"And Midlothian's books didn't substantiate that, Stephen," Ian says quite annoyed. "That's one-sided. There's no corroboration in Midlothian's..." there's a pause as Ian looks away, then he turns back around, "...that is too easy." His face twitches, a quiet, "Dammit."
He inhales and brings a fist under his nose. A blink, then, "What...is the agreement?" some calm returning to him.

     He is quiet when he enters. There's no hollering about, no Henry-esque lift of his voice calling out for wine. There is the simple barefoot stride of a prince still in the process of waking up. Dressed, but it was an afterthought. First shirt grabbed and tossed on. Leather fastened, on. But that's the whole of it. William gives a glance to Ian. It's a double-take -- hearing a conversation in media res...

     Suddenly, Ian says, "I don't want an agreement, Stephen..." voice calm, "I did nothing, Midlothian did nothing. I will not have Messereich agree that we take blame for something that does not exist. If I have to, I will come there and turn over every damned rock in
that God-forsaken peninsula..."

     The man on the screen purses his lips together for a moment, letting Ian express his frustrations before speaking. "I know they did not, Ian. And no matter what questions asked, there was nothing any of Alexandra's accountants or servants could say that could give any other credit to what was found. Trust me, Messereich and Xevior grilled many of her household and business associates. Which is why, in the end, Xevior is willing not to bring this before the Inner Circle and let it...rest." Stephan pauses, and then slowly arches his brow. "You haven't heard what was finally decided?"

     A dark brow lifts and as William takes up a bottle of wine -- the first one he can grab ... it's Le Bello. He does not care. Taking it, William works his way about the chamber until he comes to stand behind Ian. Penetrating indigo upon the screen.

     The rising tension is palpable. There is little worse than a Justicar
being accused of actions he has not done...he is more than willing to take what he has done. His hand is clenching...and soon blood will run from his palm. But he stares at the screen, stone-stiff in his seat. Ian shakes his head, "No...I have not heard the end." That said between clenched teeth.

     William uncorks the bottle with a tug, a well-practiced motion. There is a thud upon the tension. It does nothing to relax it. Merely to punctuate it, perhaps. William's gaze are on the image of Stephen's face. And from that point they do not waver.

     As the man comes to view upon the screen, Stephan turns his deep brown eyes over to him, regarding him for a moment before offering him a nod of his head and a greeting. "Evening, William." That said, he then turns his attention back to Ian. It is a silence that hangs in the air for a few moments, as the Paris Lord considers how best to put this. "You have nothing to worry about, Ian. I doubt, even when this is whispered about, yourself or Midlothian will be spoke of." And there can be little doubt that there will be whispering, can there? Things never truly do 'rest', just as Kindred never really do. "But Alexandra has agreed to certain concessions to get our Prince to drop his charges."

     "Like?" Ian says, not liking this either. Toreador Prince of Paris. That fact is not lost upon him. Forever has he hated that city. "If she is going to say untruths to end this..." he shakes his head, "...that is also unacceptable." Ian snorts, "He will have her leave Paris. He will have her give up her connections there...when she was there before he was born."

     Base is the slave who pays. The words fill William's mind as he inclines his head to that news. "Evening, Stephen." Polite, but there is a dark quality to it. Displeasure. William's eyes flicker attention at last to Ian. And a hand reaches up to touch him lightly -- that, hidden from the screen, but felt by Ian. His hand lifts then, bringing the bottle to his lips. There is a swallow. And then once more does William but look to the Lord of Paris. And there is a hint of a frown. It seems more a look, just now, of very weighty consideration. "What sort of ...concessions?" he says evenly.

     That does bring a slightly dry chuckle from Stephan's lips. "You both know the stubborn streak that runs through our Alexandra. She will never lie simply to make something like this go away. If it had not been for Messarich, she would still be fighting this." There is a slight pause, and then he shakes his head. "Villon would much have liked that, but no. Alexandra has sealed her loyalty to the clan in blood. Rillieux-Launsse will keep it's position and headquarters in Paris, but her banking and insurance monopoly between Spain and France has been broken up, given to the Toreador."

     "What!?" Ian spits out, exclaiming. Face is steaming crimson, he jerking forward into the chair. "No, Stephen, that is unfair and incredibly punitive...no..." He will not tolerate that. "No...we are coming there. They do not get a nine-figure company for being liars, Stephen...." "Do they think they can clam a massive percentage of her Estate?" Ian shakes his head, "No. They do not. What end? They want the banks? They want the insurance? They are deserving of neither...."

     And added, softer: "She has lost her position in Paris, Ian. But it is for now. And she is not just a woman of Frankish decent. There were centuries before when all of northern Spain was hers."

     Stephan shifts his weight slightly, with Ian's outburst. Eyes flicker to William for a moment. And then he offers: "It is not her estates. It is contracts that Alexandra...held. Navarre is still, and will always be, hers. But you can always speak to her about it, Ian. Messarich is with her now in Pamplona now, working out the details of the transfer."

     The wine bottle comes down with a thud. The expression....a hard, placid cast of Knowing. "For them to squander. How appropriate. The Sabbat need but to wait...all that is required is a bit of patience on their part, while we hand it to them. He may well win the battle, but he will not win the war, hmm? A temporary, petty gain now....for lies... and this is appeased?" William's voice is smooth and even, low. Unhappy. "So you break it apart. First rule of victory. Divide and conquer. Very smart."

     "Her contracts? Which ones?" Certainly not his. "They will not touch my contracts with Rillieux, Stephen. I will jerk them out of whatever those..." he frowns, fidgeting, looking for a word...and it comes...in Gaelic... "think they have of mine..." He glances at William, knowing what he says is true, "He is right, Stephen. I will jerk money of out France and Spain so quickly...and they will not see a boat on Spanish coast to carry their money out."
     "I will leave them stranded on their precious coasts, Stephen." Granted, perhaps the Tremere might try and pick up a bit of it, but all Midlothian's European haul? Not likely. UPS had an easier time. Ian shakes his head, "No. They want to break this Sect, Stephen, and I will help them do it." "God, why can they not grow the Hell up?!" Ian exclaims, hands rising and dropping onto his lip. "This is over. They lost six centuries ago. Move on..."

     There is a deep breath taken by Stephan, and then the man shakes his head. "No one is talking about anything that would effect your company, Ian. And what is being seized is small considering the empire she has. Look at it from Villon's point of view. She has been accused of aiding the Sabbat. There are records of such shipments of the Sabbat being taken care of by her. And. only she holds the insurance on banks and shipments between Spain and France. This simply gives the Toreador in France apart of that business. To, as they say, make sure this does not happen again." His eyes move to William for a moment, and then the man nods his head. "Perhaps. But this is a battle between her and the Tordeaor that has been raging since she put Joan of Navarre on French Throne. It is but..one battle in that war."

     "And this is not helping me in mine," William answers strongly.

     That brings a curious raise of Stephan's brow. "Yours?"

     "Fine...forget Midlothian,' Ian says, "...why do they think they deserve any contracts of Rilleux? They want to be insurance agents?" he says sarcastically, shaking his head. "How much are they claiming?" Another nod, "William is again correct. They want to split monitored contracts? That will not secure anything any more strongly..."

     "It is beyond foolish. It is suicide," his voice is still even, for all the weight in it. "The gaps that are created in the split of it will serve as nice in-roads for those very ones she is accused of aiding. Therefore, aiding them far more in the split than they were alleged to have been before. It is ...the very height of folly." William does not explain more.

     "I want to talk to Alexandra," Ian says, exhaling deeply and reaching for his cellphone. "Stephen, this will only make things worse. Forget the Toreador...they will have no idea what they are insuring, what the inroads are, what the coversa and subsidiaries are. They are amateurs at this..."
     Ian says, "The whole reason why Alex's books could be looked at and examined...is because they are perfect books. Inconsistencies scream.""

     "I have always believed that the Toreador want nothing more then to make love with their own reflections. But, you never heard that from me." Stephan says, perhaps trying to defuse some of the tension with what is, all things considering, a poor joke. But he has been dealing with this, in the trenches, as they say, for too long now to be upset by it any longer. "Oh, a folly it is. I personally think Villon just wants to make a point. And this...settlement which will put money into his coffers, is a nice way of doing that. But we are also talking about a Prince that has ignored the Sabbat in some of the Arrondissements until now. He is not worried about the Sabbat. He wants Alexandra out of Paris and her money. What Xevior found in her books allows for that." Fingers unsteeple, a hand goes up to rub at his brow. "Then talk to Alexandra, Ian. But keep one thing in mind when you do, if you would be so kind."

     His eyes shift back to the screen, but he says nothing. A look that asks, "What?" rather grumpily. William takes in a breath. For the joke? A wry twist of his smile. But it is no laughing matter. And so the smile was brief. William sighs the breath out and shakes his head.
There are times he wonders what he is fighting for. "He is not worried? He should be. He is only worried, as you say, about jacking off to his own vanity...power to him for that, but it is hardly worth a fucking war."
     William walks off at that. He's said his peace on it. Idiots.
     Surrounded by idiots. The wine bottle is set down as a punctuation mark, upon a table. William is out of view but he can still hear Ian of course...and Stephen. He'll keep his fuming to himself.

     "You have not been in France for a long time. Either of you." Stephan shifts his glance up to William for a moment, as he says that. "And do not take that the wrong way. The clan has nothing but respect for the both of you. And what you in particular, Ian, have built with Midlothian. And you, William, the Prince of San Francisco. We all serve House Ventrue in our own way. In the short run, you are right, William. This could only further the Sabbat interest in France. In the long run, however, their presence is not something the House will stand for, no matter what Villon does."

     "Ground lost is ground lost, Stephen," William counters. "And I am in France more often than you know."

     "Perhaps. We both know that someone very carefully, and very well, planted this in Alexandra's books. The Sabbat are not her only concern at the moment. I know every move Villon makes, every person he sees. Very word from his lips. He had nothing to do with this. This came from the outside, and she must do what she must do to protect her interests, and the interest of the Clan." There is a slight pause, and then he adds, "And I do not need to tell either of you that a public investigation to clear her name would harm the Clan."

     William sighs at that. No, he doesn't have to be told. Insult or injury...neither is preferred. One heals faster than the other....but which?

     That is true. Ian desires his own connections not to be handled in a public Kindred convocation. He sits a moment more, then asks, "Stephen...not Villon, hmm? Outside? You are certain it is not Villon pushing this...he is just a benefactor of someone else's designs?"

     "Oh, I'm sure Villon didn't give the order to have this done. It would be too easy to trace it back to him, or one of him minions, should it become public. And as closely as he watches myself, I watch him. It is part of the game." Stephan says, slowly nodding his head. "He just, shall we say, seized the day."

     Ian nods slowly, fist under his chin significantly less taut. He thinks, tongue licking across the opening palm of his hand. A sniff, then, "Who are his friends, Stephan? The ones who..." he smiles, "...you cannot watch? The ones who extend beyond your reach that you know of..." Ian says, "The ones that do not matter? I gather," Ian asks, "That you do not believe Lausanne is in this, yes?"

     "He is one of the most powerful Toreador outside of the Circle." Stephan says, considering that for only a moment. "And we can not watch all of the Toreador in France our outside of it. It is very possible someone else has done this in hope to get his favor later on. Or, it could have come from the other side. Spain. " A slightly dismissive wave of the man's hand follows the inquiry about Lausanne.
     "Lausanne was having too much fun pretending to be a real politician to have done this. Messarich put him in his place swiftly enough, tied his hands in this matter. " The chair creaks as Ian turns in it, looking at William--giving Marquette a profile. The look is serious, as if he is trying to draw information from William. Think, it asks. And a brow is raised.

     William is thinking, that is why he is quiet. There are those who have learned to fear this, naturally. Others, simply dread it. Indigo eyes glint as they narrow in ...consideration. After a moment, William turns about. "Spain has more problems than Alexandra's corporation. Quite frankly, they are too busy to waste time with this sort of squabbling. They ....do not have the luxury of time that France seems to think it has. Perhaps Britain. Perhaps Italy. Medici should be able to tell me that." Girault, the Toreador elder of Florence.

     Ian turns back around to see Stephen. "You know, I never got to tell you why I was calling, Stephen..." a slow smile creeping across his lips. He shifts in his chair, leaning comfortably to the side, elbow propped.

     William looks only to Ian. "And I can make inquiries in Britain," he adds quietly. For what it's worth. It seems....Done. Time to regroup and attack another direction. Stay on your feet, do not let them knock you onto your heels. It's all one big Crusade. William falls quiet again and returns to his wine, pouring now a glass full of it.

     "It could have come from a variety of sources. Do not think that our de Navarre is not considering that within all of this." Stephan says with a slight nod. He regards the man he can see, Ian, carefully. And then, with the turn of conversation, he tilts his head to the side slightly. "Oh? There is more then?"

     A smile is given William, "We are agreed," then he looks up at Stephen again. "Yes, actually, I was calling for information before we got into our little chat..." sarcastically said, "...I was going to ask you were you familiar with the lovely and engaging Kylandre...I think he was..." he glances at William for help, "....well, a rather long-lived Toreador."

     "He is the former boy-toy of Phillip Auguste, II, of France. My brother's former lover," William offers. William explains it as only William can...

     Ian smirks--that's his William. And he looks back to Stephen. "William," he says, eyes on the screen, "...a description, since you are here? Do you mind?"

     There is a tapping of fingers against Stephan's desk as Ian mentions the name. Obviously it rings some bell within his mind, but it is not until William's well-put description that he really seems to recognize where he knows it from. "Ahh, Saint Denis. Now that is a name I have not heard in a long time. Guillaume Garamond's childe."

     "I would be...only too happy to assist you, mon ami..." William's voice is a coil of sound...low and smooth, the accent pulling upon it. "Ah, yes...that is the very one. Tall...not bad looking...overabundant vocal chords. Speaks an infinite deal of nothing..." William makes a Noblesse Oblige sort of wave. You know the rest...

     'Did you know...' Ian says blithely, just making smalltalk, "...that he was oh so recently abroad?"

     William chuckles softly, "Hmm...in France actually." Fancy that.

     "We were in Spain," Ian says in that humdrum voice again, "...not that long ago ourselves? Horrible mess, Stephen, just horrible..."

     "I am going to sue Villon for the loss of two horses, by the way..." William's voice quips. He may or may not be kidding about that.

     Ian smiles, shaking his head. Suddenly, his mood is lifting. He licks the palm of his hand again, cleaning off the last of the blood.

     "Give me a moment." Stephan says, as a button on his desk is pressed. There is a brief conversation, muttered in French and off of the microphone. He returns his attention to the screen in time to catch the last few quips, and smiles rather wryly. "Saint Denis was indeed here in France. I had already left for Pamplona by the time he arrived. Spent two months along the Mediterranean."

     William looks to Ian and takes a sip from his glass of wine, newly poured. He offers it to Ian. With a smile, more than a little warm.

     "Is that not nice?" Ian asks, smiling at William and taking the glass. A wink is given, then he asks, "Do you know where? Not that it matters, that is sufficient for me...."

     "Hmmm...it must have been," William mulls. He does not elaborate. He remains on the fringe of the conversation....seemingly. And has returned to his stance behind Ian.

     "I would have to ask. Saint Denis hasn't been involved here in Paris for well over five hundred years. But I'm sure there is record of his vacation somewhere." Stephan comments, catching the mutter from William but choosing not to comment. Instead, he arches his brow to Ian. "Is there anything else you would like?"

     "Just to know where he was and who with..." Ian smiles blandly. Accusation made. "Saint Denis..." he says evenly, "...has gotten in my path." He looks to William and smiles, suddenly extending a hand. Then he says, "That was it."

     William doesn't add anything else. He knows where Ian is going with this. Or at least he suspects. For now, William is done. He is merely the stalwart shadow of Ian Dunross. The sword in the sheath. So to speak. Ever ready to unleash. William smiles slowly, smoothly. "That should be easy enough to come by, Stephen," he says. "He is not very apt at staying silent ... It will hardly be a challenge for you. My apologies for that." It seems Saint Denis has stepped in some Norman horse doo, for all of William's even, wry tone.

     "Ah..." Stephan drawls, a slight smile coming under his mustache. He can read between certain lines, and he can understand what might happen to those who walk the wrong path. "Very well. This should not be too hard of a task, no. I will gather what information I can and send it your way."

     "I appreciate it, Stephen," Ian smiles, warmth returning. "And I will talk...nicely...to Alexandra and make sure she is well." Then, "I do not need to ask that this remain between the three of us, yes? I suspect...hope...that it will lead to other things."

     "Of course." Stephan says with a brief nod of his head. "This will not leave my office. And the inquires made will be as discrete as always." After a moments pause, he adds, "Be well then, both of you. I will be in touch with you soon." And with that, the transmission ends.

     "What are you thinking, amours?" he asks though he need not. William lifts a brow, and reaches for his glass of wine.

     Ian sits back, seemingly satisfied...despite his frustration with part of it. He looks at the phone, then looks at William. "I am thinking that Kylandre has been busy, stirring hornets' nests....because he was bored. I think..." he purses his lips, "...when I told him that I was an open book and if he did not know me...that was his fault...that he took me up on it. And...he found--Alexandra." He shakes his head, "Coward."
     The cellphone is picked up and held, Ian thoughtful as he looks at William.

     "If it is he...who has brought this on," comes William's voice. An even pronouncement. The judgement of Fate's own sword. "...then he will die. I will not let her suffering, your suffering, and the harm to The Camarilla go...unanswered." And to William's point of view, the Camarilla Itself is harmed by it...for it spawned yet another round of futile infighting. Which shall...one day if it is not halted...be The End Of All...

     "I do not think he is so smart to do it all," Ian says, looking at his phone. Instead, he sets it down and dials on the computer, bringing up another video-link. "But, used? Certainly. Stumbled upon something and made himself convenient? Maybe. I do not know. But I suspect it will lead somewhere."
     Ian looks at William, "Will you sit with me?" he whispers, extending a hand.

     He takes a breath. Gods, he should say something. But not now. William nods after a moment, taking a swallow of wine. He does indeed join you, sitting upon the couch. Leaning against you. Sighing. "I would that I had the power to make blind men see..."

     The video link is slowly processed, but sure enough, a large day room within her old home outside of Pamplona comes into view. The woman in question descends into a chair before the screen a few seconds later, her slight angelic form descending. There is a smile that comes to her lips as she looks to you both. William and Ian, together before her, as clear as if she could reach out and touch you both.

     "Good morning, Alex," Ian smiles, closing the distance between himself and William, "...how are you?"

     And William is sober. And mostly dressed! Is it a holiday? The first sign of the Apocalypse?

     Oh, Alexandra is not taking this as any great Sign. The conversation is just starting, after all. But the sight of you both draws at the corner of her lips so, brings a slight spark to her clear blue eyes. "The country-side is beautiful this time of year, my dear. The city is radiant. I am...enjoying myself." Well, no, not really. You both know her too well for that. But she does not dwell on it, instead offering, "And you both? You look well."

     "We are fine.." Ian chimes, knowing something belies all. "I am more worried about you...we.." he looks at William, "...we had not spoken to you in sometime and wanted to see how you are." I miss you is there, but it is not said.

     William is not about to say it, no matter if he feels it or no. "Never better," William offers. Well, it is true and it is false both. He could be better, for certes. Minus one Toreador. Or two. "It is good to see you, though. I would have rathered it be in person...but still...the wonders of technology." And then William looks to Ian, falling quiet again.

     An arm slips around your own, holding on to you. Even as he speaks to her, it is you he thinks of...and how fragile everything is in the world of Kindred politics. His inability to do anything for her...only makes him worried about taking care of you. Tight is the link, him leaning heavily into you.
     "Mmmhmm," Ian smiles, grinning at William, then to the screen. But there is a faint frown, and he says, "A message was delivered to me by the Darkness," he offers, meaning Messereich. "And...I understand from else voices that a resolution is at hand." There is no way around it. This is the central issue.

     No, she would not say anything like that either. But it is held in her gaze as she watches you both. Something do not need to be said, and either way, she is to set in her ways to say them. "You spoke to my dear Josette, then? Well, despite what she herself might be saying, things are fine here." There is a slight pause, a brush of her hand through her sandy brown hair. "He told me he had spoken to you, qui. But there is a resolution." She knows the darkness. Every Ventrue who is anyone does. "Messereich only needs to stay another night. And then things should settle down to something, well, reflecting normal. And who knows, perhaps the next time you both vacation off the coast of Spain, you might rest here for a few nights. Enjoy the wonders that we have to offer here."

     William chuckles softly. A brief turning away calms color that was endeavoring to rise upon his cheeks. By the time Ian speaks and Alexandra answers, William is staring at the screen. Placid-faced angel that he is. Strength in form and in demeanor...most serious. Keen. Focused. The laughter is as if...it has never been. And yet, William remains pressed against Ian, and arm twined. But there is no...clammering of passion, such as she saw when last they called. His intensity is of...another nature. So far.

     "I was thinking maybe..." he glances at William, "...we should see you at Christmas time, yes? There is nothing like home at Christmas. I shall not suffer William Christmas at Strathfayr, but perhaps near your coast?" He nudges William, smiling. How quickly dissension and long-time wedges fall away when there is a problem. Ian shrugs, hoping it will bring cheer to all.

     William lifts both brows to that and looks to Ian, "Ah, I would like that. I would like to have New Year's at Chinon...could we?" There is a smile there, cracking the otherwise placid expression. Warming it. Like a stone statue coming to sudden life.

     Ian nods eagerly, then looks to Alexandra, "Perhaps time there...and then New Year at Chinon?" A family holiday, even.

     William turns his indigo gaze her way as well, lifting a brow. Asking...

     Yes, that brings a nod from her head, and a slight warming of her smile. "Christmas itself, well, I have family obligations here in Pamplona on that holiday of holidays. But New Years?" She does not need much convincing. You can almost see her already planning her part in the reunion. "At Chinon no less. It would be lovely."

     William nods to that and then turns his attention back to his spouse. "We could spend Christmas in Chinon. We would be presentable by New Year's ...surely..." And he smiles to that. It is a very warm look, that. It seeps through the seriousness that otherwise occupied him.

     "Then we are agreed. We shall call 2006 very gone..." Ian smiles, "...and toast ourselves silly for the next year."

     "A right royal booze up," William quips. Very Henry-like. It is genetic. And then he smiles...

     "I'm sure spirits will be high and flowing, qui." And that might indeed be a very interesting thought, in and of itself. Alexandra de Navarre drunk? A soft chuckle falls from her lips, before she adds, "I wouldn't miss it for anything."

     "Good!" Ian smiles, simply radiant. "We will make plans to arrive before Christmas at Chinon and we will see you there come New Year." The future. Odd when a vampire looks forward to it. "And so..." he returns to the present, "...you will call us if you need anything or there is anything we can do?" Yes, is the right answer, his chin
lowered and eyes looking over the bridge of his nose.
     "Seriously, Alexandra, this is no time for pride between us. You will call, yes? Our displeasure has been expressed, but that means nothing. At this stage..." he looks at William, hoping he speaks for him, "it is for you we care, really, Alex." He shrugs, going quiet.

     William also cares for other causes, but Alexandra is the more personal one. So, when Ian looks to him William smiles a little... yes, you speak for me. One voice, hmm? After a moment, he looks back to the screen. "We have stated our opinions....and then some," William murmurs, and with a small, knowing smile. "...but you know, I have a sword for your use, if you ever have need of it. Do not hesitate, Alexandra..." And William is serious.

     "I....appreciate that, Ian....William. There is no one else I would go to if I felt it was needed." It is spoken, softly, accompanied with a slight shift of her weight in the chair. She tries to keep good humor in her voice, more or less succeeding. Of course it is true, there are few among the Kindred who have ever seen the smile that rests upon her lips. But that smile falters for a moment, and then she sighs. "You have no doubt heard the agreement, the reason Messereich is here in Pamplona. I can assume...who you have voiced your opinion to. But tell me....what do you think of all of this?"

     "I think it is short-sighted, small-minded, futile, foolish...and suicide in a box for the Camarilla, handed to them on decorative, Toreador napkins. If the Sabbat were losing any ground at all in Spain for all my work, it puts that to ruin now. What will be given to the Toreadors will slip through there fingers...like water from a sieve." William is direct, even and horrendously succinct.

     The other nods. "The Toreador are lying in bed, hoping to be profitable...uncaring of who made the bed they are spoiling. They are holding to petty rivalries and hoping for gain, knowing full well how it is coming about. I find it sick, Alexandra, and against the very reason we established this Sect. And when the ones blinded by their own narcissism and greed are caught, I will...we will string them up in front of the Conclave as guilty as the Sabbat who are the puppeteers."

     "They have in their petty revenge done more to aid the Sabbat than you were accused of doing." William's expression is suddenly...very hard...starkly beautiful. But then he quiets.

     "Losses for everyone...for money and laughter in wood paneled halls in and bed." Ian whispers, "That is the Toreador gain...their cloaked Sabbat lovers lying next to them. I cannot believe they are letting this happen."

     "I can." William's voice is even, judgmental. "We are our own ruin.     Our own worst enemies. Fighting one another for ...scraps of status...fiddling like Nero while Rome burns." Typical bullshit.

     Ah, but Alexandra was not asking for anything candy coated. She would be disappointed if it was. She nods her head, apparently agreeing with the assessment offered by you both. "Oh, for sure. But when has Villon ever worried about Sabbat on his door step? He saw a chance offered to him on in a gold chalice, and he never stopped to think about what he was drinking." And the name, it could not be spoken with any less distain. It is, no doubt, the same way the Toreador Prince speaks hers. Bitter enemies for centuries. "But please, do not think any less of me for agreeing to this. I...live with the Sabbat along one of my boarders. I know what they are capable of if they are not stopped. But to draw this fight out any longer...." There is a slight wave of a hand. "It was a hard decision to make."

     Ian says softly, "I wished it were different...but we are not there.." he agrees, "...and you are. We can only trust your judgment in these things. In particular, my contracts remain with you. I will speak to Gerald about closing operations to Toreador offloading in Spain. They will have to find someone else...and like they want to trust goods to the Tremere or anyone else. Safe shipping, I will not provide them."

     "I do not ...think less of you," William intones. "Nor do I think less of those who accused you. That simply...is not possible."

     And that brings a warm smile back to her lips. Maybe that is why she did not tell you both herself. Could she have predicted the reaction? And is it so strange she would not want to see it? "Oh, I am not going to let this end here. I just need to...regroup. I was taken by surprise once, it will not happen a second time. And there is also the matter of my mortal family. Anyone who so boldly strikes at myself would not think twice about striking at the innocent bystanders in this game. The...Inquisition..." And that word, it is chosen on purpose. "...did enough harm to them. Whoever they are, who did this, thinks they have won. That, at least, gives me a little time."

     William looks to Ian then, his own head tipping back slightly. "This is true. And we are dangerous when we have Time on our side." Which is 99 percent of the time, no? Then William smiles, slowly. "Yes, we have a bit of time here...to continue to make other kinds of inquiries." Ian looks again to William, plan already formed. To the screen, "But...we have kept you too long, cherie."
     William looks back to the screen. To see if she has aught to say...before saying good night.

     There is a slight tilt of her head. Clear blue regards you both carefully. "Of course. There is much I need to do before my Dark guest leaves. But you will....call me. Let me know. What your inquires find? Or pass them along through Josette. Just..." There is a slight pause. And she who has been so guilty of this herself...how long did it take her to admit to you both her problems? "...keep me informed, qui?"

     "That we will," Ian nods. "I think...' he looks to William when he says this, "...we have learned our lesson."

     "You will know the whole of what we find, cher," William says, far more warmly than before. Perhaps he is at last mollified. A bit. He looks to Ian. Learned what lesson? A brow goes up at that and Ian is faced with Manly Confusion. It usually happens when trying to make love and think at the same time...and yet, it happens now. He turns to the screen after a moment. Then smiles. I guess. "Be well...pass our regards to The Dark One." He'd call him Darth Vader, but does Messereich really have a sense of humor?

     Ian rolls his eyes, "About keeping too quiet...and to ourselves." He shakes his head, humor returned. "Good night, Alexandra," he says, sighing about the one next to him.

     "Perhaps we all have, qui." Alexandra says, nodding her head slightly. She understands what Ian was getting at, a lesson she learned such a hard way on the trail to the mountains. "I will pass on your regards, of course. And you both have my love, until I next speak to you. Take care." Again, there is a click as the line is cut off.

     William chuckles, "I had a brain lock. So many lessons...it is hard for me to know which one on a given moment..." William's accent takes a decidedly British tone. It slips out on occasion.

     There's a soft snicker that ends on a sigh. He puts his head upon your shoulder, asking, "What do you think...about the bit with Marquette...and that other..."

     William leans his own head over, so that it rests upon yours. "Hmmm....well, I didn't hear it all. But...I think the Clan rolled over. Too quick to appease those who should not be appeased. It could only hurt the clan if we allow it to. Well meaning... but not as strong as I'd like..." He pauses. "The other?"

     "Kyle, William..." he sighs, "...that was the whole point of the phone call."

     William takes in a breath. An apology. "I think he is capable of it. Did he do it? Could he do it? Not sophisticated enough to, perhaps...but could he have been a part of this? Yes...I believe so." William pauses. "If he cannot win me...he will seek to hurt me. And those I love ...particularly you."

     Ian nods, "I only wonder if I am being...grasping."

     "No." And there is Knowing in William's voice. "No you are not, love." William closes his eyes, and you can feel him tense. "I have to ...speak my heart to you. I have to unpack something in my heart to you. Perhaps it...will...make this...make more sense. I have known
him...a long time..."

     Ian nods, sighing against you. "I know. And that is alright." No tension from him. He shrugs, comfortable with it.
     Ian chuckles, 'I am amazed that you put up with him so long." Really. He never could have.

     William takes in a breath and sighs. "I have known him a long time...but I haven't spent that much time with him. Probably a full week out of all my years. If time was combined. There was not much to put up with. He wasn't a boy toy...or a lover. I didn't keep him around, I never have, Ian. He is not my Tanner." Even though the Tanner issue is solved, it is the most...ready example.
     William frowns. You can feel it. He looks to you for a moment, his eyes are full of crimson regret. "It was many years ago... in Paris. Before the Revolution. You were Prince of Edinburgh. We were separated. And...you know me, when I am separated from you, how I drink. And...when I drink like that...for hours...I am so drunk I...lost myself to it, as lost and aching as my heart was for you. And I slept..." His throat tightens. "I slept with him then. He was the first body I saw. Simple as that. And I did not see him for two centuries or more years. Until I was in San Francisco and he came to Hollywood. And he has followed me here to New Port."
     It all falls out of his mouth and he is tense...but he is not afraid. He knows you will not leave. But he doesn't want to hurt you. "I tell you now...as I should have told you then. I really thought...when he went to France that he would not be coming back. He knows I love you. I have told him I love you. He has seen the regret on my face. There ...in 820 years, there have only been two instances ...that I slept with him. Both times with a heart aching for you and a
body full of brandy, a mind drowned. It meant no more to me than this. Something I fucked in the dark, twice in nearly a thousand years. But...I have made this mess...and if it is he who has done this, it is I who must ultimately answer for it. I created it." A pause. "It seems." And he is dreading your reaction. You can feel the tension of it thick upon the air. He did say twice...he just didn't say when.

     Instinctively, Ian's hand reaches up to clasp the charm around his neck. There is no visible reaction...he remains unchanged. As if he never heard you. It is not some psychological breakdown...it just hits nothingness. He knows not what to make of it, not what to say, not even sure what you did just say. Or why should he care? Or, why does anything mean anything. There's nothing. And he looks ahead to the dark screen. He should like to be angry, but it does not come. In fact, he stands, "Feel like a shower?" he asks, slipping out of his
shoes? "Maybe watch a movie?" The sofa breathes when he rises and he simply walks behind, around the bed and to the bathroom. Nothing.
     The water begins to run, and he says, "The challenge," he chuckles, brightening to where the Christmas conversation left off, "...will be to find something for Alexandra. Of course....I know what I am getting you."
     Over the water, "The best thing will be the lights, I think..." he calls, "...I should love a real trimming and decoration at Chinon. Not to mention what to get Gerald's girls..."
     "Well, women..." he corrects. Then, "Maybe I will actually do a Christmas list..." Ian ponders, the tick of the glass door opening, "What in the world to get Justin...."

     William blinks. It was not the reaction he was expecting. Again, the man has brain lock, when two opposite thoughts and actions butt heads. William's jaw falls slack and he just sits there for a moment, too shocked to move. "I ...ah....sure." He hasn't moved yet, and when he does it's not the most graceful motion he's ever made. William leaves the sofa and heads for the shower. "Love..you...are not...?" He comes in after you. "God damn it, Ian...be still for a moment. What are you talking about?"

     Ian looks at you, wondering why the noise. "I am discussing Christmas..." Twisting, he picks up the soap and towel and places himself directly under the water. "What are you talking about?"

     William just stands there looking like a...well a man. A slightly confused and bemused look on his face. If he tilted his head a bit more to the side, he'd look like a confused greyhound. Sleek and beautiful, but not that bright. Well, not at the moment. After another
moment he takes a breath and then sighs, "Nevermind then." The shirt comes off and he watches you. Kyle falls away. "So...what do you want for Christmas?" This he asks, while untying the leather that yet binds him tight in its darkness...

     There is no response to that. Ian closes his eyes and turns his face to the water as the emotion begins to well in him. After the last few nights, the last few weeks...he believes he has no more tears...or that there are a ton of them...best to never bring them up again. Either way, for the conscious him, there is nothing. Just nothing. He feels nothing for nothing anymore, save to love you. But he shies from answering your question, just as he unconsciously closes against the wall, deeper into the water's hold. Not touching anything. Not feeling anything, but water.

     William feels sick. Just...sick. The guilt that roiled in the blood and turned him to stone whenever Kyle was near, now churns his blood within him. William has to swallow, to keep his blood down. For it all wants out. The leather comes off, and William slips into the water.
     You do not sob, your eyes are dry. He has not, perhaps, cried enough. Better to let his sick body be wracked with the tearing than with expelling blood in another way. His arms go around you, and he leans against you...head resting on your shoulders. He gets wet. But he doesn't feel it. He doesn't feel the water. Just you. "I'm ..." He does not say the rest of it. He has apologized so much. He feels worse for this than he feels for the killing of his own wife. This is far more sickening to him. "I love you," and that comes out on a strained voice. Not so smooth now. And crimson joins the clear water, falling down.

     Nothing but an exhale, and Ian begins to wash his face...whether or not you are attached to him. Towel is dropped over his shoulder and he squirms soap in his hand. The bar is set into the slot and he puts both hands to his face, washing softly. The charm around his neck gleams in the water, bouncing softly against his chest. A sniff and he opens his face to the water again, letting the soap wash off. He then does his hands.

     William tilts his head back and lets his mouth fill with water. The smell of you and soap are overwhelming. So is your silence. And that...he never could take. Wet vicariously through you, William exits the shower, grabbing a towel on his way out. Wet and washed off, drenched, soggy and miserable. But he is covered soon enough, toga-like with the longest towel. Leaving his clothes behind. And he is out of the bathroom then. And into the other room. There is a drawer opened, and he clothes after it. You will find the towel draped
over the sofa. Just like a man, leaving his wet towel Wherever.
     William remains in the bedroom, clothed...but on the bed. Head in his hands. You are such a paradox, William. You are a knight...and a bastard. You are devoted...and you are decadent. You are loving...and you are cruel. You are trustworthy...and you are faithless. You are a prince...you are no better than a beggar. You are kind... you are savage. You are compassionate... you are cold. You are rebuilding? And he is tearing down. It is what he is best at...ramparts...fortification...castles and keeps...and his own life and heart.

     It will be more than an hour before Ian emerges, water still running. He is drying himself, and doing a poor job of it...missing spots, moving without direction, traveling without leaving the room. At the bed's edge, his side, the towel is dropped. Then you may notice the charm is gone. Unadorned, he pulls back the linens and gets into the bed, tugging them up around himself.

     William leaves the bed. He hasn't noticed the charm. His eyes are turned too inward to see anything else but This. And he has come to a realization. He doesn't like The Truth. The Truth...has caused him nothing but pain. And you...no less. When he realizes the charm is gone, he will understand the significance of what you have taken away. The symbol will make him ache and there is not a mirror he will pass that will not show him the face of shame.

     Soon enough, Sleep will come. And Ian will welcome it. Wondering if he should wake up. The bed creaks as he turns over upon his back, wide-eyes at the ceiling. There is nothing there, even as his eyes close, before morning has had her chance to arrive. It is easy enough for him to do, to sleep. Hands fold at his stomach, and slowly do his lids begin to fall. No resistance.

     William sits awake, and so he shall until your breathing ends. And then with a face too much showing pain -- placid strength is just not possible -- he will rise. By the time you wake, he will be in France. You will wake to a note.
     Ian, I love you... call me when you forgive me. I will be in Chinon till then.
     There is the number to Chinon.
     No mystery to where he has gone. He has gone home. You were left with a kiss. You will find all of his clothes still here, but what he wore on his body. It was a rash move. One of ...not of fear. Out of shame. Which is far worse.

Posted by rowan at June 01, 1998 11:13 AM