The rain stops falling from the sky. The clouds drift away revealing the dusk sky. The winds pick up considerably making it quite windy. You notice that it is now quite cold. You notice it is getting darker as the evening continues.
     So it's a few hours past sunset, and Drancy's been and gone to the store - it only took one time of cleaning up catshit and swearing for her to learn that lesson. So now, in the closet off the living room, there is now a covered litterbox, as well as extra ... supplies. She's also picked up a variety of catfoods, uncertain what one feeds a growing cat, after all - and tuna's expensive. Not that the bloody cat is appreciative, likely. Grumbling, Drancy approaches the telephone.
     Got to call Davydd... Don't even know what the hell to say to him. What'm I supposed to say? You know something and I want to know too. Oh, that sounds mature. And, really, it's not like I have any claim on him, except that his damn dragons acted like I bit him or something when I touched him that time...
     Sighing, she lifts the receiver and dials the number given. Boop boop boop, boop boop boop, boop boop, boop. Drancy is just has never been a 'happy camper', and now is no exception. Except for once, the reasons are things she can't even define as readily. "Come on... pick up... pick up, damn you..."

     Fortunately, the cat took to the box straight off. Afterall, as the saying goes, when in Rome...
     And appreciation? Maybe you see it and maybe you don't, though it's hard to tell with cats -- as much as it is with snakes, actually. The yellow and white tomcat has selected what shall henceforth be known as His Lord's Favorite Pillow, and when not eating, or in "the necessary", he's on that pillow, curled up and napping.
     You'd never expect he'd be paying attention...
     But if you stroll by, you'll notice the constant purring. Happy to be out of the rain, you might warrant, especially with the March winds roaring outside.

     In Wales, the rain rarely stops, particularly on the coast, but Snowdonia is not free of moisture this night. Winter folds into spring. The only seeming difference found in the budding of different flowers and the wakening of trees.
     It's far too wet, even, for his lady to do her usual gardening. And he, his nightly voyeuristic rounds. It's not so late, just a few hours past sunset, but he's been up for a bit.
     Now, if he could just remember where he left his phone...
     With a stride befitting Mars, with all the swiftness of Mercury himself, Davydd barrels through his chamber, from antechamber to sitting room to bedroom, and by the sixth ring he has it. And a pair of trousers tossed from the bed.
     "This is Davydd," spoken with that earthy rumble of his, with the lilt of the tongue that forms the audible question mark. Who's calling?

     Drancy was probably just about to hang up in frustration and disgust when the voice comes through. Good timing on that one, really. The cat is being ignored for the moment, mainly because she still hasn't worked out what exactly she's going to say.
     "About time, you bloody welshman." Well, that can only be one person, really, can it. Not the most auspicious of beginnings, but at least you can hang up on her if she gets too outraged - or outrageous. "S'Drancy, as if you didn't already know. Caller-ID's a wonderful thing, innit? - You left a message on my machine. I'm returning your call."

     That's the beauty of it, aye. And maybe it's better this way. He's never been known for his patience. God help him, even less known for it than Plantagenet, who doesn't even know how to spell it. "Bore da to you, too," he gruffs, but there's a warmth to it. "You're doing alright then? How's life in Old Blighty?" Such tender words for London. Such endearments for England. "I usually only use this contraption for games," he lies, "I'm unpopular. No one calls me. So." A pause. "Recovering from your trip to France?"

     His voice nearly purrs it out. There's a drawl of amusement, tempered by I Told You So's.

     Drancy of course sounds puzzled. "What're you, drunk already? Haven't been to France since... four years ago, when me and some friends decided to go on an intercontinental pub crawl." Trip to France. What the hell is he on about... Pah. Amused as hell, is he, but - what by...
     "Not recovering from a damn thing except nearly being showered with broken glass. Who told you I was in France? You been checking up on me or something?" Now she's suspicious, and it's audible in her voice.

     "No, not checking up on you," his tone is quiet but bemused. You don't remember. Oh, this is not good. This is not good at all. "A friend of mine from the club said he saw you in Tours. Or at least he thought he saw you. I'm guessing the wine has begun to flow in Touraine a bit early." And then he chuckles.
     I'll kill him if he touched a hair on your virginal head. And it's not because I love you. It's because... goddamn it something in this world should be pure without him ruining it. Particularly young and vulnerable women.
     "Oh, you were near that? I saw it on telly. I'm not buying the 'weather anomoly', are you?" You were there. Then was it you? "How are things otherwise?"

     Drancy grumbles into the phone, unaware of the internal monologue on your part - she's far too busy with her own internal monologue. "Tours? I've never been to Tours in my life." And I'm not about to go any time soon, either. Hard enough to stay in work without taking vacations, these days. "He thought he saw me? He thought wrong. Do all of your friends drink enough to cause early liver failure, Davydd, or did I get lucky and just meet the ones that do?"
     Mutter... damn it. I don't know what to ask him. I know weird shite is going on. I don't know what to do about it. People just... keep popping up out of nowhere. I want answers, but I don't even know what to ask... don't even know what good questions are to ask...
     "All I know about that little incident, I was wandering down the sidewalk in a pissy mood," like she ever has other moods, some might think, "when it started happening. I started running, and some berk I've never seen in my life before comes running after me, asking if I'd hold still, telling me he's been looking all over for me. Ever since I met you, I swear, the most arrogant fucking pricks have been crawling out of the woodworks." Not that she's thought that about them all.
     "Things? Things're... okay, I guess, other'n that. Actually went out to dinner with a bloke, nothing in that line of business before you get any ideas," her voice is so prim you can almost hear the Jewish Princess she was raised to be, and then her voice regains its usual strength, "fellow who sings lead for one of the bands I wrote up. Oh! And I seem to've adopted or been adopted by a tabby."

     There is a thoughtful sound. Not a cat's purr, but something far more earthy than that. The dragon bemused. Well, that certainly didn't take long. I hate it when the woman is right. And then the throat-held sound of thought transforms into an exhale. "You gave the lad a shake," meaning the 'berk' in question. "Look, I don't want to put the fear of the Almighty in you, and I know you can take care of yourself," he assumes your protest and answers it in advance, "...but you need to be careful of folks you let near you, aye? Folks coming out of the woodwork, wanting to get chummy. I'm not the only one who can see magic, hear it. Eventually, you'll be able to control it. But in the meantime, you need to be careful."
     And that's the most he's ever said on the subject of your tattoos, your spells and the dragons jumping off the skin. For the first time, he's called it what it is. "I might be able to put you in touch with a teacher of sorts..." He's not sure, by the sound of his voice. "I'll do my best, Drancy." And so he gives his word.

     Meanwhile...
     The cat stretches, yawns and meanders over to his assortment of bowls. Berk. Bah!

     "I tried to punch his nose in, if that counts." She doesn't smirk, states it as matter-of-fact. "Last thing I need is another fellow who thinks acos I'm a virgin he can bloody well get whatever wants. I feel like I've got a neon sign over my head that says, 'Oi, Fellows, Virgin Here, Fuck With Her Some, Why Don't You'. Dei's the first fellow who's not." And Dei's also not called. That gets shoved down.
     "I'm not bloody helpless, you know." Protest on schedule, duly issued - well, it was anticipated. Then there's a quick, indrawn breath. "What do you mean... magic?" Magic? This is... magic? Well. Not like the idea hadn't occurred, but still - what the bloody HELL? Magic? "You are going to explain, right? - What kind of teacher? You're not sticking me back up at uni." That's said half-desperately, and half-warningly. Drancy is Not Amused. Dragons or no. The cat is ignored, though Fancy Feast Salmon and Whitefish might tempt the feline appetite.

     "I suppose you think that sparks ordinarily lift from your fingertips and tattoos of dragons swim on the skin they're painted on -- not static," he whispers. "I suppose you think that just happens to shite faced Welshmen," and now he laughs, not a roar but a roll. It almost sings. "Aye? Well, it doesn't happen to everyone, Drancy. You're right. And once upon a time," damn near literally, "...it did happen to a shite-faced Welshman. And maybe you think you've got shite for luck because now you've got it, but I want you to hear this one thing, if nothing else. Whether you like it or not, you're a precious thing. And there are going to be those who want to help you, and there are going to be those who want to own you. And someone who knows a thing or two about this stuff might just be able to help you ...learn to tell the difference. In the meantime," he clips in his more usual tone, "you're going to have to rely on your impressive survival instincts and your highly tuned bullshit radar. Tell me, when you met William, did you get a headache?"
     And now the laughter roars...

     Drancy listens, scowling mightily. It's not that none of this occurred to her... it's not that she's stupid. It's just that... That stuff doesn't happen, does it? Except when it does.
     "I got a headache because he was an elitist scumbucket with a nice car," she mutters. "Fine. So I should be on the lookout for headaches. Any particular size or shape headache, or just... headaches?" Of course, the headaches've largely gone away, with the addition of the tattoos, and the resulting twinges are... different, but they might count.
     She gets a bit snippy, though. "Anything else, or am I calling you and paying money for you to laugh at me? And you are a drunken Welshman... with or without tattoos."

     "Pay attention to headaches, aye. And men that smile like the devil and drive a better car than He does -- just as a general rule. And I wasn't laughing at you," he's still chuckling, "but having fun at the expense of a good mate," meaning William. An exhale and you can hear the phone shifting. He had to wipe his eyes for that one.
     "Pay attention to folks suddenly wanting to get close to you, not that you're not attractive and utterly charming," okay, so now he's teasing a little, "...but energy...hmm? Pay very close attention to that. Like when you touched me and we both came out of our seats... it likely will be less dramatic, but you follow my meaning." He assumes. "Oh aye, I am running up your phone bill. Just take care of yourself, hmm? And I know you know how... I'll let you go..."

     Right. I'm so going to be going around touching fellows. Sure, Davydd. You just go on thinking that...
     "Men don't smile at me unless they want something anyway." How cynical of her, but : how true. "Usually something I'm not willing to give them. All right, I'll keep it in mind. And bollocks to that, mate. I'm about as charming as a drunken brawl in Picadilly Square at three am in beggars' piss." What she lacks in charm, she makes up for in metaphor.
     "I'll talk to you later, you can tell me later about this ... teacher. When you know more. And you will tell me." Watch her threaten you, Davydd, Prince of Dragons. Amusing, isn't it? So cocky, so tough, so confident. "I'll talk to you later, you've got my number."
     She rings off without further ado, not even waiting on farewells, because, well, she's got to keep you on your toes somehow. And, of course. No Dei. "Bloody hell," she says aloud.

     You have to be careful what you ask for...
     You click off the receiver, bidding adieu to a prince of dragons and bloody hell it is. If you only knew it. Your phone rings again...
     One ring...
     Two...
     And the cat's content with his fancy feast and trundles back to his pillow. Three turns counter-clockwise and he plops down. Not a half moment more and his eyes are closed and you can detect, it would seem, the hint of a snore...

     And outside, the door to Pashmina's is active tonight. In and out and dine-in and take-out, and the newest arrival? Dot...

     Drancy expostulates, "Kee-rist!" Well, at least she doesn't know Dot's en route just yet, but this popularity is entirely too much. Well, still... you never know who it might be...
     She picks up the phone before it has a chance to ring a third time, almost but not quite hastily, picking up the entire thing as she cradles the receiver between chin and shoulder. "Yeah? Who's it?" Not the most elegant greeting, but she's half-expecting it's Davydd, calling with last minute advice or laughter. And god, but she needs a drink...
     The cat with his snores gets a hot glare. You just glare, cat. Bloody beast, lucky not to have to deal with all this crap... sometimes I wish my life were that simple. And then, of course, I snap out of it. "Hello?"

     "I wasn't sure if I was reading my handwriting right," it's Dei, and it must be before their sets. They play somewhere three nights a week now. "But, I guess my fours do look like nines. Hey..."
     Did you know I was in the business of answering wishes? Well, not really. But desires are all the same. Maybe it's not quite like a prayer, but I'm not exactly an angel either...
     "We're playing at..." he has to pause to get the name and you can hear Sieg shouting out: Betty's Boobs. One of the hidden warehouse clubs, sometimes doubling as a Dom/Sub mix-and-mingle. "Betty's Boobs," Dei echoes. "Are you bored of us already, or do you want to come out?"

     Boots tromp up the stairs and she has hands full of take-out. Something to share as she plots out the evening with you. Dot's in the miniest of mini skirts, red-white-and-black plaid, with torn -- naturally broken in, not razor cut -- fishnets, oversized Docs and a shirt that's two sizes two small, bearing a cartoon cat flipping off the world. The back of the shirt says: Sod Off Pussy.

     Drancy grins, a little goofily. This isn't exactly what she'd expected, but ...
     That's not entirely a bad thing, is it, considering what she usually expects. "Hey. I wasn't expecting you to call." She doesn't bother trying to keep it casual and all forced, because that's just so not her - she couldn't. So it's obvious she's pleased to hear from you. "Betty's Boobs?" she responds, half-incredulously, the way she does whenever she hears the name of the place. "And I'm not bored of you, but are you inviting the reporter or the person?" Not that there's always much separation...
     Drancy hears boots, which means -someone-'s coming for a visit. She starts drifting towards the door. "And can I bring someone, or is this me and me alone? I think I'm about to have company, though I don't know who yet - if they have a gun, I'm going to bloody scream."

     "If you want to play the critic you can -- up to you, but I'd hate to seem like we're oversaturating. I'm inviting the person, but isn't it true that with reporters there's no such thing as off-the-record?" i.e., you're always working, even when you're not working. "And sure, bring whomever. Oh, and an unexpected benefit in gigging at a dominatrix bar. Handcuffs," he chuckles. "Sieg won't be late tonight," comes the humourous, ominous tones. "Feel free to bring whomever you want. I've given your name to the seven-foot tall bouncer. I'll have him add... 'and friends'. Not a problem. We're in the Naughty Lounge, I think that's what they call it. Anyway, you can come on in. We're hanging here till midnight, then playing until two."
     He's quiet for a second as you head toward your door. "Well, if I hear shots, I'll ring the police, right?"

     Tap-TAP-Tap! That rhythm again. This time sounding on your door. "...wooohoooo," it's Dot. "I've got a little surprise for you....."

     Drancy listens to the voice on the other end of the phone, with a slight roll of her eyes. "Does that mean I should go all leather, too?" Is that what you like? Not that you're going to get any, but it's always nice to know.
     And that's amusing, the idea of the humongous Sieg, handcuffed to his instrument... or his guitar. "Well, nice to know he won't be late. Sure, a blank tag seems fine." How often do I get men to write blank cheques? Not that I ask.
     "Scratch the police... it's just Dot." Half-groaning, half-laughing, as she remembers the last encounter Dei had with Dot. "If I bring her, I might have to do something desperate, but maybe we can aim her at Sieg... or would you rather I didn't?" They do seem a perfect couple, though, don't they? She swings open the door, still holding the phone to her ear. "Hullo, Dot, mind the cat," she greets.
     "New acquisition - come on in, make youreself comfortable, got a phone call." Drancy steps back, making room, and just waiting for Dei to answer her - meanwhile, she looks Dot over, eyebrows arched. "You are going loaded for bear tonight. Who's the lucky fellow? I mean, I know it's not me you're looking to knock heels with..."

     He laughs, "If you have leather, do your thing," Dei says and there is warmth there. "I'm not in leather, no harnesses, no piercings. It might be amusing to see Sieg being tortured. Sure, bring her along."

     Dot strikes a pose as you mention the outfit. The pose consisting of the middle finger raised, hip cocked out and pierced tongue given in a wide, wild grin. "What ho, here comes the ho, wot?" she barks out in an East London clip. Then holding up the bags, she smiles, "I've brought dins! And..." You knew this was coming, "... I thought we'd go out, see some bands, maybe score something," drugs or sex or who-knows-what. "It might be fun. Danny and Trevor are at the Phantasma-gagme tonight, they're no fun. They've gotten into watching blokes dance naked in cages. Buh! Oooh," she grins, "...who's the new acquisition???"

     Dei can hear her, your friend Dot. Moreover he can feel her. But he says nothing through all of that. You can just hear him quietly laugh. "Hey, bring us some Pashmina's on your way, that sounds good. I'll pay for it, no problem. I'll let you sort it out with Dot. Betty's Boobs, Naughty Room, dinner with Deus Ex."

     Drancy rolls her eyes slightly, grinning a bit at Dot, indicating the phone still clutched to her cheek. "Jussasec," she orders in mock-indignation. "Got to deal with this." Score. Like I'd score anything more'n an interview on my best night, or even try to - well, maybe the odd bottle of vodka. "Looks like plans've come to us, and once again you get blessed by the fact that you have a friend in the industry."
     Back into the phone, then, she addresses Dei, half-dubiously, half-amused. "I own a little bit of leather, but it's not a fetish with me - the only time I worship dead cows is when I'm in the mood for a bloody rare steak. - Tortured? Is that what they're calling it nowadays? Eh. I'll figure something out. Who knows, maybe I'll surprise you. And sure, sure, I'll call down an order. Brave souls, to trust to my choices, and even to pay for it. I'll ring off, then, and see you there."
     And it's back over to Dot as she carries the receiver back over to the main body of the phone. "Cool your jets, Dotty. The acquisition? You mean the goddamn cat, I assume." She half-glares at the innocent feline - something's got to take the brunt of her glare, after all. "And we're going off to Betty's Boobs as soon as I figure out what to wear. Dinner with Deus Ex - you can worship at my feet later."

     She almost lets out a girlish squeal of absolute joy -- but manages to restrain herself to just a wide eyed, lip rounding look of pleased shock. And then it explodes into sudden coolness, "Oh really. Well, I'd get down on my knees but I forgot my kneepads doll. That and I'd have to show you my skivvies!" And she blows you a kiss, setting the food down and immediately cooing and purring over the yellow and white cat. "Oh my god! Where did you find him, oooh, isn't he adorable. Hello there, little pussy," she tickles, "does he mind being held?"
     Even as she says this, she's picking up the tabby, cradling him and scritching at his ears.

     And by that look on his face, no... he doesn't mind. He doesn't mind at all...
     Huw has died and gone to heaven, you see...

     There's a bit of laughter. "Alright, well... I'm not a hindu, so... the cow thing doesn't bother me. We'll see you shortly, yes?" his Nordic cadence beginning to take over, verbs inserting themselves out of order, as far as English is concerned. Dei holds out the phone and you hear a resounding male shout for: Lemon Curry
     "We trust your curry decisions and look forward to it. See you in a bit," he whispers and then the call is done.

     Ah, but no matter how cool Dot plays it now, Drancy knows better, you see. She hangs up the phone, leaning back against the wall and folding her arms over her Dead Kennedys-advertising chest. "He's a sucker for attention, just like you. You two make quite the pair... I didn't find him so much as he found me. After some random loony was chasing me and wanting me to hold still. Right." She rolls her eyes. "Like I'll hold still for some modern Jack the Ripper."
     A shake of her head, and she picks up the phone again, to call to downstairs. "I'm going to place the order, I think, while the latter half of my brain tries to figure out what the hell to wear. You two entertain each other in the meantime - how've you been, anyway?"

     "You're fucking putting me on. What happened? You should carry a can of mace," Dot drolls. "I know I do. Fuckers. Course, I like spraying guys that use bad pick-up lines or fake, posing punks," she flashes a grin. "I'm so naughty! I should be spanked!" And she cuddles the cat to her. "He's so sweet, and he doesn't smell completely awful for an outside puss of the streets."
     Huw would take offense at that, except for the fact that he's in absolute Nirvana...
     "I've been good. The bartending gig is starting to pay off. Not as flashy as being a reporter, getting tight with all the cutest bands in town," she drawls, with only a touch of teasing venom, "...but I get my drinks for free and get to rub bits with all sorts. And the tips are fucking faboo. I paid my rent on time and bought you dinner for a change." She wanders toward your room. "As for tonight, where are They playing?" They, spoken with emphasis -- Deus Ex. "You're damn near a member of the band at this point. Oh! We should start our own band!" She's not really jealous...
     Alright, she's a little jealous...

     "I just seem to get lucky that way a lot," comes the dry response from Drancy, hands in her armpits. "And what you should do is find a nice guy and get married - you'd be much happier. I know just the sort of man, too - someone terribly kind, and somewhat firm, but willing to let you have your own way in the the little things that count. And, of course, who's got a nice big cock for you to play with." She's merciless sometimes, isn't she?
     "They're playing at Betty's Boobs. He called me up, out of the blue, offering me an invite and a pass past the bouncers." She manages to keep excitement out of her own voice, though she doesn't quite pull off indifference - only studied casualness as she follows towards the bedroom. "And I doubt very much I'm a member of the band, Dot. Come on - I'm just a reporter. I hardly know them. And you know I'm not in it for the flash life." A roll of her eyes as she tugs open the closet doors, staring into it.
     "I've half a mind to wear something bloody unexpected... and what, us start a band?" That gets a snort from her. "D'you think if I had a lick of musical talent, I'd be a reporter?" Even if some people've told me I sing like an angel, doesn't seem to work for me.

     "Dahling," Dot drawls, holding the puss up for effect and pointing at you with one of his puss arms, "You don't have to be able to play or sing in a punk band. That's the beauty of it, wot?" And she winks, then smirks at your idea of marriage. "I'm a single girl and loving it, besides, I might get bored with only one cock... even if it were a big one..." Oh, she's from a similar background as you, really. Good family, educated at the right schools. There's still a society debutante who wants a ring and babies, but it's just not The Punk Way. And you know, it's all a part of The Establishment, right? Husbands and babies and all. "But..." she laughs, "maybe if it was an exceptional cock. So, have anyone in mind?"
     Does anyone spring to mind? Maybe an elitist asshole with a great car. Oh right, he's gay...
     She puts the cat down and brushes the hair off of her, "Damn. So, have you named him yet? Or do you just call him Fucker or Cat." She laughs and heads to your closet. "Hmmm... getting personal phone calls from handsome rockers. I think you should wear something colorful. Not revealing or anything... just really, kind of colorful." God, almost tasteful even.

     Drancy has, of course, held onto what can only very loosely be termed her 'virtue'. It's not so much a matter of waiting for 'the right one', really, but she's got her own philosophy on the topic. She pokes through some items in the wardrobe of costumes and outfits. "Only one I can think of offhand who you'd want to settle down with is rather taken... by his boyfriend. Though I imagine you could probably convince him to give you a quick screw, with your charms, but it's not the whole package, after all, is it."
     And wouldn't William and Davydd be amused and maybe just a little apalled by these specimens of modern femininity. Where's the chastity belt and tower when you need it?
     Unrepentant, Drancy pulls out a couple of potential outfits, scowling at them. "He's just 'Cat', or 'Bloody Cat' when he pisses me off. And just because he called me, honestly, Dot! Doesn't mean a bloody thing. Keep it up and I won't hook you up with Sieg." She smirks. "Actually, I was thinking of going as Little Red Riding Hood... complete with picnic basket for the food."

     "Hmmm, and he could play the big bad wolf," she purrs as she heads over to your bed, "I love it. Do it. Oh, and introduce me to that bloke, I have a talent for making men change their affiliations. I've done it before, remember Gavin? Poor tarted up, Gothboi Gavin? He's now married and living in Shropshire, all thanks to me," she sneers, "...the great git. He'd never been with a woman, I showed him the light, and he ends up marrying some girl named Penelope and getting a 9-to-5. Anyway," she waves that off and shows a slinky grin, "...who is he then?"
     Davydd and William? Appalled by modern femininity? They would laugh at that. Appalled, no. Very modern men, those 12th Century princes. Exceedingly modern, even with the castles and the horses and the wineries and gardens. Why should they be appalled when it means less work for them? Although, William would have to say he preferred it when there was some...mystery to women. Now, they basically parade naked -- and it's just not as interesting. And after 800 years of women and assorted humans, it has to be interesting. For his part, Davydd doesn't care. So long as they're breathing and have breasts. Or at least, that was the manner of things before Sandrine arrived...
     "Sieg is rather cute. He's a bit slutty, even for me, but you know...one night won't kill me. He's definitely a player, through and through. I've seen him 'work it' on a room. He's such a slut! Honestly." Dot laughs and smirks at that. "See, now.. Dei is someone, I think, you could actually be with. Sieg is probably good for a terrific fuck, but then you just want to get away from him. So...I'll probably bang him silly and then forget about it. So... what's the story on this one guy with a boyfriend?"

     Drancy snorts. "I've no intentions of sleeping with anyone, Dot. Bad enough that bloody cat you're carting round like he's a stuffed toy snores in his sleep. And yes, I remember Gavin. They had a pretty little wedding, if I remember - all bride and groomy in a little church, she wearing white with baby's breath and spray roses. If one's going to do tradition, I suppose it's pretty enough, but there's more original traditions to choose as well." Dot'll definitely marry long before I do, god bloody knows. Can't imagine being married. Such an odd concept, tying oneself up like that, having to think of someone else.
     "Who is he?", she echoes. "He's... just a friend of a friend, sort of. Rich enough to drive a tremendous car, obviously in it for everything he can get and devil take the rest - he gave me a lift home once and very nicely took my word for it when I said I wasn't interested in being seduced. I imagine some women run after him with both hands and their tongues hanging out besides, though. Rich bastard." As for women of mystery - they say that right up until there's a bit more mystery than they'd bargained for...
     "Dot, I'll only say this once, since I know you don't want to hear it and won't listen, but the two of you are probably just alike under the skin." She picks up a plain white frock trimmed with lace at the cuffs, neckline and hem, and stockings and undies to go with, then disappears round the corner of the wardrobe, prude that she is. From behind the open door her voice comes out. "You could probably settle him if you wanted - if you went about it right. As for Dei, we've met what, twice? We don't even know each other well enough to be friends, let alone anything more - and I'm not going down that path, ta very much for asking."

     Oh, now you totally have her ear, her complete interest, and her full attention. Rich. Tremendous car. "So, what's he like, apart from being a gentleman when you gave him the Shove Off? Is he good looking? What about his package?" She laughs, as if she's going shopping. And in a way she is. "Most importantly, what about his package. Did you get a scope? What's it look like? Size counts, dahlink. Oh! And is he English? Scottish? What?"
     She's going to explode when you tell her he's French. And good looking. As for the noted package... no, you didn't look. Likely can't help her there. Pity you don't know what his family is famous for. Well, apart from conquering England and ruling the Holy Roman Empire...
     "And I'm nothing like Sieg! I don't sleep with everyone I look at," she laughs, "...only, maybe, half the people I look at. I'm loose, but at least I'm not slutty! Unless you were meaning I could make this Rich Boi settle down. And as for Dei... well, let's just say I'm watching out for you, sis. I know you like him. I can hear it in your voice. But I think a platonic relationship is perfectly fine. He seems nice." She lies on the bed, feet on the surface of it -- tres indelicate, but who's here to notice? And the cat jumps up on the bed to join her. Purring through a great yawn.

     Drancy says bluntly, "He could probably have me killed and not worry about getting into trouble for it. I'd steer clear, myself. And he's neither - French, I think. I didn't check out his package, either." Like I would. Please. "I admit though he looks like fudge on vanilla ice cream. And like it woudn't melt in his mouth, either."
     There's vague rustling noises and she steps out again, bending to pull on a pair of dark ballet slippers of soft leather - her concession. "Pity I haven't time to do my hair in corkscrew curls - for the complete image, you know. Have to just twist it up..." She picks up a hand mirror and starts applying makeup - not much, though, she's just not much into cosmetics. Rouged lips, a touch of dark mascara. "No, I meant I think you could make Sieg settle if you wanted - the other one's more like a force of nature, and you're just not that immovable. And well... Dot, liking isn't everything, you know? So he's cute and talented." A shrug which tries to pass itself off as indifferent. "Ask me how many of those I meet every week. See?"

     Fudge on ice cream. That's about as apt a description for William Plantagenet as has ever been set down. All the glorious sin of him. All the subtle danger of him. There's not a person, man or woman, who knows him who wouldn't agree with what you have said. And that you see it so clearly, so quickly, when they and many, many others have not -- or if they have, then ignored it -- would earn immediate respect.
     Davydd would beam with pride. Even if your great-grandmother denies his role in parentage of your ancestors and, ultimately, you...
     "Hmm.... gorgeous, sinful and dangerous. If you see him again, introduce us... you've got to introduce us." She, like so many others, hears and sees the danger and would run straight for it. There is one on this planet who, with you, would shake his head. But he knows what you can only imagine...
     But as you mention Sieg, she puckers her lips in wonder. "Hmm...well...we'll see," she murmurs, "I'm not really into musicians for keeps, though. I know they're patently worthless. Great lays, fun times, but stability? Right..." Dot laughs and sits up, "Oooh, nice look, give us a spin! You know, you could always wet your hair and ...bobby pin it up. And I think Dei's a little different from the rest of the rabble," she says lightly, "but you know... you're a smart cookie. I trust you to do what's right for you... you have that gift. God knows, I don't..."

     Such a gift it is, too... leads me into stranger places every week.
     And half the time, I don't even remember where I've been - or who with. And right, I'll just introduce you to someone who, if you're lucky, your heart's the least of the things you need to worry about having broken...
     "He might be Mafia or something for all I know," Drancy says aloud, not specifying about who. After all, it's equally true for Dei as for William. "Most musicians don't stay musicians, Dot. I don't know if Sieg's got what it takes or not. Right now, he's on the 'I'm a rock star' kick - only problem is, that's a kick which leads people to an early grave. How much fun was Hendrix having, after all, when he died? I'm willing to wager, 'not enough'. But that's just me." She prims up her mouth, peering in the little mirror.
     "Think I'll stick with the braids and bells and crystals already there - too much bloody work to take it all out. Just clip it up and pull the hood up." She drapes the red cloak around her shoulders, pulling up the hood on cue. "See? And, well, Dot, it's not that I do what's right for me - I just... go it alone, is all." I think. "Why don't you try getting Sieg to chase you? Give him a little bit of a challenge - not too much, but a little - and I bet you can have him eating out of your hand."
     Women're evil.

     "It'll be rather hard for him to chase me when he has a line of women waiting to lie down in the middle of the floor and hike up their skirts. I mean," she laughs, "what're the odds he'd follow me with all the rest of that waiting on him. It's like, you have to be one of the ones on the floor, you know? Anyway, I'm not that keen on him. He's alright cute." She shrugs. "And the rockstar thing's a bit premature. The band's alright, sort of polished for me... but it's not like they have a record deal. Do you think they'll get one?"
     But The Other fellow. Curiosity is piqued. But oh well, probably never see him again, either. So like she always does, she picks herself up and dusts herself off. Her lack of confidence will be found in the music and in the bottle and in the screw, then she'll be as good as new. "Hey, I have an idea. Why don't you like, let me cut your wig?" She laughs. "How can you fucking stand that. Not that it's not pretty but jesus, it must weigh a ton..."

     Confusion for a moment. She's got other things on her mind, after all. "What're you talking about, cut my wig?" She straightens up looking herself over in the wardrobe mirror. "Mmf. Jewelry'd be overdoing it, I suppose, though it almost screams for something silver. A nice cross or something." She laughs at the idea, of this punk girl of a nice Jewish family wearing a cross.
     "And do something original to get his attention. I don't know - handcuff yourself to him, or something." Says the woman in the Little Red Riding Hood costume. "Now... we just need a picnic basket... you going to change? You can borrow whatever, if you like."

     "Change? No! This is a classic outfit. I love this gear, fuck them if they can't take it," Dot rattles off and then she grins, standing. "Yeah, come on, let's cut your hair. I liked the page-boi better. And it's not like your hair could have grown like... five feet in a month. I'm high, but I'm not crazy," she mutters. "Where're your scissors?"
     "Oh, and wear a huge gothic cross. Really red lipstick. You naughty, naughty red riding hood, you," Dot chides, teases, winks and then laughs. "Hmmm... handcuffing. That would be good. I think I'll do my lipstick trick too..." All those years in art academy weren't wasted. She can do a helluva painting with lipstick. "Tease him mercilessly and then hang on Dei if you're not going to. Haha..." Just kidding, right?
     "Hmmm... basket. How about we pinch a shopping basket from the Safeway on the way over? You know, one of those little hand carry-all things..."

     Drancy makes a face. "Doesn't fit the costume," she complains. "Hold on, I've got a wicker carrier here somewhere - one of those twenty quid jobbies they sell in late spring." She dives under the bed, rummaging until she finds what she's looking for. "Do what you like, but I'm not changing my makeup." As to the hair? No comment. Change of topic. Anything to distract Dot from the fact that, yes, it really did grow five feet in a month.
     "Leave the hair - it'll do for now, and besides, you wouldn't want to keep them waiting, would you? And well, you could hang onto Dei if you wanted, but I don't think he'd appreciate it - and Sieg'd probably just shrug and find someone else if you do it that way. Just march up to Sieg and say, 'You know, I rather fancy you, but not if it's going to be a waste of my time. So, how about it?'" Nothing like the direct approach. "Let's go pick up the food - I'll even spring for a cab."

     Well, it's not getting past her, the hair thing. The wig thing. It's weird. And you don't wanna talk about it. So she lets it go. For now. "You're on, matey!" she cackles and reaching over to rub the tomcat's belly, she heads for the main room. "Ready when you are..."
     And as for Sieg...
     She gives you a look, sticks out her pierced tongue and then grins. She knows what to do. Unfortunately. She knows exactly what to do. "Let's go to Pashmina's, our stuff's cold I'm sure, but we can get Geeta to reheat it. Hey, while you call a cab, I'll head on down there and start the ordering, a'ight? Bye puss!" she purrs out to the cat, "damn, he's got the bollocks of a bull. I hope he doesn't start pissing on your furniture to mark his territory!"

     Drancy calls out after, "Lemon curry for some of the band. And if he starts pissing on my furniture, he goes to the vet to get those ballocks whacked off, so hopefully he's smarter than that." Take that, Huw. Not that she knows. But hey, there's phone calls to make... she goes to the phone. "Yeah. Cab, Drancy, Pashmina's..." The whole usual deal. The cat gets, for the moment, nothing more than a toe to sniff.

     The cat lifts his head at that and then covers it in a yawn and a mighty stretch. Lords and Ladies, I need to figure out what I'm going to do before it's ballocks off. Well, first things first... stay away from the furniture...
     And he hasn't gotten it sorted out yet, how it's going to happen. It depends on what he sees. Too bad you don't leave any of your windows open, he could track you and come back as he pleases...

     "Right...got it!" Dot calls out as she leaves. "Lemon curry!"

Posted by rowan at May 11, 2003 12:48 AM