Ms. Gifford, having returned the evening previous from her trip to Venice with even more cartons, has requested a meeting with her head butler after dinner in her office. Rather than being separated as it used to from the family's rooms, it is now one of the elements occupying the first level of the tower she has converted into her own. The second floor is still somewhat a disarray, and the third even more so, as she's had boxes that didn't yet have a home for their contents placed there out of the way of the work and others in the chateau until she 'decides where they're going'.
Having taken her dinner in her chambers as she requested from Mr. Leif, the evening sun is nearly below the horizon now, night birds swooping through the sky to catch their meals. The flowers now planted in the courtyard gardens are beginning to peek into bloom as they do when night falls, bringing in moths and those same birds to sing at all hours.
And now, Victoria sits at her desk, the personal correspondence having been placed in the appropriate bin on her desk for her attention on her return. The pile seems to have been well processed, now sorted into a small number of piles in orderly alignment on her desk, her head barely visible over the crenellations of the rises as she makes notes on various pieces of paper. A clip hooks over her ear, microphone hanging near her cheek to the side, "Thanks, I'll note that on my records as well. Let me know if there are any changes in the rates on that fund and I'll make a decision before close today."
As requested, Mr. Landry (he has seemed quite uncomfortable with the Lady of the house using his first name) arrives precisely on time. As is proper, he simply stands unobtrusively to one side as he waits to be acknowledged and invited to sit. As always his expression is pleasantly neutral. As he waits he notices a nearby book a bit askew on its shelf... there, much better. And he reflects on the rain outside as he waits, a storm is rising, lightning in the distance is drawing steadily closer.
"Great, I'll let you get to lunch. Thanks, bye." Victoria says easily, clicking a button on the phone in her lap before she removes the clip and sets the entire contraption with her cell phone off to the side on one of the piles of paper, "Sorry to keep you waiting, Mr. Landry."
She nods to one of the chairs set over to the side of her desk as she stands, moving to take a seat there herself, "I hope things have run well while I've been in Venice? The construction seems to be nearly completed, I'm impressed. Your discussion with the foreman must have gone very well?"
Landry smiles and inclines his head as he is addressed, "I appreciate the brief respite from my duties milady," he says, referring to the wait. He approaches the desk an appropriate distance. His clothing and hair is, as always, letter perfect. And his stance is just barely relaxed enough to not be mistaken for standing at attention.
"Actually, they were quite receptive to the idea," He smiles just slightly, "Luckily even at their best speed, they are barely able to keep up with the schedule they set for themselves at the bid." He raises his eyebrows, "But they are, at least, working more often than taking tea." Satisfied that answers her questions well enough he waits with only the barest hint of a faint smile as he waits to be informed of milady's wishes.
"I'm glad to hear it, if they keep up the pace, the entire project should be complete by the end of the week." Victoria says easily, "And I don't have a title, please just call me Ms. Gifford, or ma'am if you'd rather." She doesn't even attempt to get him to address her by her given name. Somehow, perhaps, knowing that wouldn't even be worth the bother. Though, at least she knows what titles are despite being an American.
"I was wondering if we could take some time away from your evening to go over some changes I'm considering in your duties? I've reviewed your resume and I think that you've been underutilized here at the chateau since you've arrived." She nods to the seat across from her, indicating that she doesn't intend for it to be a short conversation. Pulling a folder off the shelf next to her seat, she seems to have planned for it to move to this venue, "What prompted you to take the position here, originally? It seems as though it's well below your abilities from your previous employments."
The seat is taken, if a bit reluctantly, "Ma'am it will be then," he says. However, at the mention of increasing his duties he perks up considerably, "That would be most agreeable mi.. ma'am. I apologize," He smiles and inclines his head again at the gaff. "I would not exactly consider myself overqualified," his back is straight as an arrow as he speaks, even as he sits in the poofiest chair in the room, "Many twice my age would jump at the chance to head a household as illustrious as at the Chateau Rolle." He smiles still, "But to answer your question, I found myself looking for something outside Britain, on the continent specifically. And Chateau Rolle just spoke to me when I was made aware there was an opening."
"Yes, but it's not an active household. Or, wasn't, at least, when you took the job. And it isn't likely to become much larger than it is now, so there's little opportunity for much more than you've seen in the last few months." She says plainly, folder open on her lap with her attention on you instead of it now. Either she's memorized it or it's not in play for this portion of the discussion. "Are you planning on finishing your career here? Or are you interested in moving on to a larger estate at some point? Or is there some other avenue you're interested in pursuing?"
She doesn't seem to find this at all troublesome, even if the answer was that another position would be more pleasing. In fact, she is more curious than anything else, perhaps trying to learn what it is that motivates the work done here on the whole.
Landry inclines his head to her question, feeling slightly strange, being interview after already having had the job for years. But his answers are concise and honest, "I plan to retire from here most definitely milady." He glances down at the open folder, momentary curiosity getting the better of him before he continues, "Chateau Rolle has been kind to me, and I have no reason to leave. Retirement is not so far away for me, though I do expect to have several more years of service both for Chateau Rolle and its mistress."
Again he gestures to Victoria lightly, that same pleasant smile on his face.
She nods, seeming almost relieved for some reason perhaps. "I'm glad to hear that, the chateau would suffer, I think, were you to leave." Victoria closes the folder on her lap and sets it back on the tabletop next to her seat, considering for a moment. Determining how to start, that's always the tricky part.
"Because of some events that happened in Venice, and just because of relocating and all the things that come with it, it's become evident that I'm going to need a personal assistant. You've shown that you are quite capable of managing all the affairs of the castle here, and with that a tendency for the type of organization I'd require as well as the flexibility to oversee a variety of situations as they arise. One of the main duties you would be assigned would, of course, be the continued oversight of Rolle. As I'm sure you've noticed I haven't managed a household arranged quite this way before and there are some areas that I don't have familiarity with. Does that interest you at all?"
Landry's eyes brighten a bit though that would be the only outward reaction to her suggestion. And even what that might indicate is less than clear. His smile, eventually, widens just a tad, "I would be pleased to be of service milady." How easily he slips back into that word.
After clearing his throat again he asks, "Pleased as always to be of service milady, but would not a personal secretary be more appropriate or capable? I will admit I do have some slight experience in the field, but in the interest of full disclosure, it has been several years since I have taken shorthand."
"I don't have a great deal of secretarial work as such, honestly. And I've done that part for so long there are ways that it would almost be more trouble to explain to someone else how to do than to just do it myself." Just how long could she have been doing this? There are days when she barely seems to have reached the age of majority in appearance. "Though there will be elements of helping me keep a calendar involved. You'll be more aware of when things relating to the chateau are occurring and it's likely that there will be a great deal of travel to France in order."
"It's going to be more a position of responsibility. Sometimes it would be necessary for you to travel with me, and sometimes it would be more prudent for you to stay here and manage my interests at Rolle. My friends and associates will learn that you're my assistant and in some instances likely expect you to speak for me when appropriate. Initially we'll be working together quite closely so that you're familiar with my affairs, and as things develop here and I get a firmer understanding of how it's going to all settle out, you'll take on more of those responsibilities yourself."
Landry considers this... he considers this for a long moment in fact. He has been quite comfortable here at the Chateau... though... he has always has a passion for travel. And while he has, of course, visited France, he has spent very little time there.
And though he refuses to admit it, even to himself, there is something about this young American girl. He likes her, and normally he HATES Americans with a passion. Perhaps it is that which causes him to eventually nod his head and say simply,
"It would be a pleasure to accompany you milady. And I must thank you for the trust you have placed in me after so short a time." That much he has noticed and frankly, it concerns him a bit. Why would she trust a man she's barely met? "But I will endeavor to live up to your faith in me. If you'll still have me of course."
"You've earned it. I'm aware that you should have been managing more of the long term interests of the chateau rather than Bergren for some time now. And despite that fact, you've always continued to do what you feel is best for Rolle." At least she's been paying attention on the other side of the ocean, "And yes, I'm glad you're interested."
She pauses again. Considering what next to address since there is, really, a rather long list of things to go over. Some more important than others. How exactly do you explain to someone what you've done to them already? "I know the entire situation is rather strange, but there are some things we should go over before any other guests come to the chateau." She doesn't seem censorious, more like she's working out how to proceed next in her mind.
Landry listens carefully. Ah yes, here is the catch. He smiles thinly. His expression may fall, but only very slightly. However, these 'guests' of hers that work all day and come out only at night, the lack of servants.. all these things are questions he has, and hopefully, they will be answered this afternoon.
"You already know that Bergren and Lief have been with the chateau for some time. A rather extended period, actually, despite the fact that I only acquired Rolle a few years ago. They were employees of the former owner of the chateau, who gave it to me as a gift after it had been in his possession for several decades." That's a bit of an understatement. Do you just jump in and tell someone that everyone around them is at a minimum three times older than they look? Well. Except for Michael. But he has a whole other caveat of disclosures. "They wished to stay on with the castle after it changed hands, and I was more than glad to have them. Which is why Bergren is the one who oversaw your hiring when the former butler went on to one of the other households Mr. Dunross holds."
The elusive Mr. Dunross. Who will be coming to visit his former holding once again within the week. "He was under direction to look for certain qualities in a person to hire, and was very enthusiastic about you when you applied for the position. I reviewed the resumes with is comments attached, and you were chosen because of your wide variety of experience, and your propensity to loyally serve a household or family for an extended period of time."
A gift? Ah, so the most magnificent Chateau in Switzerland was a bauble to be exchanged on a birthday or somesuch. Of course Landry doesn't speak this aloud. He simply allows himself to say, "Mr. Dunross sounds like a most generous man I am sure it will be a pleasure to make his acquaintance." He inclines his head. In fact, it will be of distinct interest to him to meet several of her 'friends' who are not to be bothered during the day, and only are to be served at night. Most interesting people no doubt.
"He is. Some would say overly, though most people would say not at all." Victoria says absently. Not as though that would make sense on the surface, though to her it seems to be entirely sufficient. "He's going to be accompanied by his husband, who's also one of my close friends. I expect they'll be getting here sometime within the week."
"They're both mentors of sorts for me, as well as friends, and one of the sophomoric reasons that I've been so rushed about the completion of the renovations is that I want them to be pleased with it. Which they probably would've been in any case since they had things arranged the way they wanted to start. Though I hope they enjoy them at least." She shrugs, as though this is a perfectly normal sentiment, and for her perhaps it is, "But there's a more pertinent reason as well, which has to do with the number of staff and workers at Rolle while they, and the others for that matter even more so, are here."
Landry blinks and nods, and the fact that this man apparently has his own husband does not seem to surprise him in the least. He knows a bit of Mr. Dunross from time spent with the other servants here. His curiosity is piqued however at the thought they might be her mentors. For some reason he never really saw Americans as being willing to listen to the wisdom of age, much less be mentored by it. His respect for her kicks up a notch. But still, he listens. She appears to have more to say, and he has yet to have anything to contribute, so he remains silent.
"The three of us are a smaller part of a rather odd... family, I suppose." She uses the term hesitantly, almost as though she isn't entirely sure it applies directly. More a metaphor, perhaps. "Michael as well, though in a different sense." She adds as an aside for the purposes of social arrangements, "He isn't terribly fond of the two of them, which is likely to get him into some trouble."
She pauses once more, reaching a hand up to brush a lock of hair off her forehead back into place behind her ear, attention becoming more focused on the other she speaks to, "Have you looked at the acquisition records of the property itself since you arrived?" Thirteenth century built by Savoy then to Foix to Viry to Beaufort. Then to one Ian Dunross of Scotland in 1558, until its transfer to the American sitting here only a few years ago.
Landry nods politely, "Of course milady," he smiles, "It was one of the first things I made sure to memorize. In fact, I must say that being so long with one family gives the Chateau so much of its impressive pedigree." He smiles just a bit more widely at that, again reminding himself how much he enjoys working here. "No doubt that pedigree will only be enhanced by your own ownership of Chateau Rolle."
She nods as though she expected nothing less. Perhaps she understands the attachment to the castle that her aide seems to have developed over his stay here. "It has a very rich history, which I imagine is one of the reasons Ian gave it to me." She's coming to understand more of the motivations for that particular series of exchanges now than she did when they transpired. "And thank you, I'm hoping that it does."
She pauses again, though this time it's to break the next statement from her earlier comments rather obviously, "However, there is a slight misconception in your interpretation of the records of the chateau. Intended in their design, so through no fault of your own. But Rolle was not in the hands of one family for such a long period, it's been in the hands of one man. The Ian Dunross who purchased Rolle is the same who will be visiting here again." That she leaves for a moment, watching reactions carefully as though it will determine how she decides to proceed.
The storm outside approaches. Unfortunately no bolts of lightning struck as she made her revelation, for Joshua Landry would have expected no less from someone who just suggested what she's suggested. In fact, her statement gets more of a reaction from her than anything else she's said this evening. He raises an eyebrow. There is a long pause as he waits for more.
But eventually he understands that she expects him to respond, "I.. see milady. Perhaps I should find a proper cane then?" A joke? Perhaps, perhaps not. Though it can be difficult to tell, an observant person would be able to tell that he thinks her a bit loony. He is simply too proper to suggest so. Well, too proper and the fact she pays his salary hold his tongue.
She gets a half grin at that, obviously amused by the idea, "I haven't given him his Yule gifts yet, I suppose I could add one in for him. William would think it was funny, at least. Unless he got one too."
Her mood, however, seems to find that promising. If you're at least willing to stay in the employ of an insane American, there might be hope for the entire arrangement. It would help if nothing else. "Bergren started working here at the chateau sometime around the turn of the last century, and Leif just after Vaud joined with the Switzerland from Bern." That would place his hire around 1798. Give or take a year.
Okay... she's lost it. His face takes on a look of mild consternation at she explains that the people he's been working with for the past five years are in fact, several hundred years old. He takes a deep breath and closes his head, weighing his options here.
Chateau Rolle is a plum assignment. The new master is pleasant and considerate despite being American. Oh yes, and apparently crazy as a loon as well. He can retire in a few years if he sticks it out, and frankly, the retirement package he signed for upon taking this position was incredibly generous.
Very well, he can put up with a spot of insanity or two for a short few years. And then he will be free to travel the world at his leisure and perhaps even have a servant of his own. He smiles and, having made his decision, inclines his head, "As you say milady. At the risk of being rude, which I apologize for greatly in advance, perhaps I should inquire as to your own age?"
She laughs at the question, an honest amused laugh, shaking her head slightly, "Sure." Victoria gets up and goes over to her desk, dropping slightly out of the austere lady of the house mode that she had adopted for the beginning of the interview and looking more like what she is. Young, American, and amused. "I'm 62. I'll be 63 in May. I'm going to get myself some coffee, would you like some?" Young in the relative sense, certainly.
"You're taking this so well that it means you either knew it already, which I don't think is the case from speaking with Bergren. Or, more likely, you think I'm padded room material." Victoria makes that a statement as well. It's obvious which she thinks it is, as she pours her coffee from the carafe Leif brought with her breakfast earlier.
"My own opinions are immaterial I am sure milady. And I can promise you I shall not be calling for anyone to cart you off to the Asylum anytime soon." He hopes that will be enough to allow the subject to drop. But he cannot shake the feeling something else is amiss here. Oh certainly, the mistress of the house is a crazy woman who believes not only that SHE is 62 years old when she is obviously in her twenties, but that she bought the Chateau from a man well over 450 years old, but something else is wrong.
Why did she call this meeting? Simply to let him in on her crazy little secret? Somehow he doubts that.
He keeps himself from sighing, but just barely, as he asks, "Will there be anything else milady?"
"Oh, I'm just getting started." Victoria says easily, though she seems pleased by the answer for whatever reason, "But, to clarify, your opinions aren't immaterial. While I'm sure you won't allow them to influence your work negatively, it's pertinent for Rolle to run as smoothly as I'd like. Which is why we're having this conversation." No, she didn't call you up to share her feelings in some kind of strange American psychiatric exchange.
"Compared to many, if not most, of the visitors we're going to be having I'm positively normal. Other than Michael and perhaps my ex-husband if he comes to visit at some point, I'm the youngest. And to be able to keep the house running smoothly, there's a great deal more that you're going to need to understand and accept."
Ah, here we go then. And he simply sits back in his chair, a bit more relaxed than normal, as he is very close to dreading what she's going to tell him next. "I am at your service milady." It is all he can say. But for once, his eyes never leave hers to examine the desk or the floor, or a dusty bookcase. He watches and waits quietly. He will be told everything he needs to know he is certain. And probably even more to boot.
She comes back to her seat, this time bringing a letter opener with her along with her coffee, though it's set over on the table with the file containing your resume, "Perhaps it would be easier to believe with a short... I don't know, demonstration of sorts." She takes a drink of her coffee from it's bisque china cup, set in her lap with its saucer after she's seated once again in the side chair.
Having a second thought, she picks the saucer up and sets it next to the file on the table, "Do you know how to take a pulse?" One doesn't want to make assumptions of course, but she extends her arm a bit towards you on the arm of the chair, devoid of jewelry to speak of, not even a wristwatch there for the moment.
Lightning flashes and thunder rolls as she holds out her arm. Luckily, the thick granite walls of the Chateau Rolle keep out most of the noise. But of course, that is secondary to Joshua Landry as he watches her pick up her letter opener. He keeps his face actively devoid of emotion, though his thoughts are racing. Dear God don't let her cut herself. And already he's plotting the best way to explain knife cuts on the mistress' arms to the physicians in the emergency room without bringing disgrace to the Chateau.
He swallows slightly, and his face shows a perfect mask of pleasant serenity, "I assure you milady, I require no demonstrations..." And as she sets down her letter opener he relaxes visibly, and looking down at her arm he nods, "Yes milady, I certainly do." And that is all he says. Neither does he make a move to take her pulse. He most certainly will not lay a hand on the lady of the house without her suggestion.
"Good." She seems pleased that you know how to take pulses. This seems to imply that things will be much easier and for the moment at least, the dreaded letter opener can stay where it sits on the table next to the leather chair.
"If you would be so kind as to do so, Mr. Landry." Victoria extends her arm over onto the side table a bit, more easily reached and in addition emphasizing the point that she does wish you to take her wrist. "I don't do this often so it may take a moment."
A jaw sets slightly as he is asked to take a pulse. Taking a deep, calming breath he inclines his head and reaches out with confident fingers. Taking a pocket watch from his coat pocket he opens it and watches as he waits for a heartbeat.
Her skin is a bit cool to the touch, but nothing startling. Her cheeks rosy, her heartbeat steady and even. The blood running through her veins evenly propelled by the pumping action of her organs. Even breaths falling lightly from her lungs without any sign of illness. She is, of course, pale. No one would presuppose that she spends a great deal of time in the great out doors. But it is rather as if she has a porcelain complexion, smooth and fine to the eye. Complimented by her burnished hair and vibrant eyes.
But slowly... the color begins to drain away. She seems to be concentrating on something. The first to stop is her breathing. An exhale... and nothing. No inhale, no choking sounds, just... silence against the thunderstorm outside. Her skin continues to lighten. Color drawing out of it as though she might feint. The pulse under your fingers begins to drop off. Slower. And slower. Going grey and more grey under the warm lights. And then... nothing.
No breath, no pulse, no color. And her skin is icy to the touch.
Joshua, for his part as this is going on, is watching his watch, not the color of her skin. All in all he is quite ready to be done with this. He has things to prepare, rooms to straighten, company to prepare for. Lord almighty, the library itself is going to take a full day....
He blinks as he pulse slows. He adjusts his grip and is sure to count the seconds.
He blinks again. He can't seem to find a pulse at all. The frustration must be messing with his concentration. And just as he is about to look up and agree with whatever she wants him to say...
CRRRRAAACK!!! BOOOOOOM!!!! CRASHCRUMBLESHATTER!!!!
Lightning strikes a tree just outside the window at the exact same time a freak gust of wind comes in off the river. The sound and the pressure combining to blow the window inwards in a deadly rain of glass and water. Joshua, having the grip on her arm heaves with alacrity unknown to him until now, pulling her towards him over the side table to shield her with his own body.
And as hearing returns to him he opens his eyes. And for a moment he attempts to open his eyes again. The room is pitch black. Though as his eyes acclimate to the new darkness it turns out there is some light streaming in the window behind them as the rain and wind pour in.
"Dear Lord the tree is on fire!" he exclaims. Quickly gathering himself he stands, "I apologize for the inconvenience milady I'll need to call the electrical company. The fire..." he gestures to the tree, barely lit now in the pouring rain, "...seems to be going out on its own."
But he stops in the middle of standing, "What the blazes?" he asks, feeling some sharp pain in his side...
To her credit, Victoria doesn't let out any of the girly horror movie screams that might be expected from a sudden shattering of glass. Or her incredibly expensive stained glass window in the doorway leading out to the courtyard now likely in lovely bright pieces on the carpet and couch nearby.
Fan bloody tastic.
Pulled easily aside behind the more protective furniture she stays on the ground under the shelter of her butler briefly before he starts to rise. This certainly puts a crimp in things. While she doesn't have as much difficulty as some seeing in the dark, she does have more than others. But, more than that, she firmly and completely avoids looking towards the burning tree. Breathing again, sucking in a heavy gasp of air suddenly as her body comes back to life when she isn't thinking about its altered state.
"Are you all right?" She asks, hand going out to find the desk behind her, "I have a flashlight here in the drawer." Torch in British.
"Bloody Hell...." he murmurs to himself. His hand reaches the pain in his side and he frowns in the dimming firelight, "Bloody piece of glass..."
He starts to pull it out, "Dear God in heav'n, that's in there deep..." and he continues to pull.. and still he pulls, until this dark red piece of glass is totally extruded from his torso. All told, it was buried what seems to be at least eight or nine inches. "Well madam, it would seem..." he winces as he sits up, still on the floor, not wanting to bleed on the furniture, "... I need the paramedics..." And to one who can see in the dark, he's gone nearly as pale as his lady was a few moments before.
Reaching in the drawer for the flashlight she switches it on, shining it on the ground first as not to blind anyone, swinging it around to see... blood.
"Stop!" Victoria says firmly, and not without a little supernatural force behind it. But, too late, at least, to keep from dislodging, "Dammit. Don't remove foreign objects from wounds until you've assessed the damage when you're in the field." Oh. That's right. She's a doctor.
"Hold this. Right there." The flashlight is turned over to you, shining directly on the wound. There's a tearing sound. Seams splitting as easily as if she were pulling tissue out of a box. And there's the sleeve of her blouse dislodged from the stitching at the shoulder in a long white strip of silk. "Are you numb anywhere else?"
She doesn't ask if you hurt, it's too soon for that, and you are, apparently starting to go into shock.
"Oh now look what you've done... I am going to have to stitch that sleeve up you know..... numb?" He blinks at the question, "Well, no, I do not suppose I am." He looks himself over as she approaches, "You know, I've never had that sort of reflex before... the whole, use my body as a shield reflex..." he is starting to sound a bit loopy.
"My, we really need to get some boards over that window..." He starts to stand again, only to fall back on his butt.
"Hold the flashlight still. Sit there. Don't move until I tell you." There's eye contact, and her special ordering things to happen voice. She cultivated it over the years as a Primogen. Oh, and yes, the Dominate. That is there too. Your body responds without your knowledge, holding the flashlight, sitting still, no moving. It's mentally like she snapped her fingers and demanded it to happen, and the universe thought of nothing else but to comply.
Her sleeve is folded into a large thick pad of silk and she holds it in her left hand, taking what's left of the glass in the wound in her right, "This is going to hurt rather a lot."
Reflexes, however, coming in handy as they do, she pulls the rest of the glass out at the precise moment when she applies the bandage, hard, stanching the bleeding by sheer pressure. Then, with her right hand alone, she reaches up to remove your tie. A well practiced motion as though she is quite familiar with the concept. Fingers going around the knot, a tug, and then slipping out through the back.
She moves your other arm, "Hold this as tight as you can." This, also, is not something debatable. The arm does what it's told.
Joshua frowns rather a lot at the pain, "I say.... this is quite unusual milady." But yes, his arm holds the patch in place. He just stares at his arm a bit, as if something curious is going on with it, but he says nothing. Some small part of his psyche telling him that he is talking out of his head. So he's decided to keep his mouth shut.
The knot is fully removed, and the long tie in turn is slid around your waist from behind, over the top of your still remaining shirt, and pulled to the front where she ties it rather expertly into a firm knot designed to slide.
"I'm going to switch my hand for yours now." Moving hers in, she takes the duty of pressure on herself, holding the fabric firm as she slides the tie tight with the other. Thus, maintaining the pressure as a constant to slow the bleeding to a manageable trickle. The knot is shorn up so it doesn't slide back again, and she takes the flashlight, sliding it over the rest of your body in search of other glass that might also be present carefully.
There is nothing left to find. He is otherwise uninjured.
"I say," he says, "I rather think I am ready for bed." He smiles up at her, "I will be available first thing in the morning of course..." he gestures to the window, in through which the storm is still raging. "I should get someone on that..." And he tries to stand again.
"Stop." Again, with the moving. She frowns, voice even more firm this time. A clap of thunder in its own right through the pattering rain echoing through the open gape in the wall. "You will not get up from this spot until I say otherwise." She doesn't ask if it's clear. It is. Perfectly. There's nothing to be done but sit.
The rest of the search is completed, the wound glanced at again. When she is satisfied that it's only shock and you aren't actually bleeding to death, she sighs.
"Hold this, please." The flashlight is handed over again, this time shining on the floor where the glass is scattered. She finds a piece of lovely blue, deep azure in the flickering light that would have radiated nearly cobalt in the sun.
She frowns, shifting the light a bit to shine on her arm, taking the glass with the other hand to make a firm surgical slice across the vein.
Joshua sits, just as he's told. Though he truly is tired. He frowns slightly, confused as she hands over the flashlight. But the confusion turns to alarm as she slices her arm, "Milady! What are you doing?" He starts to move again, but finds he's rather rooted to the spot. He's been told to sit and sit he shall. But his look goes quickly to consternation as he looks about for something to keep HER from bleeding to death.
"Your wound is deep enough that you'd normally need staples." She explains as though that should suffice as a response to any questions. "And I imagine you've punctured one if not more internal organs."
The blood flows easily from the incision, glass dropped back with the pile as she brings her wrist up to your face, lips specifically, and the firm volatile voice returns with the oddest Command yet. "Drink."
Revolting, repulsive, and downright insane as the order is, it is obeyed. Metallic tangy warm fluid drawn down your throat in swallows. But the taste is only noticeable for the barest moment before the sensation rolls over your mind like a wave. It's like liquid sex. Heady and addictive. The sensation that's been missing for months without even realizing it hasn't been gone. Filling a void. A missing puzzle piece of hot fluid bliss.
"Are you insan..mmph!" His eyes go wide as the blood touches his tongue, as if this is totally unbelievable. But nearly as soon as that registers, his eyes change. Hungry, needful, greedy. All these things come to him as he swallows and drinks as much as he can get.
Suction formed as strong as he can, no thoughts for anything but the moment and the need for this ambrosia. He would drink her dry without thought, and find another to drain afterward if he could. His knuckles are white on her arm, holding it to his mouth with all his strength.
And still he drinks, only moments away from actually moaning in bliss.
She sucks in a gasp, eyes closing momentarily as the flow increases, pausing herself in an odd kind of enjoyment all its own. Hers doesn't last as long, however, merely a brief reminder of another sensation on the other side of the ocean she crossed to be here.
Blinking eyelashes against her pale cheeks reveal green again after only a few seconds, recovering quickly from the internal tug. She mentally counts, measuring out the amount of blood passing through her veins with expert precision. Allowing it to continue for a minute that stretches into a short millennia. Removed from the world of crashing thunder and the scent of rain.
"Stop." The order comes all too soon, but not until after a heady moment of clarity is allowed to ripple through her veins into yours. The arm is removed, her pallor more pale than before. Though still not at all unhealthy, all things considered.
And again, strangely, another unusual request coated with requirement after a brief pause where she seems to try and figure out what exactly to do, "Describe to me in detail the process of the mending of socks with your full concentration."
The arm is removed, but the need is still there. Despite the command in her voice Joshua reaches out for more, growling just under his breath. Clarity could mean so many things.
In this case some sinister part of his heritage, his lineage has been awakened. He bares his teeth as he considers her... and her obvious power over him. He seems to be resisting, any bond between the pair sending almost overwhelming waves of inner conflict. His need to serve her versus his need to take her. And by his expression, only her commanding presence is keeping the balance.
But her question.. so inane, so unexpected causes him to pause, to think. And as his consciousness turns to more intellectual pursuits, this ... bestial nature of his retreats. And in a nearly relieved tone he begins describing mending holes in socks. Finding loose threads, matching the string, using a small needle, spacing the stitches to match the current stitch-count... all these things are described in great detail. All in all he seems he can go on like this for quite some time if required.
She listens carefully, bringing her arm up to her own mouth and licking the deep wound she caused there with her tongue, more to clean off the blood than anything else. It doesn't seem to have the same effect on her that it did on you. But, when it is pulled away, the wound is gone. No trace of the cut on her perfect alabaster skin.
For your part, you can feel the knitting you describe taking place in your side where the glass was removed. Flesh following the pattern you dictate slowly and carefully. Organs returning to themselves. Tissue melding into tissue. Until the ache nearly all the way through is reduced to a nagging pain. And the buzz from having imbibed the nectar of her essence dissipates along with it. Flowing away directly into the wound to mend it back into a whole.
Joshua continues speaking even as his face starts to looks slightly... confused by the feeling of his organs healing themselves. Finally, he's finished everything he can think of on the subject of mending socks and he watches Victoria a few moments in a stunned silence.
He smacks his lips a time or two, tasting the bloody aftertaste, "This... there are no words...." he blinks and looks down at his side as he pulls away the rag.
"This is incredible..." he stands and flexes his arm and feels around on his side, "You... you are...." Yet it seems he cannot bring himself to finish that sentence.
It's not entirely healed, though it is only a moderate cut now rather than the life threatening wound that it was only moments ago. Despite the sensation of a lifetime passing since then.
"Different." Victoria finishes with a nod. That's what she's been trying to say all night. At least now he believes her, perhaps. There's a sound down the corridor. Leif and Bergran are fast approaching with the sounds of the crash, light barely visible on the ground as they arrive at the doors.
"I should check that tomorrow. Make sure there aren't any infections setting in, though they're unlikely." She says easily, beginning to stand up herself. Reaching up to her arm still covered with light silk, she pulls a smaller piece of glass easily out of her flesh, tossing it to the floor. "Go ahead and rest and I'll answer your questions tomorrow after dinner. The others can take care of this, you're going to feel weary in a few moments."
But, this time, it isn't an order. It's a suggestion from the lady of the house to her wounded butler. And she seems as though she is more drained than she was before the flying glass entered the fray.
Bringing a hand up to her temple lightly she nods a bit, "Good evening, Mr. Landry."
Posted by rowan at March 25, 2004 01:17 AM
