It isn't easy, leaving your children with someone else for the first time. Even if you know they're safe because the wrath of two kings and a queen plus the entirety of their combined militaries and the Wild Hunt will descend upon anyone who dares to split their hairs (let alone make them cry) - it just isn't easy to do. Fiona has had to ramp herself up for it, and give herself pep talks in the back of her own head. Every new mother worries she's a horrible mother at times like this...
But she's managed to gear herself up for it, and prepared herself to return to a world that she seems to only barely remember in some ways. It is the longest that she has ever spent away. Her long hair's still got those wine-coloured streaks, and it's twisted back and up into a swirling peppermint-striped arrangement crowning her. An Agaean blue Tyrolean jacket is over a thin white silk blouse, tucked into russet trousers with black boots. Her only jewelry are the pieces that her husbands have given her - which, by now, is starting to mount up; soon she'll have to be picking and choosing more carefully from among them.
It's night-time when one world disgorges travelers to another (of course). Below, Black Jack Davy's in swing - Wales is playing Arsenal, and the folk music's off in favour of spectating and gambling, for now. Above, it is quiet - peaceful enough. What would breach the sanctity of Rhodri's apartment, after all? Apart from the occasional traveling roar of approval or dismay from below. Everything appears exactly as it was. The air outside is cooler - the people, dressed more warmly. The telly has holiday-themed adverts, but there is nothing to indicate that the world has in any significant way noticed or missed the three.
"It seems," Fiona remarks, dropping stone-like onto one of the long leather couches, "anticlimactic, somehow."
There's a knowing smile from the kitchen. It belongs to the bartender who has Heard It All. He is making his best alcohol-free cocktail -- a swirl of vanilla, cinnamon and frothy goodness, the secret to which he doesn't plan on revealing. For himself, there's another kind of frothy goodness. Guinness.
A shaving of chocolate in your drink, and it is done. Another masterpiece. Voila! One hand taking his Guinness, his other bearing your work of art in a pint mug, Rhodri approaches the sofa. He sets your drink on the coffee table and then comes around it to join you.
"That's why the drinks are so keen," he grins lopsided, taking his first few sips. "But I like it. It's comforting for things to seem so apparently normal, when the wise man...and woman... know better. It's an illusion all its own, really. A normal sofa. A telly on the wall. Drinks on a coffee table. A man and wife on the sofa. So seemingly, blessedly London. But this place is as crazy and colorful as the next... so what do you think?"
He's asking of the drink. He exhales with pleasure with another sip of Guinness, sucking upon his top lip to drink the last molecule of froth.
And your other?
Well, you know his roaring cheer. He's down below, originally dispatched to grab a bottle of ...something, who can remember? Wales is up on goals!
She picks up the drink, giving you a bit of a look. "I think," Fiona retorts as she regards you over the top of it, "that I miss alcohol. But," she relents, "it's good. You haven't lost your knack for the finer touches." She sighs, snuggling into the leather - into you. "I've missed this. Don't tell anyone, hm? But I have."
She does love her children - and her kingdom. But there's something to be said, too, for being able to indulge her other sides.
She finishes half her drink and then sets it down, turning to you and pulling herself into your lap, mouth descending onto your shoulder to gnaw at it. "Sounds like the Old Man's going to be a little distracted," Fiona murmurs tolerantly. "Do we go downstairs and make nice, or stay up here and be naughty?" She could go either way, clearly. But by the way she sinks into the leather, if it's naughty, that's where her mind is going.
But her attention span is short. She sits up on you, frowning at the window. "Mother and daddy will probably be expecting us for Christmas dinner," Fiona remarks, standing. "And I've got to check on things with the company - make sure that it's self-sustaining before we start our own plans." There's a million things to do, and her brain is suddenly feverishly trying to figure out how to do them all. "Are you going to advertise for other band members, or - well, how exactly do we want to do this? I think I have someone in mind for PR."
In an inherited ap Owain motion, Rhodri saves the beer from the sudden motion of you on his lap, his one arm cradling you as his other spreads out to hold the Guinness at a safe distance. He chuckles, "Well, I guess it was a bit foolish to think he'd be right back."
And maybe that was half the point. A little privacy stolen for the two of you.
"And your secret's safe with me," he stage-whispers with a wink. But soon as you are in his lap and a man may think his beer is safe, you're leaping off and heading for your phone. Emerald eyes widen as he goes to save it again, looking down at the floor as a little bit of it sploshes out.
"You don't have to answer everything tonight," he chuckles. "As for your family, well... we'll just make sure we drink before we go. You can pump a day's worth for the boys and enjoy a good slosher. You'll need it," he says under his breath as he sips his beer.
"I think we'll have to do an advert. Most of my contacts are in the wrong sort of genre. But we'll be nabbing Bonnie Charlie Parker, so we've a great percussionist. We'll need a bassist. Find mixers, sound engineers. I'll work on an advert tomorrow. I have to look at my own books. It's been a while." Yes, it has. He peers at his own thoughts a moment. Who's been driving the ship?
It's not something he burdens himself with tonight, in his sock-feet and jeans, his long-sleeved t-shirt (another BJD, red and black), laying about on his leather sofa with a rapidly disappearing Guinness in his hands. "Hey love," he calls out to you, "... why don't you put it off till the morning? It's blessedly quiet at the moment." No hungry babies. No hungry Davydd.
She doesn't seem to be minding the privacy, does she? Not as such - even if she is a danger to your beer. She lifts the edge of the curtain, peeking out at the lamp-lit street. "Oh, he can take as long as he likes," Fiona agrees. "I imagine he's missed the chance to deal with people who don't bow and scrape. I know I have."
She turns, lips twitching as she shakes her head. "By the time we go, they'll be on solids entirely. Strained beets and peas, probably - we'll have to make sure we're there for at least a bit of that. I can't wait to see what you look like with pureed cabbage in your hair." She grins a bit at that, warmth in her eyes as she looks to you. "I wonder what daddy'll be like, when he actually sees some of our children."
No thought to her mother - that serpent can't intimidate her anymore. Or not right now, at least. She wanders back over to the couch, leaning over the back of it to peer down at you quizzically. "As long as Bonnie Charlie's available. Better make sure - I'll put out a call, see what we can arrange for PR or the like. Bound to be someone I know - friend of a friend of a friend is better than no friend at all. I don't want to tie us immediately in with the rapacious."
One arm extends downward, her hand trailing along your front almost absently. "It is nice," Fiona agrees in a murmur. "I can almost hear myself think. Maybe that's why my brain's racing into things so much. - So, now that I'm not completely hopped up due to hormone poisoning... what d'you think?" She cocks an eyebrow at you, then grins slowly again. "My brain won't turn off tonight."
"Good thing I have the reflexes of a jungle cat," Rhodri intones, such a smooth way of putting things, he has. He takes a good long swallow of the beer then, with a pleased exhale, he sets it aside for now. "They're a funny pair," he chuckles, his mind on his children. It's not easy for him, either. Not having them here. "Where one is, the other wants to be. Curious as cats."
He grins in a slant. "I'm sure your father will youthen by twenty years when he sees them. He'll seem like the young man he was, when he was holding you. That's the way it is." Rhodri was going to rise, but you've come back to him. His hand captures yours and he pulls it to his mouth for a kiss. Emerald eyes look to your own, more changeable set. He smiles at your skin, kissing it again.
"We'll have to make some noise then. What do you think? It is a bit quiet." With a grin and a tug, he brings you down to him. "We'll have Charlie Parker, don't you worry. He's game for it," he whispers. "Now... shall we sing a while? I'm a bit peckish to hear your soprano..."
I like not having to dodge things being thrown at me... but then... I guess I could just tie your hands and get the same thing. Rhodri ap Davydd is the devil. Pure and simple.
"I love you," Fiona murmurs as you mention the boys. In some ways, she still can't get her mind around it. Herself, a mother; twins, no less. An heir for each king. An heir for two kingdoms. From her body, no less. She visibly softens at the thought of them. "I don't know - I sometimes think daddy was born middle-aged."
You tug her down, and she lands on you with a grunt, then settles, both hands forming a ball against your collarbone. "Singing? What kind of singing have you got in mind?" With it being you, the question does bear examining. Fiona cocks an eyebrow suspiciously at you.
And then she sighs, burying her face against you. Bastard. It's no fair teasing me. Not when my mind's been running in circles on ideas for things I want to do with you - to you - have you do to me. If you went to Hell, you'd steal the coals and be back up before sunrise.
He laughs, enjoying the teasing. He locks his arms around you -- you're captured now, there's no mistaking it. "I don't know," Rhodri grins, tilting his head to the side. "You're rather good at scales." In a lovely falsetto -- as high as his tenor voice will let him go -- he mimics you doing your... scales... as he calls them. The on-pitch, breathy arpeggios.
It ends in musical laughter at your ear as he holds you scooped up against his chest. Such radiating warmth. Who needs coffee drinks when the sun king is near?
"I think all the wrinkles living with your mother has given him will seem carved of pure joy when he sees them. He's a good man." His hands begin to rub at your back, starting at your lumbar and moving upward along your spine.
Rhodri seems to tuck away the notion of talking about family members, liked or unliked, as he rises from the sofa with you hoisted in his arms. And come back with a bit of a tan, to boot. His voice slips within you and tickles with laughter felt rather than heard.
At the threshold of the larger of the three bedrooms, the one you and he have shared more than the others, Rhodri sets you on your feet. His hands cradle your face and he brushes the promise of a kiss against your lips. Just a light press before he straightens, his lips moving away. Rhodri leans against the door easing, a finger tapping gently at your lips. "I want to see you model your latest acquisitions for me."
He doesn't ask for your opinion on the matter...
Her skin goes pink at your mimicry of her, and she turns her face in against your chest once more. "Brute," Fiona mutters. "Making fun of me like that. I ought to hit you." She might, too - but not now. You're holding her too close, and she's too warm and comfortable.
"Mmm," she sighs, half-purring as you massage her back. "It's a shame he won't get to meet Iowerth and Gwilym, but I suppose we'll make it up to him one way or another. He and my grandparents are the ones most likely to be tolerant, do you know, of all this. Even despite his politics. I do love them."
Her hands move to your shoulders, and one hand into your shirt, tugging at the neck of it carelessly. Brute, she calls you again, even as you set her on her feet. "Modeling? What makes you think I've been shopping? But I suppose I can come up with something," Fiona half-taunts you. "Like I said, I've been having ideas." She pulls away, sticking her tongue out at you and moving with a sassy twitch of her hips.
Posted by rowan at December 04, 2005 07:10 PM
