure I know what you mean," she coolly replies. "Well, whatever they're into... you seem on cloud fifteen, and I'm ...just really happy for you. Just be careful, alright? Threesomes are hard to make work. Someone always gets tweaked...and sounds as if the brute has some..." she grins and laughs, "...stiff competition. Very stiff from the sound of it..."
     She's blushing now, though that's due to being tipsy, as she tilts back her glass and finishes her champagne. She quickly pours herself another. "I know it's tres ghetto, but I'd die for some sugar cubes. Anyway... so... you're marrying...Rhodri. Has there been a date set? Powis will be lovely. The Earl of Snowdon. I bet your mother's as...well... as pleased as she can possibly be. Rhodri sounds dreamy... sort of Carey Grantish. Davydd seems like rough trade," to coin a hardcore term, "...but are they opposites then? Is Davydd rough on the outside but marshmallowy on the inside, as Rhodri is sweet on the outside and wicked on the inside?"
     "Our marriage will be open, the whole relationship has been really. It's a negotiation...sometimes delicate... I'll always be here for you. And I have...some," a smile as she sips her drink, "...experience with ...ahem... double pleasure. If you have any concerns..."

     "You wouldn't," Fiona retorts easily. "Come off it! You were always the one busy getting it while I was trying to hold the world at bay. But don't worry, I'll be careful... in my own inimitable fashion, as ever." Which isn't very careful at all, by most people's standards.
     The bottle is taken from you once you've done, and she refills her own glass - food, schmood, this is about sex talk and booze! "Mmmm," it's held in her throat again. "No date yet - probably in about six months to a year. We were going to wait a year or two, but you know, I just don't want to wait that long if I can help it. It'll depend on how the planning goes. Mother's ... tried hard to find something to object to and is frustrated because she can't, really. Rhodri's still got to meet my grandparents, but he and father got on like a house on fire. Apparently daddy gave him a big fat cheque, too."
     Fiona makes a face. How terribly feudal. And moreover, he still hasn't told her for how much. "He's dreamy," she agrees. "He's ... wicked and sweet, that's a very good way of putting it. Davydd is - well, he's not really a marshmallow. He can be, but he's ...well, I don't know how to put it, really. He's very, very male. He just is afraid I'll grow bored with him, which just isn't going to happen - he drives me absolutely berserk in his own way. I'm not sure how to put it into words, except to say that I want him."
     Ah, the champagne is flowing, and with it, so is Fiona's tongue. She's flushed to the point where if she had freckles, they'd be showing by now. Fair-skinned as she is, she's the sort that burns without tanning or freckling. A hand goes up to pat absently at her curls. "Ours isn't really ... open, as such. It's just done in triplicate. But by all means, feel free to give me the benefit of your wisdom and experience," Fiona teases. "But first, another bottle of bubbly? Or you wanting to move on to something else?"

     "Only champagne will do for women of taste and breeding," Dot rolls out, quite tipsy now. She smiles lazily. "Well... I'm just here for you, you know that. Whatever you need, even if it's advice. Best lubes to best painkillers." She chuckles at that. "I've pretty well done it all, so there's not a lot of allure to it. I love Sieg. I also like to dabble with women, and he needs the occasional dabble in International male. We're fine with that... so long as both of us are present. That's the arrangement. And as long as he respects it and doesn't get stupid," how cockney that word sounds suddenly, "...it'll go on like...well...gangbang..." She giggles at that and sips more champagne.
     "Oh, good, so...did your parents ever meet Davydd? How the hell did you explain that? I'm not sure what all you told them. I'm sure they'd be shocked," she laughs. "Can you imagine? Yes mum, yes dad... I'm marrying both of them. At the same time. I'm also going to honeymoon with both. At the same time. They die of cardiac... so when're you going to see your zaida?" she croons that. "I love your grandparents. Now there's a class act..."
     Dot uncrosses then recrosses her legs. "Hmmm... sounds like he's a bit intimidated by the kink. I mean... Davydd was your first man ever, but it's like he probably feels like he was the warm up act. Now you're becoming ultra experienced with ... another man. So it's understandable. That'll be something he'll have to figure out for himself, mainly. No kink at all?" She wrinkles her nose. "That's unfortunate. Well, maybe he'll find a kink to keep up," Dot grins widely, "...it's a win-win for you. You get tons of fantastic sex and two men to protect you. Anyway...yeah... I wouldn't pooh-pooh that feeling of his. You'll have to nurture it out of him. I wouldn't recommend you 'showing him things'.... that'd likely just make it worse..."

     "My parents've been told that Davydd is Rhodri's middle name and that I call him by it to annoy him.Have I mentioned how much I truly adore these men? They're even willing to lie to my parents for me." Fiona's grin is sudden, wide and dazzling, then returns to its more demure state. "I've got a business trip coming up, so once I'm back from that and settled a bit, we'll probably go see zaida and grandmum. I've no idea what to expect - you know them, grandmum'll offer to show off her tattoo and probably threaten him with castration if he doesn't get me knocked up within a year of the wedding."
     Threats of such don't come from anywhere strange, it seems - well, she had to get it from somewhere...
     Her champagne glass is lifted and looked through, lips pursed as she watches the bubbles rise, seemingly unendingly. "God, I could bathe in this stuff, the way I feel right now. You and Sieg are ... well, made for each other. I seem to recall saying so from the beginning, though - and you were all into the idea of Dei at first." She laughs, shaking her head at you - and at herself, for when she was still running from the idea of Davydd. "That seems so long ago, now."
     She drains the remaining champagne in her glass and reaches for the bottle again, giving it a little shake. "Grab the waiter, they've let us run dry. As for Davydd? He's been my first in everything, Dot. First man I've ever really and truly loved - I mean, Paul doesn't count, he could've if he hadn't been such a fucking wanker, but as it is, he's utterly a loser and wouldn't ever be anything else. Davydd's a real man." She sighs dreamily, staring off into space. "And he adores going down on me for hours and hours, so while he mightn't be kinky as Rhodri, you know, I just don't miss it. He pulls me into his lap - sometimes he spanks me, though it's not a constant, but it does mean he's got his moments. And, of course, he drives me fucking insane. I can't keep my hands off that man... he doesn't need any help, I might not survive it."
     She stretches back in her seat a moment, then leans forward with both elbows on the table, hands joined under her chin. "Oh, I don't talk about what Rhodri and I do. It's not going to help him - if he can't see that he's utterly fantastic, I mean, Dot, the man is so sexy that I ended up fucking him in a public place because I couldn't help myself. I'm mad for him. Utterly mental." There's an airy, helpless laugh, and Fiona shakes her head, eyes bright and cheeks flushed. She's had perhaps enough champagne, really. "And Rhodri... Rhodri I can usually more or less contain myself as long as there's three feet of space between us. My brain clicks just fine until he starts touching me or talking to me and then I'm gone. They're the only two men who've ever made me feel like that - thank god. The last thing I need is another."
     "Oh, speaking of Paul." Fiona interrupts herself with a sudden interjection. "I've decided to invite him to the wedding."

     You both aren't kept waiting long. The food's on its way as well, and glasses are refilled and another bottle left. It's an attentive staff really. But they've been respecting your privacy.
     "Well, it's just about him, jealousy and wanting to measure up, you know. Just so long as you treat him like a hero and a king when he's with you," if she only knew, "...then it should be alright. Just don't throw petrol on the flame." She grins and takes another swallow of champagne, sitting back as food is set around the table. "It's just performance anxiety..."
     She takes a bit of the crab and chowder. "I love crab cakes, really." Her head snaps up. "You bitch, you didn't." She cackles, then covers her mouth with her hand, glancing around. "That's so ... so.... Drancy." A wink. "Well, he's probably not man enough to show. But I can imagine you'd like to get a piece of yours back after all that. Then you can put the whole thing to bed." She grins. "God knows your bed's full already..."
     There's silence for the first time in half an hour as she starts in on the food. "So now's when I tell you you're going to Iceland with me. I need a maid of honor. Do you think you'll be able to? If not, totally understand. I just won't have a wedding party. Well, my wedding party was going to consist of you and you." She grins. "I'm so out of the Phantasmagoria lifestyle. I'm not inviting any of that crew. Not even Samantha, big as she is on the West End now." Legitimate theater even. "I know you have your own wedding coming up, so don't feel bad if you have to say no..."

     Food, oh, glorious food. She could sing odes about it. Could run in circles and chant and consume her own body weight - or almost as much as she's been drunking - drinking - something. "Mmm," Fiona moans, "this is good." There's a delighted laugh. "Oh, don't worry. Davydd's my king, he knows it. Rhodri's ... Rhodri's a thief and a rascal in a lord's robes. I adore them both, really I do. I only wish they were here so you could see what they're like."
     Even if you've met the one - well, you've met both, but you don't know it, and she's half-forgotten it herself. "I did," Fiona confirms. "And I do hope he shows. I have to admit it, though I haven't really outright said it to them, I almost wish they'd take him round back and put a proper fear into him. But there mightn't be enough left to bury if they did. Tell me, Dot, have you ever wanted to see a bloke pound someone else into shite paste for you? They both make me half-wish some idiot would start getting fresh with me in front of them. Hasn't happened, though." And there's a wistful sigh. Bloody-minded woman.
     "Well, you'll have to tell me when the wedding's to be. You've told me everything but, you know," Fiona retorts, picking up the little fork and poking it into one of the oysters, giving a twist so it comes up with the bacon and popping it into her mouth. "Mm. Divine. - I never got into the Gory, honestly. I admit I got a little into Betty's, but really, not so much as a lifestyle - I've got my own lifestyle. Tell me when it is, and if I can, you know I'll be there. When? And pour the bloody champagne already!" She's laughing as she says it. "Where is Sieg anyway?"

     "The spring, goose," she pours the champagne. "The official date is next May first, May Day. You know me and phallic symbols. And I don't know, it seemed earthy and frilly and girly to get married on May Day. We're holding out for good weather. Oh and Sieg's playing tonight. He's joined a new band for now. They're just playing around mostly. Dei's in New York, loves it there. He's going to fly in for the wedding of course. He met an American girl. Anyway," not to dwell on Dei much, "... the new group is more straight-up post-modern rock, garage-band-revival. They don't have a name. They play under pseudonyms. I think tonight they're called The Whalers. The other guys moved back to Iceland to return to fishing."
     Again, silence as food is inhaled. "God, good. I'm up for dessert, too, by the by. So, May first... that won't put a crimp in your own plans, will it? And ...yeah... the Gory's not what it used to be. Something happened... heard Julian disappeared, Samantha's gone off from the Beau Monde to the West End...she's one of the murderesses in the revival of Chicago. Anyway, club's still open and doing well, I hear, but seems like a lot of 'drama' happening."
     The Lifestyle. Dot grins, "You have enough of a lifestyle going. You don't even have to leave the house. I would like to meet your guys more... I mean... I think Davydd thinks I'm probably a drunken, loose, slut, and... I am," Dot laughs. "But... I'm not really. I mean, that's the mask, right? But I've gotten tired of it. I'm looking forward to being married. Even having a baby. Have you and your men talked about that? How the hell will you work that out?"

     "Oh, that should be fine, then. I've rather got my heart set on Midsummer's Eve, myself - June fifteenth. So provided you're back in time for it - it should work, don't you think?" Fiona waves a hand airily, then reaches for a glass. "I'm glad he's keeping busy." Nothing more mentioned on Dei on her own end; she doesn't know what to make of him, and really, doesn't need another male to clutter up her life with. "Jared and his boyfriend were nice blokes, glad they're happy, either way."
     "May first should be fine - gives me time to fly out, fly back, panic about my own wedding, probably throw fits or physical objects at my husband-to-be, and do a lot more fretting and panicking up until the big day. I will be," Fiona proclaims, "histrionic. But I will try not to be a monster bride. I think I met Samantha ... once." Her forehead creases. "I'm not sure. I never spent much time there, really - not really 'the' place for the beat I was on. What sort of drama, or - well, I probably don't want to know, really, not if it was severe enough to chase you off?" It's a question, not a statement, open to discovery...
     "Mmm, Davydd's - well, he's just very busy with his work. Don't ask me about it, I don't ask him, you know how men can get." Her fork is waved airily before it passes back in the direction of the food. "I'm looking forward to marriage, and I hate to admit it, but even to the idea of having babies. It turns me on a bit - I don't know why, it just does, I like the idea of having their babies. And yes, we've ... talked ..."
     Ah, there's the blush again. It'd gone somewhere to hide, but now it returns, turning her pink from behind the pale champagne gold. "We'll alternate, of course," Fiona says sedately, sipping the bubbly. "One for Rhodri, one for Davydd. One for Rhodri, one for Davydd. And at that point, I quit. They can work out how to more thoroughly possess me in some other way - checkers, maybe."

     "Four?" She's either impressed or scared for you. "I can't commit to that. I'm going to start with one, then we'll see. We're not all sure where we're going to settle. Not sure that it'll be London. He likes it, but he also likes being on the coast, the fishing. Music's more something he goofs off with at this point. He's not interested in being Mr. Star Guy anymore. Not sure what changed it. Maybe Dei being off in New York..." She shrugs. "He doesn't want to go back to America. So we might head for Cornwall. Get him near water, and it's pretty enough. I'm kind of in the mood to have a cottage with a garden, myself. I sound like an old woman. Can you imagine us... five years ago...talking about this shite?" Dot chuckles and shakes her head.
     Times change, and so have we...
     Another glass down, she picks at her food. "June fifteenth. Should be doable. Gives us a month honeymoon, time to get back and settled a bit before another wedding. Sure. Sounds good! Jared's going to be his best man. So if he doesn't show, the rule is you marry the best man." She snorts at that. "Jared would faint," she laughs.
     "Well," she fills her glass again. "I think a coastal cottage would be swell. Maybe we'll move to the Isle of Man," she thinks aloud then shrugs. "Wherever... somewhere near the sea for Sieg. And I could do with getting out of London for a while. Wow, you...babies. God, I just can't get over you. You and your men and now their babies."

     "You know, that's about the only way I could get Davydd to be in the wedding party - tell him that rule." Fiona downs her champagne, shaking her head, mulling it over with evident amusement. She holds her glass out towards you, then pulls it back in for another sip once it's filled. "Though you and Jared would make a cute couple," she winks, "but I think his boyfriend - god, I'm awful, I can't remember his name! Too much champagne. He'd be upset."
      She sips her champagne some more, contented with the idea of having far, far too much of it. It makes the world a happier, shinier, sparklier, bubblier place. "I want to keep my flat in London, but I don't think Rhodri'd want a house in London - me neither, if it comes to that. We can take some of the money that daddy gave us and find a place, or - well, we'll figure out something. I want to talk to him and Davydd about that - maybe I'll give them a call after dinner." She nods. That sounds like a good idea! As drunk as she is...
     "Oh, everything's changed. I mean, I'm still me, Dot, but I've put so many ghosts to rest. Maybe not enough ghosts - there's still millions I haven't even thought of, let alone dealt with - but my own ghosts? Especially all that nonsense with Paul and his little bleached tart. I'm so glad I broke his nose. I just wish I could do it again. You should get someplace on the water, but someplace where you can get to places when you want to be there," Fiona decrees. "Otherwise you'll get far too impatient. Let's face it, Dot, no matter how settled things get, we're never going to want to be stuck in one place with a brat on a tit without the option of getting away from it when we're ready to strangle someone. I'm sure I'll love being married and having children, but - enough is enough, yes? And what?"
     Now she looks mock-offended, setting her champagne down and picking up her napkin, patting her lips daintily. "What's to get over? It's still me," Fiona half-demands querulously. "Oh, I should see if I remembered my cellphone. I should utterly call them both and demand they meet me after dinner somewhere..."

     "Nah, it's just...somewhere along the way, we actually ... became women," she laughs. "I mean... we've known each other before we had tits. Even when mine were all natural," she adds on, grinning. "And now we're talking about marriage and babies... we would have gagged to hear of such things five years ago when we were hanging out in all the wrong sorts of places with all the wrong sort of people...that's all. Just ... we're chicas, mamasita..."
     "Oh! Brilliant idea..." she leans in, completely sauced on sparkly bubblies. "...why don't we go to that pub he fancies. You can call Rhodri from there. We can get fabulously drunk and I can meet him and make sure he passes Miss Dorothy Kent Walker's laugh test. Come on, please," she whines in that old way of hers. "We can get this lot to go, get a cab and be there in minutes. You know you want to..."
     Dot tilts up the glass and drains it, sighing after with a: oh my goodness, that's good sort of sound. "So...wot... you want to?" she grins. "I want to check him out. I won't ask to see the tats but I am curious. So... Davydd's were...dragons...right? What's Rhodri's then?"

     "Better I call them from here," Fiona demurs. "And while we may've grown up, I don't know, part of me will always be a girl. I've decided - a little late, maybe, but I've decided that I like being a girl." She nods solemnly. "I'm sure Rhodri won't mind meeting up with us, it's just Davydd might be busy."
     He is, that - and she doesn't want to hold it against him. Not when she could be holding herself against him, clearly.
     The bottle is held up, frowned at. "They gave us another defective bottle, Dot. This one's all emptied. And Rhodri's..." A blush. "Mmm. He's got a different motif - hounds." And a unicorn, but she doesn't add that. She's got ... a bit of a soft spot for that unicorn...
     The last drops are licked out of the glass, and she leans forward in her seat, chin wobbling. "I'll call them, I'll see if they're available. Rhodri, I'm fairly sure, won't mind meeting us - though he might not want to meet up at the pub. Davydd ... well, I'll give him a call and we'll hope for the best, right?"
     And now she's gotten herself all looking forward to seeing them... damned men.

     Settling back, Dot waves her hand at you. Go ahead. As she finishes her crab, her chowder, a little bit of bread and finishes the rest of her glass. She turns in her seat as you discuss calling, calling the waitress over. "We'd like to order dessert to go. For three..."
     "Right away," the waitress smiles and turns to get the dessert menu...
     "I'm going to order dessert for us," Dot whispers. The menus arrive quickly. A very long dessert menu at that. While you go to call, which she is sure you will do, she busies herself with browsing. "We don't have to meet at the pub. We can go to my flat, yours, his, or some other place..."

     Oh, why the hell not. Fiona rises unsteadily to her feet, moving to lurk among the aspidistras - or whatever the greenery at this place is called. Then her cellphone's swung open, and she presses the buttons necessary to swing it into gear.
     "Mmm, who do I call first... well... Davydd, I suppose... see how busy he is wandering along the streets," Fiona muses, almost meows. Gods, she's drunk. It could be him or Rhodri easily, it's just - well, D comes before R in the alphabet and thus in her phone list, really.
     Click. Beep-beep-beep-boop-boop... "I'm going to start talking now," Fiona half-chants, "and see how long between the time I start talking and you actually picking up. God, I hope you don't have your voicemail on. I seem to've spent far too much time in the time we've known each other talking to your voice instead of actually to you, Davydd bloody Welsh bastard..."

     There's an answer...
     Lo and behold...
     It sounds like he's in motion somewhere... in a car, it sounds like. There's traffic. There's a rush of wind, of noise, and then of Welsh. "Yeah?" He didn't even look at the caller ID. He can't. He's driving.
     Music's playing in the background: Iggy Pop & The Stooges...

     "Daaaaaaaaaaaaavydd!" Ah, it's you. There's a giggle for the sound of your voice. "Darling. I love you. You're fantastic. You make my toes curl. Especially when, mm, especially..."
     Another giggle. It's Fiona, but it's a very merry Fiona. Drunk, in fact. Plastered. Have you ever seen, heard her this plastered? Rhodri has...
     "So. Anyway. Are you busy? I want to try talking to you and Rhodri about housing developments. Oh, and Dorothy Kent Walker wants to test your and Rhodri's laughs. That's right, a girl wants you to laugh at her. You'll do it for me, won't you? My big, sexy brute." The voice is a caress, a purr of sorts. "I called you first. I thought you might be too busy, but you aren't, are you? Please? I can pout and cajole if I've got to, but I'd much rather promise you things we'd both really enjoy..."

     "God," he rolls out loud enough for Dot to hear...
     (and she laughs)
     "...you're wasted...shit... excuse me a moment, love..." you hear him pop his car into gear, a very fast sports car at that, and he's rounding a turn really fast, there's a loud screech. "Sorry, back... I am a bit. I have to make an appearance but... I can meet you in a couple of hours... if you're still awake that is. So who's Dorothy?"
     He's only ever met her as Dot The Slut...
     "Hello, Davydd," Dot says, a little loud so he can hear her...
     "Oh....right," Davydd rolls out. Now, I remember. The Slut. I mean....your friend. "How about this. Because I love you... I'll make a fashionably late appearance. I'm in the Ferrari... don't have much room, but you might both be able to squeeze in. Where are you... I'll pick you up..."
     No chance you're driving. He doesn't even want you walking around like this...
     "And what have you been drinking anyway? You're all ...girly..."

     "You aren't complaining, I hope." There's a pout in her voice. Can't you almost see it, that shiny lower lip jutting out in your general direction? "Mmm, we've been having the most fantastic dinner. All seafood - angels on horseback, that's bacon and oysters and - oh, I forget. Maybe you'd like devils on horseback better, that's prunes and bacon, you old grouch." Her voice isn't rancorous; it teases, caressing still. Oh, she's had plenty to drink.
     "Oh, and there was chowder, and crab cakes, and ... and I forget. Anyway," Fiona says airily, "we're at the restaurant. It's terribly posh. They have such wonderful champagne, too! And alright, a late appearance is better than none. Should I call Rhodri and have him meet us here, then?"
     She still hasn't said which restaurant, of course. She's just - that drunk. "I thought," Fiona mews more than says, that teasing pout back, "you said you liked me girly..."

     A piece of bread is tossed at you. Oh god! You're so cute and girly!

     On the phone: "I do like you girly," comes the rumble amid the traffic. "I'll come now....I'm not sure you'll be conscious later. So... seafood. That narrows it down," he laughs. "Name of restaurant," he rattles off in Welsh. "Toss me a bone here, darlin'..." Ha! I will if you will, wot?
     "You can if you want, sure. Why not. He's probably at the pub, well... at the office. He's been working on the books... give me the name of the place you're at then give him a call. It'll give me time to get there... "

     "Uhh... Dot, where are we? Oh, wait, I remember. The Breakers. Terribly posh in that go-to-avoid-being-seen-ostentatiously way. I'm hiding behind a potted palm and pretending I'm cheating on my tennis pro with my chauffeur right now." Fiona peers owlishly at a menu passing by; the letters seem to be moving and rearranging themselves. "It's in London. I'm quite sure of that. Do you know where it is?"
     She gives a thumbs-up, then continues. "Alright, my Davy. I'll call Rhodri and see if he's willing to come meet Dot and laugh at her for her. I love yoooou..." It cuts off in mid-giggle, and she turns. "One down. Now to nail the other. Wait - didn't I do that already?"
     She laughs, then shakes her head, moving to dial the next number. "La te ta, mm. I wonder what he's wearing."

     Jesus. That's a soft teasing breath. "I'm sure I'll find it. Make sure the waiters prop you up...I'll be there in a bit..."
     And then that's done and you're dialing another number...

     Dot turns to the waitress, whispering her order. "And... I'm off champagne," she makes a wave. "I'm moving back to martinis. Vodka martini, make it naughty," dirty, "...and extra olives. What do you mean what he's wearing?" she turns to you with a grin. "Assless pants? I guess he'll have to be dressed. I'm not partial to it myself. But figure you won't ever let me see the tats, which is horribly wrong of you, you know..."

     "I'll have that margarita now!" Fiona chirps it over her shoulder - she's no right, being this bloody cheerful, but god help her, she is. "And can I help it that they both get me in the mood? I like how they dress. Mmm... Davydd's usually all Oxford professor-ish. Makes me want to look into being kept after school..."
     Rhodri - well, Rhodri's a horse of another colour and a fish in a different kettle and all sorts of things. Blue eyes briefly glaze over, and then she's talking again, but not to the other end of the line, first. "Sorry, darling, but I don't share. I might be able to talk him into either dropping trou or taking a photo, but I can't promise..."

     "We really should go to another club," Dot notes for the record. "But nowhere loud. Or do a flat where we can drink and talk and laugh and see tats," now she's pouting. "It's not fair. I have only one cock to play with and there are no pictures on it. No dragons. No hounds," she waves again, then applauds as her martini arrives.
     Your margarita will take a few more minutes...
     And now there's cheesecake. And a chocolate truffle cake. Tiramisu. Creme brulee...
     "I don't want you to share, I know you're too greedy to do that. But ... can't you get them to show me? Pretty please," she mews. "Oooh, Oxford Professorish. Do you play schoolmaster and naughty girl who deserves detention?"

     "Dot, and how many cocks have you played with?" The button's finally, definitively pressed. "Come off it - you've said it yourself. I can ask them nicely if they'll show you, but I can't promise that they will." Fiona laughs again, then goes decidedly red, leaning up against a potted palm.
     "I've done that with Rhodri - well, not schoolmaster, exactly." Fiona shivers, then sighs. "I've wanted to do that with Davydd," she admits, "but you know - so many costumes, so little time. And - good lord, Dot, how much fucking sugar did you order?"
     The phone is tilted to her ear. "Rhodri, you lovely perverted monster, answer your damned phone! The accounts can't be more fascinating than I am."

     The answer comes. There's women laughing (the waitresses presumably) and Rhodri chuckling into a greeting, "Hello there, sweetheart, how are you and where are you and why aren't you here?" He's in the office, clearly. You can hear the sound of the pub in the background, voices coming and going.
     "You should be here. I'm done with the books and now I'm bored..."

     "Well, but none of them were fucking painted," Dot laughs in the background, reaching for the tiramisu. "Well, the boys might fancy some sugar...something sweet, tasty..." Only Dot can say it like that.

     "Who's that?" Rhodri chuckles. "You out with the girls. Can I interrupt?"

     "Darrrrling." All those years of French - Fiona can roll her rs when she's got to. "I adore you, you mad, passionate, crazy fool. I miss you and I'm in a restaurant with Dot and she wants you to come laugh at her and Davydd's on his way and I've had the most wonderful idea about housing though maybe it should wait and besides I want you to come here right now. Will you do that for me?"
     She's got to pause for breath sometime, and that sometime is now. She's drunk as a lord - well, not your lordship, but some lord.
     "You can interrupt - especially if you come here. We've got," Fiona turns, eyeing the table, "tiramisu," it's sung out, the syllables drolled as much as any song lyric, "and creme brulee... mmm. Can I make your sugar glazed, Rhodri?"

     You've been tipping the bottles high, haven't you. "Sure, if you've managed to talk the old man into joining you, who am I to rain on your parade. Where are you, or do you even know," Rhodri chuckles. "Tiramisu, creme brulee... feeling a little decadent? Don't you know the best sugar is at home?"
     He is the devil...
     "Save your sugar for me, hmmm? Okay... where are you?" He's standing now. "I'll bring the Triumph... so long as you think you'll be sober enough to hold onto me..."

     "Breakers. Seafood restaurant somewhere in London - but I've no idea where. By all means, bring the Triumph," Fiona says in that high, airy tone of voice, turning towards Dot with a squeal. "He's coming, you'll get to see them both together! Eeee!" So maybe that's ... too girly...
     "Pauvre enfant," comes the sudden, teasing, low goading voice. "Oh, I cant promise as to how sober I'll be, but I'm sure that between you and Davydd, I'll get back in one piece." Two can be devilish...
     "Dot and I will be waiting. Just ask for the table with the honorable Miss Kent Walker and Lady Arundel and you should find us just faboo."
     She sidles away from the palm now, back to the chair and sprawls into it. "I've got a margarita coming, you know. Salt with sweet. And lime. Mmm, do you know about squeezing lime juice on bare skin? I bet you do... So I'll see you ... when you get here, my lovely wicked thief of hearts. Buh-bye for now."

     Your margarita has arrived, in fact. And Dot's on her second martini. "God, I am so drunk," she snorts a laugh. She looks refined and she was refined but now she's as girly and giggly and useless as you are. "You know... I should call Sieg, but he'll still be playing. His gig doesn't end until one-a.m." She sticks out her tongue at you.
     Lucky bitch.
     "So do they both do oral? Do they at least let you orgasm before they just start banging you?" You know how she gets when she's drunk. Not that the clientele here will notice much. They're used to the other aristocrats being decadent, drunk and unruly.

     "Love you," Rhodri says as his goodbye. He'll see you soon. Very soon the way he drives.
      But not as soon as Davydd will. There's a rumble of a very expensive motor outside. Maybe you can hear it, maybe not. A few moments later, the door opens and there's the sound of his voice at the host's podium.
     "Oh yes, Lady Arundel's party. Right this way, sir..."
     And then you see him. Huge, bronze-copper topped. Hair's a bit wind-blown (the Ferrari is a top-down). He's in a suit. Very nice. More London business man tonight, looking like a lord quite frankly, than the Oxford Professor. "Well, you're still vertical, that's hopeful," he rumbles out as he comes to your table, turning his head to thank the host. The waitress is quick to pounce and he's quick to answer in advance. "Vodka martini, spank it," dirty martini, much like Dot, "...plenty of olives..."

     "That's what I'm drinking," Dot murrs, the flirt. "Hello, Davydd. We met, while back, you were singing." She sticks out her hand and he shakes it gently. "I'll let Rhodri sit next to you," Davydd says softly to Fiona, bending to kiss her in greeting. "One... so he won't be cross, and two... just in case I get called out. Hello there, aren't you lovely." Another kiss and then he's motioning Dot to move over.
     Dot is, of course, ecstatic to do so...

     "Oh, good. Margarita! Another of these to follow, please." Fiona beams across the table, picking up the drink with a lick at the salt and then a swallow at the contents, and then she just melts backwards into her seat for a moment. "They both do, and the trick is getting them to stop and start - banging me, I mean. Sometimes, anyway. Trust me, I haven't any complaints."
     The way she's blushing - well, she's glowing, really, by now. The phone is shut off and closed up and dropped back into her bag, the margarita taken up for another bit of a swallow. "I should eat something more, I really should, you know that."
     There's hardly time for thought - well, at the rate shes thinking. There's a voice, and she turns to see that huge sight approaching, and her face, her eyes, they just light up. "Ooh, you're here." It's not quite squealed, but she glows with it nonetheless, looking up and down appreciatively. "You're bloody gorgeous, you know that? Come here."
     One kiss, two kisses, and it's just not enough. The margarita's set down for the kisses, one hand going to grab at that ridiculously, disgustingly soft hair while the other hand goes to caress a cheek. "Impossible bloody man. Dot, you see my heartbreak before you. But Rhodri should be here. I've no idea what sort of entrance he intends to make, but I'm sure it'll be as spectacular as my darling Davy's."

     "Did you tell him to wear the chaps, what," Davydd is grinning, another kiss taken (rather than given, though he gives by taking). "I am, rather. I look damn near respectable." He glances to Dot, shaking his head. "It's only an act," he stage whispers to her then winks a greeting.
     His red head turns to survey the carnage and dark green eyes go wide. "Jesus...how much champagne have you had... did you have any dinner at all or just... sugar to go with your fermented sugar...?" He looks to you, Fiona, as if to make sure you haven't got alcohol poisoning then, with a smirk, he finally takes a seat, plopping down next to Dot.
     "No funny business, you," he rumbles to her, she blushes. He's a worse flirt than she is. Davydd removes his cigarettes and lighter, then takes the chocolate truffle cake to go with his newly delivered martini. "I shouldn't eat this. I'll probably go into diabetic shock," as if. "But I'm a bit famished." A look darts to Fiona and he winks to her this time.
     "So what's got you girls out and about and toasted as chestnuts in December..."

     "Well," Dot rolls out, "...Fiona's just been filling me in on all the wedding gossip," yes, she knows a bit about The Arrangement, "...and we've been talking about our plans. I'm marrying in May, she's marrying in June, so we can trade off maid-slash-matron of honor gigs... and of course... tattoos, piercings, men, the usual girl talk..."

     Great, Davydd seems to say with a smirk and a roll of his eyes. He lights a cigarette, taking a glance at Dot then looking back to you. "I never get involved in girl talk. I don't have the equipment for it..."

     "I didn't tell him what to wear at all," Fiona answers self-righteously. "I didn't even ask. He was in the office, talking with some of the girls. He said he was going to come on the Triumph - has he shown you the Triumph yet? It's Luc-i-fer Orange..." There's a giggle for that. Devilish, indeed.
     Fiona takes up her margarita again, sipping through the ridiculously tiny straw as if to prove her virtue. "We had dinner. Angels on horseback, and Dungeoness crab, and - help me here, Dot. Something salad or salad something? And a chowder, I forget. Though I admit the food sort of rather got lost in all the wine and the bubbly, oh god, the bubbly. How many bottles did it end up being, Dot?"
     Not like it won't say on the bill when it comes. She leans back in her seat with a toss of those gilt-frosted curls, crossing one leg over the other. "I had to get a bit drunk to tell Dot about it all. And it was your idea that I do so," she defends herself lightly, "and well - you know how it goes, one drink led to another. So I got a bit drunk. And then I got a bit drunker. And then I got a bit ... drunker, er."
     There's a distracted glance over her shoulder, then back to the two of you. "That's why I called William the last time I needed girl talk and Dot was unavailable," Fiona says sweetly. "Of course, that's partially because it was about you, sex symbol of the ages."

     He actually blushes at that. No, he doesn't believe it. It's part of his charm. He flicks ash in the ashtray and billows smoke. "Hmmm... well...you're phone calls to William days are over," such a rumbly man he is. "You had better be the fuck on fire and emergency's busy. Sounds like a full and fun evening." He glances to Dot, as if to make sure she keeps her hands to herself. Or maybe he's just looking at the outfit. "So, am I crazy, Dorothy Kent Walters. Has she told you the whole thing?" A look to you, Fiona. He smiles. "I am crazy. Don't know about the sex symbol part... can't speak to that. I've never been on the cover of a magazine...'

     "Well, we're all mad here," Dot croons out, words muffled by the stuffing of an olive in her mouth. She finishes her martini. "You look like a reasonable man," Davydd turns his head to look at her when she says that to him, "... I've only got one thing I want to clear up before you marry my best friend in the whole world," she leans in, nudging him. But he's so solid, he doesn't even move. "I want to see the tats. No self-respecting punk-princess would let her mate marry a man with tats without inspecting them first for hipness, cultural references and overall punkability."

     Davydd turns his head, billowing smoke elseplace and tapping the next round of ash away. He smirks, his mouth cutting a slant. "I don't think she'd let me show them," he replies. "And certainly not in the middle of posh central. It'd be on the five o'clock news if I did. And I hate publicity..."

     "Dot!" Fiona crows with laughter, barely managing not to spit up. She slides down a couple of inches in her seat, then struggles right back up again for the margarita. "I've told you and told you, just because my two have pretty pictures on them doesn't mean that you get to play!"
     After all, Dot's had much much more than two...
     The margarita's lifted, shaken a bit, then another swallow is taken from the rim. "Mmm. Salt." She licks her lips and sets her glass down, then sighs, glancing from under half-lowered lashes. "Davy's tattoos are absolutely hip enough, cultural enough and punk enough for me. And oh my, his technique... mmmmmmm."
     That was definitely a purr, unintentional and paired with the growing glow of an entirely new blush. "He could straighten my hair from here if he wanted to. And he knows it, too." Blue eyes focus on that slanting smile, and her own lips quirk, pucker. "Absolutely no publicity. It's up to them if they'll show you, Dot. I might be able to talk them into a snapshot, but it's - after all - their wedding tackle. I've just got visitation rights..."

     "No pictures. Last thing I need is for my knob to be a website. I know how you girls can be," he rolls out. Dark green eyes focus on Fiona. A long...hard...stare. And then he smiles. He can, in fact, straighten your hair from where he sits.
     His right hand taps away the ash. Davydd looks up from the burning end of his cigarette, a look between bronze-copper lashes. Along with the glowing of a new blush, there is a slide of magic. For you, just for you... Dot's oblivious -- and not just because she's drunk -- his smoke hovers on the air for moments...moments...moments longer than it should. He blows it toward you with a wink.
     And the feeling between your thighs is as real as if his hand were there. A momentary slide, and then the magic, with the smoke, dissipates.
     "Maybe later. I'll need to be drunk first. And you've both got a bit of a head start on me." So he says as he lifts the martini for another swallow. It'll take much more than that. "So you're getting married too. Everyone's going to be playing house. But that'll be good for you both, having a mate as crazy with planning as you are. Is your mother as much a pip as hers?" he asks Dot, turning his head to look at her.

     "Not as sullen, but just as demanding," Dot rolls her eyes. "So I'm getting married in Iceland... to an Icelander... simple, tasteful... done my way. But you know...she's handling the London reception, the official engagement announcement party, yaddayaddayadda. Mind?" Dot reaches for his pack of cigarettes. Davydd makes a wave: sure...go ahead.

     There's the flutter of eyelashes and the roll of her eyes back in her head for a moment, her glass lifted to bump against her lips and a swallow taken to cover the moan. Thighs press together a bit more tightly for a moment; it isn't as if your presence weren't enough to get her started. Hell, talking about her two husbands is enough to get her started...
     "Davydd hasn't even met my mother yet, but he's already convinced he knows her. Of course - one doesn't need to know her to know her." Fiona rattles it off almost nervously, jerking upright in her chair and nodding several times, taking a deep breath and settling her drink aside. It's mostly ice, now. "Anyway, as for playing house, I don't know - I've got some ideas on that matter. But I need another drink. I'm almost tempted by more champagne, really, drinking margaritas is only going to sober me up. But champagne wouldn't go well with the dessert - well, if I have the creme brulee it ought to be alright."
     And champagne goes to her head so much the quicker, it makes her all giddy and sparkling and girlish. And right now, it seems, that's what she wants. "Dot wanted to make sure," Fiona supplies, waving the waitress over, "I'd be able to make her wedding. Since I'm aiming for Midsummer's eve," there's that glow of a smile, mischief aimed at the one redhead present, "I need to let Rhodri know that I've decided, it should be just fine. A month and a half between the two."
     The request is made - more champagne! She could bathe in the stuff, tonight. Her skin is pink, it may well stay that way forever at this rate; a self-conscious hand goes up to pull a corkscrew ringlet straight down to her collarbone, then releases. "How long've you got with us tonight, Davydd? So I know how long I can bask. Dot, are my parents being invited to the official London reception, by the way? So I know whether or not to mention it in Certain Quarters."

     "A few hours," Davydd notes. "I have to make an appearance...well, I have to be seen about. But then I can crash at the loft. That reminds me," he reaches into his own jacket pocket. There's the chiming of keys as a set is held out to you. "I didn't want to take up all your real estate. So there's a loft, I'll show you some other night," he murmurs. "Bask, bah," he chortles. As if. A roll of his eyes and he glances to Dot.
     "I'm far more simple than I'm sure she's described me. She's into hyperbole, this one. And... I don't need to meet your mother to get a handle on what she's like." He chuckles, shaking his head as you receive more champagne. "If Rhodri's coming on the Triumph, I think he should take Miss Walters home. You're not going to be able to balance on a motorbike..."

     Dot leans in, "Oh of course, the invitations should be in the mail tomorrow as a matter of fact. They'll be getting one, as you will be. I guess you'll need to RSVP for three," Dot teases, finishing her martini.

     The door opens again, and again the host is asked about the wild party in the back. There may even be gossip about this in society papers. Miss Dorothy Kent Walters with a man not her husband. And Fiona Arundel with a young man looking not very Earl-like.
     Wagging tongues...wagging tongues...and not wagging in a way that's most enjoyable...
     Rhodri breaks on the scene. He's looking very Mod Rocker tonight. A blazer, a pair of suede trousers (both charcoal grey), a green scarf for the chill, his hair (long in front and short in the back) parted with a very Postmodern sensibility, the shirt beneath the blazer is a rock tee for the Super Furry Animals (Welsh rock).
     "Nos dda," he announces with a grin, chipper and sober. He and Davydd exchange a handshake/pat/male bonding greeting and then Rhodri bends, planting one on Fiona. A kiss, that is. And not at all brief. "Hello, darling. So...how far behind am I?" he wonders suddenly.
     And he notices Dot. She's lovely. He's a man. He looks. But, as with Davydd before, it's purely academic.

     "You got a loft?" The look on Fiona's face is split - on the one hand, oh, a new place to play in! There is that moment of kittenish glee. And yet, at the same time - you got a loft, you're not always going to be at my flat, in my bed - how could you?
      "Right now, I'm not awfully sure I'd be able to walk straight," Fiona says lazily a moment later, though with a bit of a sulky look at Davydd for just a moment, a bit of a pout. Bastard. How could she forget. She stretches, and sure enough, it's forgotten with the arrival of her champagne, with the popping of the cork and the sip of the bubbly. "Oh, that's nice."
     Then there's the door, and Fiona isn't even thinking of gossip - how could she, really? She's far too flown away, and even if there's gossip, she's hardly going to care. She's an organizer, working with artists and all sorts of people. Let them gossip, those little people; she'll just throw a gala and have Dot as co-chair. But then another man pops into her field of vision, and her eyes almost narrow.
     "My god, you look so very very," Fiona proclaims loudly. The champagne is set down, her hands come up to do to the son what they did to the father, one hand fisting in that lovely hair while the other hand goes to the cheek. The kiss? Thoroughly enjoyed. "Mmm... behind?"
     She doesn't even understand the question...
     Blue eyes blink, looking from one set of green eyes to another. "Dot, this is Rhodri," Fiona murmurs, licking her lips. "Rhodri, Dot wants to see your and Davydd's knobs so she can admire the lovely artwork. I've already told her it's up to the two of you. But remind me, I've an idea for housing, we can discuss it later. For when the babies start coming." She waves a hand, then sweeps her hand in to collect her champagne glass, not drinking but rather suddenly fascinated by the rising bubbles. Ooh. Pretty. She sways slightly, then jerks upright.
     "Sit down, my darling. Dot's marrying an Icelandic specimen. I'm collecting Welshmen. Redheaded Welshmen at that. So... where were we?"

     Yes, darlin... a loft. I need to have a bit of my own real estate on earth. It grounds me...and well... I can't exactly bring my 'take out' to your place now, can I? I can't exactly stop for a meal in the middle of the street. The law sort of frowns on biting strangers and stealing their life essence. But... don't you worry your pretty little head about it, now. You have a key. You can use it. We'll have to break in my new furniture...
     A soft concession. Davydd looks across the table to you and smiles. Oh, that look. Even if he said he was going to have wild swingers parties in there, could you hate him for it? Then those eyes glance up, his hand comes up and pats against the arm of his son, like a second Self by now, and he glances to Dot as Rhodri settles down. "What we should do is pack this stuff to go," he notes. "You're pickled," a glance to Dot (which she returns with her own kittenish glee), "...and you're toasted," a pointed look to Fiona.
     Ah, the Daddy emerges. He catches himself in it and returns to smoking his cigarette. There's a glance given to the general room. Not very crowded now, everything's private more or less. He makes a motion to the waitress, pointing to the vast array of desserts and left over dinner. We'll need boxes.

     Rhodri grins, "Hello, Dot," he says, but he's not looking at her. He's too busy planting another one on his woman, little teasing kisses, and then he grins again, looking across the table, first to Davydd, then to Dot. "So, I see the damage. Sugar, sugar and more sugar. And champagne." With a light and too-deft touch, he steals Fiona's glass and drinking from it. Yes, he's just that good. "Go? Pack in? But I just got here," he chuckles to Davydd. "Come on, Davy-bach. One round?"

     "Iceland?" Davydd cracks, looking to Dot with upraised brows. "There's nothing on Iceland but rock. And two bad ambient bands. How did you meet a bloke on Iceland. Girl like you surely wouldn't have to travel for blokes...especially to some hunk of volcanic rock. Or were you a virgin sacrifice?" How that voice rumbles low. You can see it affects her the same way it does you. Despite herself.

     Smirking, Dot steals a cig, takes the lighter and lights up, blowing little hearts. "He was in a band playing in London. Back when Miss here and I were punks more concerned with maintaining our revolutionary spirit than picking out china patterns. How things change," Dot smiles over to Fiona. "Fi!" she squeals about the knobs, leaning in. "You're not supposed to tell them. It's just supposed to happen..."

     Rhodri lifts an eyebrow between the two girls and Davydd snorts and rumbles, smoke pouring through his nose. "I'm not taking my knob out for tourists," he rattles. "Not without bloody charging admission. Next thing you know, the Americans will want to construct a Disneyworld Uncut."

      I'm not mad. The protest is too swift, too quick, Well ... a little. I mean, you never said you were even looking! What's a girl supposed to think, if you won't even let her take care of you in little ways? I can be out more than you can, after all. She takes up her glass for a sip, then sets it down again. After all, you redecorated my place. What, isn't turnabout fair play? But ... you know I can't stay mad at you, my darling. My sexy, dangerous, brutal darling. Mmmm...
     Even in her thoughts, she's drunk. They do not slur, but they taste of the champagne, the frozen surface of too-tart grapes laced with entirely too much sugar, fizzing madly, wildly up in streamers of pink and gold. Rather like her, really. This must be what she would have been like if she'd never met Paul at all...
     "Am not!" Again, too quick; but it's followed by a giggle and then a slight hiccup which catches her by surprise, and she curls up in her seat as if it were an armchair instead of a dining chair, gilt curls spilling out from under one comb to trail against her cheek. She's flushed and now just bordering on disheveled to boot. Fiona sticks out her tongue at Davydd, then runs the tip of it against her upper lip in thought. "And I've had food, not just sugar, Rhodri. Mmm. Rrrrrhodrrrrri..." She can use that tongue, and she seems to be delighting in very little things, easily distracted.
     "Actually, I introduced her to her fiance, which is what she's not telling," Fiona tacks on, surrendering her champagne to Rhodri without even seeming to notice. She picks up another glass, finds it prove to contain little more than melted ice from her margarita, and sets it back down. "I had an in with the band - Deus Ex. You might remember, Davydd." There is that low, intense blue gaze, cheeks flushed even as the look is unrelenting. "I waked you out of a sound sleep because of them. The lead singer had me a bit worried for all of his quoting of the Dread Pirate Roberts. Roberts is a Welsh last name too, come to think of it, isn't it? Dot ended up handcuffed to Sieg, and the rest, as they say, is history."
     She props her chin on her hand with a sudden sigh and a peer up at the ceiling as if to see stars. "Dot, Dot, Dot. I'm not going to /lie/ to them! I might not /tell/ them things, but I wouldn't lie. They'd just find out anyway, and besides, you know I'm the bull in the china shop. Anyway, there you have it. How much do you charge, Davydd?" That draws her attention back to Pere et Fils, and she looks between them coyly. "I suppose I should be glad I'm a friend of the management..."

     A glance to Dot, and it is a measuring look. As if you were asking him how much he'd pay for her, then those green eyes quickly dart to you. The Holly King's arrows. And where do they land? Straight at your heart, for he never misses. "She can't afford me," he smiles. "But... fuck...al-fucking-right," he rumbles. "Let's head to the flat..."
     And the waitresses show up with the boxes right on cue, loading up the desserts, that aristocratic fingers never dain to touch plates in self-service. The bill? What about the bill? Are you kidding? He takes it from the waitress and pays, in cash, the three-hundred pounds, you did order the best champagne, and gives it back to her with a very large tip. "Alright, lords and ladies? Rhodri, you take Miss Walters here. She looks like she's a bit more sober, at least for a motorbike... I'll take Lady Arundel here in the coupe. Then we can have the last round," he says to you all, gesturing then to Rhodri, "...from the best mixer in a thousand miles..."

     Rhodri seems satisfied with that, but he'd rather have you on the back of the Triumph, his little triumph that you are. Hell, he'd rather have you in this booth. "Alright," he says and he leans in, kissing Fiona soundly. "You go with him," he murmurs. "You can stay at the pub loft tonight. Ready, Miss Walters?" Rhodri grins and rises.
     Davydd rises as well, to let Miss Walters pass. Well, to help her up and then let her pass. He offers her a hand and don't your men seem to be fawning at the moment? No, not really. Just horribly polite. "Got it?" he murmurs, "Alright then. Drive safe you two..."
     And now the royal hand, the king's hand, is offered to you. And a tender look. "Can you stand, or do you need to be carried," Davydd murmurs in Welsh, smile canting sideways. I'm sorry, love, about not telling you before. I just found it the other night. I ... thought it would be a good idea. Doesn't mean you won't come in to find me at your place... just...when we're existing separately, when you're off with your husband, I should have a place of my own. Besides... I hardly think you'd like me bringing girls to your pad so you can watch me bleed them...

     Dot is laughing as she's being guided out by your main-man. She turns and waves. "Toodle-oh!" That bitch! She's enjoying it far too much. But then, could you blame her?

Posted by rowan at January 14, 2005 05:11 PM