There is a figure that appears in the shadow of the entrance to the Great Hall, slipping slightly to the side to let Donal pass. The Scotsman offered a slight nod of her head. "I could smell the Scotch all the way across the castle." The comment slips smoothy, softly from her lips. The black duster she had worn upon entering is still wrapped tightly around herself. There is still a slight chill that surrounds her from her walk....not that she seems to really notice.

     "I thought I'd go to Liam disguised as a distillery. Scottish camouflage, non?" That was said in a bit of a clip. But then he softens, giving you a look. "How was your walk?" Soft of voice again, but no less intense. You who know him so well can notice the tension in him, but perhaps it's only the effects of scotch.
     William is sitting in a chair not far from the fire, his jacket still gone, he is the echo of an ancient king. Resplendent in his way. Settled there...half sprawled there. And his hand gestures to one of the chairs nearby him. Please join. If you like.

     There is a slight tilt of her head as her brown eyes regard you. As if considering the offer. You, the ancient king, and herself...the cool pose and grace of the strong queens of old. "Either that or you'll pass out half way in looking for the Earl." It is, perhaps, a joke, but there is little in her voice to suggest as much.
     Duster still pulled tightly around herself, her slow steps bring her further within the hold of the Hall. "You know, it's been centuries upon centuries since I've seen Donal. It is good to know that some things never change." And that is the reason why the Gangrel can get away with calling her Lexie, making the other comments such as he does. Perhaps, for some reason, it does the old Ventrue good to know that there are still those around who remember her back when she had no such title to try to maintain.

     "Oui? It may be longer still. He's gone to find his women." Oh and is William rankled. And intoxicated. But this scotch is going to last him a while. "I won't pass out," he says quietly, "I promise." And the rest of it comes out as a mutter, "Trust me...I won't be that relaxed for a long time."
     He takes another drink from the glass, then glances about. "Sure you don't want some wine? He's bound to have some here somewhere..." William looks to you then, hands hold the glass resting on his stomach. The pose should be relaxed, but it is not. He is more like a serpent coiled, waiting the striking moment. His gaze, the look of him...intense. And yet upon
you, there is something softer to it. Affection.
     "He favors you, you know," he says quietly. "But then...who wouldn't..." There's a small smile at that, at the corners of his mouth. "But he has been so long as I have known him." There's a pause and back to the matter at hand. "At least I'll be in the proper mood to visit with the Earl. Have you any ....advice for me, Alexandra?"

     That brings a slight shake of her head, as Alexandra slips off her duster. A chair is chosen, one from which she can keep her back to the fire and her attention still on yourself. "You kiss a man once over a bottle of strong mead, and he never forgets it, perhaps." It is her answer to your words about Donal, and while it doesn't quite bring her lips up in a smile, there is at least a hint of warmth on her lips. "But, then again, he is also quite taken with most things female."
     The duster is slipped over the back of the chair, and then she slips into it, crossing her legs and leaning back into the soft fabric. She takes a moment, then...to study yourself. The serpent coiled. She has recognized that look in you before, ready for battle. On the field of Arsuf, against the Anarch Revolt and the Inquisition. The night the three left for her mountains. But this...well...she also knows will not be settled merely by finding Liam.
     Those eyes that fix so closely on yourself, they betray little of what she may be feeling about this...entire affair. "But some wine might be good, qui. Chase away some of the chill of this cold and dark place." A slight pause, and then she asks carefully, "I am always full of advice, William. But it depends on what it is you want the advice on."

     William chuckles quietly to that and he has upon the whole of his expression a very knowing look. He knows what asking for advice could open up. But before this, there is a tipping back of his head. Perhaps a relaxing moment? So it may have been first thought, if not for the following of a servant's feet later. Another one of the young Cawdor lasses. William doesn't stop this one however. She comes with a bottle of wine and a glass...and another bottle of scotch beside it. Both are left upon the table nearest the chair William is sitting in. And she's gone as quickly.
     The wine? A red from Normandy. William shifts, his drink setting down...uncorking the bottle with a tug -- it had been started in the antehall -- and pouring a glass for you. "Well, he has an eye for the fair. But you have a special place for him, I think. He sighs like one of Petrarch's lovers," and that said with some teasing rib at his friend. "And since he's kissed those lips
of yours," the wine glass is held out to you, "at least we know where his soul can be found, oui?"
     Handing your glass to you, he settles back again, taking up the scotch. "Advice," he says quietly after a moment. "...about how to handle Liam. I've...never met the man. You have, no? Perhaps you ...know something of him that can...help me gain from him what I must gain." Another sip and swallow of scotch. Ready for battle? Yes he is...and a few other things as well. It all blends into the same intensity.

     The glass is reached out for, taken with her slender fingers. And with it held carefully, she sinks back into the chair. "Well, we are talking about a long time ago, William." And what was so long ago? Her lips touching the Gangrels? Or so many other things that she did so differently back then. Who knows what he must think when he sees her now...after so much has changed. "I'm sure Donal has a special place in his heart for most of the woman across Scotland." There is no disdain in her voice with that...just said cooly, a plain and simple fact.
      And with that, the glass is tilted towards yourself for a brief moment, in an unspoken toast, and then lifted to her lips. A slight taste taken. Quickly she had downed the drink at the party in New Port. And the effects that it had....the things almost said...it is perhaps best if at least someone at Cawdor remain sober.
     "From what I remember, the Earl was not much different. You're right, I have met him before. But again, William, we are talking about time unlike that mortals can comprehend. On the matter of him....all I can warn is that men like him do not give. They take. And he will want to take as much as he can from you in exchange for his blood." It is spoken as a warning...that there might be a very hefty price to pay for that which will wake Ian sooner.

     He is already frowning...feeling a...discomfort he can't express. An edginess that envelopes everything about him. Even as a leg shifts a little back and forth...just for movement. For something to do. He's trying not to think about what others are doing at the moment. It would make him crazy. William takes a breath and nods. Understanding. Memorizing for later.      "Well...we'll see what he offers then. And what I decide to accept. He's not the only member of his Generation." Just the one who's the surest shot. William's face takes a placid cast. So many thoughts, not a one can be plucked out ...to command his expression. "Thank you, Alexandra. I will....keep that in mind. I wonder...how much is too much...." His gaze lifts and shifts to you. Brilliant indigo. Filled with the fire that is burning within. That the scotch and the blood before it have done nothing to quench. Violet color licking at the blue of his eyes.
     Yes....give all the advice you wish. He seems...open to hear it. In truth, he can't do anything else. It's keeping him busy. At least. He is almost pleading for it.

     And that brings a slight shift of her weight in the chair. Honesty? She is a woman quick to put others in their place with her thoughts on any subject. Like a Queen reminding others in her court who exactly it is that they ask. She has, if nothing else, earned that right after so many centuries.
     But this is not just any person who is asking for such a thing from her. It is more that she cares so for yourself and Ian...there are other men and woman whom she loves that she never fails to speak her mind to on such things. This isn't even Ian, whom she herself has recently been...brutally honest with as of late. Did he ever tell you of the Question he himself had posed to her in a letter sent? It is...William Plantagenet. And with yourself, there is more that pulls at her as she considers her answer to that question. More that would cause her to hold her tongue.
     "You need to realize, William, that I do love Ian, care very much for him. But if you want to know what I think too much is...." Her voice drifts off some. Her eyes flirt down to her glass, driven there by the look in your eyes. Blasted indigo, she has yet to be able to deny a such a pleading request from them. "...then I think we have already passed that line. I would just assume at this point to...let Ian sleep until he awakes himself."
     There, it is said, and she continues to regard her glass of wine, not wanting to see your own reaction to what must seem as such cool words.

     William doesn't blanch. He doesn't flinch. He is a commander of men. He was heir to Richard for a short half year until his "death". He sat upon war councils where he sought advice upon an attack and was called daft. So, there is no hurt look. Or look of indignance. There is acceptance.
     William looks to the glass of scotch in his hands. "Love is a fool's paradise," he murmurs. "And this is a fool's errand you are saying." He nods. "I do not even know if it will work. From a...strategic point of view...it may even be suicide." He pauses. "Like the last surge in Arsuf. That should not have worked. Nor the attack before dawn and using their own tunnels for mines while they slept." That was his idea, and that is what he did before dawn of that battle.
     "But..." and then those eyes lift. "...while I as the Duke of Normandy can see this, Alexandra, the heart of William who loves believes that he must try it. If it costs him this trip ...and more. I would not be William...if I did not go. But you are right. I should let him sleep. He would wake up maybe in a year. Maybe two. Maybe two hundred."
     And then there is that look. The love that is in Love's Parting in this sleep of Ian's....an agony. The wince at the sword embedded in his heart. It makes his eyes crinkle with bright color. "I could not bear it," he whispers. "And I do not want to think about...if this does not work. I am...trying to take one battle at a time. What good would it have done that day, if I had thought of the coming defeat at Jerusalem."
     William looks to his hand again, then lifts the glass of scotch for a swallow. "I would do the same for you. It would infuriate you, non? That fool William, and his fool's errand. But I...cannot bear to lose the few I love...."

     It was a comment that she made earlier to you. Just a few nights ago. Not everything is about you, William. Ian had not taken sleep because of a confession of an affair. He had his own reasons....his own demons that he needs to work out on his own time. But you did not understand that then....and there is no use in repeating the old arguments now. Besides...that is not her real reasoning anyway.
     Her eyes remain on the glass. Fingers give it a gentle swirl, sliding the liquid against the glass. "I have never thought of you a fool, William. Quite the opposite in fact. If I ever felt the need to do as he has...I would rather be left, qui. But, then again, there would be no sire of mine for you to go to." No, her sire is buried deep in the heart of her precious mountains, thought dead by everyone by now.
     There is another heavy sigh from her lips...if only she should as easy shrug off everything else about this mess as she can exhale the breath. The glass is raised to her lips once more, another drink taken, before she looks back over at you. "Would you mind if I make a slight observation?" As to what? There is no trace of it in her eyes or tone, but at least she is giving you the opportunity to say no. Few would be so fortunate. So goes the effects of love and guilt carried over centuries.

     And he still does not understand those reasons, no. He promised never to leave Ian. He did fly to Chinon...thinking he had done too much for even Ian to bear. He came back...and found him this way. With a note...that didn't make it any clearer to him. Not in his state then or in the days that followed. Perhaps if he read the note again, he may understand more now. Perhaps not.
     Your eyes are on the glass. His gaze is on you. Unwavering attention. "I know you haven't...it is a tease I make to myself. If I were a fool, I'd be dead by now, and you'd not be sitting here...putting your heart upon the line for me... when you ...do not even agree with the task. It is...not lost on me, Alexandra," he murmurs. He is still while you mentions the rest. The note said to wake him...when he wanted him. That's all that William saw in it.
     But as your eyes meet his again for a moment and as you ask your question, his expression is open to you. There is pain there, yes. There may always be now. There is the darkness there, yes...it may only increase with time. There is the Ventrue Elder there, but there is also the friend. William makes a wave of his hand. It is echoed by a slight nod, and a quiet sounding of his voice. "As much as it may shock you, yes....Alexandra. I would like to know your thoughts. It is...very important to me." And indigo flashes as his eyes narrow...not in anger, not in dread. In serious contemplation as to what you wish to say...and in focus...upon the words that shall follow. The scotch is sipped at intermittently.

     And so she settles back into the chair. Slips into the fabric of the large sweater she wears. It is...to get settled. You can see it coming across the features of her face. A story would be told from her lips. Alexandra does not usually refer to her own feelings on personal matters directly. Did you realize, when she tried to explain Ian's struggle with the pressing weight of being an Elder, the realizing that you are not...as much as you may try to seem...mortal....the darkness that slips up next to you....that she was describing her own struggles over the centuries as well?
     "Ian and I once talked of Love. It was one of many things we...did not really agree with." Do you remember the conversation you rode in on that night she was with you
in Chinon? "We are Kindred, William. When you speak about these things...talks of fidelity...of vows...these are mortal concepts that I abandoned a long time ago. And it is not even that I have not been in love with another, and had it returned." Her voice, so smooth and even, so cool and collected, begins to show it's first cracks with that. And a taste of wine is taken, to wet her lips. To give her a time to pause. No, this time she actually speaks of her own....affairs. And it is not easy to do. The cool mask, yes, it remains. But have you not learned to see through that?
     "But I long ago realized the difference between the power of the blood, the desire to have someone, anyone, share your bed at night, and love. Mortals, they experience these emotions... these relationships...on a stage that last for a brief second next to ours. With those that I have loved...it has been perhaps more what Ian would consider...a long friendship? There was times of physical passion, qui. But that was not what was important. It was knowing that there was someone I could reach out to. Spend the night with if needed. Trust and be trusted in return. There were never any demands, any promises made. How can you keep one when you are looking at keeping it for a hundred centuries? Stephan and I...."
     And yes, it has been so rumored in Paris over the years, has it not? And who else was it who sat by her bed for weeks as she recovered from her wounds? You and Ian had already left Navarre by then. "...just have something that is deep and comfortable. That is honest. It doesn't need....promises to be made. Of course there will be others, to both satisfy passion and to also love. And there has never been...." Another idle swirling of her glass. Once again, her eyes retreat from your gaze. "...the ties of a bond needed to sustain it. "

     "And yet....when I have done much the same over the past eight centuries. I am thought of as the....Ventrue whore. The ...rogue and the scoundrel. Because I ... did what I pleased," his voice comes soft and even. "Ian and I have always...had one another. We always will, if he wakes...if not, I go through the world alone. I am ...not looking forward to it. I do not need a blood bond to feel this way. I do not need a ring. These are just the things that are done...to show other people what we already know. At least," he sighs, "that is the concept behind marriage, no? To have it witnessed." He makes a wave. Yes, you know.
     "You and I...we are likely going to disagree on love as well.
But that is ...alright. I have not found two poets who could agree on it. And so...I hear you. But I do not think I can...live that." Open, bare and honest to you. "I have been a lover of Whomsoever I Wanted...all of my life. Before Catherine. After Catherine. And I have been...damned for it, in a way, even by you, hmm? You being one of the...how is it you put it? ...One of the few women that I have not kissed in all of France?" There is a small smile to that. "I do not ...love...to fill my bed. I can fill my bed without love, I have done it. I can get blood anywhere. I do not need love to bring this to me. I do not need to call it love in order to do it. In fact, it is easier to have a full and warm bed without Love crowding the coverlets. It is rare...very rare...to have someone who is willing to at least accept your faults in exchange for ...some of the inherent goodness of what makes You....you."
     He takes a breath, there is a slight motion. "Perhaps I am not understanding you, feel free to correct me, Alexandra, if that is the case. I..." He looks at the gold in the scotch. He thinks of the gold of Ian's hair. "Love is a choice I make. It is not what I need to fill my bed. It is what I need to fill my heart. It is so much easier for me to grab one of Donal's women and take her on the dining room table. And believe me, there is part of me..." A wry smile at that, and a sigh...tortured sigh. "..that would like nothing more than to do this. But...it is Love....that prevents me from doing it. Because this...filling of the bed...is empty."
     "I do not have...friendships that...I can ...treat in this manner." He takes a breath, eyes narrowing again. "I need more. I want more. I want the transcendent. The bond... I would love Ian without the bond. Love...is the only true Immortal. It will outlive us all." He pauses briefly. "I prefer to think of myself as its childe, rather than Ian's. Does that make sense?"

     And it brings little else then a slight shrug of her shoulder. "There is a difference between publicly whoring yourself across Paris and the relationships I have kept with men over my life, William. I did not speak of simply doing whatever you wanted because of how it felt. Stephan is the only Kindred who others would even think of as someone I loved as such ... Because he is the most visible and can not so much as even take a woman out to a nice play in Paris without it being spoken of the next eve. There is a difference between the rake and the woman who has lived so long, met so many, to have been able to fill her heart with love with more then one man. And has never needed to make those relationships common knowledge."
     Does it bother her, that you would consider it as such? Perhaps. After all, she very well could have perhaps coxed Donal to her bed last evening. There could be little doubt it would have at least helped ease some of what she has been feeling...if even for a moments distraction. "But you are right, you have never really been Ian's childe. You have never really had any sire to guide you. It is a guilt I still carry, that I did not force Ian's hand at Arsuf. You know what I told him? Let me embrace the Chancellor, so that you might win him as an equal. But he was obsessed, and then you were embraced. How long after that were you bonded to him?"
     And it is guilt that pulls at her voice now. It is the only reason she is here now, to try to pay off on that. To lead you through this time...this darkness...because you had no sire to prepare you for the time when the strains of age would pull at you. "Maybe you are right, William. That it doesn't change anything. I hope so, for both of your sakes. "
     There is a slight shake of her head, and then her eyes return to you finally. Her words will have to speak for her...because there is no expression there. Ask her about how she felt of Messerich, the Dark One weeks ago, and how she feels now that she is bonded to him...and you would have gotten to completely different answers. It is a power she well knows and fears. She has never really had any reason to do otherwise. After all, the only other man she was ever bonded to was her sire, and thus she loved him no matter what he did to her and always was at his side.
     "Ian thinks you are all that he has in his world. The rest of us, I suppose, are incidental. And you...him your God? I guess there are worse things that Kindred have worshiped over the years. I hope Liam will give you the blood you need, William. I hope it brings Ian out of his sleep all the more. I honestly hope this all works out in the end, because I do love you both so." And it sounds as sincere as she can make it, considering how deep and guarded her emotions are tonight. There will be no cracks in her foundation this time.

     "You speak as if I was wenching on the main boulevards of town." There is a wry half smile for that. And yet, he was not without discretion. He leaves it be. In part...it is not so much that you are you and he is he...Alexandra versus William. These are more primal differences. Between Man and Woman. They will never...fully agree on love. When a woman has a few lovers but is discreet, she is a political mastermind. Like his mother. When a man has a few women...or more than a few...and he is more or less discreet...he's a dog. A hound, a rake and a scoundrel. Well...it kept him alive. Fed. It helped to make him wealthy. He is ...beyond feeling guilty for it anymore.
     "I do not know if I would ever have loved Ian...as I love him now. I had always been with women, Alexandra. I had never slept with a man before Ian. He ... I will not blame him for his...desires. I cannot. I understand it. But you are right. I was ....brought into this world like in Pygmalion. Hmm? As a lover. Not as a childe. I have tried to do my best to learn where I could...when I could. From those I felt to be wise, knowing, understanding. But I will never be the Ventrue you would have groomed me to be. I will never be the Ventrue that Ian is. I am William. I am only William. Toreador, Brujah, Ventrue ... these... mean nothing to me. I have always viewed it as a distraction from purpose...of maintaining the Camarilla... of regaining territories lost. And so...if I have been a ... bad childe," another small smile, "it is not Ian's fault...and Alexandra...it isn't yours either. You cannot look at his...refusal of you...for the rest of your days and regret that you did not stop it. That you did not stop the killing of that innocent woman who was pregnant with my son. You have to let it be now. If I must let it be in order to live, and I am letting it go... what good does it do for you to hang onto it?"
     William leans in then, a hand reaching out. "Ian has you. I have you. I know it. Now, I do. There were times I was ...not even sure you liked me." He chuckles a little. "Well, I thought a lot of things ...most of them...incorrect. But..." He makes a small wave. As if to say that is...neither here nor there now. "We ...are too far now....to worry about it." William holds your gaze. If you had gone to Donal's bed or he to yours ... William would have been driven insane. It's bad enough Donal's with anyone and that William is aware of it. God help him...if Ian sleeps for long.
     "I love you, too...and I want Ian to wake as much as you. Not more...I will not say that and speak for your heart. I hope I can persuade Liam to do it. If not...then I'll be happy to kill the great Scottish git if I can. At least whenever Ian wakes up...that'll put him in a good mood." He sighs, "I cannot merely sit by...with all this said," he looks to her again. "...and do nothing. If it is futile, then it is futile. But I will have made the charge on the battlements of Arsuf. And I can live with that."

     The hallways resound with his approach. Apparently Anglesey is out--and has allowed Donal Wallach the roost. "Nay, nadda th' Glenlivet...'Fracas," he calls to someone nearby. Still barefoot, he strides under the last arch and towards the seating area, glass already in his hand. It must be sautered on. "Still 'ere, aye?" he smirks, disposition much too radiant. Ventrue. Always bringing clouds. Granted, clouds he either looks above or waves off, but still, that takes work.
     A smile is given to Alexandra, and a push at William as he circles the seating area to fall back into his seat. Well, the clothing at least hangs as if they were put on again slowly, and perhaps adjusted once or twice for comfort and fit. He wasn't in a rush. "How long was I?" he asks, looking down the hall for the expected drink.

     "I can either feel guilt for it, William. Or I can hate Ian." It is
said plainly, not either emotion showing up in her voice. "You should have had a choice. Catherine ....I'm sorry, but I laid that demon to rest a long time ago. But this..." There is a brief wave of her hand. All of this. The castle reminder of days so long ago. When things were so different then they are now for her. "...that you never had a choice about Ian either way...I can either feel guilty that I did not lay his hand....or I can hate him for taking you with such cruelty. Maybe it is because I am woman....and because there is little difference between what he did, and what the Baron did. Both were obsessions acted out by men who could. And so because I can not help but still love the man...even after the way he took his slumber. Even after tossing aside everyone else who ever cared for him with such thoughtlessness for us...I still do. This has nothing to do with the Kindred you have become. It has to do with that simple act born of darkness that I could have prevented."
     And then...she hears the entrance. There is no mistaking the approach of Donal. He is....well....the man that he is. But her voice falls silent with his approach. She will not speak of this any further, not in front of the man. Like she said before, there is no reason to air private business publicly. Brown eyes turn over to the Gangrel, offering him a slight nod of her head. "Still here...Donal." Yes...sitting in a chair with her back to the fire. A glass of wine in her fingers. At least, from the look of her, there would be no evidence of what was being spoken of. The cool armor has its benefits.

     And with Donal returns the glower. It tries to be wry and humorous, but ...it only half succeeds. "I was too busy counting sheep to look for a clock," comes the drawl. And William looks to Alexandra. Change the subject, woman, for the love of god. He doesn't bother pouring another glass. Whatever's left in the newer bottle of scotch that was brought to him, he is drinking straight from the bottle. "Feel better do you?" Oh he can't help it. Misery loves his company. William looks to the fire.

     With a nod, Donal adjusts his spot in his chair. His eyes dance between you both, a merry look upon his face. A smile through red beard and pulled back hair. And soon enough, the drink follows, two bottles of Glenfracas. Now that gets a radiant beam. Wonder if Caitlin saw that. "Ahhh," he grins, clapping his hands together, "...now fer a diff'rent taste...." He looks up at William, pleasant grin, "Aye, that I do..." he acknowledges, ignoring William's grumpiness...his mood's much too lifted. Blood, Scotch, friends, and sex. What the Hell else is there?

     William does his best to avoid looking at that grin. The sprawl in the chair has not changed. But the expression on his face goes decidedly Norman. Withdrawn. Noblesse Oblige. Indifferent? If he only could be. It would be far less painful and goading.
     He glances about... to anywhere but between Donal and Alexandra. He's looking for a sword, sighing. When did Cawdor go to a modern decor? William withdraws a touch, and is happy to let the two of them drone one with whatever it is they'll be talking about while waiting for Nasr. It's only been thirty minutes. The night is still ...quite young.

     The look given her by William is not lost on Alexandra. Changing the subject is the least she can do, after the harsh words just spoken in such a cold manner. She can not watch him fall back into misery before the fire. Instead, she looks over at Donal, and tilts a brow at him.
     "Well, it is good to see your spirits renewed. It is too bad that the woman was counting sheeps with William as well." A wry attempt at poor humor. And it does bring a slight pulling of her lips into a grin with it. One that is quickly hidden by her wine glass as she takes a drink from it. Too much talk has already been made of the past. Perhaps Donal's humor will help bring it back to the present.

     "Aye, Lexie," Donal adds quietly, "...I'm sure she was. Why? Listenin' at th' door, were ye?" That said with a straight face as he leans forward to pull back a bottle and examine the label, chin down, ripples at his cheeks.

     "Who, me?" Alexandra feigns an innocent look with that. There is a slight flicker of heavy eyelashes. "You know us blue-bloods, Donal. We do not listen at doors." And then her head tilts back, the rest of the glass finished. Ah, what wonderful influences she has found herself in. So much for reserve not to drink. And as the glass is lowered? Her features become as strait as Donal's. "We dominate someone into doing it for us."

     "Aye. Figger'd." He just opens the bottle, not surprised at the Ventrue response. And that's why you're all a bunch of boring, stuck-up, dead bastards. But he'd never say that. Not in mixed company. A flicker of a flat smile and he fills his glass...then leans to William, "Aye, can I do ye for anoth'r, Will?"

     Alexandra will recognize the motion that William makes. He's looking for a cigarette. Only...he left those back in New Port. And that is the last straw. On ten glasses and now one bottle of scotch, William rises from the chair not far from the fire to walk to the hearth proper. And it is with a flicker that he is gone. Oh, not far...just by the hearth. But the motion from rising to being ...was very fast. You were both talking. You may have noticed it or not.
     The bottle of scotch is tilted, a goodly swallow taken. By the time Donal speaks, he is lifting the bottle to show him. "I ....did my parlor trick earlier...but thank you," he says quietly.

     Donal ahs and continues to top off his glass, closing the bottle and setting it aside.

     Of course, one could also draw the conclusion that it also frees up the Ventrue for more interesting pursuits. But her habits of prying into someone else's bedroom deeds are left unspoken. Instead, with the quick motion, Alexandra turns a little in her chair to see where he has gone to in such a hurry. And when she does let her brown eyes rest upon him....the sigh is bitten back. She said too much at the wrong time. Woman like her are supposed to know better.
     "So, Donal..." She says softly as she leans back in the chair. "What have you been keeping yourself busy with all these...centuries?'

     "Oh..." Donal smiles, "don't tell meh ye ne'er hear, hmm?" Sitting back, he's lord of manor to be sure, albeit a casual one. Barefeet pull up into his chair, one under, one bent to set the drink upon. "Makin' sure Scotlan's a secure..." his arm swings in a rousing fashion, "...Sabbat-freh, Justicar-fearin' land." He laughs, salutes William with his glass, then a nod to the lady, followed by a long drink.

     William is resting against the hearth's own wall. The stones are warm from the fire nearby. One foot is propped up against the stone...the knee bent, against which the butt of the scotch bottle rests. He'd just as soon not talk about women, harems, whores, wenches, nights with wenches, or the past half hour of having way too much information about Donal's activities. The celibacy of the saddle is wearing a bit thin.
     William's expression is...placid. His gaze returns to you both as the tide of talk seems to be shifting. There's a sigh of relief. Politics. God help him, when did he ever think he'd be happy to hear that enter into a conversation? He tilts the bottle up, a return salute to Donal....and the bending for another goodly drink. "Of course, keeping Scotland secure isn't that much of a problem," he drawls, "...since the Scottish are the only ones who want it. But still. A victory is a victory." And he's getting his back for a bit of the sheep talk of earlier. Catty, isn't he. He lived in San Francisco too long.

     "And that...I can drink to. At least Paris was one for two when I left it." Alexandra leans forward, reaching for the bottle of wine that rests on the table. Her glass is once again refilled, before she settles back comfortably in her chair. Her eyes flicker over to William as he speaks, and there is a hint of a smile upon her lips. "Qui, that may be true. You should get out more, Donal."

     "All vict'ries are important, Will," Donal grins, "...an..." he looks to Alexandra, "I do get out, Lady Lexie..." he shrugs, "...about as much as y'self." A chuckle and he drinks again.

     The bottle gets lifted. "Then a toast to the last sheep standing. May god have mercy on her soul." So softly spoken, so even. It may be in humor. He may be in dead earnest. It will be ...in the ears of the audience as to which. "My part of France is fairly clean. But...the trouble is and has always been the Pyrenees and what lies on the other side. I would like to
see...Spain free. I have worked hard." He glances to Donal. Alhambra in his eyes. William falls quiet again. "We need to meet in Chinon soon. Maybe after..." After what? William sighs a bit, eyes on the amber liquid in the bottle. "Maybe we should ask Donal his opinion....before we head out tonight... on whether he thinks it would be ...better to let Ian sleep..." William looks to her. Lifting a dark brow.

     "Ah, then perhaps that alone says it." Alexandra comments idly with a nod of her head. Fingers loosely brush a few free strands of hair from her face, tuck them behind her ears. "Because I am always told how terrible it is that I never leave Spain or France. Although I am now finding myself, apparently, with more free time on my hands." Her gaze slowly returns to William. A slight arch of her brow is made to him.
     Bringing up the Pyrenees. It is an automatic reaction...and that is probably best...because the Norman has stunned her beyond anything else with his...last question. "The province of Navarre is secure." And automatic that defense is, she has insisted as much over and over again for the last year....but, then again, she was also wrong then, wasn't she? It makes her mind spin, these two things brought up so close together within the same breath. Another drink of wine. It might not help her regain her sense of balance, but it might make the spin more pleasurable. Finally...comes the sigh. "William, I'm sorry for what I said, qui? It was not my place to do so. If you wish Ian raised from his slumber, we will try."

     "It ... is a question that should be asked, Alexandra. Do not regret it." William looks to them both, lastly to her. "Before...any charge into an ...unknown. Be it, heading over a hill and not knowing how many are on the other side and in what formations...or into mountains of caves where traps might be laid, it is...good to know that those along with you...are with you in the heart of it. Not merely because you need them to be...but because they feel it is best. I ...know where it was coming from...these words you spoke." He nods to Alexandra. "I know how they were intended. But I need honesty now...more than I need anything else." He looks at her for a time, "So do not apologize for the truth, Alexandra."

     From his spot, Donal shifts. He looks up at you both, apparently content to let you go on as you need. For his part, his finger dips in his glass, stirring. Drink. Dip, stir, drink. And he watches the hearth.

     She falls silent. There is nothing for her to say to that. The glass of wine is lifted to her lips, and a deep drink taken. Her eyes fall from William. For a moment, they linger on Donal, but then they find their rest on that same glass of wine. But there is no words from the Gangrel to break the silence. He does not offer anything to the question posed by William. So it is then her own soft words that break it. "Well, now you finally know where mine does." And not just on the matter of Ian's Sleep. And despite the assurances...she does not sound all that pleased with the fact.

     Donal looks between you both. Opinion being asked. He frowns, "Why'd ye want t' leave 'im as he is?" He has no information that would have that make sense. He looks to William, surprised. "Ye thinkin' of leavin' 'im so? Whyfor?"

     "I'm not thinking of it," William counters. "I know where Alex's opinion lies. I was wondering where yours did. Or if you had any you hadn't told me, Donal." His voice is a hush. Even. It carries to the both of you. "I want him awake. This may or may not be the way. It is the way I chose. Think of it as a battle, Donal. The attack is at dawn. Do you go in against the ramparts or wait and take it by seizing the mines?" He leaves that be, looking between you both. "I'm going. Whether the two of you go...I will leave it up to you. It is...as Donal said...my fight. I'll love you both no less for it, either way." A look to Alexandra at that.

     "Nay, Will.." Donal murmurs, still a bit confused, "...ye heard meh peace on Right." And that's all. No details of this situation, just an impression of how the universe works, should work, does work. A shrug, "I'll go wit' ye...t' th' town. If ye want more, then..." he shrugs. "But I'd be leavin' 'im 'ere...till yer work's done in Kinlochbervie."

     William nods quietly to that. He goes quiet for a time. Another long swallow of scotch. He waits for Alexandra to say anymore. Anything she'd say to him...she can say to Donal too. But she may not know this. She may not care either way.

     "This is not a battle of that type." Anger now, is starting to creep into her voice. The rest of the wine is finished and the glass is set down on the table. "This is not even a battle at all, this is nothing any of us have any thing to do with. This isn't like when he was fallen by the Inquisition. This has to do with Ian, and what he wanted, what he choose. And trust me, he did not give this much concern to those in his life, his business, or his position in the Camarilla when he did so. Each of us Elders fight this fight at some time."
     And with that, she rises. Brown eyes gaze at William. Is Donal still in the room? This she is saying to the Norman. "You have made this into what you want. You have brought me into your fight. And that's fine. I will do what you ask of me, William. This one last time. After that, I return to Pamplona. With any luck, Ian will soon awake and you both can get on with your lives. You deserve each other."

     Now Donal is truly lost. He just blinks between you both, now realizing he is lacking in information and comment. He thought it was simply about moving a box or not, or waking someone up or not. Apparently, he was wrong. Eyes glance at William, and the finger returns to his drink. He'll let William duke this out. Or not. Or whatever.

     Why does that ring so hollow? Why does that bother him so much. That last point. William's eyes fly up and focus in on her. Not dazed. Dark with blood and bright with the energy of it. "Perhaps we do. It depends on how you mean that," he says, as softly as ever. There is no anger. There is perplexion. "You do not have to stay, Alexandra. I did not wish to ....drag you into it. I needed your wisdom, I needed your friendship. I am sorry if I have abused that."
     He is quiet a moment more, and then his even voice sounds again. "I am doing the best I can. Looking at it...in whatever way I can to get through it. It is what has picked me up off of the winery floor in America and brought me to Scotland." His gaze is unwavering. "You are saying if I wake him now....it is as ...thoughtless as when he Embraced me." He is assuming. "Is that what you are saying?" He is calm for all her emotion.

     Ping pong. Donal's brown eyes simmer sienna from the hearth. And they look back to Alexandra.

     And is that not a switch? That she would be the one rising in anger and William would be the calm? Can she even explain why speaking of Ian's sleep in terms of battle strategy pulls on her last, quickly unfraying nerve? And it would be so much easier if William returned that anger. But he does not...and of course she will not leave until William accomplished what he came for. Perhaps, in doing so, she can pay off whatever debt she feels to William for her inaction so long ago.
     "No, that is not what I am saying, although it is a point to be
made. But what I am saying is this: this isn't about some silly affair that you had. This isn't about you. This is about Ian, the Elder. The one who tried to become more than that, to see the world through your younger eyes. To try to bridge the gap between what he is, and what you are. And he failed. It is an individual battle that he fought, that he fights. That we all do at a certain age. And we do it in our own way. And yes, William." There is a pause, a flick of her tongue against her lips. For a taste of wine that still lingers for me. "And yes, I will not pretend to be a wise and rational through on this. For me this is personal. Because what he wrote in his letter stung me to my core. If Ian wanted to Sleep so bad he slit his wrist, then let him do so."

     Ping. Note?

     There is much you do not know, Donal. That is said in William's eyes. They are ...very personal things. Perhaps if talk had not turned to advice last night...and women and sheep this night...he would have had time. But he has not. William sighs and lowers. It is a smooth motion, a sword-fighter's old motion...from a stand to a crouch, balancing upon the balls of his feet. Scotch bottle resting on the floor. William's head hands but for a moment.
     Because Ian said William was his world, yes....and Alexandra was not mentioned. She who knew him longer...deeper...on levels William will never understand. And William caught in the middle. His indigo eyes scan upward, past the curtain of black hair. "The note he left... it said to wake him," comes his voice in a hush. "In order to understand. That he would speak of it..."
     William's words cut off. And then he shakes his head. A fool's errand. Perhaps he should not be here. Perhaps he should be in his chair at the house staring into a fire. And he is very quiet for passing minutes. "I apologize, Alexandra." And that is all he says. He doesn't stand up. He doesn't look to Donal. His eyes are on the glint of his ring. Thinking more about himself than Ian. Perhaps he needs the rest.
     After more minutes of silence, at last his indigo eyes search out Donal. "You are older than I," he says, and Donal is...by a full century at the very least in years...older still in blood. "Perhaps ...he should ...sleep. If he ...put himself there, who am I to play god with the reasons why, Donal." His gaze returns to his hands. "I need...some time to think..." he whispers, and with that William rises. The bottle of scotch is set aside, and he is withdrawn. His expression unfathomable. Unreadable. His eyes are dark and turned inward. Looking at himself.

     That's it. Donal looks at you both, saying plainly, "Ach, this is a load o' French crap." His eyes burn now, but not from the fire. He looks at Alexandra, "Aye, an' ye think he should sleep? Why?" Examining her, he says, "What 'cause yer not runnin' things suddenly? An' Will's got 'is brain on? Y' want Dunross t' sleep? Why so?"
     He rises, angling to William. "An' ye. Why are y' so scar'd o' makin' mistakes? Since when? Y'know th' man? Ifn ye do, then do what y' think is best an' Right fer ye both." He snags the bottle, drinking from him, glaring at you both. "God dammit, y' make thin's so fuckin' difficult! Ventrue! Y'make me ill sometimes wit' it." General rant.
     "An' no one's playin' God," Donal grumps, "It's jes wakin' someone who can..." he lists, "...decide t' go back t' sleep ifn he wants. Jes' cause y' can make summ'ry calls don't mean God." And he looks at Alexandra.

     William sits without a further word, in a comfortable chair that can encompass him. To make up for the fact that his lover's arms are not. And he has withdrawn. To a place where he can think. "I'm not afraid of making a mistake, Donal," he murmurs. "I want to do what's best for him. That's all." And then William's gaze lowers to his hands. A frown pulling a little at him. He lets the rest roll off.

     "Not jes' him. There's no jes' him," Donal corrects, "There's ye both. Yer responsible fer Both of ye."

     "Then wake him." Alexandra says with a sigh. There are a few hesitant steps taken towards William. A softening of her brown eyes. A sigh on her lips. "Do what you feel you have to. If it will bring you peace of mind, then do it...." The rest of her words, spoken so soft...are lost in Donal's rant. She pauses in her step. She turns and looks at Donal. Hell could freeze over with the look she gives him.
     "And you? Go to hell." Running things? When has she ever had two words to say about Ian and William? Oh, there is so much the Gangrel does not know, but she could not care at this moment.

     "Whafor?" Donal asks Alex, shaking his head, "I ask a question an' ye damn meh?" He sighs, "Aye, Lexie..." his hand waves, "ne'ermind ye. If that's all ye got t' say, then..." He shrugs.

     "It's not about my peace. That's ...done." He'll not have that sort of peace of mind again. Not like he had before. William looks to them both, lifting a hand. "Please, I have wars in my head loud enough." He looks between the two of you. Kiss and make up. Or something. And then William is quiet again. Eyes turned to the fire. Thoughts turned inward.

     "I guess I done o'erstepp'd me bounds," Donal offers. He looks at Alexandra, "An' there's other thin's here...so ye can keep ye lil intrigues and secrets...e'en ifn ye talkin' about 'em in front of me."
     He steps around the chair calmly, preparing to depart. "If'n ye don't want opinion, talk about 't in private, Lexie. Ifn ye want me t' participate, then don't damn me 'cause there's things I don't know. You stood here, an' ye asked," eyes upon William. "I told. Dinna realize this was an old conversatin'..." He picks up his bottle. "Have at 't. Mornin..." He adjusts his shirt and turns to depart.

     "There is nothing else for me to say to a comment as low as that, Donal. If you think all I want is control of this situation, of William...If all you can do at a time like this is slam my House, then go to hell." And she means it. She is not pleased. Hands rest on her hips. Donal's words only inflame her all the more. She nearly went after Nasr for something not that much different just the other night. Don't open your mouth if you don't know what your talking about. Why is it only the Ventrue are taught this basic rule of sparing the feelings of others and not making an ass of yourself. "This is your place, Donal. If you want to stay and drink with William, by all means. Do so." For she...she is looking to leave as well.

     'I dunno, Lexie, I ask'd a question. Jes' like I asked Will." Donal shrugs, spinning top on the bottle. "Be 't you t' take such offense at the question." He tosses a hand at William, "He didna do so."

     "Donal..." William turns to look at him. And he sighs. Frustrated on top of the rest of it. "There's no secret...just things I hadn't had time to tell you. I ..." And then Alexandra speaks again. William can only sigh to it. And he falls quiet. He'll be gone when the two of them retire. He'll be gone about it alone. He should have done that before. Now all the world's a mess. The...eye of the storm strikes again. He looks to Donal. No, no offense. He didn't bristle at all. Only when Donal got laid, but that's another, greener matter. The eyes would ask the Scot to stay. He knows better than to ask an angry Alexandra.

     A sigh and he says quietly, "I'll see ye later, Will." Donal begins to head out, saying, "G'night, Lexie." Soft feet pad along the stone floor, heading for the hallway.

     And Alexandra is angry. She's angry at Ian for tossing her aside and that makes it easy to be mad at the Gangrel to even suggest such things about her motives and desires. To make a comment about her Clan, when she is known to be the consummate Ventrue. Of course, most Ventrue don't bother to loose their temper like that...but still. It has been a long couple night. She pauses...watches as Donal leaves. Taps her foot against the floor. Burning off steam, because she can't very bloody well storm out of the Great Hall when doing so would just be to follow Donal. Better give him a few moments head start.
     "So much for holding anything in his heart." There is a slight sigh and a shake of her head with that. "William, I am sorry...but I have enemies in Paris that would never speak to me like that. Much less him. I...lost my temper."

     "I don't think he meant anything by it, Alexandra. He has too good a heart to slight you. But we're.... all worn through to the bone. Don't blame him for it. He ... sometimes sees a side of truth that isn't much fun to look at. But that's his role upon the earth. He keeps me honest." William doesn't move to leave. He doesn't much move at all.
     "You should go get some rest. I will have to find Earl Clyde.
With...or without Nasr...tomorrow. It ...may take a few days to track him down. Nasr can catch up." Elbows on the arm of the chair, resting. Fingers steeple together against his lips. And William closes his eyes.

     A hand goes up, wipes at her eyes. Get a grip on yourself, woman, for William's sake and for yours. Never let them see you cry, isn't that one of those rules she lives by? "It's just too much at once, William.
     "We've been dwelling on this for nights now...you keep asking me questions and wanting my advice and I am out of answers for you. There was finally something else to speak of with Donal and..." And the subject was brought up once again. And that's all she really wants at this moment. Something to keep the pain and frustration at bay. It was why she had kept to herself the other night. It is the reason for her walk earlier in the evening. "I'm sorry. But even there is only so much I can handle at once. Will you..." There is a pause. A deep intake of breath. "Be okay?"

     There it is again. A slip of a wisp of gold, wrapping softly around your heart, your soul. Feeling. Question answered, and it wraps around your chest, around your waist, around your hips and thighs, slinking, a twining tendril of Mind, of Self. Presence. Holding.

     William nods shortly, "Yes. Now...go get some rest." Or go find Donal and get something else entirely. Whatever will make you happy. Or forgetful. William has run out of things to find for...diversions.
     There seems to be but one left. A sword in the hand. His expression sets to something of stone. Unreadable. He could be a statue just now.
     There is a feeling...he has had it a few times...Ian's presence. But he ...hasn't talked of it...but that once. Merely in passing. But it is around him again. And it always effects him in the same way. Profoundly. But instead of jerking at it, he seems to fall in it tonight. Someone...somewhere is offering comfort to him. And for once, William is going to follow Donal's sage advice. He accepts it. Eyes remain closed and his lips part. The tears still come, but slowly. And he falls in. Maybe before dawn, he'll come out of it...

     There is...a brush of her fingers against William's cheek. At the tears. Nothing said, no sound of her movement to his side. It is just...there. It is good that something can offer you comfort, William, because it has become painfully obvious to her that she can not. And then, after that brief touch, Alexandra retreats out of the Great Hall. Steps would take her up to her own room. Of course she would not go to Donal. She still bristles at his words. But there will be wine sent up. And in the lonely confines of her own room...she will fall into that. Perhaps even make a call to one of those she spoke of earlier. To find her own comfort where she can.

     It is not quick to leave, the Feeling, struggling to remain. Flicker and waver it does, but enveloping you seems its charge. Nothing behind it, no feeling, no emotion...just there.

Posted by rowan at June 08, 1998 02:48 PM