The front has worn from the trees of Ross and Cromarty. Rivers run freely these days, and in the air lingers a hint of the winter's crispness. But with the earth so damp, it can make for both a beautiful and treacherous trip.
     The flight was nothing short of impeccable really. Midlothian Enterprises' new 888 was the height of luxury. Ian would not travel any other way. Created to hold 550 passengers, ME's unmarked flying liner never sees a fraction of that. Cabins were plentiful and huge, and a staff of eight were still required and the place seeped with an old world regality. But the Concorde that was picked up in New York...that spoke of grace and speed. Elegance defined differently, with its slender cabin decorated in portrait photographs, and a New World flair unmatched. By the time oohs and ahs were done, chatting and giddiness over group travel had sunk in, it was time to shift aircraft in New York and take a longer rest to Glascow.
     Glascow is seeing better days. No doubt due to the carefully controlled mix of mortal and immortal that walks her streets these days. Once fallen upon most difficult of times, it's said that Gangrel and Glasswalker, with quiet backing from even more monied sources, helped pull the heavily industrial port city from the mire, creating a bit more diversified portfolio. Well, that...and propping up the British steel and shipbuilding industries. But the Gangrel and Glasswalker can't take credit for that one.
     From twilight Glasgow, a smaller Gulfstream jet ferried you all far north and to the east on the North Sea to Inverness. Not only the largest city of the Highlands, Inverness serves as a spiritual center as well. On the head of the River Ness and the Loch further down, it's the dark home of the Thane of Cawdor, Macbeth, and the scurrying tress of Dunsinane. The castles here are real castles...nothing as perfected as the places in London. These are old keeps of brick and stone, more for edification and defense than for luxury living. But Inverness is also modern...spanning footbridges cross the river, and the streets are filled with cars. One of them waited for you all, to head to a place north of the town of Beauly and south of Strathpeffer. Rosshire, as the open heath in the center of north central Scotland is called. And now that the snows are gone, it's less than an hour's drive.

     Up into the further climes of green and rising dales and hills, where the landscape seems to shift colors whenever the sun glints and the clouds pass by. Violet and purple, golds and hues of sandied brown and red plot out squares upon the volcanic rock, the streams filled and gushing...sometimes rather fiercely. Finally, but finally, the driver's Scots Gaelic, for that's what's heard singularly once Inverness is reached, is almost foreboding as he calls something in the limo's intercom to the passengers in the back. Perhaps it's repeated in the second vehicle too...the attendants and baggage had to go somewhere.
     "It's almost eleven...and we'll approach Aonach Fair in approximately five minutes."

     Ice-blue eyes flicker back and forth at the scenery passing by, taking in every tree, every hill, every blade of grass, it seems. To a Toreador who's never set foot in Scotland in her life until now, the passing countryside is a living, breathing portfolio of artwork. While she has not slipped into that familiar trance which plagues her family, Tori does seem extremely distracted by it all. The announcement is heard...the only indication of this is a faint nod of Tori's head. Otherwise, she nearly keeps her eyes glued to the window, watching everything the vehicle passes. But, despite her apparent distraction, there is a certain anxiousness...no, excitement which emanates from her.

     The stories that the Concorde could tell. Well, some of them certainly were visible upon its walls. Pictures not seen anywhere else. Of a near half-century in San Francisco -- particularly the heady evenings of 1966 through 1968. There, you could see the chronicles of princely nights held there. Jimi Hendrix. Jim Morrison. William Plantagenet. Most notable, perhaps to you Muse, were the small series of photos -- three, in fact -- featuring William with Janis Joplin... the third of William alone. Dressed only in Janis' beads and wearing one of her large feather hats. Photos the photographer doesn't even remember taking. Funny, that... But it was, most definitely, William's jet. As much as the ME 888 spoke of Ian.
     As soon as Europe's air was reached -- even this most northern breath of it -- something visibly changed. An ease that is never present in America. A humanity that is never present while he is away from his Home, becomes apparent in William. His mannerisms. His accent. His gesticulation -- his hands as much for language as his mouth -- more pronounced. Masks, worn for occasion in the Colonies gone now. William, his hair longer and blacker than it has been in nights, drapes forward as he leans in, setting a glass aside. Another scotch finished. "That was quick... Dieu... the grass grew while I was away..." A deep and quiet remark. He looks to both of you. A smile, warm, there for each. Indigo eyes are alive with electricity. With vibrancy. No matter the dark nature of the blue-violet. The ...excitement... feeds off of itself -- off of that which hovers in the air. Around him, the air has a hum. Were a mortal near, hair would stand on end like static from it. He turns his head, eyes cast out of the window. But always... always... half on Ian.

     There's a glance to William. Aonach Fair in five minutes? Ian looks to his watch, pushing his sweatered arm up a little to see. "That was fast," he murmurs in reply Gaelic, then in English, "We're almost there," a smirk on his face. Ah well. There's a calm around him as he looks out his window, at the lands held by him for longer than he sometimes cares to remember. Even if memory fades, willing or unwilling, at least Strathfayr will be around. His own mannerisms are hyper so: either he is terribly quiet, eyes cast out or down to his lap, or he speaks in a rapid mix of Gaelic and English. Extremes allowed here...there's no need to maintain anything. Staff speak to him as if he is more companion than employer, and heaven forbids, there is more laughter than anything else. "It's been a coupla weeks for you," he notes, brogue beginning to spot his syllables.

     Ahead, from the darkness, there growing pricks and frames of light. Whatever they are settled in, however, is quite invisible, the dots taking shape and pattern as the limo heads across a black plain.

     Tori still keeps fairly silent. Whether or not she's picking up the Gaelic is perhaps unknown...she doesn't make any gestures to suggest she is. Though, she's always been full of surprises, hasn't she? For now, she just enjoys the darkened scenery passing by, and the presence of two close friends. There will be time for talk later, no doubt.

     The car slows and a series of buildings, one larger than the rest, can be made out. Light gives form, and certainly an old keep is distinguishable. Bevelled walls enclose the area, but you've definitely arrived in some courtyard area. There is deeper darkness beyond the confines of this place, something lurking.

     "Amazing what happens when y' don't have eight feeta snow t' contend with, hmm?" Ian notes sarcastically, pushing at his door even as the driver scurries out to open left and right doors. A few people come rushing from a large door in the edifice ahead, a low building that attaches to two larger structures at either end. He looks at Tori, then smiles, "You still alive there, lass?" he nodding to the driver and twisting to get out after patting William's hand.

     The ice-blue eyes blink once, snapping Tori out of her daydreaming, it seems. Turning her face toward Ian before he gets out of the car, she blushes and replies, "Hmm? Oh, I'm so sorry...it's all just so beautiful..." Then her door is being opened, and Ian is leaving the car...so she moves to climb out of the car, too.

     Laughter. Yes, most definitely that. Coming easily, usually quietly. Oft held in the broad chest or in low sounds in the throat. More often than perhaps even Victoria can recall of William. Whoever would have guessed that the two old Ventrue were such a riot? When Gaelic came from his lips, it was never with the rattle it should have -- syllables held long upon the tongue does strange things to the language. Effects of him being away from Scotland. And... away from Ian's brogue. But even in the time since travel began and Ian and William have spent more time in one another's company, the accent noticeably began to shift. A lilt here. A lilt there. "And one week," William murmurs, a grin slanting his mouth, "I don't even remember.... Ah, look...." Words in a hush, directed to Tori.
     A home any Medieval man would be proud to call his own. When the touch to his hand lands, William's attention is grabbed. Instantly. With glittering eyes, he begins to move. "I barely recognize it..." A teasing grumble that. Past his shoulders, he turns his head to look to their Favored Guest. A smile there for her. And a wink. But nothing more is said for now. The large Norman begins to unfold himself from the even larger car.

     From the house, an older woman comes out, along with a stream of young women and men. Housekeeping staff. They all smile, but quickly head towards the second automobile that must have the bags. "Ach, lookie," comes the woman's voice, she coming to a halt a respectful distance from the lead vehicle. "An'...they said y'd be in later." Broken English, certainly. It can't be her first language. Her blue eyes smile at the young lady that comes from the car, giving her a polite, short curtsey, "Welcome...lass, I'm Dionnach," she offers sweetly, twisting hands in her apron, "...of the Campbells," she says, as if she might be translating in her mind. Grey and white strands of hair blow as she then extends a hand to the lady.

     Approaching are more than a few of the House, coming to attend both cars as they pull up. A staff that comprises young and stout as well as stately and reserved. And one among them all, supervising the rest... but mostly coming to personally attend the first car. An elder gentleman, he's so reserved and professional he's damn near British. "Sir," he says toward Ian primarily, "...anything special for you and your guests while the baggage is taken to appointed rooms?" The accent is decidedly Scottish, no matter how English Butler he seems.

     As soon as Tori steps out of the car, she instantly begins looking around again, a wide smile breaking out easily upon her lips. But as people start leaving the building, her attention is pulled away from her surroundings once more. As Dionnach introduces herself, Tori offers her a warm smile, saying softly, "Pleased to meet you. I am Tori Whitethorne." She does not return the curtsey, but a polite nod of her head is offered to the lady, then Dionnach's hand is taken in a polite handshake.

     "Just somethin' to jump start th' heart, Stevens, thank you very much. In the great room," Ian offers in better English. He looks at all of the furor, then smiles as Dionnach is noticed. "Y' better be grateful now, Tori...later, she'll have you washin' y' own linens." Grey eyes look at William, most pleased with it all, then he turns to head towards the house.

     "Plees'd t' make yer acquaintance, Miss," Dionnach practically beams. They must not get female visitors so often. "I'll be assignin'..." yes, that's the word, "...someone t' tend t' ye, an' o' course, your floor staff will be happy t' help ya in any way," she notes, looking over to see how the cars are coming. Stepping aside, she shoots a look to Ian, but dares not really respond, right?

     Tori withdraws her hand from the woman's grasp, her gaze falling upon Ian once more. Grinning, she chuckles and shakes her head. Offering Dionnach another polite smile, she then moves away from her, heading toward the second car where Mae and Raf have already climbed out of...and are waiting for her. They both smile at Tori and Raf makes a few comments about the land's beauty here while Mae nods in agreement...neither of them having been outside of North America. Looking over toward Ian, then William, she almost has an expression as if to say, 'Lead on...'

     He is not...quite the lord of the manor here. However long he has lived here -- and it was his first residence following his own Embrace -- it is yet Ian's Castle. And while he seems not like a guest, he is neither like the king of it. But that will change. With time. In a hundred years he'll be propping his boots up on the table and calling for drinks like a proper Norman. It has been a ... while since he has truly called Scotland home. It is still chilly, and he is dressed for it. The light wool turtleneck is covered over by a thigh-length leather coat. "Non... she's a dear... she'd not make you do your own laundry the first night..." Languid, that voice. Held in a teasing mull. A smile flashed to Dionnach as he begins to make his way past.
     "You've made your scones, I hope? I've been craving them since we left Inverness..." He does like to half-flirt with the old woman. It's a nurse-prince thing, to be sure. William half-turns as the others come up. A nod and a wave to Mae and Raf. And then... lead on he does. That languid stride a bit more bounding tonight...

     Mr. Stevens nods to Ian, looks to William as he moves past and lastly to the other guests. "Welcome to Strathfayr..." he says with a polite smile. And a clip of that highland brogue. He turns toward the house with a final command to the rest of the attending staff. In Gaelic. Of course.

     Dionnach blinks at William, then smirks, "Aye, I got fresh ones too," she motions everyone inside, "...well c'mon...it's still a bit nippy out." As Ian passes, she looks to the end of the train as the drivers return to the cars to drive them elseplace.

     Tori and her retainers follow everyone else into the building, all eyes wandering to all the sights.

     A few of the young men are carrying the majority of the luggage -- or soon shall be. But not until after the guests are ushered into the keep itself...

     Ian steps past the double doors of heavy wood and into the Keep's kitchens.

     It must have been a service entrance. Those in the kitchens meep as their eyes widen to see everyone coming within. Some bob and curtsey as Ian keeps walking through and to the right.

     "Aye," Dionnach says, leading most of the herd towards a staircase door. Apparently, people know where to take bags, apparently, rooms already assigned. "Beh careful goin' up," she calls, moving to act as sentinel by the stairs.

     Ian moves towards one side of the great hall, towards a leather seating area. He mostly ignores the goings on, eyes lifting to the walls. There's comfort in being at home, and he turns to see his peers. "Finally," he exhales loudly, chuckling as he begins to remove his leather jacket.

     Preceding him, a surge of intensity. Perhaps the Toreador can see it -- it might linger on the air in colors. A hum against the air that surrounds him and fills the area. And only now does the lordly aspect of him begins to unfold. It is something naturally borne, that power. That demeanor of a prince -- not of Kindred but of mankind. One of the few of the Divine Rulers left. And it shows now, even for all his modern attire. William looks around and sighs. A smile lingering upon his lips. Hovering in his expression. Warm. Lending a radiance to his features, Michelangelic. "Welcome to our home, Muse..." he says, and he turns toward her, the smile spreading. A half bow of his head -- it's more a nod. And he looks to Raf and Mae. "And company..."
     That, with a grin. William heads toward one of the chairs, removing his jacket as he goes. The leather comes off and then he sits with a sigh. Finally. Indigo shifts to Ian. It lingers there a moment.

     At that moment, Mr. Stevens arrives again, with brandy... with scotch... with a collection of glasses. "Would any of you care for a late supper... did you stop in Inverness...?" A little more informal. But not much.

     "No thank you for me, Stevens," Ian murmurs, "...but I don't know about the others." Eyes move towards you both and the retainers, "Speak now," he smirks, "...or forever hold y' peace." Right now, Ian simply wishes to sit. Well, and have a brandy too...that looks nice. "And we didn't stay long in Inverness," he says, English improving as Stevens stays around, "....just enough t' change modes of transport," he yawns, stretching reflexively.

     Mr. Stevens nods first and foremost to Ian, looks to William -- but at the slight wave -- looks then to the guests. Expectant for their replies...

     The Toreador follows, her own small entourage in tow. Hearing the welcome from William, she smiles and bows her head slightly, replying lightly, "Thank you for inviting me...both of you. It truly is... magnificent ..." Indeed, Mae and Raf are still looking around, gawking very obviously. Hearing the question about food, Tori glances over and shakes her head politely, "Oh, I am fine. I eat rather lightly. My company, however, might care for something, if it's no trouble...?" This is when the pair behind her finally stop their gawking and look over at Mr. Stevens. They both nod slightly, only Raf speaking as he says, "We haven't eaten in a bit, no..."

     Done deal. Ian nods at that, letting Stevens deal with the results. He motions at Tori to where he is, pulling at his slacks as he sighs upon taking a seat. Visible relief crosses Ian's features, eyes closing and brows arching in open pleasure.

     Tori lets her two retainers be led off with Mr. Stevens as she is beckoned forward. Her gaze flickers toward the fireplace momentarily, but since it's not lit, she does not hesitate. She then moves over toward Ian, finding a seat nearby.

     The crowd heading upstairs disappears finally, the snake trail of persons and bags now confined to a dull roar in the turret.

     Oh, very good then. There's nothing a servant loves so well as to have something to do. "Of course..." And he leaves with only the most officious sort of smile. Well, apart from the slight glint. The Lords here with a lady? That's a new twist. He nods to both of the lords and heads back toward the kitchens.

     Thankfully, he leaves the brandy behind. Leather coat left behind, William begins to settle in. Comfort and a lordly casual ease -- it suits the lordly half-sprawl he begins to ease into. The smile lingers upon Ian and Tori a moment, and then lifts to Mae and Raf as he leans in, reaching for the brandy that was left behind upon a table amid that gathering of chairs. To his side, Ian... and now Victoria. His gaze feasts upon them all. Mortal and Immortal alike. Placid, his expression is warmed by a constant, if slight, smile. Indigo turns back to the pouring of brandy. "Anyone else...?" It is his turn to play bartender... perhaps...

     "Thank you, but no," Tori replies to William... She still cannot drink the stuff....as much as she has tried. And so, she will go without a glass in her hand while she relaxes.

     Oh, come now. Ian's grey eyes roll as he smirks, "No, no, William, please don't pour meh anythin'," he half-grumps, then grins at Tori, "I do not know your schedule, but I am sure William will want t' show you around early evenin'." As his schedule will not allow it. "Perhaps..." he looks to William, "...right after sunset, hmm? I can tell you th' details later on..."

     "That sounds lovely," she replies with a bright smile. Gods, how long will such a tour take? Judging by the size of this room alone...a long time. This does not seem to bother her. Tori seems a bit excited, in fact, at the prospect of seeing the rest of this masterpiece you two call 'home'.

     "Suit yourself then..." comes the quip. But a glass for Ian is poured. Left there for Ian to take. William takes the bottle with him when he settles back. The chair holds him once more -- by some miracle of physics -- and something of sudden and complete comfort is found. Raven brows lift and he looks from Ian to Victoria. "Aye... I can lead the tour... " The slight smile transforms into a quiet grin. "I can breeze her through... show her about... and you can fill in the details...."
     William turns his attention to Ian then, and there it lingers. "I will have to show you what I've started in the music room...." Indigo flickers, shifting to Tori again. "I will probably be up a shade before sunset... " The grin smoothens. "Not that I'm at my best when first rising... but..." an exhale. "... I will do my best to be presentable..." Indigo sparkles with another wink. "I cannot believe you are actually here..." he says to her, more seriously. "How does it feel to be back in Europe... more or less...?"

     At the mention of the music room, Tori's eyes light up brightly. It's quite obvious that she cannot wait to see that part of the tour. "Oh, do not rush yourself, William...not for me. I don't even get up that early, myself," she says in a chuckle. She then grins, looking around, "I cannot believe I am here, either...it's like...it's a dream. Like I'm not really here." But as the conversation switches to a slightly more serious tone, she looks back to Ian, then William, saying, "It's...a lot of mixed emotions, in all honesty."

     The drink was left. Ian pouts momentarily, but then pushes off his spot on the sofa to move for the remaindered brandy. Black upon black suits him, he made only more gold and silver by it. "I can imagine," Ian says, exhaling again. They come after poignant stretches, punctuating his rising comfort level. "But...it's the same...and different. That's...the beauty of home, hmm?"

     "Well, it's your home, Ian...William's home, too. It's not my home. Not anymore. I don't belong in Europe...I haven't for a very long time. It's like I'm a fish out of water...before long, you'll need to throw me back," Tori replies with a slight chuckle.

     Indigo lingers on the pout he saw -- quick as it was. Was something missed? A bit of humor didn't catch apparently and as Ian moved in, William murmured something Gaelic. A hand reaching out to stop him a moment. Too late. Ah well. He'll beg for forgiveness in closer quarters. The conversation comes as easily as anything else. Something ... settled about it. Easy. Comfortable. William takes a swallow of the brandy and then holds the bottle to himself. Something for his hands to do. Excited... full of energy ... anxious? Perhaps all. One leg slightly but steadily bounces. He chuckles, the quiet sound of it clinging to his throat. "When we see you gasping, little goldfish... we shall..." So says the king of cats...

     Tori cannot help but grin, then chuckle softly at William's comment, leaning back in her seat...trying to get comfortable in this new environment.

     It has taken a few moments, but something is brought from the kitchen for Raf and Mae. The usual latenight snack in Britain -- small sandwiches, a serving of tea, scones and tea cakes. There is also a serving of fresh cream and sugar for the tea. In case. It is brought in by one of the young girls who works in the kitchens. She leaves it with a smile to all and heads out. Quickly, quietly, efficient.

     Raf and Mae thank the girl and seat themselves a little away from the rest of the group, allowing privacy between the three seated together. They quietly eat the food and drink the tea, seeming content.

     He won't argue, Ian deciding to keep his counsel on definitions of 'home.' Indeed, how can home be the wretched Americas to any European born. "Well, I think maybe y'll find that it's not too hard t' get used t' again, eh? Sorta...like th' bicycle theory." Now that's a first for that proverb. He picks his snifter up and returns to his spot near you both. There's a touch on Will's broad shoulder as he passes, and the sofa whines as he settles once more.

     "Hmm....maybe, but I honestly do not think so, Ian. I cut my ties from here a long time ago..." Tori explains softly, looking over toward May and Raf momentarily, watching them eat. She can remember a time when she could do that also....eat, that is. Shaking her head and chuckling a bit, she says, "No, I've been in America for quite some time...I've grown accustomed to it. That has been home for quite some time..." Half her lifetime, in fact.

     "Aye...." begins the languid roll of William's voice, he inclines his head, the grin pulling slow and smooth, "... well, someone has to live there..." He rises then. Why sit in a chair alone when he can join Ian on the sofa? Fingers pluck an empty glass along his way, and the bottle of brandy is carried with him. The sofa groans again -- with his additional weight -- and slowly he begins to settle in.
     "America will never be a place I can call home... but I will visit from time to time... take in a Broadway musical or crash an art auction...And you," indigo is directed toward Tori, as well as the smile, "...you can do the same, yes? Live there, visit elsewhere. This proves that.. no more to worry on ... landing upon European soil. It will be good to be free..." So he has himself found. William turns his head to Ian, the look softening -- or is that heating? -- slightly. "It took me a while to get used to The Colonies...do you remember how I was then?" Leaning in, a kiss was nearly left -- but with others around ... he holds it in check. Leaning in and sharing a look.

     Grinning, Tori says, "Who knows...another lifetime down the road, I might end up elsewhere...I will have to move on sooner or later. I've already been in New Port over ten years," Tori admits. Yes...ten years and the Goth Diva hasn't seemed to have aged a single bit. She won't be able to keep living there for much longer, as strange as it seems. She finally found a place she calls 'home', and now she's speaking of leaving it again. Such is her life. But, unlike the two of you, she does not have a base home somewhere secluded. And so, she will always be on the move, perhaps.

     "No," Ian smirks, half-chuckling as his nose angles towards William. "I cannot remember much about then...save I was wondering what we were doing in America at all." He laughs and shrugs to Tori, only a cursory apology in it. "I...will confess not wishing so much to go to America, as to leave Europe...after the War." Fascism took its toll upon him too. "Maybe, I just needed a holiday," he murmurs, wondering why'd he stay so long. Ah yes. That he can recall. Brows arch as he takes a drink. Looking at Tori, Ian lowers his glass, "You are thinking of leaving New Port sooner, then?"

     The ice-blue gaze shifts to focus more on Ian now as Tori replies, "Well, I never really set a time when I would leave New Port. But I know the time is getting closer and closer... I should have aged ten years by now. I should look more...mature. I should have 'slowed down'. But I haven't, as we know I won't...and someone is going to get suspicious before long. I might be able to stretch it another few years...but not much longer than that. I don't really know when I should leave, but I just know I will have to soon."

     "Had I stayed, Fitzroy would have had to... go." He was already nearing the end of his ten years above and in the light of Kine eyes and cameras. He had pushed it as far... no, farther... than he ever thought to. William shares Ian's smile. Shares the memory. And then settles back again.
     A swallow of brandy, and he closes his eyes. Rapture. "I am glad you did not leave ten years ago..." William says, eyes opening. Night living there. "I should not have met you otherwise. Most likely. And that would have been a pity..." A smile pulls at the corners of his mouth and he resettles after his brandy is finished. The glass set aside. "The Gothic make-up should help a bit in that. But ... oui... " his accent is in the middle of mutating -- part Gaelic, part Gallic. "... you do not have perhaps much time. Where do you think you would go after... Portland...? San Francisco? ..." A raven brow arches up and his expression is awash with curiosity. An arm rests along the back of the sofa. And yes, past Ian's own shoulders.

     "Portland is a fine place..." Ian nods. For America. "I have a fondness for Seattle," Ian reveals, "...and could, of course, send you with introductions there." Really? "Or suggest real estate." He shifts instinctively as William's arm comes around him, moving closer. "But, yes, if you spend a life in front of media," Ian nods sympathetically, "...that is...the way of things." And not his way of Existing. He looks to William, as if quietly reminding him of such conversations. "I guess...I am used to the solitary existence?"

     "The make-up is what's kept me in New Port and in the public's eye for this long, yes... It hides a lot that people assume is there beneath the white, black and crimson...even if it's not truly there to be hidden. But, even the make-up begins to fail after too long, and so, yes, I do not have much time," Tori agrees with William. Her gaze flickers between the two of you as she shrugs slightly, replying, "I do not know where I will go. I have not given it any thought... I guess I should speak to Darius about it. Perhaps he has a preference. At this point, I just do not know." Suddenly grinning, she murmurs, "Well, that's why I am Toreador and you are not, non? I must admit that attention for our Art....we love it. I will not deny it..."

     There is an easy intimacy, unburdened with a Way Of Having To Be. Not here. Here, they simply are as they are, and who they are. Aged. Powerful. Coupled. But it is not the kind of public display that would make eyes widen and cheeks go red -- it is subtle. But those who know them, and have known them Elsewhere, would see the evident shift. A smile begins in William's gaze, glimmers there for moments before it reaches his lips. The mention of Darius perhaps. "Just do not let him choose a place too wild. Adventure is good... but there is a difference between adventure and... L.A. or San Diego..." He can't help the grin -- and even if he could, he wouldn't. William casts a wink to her, and the indigo flickers.
     He looks to Ian then a moment, smile lingering. "We could ..." and eyes return to Tori, "...either in Seattle or San Francisco... send you with introductions -- easily. You will let us know, yes?" A raven brow cocks upward, even as his arm against the couch bends at the elbow, hand lifting up to brush through golden hair a moment. "... when you decide it is time for you to leave New Port..." A quiet chuckle holds in his chest.
     "Ah, it is not as if we will not talk between now and then...and ...oui...Toreador... you are as much a peacock as I am." You, being the General You.

     And he is squarely not. Ian looks blankly between the two of you, deciding to share a moment with his brandy snifter instead. He tips it up, taking a long drink.

     The turret to the north opens, and a young girl comes down, holding a tray. Her motions are quiet as they are some distance away, but she turns and heads towards what must be a secondary door to the kitchen area.

     The intimacy between you does not unsettle her one bit, in fact, she is pleased to see it. She is pleased to see you both 'home' and so comfortable...content...happy. It causes Tori to smile a bit more softly. It turns into a smirk quickly as William mentions wild places. "Oh, I do not think Darius would even -dare-....not even to consider it," she snorts. He is too worried about losing her anyway...he would not put her in a place of danger...not knowingly. "But, yes, when I make my decision, I will let you know....both of you." The comment about peacocks and Toreador is left hanging, however...she merely continues smirking.

     At the southwest turret, Dionnach herself comes down, closing door behind. She quietly crosses towards the seating area, then says, "Th' rooms -- they're made t' yer likin' an' ready." And certainly suitcases all in a row for the guests, while Ian and William's things are more than likely unpacked and set into drawers. "Can I have anythin' sent up for y'?" her blue eyes looking about to everyone. The house must have rotating shifts to accommodate the lords' hours. Quite unconventional. "Night buttr'y will be on, of course," she informs.

     It would take one hell of a Toreador to out-peacock a Norman knight. But, there is at least one he knows who beats him, hands-down. No contest. "Hmmm.. very well... it is as you say," comes the almost leontine purr of his voice. That mulling sound of a jest held in his chest and throat. A very brotherly thing, that. And the look. He is still not sure about this Darius. But he likes him well enough -- about as well as any brother-figure ever really likes the man whose taking her to bed. It's about as good as can be expected.
     William inclines his head, and then glances between Tori, her two attendants -- one more so than the other -- and finally Ian. "I suppose we should let them get settled in for the night, hmm? Tours tomorrow?" French accent rides high upon his baritone voice upon the word 'tours'. Indigo settles on Dionnach. A nod and a smile for her. A thanks given for a job well done.

     Tori glances up to Dionnach, offering a smile. She shakes her head, saying, "I'm certain everything is fine for myself and my two companions, but thank you." She motions to Raf and Mae who look like they're just sitting relaxing after having filled their stomachs. They both shake their heads, looking like they'll just want to hit the sheets sometime soon. Tori herself might seem a little weary, herself...do kindred suffer from jet lag? If they don't, it was still a longer trip than she's used to any more...and with all the excitement, it's a wonder she isn't passed out in her seat at the moment.

     "Aye, thank ye, Dionnach," which somehow sounds like 'd'nach.' Infinitely more German. Ian glances over and behind himself, nodding in agreement with William. "If anyone should need anythin', I'm sure they'll ring. We'll show them the' rooms."

     The elderly lady nods genially, and without saying much more, she heads off towards the southwest exit and towards the kitchen and scullery.

     Yes, vampires do get jet lag. Time is still time. And when night folds into another morning and becomes another half-night ... the immortal body doesn't know if it should be coming or going or sleeping or rising. And the time is wide between Scotland and Oregon. William nods to Ian, and with a last touch against Ian's hair his hand and arm retracts and he begins to stand. "We should show you up, then... let you get sorted out ..." Unpacked. Fed. Brandy is left for the lads to clean up and William holds out a hand to Ian. As if Ian needed the help up. He looks younger than William, after all.

     Ah, but looks are deceiving....and each person in this room likely knows this. Tori slowly rises, stretching slightly. She almost seemed as though she might not have moved if no one had suggested it, looking quite comfortable in the chair. But, still she rises. Mae and Raf see her rise and do so, also, now moving up to the group of you, waiting for their mistress. "Alright then... there's tomorrow evening, certainly. I am sorry I cannot stay up longer...I feared I was going to fall asleep on you both if I stopped talking." A wink is offered to both of you at this comment.

     "Thank you, Will," Ian murmurs, leaving his drink to the sidetable for now and accepting the help to rise. Hands clasp an Ian stands. "You should find everythin' in your apartments...you will be on the fifth floor, I believe. We are on the second." he notes, exhaling softly. "The servants' turret," he motions to the southwest stairs, "...well, that's what it is called, though we all use it, is the easiest way to access the hall, scullery and the south courtyard." As opposed to the several other doors scattered around the hall's walls. He looks to William, wondering if he's left anything out. "And no, do not be sorry, it's late." Somewhere on the planet.

     Smiling, Tori nods sleepily and replies, "Thank you. I will remember that." She even looks toward the southwest stairs, to help her remember which ones she's supposed to be using.

     Something is murmured in Gaelic, and chased by a slight grin. The hand does not seek release from the grasp, rather fingers interlace there, thumb toying against thumb. "Ah non... do not worry about it," William finishes after. "And if you get lost...just raise a shout..." His great Norman voice could fill this space -- and half does. He half-turns toward Ian. "Shall we go up?" Quiet words spoken then.

     Tori chuckles and nods to William, "I will remember that, also..."

     With that, Ian nods and moves around, "Your only chance to ask how to get there," Ian smirks, moving towards the stair door.
     Ian passes beneath the open archway, then disappears up the winding stairs within.

     Tori steps into the room behind you, Raf and Mae trailing behind her. Shaking her head, she murmurs softly, "As I see more and more of this place, the more I have to fight getting lost in its beauty..."

     "The lady's floor," Ian explains genially, hands behind his back as he remains near the door. "And of course, the chapel is also down hall," he motions out. He smiles at William, then says, "Well, I guess...that is it." From here, a series of doors further within can be spied.
     Ian shakes his head, "Ah, this is...just a stone keep, hmm? Beauty is somethin' you call...say Chinon in spring..."
     Ian grins, "But it's kind of you to try and flatter me."

     "Well, I will take your word for it, Ian.... I still think it is beautiful. Remember: beauty is in the eye of the beholder... And, remember: I am Toreador. Would I lie about beauty?" Tori replies, giving him a wide grin.

     He nods, putting up his soft hands in defeat. "I shall not argue." This time. Ian looks to William, expecting comment before departure.

     Stretching slightly, Tori adds, "At any rate, I will see you both tomorrow, then...?"

     William goes no farther than where Ian stands. Holding at the threshold. To the comment of beauty, and its definition, William chuckles. "Ah now... it's a beautiful keep... " He whispers, "Chinon is lovely in the spring of course..." As if he had to say. Indigo eyes take a quick survey and linger lastly on Tori. "Victoria, have a good night..." Day -- whatever. "And you too, Raf.. Mae..." A nod to tomorrow and William looks to Ian. Time to go. The smile says it all. He moves from the door.

     "Yes, we shall see you then, good morning all," Ian nods, giving Raf and Mae a polite nod. "Good night, Victoria," he smiles, pulling the door behind him as he follows after William.

Posted by rowan at March 03, 2000 11:54 PM