"If I weren't ethically opposed to stealing, I could make some museum very, very happy." Ensconced within the High King's personal maritime library -- there are so many libraries within the basilica that each one specializes in a particular subject matter or genre, not counting the many public libraries or the academic libraries on Philosopher's Island -- Preston Oliver West II pours over oceanographic maps, studies of currents, and anything and all related to geography, oceanography and ocean topography.
     He spreads open a large atlas, and slowly he turns each page, no matter how feverishly his eyes scour the writings. "Some in English... some in what appears to be Gaelic or ...perhaps Welsh," it's Welsh, "... and some in a language and writing I've never seen before. I'm going to have to have an interpreter for these notes."
     He is speaking aloud, but he's talking to himself. He does then when he is completely captivated by something. He reasons as if with the air. Preston Oliver West II glances up to see if his father is still perusing nearby...
     The Royal Maritime Library is on the third floor of the basilica. In addition to books and maps, indices and charts, there is something of a maritime museum that includes cases of artifacts from a Spanish shipwreck, donated by the Kingdom of Catalonia, as well as tools and implements used by the current High King and the Crown Prince. Books written by them, as well as journals kept during discoveries and explorations, are also on display.

     "Hmph," the Elder says aloud from where he himself is perusing. "The explanations would put you behind bars or in a rubber room for a long, long time if you tried." He takes down a book and opens it, examining its contents without really seeing it. "So are we meeting her here, or at some restaurant?"
     "This place," Preston Oliver West the First continues, putting the book back with respectful care, "is interesting. Maybe if I were thirty years younger I'd be more willing to give it a fair chance." But it has his grandchildren in thrall, or so it seems to him. He looks around with a certain bristling, bulldog-like. "The sun's over the yardarm somewhere. Think I'll see if there's somewhere to get a drink unless we're going to a restaurant."

     "If I were thirty years younger," Preston Oliver West II says, with a pivot and smile to his father, "... I would be jumping into the deep of it, feet first myself. There's so much to discover, to unravel, to understand. But then," he exhales, closing the atlas for now, "...we still don't really understand our own oceans."
     If I were younger...
     "I don't think we were meeting in the town, no. Her room is on the tenth floor. I will ring up our seneschal and have him deliver drinks to her room." Your son steps away from the cases and, hands in pockets, strolls in line with you.
     "I do want to ask the High King about his journals. I will ask for another audience, should he have time..."

     "All right." He turns with martinet stance, although his old bones surely must be aching. "We'll head on up." Senior grumbles to himself wordlessly for a moment, heading for the stairs in silence for a bit, examining his watch. It turns, but in no way does the turning coincide with the hours of the day here, and he looks up again.
     "They've been very kind," he says sourly. "Without expecting anything in return. Let's head to her room. She's expecting us, isn't she?"

     "I know," your son says, dryly and with resignation. "They make it very difficult to dislike them. And here, I came with all my speeches prepared. I haven't even been able to get proper use out of them. Not even with King Balthazar. I should like to not like him...not yet. He's just so polite and well-meaning..."
     Out of habit, Preston Oliver West II glances at his watch. "Yes, I told her after lunch but before late afternoon naps. I'm not sure how to make actual appointments. But I did make sure we were on her schedule. Her assigned seneschal.... Cyril," he says suddenly, remembering, "... seems quietly efficient."
     There is a pause. "I actually saw elevators earlier, if you would rather take that than the stairs," he offers. He knows you will decline, but he's nothing if not a dutiful son. "I have spoken with Preston. He seems to be in very good stead here. He's ...something of a prime minister. Or will be. I am ...trying to accept these changes like the flattery I think it is. That they would be selected and given such opportunities..."
     He glances to you. "That said," he mumbles, "...I'm not ready to clap hands with Balthazar and welcome him to the family. Preston seems to find him honorable and mature. He ...also believes that we shouldn't count Maddie out yet as an heir to the family business..."

     "I refuse to call him a king," Senior says with a degree of finality. He nods as he heads for Maddie's room; why give additional forewarning? "It's okay. I'll deal with stairs as we come to 'em. If it takes longer, so be it."
     He might be changing his tune in due course, but then, he's a pretty spry old man for his age. He still works on his own ships, even. "Harrumph. Don't mistake it for flattery," your father advises you gruffly. "These people could find positions for our family if they wanted, but they wouldn't be likely to put 'em in anything important, where they could do any damage if they didn't mean it. That's not aimed at you. No, we have to face it," he says with heavy, ironic humor. "Your kids are competent."
     Maddie's door finally hoves into view. He ignores any guards and goes to it and knocks, muttering again under his breath. "...Really. Well. She's never seemed interested in business before, but we'll see what she has to say. I'll tell you before she gets here, if one of the girls has to marry him, I'm damn glad it's Gillian and not her. Gillian will cut any crap he dishes with a five-iron, if she has to. I'd just like proof he's not a damn gigolo."

     "Well, if it helps, he seems to have his own money," Preston the Second retorts, his mouth cutting a smirk. "From what Preston said, it was a mutual decision, their breakup. Apparently, they had The Talk. He wanted to settle down. Now... I don't trust a man who's affections trade so easily," it's his turn to gruff, though it's a great deal more smooth than yours. "But at least... from what Preston says... it was mutual, mature and amicable."
     He gives his father a look. "We'll find out soon enough..."
     Cyril appears, blond and dressed smartly all in white. "Sirs," he says, and he opens the door, allowing you entrance. "She's just getting back from class. She will be out as soon as she finishes changing. Might I get you a drink..."
     "Yes," Preston the Second says quickly. "A scotch...or ... whatever single malt whiskey you produce..."
     "And you, sir?" Cyril asks Elder.

     "Hmph," Senior growls. "I don't see why the girls like the damn rascal, but -"
     He cuts off what he was going to say as the door opens, giving Cyril the hairy eyeball. "The same," he says with the same gruff tone of voice. He looks around as he enters - not searchingly, but with brief assessment, then looks at Cyril. "I'm an old man and I've earned some rudeness in my life. Still, I'm not trying to be rude, just a grandfather when I ask you this. Are you married, homosexual or engaged, or some combination of the above? In other words, is my granddaughter's virtue safe with you coming and going in her bedrooms?"

     Cyril blushes but manages to maintain his decorum. "She is completely safe with me, sir. Not only am I homosexual, I am also a virgin. I am saving myself for marriage." Well, you asked. "However," he stiffens just slightly as a matter of pride, "...regardless of my personal desires, I serve professionally. As I did for my previous charge, though I held him in very high personal regard." He bows to you slightly and turns. "I will get your drink..." He pauses. "I also make sure to knock..."
     A gay virgin. And a smartass.
     "Father, really, this isn't Caligula," the Second says, wincing through the blushing embarrassment of the young man (or what he perceives as embarrassment). But the young man handles himself well. Preston the Second smirks as he takes the whiskey. Cyril offers a glass to Elder. "It is a single malt from our own grain. We also have elderberry whiskey and many types of brandies..."

     "I prefer the direct approach. I made it plain I was trying not to be rude, and if he took offense, well," Senior shrugs as he settles heavily on a chair, "I tried. I feel better off knowing, don't you?" He turns as Cyril returns and accepts the drink. "This'll do fine, I'm sure. Thanks for answering my question. She's young." It's not an apology but it could pass as one in the right light.
     The door opens, and Maddie comes dancing in - literally; she does a pirouette as she enters, sliding her knapsack off her shoulders and tossing it to the sofa. "I am done with fourth form! - Hi, Cyril, any more love letters today? Oh, hi daddy, granddad. I hope I didn't keep you waiting too long, they held me back. I am promoted! which, of course, means an extra three hours a week in the studio, but hey. You didn't raise me to be a slacker, right?" She grins, still sweaty and a little disheveled in her forest green leotard with pink tights and a bright gold wrap-around skirt with purple fringe on it. Her ballet slippers are black, thankfully, not adding to the cacophony. "Have you been having fun?"

     "No offense taken, sir," Cyril replies. "I fully understand. But appreciate that." Glasses given, he retreats, respectfully, to the other side of the room. He opens a few of the paneled curtains, knowing just which ones let in the indirect sunlight, to brighten the room without simultaneously blinding the guests.
     Preston Oliver West II smiles at the entrance of his youngest child -- who's not so young anymore. "Hello, darling. And ...congratulations on your promotion. And, no, I did not. And you never have been a slacker. It is so good to finally see you. I hope we're not early. Our watches are not synchronized..."
     He takes a seat upon the nearby chair, not far from his father. He looks to his daughter, shaking his head slightly. "You look like a duck taking to water. How are you? Oh... and I have been enjoying myself," he says, sipping the whiskey. "Your grandfather and I discovered the maritime library and museum today. Did you have a lovely time with your mother and Gillian?"

     "It wasn't bad. They're both excited about the wedding." She rolls her eyes, but without real irritation, finding it funny. "I guess I'll be excited if and when I'm getting married, but right now it seems like visiting a different planet, kind of." Maddie swoops down to kiss her father and her grandfather on the cheek. "Cyril, could you get me some ice water? I'll be out as soon as I've changed."
     Senior beetles his eyebrows at his granddaughter, but smiles when she kisses his cheek. He grumbles, "Shame your grandmother's not here. She'd enjoy the shopping." He covers any actual emotion with another sip of his drink.
     It takes her only a couple of minutes, since she's skipping a shower for now, and she emerges in a sundress of pale yellow with a blue band around the waist, flopping into a chair. "Oh, that's better. I swear, some days after class I feel like my clothes just need to be burned. So have you met the royal family? Most of them are really nice. Did anybody give you a tour of the city yet?"

     Whirlwind though she is -- whirling dervish, more like -- Cyril is already mid-pour of lavender and mint water as she asks for it. "Certainly, Lady Elaine. I will leave you to talk with your family. I will be in your office, synchronizing your calendars..." Cyril hands her the water, his blush lingering. But he is the consummate professional. No spills!
     Preston West II lifts his hand to cup his daughter's cheek in the kiss. He's not overly eager to talk about the wedding. "Mother would enjoy it. I feel guilty for not bringing her. And we haven't had the official-official tour. I believe that's tomorrow. And... yes," he smirks. "We've met the High King Iowerth, of course grandfather already knew Tiernan... Mr. Winter. We have met Queen Zafirah, and the Future High King and Queen, Gruffydd and Maria and Maria's mother, Anna. Delightful woman. Something of a sailor, herself. We haven't met the King's twin brother. Or his mother and father. I understand they just had twins. Which is extraordinary for their age. We do hope to meet with them tomorrow, since... it appears that Gillian will be getting married in their house."
     And he's not really happy about the whole marriage thing at the moment. Not yet.
     "And... of course... Balthazar we already met. Speaking of..." he looks to you. "... we might as well discuss the two-hundred and some odd pound gorilla. You know that your grandfather and I have spoken with him. We're interested in your side of the story and how you're doing..."

     "Thanks, Cyril, you're a peach." Maddie grins as she goes to settle on the edge of an overstuffed chair, taking her drink up for a sip. "There's not a lot to tell, really, daddy. But it helps if you remember that time here moves a lot faster than back at home. To you, I've only been gone a month or so. For me, I've already been here oh, less than a year but more than six months. It was spring, here, when I got here; now it's already early winter. So we had plenty of time to get to know each other. I guess you could say we ran our course."
     She sips her drink again, then sets it down, not touching the issue of his grandparents and their age. "He wants to settle down; I'm still in college. Heck, I just started it. I'm well ahead on my homework for Rutgers, by the way," she informs both her father and her grandfather, "and I'm doing fine. The time difference between here and there makes it a lot easier to do both that and the dance work. It's great! I'm one of the top dancers in my class. I'm famous, I've got tons of friends - from before I became famous, even - and I don't have to pay for my room and board." Maddie grins. "And the food's definitely way better than boarding school. Who else do you want to meet? I'll be glad to introduce you if I can."
     Senior clears his throat. "Well, it sounds like you're doing well." He's a bit grumpy, trying to keep his unhappiness with her happiness from showing. "Your grandmother misses you, you know."

     Well, when you put it like that...
     "And how did he handle the matter? Neither of us were pleased that he brought you here in the first place and then seemed to, at least to us, break the promise that he made at your graduation party...so... we were concerned when we heard that...things had changed. But you seem to be thriving. I can't really argue with that."
     But he wants to!
     Second looks to First as he mentions mother. "Are you... satisfied that the stories seem to match? And... yes, she does," he smiles to Maddie. "I have a mind to ask for them to bring her here...well, I'd go with them. I hate that she's missing this and doesn't have the chance to see you. You need to remember to ... call her or visit at least three times a year. Just as if you were no further than Rutgers..."
     He waits for his father to get in a question (or comment) or two before delving into more.

     "Well, you see, the problem wasn't that he didn't honor his commitment to me. The problem was that I didn't want that kind of commitment when he did. He didn't ask me to marry him, but he was planning on it - and frankly? The politics going on were making it really hard for him to not get married. He's a freakin' king, everybody wants their daughters to marry him, and he was trying to protect me from all of it." Maddie rolls her eyes again. "See, Gillian would like that he tried protecting her. Me, I don't need protection from that. Pfft. As if."
     "Anyway, he wasn't controlling, or overprotective - much - as much as it put him under a lot of pressure to get to the next stage, and get engaged. And that made us sit down and actually talk about what we wanted for the future, and honestly? The things he wants out of life, I'm not ready for." She shrugs, unrepentant and unapologetic about it. "Sure, I'd like kids eventually, but not until I'm ready to stop dancing seriously. That could be another ten years. He wouldn't want to wait that long. He needs to settle down and govern over his kingdom; I want to be free to continue my studies and so on. So it was pretty obvious that we were going in different directions. And if he and Gillian want to try it, eh, more power to them. I'm just glad they're able to overcome their differences."
     She sits back, crossing her legs daintily and folding her hands in her lap. "Well, you could bring her," Maddie points out reasonably. "I'm sure nobody would mind if you did. It'd just take a lot of explaining to her. And sure, I can call her; I finally have a phone which works both here and there, so that makes it easier. Actually, though, I wanted to talk to you about an idea I had. I mean, if you've got time." Wily Madison.
     "Oh?" Senior looks up. Something he can possibly actually answer. He gives the youngest of the West clan a shrewd look all the same. "This is going to be one of those conversations where you twist us around your little finger, isn't it. Well, go ahead, girl. Wind up for your best pitch." He even grins a little.

     Second smirks, taking a swallow of whisky. "The worst part of it is, it's all so reasonable." Well, Preston III comes by that naturally. He exhales at the explanation. I really don't want to like him. I really don't. It's impossible not to, almost, which I resent...
     But Preston Oliver West II holds his tongue on that. He looks to his father as his mother is discussed. "I will leave that to you, dad," he says softly. Your decision. But as Maddie winds up to make her pitch, his eyebrows slowly lift.
     This should be good...

     "I propose to spend the next ten years of here time, here. That'll be about two years for you guys, maybe a little less." Maddie sips her water again, looking calm. "That'll give me plenty of time to finish my dance training, and also get some studying in on some local topics, and by then I'll pretty much have finished at minimum a bachelor's degree; the hard part will be getting permission to sign up for that many classes each semester, but if you can swing it, I can get the work done. Once that's done, I'll take another look around and I'll see what university I can get into and I'll go for my MBA and a degree in structural engineering while dancing from time to time here."
     She's so nonchalant about the whole deal; it's almost frightening, isn't it? "Assuming things go well, I should be able to join your business, granddad, assuming you want me around." Maddie grins impertinently. "But I'm still going to dance. And I'm not interested in marrying a Kennedy. Is that clear?"

     Normally, he has an opinion on just about everything (in his own way), but Preston West II is genuinely and actually speechless. He looks to his father with a bit of a well, what can I say? shrug.
     God, does this mean I'm going to owe Balthazar an apology?
     Cyril enters silently and dutifully pours each man a new whisky, as if on cue. He quietly withdraws once more.

     Senior drains his glass and holds it out as Cyril approaches. Damn, but he needs another. "...You'll need to maintain at least a 3.5 GPA," he says finally. He has to say something, regain control somehow. "I'll want to see your report cards."
     "Yes, granddad," Maddie answers demurely.
     "You'll have to spend at least one major holiday at home with us," Senior adds, glowering at the little spitfire who's his favorite.
     "Yes, granddad," Maddie answers again sweetly. She lifts her chin.
     He tries to think of an additional condition, looks at his son, then at his granddaughter again. "If it's all right with your parents," Senior says gruffly, "then I'll agree."
     Maddie beams, then turns her alert blue gaze onto her father. "Well, daddy? Can I?" Blinkblinkblink.

     "I really didn't want to say Yes, but as usual you leave me no other options, you or Gillian or Preston." He exhales, then smiles. "I understand that the royal family is very fond of you. King Iowerth himself has spoken on your behalf and has offered his patronage. So... unfortunately... there isn't any reason for me to say no." He smirks, draining his former glass to receive the new one.
     "You can stay so long as your grandfather's demands are met. I think that's ... reasonable. And... I am glad you didn't force yourself into an arrangement that wasn't going to work. I suppose I should apologize to Balthazar for being so harsh and critical of him. Eventually," he mumbles into his glass.

     "Oh, you don't have to like him, daddy. But he and Gillian are pretty disgustingly in love." Maddie grins. She's gotten her way, after all. "Give it time. I think by the time they have their first kid you'll be finding him just barely tolerable. Thank you, though, daddy, granddad." Light as a butterfly, she's up on her feet to kiss each on the cheek again, smiling.
     I told you I'd do it, she tells Bran in the back of her head. Aren't I good?
     Her grandfather accepts the kiss with the brusqueness of a walrus but manages a smile for her. "We'll see how much you smile when I put you to work," he threatens with a put-upon scowl. "But I'll let your grandmother know you'll be home for some holidays. That'll make her much happier. And no boys!"
     "Too late," Maddie tells him unrepentantly. "You already gave your conditions, granddad. But don't worry. I'm far too busy to be looking for boys."
     That's what grown men are for, anyway!

Posted by rowan at March 27, 2010 11:20 PM