The lights are on at 153/4 Dannerly Court. The warmth of living has returned to it. Cars have left the garage (only to return), music has been played, beds have rocked, and swords have clattered.
     Valan Montague missed London. More than he realized. He missed fencing, he missed instructing. But fresh from his trip, his return to the mats was a triumph. He seems to have... come more into himself in the country. While his English is rusty, he uses it.
     He has returned, not long ago. His bag is still in the living room. He's still in his whites. First, before showering. A drink. Valan Montague stands at the bar, making himself a martini, imported olives sitting in a jar nearby. He eats one while he gives the cocktail maker a shake. Or two. Or three.

     All of the alarms chime the right way, above the normal hearing tones of mere mortals. An approaching vehicle, the near sensors, and eventually the click and open of the front door. Edward appears and immediately turns to secure the door. His motions are slow and labored, as if tired; though that is not likely.
     "Ami," he says, not realizing that you're actually nearby. "Am--" he says again, turning about. "Oh." Edward grins and slides out of his jacket. "Sorry on that," he apologizes for raising his voice. From his coat pocket, he removes his phone.

     Valan smiles to you from behind the bar, clothed in his whites, his mask sitting on top of his bag on the sofa. "Good evening," he says, practicing his English. It isn't that far off from when he started a few years ago. Laziness has taken a toll on his vocab. "Do you want a drink? I am making Manhattans..." He stops shaking the concoction and pours it into the waiting martini glass.
     He glances up, "I just got home too," he continues, lifting the glass and sipping from it. "You are home early." He wasn't expecting this but he is happy all the same.

     "Yeah, whisky," Edward says. Something to this island, not the other. "Merci, ami," he says softly, sliding out of his shoes as he plops onto the sofa. "What did you get up to, eh? Do anything interesting - oh, Davydd says 'allo and he hopes you are doing well."

     "I went back to the fencing. I have missed it. I think... I really do well there. And I enjoy it. I do not know why I always leave it. When I return to it, it is like being home. I enjoy the teaching, too." He sips at his martini and then looks over the collection of bottles. He pours an amber-colored liquid in a short glass for you.
     "Oh? You saw him? How was he?" Davydd was one of the first he met. Always kind to him, that Davydd was. Valan steps away from the bar, a whisky in one hand, his martini in another. He sips at his as he strides his way over to you. Quite the figure in fencing whites.

     "He is..." Edward pauses, "...alone." Really alone. "The thing he always hated, I think." Edward sighs loudly and flips open his cellular phone. His free hand extends towards you in acceptance and offering. "Got to call cos for a moment. Then I'm all yours."

     Alone? Valan starts to ask but then you are opening your phone. He gives over your drink, and puts his hand to your shoulder. And then to your hair. As if to say: I am sorry, ami...
     "I will be in the shower, hmm? You can find me there, or on the bed," Valan says simply. He heads to the staircase, sipping his drink and giving you your space.

     That does lift Edward's spirits for a moment. He nods his head and begins to dial another phone, this one in Scotland.

     It takes a moment for the connection to make its way, but it does ring after a brief pause. Once. Twice. (Long enough for him to look at the caller ID). "I do not believe it," the voice begins, warm tones to it like the notes in wine. "It is Edward Meurelle calling me. How are you, ami..." Behind the sound of his voice is the sound of the sea.

     "Cos," Edward chirps, settling into his seat, "...hey. Where are you?" Strange sounds from behind. "In Spain?" he wonders, slightly surprised.

     "Ah no... no, but we have talked about it. I am missing the villa in Cadiz. We are on Moray Firth. I am sitting outside a lighthouse... we used to live in it in Oregon. We had it moved," he chuckles. "Who knew we were such sentimentalists." He isn't even smoking. He is, however, nursing a scotch with ice. You can hear it rattling. "I am watching Ian walk along the sand. Where are you, back in London? Did you have a good holiday?"

     "S'alright," Edward waves off, not so much interested in that. Besides, nothing interesting came of France that wasn't between himself and Valan. "Tell The Dunross what gives," Edward says in passing, taking a swallow of his drink.
     "Lookie cos, I just spent a shaky time with Davy. I just called t' say - and you'll never hear it again - that maybe you were right. When we were up there with you and Dunross. Maybe you were right about everything."

     It's not the initial shock of you telling him he's right about something that causes his quiet, a quiet filled with the nearby sounds of the sea. After it, comes the subtle inhale of breath, the preparation to speak. "It is difficult. I remain conflicted. But... it is in his court, ami. For him to show. I do not know how else it may be. I wish I were not right about this. I would rather be right about something else."
     William exhales. "It was rough, ne c'est pas? ..... How is he?" Still, even though William's faith must be restored, it does not change the fact that he loves him. When a family member goes astray, you do not simply cut them out altogether. You love them, but you love them in a hard way.

     "I think he is alone," Edward goes on evenly. "He says Kelly's getting married and going to Powis with some singer named Arundel. And he says that he has no place in the Directorate - he's taken up with Isabella, he says, William." Do something. "He says she wants to make things better and he's helping her. Whatever the fuck that means."
     Now he's upset. Edward stops his unnecessary breathing. "He is alone now, cos."

     Eyebrows shoot upward. Arundel? Arundel and Kelly? I didn't see that one coming. He is frowning, but you cannot see it. He shifts on his seat, you can hear that, giving his legs a stretch. "My Clan's... like that. I don't have much of a place in the Directorate either. I am not surprised by that. What would they do with him? What would they know to do? He isn't in business, he has no value to the clan. I can say the same for myself, sadly. I go to the Directorate and they ask me about my accounting."
     He is alone, William...
     "Maybe Isabella is not so bad for him. He is of old blood, Edward. Recent events notwithstanding. Perhaps it is too early to worry, ami. But... I hear you. I hear you," he says it again, more softly. "I will speak with him, just to ... check in with him. And you, how are you... with it... what are your thoughts on this, ami..."

     "Nothing," Edward says firmly, he swallowing something, "...nothing. I don't get him, cos. I can't help him, cos. And...I think I'm upset with him - gah, I sound like a right schoolgirl. This is so fucked, Will."

     "You do not sound like a school girl. You are permitted your emotions, frere," William murmurs. "I have them. I am upset with him, I feel betrayed by him. I also love him. It reminded me...of what it was like to love and to hate all at once, like I did with my brothers. So... do not punish yourself...hmm? Promise me? He should have to deserve your love and your friendship, even as I do, yes? And you manage somehow," a self-depreciating tease of humor, "...to find love in your heart for me. So nothing's impossible, ne c'est pas? It does not mean it is this way forever. And it does not mean that you were wrong to love him for five hundred years."
     He drains his scotch, the ice rattling louder against the glass. He sets it aside on a stone. "Your faith...our faith has been bruised. It will take some time. We cannot...all of us... be what we were. Maybe we can be something Else. Eventually. But he will have to show me, at any rate, that he understands what I gave him, that he understands what I have done even in the face of that betrayal of faith... and when he does that, then we can begin to move on..."

     There's silence on the other end of the phone. It remains too much for Edward. But he listens, following with, "I want to know what is going on with the court. I want to know what he's doing and who with...Christ, the fucking Inquisition stopped with the Nazis, right?" Mixed metaphor humor, intentionally done. "I have never wondered about that kind of shite before cos. Not with him, not with you."

     "We will have to find out. We will have to watch him. I think it... wise to find out as much as we can," he doesn't put this all on you, "...about what he is doing with Isabella. As his friends," William murmurs. "Remember, there will have to be some answers to why things seem different ... if things seem....too different, Edward."
     William sits back quietly for a moment. The gears are in motion. "There have to be those in London willing to talk. I'm not sure what the going rate is for fairy information. From what I've gathered in Edinburgh over the years, it's old information now, the London court is old... very insular...not prone toward action. A lot of talk... maybe they know something, have an opinion. We can find out what it is. I can... see if we have an avenue in Edinburgh for that sort of thing..." It is an offer.

     "I don't want to know,' Edward suddenly retorts. Then, "I should go, cos. Just...wanted you to know." He's done. And now, he'll settle back and decide what to do for himself. "You should enjoy your holiday."

     "You never have to wonder about me, Edward," William thinks to say. "Thanks for telling me about it. I know it was difficult." I can hear that. And I know it for myself. "Ah, it is just a second home, hmm? I needed a... break after the disaster of Paris. I don't want to talk about it," he grumbles a bit. "So... you are not interrupting...you do not need to worry about that. But... I know how you are about long calls," William smiles slowly, the drawl moving against his voice. "Go hit something, you will feel better. I am going to ...well, I'm not going to fight," he chuckles. "And I will feel better. For now."

     Edward smiles to himself. "Yeah, cos. Alright. Another night then," he says softly. "Have a drink for me," Edward finishes, ending the call with a barely perceptible click.
     And there you have it, Edward thinks. He sits on the sofa, phone in one hand and empty drink in another. A sigh follows and he lets his head fall back upon the cushions, closing his eyes.

Posted by rowan at May 08, 2005 09:28 PM