Few guests at the Festival of the Masque actually remained at the Palazzo Barbaro. Most had lodgings elsewhere, and so the day after the festival the grand palaces have returned to a state of normal grandeur. Halls are swept clean, music lessons proceed for a rising talent of La Fenice, a mortal girl who at sixteen has a better voice than most professional sopranos. And to think, she just made the switch from mezzo soprano last summer...
In ten years, she may become more than she could even imagine at this point in her life...
All doors are open, as if the palazzo needed to catch its breath, to air itself out from all those singing and dancing here but a night ago. The singing fountains of the sitting room are revealed to anyone approaching, and likewise the man clothed all in white surrounded by the blue and white Napoleonic, grand interior. Such clothing sets off his caramel complexion, and his dark hair is curled to perfection, even as he himself is Perfect. A 'Raphael' brought to life. A man so beautiful he is not Real. Even more than the beautiful men you both have known over the years. He is some paragon, some idealized portrait from the Renaissance, not a living, breathing soul.
The Dignitary pours himself a glass of cognac, his voice rising in tenor accompaniment to the young woman, another protege, and perhaps in a few years, a daughter.
Blonde, short tresses have reverted themselves overnight, returning to the long, black locks she is known for. Gone are the wings, the short gown and the pixie dust across her cheeks. Once more, her flesh is pale and she is adorned in her favoured darker colours.
Tori has taken a break from her own studies, coming to stand at one of the many doorways to listen. Her eyes close at the sweet sounds she hears echoing and reverberating off the walls themselves, reveling in the music. She leans against the door frame, holding onto it with slender hands, not truly in the room, but not exactly outside... in between them both. Reluctant to enter for fear of interrupting or disrupting the pair.
Not too far away, physically outside of the room, Raf sits and watches her idly, giving her more space these days.
The other Victoria comes to the door of the Palazzo a few minutes before the appointed time. Much like the singer, she has reverted to her normal self as well, no longer the image of the rising sun. Instead, a black jersey dress that looks as though she's never even thought of coming to a gathering of vampires dressed as the dawn. Though, somehow, it also suits her in its own way. Flattering in its normalcy.
Her hands are in her pockets, the long wool overcoat complimentary of course to the whole affair. And for a moment she pauses, looking up to the grand doors again in darkness though without the benefit of the party lights and finery. And knocks.
"You should come sit," Girault says to Victoria (Whitethorne), his tenor turning from song to conversation, and yet still musical -- and perfect in tonation. He sets the bottle of cognac down, a gift that he then inspects. "Raf will be fine outside. In fact, he should go out and play in the city for once. I worry for a man who is always indoors."
There is no motion from Girault at the knock upon the palazzo's grand door. As if, in fact, he had not heard it -- which is not the case, naturally. That is what servants are for and Barbaro is crawling with them.
All of them beautiful...
The door opens to a wondrous sight, that of an Italian by the name of Vanni, glorious epitome of Rome, clothed also all in white. He does not ask who it is or why the person is here. The person is expected. He opens the door for Victoria (Gifford) and gestures for her to come in. "Il Dignatario is in the sitting room," he says in his accented English.
With a smile, Tori waves off Raf, who nods once, then stands and moves off, perhaps in search of his jacket. It doesn't take long for him to disappear... it is so rare that he gets to leave Tori's side.
Then Tori herself slips into the room completely and applauds briefly. "You both sound so lovely.. I could listen for hours," she murmurs softly, looking to both in the room. Padding closer, she adds, "I see a bright future ahead for you, young one." This last is murmured softly to the girl, accompanied by a gentle smile.
She wears a pair of darkly tinted glasses tonight, to hide her eyes. Though she has no doubt used the excuse of having her pupils frozen in place from a freak accident, like David Bowie, it is just easier around younger mortal to hide the eyes which might frighten them.
The young woman is all voice and dark curls. An Italian, with a round face, olive complexion and almond eyes. She smiles and reddens a little, and then looks to Girault. Girault smiles to her. "That was lovely, si. Potete andare, Aemilia e li ringraziate per il concerto. Siete una bellezza e un tesoro, il mio caro," he says, bringing his hands together. The young woman bows, seriously and then she laughs a little, turning to go with a 'Grazie' to you both and out of the room to go be a young woman.
"Grazie." Victoria says easily to the opener of the door, following down the hall towards the sitting room and the musical sounds before they stop. She looks again at the walls, now somewhat different without the trappings of harems and gardens. And the architecture that is itself as beautiful as any painting.
She stops at the doors off the hall, also waiting outside of them in silence until the audience before her in schedule is complete. Smiling politely to the girl as she comes out of the chamber, but still waiting to be acknowledged.
Tori's gaze follows the young girl out, watching her go, traveling to the doorway where the other Victoria stands. Ah, it is that time, is it not? Her smile brightens a bit as she sees her friend, acknowledging her... but she does not wave her in. She turns instead to look at Girault, murmuring softly, "She is here..." It is his place, not hers, to invite the good doctor in.
"Come in, signora Gifford," Girault's voice lifts, expecting Victoria (Gifford) even before he sees her, he is moving to take a seat upon one of the blue and white striped sofas, cognac gathered in a glass from Murano, speckled with myriad colors, a stark contrast to his perfection of white. "Vanni will close the doors..."
Vanni is there, waiting to do so in fact. He averts his eyes from the Uncommon Beauty on the sofa, but his flesh colors in reaction to wherever Girault's cinnamon eyes stray. A beatific expression is given to you. "Come, sit and make yourself comfortable... if you wish a drink, I will have Vanni bring some tea..."
Stepping in at the invitation with a smile that is both cordial and warm, and a nod that is as formally respectful as her curtsies from the ball, Victoria says, "Tea would be lovely, thank you." She makes her way to the indicated seating, the smile from Tori returned with the more relaxed warmth that comes from years of friendship.
"I appreciate you taking the time out of your busy schedule to see me, Dignitary. I understand how valuable your time must be for everyone." Particularly in a season like this, with visitors from all over Europe that have titles attached to their names. The harpies who were buzzing about her dance with Tours most likely flapping if they see her here on her own.
Once Girault is seated, Tori finds a spot on one of the sofas as well. she echoes Victoria's sentiment, adding, "I appreciate you both taking time to meet, as well." Normally, she might get comfortable, pulling her feet up beneath her -- and yes she is barefoot even now, still enjoying 'listening' to the echoes in the very floor, even -- but not right now. Now she sits properly, hands folded gently in her lap.
This is a meeting, not a social gathering... and she is not in control here. This isn't the Inferno from New Port where she could lounge about at her whim... and she recognizes that, though it seems more instinctual. There was not even a pause to make the decision on what way to be seated. Her training has gone farther than just singing lessons, it seems.
Girault surely appreciates the respectful gestures, but he waves it away with warm congeniality, "I am a difficult man to catch these nights, these years I think it is now," cinnamon eyes widen a touch. "I travel frequently, from court to court, it is..." a smile, "...what I do. So! I did not have time at the party to speak with you again afterwards, and then there was the dancing," you with Raymond! Raymond, so talented and handsome. The prince Christian and I instilled in the fallout of Plantagenet whims. A raise of his glass and a sip.
"Our circles are small, but Maximilian and I ... we are old creatures," beautiful lips make a beautiful smile. "Though," Girault beams, "...I am more handsome and probably more talented and he is definitely older..." A wink chases the teasing. "You and Ms. Whitethorne were in William's city, si? I did not get a chance to see him there. I seldom travel outside of New York or Chicago when I am in America." Which is, one might imagine, not all that frequently.
"And it wasn't precisely the best time, of course." Victoria says easily in agreement, "I wanted to apologize for the way my approach of the subject arose. I meant to mention it for your consideration, but it came out all wrong." Which, for those who know Victoria well, isn't necessarily as uncommon as she'd like.
She smiles at the description, of her host and her sire, chuckling just slightly, "Well, I believe that each suits you both in your own way. Were anyone to tell him that he was handsome he would, most likely, simply look down his nose at them." She shrugs, not seeming to be terribly concerned about the characterization of Maximilian.
Followed by a nod once more, she answers the implied question, "Yes, that's where we met. We were primogen together shortly, though I was reassigned to another city not too long after joining the council. He did wonders for the place." Lighting compacts on fire, opening hockey arenas. All sorts of exciting things.
"There was much going on at the party and there was excitement abounding... but it was not the best time, no," Tori agrees, not having been present during the conversation between the two of you, but getting the impression from Victoria's tone that it did not go as hoped. Ah well, these things happen -- and hopefully no real damage was done.
Having nothing to say about Maximilian, not knowing him, Tori remains silent on this matter, but murmurs, "New Port was... quite the experience, certainly. And that is where Victoria and I became very good friends. With the way the city was for a while, it was important for the council to stick together... friendships formed where they might not have in the past..." Even Toreador and Nosferatu were friends there, despite the usual prejudices between the two. "Yes, William was the best thing that happened to New Port, I think.... he made things happen, where others in the past had left it to go stale and stagnant."
"He does things... a different way. I will say I do not always agree with him, but he is seldom ... wrong," Girault offers, though it is clear that -- while William may be an unavoidable subject among those he all knows -- William is not the point of this visit. Girault smiles, then laughs at Ms. Whitethorne's assessment. "He is... we shall say... never boring as a politician. Though, sometimes this gives Us," the Grand Us, perhaps, "... a touch of the...how you say in America, the Maalox Moment," he gives his glass a twirl, his cognac a swirl and then a swallow.
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," he says, looking to Victoria Gifford. "Dr. Gifford, I hope you understand where my comments were derived, for I have nothing but the best wishes for Victoria," he drops into the familiar. "So!" Girault says with a smile, "...we will...start over, yes? There is a subject you wish to broach." This is your opportunity.
There's another chuckle at the Maalox Moment. It is rare to find elder vampires who can make jokes about modern American commercials. Victoria nods, becoming more serious as the conversation moves to the topic of the evening. "Of course not, I have heard from her and others," William and Ian most likely, "that your concern for her is based entirely in her well-being. And I appreciate that as her friend. Things have been difficult lately from what I understand and it is hard at times to find others who have our best intentions at heart." Particularly among kindred kind.
"As I've relocated here to the continent, I was hoping that Tori and I would be able to see each other more frequently again. And, not wishing to impose on your hospitality, it would be my pleasure to have her come to visit at the chateau. But, only, of course, if you approve of the arrangements."
She continues a moment more in explanation, "I would be more than happy to invite you as well, if it did not impede on your schedule. Particularly until you are comfortable with another situation."
Hopefully that's better.
Tori sits peacefully, listening to the two of you speak of her, her gaze flickering down to her hands in her lap for a moment. For one who used to be so independent, who is only just now beginning to remember what it was like, this could be frustrating... letting someone else decide what she can and cannot do.
But if there is frustration, she does not voice it, nor does it show in her face. Her expression is calm and placid, her demeanor is quiet and respectful.
Glancing back up to both of you, she listens to what is said, to every nuance that passes between the two of you... to every inflection, word and pause. Would one misstep mean the request will be denied? Or is it really even something that is up for debate... perhaps it is more relaxed than that?
Finally, she murmurs softly, "Raf has said he would come with me, of course... to look over me." Ever faithful, that one.
There is an acknowledgment of Dr. Gifford's words, and Girault looks to Victoria (Whitethorne), his look is as warm as it is measuring. Eyebrows lift a little in question, "You wish to go to Switzerland? If it is your wish, Victoria, I will not prevent it. Of course. This life is yours. What your studies are is merely to reassert this, to strengthen this, and to support this. It is not a prison," Girault's lips twitch in the corners. "If you wish to travel, you only need to say it is so. And, I have faith in Rafael," has he insists upon calling him.
His full attention then turns upon Dr. Gifford. There is that same warmth, but also that same study. "I will provide instructions on how to protect her voice in such a climate. She is my prize student," he beams with a look to Victoria. "Even more than Aemilia Cantorini, bless the child. Do you realize," he says to them both, "...that Mozart's most challenging arias shall spill from these lips," a gesture to Victoria, "...and one night grace the halls of Europe?" The cognac is set aside and thereafter Girault's hands are steepled. "I see such things for her. Such things that should always have been hers to claim." Had she a sire that was, one, not crazy and, two, competent.
"I haven't gotten to hear her sing in some time. It's one of the things I've been looking forward to with being able to visit." The doctor smiles, "I have a music room, of course." What good castle doesn't? "And I don't expect the chateau to be overcrowded at any time. Though, of course, if you wish to come around other visitors, that's just fine." This is said to Tori, since she's involved now by Girault more directly in the decision.
"Even in New Port, however, I always expected that she was going to move on to some other stage to perform whatever she likes. Her own songs as well as others." She isn't trying to step in and become controlling, honestly.
Turning to Tori again she smiles, "I've got plenty of rooms. You could have one that you could stay in regularly, so it could be more comfortable." More familiar, and hopefully soothing.
Chuckling rather suddenly, Tori can't help but comment, "Ah, he is too kind, Victoria... he praises me too much. I will get a fat head." There is a wink with this, then she continues, "Though, I'll admit that I miss singing as I did, when I did, at the Inferno..." Back in the day of the Goth Diva. Grinning, she looks to Girault and adds, "That will always be a part of me, I fear, Antonio." Though he likely never heard her sing like that... as part of the goth-industrial scene, so to speak.
Smiling softly, she murmurs, "I would like very much to travel... I appreciate my studies here, of course! And I have learned so much -- and hope to continue to learn -- but I'll admit I have a nagging urge to... stretch my legs a bit?"
The songbird cannot be caged up for too long without getting restless, even if it is for her own good, perhaps. And maybe it's getting to the point where she is getting restless. Raf will stay indoors with her for hours, days, even years if necessary, out of devotion and caring... but she has seen people come and go from the palazzo more and more, wistfully watching them from the windows as they left.
"I will... not beat around the bush. I know that my mental state is not yet...stable. I know this. The voices of the Others are still with me, and I don't know when they will go away... if ever. But... I cannot hide from myself forever, can I?" she murmurs softly, smiling almost sadly as she looks down at her hands clasped in her lap. Glancing back up, she adds, "I would like very much to be able to explore the world a bit...even if at first it's only to visit an old friend."
"No, bella," Girault murmurs. "There is no hiding. About the ...regularity. The frequency," Girault continues, glancing between the two women. Upon this point there is an exhalation of thought. He has been considering this. "Her studies require a certain amount of routine, and, I believe it is so, that routine has been of great benefit. While I do not mind an interruption to studies for travel, I must insist, while she is in my tutelage, that some schedule be maintained. That is all I ask," he says his hands making a small gesture before he looks again to Victoria (Whitethorne). "You will understand why I have changed the repertoire," he replies as candidly, "... one day, my dear, it will become clearer than Murano crystal, and then you can return to your songs. I promise you, you will not be singing opera forever." He laughs a little. You seem worried, Victoria.
Another exhale and Girault seems in agreement, or at least agreeable. "You are improved, bella, but... bella, consider this -- it has always been a Process. You have simply become aware of the necessity of the process. That is all. There is no end point, but a matter of degrees. Do not think of ...stable or unstable...but that you are growing. For who of Us All is Complete but the Great Magister," God.
Victoria the younger seems content to stay quiet for this portion of conversation. Between student and teacher it is not her business to interfere. Her schedule, it seems from her attentions, is quite open and flexible. Or, at least, with the mention of routine and working around other events of training, she doesn't tense or gain any more concern.
"I would not wish for travel to circumvent the efforts you have taken, Antonio... that would be counter-productive to the... the process, as you put it. The healing process, I guess is the appropriate phrase. Perhaps, we could start with one visit and see how that goes before scheduling a second or a third or creating any kind of schedule on how frequently I go?" Tori suggests softly. A compromise, perhaps. A chance to get out, but not spoil what efforts have gone into making her well again.
Turning her smile from Girault to Victoria, the small woman muses, "And in-between, we could still use the telephone, or letters... it has been so long since I have received a letter, I think I am in withdrawal." The thought of this brightens her smile a bit. In New Port, letters and notes were passed in abundance... perhaps she misses that a bit.
"Thank you, both of you," she murmurs, "for your generosity... and for caring so much about me. Antonio welcomed me into his home with open arms, when he knew nothing about me, save that I was horribly, horribly broken." This is explained to Victoria. Then she looks to Girault and murmurs, "And Victoria was a friend to me in New Port even when things looked like there was no hope." To both of you, she murmurs, "I merely wish to combine the benefits of both of those... thank you for allowing it, both of you."
Girault nods and he seems content. It was not for his scheming or plans but for the process, and for his concern for this young Toreador. "We will consider it done," he smiles to you both and he rises, remembering suddenly the tea. "My mind has been too busy, I apologize, signora, how rude, the tea is not here!"
Somewhere in the distance, the scampering of Italian feet.
He pours himself a second glass of the cognac. "And I may visit your chateau in Switzerland, I visit the Confederate frequently, always on my way to somewhere else. Which chateau are you?" he smiles. "I appreciate your hospitality." A pause. "And your care and concern for Ms. Whitethorne. It is good... for friends to be reunited." Girault nods to himself on this point.
Perhaps it is for the best, after all...
"Thank you, I appreciate your understanding and concern, once again." Victoria says with a more easy smile, "I am glad that everything is settled."
She waves a hand lightly at the mention of tea, not overly concerned with it, though as she hears it on its way she shifts on the seat slightly in anticipation.
"Rolle? It used to be the house of the Savoy." The vacation house, of course. Though that goes without explanation. As one of the older chateau on the lake, it's relatively well known by those who know chateau. "And you're welcome whenever you like, I have to say I've run out of ideas for even making any arrangements in the other rooms, so I'm converting a handful into suites for longer stays and leaving the rest as they are for now." She shrugs with a smile, "It's been quite an adventurous process."
Her eyebrows perk slightly, "Hansl is going to come take a look at my mural if he has a chance, it's in need of some attention." And, of course, William is already detained. And very expensive.
"Well, I'm looking forward to hopefully being able to help. If nothing else, having an alternative place to relax sometimes outside the city might be relaxing."
Tori seems to truly relax... and somewhere out in Venice, so does her ghoul. She leans back against the sofa a bit more, her gaze doesn't dart around as much, and the air about her doesn't seem tense. That is over with and went much better than expected.
Even if tea comes, she will not partake in it. Thought she is beginning to eat and drink, as she never had in the past, she still prefers not to if there is no real need. She did at the party, but then there was much to sample and enjoy. For now, she is back to her usual habits. "I'm sure it is lovely, Victoria... I, for one, can't wait to see it," she admits with a soft smile.
There is tickling sort of laughter, "Rolle? Ah, I have been there. Long ago though, long ago. You do have quite the adventure on your hands..." Girault smiles, "I will look forward to visiting." News of Hansl surprises him a little. "A commission? That is good for him," he nods. "I will have to get on his schedule, lest he be as impossible as William. I cannot believe it! I have to book him years in advance, and then pay a fortune, that man," he murmurs, teasing William who is not here. "He is hard to get for a reason, but Hansl's star is rising. The Doge Himself wishes to commission. You had better get your contracts in order," Girault grins.
Victoria chuckles, "Thank you, Tori. I like it, really, it's just been... I don't think Ian and William had spent time there for a while." It was theirs before it was hers.
"But, it would be better for Hansl to have the favor of a contract from the Doge and yourself than mine. It's not likely to be challenging or terribly interesting. And he said that as William had said you both wished to speak to him first, he might already have commitments. Which is perfectly alright, it's not so dire as to be a rush. Now that I've got the paneling off of it I can ask William what to do to it in the interim and keep it stable."
Tori sits back and listens, not having much to add about the restorations, other than to nod her head and murmur, "It must be a big job, but I'm sure once it's all done, it will rewarding. I have not met Hansl... does he do artistic restorations then? Forgive my ignorance..."
Girault waves, "The Doge has a million projects, and it would do well for Hansl to have bookings in advance," not meaning to discourage her in any way. "Though, if William will be visiting? You might ask him for his advice. I am sure, with your beauty and your advantage," of knowing how He works, "...you can get him to give you a little of that for free." Cinnamon sparkles in a wink.
The door opens and in comes a lovely young Venetian woman in a, yes, completely white uniform. "Pardonne, signore," she murmurs to Girault, and then to each of you, "Signora... signora..."
"Just one cup, Beatriz," Girault mentions. He then turns to Tori, "Hansl is a very talented painter. You remember my friend, Saarbruken, Johannes? It is his protege, now stationed in Paris." He, like you, is recovering from the death of a loved one. Too many, that season. "He is a very intense young man, but very forthright. I hope that Paris is a balm for him, or at least is a doorway to more opportunity. Saarbrucken can only offer so much. But, it sounds as if Venice and Switzerland shall be profitable for him..."
Turning to Tori, "He's even more straight laced than I am." She grins a bit as though that should mean something to the other woman. "I like him, though. I think that a lot of it has to do with being shy." She doesn't hazard a guess as to if it's with a particular group or not. Such as women versus powerful elder vampires. Either of which sometimes make young men nervous for all kinds of reasons.
"But, he's at least interested in restorations. He's going to take a look at the file I brought with me on the project. And then let me know if he thinks it's something he'd truly want to tackle."
"Ah, I see... well, hopefully he'll be able to offer some insight into the project, even if he can't get to it right away, or even suggests someone else. That alone should be very valuable, as would William's expertise, as suggested already," Tori comments with a smile.
The smile, however, turns into a grin as she asks delicately, "So... when this is all finished... will I need to wear a blindfold, Victoria?" Will it be something to cause one of her well-known trances? It is all she can do to remain focused in the palazzo most days, in truth... but the teachings of Antonio keep her occupied enough.
She chuckles, "It's a very interesting piece for me, at least. The martyrdom of the Theban Legions." If the others are familiar. She seems to assume the Dignitary will be. "Which isn't necessarily a commonly portrayed event. Though as Maurice was the patron of the Savoy, it only makes sense." As they built the castle and all.
"I'll probably have to worry more about having you around my chandelier." She smiles, not seeming too concerned about the idea of Tori spending hours staring at something lovely. It is much preferred to many other things.
Girault remains standing as the tea is prepared and handed to Victoria Gifford. The young woman takes her leave without saying anything else. There is only a smile for the Savoy, for the history, for all the Popes and Antipopes and Papal Bulls. Just a quiet moment for History's sake.
Or perhaps he's holding another conversation or two.
Cognac is tasted and at length the glass is set aside. "I should let the two of you visit," and he is likely conducting business at the same moment, though his congenial manner hardly ever leaves him. He brings his hands together for a prayerful sentiment and then lowers them in a beneficent sweep. "Dr. Gifford, it was a pleasure meeting you. I am sure we shall have the fortune to meet again soon."
Victoria nods gracefully in return to the half bow, smiling still as she holds her tea in one hand with the saucer in the other, "It was lovely to see you again, Dignitary. And I look forward to our next meeting. I believe there was talk of a dance earlier that I never got to collect, so I'll have to see what I can do about that."
Her smile softens a bit, "And thank you for your understanding.
Smiling up at Girault, Tori murmurs quietly, "Thank you again, Antonio..." for everything. "I will see you later, surely." For she will have to get back to her studies soon.
Glancing back at Victoria, she says with a bright smile, "We do have some catching up to do, don't we? Too long has passed and it seems that every time we see each other, it is merely a fleeting or passing thing... it would be nice to just chat for a bit..."
With that, she finally drops all pretense of following any social norms... and pulls her bare feet up beneath her on the sofa, lounging a bit on her side and getting comfortable...
Posted by rowan at February 27, 2004 10:32 PM
