Tanira smiles demurely, neatly unfastening her veil and setting it aside. She takes up her cup in both hands and lifts it to her lips. "Nothing illegal, I do not believe, papa. It is nothing terribly strange. I have decided that I wish to marry."

     No sooner do I think I have myself together when something happens, and I am thrown into confusion. Now, mind you, I am easily confused so... take it as you like it.

     Gruffydd exhales quietly, a hand going to his curly dark hair, mussing it as he walks toward the seating area. Tanira...my wise sister. I could use your words today. Are you available?

     You have peered into the ball of fire at the center of the sun's storm to the heart of the matter. "I can't marry or be a father or a king or even be the brother of a high king..."

     "..."They're watching for weaknesses in the link that they can exploit. If they don't see any here, they'll move on to find something more exploitable, or they'll turn to make a weakness, through political imbroglio, through violence, through disruption of trade, through a bit of everything..."

     "You know, you can't keep this up indefinitely." Fiona appears in the doorway of your office, bulging belly and all, with the cheeky impunity of being your grandmother, the king's mother, and pregnant. It is a triple threat nobody really wants to counter.

     "The day after tomorrow - no, tomorrow." Maddie blinks, and gulps, going ashen. "Oh god. I should be practicing right now. Time got away from me!" She begins scrambling to brush crumbs off of her lap. "Thank god it's not today. I'd never forgive myself if I'd missed my audition!" She is all sixes and sevens, now...

     He is not yet Present. He is still in the Future Tense, which is to say, he will have been here, had he made it early, but as he is still in the Future Tense, he will be here shortly. Nobody's pluperfect.

     Gillian's accent is still as precise as ever. She's calm, but the tension crackles for a moment, irritation flaring in the grey ice eyes. "Anyway, I'm not here to yell and scream at you. I'm here to talk about the future."

     Tilting his head, Davydd looks to Fiona. "Sounds familiar doesn't it," he grins. "I'm getting misty with the memories."

     "...I have to find a replacement - sommat else, to fill the gap, before anybody takes too much notice. I have to do it yesterday. If you spot someone before I do - send word that nobody else can hear or see."

     "There's a dozen of them here. Try asking different ones and collecting answers. Make it your personal Pokemon," Pres deadpans. "Gotta catch 'em all."

     She stares at the open box with disbelief and almost with dismay. This makes it all real, it makes it serious. She cannot pretend otherwise; she cannot deny it or disregard it. And, despite herself, she has to admit - she is intrigued...

     "You don't behave well enough to be a trained monkey," Davydd notes, "...now...shush... listen to your mother. She's onto something. Besides which, even if it's utter rubbish, you'll not get a word in edgewise against it so you might as well relax and pay attention."

     Periwinkle rimmed with green softens as he looks at your face. His face, seemingly no more than twenty-nine, holds all of the memories and wisdom of having aged gracefully (mostly) with you. His hand brushes against your dark hair, and then your cheek. "It is time," he whispers, and he grins.

     You're so good to know that there's always a Story.

     He looks between brothers and eyes them with the internal weariness of a man who's never had kids. "Time out." Gwilym does the internationally recognized signal for it of the tee of hands.

     "But... and I don't know, by the way... we haven't actually discussed it but... what if I become king and... she doesn't want to become a queen? What if it's more than she's bargained for? I don't want to force anything on her, Nainie..."

     "Soon, I'll be calling you Your Majesty. I'm not sure I'm ready for that, to be honest. To me, you will always be the little boy who crept in our bed every time it thundered."

     She brushes her fingers through her hair, then picks up her drink. "It'd be impossible for him to run off with it. He'd have to find it. I just ..." She looks forlorn. "I seem to have misplaced my confidence. I don't know where it went, Loki. I need help."

     As Serendipity would have it, I believe there is a young man who may be capable of filling a role. He desires to learn, to do something meaningful with his existence. He yearns for that meaning and to find himself a place in one world or another. Perhaps this is what his destiny had in mind for him.

     "What if I were to tell you that your wish to be a seafaring adventurer could come true. In fact, that somewhere there are tall ships that still sail and spices that are still contested. What would you say were I to tell you that I could make this dream of yours a reality?"

     Long sweeping lashes lift their curtains to you, the lavender eyes sparkling in the spreading of his smile, the sunset of the day, and all its deepening delight.

     He drinks his coffee slowly. "Working backwards--magic still exists because it has no reason not to? I don't know, but even allowing for fun with entropy, things don't just stop without a reason. So there'd have to be a reason for that to change, and all you need for it to keep going is a lack of that reason."

     "I am doing a little light reading on encampments and villages on the city's north and west side. Care to pull up a chair and share a sip or two of tea? Join me in a little rebellion, maybe?"

     "Dear God," Iowerth says, turning to you, "...how will we contain our son, the Burning Inferno come Midsummer? This ... is going to be interesting..." But interesting in the way that makes him suddenly tired.

     But he's not worried about Loki just now. He'll visit him later. Aeron's gaze and Aeron's thoughts are on his king. "Brother-king," he murmurs, "...you are too hard on yourself. Do not do the Universe's work for It."

     Gillian sighs. "I'm not very good with other people, daddy. Short exposure times, sure, but ... well, there's a reason people like you and me, we end up in academia, right? I can never sustain it. I just - I can't.

     Since when am I the one who needs-- oh, right. Since I got to go another round of discussions about my future with my dad.

     He is stripped emotionally as well as physically. It is there for you to feel, to see, to hear, to taste. It is in the salt of his sweat. The honey sweet fire of his kiss. Inspiration. Love. Sex. Divinity. What you create between you, where you meet and extending beyond you is nothing short of magic.

     "...These days I'm spontaneous if I grab rum and Coke instead of Mac 'n' Jack."

     Loki grabs his glass on the way. "A few hours of breathing space. I think. I may be on California time." His phone gets one cursory examination before it's disposed of in a pocket in much the same manner. "Boston time will just have to do."

     Gillian stops to take a sip of wine, and her fidgeting comes to a halt. She lifts her chin casually, giving you a steady scrutiny that anyone familiar with the West girls would recognize and probably want to run from. "I want you to marry me."

     "...Sleep, and realize that even for all the troubles and sorrows you have taken upon yourself, this one sorrow has been answered. You are not alone."

     "...It is very strange. It is ...like you are a wave and you wash away all the sand from my skin, you polish me... like a shell."

     There is little that is more enjoyable than the prick of the holly leaf. Little that is more potent than the bitter balm of the holly berry. There is little that is more stinging than the potential loss of the Holly King's favor...

     "I want to rig a credit card scam," Pres answers bluntly, "to siphon off enough cash somehow to pay for my operation."

     "You're used to the sun," he notes easily, without a trace of teasing. "You know how to protect yourself from sun-burn."

     "We'll try to tone it down for the newcomer nonetheless," Pres answers Balthazar with a slight grin to Loki. "I'm the dull one, I'm afraid. My sisters got all the glamour in this family."

     Talk to me. You all invite me to speak but I don't really know what to say...

     Home. With my family. With you, my first and most enduring love. How we have fought to be here today. "I think," Tiernan murmurs to you, giving your wrist a squeeze, "we need to set that date, my king."

     One hand comes off the door, held out to you for an American four-square handshake. Intelligent grey eyes meet yours over the rims of her glasses challengingly and thoughtfully. What do you say, Professor Davies? Do you want to play with me?

     Loki gives up on this episode of Life isn't as simple as it seems in high school. It's not like he ever listened when he got it from his dad back then either. "I'll spend time with Pres in Oahu, anyway. I like Balthazar just fine, but I have no idea what he prefers to do on vacation. Probably things involving sun."

     Every seat is filled in Shepherd's Bush Empire, apart from those taking a quick break between shows -- ten minutes -- to get refills on beer and visit the necessaries. The old BBC theater is packed and the murmur of the crowd, the babbling Babel of nearly three-thousand, puts on its own kind of show.

     He smiles. Your seriousness tickles him. Even on vacation, you cannot truly escape.

     "...As for provenance and publishing," he exhales a touch at that, in consideration, "...ethics don't really enter into it. After all, if you find something that hasn't already been located, then no one's really missing it..."

     She rises, moving further forward, peering into the gloom. She gasps sharply. "Oh. My god. Is that what I think it is? Loki, tell me if that looks like marble to you!"

     "Tss," Davydd whispers, "..you're going to burn a hole in my fancy rugs with that temper. Go get some air. Fetch Ani," Davydd pats him on the shoulder. "Tell him it's time for supper."

     "Oes, I'm alright. I'm in love... so there's no hope really, but... I'm not the only one suffering that. You... asked me to call you when it got serious so... here is your phone call..."

     "Will we know what to do?" His eyebrows lift and his smile takes a wander across his face. "Probably not. We may sleep for a year just to catch up. But we will find it out together, whatever it is. It will be a new adventure, right? So, we will not worry. We will sail into the wind as always."

     "I'm not anticipating this show selling out fast," Loki says, and out comes the phone again for another quick note. "It doesn't conflict with any scheduled shows for the band, either. Greek gods interacting with Celtic characters almost sounds interesting now. Not enough that I'd get between the two of you and some Shakespearean bonding."

     Hope for the best, and the best is usually revealed. Fear the worst, and the worst always shows itself.

     He sets the empty glass aside. "And you still have not said who this person is, this project and this catalyst. Does our... intersection have a name?"

     This news is to tidbits what the Hope Diamond is to rocks...

     "Then, by the power vested in me," Balthazar rolls out with a grin as he rises, "I pronounce us band and drummer..."

     "Naturally." Gillian smiles. "So you'll help me? I'd like for us to make a few experimental forays before I invite anyone else. I don't know Balthazar well enough. He might try to do something silly like stop me because it's dangerous."

     Another day, another dollar - or another ten or twelve books thoroughly researched and discarded as not having what she's looking for, anyway.

     "Hey, stranger! Glad to see another Yankee yet? My Georgian grandmother would roll in her grave, if she were dead. How've you been?"

     "I talked to Balthazar," Tiernan agrees. He sighs. "There has been ... a ... change of plans." One corner of his mouth quirks, wryly, and he settles on the arm of the chair, watching you. "There is a girl."

     For a week or more, as time in the empire is kept, Balthazar had been in a constant state of Behind and constantly running. A band on the run, he fancied himself, slipping from realm to realm in between gigs and rehearsals, phone calls to a girl, thinking about the girl, and at some point trying to find time to eat and to sleep.

     Loki says without any offense taken, "Old enough to drink in the benighted You-Ess-of-Ay, even. So over eighteen." He trails along in the same direction, doing up the buttons on his jacket awkwardly with one hand. "You want my number, or should I start moping around in here hoping to run into you again?"

     It was a fantastic night. When the set was done, the last encore given, Balthazar Davies returned to his table to find a boot left behind and a drawing. A glance at the clock confirmed the hour. It's midnight, cinderella.

     July, 2017. The West family's research vessel is moored for the time being at the marine institute near Long Beach, while Fore West (IV) is helping with research on long-line pier fishers' effects on local shark populations...

     "I regret nothing," he says, kiss parting. "Not a single moment. Each scar we have, we earned. Each joy we had, we deserved. Every fight, while maddening, was worthwhile -- worth it, to be standing in this spot with you, right now, the most handsome man I have ever seen."

     I'll be expecting you at my location in not more than ten minutes, please. Finish whatever you're doing.

     "I have some things which we should discuss, Io." Patient, as always. There is no sign that this is something out of the usual. Tiernan smiles at you quietly, bending to pour the wine. "Nothing too terrible. But I have been hearing from Gruffydd about his trip."

     "The worst thing I've done all week is fall in love. Before this, I was boring prince Gruffydd. Gruffydd the Level Headed. Gruffydd, the Four Cornered Prince of the United Kingdoms..."

     I've found her. Not all I've found. I'll be right there - just hold your horses.

     Fresh off of the shower-inducing hug given by the squealing young girl -- that's going to keep him up for hours -- the shock of seeing is grandmother (and grand-aunt) as the offered chaperone is enough to send him reeling. "Nainie?" he proclaims in shock.

     He has been roosted on the news of this all night and well into today. Messages back and forth, hush-hush escorts into realms of shadows for quick-quick appearances. And all because of something Gruffydd was doing, or about to do, or at least was considering the doing of. Imagine the fun! O, Calamity!

     Tiernan steps back, looking at you with quiet pride. You have faced a hard truth. Now you are ready to begin.

     Affectionate blue eyes look at that sleeping form, the note left where he will find it. No emergency, but something's come up. I've gone to see to it, will be back. I love you, always and forever. - T.

     "I like you," Maria tells you crossly, making an accusation of the words. "I did not want to like you, Gruffydd ap Iowerth. I - I will get you to my mother. I will think about what you're asking and tell you once I've thought about it. Take it or leave it!"

     It has been a hell of a three-day night. Three dog night? Whatever it was. Gwilym stirs, body as close to entirely limp as it is possible.

     "When do you get started? Right after Yule? Father Christmas Strikes Back?" Davydd cackles at that and reaches for his whisky. That was so good, he has to drink to it.

     She can get into the talk of art. It helps her to distract herself from how you look, sleepy or otherwise. Distract herself from her own imagination, the urges it inspires in her. The things she wants to do, such as plopping herself down in your lap, sleepy as you are. She is trying very hard not to think about that.

     A hand comes up, tugs lightly at your hair, and she sighs, going quiet. Love is a son of a bitch. Remind me, if I ever run into that fat diapered freak that's Cupid, to kick him in the balls...

     She's suddenly shy, taking the paper back and setting it aside. "I have a lot of faith. I mean, it's not religious faith; I don't know how you'd explain it. It's not religion, though. I just, I do believe there's something more to the universe than atoms..."

     She bends her head to peer blankly at the papers, golden hair falling in a veil before her eyes. "Thank you," she says quietly. "I'll ... see you in the morning, then."

     "Each day, he and his husband will have lunch. A private lunch. We will eat and make love before heading back to our respective businesses. So let it be written, so let it be done. So says the king."

     "No matter the temptation," Gwilym murmurs, "I do not want to hurt you, Prospero. Or us. I try to funnel my temptations into what you will not be harmed by, even if exasperation might occasionally make your eyebrows lift at me."

     "Ian and I leave tomorrow night. Would you care to join us for a drink tonight? We like to drink brandy while our servants pack for us. It makes us feel useful."

     ...But I will be your escape when you need it. That's what Black Jacks do best...

     "But," he exhales, a smirk trailing after his breath. "I cannot sit here while he is possibly bleeding somewhere, can I? So I will stay in the royal palace and demand special treatment from mother. It won't be a completely wasted endeavor."

...Rest assured that I have not forgotten you...

     His hand cups your face. "The best antidotes for ghosts is illumination," Agapios murmurs, his fingers stroking your cheek. "They cannot abide the clear light of examination. And so... we will vanquish her. I am confident of this."

     Where you touch, her hand upon your arm, there is a gentle connection, and an instantaneous soothing, spiritual balm. Zafirah wanders with you, content to walk in silence for a few moments.

     "My mind is... somewhat spinning," he'll admit that to you, if to no one else, "... from all she has told me. I feel like Mohammed or the Buddha, only without the foresight of taking notes."

     "I was kneeling in front of Io, realizing that this man, this king, was not but a handful of years ago by London's clock sitting in a wagon with my pilot cap on being pulled around by corgies. Now the corgies are dead, he and his brother are grown men..."

     "Would I be happier in knowledge or ignorance? Let's ask Adam, shall we? I believe that is the quintessential question of the universe, my brother. For now, give me the illusion of ignorance. If you are still seeing him in a year, then... come confess, my door will be open for you as always."

     "In these heels? The bull'd catch up with me and then where'd I be?" Fiona angles her face up to kiss you emphatically, a hand going up to your cheek.

     It is rightly thought that this is the last winter of my youth. The last season that can pass lazily by as uncomplicated as a child.

     Putting the hearth's poker back in its stand, Iowerth turns to you. "It is an outer cold," he assures. "Winter is a season for contemplation."

     It is a leap of faith; a gamble. But it is a calculated risk, based half on intellect and things-remembered and things-not-quite-said and not-quite-heard, and the other half on the desperation that a pair of eyes, a pair of hands outside these two plus two might make sense of something which he, Tiernan of Winter Diamond, Prince, aka Terry Winter, Esquire, has to admit to himself he no longer knows how to solve.

     "I told you I was moody." There; there is a faint quirk of a smile, and he sighs, turning and sliding his arms around your waist. "I am overreacting. I don't know why. Just ... it hurt."

     "...Duw... you look...I don't know that I've ever seen you this way," Iowerth remarks suddenly. "You are in your own power. You are radiating strength and confidence."

     "The last time, I ended up tied to the bed with my own necktie, you six months pregnant and ... wait a minute," he chuckles, "...that was a fan-fucking-tastic night. Alright, you drive a hard bargain. I'll sleep with you...but I want to be respected in the morning..."

     But what's he to do? Force his way in? Reveal the forbidden relationship out of jealousy? That is not his way. You wanted to be with your General, he understands that. And your General wants you -- he can very much sympathize.

     Iowerth's eyebrows quirk up a little at the casual mention of his mother's nipples at the dinner table, but such is the conversation of new parents. "I'm starting to feel a little faint," he drolls. "Is this what I'm in for then?"

     It's in the heart of London; the irony appealed to him, inasmuch as anything has been appealing to him of late. Where does the man who's lost his heart go but to the city whose heart is stone cold uncaring?

     "I was angry. I swam out to sea. I became ...the dragon I am and opened my mouth for a great roar. I swallowed the pirates whole and coughed up treasure for about four hours. My throat is still sore. But.... it is what it is."

     He hangs his head with a moment of exhaled resignation, then sits back. "Not the birds and the bees speech, I hope," he murmurs and he smiles a little. No, he knows what is coming. For weeks, he's been preparing himself.

     "No no, Gwi, you're working too hard," Iowerth drolls low and wry, "...you should slow down, brawd, before you pull something."

     Without you, I do not think I could have survived. Hells; I know it. I would have been on this plane, not that, when she died, and it would have taken me with her.

     So goes the dictation on a busy, busy night. At the borders of the corrupted kingdom lies a great and untamed wilderness. No kingdoms or queendoms hold sway here, but the loose confederation of subjugated villages, villages that now suddenly find themselves free of their dark burden.

     Maybe that is what this is. He realizes it suddenly, even as he gives the sea back to the sea, salt tears finally falling as you kiss him. One gives oneself to the sea, and there is no turning from that. Everything else is worn away by the sea; the ocean will have its due.

     "Your mother has commanded a battle tonight," he begins, no time for endearments or blandishments now. Ramanthus outspreads his arms, his legs also as he stands. "We are raiding the corrupted kingdom of Winter Diamonds. In a matter of hours."

     Sitting in the chair, Iowerth lingers in his unsilent quiet, his weary brain pulsing with conversations and consequences.

     My head is swimming. I have navigated the worst seas imaginable and have kept my head while doing it. Only to lose my head on land.

     "Iowerth should be married in a year," dark green eyes find their way to you past the steam. "No more than two. If he wishes to carry on with his homosexual relationship beyond that, it'll be his wife's burden to bear..."

     The metallic steel crash of strings rattles through the amplifier in the flat above Black Jack Davy's. It's an hour past noon and Iowerth and his ... companion ... are out for the day. Gwilym Gwyn Garu is taking advantage of the opportunity to break the silence in a noisy fucker sort of way.

     "The realtor told me the previous occupant was ...quite artistic. He said the whole ship's painted rather fantastical, with blinking Christmas lights strung up year round." His mouth cuts a wry slant. "I'm not sure about that."

     He crosses to one of the other tables, sitting on the edge of it, letting his legs swing. "I'm scouting for an apartment over one of the little clubs. Music in the evening, cheap vodka, easy women - all the things mother'd warn me against. I don't plan on avoiding you, Io, I just ... I don't know. I have - things to figure out."

     There are some bulls that you cannot nudge into fighting when they do not want to fight, and Edward Meurelle is one such bull.

     "I think," Ian says softly, turning this face to you, "...there is a problem."

     Gold gaze is suddenly given to you as he reaches the doorway. He doesn't shove his love at you like a child. It is there, commingled with all the rest, a Pandora's Box of his emotions.

     You are leaving me...

     "My father was a canon, so I'm a son of a gun." Justyn receives a wicked smile, and Ramses lets his feet drop as he leans forward. "Solidly middle class and I ran with crowds above my station in life. I killed my father with disappointment by being so dissipated as to become a poet. Or maybe I'm lying through my teeth. You'll never know, and what does it matter? I'm who I am now."

     I'm lost, and I don't know how to find myself again...

     "An angel's feather falling, I have such, from the Plains of Chaos, the Outer Rim of The Great Marches." She makes a motion to the other woman. "It will be very dear indeed," she smiles beautifully, "... the most expensive item in the entire City, I should think. Second only to a night with me."

     If this is the seduction, if this is the information you wish, my spy... you will have it. More than you need.

     You will be the prince's favorite...the first courtier of his fledgling court... a prince of your own standing... it's our way to freedom, Tiernan. The hold of his arms tighten around your waist.

     Drink ... I need a drink. My head aches, and my mouth is dry - a hangover of the soul. I am restless. I hope someone attacks me tonight; I could use a good fight.

     And a week into this three-week trip, you have seen such sides of him, facets you may not have known existed. His humor, unbound. His love, unrestrained. His tenderness of heart, freed. You had been tied, bound in a thousand different, orgiastic ways -- but the one who was really restrained was Rhodri himself.

     "Brother," he drawls, "I do love you dearly, much as it pains me to say it, but what pains me more is how everyone keeps insisting you're the smarter of the two of us. The obvious escapes you."

     "We will have to conspire against her for your freedom or your joy, I'm afraid. And will likely need assistance doing it. Either you betray her with subterfuge or direct defection. But either way, Tiernan, to love me is to turn away from her. There's no avoiding that..."

     And despite the fact that his new lover has gone, despite the fact that the way is dark and full of potential, dread dangers, Iowerth's mouth begins to twitch...

     I love the rebel in you. I should kiss you now, my rebel queen. But before Lord Arundel can think that Davydd is forgoing his dinner to eat his daughter with his eyes (if nothing else), Davydd looks to Fiona's father and takes a bit of the salmon and asparagus. "That is one of the many reasons we love your daughter. It's never a dull day with Fiona Arundel. Another scotch?" he offers.

     The electric flamenco stops and Rhodri unjacks, slides the guitar around the back and comes over. "No one pays attention to the ramblings of the lead singer," the lilt and drag of the un-English displays itself. Not Irish. Not Scottish. Something Other.

     "...All of this, it was built for you. For us. And we will invest in these things that make sense in a new age. For us. For me. So...that is what we are celebrating, oui? The start of a new day. The culmination of all my work, here and now. And the start of ... something new."

     A sudden grin flashes at Edward's lips though his eyes remain closed. "Ami...don't worry," Edward says again. It's an exercise in futility for you, his smile says, but for him, it is the exercise that keeps him on the Brujah path.

     In an inherited ap Owain motion, Rhodri saves the beer from the sudden motion of you on his lap, his one arm cradling you as his other spreads out to hold the Guinness at a safe distance. He chuckles, "Well, I guess it was a bit foolish to think he'd be right back."

     Davydd lowers his head, red hair vibrant against your ivory skin as he bends down, kisses travling southward. "It doesn't matter where," he breathes between your breasts. You feel a sudden unhooking as his fingers make the fabric give way. "Here is good," he chuckles.

     It's been a long time since there was a king. Not a king of mere kingdom - someone who could merge with the land, and more than the land. Someone with the power to command souls. Too long, mayhap. I don't know that we're still what we were, when we were, then.

     It is the kingdoms of fairy and dreams dotting the Imaginary Landscape, with the dark oceans of future dreams dotted with heavenly stars and creatures. There, the plains of chaos, roiling midnight blue clouds of Unknown Possibilities -- both Good and Evil -- both unformed and waiting for God... or the dreams of Man... to shape them.

     "I fought my demons literally. My selfishness, my fear, the nine-headed beast of Chaos. I even burned in the sun once. Unpleasant, but you know... I needed it. I needed to just be... reborn. So... I was. Again... and again...and again...sacrificing myself over and over, only to rise again the next evening and assess my state." Dark eyes lift to you. "It was my bridge, I guess."

     "...I broke a friendship of lifetimes because I thought someone else was going to do some... thing. When... yeah, yeah... I'm a regular Dorothy. I had the power all along."

     And you are in a low time now, yes? So how could I ever think to leave you for something as trivial as swordplay and politics...

     She sighs, going silent, tipping her head back to look up at the sky. "I once told you," Fiona says finally, "that there would be a war coming. You didn't believe me, then. But there will always be wars, Davy. Right now, your war is with yourself. I can't win that war for you..."

     "Both of your children are healthy. And growing." Both. Two. "As befits a queen with two husbands, you are having two children. Two boys. An heir, my lady, for each king. Because you cannot choose between them, your heart a matter of loving two equally, now you do not have to choose."

     "Mind my delicate skin," William drawls, preparing to step out after you. "I bruise easily."

     "Oh my god," Hwyll finally says, "... that means we have less than nine months to plan a fairy wedding. I think I'm going to faint.

     "I am well aware of how pleased you are to see me growing fat. You need not think that I will be similarly pleased should you do likewise, no. You must remain hard and hard-working." She sniffs, turning her head away.

     "You smell of adventure," Alire continues quietly. He closes his eyes and he sighs, making a sound of delight as he does. "Coffee... limonata...sunlight...you passed by a garden... I will say in the old quarter of Cannaregio. Hmm... and a branch of lilac brushed your shirt...I can smell it from here..."

     "As for why it's you..." The smile begins to wander and the emerald eyes begin to glint. "Because you are unique... you are yourself... you weren't trying to impress anyone. Mostly, when I saw you, you wanted to be left the hell alone. You have a certain... fox-like quality... that I recognize in myself.

     "Behold, the coming of the answering of Dreams! That which is sought will be found; that for which you labour will be fulfilled! But every man and woman turn their eyes to the wayward West, and you will find Truth!"

     "...Tonight...for the Holly King... it was a night of sacrifice. Giving up the present," his dark green eyes settle on you, and he is sad. "... for the promises of the future."

     From the moment I brought him into the material realm, my hands guiding him from the safety of his mother's womb to a wild world, I have loved him. He is my best work, my best mark upon the earth, the best thing I have ever made or accomplished.

     "But our future is out there," Edward's head rolls to the sky again, "...somewhere. Sometime." It's not here yet. He doesn't know what it is, but it does not lie with London.

     "...I have unfinished business with Rosamund. And... I am going to see her to close the book on it. I want you to hear that from me, not her. I won't be fucking her."

     "...Ron? Don't tell me - you didn't." Hermione Granger has put two plus two together and come up with eighteen. Exasperated, the wand is lowered the rest of the way. "Honestly! Did you really think that those stores wouldn't protect themselves legally one way or another?"

     "Living arrangements?" they both say at once, Rhodri looking intrigued and Davydd looking confused. "Don't we have enough houses? I'm going to be broke at this rate..." Such grousing. You'd think you asked him for his wallet or for alimony...

     You speak. He writes. "I do not think it is so simple. Your gifts are your gifts. Your skills, your skills. You should not compare yourself to Nathaniel," the way he speaks that name. An obvious attempt at being civil, but he does not hide the partial frown.

     "I would ...respect her enmity and her power, but I would not as of yet worry about it. We will arm as any kingdom should, and prepare as any kingdom should."

     The kettle starts whistling again as he sets it on the burner, a wolf call of sorts, one that matches his suddenly sparkling look. He ignores it, patently, and moves to you. Just shy of your embrace, Rhodri pauses and he makes a courtly bow, 17th century for yours in return.

     "Now... it feels right and complete." His hand strokes the side of your face. "We love you. You love us. We need not keep this," the love in triplicate, "...for special occasions. We are married. It is as simple as that."

     I still love you. Fiona brings things round to what she suspects might be the best thing to say first, to get it out of the way. We're still getting married. And I don't think Davydd is going to try to kill you.

     You seem to have something to say and he's waiting to hear it, the sound of the other shoe dropping. "I don't want you to wait a hundred years in solitude," Davydd shakes his head slightly, tapping away the ash again.

     "Oh, and one other thing," Fiona adds, leaning back so that she can see your face, read all the expressions written there, see your eyes and the worlds that lie behind them. "Yes..."

     "Fear searches, it is searching, it has searched and will continue until it finds the one who is trying to leave the Darkness behind. They have a ...traitor... and they are combing the lands invisible for any and all who may be hiding or helping him. It is taking our power and our concentration...our kingdoms on the fringes..."

     His fingers lace against his metaled stomach. "I am hearing in the air the subtle sounds of a Proposition..." The smile alights on his face. "You thought of me... I am flattered. How may I be of assistance to you?"

     There's a smirk for your callousness and a roll of his eyes. "Don't hold your breath counting on it, dearie. I'm as like to steal what I want as to wait for it..." And he likely means that. And has likely done just that in his day.

     From crescent to quarter to full, the moon will show its variable face, donning one mask after the other. So, too, myself, but in terms opposite.

     He looks at you as though he were peering over a professor's glasses, then smiles. "It appeals to the Scientist in me, however poor or mechanical, to be able to help you by sorting things out into groups, categorizing and being able to help you find a way that works for you, yes? Some better understanding..."

     You know, it isn't you, amours. I do not need to impress you. I am not trying to impress you. It is worse even than this. I want a ghost to be proud of me. And it is something I shall never feel. A validation I am doomed never to receive.

     "Well," he exhales, pausing to remove the jacket after a moment later, losing nothing by the shedding of a layer. "I think it is a meaningless challenge."

     Glass is complex. Lines and mathematic, chaos and error abound even in the most beautiful creations from Murano and Limoges. But they are the most perfect, the most beautiful creations to the trained and untrained eye.

     The more peaceful on the exterior, the more tumultuous the internal. The more hectic, war-crazy the exterior, the more peaceful he is within. That is your man there...in all his paradox...

      Only one horse? What do you suppose such young men do out in the woods needing only one horse? And with an extravagant amount of hounds. Clearly, they are sleeping together.

     "...What other arms should I want to be in, but Edward Meurelle's? Where is there a better man for Valan Montague... where is there... a better man..." Period.

It's not What you thought When you first began it

     "I have a job for you. I need you to drop whatever it is you are doing for this. It is something that must happen immediately... if it is to succeed..."

      "We embrace him," William murmurs. "We solve a multitude of wrongs, of problems, we halt a multitude of suffering. For everyone..."

     Davydd pauses in the public sitting room downstairs. A glance in reveals no one. Frown yet in place, he heads to the sofa and table, looking for something to write on perhaps. He checks his pants pockets for anything handy, finding only a tenner.

     He smiles, but you don't have to miss it. It presses at you, making itself known beneath the surface of your skin, felt in the five senses as the picture of it comes into view behind your eyes. I'm looking a little Oxford Professorish tonight...

     The woods shivered with a large wind (me) and we stood upon fertile ground of a different ... View of Wales, Cymru. The red-towered castle still there, still symbolic, flowers and green grass everywhere. And there he was, the Oak King himself, bending to kiss the slip of a girl....

     She's shifted gears on him. It takes him a long moment to catch up. Plans? What plans? I seem to have forgotten everything but this pen. Brilliant he may be, attentive, however, is something else.

     Yes yes. This is all very nice, my dear, sweet Victoria. But it doesn't help me one whit. You see, I need something to do. I can't kill people. Toying with you is now libel to get me into more trouble than I really want, just now-- don't worry, we'll come back to that at some point.

     "When I saw him, he promised me pay in exchange for trumpeting the end of his Exile. The Oak King's exile is at an end, Your Majesty, Your Highness; three years in Cymru, and at the end, he has emerged."

     "We will figure it out, and piece these things together with logic. There has to be an order, a pattern. You and I will find it, Giancarlo."

     He remembers the look on her face when her little summoning of a demon actually worked, so many centuries ago. And again when she was first sent to kill her first man. Good times -- good times.

     "I merely wanted to make sure you were well after that ordeal in the Garden." It was rather... well messy. Lowe nods to the older woman as he takes Wendy's order for tea and adds, "A teacup for me as well with a little brandy in the bottom please." See at least he's not drinking a lot.

Ceylon Vanilla
...for the Love of His Excellency, 1661

     Mentioning Valdemort is rather like screaming Macbeth! in a theater. Some names are curses of their own.

     One fingertip taps on the table absently, the lone drummer of a vanished army. "If Il Dignitaro will permit, I will examine - however, some materials for initial examination will be required."

"They love all night and with the dawn,
the lady wakes and her Davy is gone
What a fool she's been to have tagged along
And be known as the Black Jack's Lady..."

     "I don't think I gave you permission to be in my country," comes the rush of amused Welsh, the low and long vowels, the tripping of a lilting consonant, the trill of 'Rs', "... on national Welsh TV no less, high and mighty we are, speaking the language of the Blessed on the Island of the Mighty..."

     "Very well, then I consider our pact sealed." But he sighs slightly, "You know, you really take all the fun out of having a soul bond sometimes. You know that?"

     "That's not what has you upset, dear Victoria. That's not it at all. What has you upset is that that decision is so far out of your hands, you can't even imagine what it would take to make it come about." Mick watches her evenly.

     It's an echo that quivers, but an echo - caught in the stones, as it were, as if a shell being lifted to one's ear, miles and miles from the shore.

     Girault looks between the two of you for a moment and then he exhales, "I will apologize for my tone. I do not wish it to seem that I am some Svengali, keeping Ms. Whitethorne in a gilded cage, not allowing her the freedom to move, or to visit friends..."

     "I was glad you could make it though. I wasn't sure if you'd want to or not." Again, honesty. What's gotten into Rose some might ask. Or, it could be that she's also at least a little curious to see if Davydd warned you off after the coffee encounter.

     There is the delicate rise of vanilla in the air, with a hint behind it of something more exotic, Eastern. Ceylon Vanilla, it is called, and distilled by the hands of only one woman in Europe, Constanz deWitt.

     He lifts a hand, he puts it gently to your face and he kisses you once, briefly. "I love you. Find me." And with the trailing touch, his hand falling away, Pharzuph turns to go. Follow me, he pleads. Even as his eyes plead such a case before, he pleas again. Follow me.

     A crystallization of Valan Montague. Part truth, part fiction, part pure myth. But it happens to everyone, doesn't it. Everyone for whom the clock no longer ticks. Outside of that most human of states, time-bound civilization and reality, We become Something Else.

     Your spouse wanders on the parapets tonight, blue and scented smoke trailing his slow stride. It is a way of connecting, disconnecting and imprinting. It is a lord's walk, a prince's walk on the walls, walking among the tower. Below the lights of the ville twinkle and the lights on the Vienne and the bridge that crosses over it.

     Aloud, again, she recites a cellphone number, and she sits seiza, closing her eyes. Emotion rushes forth to fill a void, and then, Fiona Arundel, known to some as Drancy of no other name, watches candles burn out to blackness.

     "You talk too much," Ian whispers and smiles softly. A slight pull of his lips. He sighs then, expecting some response will come.

     And all this is saved and stored in his vast memory. Saved for later, and then sent Below when called for. Alexander is exceptionally loyal, for a demon of Secrets. Which isn't actually saying much.

     Alexander finds himself a chore which will give him good vantage of the room. Sweeping it is, again. Easy work, and work that others don't really like to do. But it lets him roam, and listen, and watch.

     "What th--" he starts, leaping from his seat to grab the duffle bag. "What the fuck?" he finally gets out, shaking the bag to and fro until the file comes out. The bag's tossed aside, and Edward stands, flipping through the folder.

     Kit smiles and he nods, raising his glass. "And to the faith of good friends..."

     "I just thought I would pay you a visit... Many are concerned about your Patron." Another drag form his cigarette before adding, "Andrealphus." As if he needed that explained to him.

     Yisun stands and smiles, her hand coming out. "Yisun Inkhe," she says, natural and native Mongolian accent on Mongolian syllables and then: "Pleasure to meet you," English accent having a war with something almost ...American.

     "Here is her name," Soldekai flashes, pages opening, a book from the Library. An image of eyes scrolling. Arundel. Fiona. London.

     I plan for the inevitable... hoping to subvert it. No different from Prince Theseus...

     Annabelle Deschamps' arrival in town always makes for an interesting time, and always causes ripples.

     "Goddammit," Edward says, sitting up from the bench near the Sforza fountain by his room. "Does this place ever shut up?" He glances at his watch, then shoots a look over where the end of prayer is being sung, far across buildings and walls.

     Her dark hair pulled back, slicked back in a bun, she wears a white shirt silken and loose over black leather trousers, high black boots cover her calves and up to her knees. And a prized black bull, one of your beauties no less, is bowed before her. Standing, she faces him, he faces her. Her silk cape is lowered, her right hand extended. There are no swords, no whips. They are not needed.

     Girault must steal a look, still it comes with the air of Platonic, See I Am Only Looking, William -- I Have Eyes. There is nothing outwardly lascivious about it. Are you beautiful? Yes, one of the world's most beautiful.

     The way I have been. The stress. The...whatever it is... that makes us fight from time to time. My uncertainty. "Also... I will say... I wish I could go with you," Valan whispers. "I wish I were a warrior suddenly. I ... am worried." A pause. "I am frightened. A little. For you."

      "What did Maria say," Edward keeps rambling, "...when you said you'd be staying here with her for a few nights?" His earlier explanation of a friendly family visit apparently wasn't taken as truth, somehow.

     "I guess we call a Toreador we trust." A pause. "The list is short. Girault..." He pauses again, corners of his mouth upturning. "It is a short list indeed when Il Gatto di Firenze floats to the top of it."

     Using a thousand masks, Beloved One, I have gained the secrets that shetan has used, your Adversary, and I have gained it at the cost of my soul. But I deliver it to You, Allah, You Whom I Love above all things, and with my blood...

     "What will El-Adar mean for you? What do you think it means for Edouard?"

     The large tome of Alhambra rests upon a table, there beside it a glass that has been used intermittently and throughout the day. And another book beside it, the Story of Pi and another Zero.

     She leans her head back and chuckles, finally murmuring aloud, "When I find him, I'm going to duct-tape him down so he can't wander again. Or maybe I'll chain him up and just never let him leave."

     "I'm over 600 years old," he murmurs, the warmth of his hands on you, as they have been all the while. The touching does not end. The fingers curl and uncurl against your skin. He wonders what you shall do. "I was a knight, a... guardian of Pope Clement V."

     Nothing that shall cause him harm, surely. For that I could never do. Even if he turned against me. I should rather be struck down by his hands than to harm him.

     Brilliance has left Venice. Soldekai off on Heavenly errands, those as archangels have -- whatever they are. The sun hasn't been seen in days, and all of the record-breaking snow has turned to rain.

     "Anything," Soldekai grins. "We return...Sakir..." he has such a hard time calling him by a name, "...and that is it. We have located where he might spend his time," a grin at Jonathan, "...not a hard operation. After that...who knows. Maybe Americas for a bit. Then...we decide what to do about the valley. How's that for a plan?" Soldekai glances around to each of you, waiting to hear suggestions or other ideas. "Put it this way...if there is something in the Valley," he explains, "...then it is better that we find it...instead of the others."

     Steps that were lost when he was arrested in India were retaken and followed until reaching this village of the fountain and the many caves. It is this... womb of the world. The Mesopotamian basin. He has returned to where it once all began.

     A pause and turn, though. Something else he wants to say. "Take care, Davydd," Sebastian says evently. "Two weeks is a long time. Two years, is an eternity. It is best, we all do those two years on the same page." Not a chastisement to you, but a reminder to you all. "Just watch yourself, because others are doing it for you."

     "You are Blandine's," Soldekai teases, even as the space between you is covered. He smiles as you near him and opens the necklace out so that your throat would walk into it. "From me," he says, "...personally."

     "Desire is ...a portion of a Wish, of a Dream. Inspiration, your mistress, is another part. Subdivided, a dream is a lover with a horde of concubines. Why should we, therefore, be solitary? One is the dream...the other inspiration...together, intermingling...they can become prophecy..."

     Nicu sets his coffee down. "I believe that it may be one offending individual... and one... facilitator of some fashion. Immortal, Watcher," he shrugs. "This I do not know. There is much more to discover. And not a lot of time."

"...A time will come soon, bella, when we will have to leave Ireland... and face our foe together. We should... take this time now...just for us..."

     Effortless. So effortless. Grace and magic and some subatomic communication. Knowing. In an instant, where each will be. And fingers of the justicar moved, and fingers of the Dignatary were poised and waiting. In seconds between seconds. Even to you, such motions are apparitions.

     I have narrowly escaped being a midnight snack...

     As the last tendrils envelope his face, Edward scoots snow over the ember. "Okay..." he smirks, "...I think...you'll like this..." his brow furrows, look lingering at you. Edward bites his bottom lip and pushes goggles back over his eyes. Follow me.

     Sudden is the thought that comes to him then. Iain. His hand stills.

     William frowns, confused. Aching. "You acted in passion they all should have expected, but I am missing the fucking point, Ian. Should I not do this and think of you? When can I go a day without thinking of you. Goddamn it, if I didn't love you I wouldn't think of you. What the hell do you want?"

     How you alone know the songs that no one else remembers, a language that he only speaks, save you, recall a time that was everything to him...but is now only books and perverted recollections of fae, myth, and lies that once used to anger him, but now only make him wish for home.