The gates had swung wide for you and the front doors leading to the foyer and afterward to one of the great dens were opened by precise men, themselves seeming more like elder statesmen than servants. The last, the head butler himself. And around the palace there is an almost... eerie kind of order and quiet. None of the walls look like they suffered any damage. None of the pillows or cushions on the sofas appear to be in ...disarray. Kensington doesn't quite have that lived-in look about it. Guests it receives, as one may imagine, but the lords have... been away a while...
     "...Was ...Lord Fraser," a name still in practice, not coming with the ease that Fitzroy once had, "... expecting you?" He is thoroughly British. To the ruddy core, mate. His posture is straight. His mannerisms professional. His look... somewhat studying of you. "A scotch or brandy while you wait?" But at least he's forced to be polite. That is one of the wonderful things about being British...
     The den that surrounds you is as much a living room and library. Walls are shelves of books, and there is a sharply winding iron staircase leading to an upstairs den held above. More private. More removed. You can feel, perhaps, William's energy tinging the air. He's been here. Is he yet here?

     "Yeah, he's expecting me," Edward says roughly, eyes mostly lifted to the surroundings. "Oh, well," he waves a hand, choosing a hallway, "...nevermind, I'll just find him myself...and yeah, thanks! A brandy'd be good," Edward's voice trailing and he stomps down the nearest hall.
     "Cos! You here?" he says, knowing the front doors are more than likely sitting areas. Not private apartments. It may be Kensington, but the arrangements of such structures are similar. "Cos! Where are you?"

     As you move past, there is something of a smirk. It's more of a twitch, actually. And the elder butler turns. "Of course, sir..." With that, he withdraws. Being old British, it's likely he doesn't know how to speak his mind anymore. But there...are... times... yes, there are times. But he doesn't show this to you.
     Of course not...
     He remains in the library den, moving to the left side of the rather sweeping chamber, to a small but elegant bar stand of oak. The brandy will be excellent. William would have nothing but the best. God love him.
     There is another set of doors, a double doorway, likely leading to more private chambers. But further investigation is not really necessary, Edward. For... after your call... you feel a sudden ...urge?... to go up the winding staircase....

     "Oh, great!" screams Edward, "That wasn't really even fuckin' necessary." Fucking Plantagenets. All he had to was to call and let him know he was on the right track. The doors open and close as Edward's own air pushes ahead of him, feet landing hard on the staircase. Another set of doors. "Now I will need that drink," he says, opening the last one to where you might be found...and the call begins to subside. "You fuckin' rang, Sir?" he murbles, closing door behind him and putting his hands upon his waist. "You coulda just screamed or something, y'know," he says, striding over to find a seat as he whips out a set of cigarettes at the same time.

     "Shhh...." There is a cigarette smoking. Half tasted, half neglected. There is a portion of chaos up here -- mostly glasses emptied at one point or another. The bodies of former cigarettes packing in one of the brass trays. And in the dimmed light, there is that Fucking Plantagenet. Sitting on the couch, elbows on his knees, hand balancing a cigarette and forehead resting against his hands. His hair has grown back and he hasn't bothered to shave. He's showered -- at least there's that -- and fairly recently too. The towel is draped over his head. He looks like the proper Crusader. Rough. There is still that 'ridden hard and put away wet' look about him. He is dressed, thank whatever gods you own for that, but still more or less in bed clothes. A pair of shorts, a t-shirt and a very unlordly like robe. Just plain cotton. "It was easier than moving... quit your bitching..." William eyes lift, brilliance in the half-darkness. And a smile twists. "Jesus...shhhh..." Pain. You did this to me...
     There is a rueful smile. And he reaches out with his hand. "I'm out. Spare a cig for an old man?"
     Feet sound on the stairwell. That must be the brandy now...

     "Hell, no," Edward laughs, "...if I did, you'd not be sitting upright." He snickers a lot, putting hand upon his stomach. Then more laughter as he hears keenly someone's approach. "Hey, here's comes my drink now...hair of the dog that bit ya, you know." He walks over and holds out a pack with one cig sticking out of it, "Here," he says, then offering a lighter. "At least you bathed," he smirks, glancing to see who's coming to the door.

     "It took an hour to get vertical...but...oui... you know... I have an obliging staff..." Fingers reach out to take the offered cig. Lips curl, wicked, at the thought and at You. Fingers capture the cig and the lighter, and with that forward motion retracting, William half-reclines. "If I didn't know any better," he quips, voice held in his throat and in his chest, "I'd swear I was dead, cos." There's a brilliant grin after, broad and edged. But brief. He has a headache. "And fuck you for being so chipper... Christ..." William chuckles, and upon the end of it draws a breath of fire. A stretch... and the lighter is proffered back to you.

     The elder butler does arrive. Bearing a tray of several brandies. Apple, pear, plum and a Loire cognac. Two shades of gold, a violet-black and a ruddy hue. Again, you have a rainbow of drinks to choose from.

     "Ah, those look good," Edward offers, smiling only at his chipper nature. "Thank you, Jeeves," he says to the butler, though certainly that's not his name. "Um...I like that..." he motions, moving over to pour two drinks. "I got it," he says to the man, a dismissal if ever there was one.

     Jeeves? An eyebrow moves up, in a precise but slight arch. And ... as it is his duty and Pleasure to serve... he does set the tray aside, looking lastly... foremostly... to William. "Will there be anything else, Lord Fraser?"

     Indigo eyes are dark -- darker perhaps than usual as energy within is recovering from last night's... well, festival of substances and activities. The wear of which he does not so much show as exude. All of that tangible power, that electricity -- it's not clicking on all cylinders yet. "No... that's all for now. I think my ...guest and I shall be fine for the now." A half pause as smoke clears that mouth of his, "... do put some coffee on. Might as well be proactive... I'll need it in a bit..." William turns his gaze thereafter to you. The countenance, beautiful, holding a smirk. Bastard. How is it you look so well?

     "Yes sir..." A last look to Edward Meurelle. Sir. A nod and then he takes his leave...

     Woo. He's gone. "Okay, how come you're not even dressed?" Edward looks at the Tag Heuer on his wrist, then drops it, twisting so the sleeve will fall over it once more. "Can't you pick something out?" Edward glances about, then heads towards what must be a closet. I hope you have something else to wear...you can't go back to the club with what you had on last night."

     Indigo eyes fly open wide. Go out again? "Back to the club?" He sounded English then for a moment. But northern, his inflection lifting at the end of his words. "I'm not dressed...because I just woke up...well...I just got out of the shower. What do you mean 'go out again'?" William chuckles a little, the sound catching in his throat. The ease of it, smooth, upon the smoke issuing from his lips. With a stretch and a groan, the cigarette is set against the brass tray. And a pillow is lifted, placed directly over William's head. It would take more than that to hide the other 6'0" or so of him, non? A groan sounds from beneath it again. "How is it you aren't worse off than me...?" Muffled, but audible.

     "Cause I'm smooth, cos. A playa, y'know?" Edward laughs at that, walking back over gingerly to finish pouring those drinks. "Here you go," he says, sliding one your direction. "You need plenty of clean to make you feel better. Don't you have a herd around to fill you up?" A veritable transfusion. Worked for Keith Richards...why not Edward Meurelle? He sighs and picks up his glass, takes a swig, then heads back towards a closet door. "Man, you didn't come with anything. I know you have more crap than this, Will..." and he twists, gymnast-like to see you. And a sigh, "Come on, man, snap up, eh, lad. You will take a bit to get together, and we wanna get there before Brunhilde decides to close the place off tonight." He blinks and smirks evilly, "Hey, maybe...where's he?" he twists, moving slower than his mind thinks of new things, "Oh, guess he went...wherever he goes. Cesare, that is...maybe he'll be there again tonight or something. You two seem to cop off together last night..."

     "I wasn't planning on clubbing every night...non...besides...it's all still packed..." Words fall from him in soft cadence as he sits up. Both hands raking through his hair. Longer and less blue it is now. He'll have to get that redone, won't he? But the towel is tossed over the sofa, discarded for the now. His hair is inky black with the yet wet sheen of it. Beautiful. God damn him. And all without the slightest bit of effort on his part. "This isn't really... my digs...oui?" A raven brow lifts and indigo dances with a bit more light. Feeling a little more alive are we?
     William reaches for the plum brandy, eyes half closing with the anticipation of Nirvana. But as you speak of Cesare, dark eyes lift to you again. And slowly does the smile wind. "He left..." a wave -- sometime during the day or night. "We... had a good time..." comes the languid murmur, the baritone easing across casual words. Understatement that. The smile twists a moment with the recollection and then William downs the brandy. A hand lifts, rubbing his eyes a moment. And he gestures over his shoulder, toward the stairwell. "I've got more in the bedroom. Well, some leather and something... a few shirts..." He makes a wave of his hand. You pick. Fingers pluck up the still burning cigarette with a thief's deftness, bringing it to the sensuous mouth. "What's his story anyway...?"

     "Uh..." Edward says absently, walking towards another door, "...you mean other than coppin' off with you?" He laughs and looks over at you, planning on riding that phrase all night. He shrugs, "I dunno, what you do want to know? First...I sure as hell didn't know he'd fuck guys..." and he twists his lips. "Who's place is this? I didn't even know it's passed outta the Family." As he calls the current Windsor Household. That Prince William is a stunning young man, really.
     "Oh, Christ fuck," Edward groans, whipping around to see you again. "Is this fuckin' Dunross'?"

     Lips curve in a smirk. You're not going to let it go, are you? "He... was just interesting...left me a little something. One of the lasses found it in the wash... it's by the bed...now..." Another brandy poured. And you can feel the first...unfolding of him. The air becomes suddenly living. Nothing like he was last night. Speed takes a toll on the blood when the rush recedes. Indigo flickers as eyes lift to you. "Aye... tis... I sold my London property years ago. Well...what's not used by business..." A pause, a raven brow cocks up and the smirk turns to a slant of a grin. "Why do you ask?"
     The second brandy is held aloft. Dark eyes fasten on darker liquid. Within it, shards of violet. The plums of Chinon. That brings a warmth and a smile. It will not be long before he will find himself in the full of spring. And in his home of homes. Closing his eyes, William tips the glass and the second brandy is gone.

     "Just wondering, property's changin' hands around here a lot these days," Edward murmurs, pushing double doors open to reveal the bedroom. "Oh, thank Jupiter it's been cleaned." Always a mix of the modern and archaic, he is, revolving in some weird cycle. "I thought I'd come into here..." he calls loudly, moving around to another door, "...and find spunk and shit all over the place. I was not gonna be ready for that." And a real sigh of relief can be heard. "Oh, so, what were you sayin'?" and his voice seems nearer, head sticking out of the bedroom door again, "...he sent you flowers today?"
     "Ha. Men sending men flowers," Edward snickers, disappearing again into the bedroom. "So...who fucked whom?" he murmurs, talking to himself. "I bet that shit was confusing." And he laughs more.

     The laughter is loud and from the gut. "You should have seen it at six am..." Yes, this morning. "Whatever we are paying them... it is not enough..." The laughter is prolonged, softening -- by lingering effects of the previous eve and morning. It quiets after a moment and William shakes his head. Black hair draping forward to half-hide his gaze. His head bent slightly as he continues to... gather himself. "It's all a plot to take over England. Don't tell Davy... it's a Christmas present...I've run out of other things to get him..." Amused by that thought. But he did himself tell Davydd last year that the time was coming for his return to England.
     "Ah...oh... Cesare...oui... there was something left. A flower... but you know... you touch it and you ... see things... so... I fucked a magician around the entire breadth of Kensington Palace. Lovely that, but... you know... it's a curiosity... aye?" His voice lifts, carrying the distance easily as you disappear again. "I mean... who is he really?" After a moment, you can feel a surge against the air. And then does William follow after. Languid stride a bit more slow than usual. He can't help that he looks as a king. The palace suits him. Oddly. All do, in their way.
     "I wasn't confused. I knew exactly what I was doing..." Cesare. Casually spoken, if somewhat distantly, as he moves in consideration to his own closet. "Do you want the itinerary?"

     He's looking through a suitcase at the moment, black leather stretching as he bends. "Hey, bring my drink with you," he calls, waving free hand at you. "Think he's a magician, huh?" he says, cigarette dangling as he looks at shirts, "...I wouldn't be surprised. But he fuckin' kills for living, that's for sure. Want some shit done, call Cesare...no last name, please. Don't even know it...and I know a lot of shit." He pulls up some black socks and tosses those onto the bed. "I don't know about flowers like that though," he admits, "...huh, you should talk to Wellsley down on Charing Cross. Runs a bookstore," and that gets a big laugh. "More like a coven store. But anyway, I just didn't know he fucked guys, the way he is and all. Only seen him with women and stuff. Hell," Edward looks at you, frowning, "...did you think he laid pipe?" He shakes his head and fishes around for more. "Never struck me as the type...kevlar wearing bastard."

     He is not sure -- and you can see it -- if he should growl or laugh. He's trying to make up his mind. And, thankfully for you, it's taking a minute. In that minute, you are gifted with a positively incredulous expression. And it eases into a smirk and a bit of a fiery glance. "I'm not that easily baited, Blois..." Alright, you got the half-growl. But only because he loves you like a brother. Otherwise, he'd have punched you by now. The way he is and all... and I look as if I do? -- the other half of his growl that he just held in his chest. Fine.
     An exhale sounds and he strides back a few steps, bringing a bottle of the brandy back with him. "I'll look into it later..." And with as much is Cesare set aside. William settles on the bed and then lies back, long legs draping over the foot of it.

     "So...who was on top?" Edward stops and wonders, as if trying to get an image. "I mean...neither of you strike me...God help me..." as he makes a sick face at you, "...like I needed to think about you like this," he waves, "...but neither of you strike me as the type to have some man..." he shudders, trying to find words, "...ramming you and all." Ah, you know him. The talking to himself until he scares himself. "And I ain't baitin' you cos," much, "...just...you know...tryin' to understand...my relo." You. Can you feel the love?

     Another exhale and a heavily muscled arm lies over his eyes. The light's on in here -- it's a bit on the bright side yet. "We weren't ...necessarily horizontal. Depended on the room. But... for ease of explanation, I was..." His arm lifts and indigo eyes settle on you. Becoming, more their usual color. Rich blue-violet. The expression is placid, matter-of-fact in his recounting, even as you are in your asking. A brow lifts in a slight arch. "Anything else you want to know?" You French ass. William snorts a laugh, and glances to what you've picked out for him so far...

     He brings out a silver shirt from somewhere. It needs not be buttoned fully, that's for sure. "Weird," is all he has to say, not really seeing either of you...doing whatever it is you do. "And he let you, huh?" That gets another shiver. Edward turns and brings up a pair of black leather pants, tossing them by the light silver silk. "Guess you never know. But anyway, can't tell you much, cause I don't know much. Save I used him in a few...operations. If he's a mage...and you never said why you thought that...well, um...maybe that's something I should look into. They can be handy. But Wellsley, he might know something then. "Oh, well. So..." he glances over at the sickly you, "...you gonna go with tonight and find him again?" What's going on between you...

     "Something on the blood... and something with the flower...I don't know any regular mortal guy who can give visions in flowers that somehow went through a wash cycle without being destroyed. But...that's me..." Broad shoulders lift in a half roll and then William sits up, with an exhale. "I'll feel better after I eat..." as if you were worried. His voice is low, a murmur to himself.
     Black hair half-hides indigo eyes as William turns about to look at you, chuckling. "Let me?" The smile says it all. No one lets him do these things. They beg him to. In their way. It has always been thus. Chuckling again, William shakes his head and rises. "I wasn't planning on finding him again...non. I ... have had him, Edward..." The robe comes off and the shirt will likely be next. You might run for cover if you're squeamish for seeing a relative naked. "There is only one who ever has me for more than a night..." Lucky Ian, wot? Well... then again, maybe not from your vantage.

     "Too much, cos." Not hearing about positions, but hearing about Dunross turns the man's stomach. He waves that off, not minding really that you'll be naked very soon. A few glances are stolen, but Edward will just chalk that up to random going about his business. "And just cause he gave it to you doesn't mean he made that flower crap," he notes idly, moving to see if he can find something for your feet. "I think the sexy casual look will be good. Very urban, very club, very enticing...maybe you'll find a new warm body. Or something." That gets a laugh, cigarette lain upon a nearby ashtray.

     The robe landed with a whisper thud -- heavier than the rest of it that shall fall so silently. "Ah, I suppose that's true... about the flower..." comes the languid murmur, French riding high upon his words. Tugging at the English he dropped into -- for reasons unknown to him. When in England, he supposes...
     The shorts were next to go, grey cotton tossed off in some corner. Barbarian. And proud of it. The leather is the tougher bit -- fitting into it that is. But at least its not new stuff. It'd take half an hour otherwise. William glances to you as the leather is eased on. A glance that travels to shoes and then to the ... task at hand. Arranging himself for comfort's sake. "You think?" Indigo eyes flicker as he lifts them to you again, looking up from his clothing. Smooth and slow the smile that pulls. "Warmth is good. Maybe something a little less weighed down by expensive crack..." He chuckles at that, and glances to the shirt. Silver. Hmm. Well, it'll be flashy...

     "Just do the two middle buttons...leave the top and bottom open." Edward glances again, then looks back to where shoes should be. "But at minimum...it means he knows someone who might know someone who has access to magic, maybe. Dunno." He pauses and peers, "...You really need some lacing boots. But the shirt...it'll look great when you're dancing. Your chest and stomach will really get a view."

     "I have clothes fucking scattered from San Francisco to south France..." A good-natured grumble. William gives the leathers a tug, and the settling in them is done. Turning about, he looks to you now -- the worst of it done really. But in your glancing, did you feel any pity at all for Cesare. Poor bastard. Course, he didn't seem to mind...
     The bed sounds with William's weight, and the smile that has been missing -- that familiar ever-present hint of amusement -- has returned. As if secrets were held in the shadows of it. And the air around him... electric again. Presence and soul awakening. And his hair is nearly dry. "Oui...well... again, I will see, hmm? But it may be something for you to consider. You'll likely see him again before I will..." Not that he did not like him or enjoy him. But William prefers seduction without complication. To have and to move on. For attachments seem to follow him to quickly. And he has no intention of entertaining relationships. In his way, he doesn't do men either -- following your definition.
     William is quiet as he pulls on the shirt. Buttons both done and undone. Strategic that. And the build it overlays... apparent strength. Blatant virility. "Presentable?" he quips, his head inclining. What sort of shoes have you for me?

     "Yeah," Edward says with little cheer, "...you're...presentable." There's a long moment...and something serious draws over Edward. It's in the silence. The way he goes about dressing you...how many does he do that for. "So...um..." he wants to bring something up, something that might break the fun-loving, rambling, all-knowing wit that marks him. "So...I guess...you and...Dunross..." see, he said his name, " ... you ... are ... you know...happy with him?" Him stressed. It is new for him too. For centuries, he's seen you with and around women...and then there was this weird thing with Ian. He's never understood it, nor asked about it. A man's man you are...were...something. There's confusion on his brow, but Edward tries not to voice it too much. "I mean...it's your business and all, and you know, Will, I never talk to you about your business, alright? Just that...you know..." you seem to be married, living ... something ...with a man. "Just...I mean ... that's ... what you want and all, right, mate? Hey, if I'm, you know, talking about stuff you don't want to, that's cool, too, right-o." It's just...very weird...that you're now...a homosexual. Or whatever it is nowadays. Despite things, Edward too is of a time when men didn't live with men. Maybe a bit of heated pressing in a stable, but hey, it isn't the same as...a gay lifestyle...or whatever it's called on telly.
     "I just...want you to be alright," Edward confesses, "...I guess," he snorts self-effacingly, running hand through his hair, "...how you...like women..and then go...to living with...you know, being gay." As in very. Not bi, not a little...but seemingly full-on gay. "I mean...you...I haven't seen you with anyone..." Oh, shit, did he make a mistake, "... just ... oh ...I guess...you could still be with women?"

     The dressing was known for what it is. And he came to it readily. Is it not an intimacy between old comrades. Something male. And something from centuries ago. And as you speak, his gaze is as to the ready on you. Fixing there. Absorbing what you say -- and what you do not say -- and holding how you do so. "I am happy," he confirms and in quiet, deep tones. Have you not already remarked on it? So plain to the eye it is. And across the beauty of that face, otherworldly -- how do mortals tolerate him anymore? -- there is an almost-human warmth.
     "I could still be with women, if I felt it was ...something I wanted. I don't lack for offers...I just... " Hmm. How best to explain. "I love who I love, hmm? And he happens to be a man. I like him. He knows me, Edward. He understands me. And after nearly 900 years... it is that, perhaps, that is the most important. Someone who knows who I am... what I am... and who has seen me...through all of it. Yes?" William pauses, but his gaze does not waver. His expression is open to you. There is nothing that he hides. Nothing being covered over. No pain or anger that exists. Or ghosts.
     "He is who I want. And what I want." You're uncomfortable with it. He sees that. "I wouldn't do anything I didn't want. You know me, cos. Aye? There's only one woman in all this world I've ever loved. And only one man. Why not leave the rest of them be..." There is a smile at that. "I have slept with more women, and known more women... and ... they were all nice. Flowers in a garden all. But... I don't need it anymore. I don't need to find Her in them. She's gone off to..." a wave of his hand, "...whatever one does in the afterlife. Hopefully enjoying her version of immortality. As I am mine. You haven't seen me... throwing myself into ...whomever... precisely because I am happy." He smiles a little. "Was that coherent at all...it was a long night last night..."

     He watches you, trying to actually understand. Maybe it is his life that is unexamined and unfulfilled. There's nodding as Catherine is explained, but he never saw it as that before. He was an outsider, not quite understanding what drove you. And now, it's a half-glimpse in. "I guess," he says, shrugging absently. Asking more would be too personal...nor could he really understand just standing here in a matter of minutes' explanation. "Just...y'know, if anyone says anything..." he'd kick their asses. Swallowing, he offers a pair of shoes to you. "These...might work with that shirt."

     The smile is broad and warm. "They'll be punched to dust, aye... You... have my back... as ever." And there are none he trusts as much -- Ian excepted - as you and Davydd. Blood is... after all the centuries... still thicker than water. And there is a bond between you that doesn't have to be spoken. Of Catherine -- well... so few knew. Only Davy-bach. And his loss was shared, though his perhaps not felt half so deep.
     "You can ask me whatever you want. I'm not going to punch you to dust..." And could he? It'd probably be a draw. And both of you would be hurting. You are a bit faster though, yes?
     William rises, a glance given to the shoes. "I trust you," he murmurs, that to you. His eyes on your eyes. And he does not mean... just about the shoes, mate. As he stands before you, slightly the taller of the two of you, he lifts his hand to your hair. Giving it a brief tussle. I know -- it would seem to say. Did he not have the same issues once with his own brother? The same words have passed his lips. That same hand reaches for the shoes. "Merci, ami...ah look... you've civilized me again... very good..." Indigo eyes make a sweep over himself. Very nice.

     He smirks at the job well done. If anything, Edward is a pleaser. A punishing pleaser, but a pleaser none the less. "Well, it took some work, but at least you're decent. I couldn't go out with ya lookin' like you were someone's eastend addict uncle." He smirks and cheerfully turns about, fishing for another cigarette. Topic dropped. "So...y'ready to go? I figured we'd meet Ben there..."

     "Where are you taking me tonight, cos?" the languid murmur follows, slow in thought. Consideration to his wallet. It took a minute, but eyes flash up at the mention of 'decent'. Hmm. And then the wallet is stowed in a leather coat. This one only thigh-length. It is shrugged on and he outstretches his hands. Still ... decent? A sly smile cuts across his mouth and he slips cigarettes and lighter into the jacket as well. He raises his hands. "Non... do not tell me. I like the adventure of it all. I trust you... you lead. Ah, and tonight...you drive..." Lenses are removed from his pocket and placed on. Eyes are still a ... little sensitive...from all that Meth.

     "Alright," Edward smirks, heading back to the outer room and his abandoned drink. He sweeps to it, picking it up and downing it quickly. He exhales and smiles, "That was nice," and then fishes with his keys. "Maybe start...at Meridien...that's Chalmers' place...do you know him?" he begins his ramble once more, "I think he's on of Isabella's childer's childer or something..." hand waves as he opens the door with the other, "...and then Phantasmagoria...see what's up there, huh cos?" Humor returned. And all's well with Edward once more.

     "Chinon brandy," William's voice issues out upon scented smoke. Hashish and cinnamon. Nasr's 'Egyptian blend' he imports from Morocco. And upon the edge of that smoke, the smile forms. Warm. Tangible, like the stroke of a hand. "Chalmer...hmm...rings a bell, but I've blocked so much of London out, cos... it'll take a while for it to ...all come back..." Quiet the laughter that eases from him, even as he pours another plum brandy and downs it in a swallow. Languid, he strides for the winding iron staircase. "My only hesitation about the Phantasmagoria... is... the slight change in appearance. But... I will... think of something. Memories on Meth are... well... subject to...lapses?" Past a broad shoulder William casts a look to you. Damned Plantagenet Ventrue. "So... let us find something warm and wicked to pass the time. I am ...in a mood..."

     He was, then it passed. Now...it returns again. "Sure thing, I think I know exactly what...and who...you need..." Edward bounces down, striding through the hallway again of Kensington Palace as if it were his own.

     Ah, so good to me. The chuckle says it all, held in his throat. Rumbling in his chest. Something restored. Is it the lost art of seduction, that in a lover's torpor and in fumbling after was misplaced? Is it the return of a part of who he was, into the greater whole of who he has become? William can yet be that Tempter he once was... and yet be true and faithful and love who he loves. Perhaps it is forgiveness...
     His steps sound after your own. His stride matching yours. And the grin, smooth. His thoughts are not of the clubs or even where you will be taking him. But in one who is...quite distant at this point. One he shall greet with a fierce kiss and a lingering hug. The one he adores. Loneliness shall be banished. And ... it's alright...

Posted by rowan at February 07, 2000 02:21 AM