His voice was very quiet on the phone. Very subdued. Very not Valan. And possibly (or rather probably, as you know your William) inebriated. Come and get me, Edward. I am at Kensington Palace, he said. I want to see you.
     He's walked in Plantagenet's shadow tonight. He's smoked his cigarettes, he sipped his whiskey. Though he and William covered good ground in London, he feels he has been marching on Crusade, his feet in the desert sands, sand in his eyes. His skin feels gritty, even his hair.
     Maybe it is just the opium...
     It is a clear night, wonderfully clear, and he is sitting on the front steps of a grand house, Kensington Palace, behind black and gold gates. He is smoking -- it is just a little hashish, cinnamon and cloves all mixed together, his elbows on his knees, his hands in his hair.
     He can feel every particle, every strand. As he moves his fingers through it, it is like years, like centuries, like stories falling through his hands.
     He even looks as if he has shed a tear or two. Maybe it is all the smoke. That is it, it is the smoke...
     Certainment...
     A golden haired figure, fabulously clothed, moves beneath the glowing exterior lights of one of London's jewels. A jewel cast in another jewel's glow, it seems. His motions slow and smooth, as if he were under water. Valan lifts up his head a little, cigarette in his hands. He looks through a billow of scented smoke to see if you are coming....

     I'll see you soon.
     That's how Edward ended the call.
     As his lover's evening schedule was filled, Edward Meurelle decided to visit a few local associates and make holiday cheer as he plans to spend his season in Switzerland. Business, really, but with good will. Plenty of hands were shaken and more than a few pints shared.
     Then his phone rang.
     Farewells were offered, and Edward made a genial escape, walking the blocks back toward Regent for his car.
     The palace kitchen gates yielded easily for the Alfa Romeo's arrival. The graveled ground crunches under the tires, and Edward curves and parks his door facing the regularly used entrance to Kensington. He takes up a spot between several other vehicles, most certainly staff who work at all hours.

     William's car is not here. It is in Scotland waiting for him. This is a quick stopover for Plantagenet. In fact, so quick, he only came because Valan asked him to. Valan asked and Plantagenet stopped his busy world for a moment.
     Valan is more appreciative of that now that he was before. At the sound first and then the visible approach of the car, Valan turned his head. He extinguishes his cigarette on the cement of the steps, looking around for disapproving servants. And then, putting it in his pocket (he'll trash it later) he rises.
     He's outside. William's nowhere to be found, though presumably he is still here. Maybe already adjourned to bed. Though, it is not his normal custom to toss out his guests. Or not remain with them until they are ready to go...
     "Ami," Valan is already saying, strolling toward you -- yes, he is hyped up on something -- like silk floating on water. His hands go to his hips and then not satisfied with resting there he folds his arms against his chest as he approaches the car.
     "You must have been close," he smiles. But you can see it in his eyes. He's shell-shocked. He looks like a young man after returning from the trenches...

     "Not so far," Edward smiles, pushing the door closed behind him. The smile is slow and winsome. It's been one of those nights, he see. "Had to walk back to the car," Edward explains, "...and then holiday shopping, you know." He had to cross the trendiest parts of town to reach the palace.
     "They here?" Edward asks, glancing up the sheer face of the common side of Kensington. The ground crunches as he walks towards his greeting, arms out though others are folded. He doesn't ask the obvious question 'are you alright?' Edward is far too experienced to ask such a silly thing.

     "Yeah, William's probably still downstairs. I think Ian is there, but he did not come downstairs. I just needed a moment. I needed time to think. And then I called you..." His arms come around you and suddenly you are faced with solid Montague and the evidence of his evening. Opium lingers beneath layers of hashish and whiskey. The hold is tight, long. Valan remains that way for moments and moments. Just feeling you.
     "I wanted to see you, ami." I needed to see you, he means. Valan straightens, loosening the hold just long enough and just for the purpose of looking you in the eye, squarely. "Did you want to go inside? And what did you get me," his hands slip around your waist, comforted by your solidity. Something solid in this world.
     He gets that faraway look again after that. "Eduard," he murmurs. "I am... sorry... for how I acted before. How I ... acted in Spain." He looks uncomfortable. "I don't know anything," he chuckles a little, his eyes are red (years ago they would have been watery). "I ...certainly don't know enough to act that way to people who have been in this world a long time, a different world from mine. And I'm sorry..."

     "Hey, what's brought this, eh?" Edward grins, arms holding tighter. "Hmm? Someone's going to see you," he whispers closely, lips kissing each eye in turn. Edward twists you both, in a cheering dance. "Don't be upset," Edward adds, bringing his cheek to yours in a full embrace. Cry on my shoulder, at least.
     "Let's go inside," Edward suggest, fearing a full sob may spout forth. "And I can at least give kingly politenesses to them."

     Valan nods and the water, blood rather, is held where it is. Just short of falling. He will blink it away. It will clear off eventually, and the opium with it. "I am sure he would like that," and he has a better leg to stand on when it comes to assuming what William would like. Though the man can't be bound up in the nutshell of one night's conversation, it was a very revealing conversation.
     "He took me to The Bower... we need to go there, you and I. He introduced me to Juliet..." The beautiful deMonteville, that 18th Century confection of a woman. "It ... was a good night..."
     Apart from the weight of eight centuries. He understands now, he thinks, why you never asked the question. His aching brain nearly regrets it. But what the mind would lose if it had never taken place.
     The door is open. William is up and downstairs. You can tell this because the door wasn't immediately pounced upon by the evening crew. The house is warm against autumn, though it is a nice night, not drippy and not overly chilly. But there's the warmth of lives being lived inside.

     "I know Juliet's," Edward nods, "we can go there, ami, whenever you like."
     Once inside, Edward does his usual inspections. Arms remain linked and he walks through the downstairs with relative comfort, as he heads for the living spaces.
     "So why all this?" Edward smiles, nudging with his arms. "You've been watching sad movies, ami?"

     "I asked William to tell me his story, his ..." He pauses. There could be all kinds of people running about. "...background, you know." You know. That Story. "I understand more... of who he is. I even understand more about why the two of you are close. I understand more about Davydd. A lot more about Ian. More than this, I got to know myself a little bit better. And I did not like what I saw there. Hasty, too quick to discount. Who knows what others have moved through. If one is quick to judge, one will never know, ami. I mean," as you and he walk slowly down the corridor, arms linked, he looks to you. "... did you know, ami, that the Knights of the Blood put it in Ian's mind that he had killed William's wife? Did you know, ami, that he carried that with him for eight-hundred-years, betrayed by this woman from Navarre who knew all along that he was innocent?" He stops in the hall, "He was even brave enough to tell Gui this," Gui, is it? "... just ten years ago. Just that short a time ago, ami. He had the strength to confess that? And he didn't even do it. And William forgave him. And I was upset with him because he had the audacity to give us a gift? And I was ready not to talk to that man over that ... small and petty a thing. You were right, Edward. Look what I would have done if I had tossed him away..."
     William's story spills from his mouth, likewise from his ears, it so fills his mind after hours of hearing it laid out before him that he has no choice but to repeat it. Repeat things you yourself do not know.
     Valan calms himself with a breath, he even smiles. "I will not be that foolish again. I do not want to be the kind of .... man," vampire, "...who ... turns against friends. Who is dead inside. I should rather die right here and now than to be that foolish."

     Down the hall, there is the salon. The light is on, it warms the walkway and its runner. You know William is there. There is a sudden, but subtle tap of him upon the senses. Cinnamon. Electricity.

     Despite the telling, Edward walks ahead, his gaze fixed there. He won't say that he didn't need to hear all that, for apparently such needs to be told to the world. What's been learned. Edward makes no response, save a tightening of his muscled arm, the bicep like stone. "You're smart, ami," Edward offers, however, "...and I'm glad you...talked to William. And to know all these things now, means that you are not foolish. You know when there are things you need to know. That is what is important and makes you different than all others."
     "Cos!" Edward cheers, shifting gears no less quickly than when he's in his Spyder, "I figured you'd be on a plane by now..."

     "Did you?" comes the languid pull of That Voice. "I figured I'd be in bed by now. What do we know," William drolls out. He is still smoking. It calms him. These cigarettes are loaded, however. There is a twitch and a quiver on the air that could only be the smoke of the poppy flower. The overcoat is off, but the suit is still in place. Black. Expensive. And he looks...
     Damn...
     Well, someone has to do it...
     "You want a drink? The bar is open..." A gesture of his hand, there is whisky, scotch, and even vodka and gin. Indigo eyes look to Valan as he crosses over to give proper greetings. "Come on, Montague," he says quietly, "... smile. It didn't happen to you." He chases it with a wink, gives Valan a hearty pat and gives Edward a French greeting, just to get on his nerves.

     Valan is beside you as you step into the salon. As a Plantagenet Lion's paw comes out and cuffs him, he chuckles suddenly. "That is true. Alright, Gui..." Really, only Ian calls William Gui. But now Valan. It seems to have stuck. "So, I am blaming you for my headache, cos..." Valan smirks, rubs at his eyes and pats Edward's arm as he starts to head to one of the chairs, giving Edward and William their kingly politenesses.

     There's the customary roll of the eyes when he's given a French salute, Edward about to walk to a seat until he hears 'Gui', strange that, followed by a twist and raise of brows at 'cos'.
     "Drink, sure," Edward affirms, leaving on his leather jacket. It won't be a long stay. "And don't call him cos," Edward says to Valan, "...it's weird," Edward smirks, falling into a seat.
     "Thimble of the highlands, would ya?" Edward says lazily, expecting to be waited upon by someone.

     "Thimble coming up. Nothing for Valan. He's had enough, I think," thus sayeth d'Angevin. "Oc... no cos..." William smirks. "Gui is fine. You can also call me His Royal Hotness," he uncaps the scotch after lifting the bottle and inspecting the label. "Second thought, a shot of Scotland might do you good," he murmurs, seemingly to himself.
     William turns to look at you both. "You are going to Switzerland for vacation again, I understand?" looking to Edward. He smiles. "When do you leave? I will have things sent to Fleurlil," William continues, with a slight wave, looking back as he completes the pour. Nothing for himself. "You can pick them up on your way home. And," he smiles, "I promise..." handing a small glass to each one in turn, "...no surprise visits."

     Valan smirks at the Royal Hotness bit, relaxing -- thanks in part to the opium -- in the chair beside where Edward just tossed himself. He reaches up and takes the glass. "Merci, William." Back to William. Maybe the drugs are starting to wear off.
     As William asks about Switzerland, Valan turns to look to Edward. "When do we leave? We are going to be gone for a while this time, I think. I would like it to be a long trip. I am ready to get out of London for a while..."

     "I don't blame you," William quips, taking a seat likewise.

     Hotness? Edward just waves a hand, knees parting rather guy-like. "The Mountain King's giving us the chalet for a couple of months. I guess we'll go in the next couple of weeks? Already the powder's up, I hear. So..." hand waves again, but accepting of a glass on the settling.
     "I don't know when we're back. When the rain stops?" Edward says sarcastically.
     "Drink on," Edward lifts, turning his scotch up and making it vanish in an even swallow.

     William chuckles, taking up his cigarette again. He seems content to smoke. A good thing. Scotch makes him crazy. "Well," an exhale of smoke, "... should be a good year for it, from what I've been reading. Ian and I are staying at the keep this year. I haven't made any Christmas plans. Probably play it real quiet like. I'm going to be in Inverness, I think, for part of it. Have a project to finish. We gave our chalet away," William chuckles suddenly, "...to a slip of a girl. Can you believe it?" It amuses him. "Tell the Mountain King we said hello, will you? He's a good man. And a face rarely seen..."

     Valan sips at the scotch. Then he takes a good swallow. "I'm looking forward to the skiing. It has been too long. No plans, William? That doesn't seem likely..." He looks to you, Edward, leaning toward you and smiling. Finally! "Georg is a good man. Is he going to swing by for a visit again? I didn't get to spend much time with him last time. Course, last time, everyone short of Noah and Moses showed up..."

     "I don't know," Edward exhales, setting glass down. It'll dry soon. "He didn't mention it." A shrug.
     "So," Edward leans forward, "...you didn't give your chalet to us?" Edward shakes his head. "Valan loves skiing," he picks up. "See?"

     "I should have," William smirks. "Ah well," tap of ash. "... it really wasn't mine to give. Ian wanted to give it to the girl, to see what the little Ventrue would do with it. Give her a leg up in the world. He's generous like that."
     He is talking about the same Ian Dunross, isn't he?
     "We're contemplating acquiring another one eventually, but I haven't found anything to my liking. But... I promise you, cos, if I ever distribute property, you'll be the first name on my list." Indigo scatters in a wink. "Especially if it is near skiing," a look to Valan.

     "I wonder sometimes if we spend too much time here," Valan looks to Edward. "We should travel more," he notes for the record. "Maybe sometime to do some swimming, maybe go to Greece or some Mediterranean island where the stones will still be warm after a day in the sun..."

     "You can always borrow the ship if you like. Just let me know when you would like to use it. It's moored in Monte Carlo." William taps the ash again, then decides to extinguish it altogether. "We didn't use it at all last year. Shame really. It was a lovely gift." Ian must be generous, distributing such items. A chalet to some girl. A ship to William. Maybe you should make him your new best friend!

     Edward rolls his head backwards, putting both hands on his face. He laughs gently, then looks up, giving a loud exhale. Brows arch. "Time to go," Edward resolutely grunts, shaking his head. "All this talk of traveling." He hates it, really, but won't say it. "It makes me want to stay at home." At least one in the room knows this. The other, well, Edward doesn't want to dampen his spirits too much.
      "And Greece is dangerous."
     Well, so it came out.
     "Thanks though," Edward offers, putting hands on his knees to stand.

     William laughs quietly. He does know and it amuses him all the same. It is a good night to find amusement. You wish to be the clown, the jester? It works. William rises in the next minute, standing ahead of you. "Stop wrinkling the leather of my chair and go home." A hand comes out to haul you up, Edward. It'll be the same hand that pulls you in for a hug.

     Valan is also standing, finishing his drink and setting the glass aside. He smiles at the two of you. "Thank you, William. For a great night..." And for saying 'Yes' when you should have said 'No'.

     He is going home. Now. Edward exhales again, moving around and out of the way. "Tell the other cheers, eh?" A passing comment. Edward adjusts his jacket to depart. "Stay warm," in the evil Scottish winter.

     "I will," William nods. "I'm sure he'd say the same. Have fun and give us a call when you get back. I'll swing down and buy you a drink." He looks to Montague for a moment and then nods. "You're welcome, Valan. It was my pleasure." The quiet of his voice seems to carry that feeling in volumes.
     Indigo shifts back to Edward, eyebrows lifting as he does his usual rush-off-into-the-night. William smirks. "Night, cos," he says after. And then to himself. "I need a drink..."
     Something of Scotland... something warm and golden... know where I might find such a drink?

     Valan runs his hands through his hair again, settling it back to something like normal mussed and he waits for you at the door. A look is given to William, a smile and a nod. "Mine, too." But now he wants to fall in bed. He wants his man to move with him.

     Somewhere in the cessation of the stories, in the motion of the streetlights streaming past and sliding against the auto, the colors started to take on a life of their own, lingering longer than they should, and he became one with the passenger seat.
     Smoking, he watched the tendrils, he blew Egyptian alphabets of smoke out of the car window, they spelled epic mirages on the way to Knightsbridge.
     And it's been hours, hasn't it? It's been years since we were here...
     He slips and slides out of the car, a glide that barely seems to touch the ground. Like he and the air are making love. Tipping his head to the side, he sends his cigarette launching unloved to the cement of the walkway to be carried forgotten to the street and finally The Thames...
     Valan leans, loopy, against the door as you unlock it, golden head tilting against the surface of the door, golden smile starting to dawn on him again. And he's staring. "Rien de Dieu, vous sont beau," he murmurs. And when he speaks, you can see a little of the tell-tale blue.
     Opium...

     The compliment is accepted with a knowing smile. He believes, even as his keys rattle free of the clutch of his hand. Leather shoes scuff the slate on the floor, and before the security system can loudly complain, Edward Meurelle waves his hand over a panel and pushes a few numbers. In his pocket, unseen, another button is touched, and the quiet of Dannerly Court remains unbroken. "Etes vous sur?" Edward teases, though confident of the reply. Of course he is. But he steps into the foyer proper and turns about, so a decision may be easily made.
     "You feed me too many compliments," Edward growls, putting hand behind his head and bending backwards slightly into a stretch. He'd gotten too soft tonight, too much in cars and having drinks. Comfortable. And now he has to break the relaxed state that's settled upon him. "However," he groans to the ceiling, sighing after he drops his form, "...it's one of your best features. And, well, I'm a whore for hot." Even if it means himself.
     "You're on a bender, eh?" Edward smiles, slipping out of his coat.

     "He let me smoke the 'fancy cigarettes' tonight. He said you would be asking him why he... let me smoke that shite, but... I know his weakness. Plantagenet has a hard time saying 'No'." To anything, as you know. Well, there's not much that he'll say 'No' to at any rate. "So..." Valan smiles broadly, feline, as he moves just as smoothly to the living room.
     And now you know where William gets his walk. He gets it from the poppies of Afghanistan and China...
     Valan is coming out of his jacket as he passes you, crossing to the sofa. Soon, he will be fully naked. Too many fibers! "Hmmm... a whore for hot?" Valan looks back to you and grins. "You are one happy hooker, yes?" Between looking at yourself and looking at your boy. He licks his lips, they're numb, he peers at nothing -- or rather the All Encompassing Everything and Something that surrounds him and occupies the empty air -- and he's coming out of his shoes next.
     "If I'm on a bender, you should be on a bender. It is no good, Eduard, if one of us is sober, ami." Shoes plop down and he moves, like a dance, across the floor to pour a drink. "I compliment well. And I have a nice ass. These are my good features," he says it sweetly, deliberately, stoned.
     Gold-green eyes lift up and he smiles at you through his lashes.

     Edward shakes his head, moving back towards the door to lock it. "Those are some of your good features," he agrees, arming the system once more. Spinning about, Edward returns to the living area. The cigarettes are not his thing: opiates, in his book, are no fun.
     Wait, he's just realized something.
     "Want a drink?" Edward asks, patting your shoulder as he moves to the bar. His night has been simple. His hand reaches to clasp the nape of his neck, and Edward arches backwards in a stretch. "Bloody Hell. I should have walked more," he says to himself. He's gotten too comfortable tonight.

     "Yes, my mind is crowded," his hands go to his head. "You don't want to hear it... but there is so much... but... I don't want to get Philosophical On You." Valan smirks, turning to plop down on the sofa, staring at his sock feet on the coffee table. He moves his toes. He marvels.
     Gold-green eyes look up at you. "You want to go out? We can if you are tired of sitting, ami. I could always dance," he rolls out, he smiles, and you know it is true. "I want a whiskey, I think. Oh, we should go to duMontrachet's Bower sometime, you and me. Anjou beef," he purrs out. "I'm hungry," he notes after.
     And you look tasty. He's staring again...
     "You look good enough to eat, ami," thoughts are audible, spoken softly, probably not even aware he said that. Valan uncoils himself to a stand, body parts moving independently for a moment before they realize that moving in concert is more productive...

     Behind the bar, Edward comes to a stop. He looks over, bottle in his hand. "Du Montrachet's?" Edward nods, "It's nice. Too late for there though," he glances at his watch. "It's late for restaurants." You did walk for a few hours.
     Leaving the rest of the conversation for now, the bar tinkles with sound of glasses being set up. Edward moves left and right, bends and pours, his attention turned inwardly. To himself and his actions as bartender.
     "Would you have smoked cos' fags if you were still alive?"

     "No," he stares at your reflection in a myriad against the glasses and bottles, and the reflection of the lights like stars, and his own eyes. "I didn't know they were loaded until I lit one, smoked a little... but... no... not if I was alive. I don't like to be obligated to chemicals. I like chemicals so long as I do not have to commit." He laughs a little at that. "I have commitment issues, as you know, ami, yes? Yes. No... I would not because... opium is like heroin, bad shit... bad..." A pause. "But fun...he smokes these everyday he says... no wonder he paints like he paints. Fucking Van Gogh on acid...I understand so much, ami... I have had a fairytale life. I am... grateful..."
     And emotion wells in him, as it tends to do, in a swirl of fire and heat and electricity -- slower now, of course, but it is there. Can you feel it? After three years? The bond between you must allow for some transference...
     "I would not have done much coke either. I did mostly.... like ecstasy. Alcohol... but... not much coke. I wouldn't do crystal or icicle meth... that would make me want to kill something... I think..."
     Valan looks to you. "I don't want to kill anybody, Eduard. It does no good. It brings no good to anything or anyone. I am glad I am not of that baby-killing Clan. Ventrue. Knights of the Blood and all of that. Killing his baby and his woman. All that killing, what has it done? Nothing. I do not want any part of killing. Drugs," he smiles. "I will do a little of that. What harm is it...hmmm? Really? No harm to this," he runs his hands against his own skin for a moment, shivers, then smiles to you. "No harm to anyone..."

     Edward's quiet, looking down at the two glasses he pours. After they're done, he sets the bottle down, putting a cork back into the bottle of whiskey. Without much fanfare, he moves around the bar, grabs the two glasses which swish precariously rim to rim, and walks back to the sofa, extending one to you. He's gone sullen, that expression says, the silence telling.
     "Have a drink," Edward says, taking a taste of his full glass and sitting down.

     Hand reaches up to take a drink. "What?" Valan wonders, looking at you, eyes knitting. He takes a drink. No, that is not a fair assessment. He downs the drink. That's closer to it. He leans forward, setting the glass aside.
     "So... what did I say... that you did not like, ami..." The filters are non-existent. He thinks it, he says it.

     "Nothing," Edward retorts, his own brows knitting in kind. "You're goin' on, is all," Edward says, drinking his whiskey a little slower. "Just...enjoy your drink," he shrugs, leading by example.

     "Oh that's right," Valan murmurs. "Talking. Ruins the mood." He smirks, glancing at you. Fine, be that way. With an exhale, Valan rises off the sofa and grabs his glass with a more-than-fluid motion. A half-moment later, he's at the bar, surveying his next poison. He says nothing.
     Two can play at that game...

     "No," Edward says with a bit of snark, "...fuckin' heroin ruins the mood. And fuckin' talking," he's not angry, just agitated that his feed's off now, "...about baby-killing. Fuckin' hell." Haven't you learned anything?
     More of the whisky's tasted, the glass extended and turned about in examination.

     He stares at you for a moment, tendrils lifting against his blood, but the opiates make them dissipate, like smoke disappearing against a greater wind. But he doesn't say anything. He quietly lifts a bottle of vodka, Belvedere. "Desole," he says after he pours, setting the bottle on the bar harder than he wanted to.
     Now he's sullen...
     With an exhale, Valan moves to sit on the sofa again, or his half of it, stretching out with the vodka and staring midway between you and the ceiling. "Why did you ask me about the opium... the cigarettes..."

     Edward considers a moment, eyes still on his glass. A target. "I hate when you're on that crap, ami. That's it. It's not yours, it's his. And it's not...you."
     The drink is brought back to his lips, another taste. Edward curls his tongue at his bottom lip, sucking loudly as he lowers the glass to his lap again.

     Valan peers at you. "You are acting like I gave the man a blowjob. I smoked a few of his cigarettes tonight. I have never had the ones with opium in them before. It's all he had. You don't want me to smoke the others either? Fine, I will smoke cloves. It doesn't matter to me..." He shrugs, frowns, then takes a swallow of the vodka. And after the taste he gives it a bit more consideration.
     But it's brief...
     "It doesn't matter, you don't like the opium, I do not know that I like it either, but I am on it... there's nothing I can fucking do about it now but wait it out..." Vodka again. That certainly won't help. They're all sedating...

     "I didn't act like that," Edward objects, sticking to his whiskey. "You're givin' me drama, ami. And you're right," he finally looks over, "...fuck all we can do now." He shrugs and smiles.
     "I'm goin' to...teach th' bag a lesson," Edward announces, tossing back his whiskey. "Unless you want to walk," the opiate off.

     "I'm going to bed," he makes his own announcement. He finishes the vodka in a stand, sets the glass on the coffee table and straightens with such deliberance that it is nearly martial. "I'll sleep it off..."
     He would much rather have bled it off, fucked it off or danced it off. But he will sleep it off well enough.
     This is what they call a 'bad trip', he thinks. It's probably his last taste of opium...
     But then, that's what you wanted, isn't it ami?
     Valan looks to you. "I will see you tomorrow, ami..." And his urge to fly into high drama is subverted. What was the moral of tonight's story, Montague? What was it that you heard? He sighs, he bends, he murmurs an apology against your mouth. He leaves a tugging kiss behind and then he rises. There... that's better.

     The kiss is returned with a grin and open arch of Edward's brows. He stands and sets his own glass on the coffee-table. Edward begins pulling his shirt up and over his head, tossing the knit to the sofa.
     Instead of heading up the stairs, the light comes on in the other brownstone and the chain link sounds on the bag hanging in the room.

Posted by rowan at November 28, 2003 01:01 PM