The evening goes as it does. Sometimes it is conversation. Sometimes it is the floor. The wall. The chair. Sometimes it is a walk around the city. Sometimes it's drinks. A dance. Fencing.
     Tonight, it's a phone call.
     The simple ring of a cell phone.
     It buzzes and vibrates as planned, near its owner.
     One Valan Montague of London, Dannerly Court.

     A towel is wrapped around his waist, tucked there by the hands that reach for the buzzing phone a moment later. Mod-cut hair is honeyed with the water that has recently drenched it, and it smells of honey with the product used to set it all in place.
     The evening's plans have not been decided. He is, as ever, in The Moment. "Bonsoir," Valan Montague says into the phone as he turns toward his wardrobe. His ever-expanding wardrobe...

     "Veuillez attendre son excellence, Prince de Paris. Trente secondes," the male voice says evenly, professionally, and with an expectation of compliance.

     The Prince of Paris?
     For me?
     Did I pick up the wrong phone?
     Valan's golden eyebrows quirk upward. "Oui... naturellement..." Of course he will hold. He was born to hold, yes? Fingers move over his collection of suits. The nights are growing longer, cooler. He begins to take out a navy blue pinstripe suit jacket. A pair of couture jeans. A couture t-shirt from a local London designer who has begun to give him clothing gratis. (What better billboard could you have than Valan Montague?)

     "Valan, il fait beau de vous parler directement. Un premier pour nous, oui?" The man laughs. Of course it is. But then the laughter ends, and he says, "Cet appel sera bref. Votre nom a ete recommande en tant qu'instructeur pour jeune Toreador interesse a l'art de la cloture. En outre, vous pouvez egalement instruire jeune Brujah approprie sous la meme forme, en notre nom," the last part almost as a concession. But there would be reason to give such allowance. There is no explanation of the recommendation, nor an immediate forthcoming of why. There is a pause, then,
     "Vous connaissez Paris, et je suis certain qu'Edouard ne s'occuperait pas. Mais de l'autre cote, vous n'etes pas Edouard, et c'est vous, en tant que membre du Camarilla, qui est demande."

     "Le plaisir est le mien, Monsieur," Valan warmly replies to that. There is no other clever retort to your greeting, for you have moved straight to an offer. As clothes sound upon the bed, wooden hangers cracking against one another, Valan wears a bemused expression.
     What would Edward say?
     "Je suis honore, Mon Prince, que vous penseriez a moi pour une telle chose," Valan says after a moment. The towel comes away from his skin and is tossed onto the bed. "C'est une proposition interessante que vous faites, Votre Excellence. Est-ce que je pourrais vous demander quelle sorte d'engagement vous cherchez?"

     "Vous seriez un membre d'associte de la guilde, sous les auspices d'un Guildmember, Shelley Jarmon, qui est connu dans cette cour. Il servira de maitre aux noviciates, et en tant qu'un des instructeurs intermediaires. Vous serviriez en tant qu'element de son equipe sous sa direction," Villon explains. "Il est jusqu'au Guildmasters et a leurs instructeurs ce qui sera le programme de l'etude et comment les etudiants seront organises. Que je partirai pour qu'ils expliquent a vous, si vous etes interesse," and the Prince expects you will be interested.
     C'est... important. Les maitres et les instructeurs savent ceci.

     "Je suis tres interesse, Votre Excellence," as well he should be. He is not a stupid boy. Sometimes his mouth speaks such things that his youth does not seem able to back up, but he is far from foolish. "Ce n'est pas une chose a laquelle je pense que la reponse pourrait etre non," there is a sound of a smile to the tone of his voice. You, of course, know this.
     "Et ainsi, oui ....naturellement... Je suis interesse et flatte, Votre Majest. Je devrais attendre avec interet d'avoir des nouvelles de Monsieur Jarmon sur les conditions particulieres." Such things a Prince such as you would not need to attend to, ne c'est pas?

     "Bon. Dites Edouard mes meilleurs voeux... et celui il devrait m'appeler. Jusque-la, une Bonne Nuit a vous, Valan," Villon concludes. "Nous vous verrons en quelques six nuits."
     With that, the conversation ends pleasantly enough. The line disconnects, and then a following 'click' ends it.

     "Bonne Nuit," he says as the line disconnects. Valan Montague looks at his phone for a moment after it has slipped into silence. He looks at it as if it has grown a second...or rather a first...head. But then he sets it aside and begins to dress.
     It is after the shirt, after the jeans, but before the jacket has been pulled on, the phone is back in his hand. He dials the numbers he loves the best.
     Meurelle...

     The phone rings once. Twice. Three times.

     "Yeah, what?" Edward's voice comes, apparently not noticing any number on his screen. There's never names attached. Just digits, if those are not blocked.
     And any good vampire has his number blocked.
     No wonder Robert LeGrasse is the man to know in this Age.
     In the background, howls and gales of noise. Cursing, yelling, glass. The sound of a broadcast blaring in the background.

     "You are always so nice when you answer the phone, mon ami," he teases you, chuckling. "Where are you and can I interrupt? I have something I need to talk to you about..."
     He can hear all of that noise. "Are you in the middle of a bar brawl? What is that happening there?" His English is so funny. He is pulling on his jacket, so his change in breathing may tell you.

     There's more noise and then a stuffed, 'Yeah...kinda.' Of a sort. "Fights -- ami, something wrong?" Edward wonders. The noise begins to soften slightly, but one would have to get a bit away for silence.

     "No... nothing is wrong, ami. I should let you go? I... received a call from Villon tonight... I want to talk to you about that. But... I don't want you to get killed. So... how about... I meet you ... in two hours? Will that give you time?"

     "No," Edward says, "I am not fighting, ami. But what?" he goes on, "Villon called? No, he didn't call me," at least he doesn't think. "No, no, we should talk now - come on, Jacky, gimme a few, eh? - now is fine," Edward says, the noise indeed quieting behind him.

     "I have been offered a position, ami..."
     Now, he is moving. He is heading downstairs. "As a fencing instructor for Toreador and even Brujah, as an associate of the Guild, under Shelley. I have not heard any specifics... of course... so who knows what it means, but it was Villon who called to tell me this."
     He is in the kitchen now, looking for his keys. Ah, there they are. "And he says to say hello to you and that you should call him. But... he always says this about you. So I do not know if he has something to say or not. But... ami... what do you think of this?"

     "What?" Edward asks. "Villon said what?"

     "Villon has said that the Guild is interested in me joining them as an associate, to teach fencing to young Toreador and even Brujah ...as he said, on Our Behalf."
     At least he heard it in the capital...
     "I would be teaching what Shelley instructs. He will be the Master for the noviciates. I have not yet heard from Shelley or any of the others from the Guild... I was not expecting such a thing..."
     Now he is in the garage...

     "What the fuck -" Edward begins, not really knowing what to say. "He wants you to...to leave me?" Then a pause, "He asked you this? He didn't even fucking call me..."
     "You want to go?" Edward suddenly says.

     Valan. Your phone is buzzing. There is another call.

     "I don't think he wants me to leave you, Edward. I said I was interested...it sounds interesting... I do not know how you say 'No' to Villon...merde... the phone is ringing. This is probably Shelley..."
     There is a sigh, but he does not put you on hold...
     "I don't want to leave you, of course not, Edward. I love you. I could not live in a city where you were not living. That isn't what I want. I want to fence, but I do not want to be in Paris if you are not there with me."

     There's silence from the phone. Nothing. Edward is likely thinking.

     And the phone buzzes again after the usual pause. It's not so demanding, that phone.

     "Ami...? Etes-vous toujours la, amoureux?"
     Valan sighs as the phone starts ringing again. "Je suis desole, goujon," such a pet name he has for you, 'stud'. "... mais je dois repondre a ceci, il me conduit fou. Je vous appellerai dos de droite, ok?"

     "Yeah," Edward says, in a disappointed tone. But the call ends anyway.

     I should have waited until he got home...
     Valan's voice suddenly appears. "Oui? Montague..." he says to whomever else is calling. Non-stop...

     "Valan! Did you get the call? It's brilliant, eh?" comes Shelley's voice, quite excited. "I mean...the Guild! The real one!" No insult to London meant. "Me and you? Can you believe it?"
     "You...did get a call, right?"

     "I did... it was quite a surprise. I did know anyone in Paris would know how to spell my name," he teases a little. "It is... still... to me a little bit of a shock. I am excited but... I will say I do not know what to do. It is quite an offer... but my life is here..."
     Perhaps Edward is not one who would wish to go to Paris. And without Edward...

     "Shock?" Shelley laughs, "You're one of the best that I know, Valan. I mean...why not? You aren't a guildmember, it's true, but...still...I mean, they agreed. It's a great honor," Shelley explains - convinces - voice eager, "...even more so for you, since you're not...you know..." not Toreador, "...and not in the Guild. I mean, even for me...they're going to make me a full Guildmember in Paris!"
     But Shelley's not silly. His eagerness knows the complexity herein. "And with your age," reason showing, "...it's like a triple honor. And Paris is beautiful - well, I don't have to tell you that...."

     "It is an honor. I am only ... well... I still have the new car smell, as they say." He smiles at his own joke, no matter how true it is. "I know all of the promise. It is true. It is... very exciting. And it would be following my passion and in a city I love."
     There are many reasons to be excited...
     "And for you... an honor, and congratulations to you," now he grins, "... And I thank you, truly, for anything you may have said on my behalf. I will be honest...I must reconcile this with my life. If my life can move..." Well then, there is nothing to think about.
     "I will be more excited," or not as the case may be, "... after I speak with Edward. Here... I will call you back, oui? Let me speak with him. We were talking when you called..."

     What? It's hesitancy he hears and feared. Shelley tries again with, "Oh, thanks! And you're welcome. I wasn't sure that they'd agree, but...it'd be fucking spectacular if you were on my team. And...you know...the Brujah there...could use you...as much as the Toreador."
     "I...I guess I'll talk to you later. You should talk to..." Edward, but Shelley won't say. "I'm already packing...we have to be there Sunday." No pressure.
     "Um..call me...okay, mate?"

     "I will, Shelley... and I appreciate it... coming from you, that praise means something to me. I will call you back tonight... enjoy your packing," he chuckles suddenly. "A bientot..." Until later.
     That call is cut off and the other number is called again as Valan Montague climbs into his old model Mercedes roadster (gull-wing). The garage door lifts as the phone begins to ring...

     "Yeah," the voice says, much like it did the first time. The noise is back to full-blare again.

     "C'est moi, ami," Valan warmly utters, turning the ignition of the gull-wing as he closes the door and locks himself in the cocoon of his couture voiture.
     "I'm sorry for the interruption. That was Shelley..."

     "Yeah," this time only acknowledging. The noise fires up again, rising when he's not talking, and slightly muted when his voice is primary. But silence follows again. He doesn't have much to say, at least not in this moment.

     "It is simple, Edward. I am not going without you. We are in this life together. You are my life. And so... if you are not interested in spending time in Paris, then... I will give my regrets. I have told Shelley as much. My life is here, I told him. So... I do not want you thinking that I am leaving you. I would never do this."
     There is the sound of the engine as he is in motion. "I want to know what you think and how you feel, ami..."

     The noise continues for an instant before Edward says, "Ami...we can...talk about this later, huh?" For a variety of reasons. "I'll be done here...maybe another hour?"

     "Sure," he says. "I am going to drive around... maybe I will go to the Papaya for a drink and a dance. I will see you in a couple of hours..." See you? Yes, he will find you no doubt...

     "No worries, ami," Edward says, ending the call and the noise behind him...

Posted by rowan at August 24, 2005 02:04 PM