It has been a hell of a three-day night. Three dog night? Whatever it was. Gwilym stirs, body as close to entirely limp as it is possible.

     Ravens and years both fly, and flocks like months have ticked across the sky of time. You are king of ever growing territories, hillocks and mounds, meadows of former chaotic and corrupted earth, now transformed to the renewal that the Holly King brings, always with the sacrifice of blood and toil.

     For a moment, his smile moves a bit in his eyes. You are growing up. But not that much. You are a boy still. "Being crown prince makes it difficult. It was so for us. Do you want my advice on what you should do, or just to listen?"

     "... I have chained my every dancing atom into a divine seat in the Beloved's Tavern. What I have learned... I am so eager to share..."

     His body is streaked with comets and galaxies. It is a startling sight.

     "Well, I have a heart like a raisin. A prune. But... I will tell you something," he whispers now. "When I am with you, I can feel it growing plump again with blood, Gwilym. I can almost feel it beat again, like it did when I was young. And alive."

     "I feel like Jove," he says, his gaze going up and down and over you again. "I am the boss, yes? Tonight, Jupiter was challenged. So I had to fight. Sometimes, amice, we have to fight like the dogs we are, to see who is the boss. And you know who that is? Me, that is who!"

     I hear it in you, amice. I hear the drums of a ritual. The bacchanal, orgies beyond human comprehension. They twist in your gut. You want to lose yourself, you want to find yourself, you are afraid of who you will find there in the dark, are you not? Not me, no. But you.

     "You are in my blood," he groans, "... like Caravaggio's disease. You burn there, and I find no rest from my want, amice."

     "Your mother has commanded a battle tonight," he begins, no time for endearments or blandishments now. Ramanthus outspreads his arms, his legs also as he stands. "We are raiding the corrupted kingdom of Winter Diamonds. In a matter of hours."

     Taking his pack off the table and shoving cigarettes back into his jacket, Davydd narrows his eyes. "Llew, good on ya lad. I'll see you. Ah... and if you see the boys..." a pointed look, that, "... tell them..." Davydd pauses a moment. "...they should come up for air."

     "An angel's feather falling, I have such, from the Plains of Chaos, the Outer Rim of The Great Marches." She makes a motion to the other woman. "It will be very dear indeed," she smiles beautifully, "... the most expensive item in the entire City, I should think. Second only to a night with me."

     If this is the seduction, if this is the information you wish, my spy... you will have it. More than you need.

     You will be the prince's favorite...the first courtier of his fledgling court... a prince of your own standing... it's our way to freedom, Tiernan. The hold of his arms tighten around your waist.

     The ship pitches and rolls, even as you and he pitch and roll on the bed. It sends you deeper inside his mouth, it makes his weight land on you, it rocks you back and forth into one another as it rolls upon the skin of the sea.

     We shouldn't here. It is risky. But ...Life is risky...

     "I do need you," Alire admits with a smile and some coloration. Though, it occurs to him that the globe is only one-way. You cannot see him. He begins to roll out of the shirt. "I feel the separation of our worlds when I go where you may not..."

     "It was an ... interesting image. He burned as a dark sun. I ... would not trust him with my soul, I do not think, if I had one. But it made me wish to paint. Not him, perhaps. But to paint."

     There are eddies in the dancing throng of The Odeon, noticeable only to those who can feel as well as they can see. The charge on the air is tight, electric, openly sexual. And at the center of it is a golden Caligula.

      "Plucked flowers die, unless transplanted," he murmurs, quoting something he once was told, when still in Saarbrucken.

And when it comes to all night living
I know what I'm giving
I've got it all down to a tee
and it's free...

     "Hmm...what is interesting..." What could be more interesting than you in my arms? William is watching his hands move against you from over your shoulder. You sparkle in the water, and like an elusive dream you ripple beneath his touch.

     Davydd lowers his head, red hair vibrant against your ivory skin as he bends down, kisses travling southward. "It doesn't matter where," he breathes between your breasts. You feel a sudden unhooking as his fingers make the fabric give way. "Here is good," he chuckles.

     The air moves behind and around him as he cuts through it. There is such power in his wake, that stride of Mars always madcap before is straight with purpose. And backed by something tremendous.

     He plucks a grape with a gloved hand, the grape is purple and full of juice. In even the lightest grasp, some of its juice leaks out. "Are you here to tell me you love me again so I won't cry when you are walking down to the shore with the Oak King?"

     We are the death and the birth of every year.

     "As for why it's you..." The smile begins to wander and the emerald eyes begin to glint. "Because you are unique... you are yourself... you weren't trying to impress anyone. Mostly, when I saw you, you wanted to be left the hell alone. You have a certain... fox-like quality... that I recognize in myself.

     "...And I started to - hear things. See things. It was - as if I'd been taken outside of myself while still being inside of myself. I saw ... people."

     I am thinking of you, Ian. Of course, always of you. But I am also thinking of this young artist. Of his blood in my mouth instead of this brandy. I am terrible, I know. Mais oui, so terrible.

     I still love you. Fiona brings things round to what she suspects might be the best thing to say first, to get it out of the way. We're still getting married. And I don't think Davydd is going to try to kill you.

     "Oh, and one other thing," Fiona adds, leaning back so that she can see your face, read all the expressions written there, see your eyes and the worlds that lie behind them. "Yes..."

     "Eat of the fruit of the tree and I will learn something..."

     "I love you both equally," Davydd drawls out with a grin straight from the Devil.

     "Drop your robe," the Welsh is deep, earthy, sensual and soft. "When the Maiden stood before Death," his mouth threatens a smile, "...she begged for her life..."

     "I am not interested in chandeliers, I am not interested in business. I am interested in you. That is what I asked about and that is what I am interested in."

     "I...don't understand," Julian suddenly cries out, arms around the girl he's come to love. "I don't...understand...what happened?"

     Claridge's. Resort of the rich and famous. And apparently the great powers of the undead. Is there anyone actually Alive in this building? He has to wonder.

     "I have missed having a woman on my lap. Long has this playboy," a wink flickers indigo, "...been without a bunny. I have had nothing but hare," men, "... for years now. I will say I do not miss the drama," eyes widen a touch as he grins, "...but I do miss the blushing, giggling, perfumerie of it all."

     And the Marches exploded in Love...

     "Richard Avedon," is all he says, leaning back against a desk. Miranda forgot to mention that yes, jeans are the standout, the man does wear a long-sleeved shirt and a dark blue sportcoat.
     "Come on now," Richard smirks, turning his profile to the side. Make a guess.

     Oh, God, forever is too long.
     Help us...

     And all this is saved and stored in his vast memory. Saved for later, and then sent Below when called for. Alexander is exceptionally loyal, for a demon of Secrets. Which isn't actually saying much.

     He emerges from the unnamed club, wiping the last vestiges of dinner from his mouth, needing a drink of something else. Valan Montague runs his fingers through his golden hair, mussing the Hipster 'do.

     Alexander finds himself a chore which will give him good vantage of the room. Sweeping it is, again. Easy work, and work that others don't really like to do. But it lets him roam, and listen, and watch.

     "Rimarrete stasera con me?" Marco asks you, he grins it, the devil, against your ear.

     "Never..." and Soldekai's voice trembles, "...never ask me for anything again, when we are like this. Do you...understand, Galadriel?"

     "I just thought I would pay you a visit... Many are concerned about your Patron." Another drag form his cigarette before adding, "Andrealphus." As if he needed that explained to him.

     Julian closes his eyes. I am unprepared for this. Not this. Not you too.

     Huh. Phantasmagoria. Yisun quirks a look between the waitress and Jonathan. "I'm new to town. So... this place is hot?" Hot. Get it? I have become so droll...

     Little poet, so sticking out among the fetished and freaky crowd, a brilliant beacon of purity in a most impure world, you are irresistible.

     Lord Andrealphus, I try. I promise. But, Lilim? Here?

     "Penance done," Ian whispers, his tongue leading his mouth to yours once more.

     At least...did you enjoy it...Your Majesty? Somewhere in all of that, Ian felt the king find his crown.

     Ganymede striding to the shallows, water lowering from chest to waist to hips.

     L'Enfant Terrible, the rebirth of the Sun King. Even his skin is golden, like it is brushed with gold leaf powder or saffron, a nice effect from the saffron silk robe he wears.

     Here, she is known as Alexandra Salem, Planner for the City of Westminster and Greater London. An urban architect of the highest caliber...and one of David's oldest and most faithful servants. Rumors abound that she is the next Archangel, and her greatest calling card is the civilized human world as we know it.

     And he rises, arm slipping around her waist. "Maybe you can change my religion." And he grins at himself.

     In more sobriety, then : you had the opportunity to take from her much of herself - of her mind, of her body, of her heart, of her soul. For whatever reasons of your own, you refrained, and for that, I thank you.

     The large tome of Alhambra rests upon a table, there beside it a glass that has been used intermittently and throughout the day. And another book beside it, the Story of Pi and another Zero.

     Girault pivots. An eyeful of Christian. The rest of the world should be so lucky. "We claim him in the name of Italy and..." Dark eyebrows sweep upward even as his eyes make their own exploration.

     Effortless. So effortless. Grace and magic and some subatomic communication. Knowing. In an instant, where each will be. And fingers of the justicar moved, and fingers of the Dignatary were poised and waiting. In seconds between seconds. Even to you, such motions are apparitions.

     The kiss begins softly, Edward's eyes closing. Upon the white linen, his fingers touch your hand, seeking them out among the remains of your meal. It is gentle, but pulling as the chair wills him back to its cushions. There. Edward's eyes open, wondering what shall you think of it. I am falling in love with you, it said. I want you beside me. Stay...a while. He breathes then, brow furrowing a little as his own thoughts resound in his brain. I hear it...can you?

     "Put it this way. We..." both of you as hunters, "...just won't tell each other all about it in dirty detail." He laughs and steps out of the closet. "How about that? Don't ask...don't tell?" As a policy. And he chuckles, shoving gloves into a large side pocket.

     "I love you," comes the man's voice, golden light flickering in the small room. It is not much, with hardened dirt for floors and mud stone and thatch for walls and roof. "I do," the older voice reiterates, laughter following from two. One older, one younger.

     You are the bright focus in his universe. To touch you is to touch the Divine and the Desired.

     Has either of you felt so Alive? So in tune with each other and the world around that nothing else matters? So unfettered by vampiric life as to feel safe and secure?

I am a wicked man ... I am a wretched man... When Jesus was upon the cross I never was this alone ...

     As people head into the ring, Edward turns to see you and gives you a smile. "Hey there, cos!" he yells, "Whatcha doin?" as if nothing's happened and you're walking towards him down the street.

     There will be no sadness for it, just an ultimate realization that his completion comes from one source only. The body has enjoyed the rides, the spirit is lifted and soaring, but it flies homeward, seeking the comfort and bed of its True Heart.

     His hand is yet gloved and shakes yours. A firm grip. "You are in Spain... but never when I am there... Is William afraid I will sweep you off your feet and convince you to live in Florence with me?"