The stones still hold the warmth of day, and through the opened window the breeze carries in the smells and sounds of the old village. The restaurant 'The Thirty Years', The Orangerie -- both are nearby. And there are the orchards, pungent to sensitive senses. In June, there is no need for fires. It is the time for cool water, open windows, fresh fruit from local markets, cool breezes from the Vienne nearby.
     You were warmly received, your name upon the very short list kept at the gates. But you, you have become a sometimes resident, recognized in the halls these nights. You are treated like family. Shown to the master chambers, the vast hall that was once the great hall of the medieval Logis Royeaux, now a grand living space.
     They brought the summer's wine and liqueuer for you, regardless of whether you would drink it. The pear and honey. The apricot. Gathered in crystalline decanters, the liquid has a jewel-like radiance.
     You were told he was ... bathing. It is a nightly habit of course, but in the great baths entire weeks can be lost, let alone a single night. He was roused. You can smell the approach of heated water, oils, the condensation of steam upon skin, all before he appears through the archway. He is dressed simply, cotton trousers and a cotton shirt, both thin and both white, with a towel around his neck. His hair is inky black, still wet, and still shorn short in a 21st Century style. There is no distraction from the face, the intensity of those eyes, nor any reprieve given from the resplendence of his smile.
     "Incroyable," William says, voice carrying as he appears, he grins. Incredible, he says. Unbelievable, he means. "It is good to see you," he says suddenly, warmly in English. So unused he is to speaking it that it is barely recognizable beneath such a thick, Loire accent.

     She entered with very few words, though she was grateful for all the attention and comfort she received arriving here. This has always felt like home to her, even if she didn't realize it... and so seeing the familiar faces of the staff made her smile. For their comfort, she kept her specs on to hide her freaky eyes. Still, they have not normalized ... even if the blue has begun to return. She is on the mend, though she still has a long road to travel.
     Some of the wine was tasted by her, yet only a small amount. She had made herself comfortable on a nearby chair, dangling the delicate glass from delicate fingers. The thought of listening to the stones for a while began to entertain her, but then you reached her senses...
     ...turning her gaze toward the door even before you arrived.
     As you stand in the doorway, she stands from her chair, setting the glass of sweet liquid aside. Wrapped lightly in silk, she looked dressed for a summer's eve...Kindred style. Crimson floats lightly from her shoulders, down her arms, down her torso to just below her hips. About her waist, a silver chain sits haphazardly, dangling the slack of it down the front. This leads to a long, black sarong that wraps gently about her legs, allowing for a quick glimpse of a pale leg as she moves. Delicate feet are in high-heeled black sandals, lacing up her ankles...the laces disappear somewhere beneath the black silk. Her hair has been braided down her back.
      "William... it is good to see you, too..." she murmurs softly in English. Her accent from before she was Embraced is thick now, colouring her own words, making them seem so different from yours even though she merely echoes you.

     There are a few ghosts here. One girl and a parcel of kings. It was at the fireplace closest to the archway through which William's bedroom lies that a young country girl knelt before the Would Be King and asked for troops to go to Orleans and drive out the English.
     William stands there and he looks at you. He makes no pretense with polite looks and actually studies you. "You ...look amazing," he says through his approach. The white fabric is all but translucent, at least to vampiric senses. "You are going to stay a while, oui?" He takes your hands, he kisses each cheek. "...Ian and I are going to be here at least through autumn. You should stay and crush grapes with me in October..." His large hands release your own, and he turns toward the array of drinks, deciding upon the pear.
     When it is poured, the wine releases its flavor to the air. You can taste it without a single swallow. The pear. The honey from local bees. The touch of cinnamon. Indigo glances to the glass and lifts to your face. William smiles. You are trying it? "Are Mae and Raf with you?"

     She will have to lose herself in the stories of the stones later. For now, she has other distractions. You.
     It has been a while since she showed a little leg or a little cleavage, certainly. Smiling, she blushes at you, "Thank you, William... you like it?" It's temporary, likely. Her tastes in fashion always changes from season to season now, it seems. Sometimes day to day. She does a little twirl for you, grinning as the skirt flares out a little, then hangs at her legs as she stops moving again.
     She's never had any qualms about looking you over, and so she does, though can you tell with her specs? If you didn't, you are aware of it as she murmurs, "And you look simply edible, my dear William..." Ah, some of her old self has returned, it seems.
     "Crushing grapes... and add a little bit of colour to this skin of mine? What a concept..." she jokes with you, smiling again. It has been a while since she has smiled so much. "I can stay a while, sure. I do not think Antonio is expecting me for a bit...and if so, he knows where to find me." Before you release her hands, she gives yours a quick squeeze... and then she's reaching for her glass. Girault must be teaching her how to drink again.
     She takes a sip, then nods, murmuring, "Yes, both of them are here and seeing to our baggage for now. It is alright, non?"

     He hasn't had a woman twirl for him in years...
     Years, Ian. Years...
     William bows his head slightly at your appraisal, taking a sip of the pear wine as he straightens. "Antonio can wait his turn," the voice smolders and he smiles as he settles in one of the chairs. "He will not like it, of course," and the smile curls, widening, "...but it is all a part of personal growth." He inclines his head, he studies you again. "You do look wonderful," he says quietly. "It seems your time in Italy has done you wonders. It can do that."
     I would know. It once did that for me...
     "You have been in Florence... in Venice...tell me, have you become spoiled with Antonio's villa of wonders?" He chuckles, legs stretching out in a lordly sprawl. He begins to make short work of the pear wine...
     It reminds me of Spain. Of Girault's villa upon the coast of Cadiz. Felipe's and Augustino's singing. The beautiful, cinnamoned skinned men who live there...
     "Of course," he says on Mae and Raf. "I wanted to make sure that if you needed a more... fulfilling drink that such was provided, mais oui. I do like the look, I must tell you. It is very classic. A touch of the East. A touch of the West. You are like Venice personified..."

     And she has so loved mock-taunting you in the past... the fact that she does so now is a good sign for her mental health, surely. Things are not perfect. She still wears the specs to hide her gaze. But, she is mending, yes.
     "Ah, well, Antonio is a patient man...at least with me, he seems to be," she comments with a shrug and a smile.
     "Oh, I won't lie, William... he has done everything to spoil me." Just look at the clothes. "It is lovely out there...when I first arrived, all I could do is sit and stare." One of her trances took over for an evening. "He just let me be... and let me soak it up, get used to it. I still catch myself dazed at times." There is a smile at this.
     Her own wine is sipped slowly, the taste savoured, actually tasted instead of ingested quickly for show in front of others. As the glass lowers, she murmurs, "Well, I may still want something like that later on... for variety." There's a wink at that point. "Although, you've never tasted them, have you? Raf is especially exquisite." She always had an eye for good 'taste'.
     Leaning against the chair she had been sitting in, she looks down at her clothes as you mention it and Venice. Blushing again, she murmurs, "Blame Antonio. He spoils me, I tell you."

     "I do blame him," William quips. "Readily. And I always shall," he chuckles, sipping at the pear wine. It is almost gone. And where are my cigarettes? Damn, they are in the other room. William glances over, as if a young man bearing a tray with all of his wishes and wants displayed on them should appear from the aether. He exhales and settles back in the chair.
     "His palazzo is amazing, no? Different from Chinon, Chinon is austere in comparison. I remember when I was there, the halls were crowded with artists and vampires. You know," William leans in toward you, "... Antonio sent mortal after mortal into my chambers to rouse me. I wanted for nothing when I was there. Wanted for nothing but for one thing," to see and to make love to Ian. "I felt more a king there than I had even when I was ruling in Rouen. Or here," he adds with a grin. "So... though he is spoiling you, for certes, you deserve it. You wear it well. Ian will be thrilled to see you... I am sure he will be here in a little while. I left him with Marco and Amadeo," Amadeo you remember, surely. "It may be a while," he murmurs, smile sliding slow.
     The slow smile spreads, warmth moving from that mouth over his features, setting flame in the eyes when you mention the blood of servants. "I never got so close to Raf as to know that. But if you wish something different, be sure to let me know. And of course, you may hunt in the ville, if you so wish..." Chinon belongs to no prince save he, though Tours and Poitiers have changed hands. Chinon is his. Resolutely.

     "I'm sure he already knows..." That you blame him. Lips curl into a wicked grin. Antonio, afterall, is more experienced at reading people than she... not to mention you likely tell him every chance that you get.
     "His palazzo is breathtaking...I cannot worry about a thing there. I am just simply too distracted." By more than one thing there, that's for certain.
     Grinning at you, she murmurs, "He is an incredible host, yes.. it seems I am getting no less treatment than you received." There is a pause as you mention Ian...and her smile grows warm and bright. "I look forward to seeing him. There is no rush. I am not running off anytime soon, so I will see him when he is.. finished. I have missed you both so much, it will be nice to visit a while." We have all the time in the world, non? Raven lashes lower behind specs as she looks into the glass in her hands, nearly void of the sweet nectar within.
     Speaking of the blood is always a favourite subject of our kind, is it not? Removing the specs and tossing them on a nearby table, Tori sighs and says, "I don't have to hide myself here, I know. That is better. But, where were we? Ah, yes... tasting..." Those lips of hers curl into something quite wicked as she glances up at you. Indeed, the blue is returning. The eyes, though still strange, are beginning to right themselves.
     "Mm... you have been so kind to me in the past, allowing me to feed when necessary," for whatever reason there was. "It would only be fair to share, if you wished it... or Ian." Or both. "I think you'd find him... very... what is the word... potent."

     There is a quiet laugh. "We thank you. Ian has certain rules about these things. He feels... hmm... well, one person's servants are just that. He wouldn't think of it. I, on the other hand, would think of it," William chuckles, "...but I find I am not so hungry these nights." A soft revelation.
     He is approaching his millennium. Every year, there is a change. Every year, he becomes more and more Himself. More and more resplendent.
     "Besides," long lashes sweep downward, covering for a moment the indigo that sits cupped between, "... I have become increasingly..." those lashes lift and he grins. "Picky." A pause. "In the Ventrue sort of way, of course. Blood that does not have a Mediterranean flavor just does not appeal to me anymore. Unless it is Ian's. And there is so much of me in him, him in me... he is as Continental as I. I as Scottish as he." William grins. "But I thank you," he nods, "...for the offer." The pear wine is finished and he laces his fingers against his bare stomach, there is nothing but musculature beneath his hands, the sculpted form of the duke created by his lifetime of war. "I have found that I am prone these nights to picking favorites, in a medieval definition of the word. Chosen companions?" An eyebrow lifts to see if you follow his meaning. "I do not prowl the streets of my own city but to keep it safe and happy..."

     "Well, you can't say I didn't offer," Tori replies with a grin. Oh, can you imagine poor Raf if he knew he had been offered up? Mind you, would it be the first time? Perhaps not. Who knows?
     Stretching a little, she places her glass on the table, then flops back into the chair behind her. Dangling her sandal-covered feet over the arm of the chair, she purrs, "The two of you have always had good taste, at least..." Yes, she does remember Amadeo... and the memory nearly causes her flesh to flush once more. But she manages to stop it before it happens.
     "It feels good to be back here... Once we're all settled, I should play for you and Ian." Something on the harpsichord. Remember the last time she played for the two of you? "It has been a while since I have done that for the both of you... or I could sing. Something to pass some time." Afterall, what do vampires do to pass the time? Play chess? In some ways, perhaps, but why play chess when there are such lovely instruments to play.

     You would do that...
     William is quiet for a moment and the smile deepens, warms. You would do that? "We would like that," he murmurs. "We would be honored, truly. My music room here is not quite as grand as in Strathfayr, but the acoustics are perfect for the voice, the grand hall down below..." with the Angevin arches, sweeping upward toward the ear of God...
     "...there is little more that I love better than to loiter while others sing. The halls here... they used to be filled with the voices of my sisters, singing." You could hear them if you listened carefully. The stones would tell you. Some of the original stones remain.
     "So," he brightens, he grins, "... if we cannot find a piano, we will hear your voice I hope. Have you been shown to a room? I should not keep you if you have not had a chance to settle in, amie..."

Posted by rowan at August 03, 2003 01:59 PM