It's about four pip emma local time when the West siblings, sister and brother, 'land' in New Hampshire. Gillian is dressed for the occasion in one of her pants suits, charcoal grey tailored jacket and trousers with two inch heels and a crisp white tailored blouse that's been in her wardrobe since she stopped growing. She's given up the battle against her strawberry blonde mane, using just a bit of gel to keep it from going completely wild; a deep plum-colored scarf is knotted four-in-hand loosely around her throat to complete the outfit, along with gold French knot earrings and herringbone-weave bracelet and a gold watch on a leather grosgrain band, watch head rotated inwards against the underside of her wrist.
     Pres is dressed in similar fashion, tan khakis and a long-sleeved red and white striped polo shirt with the collar turned up, canvas deck shoes on his feet. He's got on a pair of reflective aviator sunglasses to hide his eyes, and he's dyed his hair a sandy brown for the occasion. It's not his natural color, but it'll raise fewer questions (and fewer stares) than his now customary coloration.
     "Hi, dad? Guess what?" Gillian's on her brand new smartphone, calling home. "Pres and I've landed a couple hours early." That's by design; better to get the parents a little by surprise. "No, you don't have to pick us up, we've rented a car - Pres is driving us, we should be there in just a couple minutes now. Can you buzz the gate open for us? You guys usually change it every couple of months and I don't know what it is now."
     Pres grumbles to himself as he steers the car along the highway, speeding merrily in a direction he's not crazy about going. He waits until Gillian's off the phone to speak. "You know this is a bad idea, right? There is absolutely no way this is going to go totally well." He eases off on the accelerator, changing lanes expertly as they approach their exit. May as well enjoy driving while it lasts. "They're gonna freak."
     Gillian sighs. "I know they're going to freak, Pres. But can you honestly tell me a real alternative? I mean, seriously? There's too many people involved for us to get away with not telling them anything, and heck, there's the entire issue of my not marrying Bran."
     "About goddamn time you came to your senses about that, by the way," Pres mutters. He slides a glance sideways at his sister, slowing as he comes to the light. "You weren't doing him or Mads or Balthazar any favors, you know. Fine, so we have to tell them. I'm still not sure why I'm going with you."
     "Oh, get over it," Gillian retorts crossly. "Yeah, okay, I screwed up. I'm allowed one screwup a decade! Or so," she amends. "And you're going with me because you don't trust me not to get carried away. Besides, your boooooyfriend wanted you to go with."
     "Knock it off, sis," Pres grunts, making a left turn on a narrow lane and heading along it without paying the slightest attention to the posted speed limit. "I don't embarrass that easily, and I definitely don't embarrass as easily as you. Or do you want me to start going into chapter and verse on exactly what Griff and I get up to when we're alone together?" He smirks at her immediate blush and squeak. "Yeah, that's what I thought. Anyway, too late for second thoughts." He slows down to make a right onto a tree-lined private drive, coasting up to the gate. "We're here. Hope dad remembered to buzz us in."

     He did -- as if he would do anything else. The gate is open and waiting and the family's autumn wreath, seasonal decoration for the grand door, is still fresh, brand new. Though autumn is swiftly turning to winter in your other homes, in this home, your former home, it's still, technically, Indian Summer. Official autumn still two weeks away.
     As you pull up, you see the house help already there and waiting to take bags, if any, and to, of course, alert you as to which room you should find your parents.
     In the family sitting room, Preston Oliver West Part Deux is pouring himself two fingers of whiskey.
     "Preston," Zillah remarks quickly, "...it's only four..."
     "I am well aware of the time, Zee," he replies fairly warmly. But if he knows his children, and he believes that he does, he will need a drink. "Stop fretting..."
     Zillah halts the smoothing of her hand to her hair and takes a seat to keep from pacing. "Lady Arundel is pleasant. Of all of our children who would fall into noble households, I didn't think it would be Madison..."
     Preston Oliver West (The Second) simply lets his wife's commentary brush right by him, unnoticed...

     There aren't many bags; a single overnight bag for each of them. But then, both of them have clothes still in their old rooms, if worst comes to worst, so why carry the earth on their shoulders? The help are greeted with the familiarity of family, and then brother and sister are tumbling into the sitting room.
     "Hey dad. Hey mumsie," Pres offers offhandedly as he strolls in, hands in his pockets. He's still got his sunglasses on. "How's stuff?" The fact that he is, in fact, strolling in, instead of limping in with cane or crutch (or, god forbid, rolling in with wheelchair) may make up for the casualness of his greeting.
     Gillian is, of course, perkier. "Daddy! Mumsie! How are you?" She has a smile a million miles wide. "We have sooo much to tell you guys!"

     Zillah is up and out of her chair as if shot from a circus cannon. Of course she notices Pres' lack of cane, his ability to walk and makes an audible gasp. "Preston... hello, Gillian, dear," she says distractedly, "...what has happened?"
     Quietly, Preston Oliver West Deux pours a drink for his wife. He turns and smiles warmly, brightly to Gillian. "It is good to see you. Care for something from the bar?"

     "Hey mumsie," Pres repeats, a bit deadpan. "Oh, not much. I got my leg miraculously healed by magic. I'm involved in a committed homosexual relationship, Mads has become an interdimensional star of the dance stage, and Gillian's changed fiances by taking up with Mads' boyfriend, who's secretly a magical fairy prince and the younger brother of my own boyfriend and lover, who's married, by the way. How's things by you? Joined the garden club yet?"
     Gillian turns pink and does her best to ignore her brother entirely. "Thanks, daddy. Pres got out of bed on the wrong side this morning. Could I have a brandy and soda? Pres? What would you like?"

     Zillah folds her arms and gives Pres a disapproving look. "You shouldn't tease your mother," she says, "...and after I have been worrying about you! About you both! Now, I do want to know seriously... what has led to this..." she waves her hands at her son, "...miraculous recovery!"
     Preston Oliver West the second, meanwhile, chokes on his scotch. Coughing, he turns, covering his mouth (and catch his breath).
     Zillah looks to her husband with a smirk. "I told you to go with water..."
     Preston Oliver West The Second coughs again and finally catches his breath. He takes a seat, red-faced. "Zillah," he says after a moment, "...do shut up... for one... blessed ...minute..."

     West siblings elder and junior exchange glances. "By the way, daddy," Gillian offers, "has Mister Winter arrived yet? I know he was taking a different flight than we were." She goes to deftly slide behind her father to fix herself and Pres drinks. "I know he's looking forward to meeting you both. When's granddad coming, or isn't he?"
     Pres slides up to the bar as well to take his drink once Gillian's made it. "Do you need me to take off my pants, mumsie? No scars, even." He adjusts his sunglasses. "Hey, dad, which position did you end up taking, by the way?"

     Preston Oliver West II's fingers come up to squeeze the bridge of his nose as he takes a seat. "No, no. He has not arrived. We did hear from Lady Arundel that Madison was in good health and form." He looks to Preston. "I have not spoken with your mother about the healing of your leg..."
     "Preston..." Zillah begins to protest but at his look relents, at least momentarily.
     "...or of the other matters we discussed that day. Zillah," he turns to her, "...you need to sit down and listen. Our children have made quite the discovery. As for your grandfather. He is here," he says gently to Gillian. "Upstairs. I am sure he's on his way downstairs. Should we be waiting for Mr. Winter? Or should we...go ahead?"
     "I really do wish someone would tell me what's going on," Zillah insists. "You all seem to know. And how dare you hide this from me..."
     "Sit," Preston Oliver West The Second says, quietly, calmly, but brooking no argument to the contrary.
     Zillah sits with a sigh, her hands lifting and lowering in her exasperation.

     "It's simple, mumsie," Pres tells Zillah. "Magic is real, as are other dimensions. I don't recommend trying to publicize it or capitalize on it, because it's the sort of thing that gets you killed, but it's real." He looks to his father. "I'm going to have to take off my pants, aren't I."
     Gillian gives her brother a look of exasperation almost the equal of her mother's. "Pres! Honestly. Daddy, I think we should tell mumsie first, and then when Mister Winter gets here and granddad's here we can um, get into more specifics. But if we wait, there's going to be a lot of questions and repetitions and, well." Noise. She shrugs. "Mumsie, I know it's hard to believe. But Pres isn't putting you on. I, well." She looks uncomfortable. "I can prove it."
     "I have seen the evidence myself," Second says to his wife. He takes a sip of his scotch, this time swallowing it correctly. "I don't think you need to get undressed," he says to his son, allowing a smile to peek outward. "And it is...incredible in the actual, literal sense. But ...I have no other explanation for it, Zillah."
     Zillah still doesn't know what to think. She is dubious to believe. Who wouldn't be. "I have to see it for myself. And then," she says, sitting primly, "... we'll talk about the rest. Is there something, So, Gillian," she says. "Since you seem to have a way to prove it that won't require your brother to flash his parents..." She gestures for her daughter to... well... prove it.

     Pres leans against the bar, folding his arms over his chest. "Go ahead, sis. You know I'm not in a position to offer proof, except for my leg." My magic, if that's what you call it, being of the inconveniently immaterial variety. I guess I could tell her all the secrets I've seen, but she'd just assume someone told me. He looks blase and a little bit bored; the quintessential prep. At least it's kept his parents from asking why he's dyed his hair.
     "Okay, mumsie," Gillian answers obediently. "If that's what you really want." She puts down her drink first. Electricity and alcohol don't mix. She puts her palms together, closing her eyes as a blue-white glow encompasses her, lifting her hair off the nape of her neck and allowing it to stream outwards as if it were alive. She lifts off the floor a good ten inches, extending her arms outwards for balance and reopening her eyes.
     Calmly, she takes off her glasses and polishes them on the hem of her jacket, a slightly electrical crackle and hum audible around her. "I hope this is proof enough, daddy, mumsie. I'd rather not overload the circuits of the house or anything like that."

     Zillah's hands go to her face as she gasps. Wide-eyed she turns to her husband. Second's eyes aren't wide but his face does register surprise, eyebrows lifted and expression bemused. "That's very impressive." He finally just laughs and shakes his head. What else do you do in the face of improbability? Second looks to Third, Dos to Tres. "And so... now that we're all on the same page..." he reaches over to ask for his wife's hand. "Let's start over. You had news?"
     Zillah is white with shock. And she reaches over to hold her husband's hand out of pure amazement.
     "We'll hold our questions until the end," Second says. He waves for them to ... continue.

     Gillian lowers herself back to the floor, dismissing the nimbus of electricity and letting her hair flop back into place. "Well... there's an awful lot to tell. I'm not sure where to begin." She picks up her drink, hopping up onto the bar and crossing her ankles, looking to her brother. "Pres, do you want to...?"
     "Not particularly." But he will anyway. Pres picks up his drink again, taking a sip. "Okay, let's start from the top, probably the best way. I'll give an abbreviated version of it, since we're just going to have to go over it again when granddad gets here. Mister Winter'll be able to fill in a lot, too - actually, let's start with that. 'Terry Winter' is a successful businessman here, as you guys know. He owns a multi-billion dollar corporation that pretty much has gotten where it has by taking other people's garbage and turning it into profit. He's also Balthazar Davies' father - you know all this. What you don't know yet is that he doesn't live here."
     He takes another sip of brandy and soda, looking at his parents and at his sister. "More to the point, there is - call it another dimension if you want. It's not how they refer to it, but if we get bogged down on the metaphysical nitpicking we'll be here all night. They have real ties here, in our world, our dimension; hell, the family is literally and genuinely originally from the United Kingdom. But they have dual existences, I guess you could say. Parallel lives. Here, they're related to or actually are British nobility. There... they're the ruling family of a very, very, very large empire of connected kingdoms."
     Pres looks into his glass, then back up, taking a heftier swig. "Balthazar's dad is the High King of that empire. 'Terry Winter' over there is known as Tiernan, Prince-Consort to the High King. I'm going to let you digest that for a few minutes before I get on with the news, because I'm pretty sure that's going to blow your mind, and that mumsie's got to process her daughter being involved with a prince."

     "Pour me another?" Second asks Trio, "...And one for your mother as well." He looks to Zillah. "So, when Madison says: she's seeing a Duke, he's really a Duke here and a Prince there. That should make you happy." He looks to Gillian. "And...what is Bran, then? Is he involved in all of this?"
     Preston Oliver West Dos frees his wife's hand with a squeeze. He exhales in thought. At least he was somewhat prepared. "We received a call from Lady Arundel today," he notes, "... assuring us that Madison was doing well in her programs and seems much liked." He looks to Gillian. "And you have your own abilities. When did this start? And...you," he says to his son, "...anything.... new with you?"
     Zillah is literally starstruck. "I just don't know what to say. I wouldn't believe it, but I'm seeing it. And I know I haven't had too much to drink. I've barely even tasted a spritzer today. Brandy, I think, darling," she directs Preston the Third. "So... they are wealthy and powerful. How are they? You've both been... there. How are they to you? How... is it? What is it like?"

     Pres and Gillian exchange looks again. Pres turns to pour drinks obediently, mixing for his parents. "Bran is the younger brother of High King Iowerth," he answers carefully. "He's also a duke or archduke of some kind, and he's entrusted with the defense of the realm. He works under his older brother's aegises - his older brother being His Majesty's fraternal twin brother, Prince Gwilym." His accent's doing pretty well, really. "As for Maddie..."
     "Actually," Gillian says quietly, "Mads and Balthazar broke up. They're still on good terms, but ... you might remember that Balthazar and I dated before he and Maddie met. We've decided to pick up our relationship more or less where we left off because we still have feelings for each other. Um." She pushes her glasses up on the bridge of her nose. "Mads is doing really well, actually. She won admission to a very prestigious arts academy there, and she's gaining considerable recognition for her work."
     She looks to her father. "I started having this - happen, while Bran and I were going out. Seems there might be something in our family line which - well, took a while to come to the boil, kinda. The royal family's sponsoring Maddie, by the way. She's - developed some mystical powers of her own as well."
     Pres comes around the bar to serve his parents their drinks. "They are very kind, mumsie," he says quietly. "They've taken us in and treated us as well as their own. Right now, in fact, it's kind of a time of change for them. Y'see, High King Iowerth's retiring, and his eldest son's going to be ascending to the throne in a few days. They'd like you and dad and granddad to join them for the festivities, and also to - well, to discuss the future. Because Balthazar's courting Gillian, and they're planning on getting married if all goes well." He looks to his sister as he retreats again for the safety of the bar. "We're figuring he can pretty much take Bran's place, since wedding planning's already begun and the invitations haven't been sent." He deliberately doesn't specify the name of which prince is coming up on the throne. Better to address it if mum jumps to those conclusions...
     Gillian resumes after another careful sip. "Something that's important to mention, by the way, um. Time works ... differently there. I haven't quite worked out the ratio, but it moves faster there, although some of the royal family seem able to adjust that. But - in the time that Mads and Pres've been over there, for you guys it's been a few weeks. For them it's been ... well, a couple of months."
     Pres nods to what Gillian says. "Lady Arundel's telling the truth," he tells his parents. "As for me? Yeah, I guess you could say there's some stuff new with me. But I'm not sure you seriously want to know." And as if on that cue, there is a knock at the door.

     It's like a British mystery novel. Families unraveling magical secrets. Brandy. Scotch. And a knock on the door. They barely have time to catch up to the news -- Zillah looks worried, then curious, then ecstatic, then confused, all in the space of about two seconds.
     Preston Oliver West Part Deux finishes his second drink.

     The door is opened not by one of the Wests but by one of their few onsite staff, a middle aged woman, after checking the sidelight to see just who is at the door. "May I help you?"

     "I believe I'm expected," Tiernan says politely. He is dressed for the occasion in a terribly but quietly expensive suit - Savile Row all the way. He carries a briefcase in one hand. "Terry Winter to see the Wests."
     Pres goes to refill his father's drink. More may even be needed in due course. Gillian sits on the bar, turning towards the knock and chewing on her lower lip.

     "Certainly, sir. They are in the sitting room. Right this way." She is dressed professionally, not in a uniform per se, but she has been doing this a while. She leads you into the room where sits the elder Preston Oliver West, bemused, Zillah West, shocked, and Preston and Gillian mid-shocking.
     "Terry Winter," she introduces and then takes her leave. Preston Oliver West The Second looks up at the introduction and he rises. "Mr. Winter. Thank you," he says to Preston Trio. "I hope you can forgive us. We're ... a bit shell-shocked. Please... have a seat. A drink?"
     Zillah looks to Gillian. "I just don't know what to say. I am thrilled that you are happy. I am actually rather relieved. Madison isn't ready for such things. I do hear that she is doing well in school. This is just so unbelievable. I don't know what to ask or do."
     At the clearing of her husband's throat, Zillah snaps out of it and looks to the arrival of the guest. She rises, very proper, quite prim. "Mr. Winter, I do apologize. You're not seeing us at our best. Zillah West. This is my husband, Preston Oliver West the Second. Please... have a seat. Gillian and Preston were ... just attempting to help us understand. No fault of their own, of course, in our wide-eyed shock. It is rather like waking up to find one's children in Neverland."

     Pres and Gillian are mute for the moment, although Pres does come away from the bar to give a lovely drawing-room bow. Tiernan quirks up an eyebrow as he looks around, smiling gently. "Of course, Mrs. West, I understand. I take it, then, that Preston and Gillian have been attempting to explain our rather ... convoluted background to you. It's very kind of you to be so accepting of such strange facts and to open your home to me."
     He moves to take a seat; he is older than when Pres and Gillian last saw him, no longer a man in his twenties but instead somewhere between his late thirties and just the other side of forty, perhaps, with silver streaks at his temples. Still, the Aegean gaze is as clear and serene as usual. "I imagine you must have a great many questions for me," he adds with a smile. "I will do my best to help make matters clear. Although I see that Mr. West Senior is not with us yet. Would you prefer I wait until he's arrived?"

     "It is rather convoluted," Preston the Second smiles. "Not the least of which including the romantic musical chairs. I understand that Madison and Balthazar have parted and that he is courting Gillian officially. I love my daughters very much. I appreciate your family's sponsoring of Madison's education. I am ...of course... concerned about my daughters' well-being." He looks to Gillian. "You are happy? Madison is alright?" he asks his daughter.
     "I have so many questions," Zillah agrees with an exhalation. "How did all of this come to pass? I don't know where to even start really, Mr. Winter. You and your family seem generous and kind to mine, which is all a mother can really ask. So what is your ....other home like? How are my children faring and what sort of life or opportunities are available for them there? I just don't know what it means for them to live in other dimensions. It's not as if I am in Boston and they are in New York or London... is it?"
     "Perhaps, dear, we should wait for father. I don't want Mr. Winter to have to waste his time answering the same questions over and over, or make our children repeat their stories," Preston says. He looks up to ensure that one of the children is bringing Mr. Winter a drink.

     Gillian is, of course, on it already; the dutiful daughter is bringing Tiernan a brandy along with a smile for her future father-in-law. "I am happy, daddy. And Mads is doing great. She's assured and reassured both of us that she's fine with it to the point of threatening to rip my nose off if I keep asking." She grins. "So you know she's fine." Ah, sisters.
     "Of course," Tiernan agrees. "Please, call me Tiernan, or Terry if you prefer. It seems quite likely that our families are one way or another going to be intertwined." He smiles. "As such, formalities in such an informal setting seem rather out of place. Will Mister West Senior be joining us soon?"
     "Soon enough," the patriarch says from the doorway. "Mister Winter." The Original old man nods gruffly as he comes in, moving to collect a hug from Gillian and to shake hands with Pres. "Evening, Zillah, son. Pres, Gillian, you're both a sight for sore eyes. Sorry I'm down so late but that damn fool Bayh was yammering at me for contributions to his campaign. Seems to think just because I knew his daddy back when I'm obligated to give money to him."

     "Father," Preston the Second says. "Gillian, if you would please make your grandfather his usual. We were just meeting Mr. Winter... that is, Tiernan," he looks to Tiernan at the pronunciation. "He has come to update us on the status of our children and... how his family and ours are becoming... fast friends. There have been a few changes," he notes to his father. "But perhaps I shouldn't get ahead of ourselves. Tiernan? Do you wish to prelude this? Or shall I?"
     Zillah rises belatedly to welcome her father-in-law. "Preston," she says to him, before returning to her seat. "Preston also has news," she mentions. Let's not forget that!
     Pres' look to his mother is distinctly unfilial. "Hey granddad. Yeah, my leg's all better. Honestly, though, Mister Winter's information's a lot more exciting and interesting than that." He shrugs, leaning against the bar and picking up his drink. "Unless mumsie was talking about the fact that I'm-"
     Gillian cuts quickly across Pres as she slides off the bar, delivering a discreet but brutal pinch to his hip, "He's been keeping a close eye on Maddie, granddad. She's doing really well with her studies, too!" She slips around to behind the bar to mix him a Sidecar.
     "It's good to see you again, sir," Tiernan shakes hands with Preston the First. "We were just discussing how our families appear to be getting closer, and I am here in part to extend an invitation."
     Preston the First eyes his son and daughter-in-law, bright blue gaze not missing a thing - not even Gillian's pinch to Preston the Third's waist. "Thanks, sweetheart," he tells Gillian as he accepts the drink, "I can't help but think that somehow, I'm going to need this drink, and moreover, in some odd way I'm going to earn it. What's going on, and how much is it going to cost me? What kind of invitation, Mister Winter?"

     "I'm on my third. But," he looks to Zillah, catching Preston's glance, "...there are more important and pressing matters, my dear, than that, yes. I will defer to Tiernan to begin. And I will try not to interrupt. Something, Zillah, that I hope you attempt as well."
     Smirking, Zillah folds her hands upon her lap, turning to Mr. Winter. She looks from her children to him as she slips in to mostly-listening mode.
     "Tiernan," Preston Oliver West the Second says politely, even warmly, "... please continue. And forgive, where able, our ignorance." He glances to his father.

     "Of course." Tiernan manages to convey a bow from his sitting position. "I will attempt to make things as plain as reasonably possible. That is," his smile is as gentle as always, "without seeming a complete lunatic into the bargain."
     He opens his briefcase in his lap, drink set aside, and from it he takes a bronze owl. "This," he says gravely, "is Toby. Toby, wake up, please." It seems directly in contradiction to his previous statement about not seeming a complete lunatic. Except that then, after a moment, the bronze owl shakes itself with a clatter of metallic feathers, and opens its eyes...
     It does not move in a robotic fashion; its movements are as light and as elegant as if it were alive. "Toby," Tiernan explains simply, "is one of my creations. In this particular case, he records what he sees, and then plays it back for me when I ask him to. You see, Mister West," he looks to the First, "my family and I have unusual abilities, even for where we come from. And where we come from, many people have a great many unusual abilities. Toby," he tells the owl, "please begin playback of the clip I selected from you last night."
     Toby hoots quietly and spreads his wings, shaking himself out and rotating his head 195 degrees before straightening himself out again. He hops down from the chair, scuttling towards the center of the room and directing his gaze slightly upwards. About two and a half feet off the floor, a three-dimensional image appears. Tall sailing ships bob lightly in the harbor of the capitol, flying the pennants of their masters and master nations. The camera's view flies past white rigging and sails, down to a busy street scene with the dress and races of a hundred nations and almost every class and caste. It comes to rest on a lamp post, setting the lantern swaying; enough time for a view of a couple of children playing, and for the observers to notice that one of the children has delicately green-tinted skin and hair, while the other has four arms.
     It takes up wing again, the camera appears to, and it flies inwards, across the water to Philosopher's Island, flying through the halls of academia. Students mill about; elven guards accompany a minor princess of another nation to the library. A centaur stolidly watches to make sure that no one is clogging the already busy bridge. The stone and marble architecture glitters in the autumn sunlight.
     On it flies; the palace is glimpsed at a slight distance, the rose gardens below, the main thoroughfare followed and then the arena hoves into view. It is quite literally a birds eye view of the second race. Even if he had to leave early, Tiernan wasn't going to miss watching his son compete, one way or another. It goes in for a landing on a close-up railing, and Balthazar can be seen in his golden armor, fighting it out against Prince Asad and the others, the horses pushing against one another with a great roil of dust. When the dust clears, it is time for the halftime show; and the jets of flame announce the beginning of it, with the entrance then of the dancers. Of Princess Sabira, and of Madison West.
     A minute or two is given to the dance, and then the view lifts, returning to the palace with the setting sun behind it, reflecting on the view of the sea. It flies through the guarded marble corridors, past half a dozen of the houri guards in transit with the Princess Tanira as she quietly talks with her brother, the soon to be High King, until Preston West the Third comes up to them both; he is recognizable, but only barely, with his silver hair and his silver eyes, dressed in silks of white and deep blue. And then it flies down the corridor, and into a workshop, where rows upon rows of animals of metals and jewels line up on shelves, where Tiernan is seated, bent over one of his creations, painstakingly putting an emerald chip in to serve as an eye.
     And the image fades, and ends, and the metal owl scratches behind a metal ear with a metal talon with a scraping sound. Tiernan sits quietly, and he beckons to Toby, picking him up and replacing him in the briefcase. He remarks calmly, "I imagine that you must have many questions. Where would you like me to begin?"

     "How extraordinary," Zillah says. She sits forward to look upon the owl. "It is like the creature made by Hephaestus for Athena," she all but whispers that in her astonishment. And then the wondrous owl offers something even more wondrous. Her eyes widen and then soften at the beauty of what is shown. "It looks like Greece or ancient Constantinople when it was the jewel of Byzantium. Oh! Is that Madison?" And then she sees quite clearly that it is. Her hand goes to her chest in her astonishment. "I never knew she was so talented... did you realize this?" she says to her husband.
     While certainly Preston Oliver West II is no less amazed, he is far more studious in his responses. He keenly observes each image shown, as if trying to place the seas by the color and the coastline. And then there is his youngest, dancing beautifully next to another lovely girl. Of course, he does wish she were wearing clothing that wasn't so... provocative. "I knew that she could samba," he replies with upraised brows.
     He looks to Tiernan and then to his two children in residence. "My primary concern is for my children's well-being, Tiernan. The two before me appear to be... thriving. And the image of Maddie certainly seems to indicate that she is as well. I am just...flabbergasted, one, that such things exist and that, two, all of my children managed to stumble into it at the same time. It's very Hardy Boys and Nancy Drew..."
     He pauses to look to his children again. "You are thriving, happy. Although this is fanciful, I'm not making that up, am I? I can believe my eyes?"

     Gillian and Pres exchange glances again. "Yes, daddy," Gillian says quietly, with a smile. "I know... I know it's not really what you and mumsie, and you, granddad, really had in mind for any of us. But ... yes. It's really nice."
     Pres nods gruffly. "It's not perfect. But by now it already feels like home," he mutters. He picks up his drink again.
     The Original old man looks steadily at his grandchildren and his son and daughter-in-law after the video has stopped. He turns and looks at Tiernan. "Two things are keeping me from throwing you out as a con artist," he says bluntly. "The first is that I don't think these kids would cooperate with you in that. They know damned well that they're in the will, and that I'd be unlikely to refuse 'em money if they demonstrated a reasonable need. I don't hesitate to pick up the tab for pleasure, either, as long as they do good work, and I've never had any complaints about them that way." He cuts a dour look to his daughter-in-law. "Unlike some."
     He looks back to Tiernan. "The other is that we've done business before. You've never cut corners, even when I'd be unlikely to notice, and you've always been up front with me. So at the very least, if you were going to start something, I think you'd start with something more plausible. But still." He gives Tiernan a fish-eyed look. "I'm going to need some surety. And I'm going to need to talk to that son of yours."
     Tiernan smiles. "Mister West, if you weren't suspicious, I'd be surprised." He looks to Number Two. "I quite understand how you feel. As for all of your children stumbling into it at the same time, I might say the same about mine." He chuckles quietly. "It caused a certain amount of disruption for us as well, you see. Balthazar's duties as prince and as Grand Duke suffered somewhat, in the throes of all this heart-ache. He's still adjusting to his new position and new duties, but things seem much stabler now. I am sure that Gillian will be a great help to him." He looks to Pres with the same gentle smile. "And your son has become a great friend of my own son; he relies upon him greatly more and more. Now, as to surety, I would like to make a proposal."
     He draws his view back to regard the Wests en masse, still smiling. "We have the advantage that time runs ... differently, between here and there. I would like to offer an invitation to you, on behalf of my family, that you would come as our guests for the festivities which are even now ongoing. It will be a visit of several days, by your experience and by our timing; however, here you will have missed no more time than it would take for us to go out to dinner at a reasonably nice restaurant. You would not need bring very much; we would be happy to provide for you all that you might require, and, of course, I would be honored if you would accept. This way you may see your children in this setting, and learn of us - and, of course, we of you - without, I hope, awkwardness or distress."

     Zillah sits up straight but does not rise to take the bait. She focuses her attention on Mr. Winter, his offer, and her children. Proposal made, she looks to her husband, Deux. "We do need to see how our children are living, Preston. And certainly regarding Madison, hands-on has always been the way.."
     Preston gives a half ear to his wife. He mostly defers to his own father, though his father's a good deal more blunt than he is. "It is rather difficult to form questions to get answers when we lack the experience and the knowledge to properly form them." He is skeptical but his curiosity is winning out. "Zillah and I accept your offer." He glances to his children. "What sort of arrangements, and when do you propose we travel." He pauses briefly. "Just how does one travel to another dimension?"
     Zillah primly folds her hands upon her lap. "I have a meeting with the Garden Club tomorrow. I can decline that. And you have that thing with the dean's committee..."
     "As long as I won't be gone for days on end," Preston notes easily, "... I can travel without any issue..." He quiets, allowing his own father to have the floor. He would also like to have a conversation with the Grand Duke...

     The Original old man considers the offer, then nods curtly. "You'll understand if I leave a note to be mailed in case I'm not back in time. We'll come with you." He hauls himself upright. "I don't know what one wears to something like this, but I figure you folks will take us as we are. I'm going to go upstairs to my office."
     Pres and Gillian again exchange glances; this time it's of cautious but marked relief. Tiernan simply smiles. "By all means, Mister West. As for how to get there - there are several ways, but in this case, a pilot will be provided. He is waiting for us, in fact, at the local airport. Whenever you are ready, then."

     Zillah is the first to rise after the Original Preston Oliver West rises. "I will just pull together a few things. Mr. Winter, if you would care for a drink. Gillian, do be a dear and tend to Mr. Winter while I am upstairs. Preston," she looks to both of her Prestons, but then lastly to her husband. "Is there anything in particular you need?"
     "Don't overdo it," he reminds Zillah. "Just make sure I have the basics. A small bag."
     "Very well, darling." She crosses over to Gillian, placing a hand to her daughter's cheek. "It is so good to see you so happy. I'm looking forward to seeing why." And then to Preston the Youngest, she places a kiss upon his cheek. She leaves without saying another word.
     Preston Oliver West the Second rises with an exhalation. "A scotch, Tiernan?" He pauses as he heads to the bar, glancing to all of you with conspiratorial glee. "That went rather better than I thought it might. Relieved?" he asks his son. "I will apologize now, Tiernan, for Zillah's overpacking. My wife means well..." Pause. "Generally..."
     Looking up from the pour, he smiles a touch. "I saw in your vision a great deal of shipping. Does the kingdom have a large navy?"

     Senior heads upstairs with a skeptical grunt. He is going to wait before he passes judgment, but he's a bit ornery thanks to his baby granddaughter's shift in status.
     "Thank you, mumsie." Gillian blushes a bit, but she smiles. She is happy; it shows. Much happier than she was, really.
     Pres accepts the kiss silently, then goes to fix a drink. Once his mother's upstairs, he mutters, "Wait until we get there."

     "A rather large navy, yes," Tiernan agrees with a smile. "Please, don't feel you need apologize, sir. There is plenty of room on the plane; Adriano, our pilot, is a deft handler, as well. As for the kingdom, it is best if you think of it as being a trifle like the British Empire at the height of its glory, combined with the height of the Arthurian cycle. There is not a single nation, but a conglomerate of nations, each with its own ruler who in turn pays tribute and fealty to the High King. So within that, there is the High King's naval force, which is reasonable in size to patrol his own kingdom and to help patrol the major shipping lanes and lend aid and succor to his nearest neighbors, fight pirates, et cetera. However, he may also call upon his subject nations to provide their own naval forces as well, and they are obligated to respond within their ability, or forfeit the rights and protections they receive."

     "Is there much going back and forth," Second wonders, returning with two glasses. He hands one to Tiernan and returns to his wing-back chair. "I suspect he will mollify," he notes quietly, "...once he knows that Madison is alright." He looks to Tiernan. "You are familiar with him and his notion of loyalty. I suspect he feels that the prince broke an element of faith." He glances to Gillian. "Things were cleanly parted before any...change, I am assuming? And don't take that the wrong way," he quickly offers. "I merely have to ask."
     Second sips at his scotch, setting the glass down after another moment. "Is it a feudal system there? Do many There know about Here?" He smiles. "I'm sorry to pepper you with questions. It appears my shock has worn off..."
     There are voices upstairs and the sound of Zillah's heels upon parquet...

     "We both spoke to Bran and Maddie before we - changed, yes, daddy," Gillian answers quietly. "They both have reassured us a lot, that they don't mind. And you know Mads. She doesn't exactly keep her opinions to herself, so I do believe her."
     "Balthazar is an honorable young man, but he does feel things keenly," Tiernan agrees, to Second. "I do understand how your grandfather feels, and I am sure that Balthazar will do his best to make amends." He smiles at the questions. "It is closer to feudal than not, but there is more - opportunity, I suppose you might say. There are noble and royal families, but there is always the chance to rise. And, of course, to fall, if there is treachery and dishonesty and all those old sins. But we have public education, we have scholarships. If someone does not wish to remain a farmer or a tanner or whatnot, there are other opportunities. As for the crossing of knowledge... few do know, but it is not entirely unknown. There are few who know how to cross between Here and There, and the ability is rare enough that it does not encourage the knowledge, I suppose one might say."
     Tiernan closes up his briefcase and rises. "It sounds as though matters are proceeding," he says mildly. "Shall we begin to wrap up here?"

     The scotch is finished and Preston Oliver West the Second rises. "I am ready. Zillah!"
     Her steps can be heard coming down the stairs. "I am coming, Preston. Really, there's no need to shout..." She is carrying two overnight bags: one for him and one for her. "I am ready. I haven't packed too much, but a woman needs some comforts from home."
     "Is father on the way down?"
     Zillah hands the bags off to Preston the Second and then brushes her hands upon his sweater and straightening his collar. Though they bicker, there is affection there. "He is... but do not rush him. He's already distempered. So, Mr. Winter," she smiles warmly, turning toward him. "Tell me more about your sons. I am eager to hear about them..."

     Pres is keeping very, very quiet. He slinks towards the door, preparing to hold it for his relatives. Gillian follows him, whispering something to him; he shrugs and scowls at her and she rolls her eyes, dropping her shoulders.
     "There are three of them," Tiernan answers Zillah with a smile. "And we have three daughters as well. Our sons are Gruffydd, Balthazar and Anierin; their sisters are Tanira, Sabira and Bahara. Their mother is Zafirah, and she is a lovely angel. They favor her greatly, I am proud to say. Gruffydd is married; his wife is Maria, a princess of a small but flourishing kingdom down the coast a ways. Not so small anymore, I should say; they have benefited greatly by their rise in stature. What else would you care to know?"

     Senior comes down the stairs, wearing a rather ratty yachting cap and a fishing blazer that has surely been in the family for a while. He may be going to see royalty, but by damn, it will be on his own terms, and they'll take him as he is. He nonetheless cuts a rather regal figure, the tough old patriarch. "Right. I've left a note for my wife and a letter to be sent to my lawyers if I'm not back in time," he grumbles. It's easy to see where Pres gets some of this from. Bright blue eyes, as bright as Maddie's, cut to Tiernan and then to his family. "Let's get this show on the road, eh?"

Posted by rowan at February 14, 2010 10:26 PM