Dorian had gone on a morning ride, and to practice his sabrework in the wilds, looking, perhaps for the hound that had slipped his notice on the night of the ritual and done a number on his brother. Just now, having taken his precious mount Irene back to the stables, he was walking along on the way home with a tune on his heart, shamelessly singing to himself in the quiet cool of the morning,
"I love my stuff babe I want you to hop
I love my stuff babe I want you to hop
And my rider got some way of shimmying swear it just won't stop
Oh I know she want it hot babe sure don't want it cold
I know she want it hot babe sure don't want it cold."
He held a string tied box from the patisserie in the ring-bedecked hand that had recently held a sword, and in his pocket was the secret weapon gifted him by his sister to aid him, should he encounter the beastie. He walked with the assurance of a moneyed man, shoulders straight, chin held high, his voice melodic, though he sang a blues tune from what he considered one of the ruined colonies. He was not dressed in the latest fashion, but his antiquated tastes ranged from the long time he'd spent on the world. Outwardly, and for most of his life he'd looked as he appeared, glamoured. Ivory-rose complexion, honey blonde hair, frozen in the bloom of youth. Past the seen world, he was somewhat different. Though he looked fairly mundane, if genteel, past the veil he was a different being. Silver eyes burned with a fiery yellow glow like lamps from a pale golden face worked with arcane sigils. Magic ran though just every part of him, suffusing his flesh, blood and bone with a youthful vigor that he'd achieved in his prime. There was just a shimmering of unlit wings furled behind him, with their spectral yellow feathers bearing eldritch eyes.
Lady Llywellynn Devoreaux Esher Lady Esher heard that snippet of song drift soft upon the lifting breeze, the warmth of the sun just beginning to fill the currents of the sky with the day's weather. Not that Llyw would pay attention, not daring to lift her gaze from the cracked pavement under her feet, never trusting what she saw to be solid without testing the surface with her cane first. Then and only then would she take another careful step. She had to maintain her posture and demeanour for anyone normal to see her walking slowly across what was a clear sidewalk to them....but to her, the expanse of masonry was a minefield littered with the dregs of the dead, strewn with forgotten bones, tainted by the horrors so many spirits carried over with them from their miserable lives.
Llyw just sighed quietly and perservered as she always did. She had no choice if she wanted to survive long enough to achieve her goals. The one right now, finding the priest and the cardman, somehow in this whole town full of wailing ghosts and handsy spirits. She was about to take another gambling step when she heard that song clear enough finally over the wailing din to realize its familiar cadence, if not from a voice she had ever heard before. She gasps softly, a sense of nostalgia flooding through her so suddenly to tingle all the way to her fingertips she was momentarily stunned. She didn't even realise how much she had missed her birth home until just now. How ironic, considering all the tragedy she had left there, only to find more where she arrived after. Now after all *that*, she was here to find her own way, however painfully.
The Lady turned to see the singer out of pure curiosity, unable to resist the lure of that tune, so bluesy and mellow drifting from a man she saw on the street behind her. Her own face lifted just enough from under the brim of her hat to reveal her soft delicate features, naturally colored lips and an overly large pair of riding glasses shielded from all light, the lenses black as soda bottles and stamped with floral patterns. She wore a dress that was simple but finely crafted enough to denote her station, her choker of pearl and jewels tastefully understated as only truly costly items could be. The way she held herself was a contradiction, she was reserved to the point of being shy and yet she had the bearing of one of the British Peerage nonetheless. Whoever this Lady was, she likely had a title.
But all that mattered in this moment was she froze when she perceived the man, her cursed eyes seeing him for what he truly was, imbued with the full terrifying force of death to shine from him in eldritch glory, flow from him in wings of pure defiance of death, with yellow eyes, *all of them*, burning with all the fiercest will to live from far beyond the grave....and yet somehow he was beautifully formed of undeath, sculpted to perfection such that she couldn't stop staring. The first she had ever seen of someone not dying and decaying before her eyes...She had no means to parse what she was Seeing yet...
She gasped aloud, clearly startled, before she tried to cover for her slipup, hiding back under her hat, but she was caught halfway turned on her bootheel with her cane out before her, completely and uttered stunned speechless. Finally she managed a breathless whisper, her voice so soft and quiet as if she didn't wish to be overheard, "P..pardon me..." There was only the faintest whiff of something quite sweet on the breeze, apparently coming from her.
Dorian: || There was nothing truly malign in him, past guilt like any other mortal or immortal might bear. Just a man getting to live his best life, to the best of his ability for far longer than fortune or mortality would allow. He was a soldier, not a predator, and he often rose early as he had when serving the in Royal Navy, out of habit. Some soldiering was a good morning task, past unloading countless crates of bananas and practicing for his coming duel, getting Irene up to a full gallop on the right trails. The sharp nose might notice he smelled like horse, like sweat, and that had by this hour covered over cologne and soap. Something he planned to remedy before seeing his sister to give her the chocolate croissant that was in the box. There was one for Drystan and himself, but he was pretty sure Lilah didn't care for them. This meant the extras filling the box would probably go to staff, including Dinah's 'lady's maid' Hoshi, a tiny girl whose main job when her father was working was to play with the dogs, perhaps get some ad hoc lessons from the younger twin who ran the household.
As he was beheld his face broke into a broad grin as he almost made his way toward finishing the verse and chorus,
"It would break my heart just to carry you and me no more
And I keep on telling my rider well - keep your shimmy down
(Baby please keep it down)
I keep on telling my rider keep your shimmy down
Lord that jelly‑baking strut will make a---"
Only then she was looking at him for real, (was she? with those glasses?) and turning to do so, so he slowed and grinningly broke into laughter, into a rich urbane voice whose origins could not be mistaken, "Hahaha! I beg your pardon, m'lady. I do believe Mr. Patton sang it better. I had not meant to disturb your peace. I hope you are quite finding your day to be as full of promise and potential as I am." Presuming she could not rightly see him he'd bend as he neared to try to get a glimpse of face again under that veiled chapeau. He wore a grin that rested easily upon his lips as he came to a stop about three paces from her.
Lady Llywellynn Devoreaux Esher Lady Esher continued to be trapped on the teeth of a dilemma she never thought she would ever be confronted by. The man was both terrifying and mesmerizing and so clearly no longer human except in basic shape. She could feel all the eyes on his wings staring into her, into the blighted shadow rooted in her and she couldn't breathe, pinned there under a gaze beyond death itself where only the tiny thunder of her heart could center her.
But the man smiled and filled his tone with the finishing verse of that song that had turned her head towards this devastating revelation. His voice proved strangely soothing in contrast to his unearthly looks and pulled her back to the present moment where the sun still shown. With her eyes averted she could almost pretend he was just an exceedingly charming man just from the sound of his words, obviously trying to be friendly towards her....and for the oddest of reasons she didn't sense any evil intent from this deathless being. Despite his fearsome appearance he didn't appear to harbor any ill will towards her or really anyone that she could sense. She had very keenly honed awareness of such threats, having to deal with the restless and all their malicious or demanding ways without cease.
So she was paused, wavering on her impulse to turn away and hide, yet his song, his confident greeting stayed her retreat. Though she was startled again when he ducked enough under the shield of her hat to enter her field of vision again. She almost bit her sore lip again to stop another gasp from slipping out. She had to stop gawping there like a ninny, grasping for her manners for lack of any better way to cope with the fact she was in the presence of a creature she had only maybe read about in some wild fairy tale or other. She ought not be so surprised, considering how steeped in strangeness this whole island had turned out to be.
So the Lady lifted her small chin and managed to speak with some modicum of cheer to meet his easy grin on that harrowingly perfect visage. Her heart racing like a hare however, and a hint of her native New Orleans drawl came out from under her faint British accent, "Ah..Pardon. I was not expecting such a fine singer this morning." She was saying whatever came to mind, barely above a whisper even now, from long habit to speak with quiet consideration for every sound she uttered, "Your tune reminded me of home, you see..." She hesitated, every tale's warning about never giving away your name to the uncanny, but she was so steeped in it, perhaps this new twist to the weirdness didn't make a difference on that score...She finally noticed the man's attire, richly appointed, the faint lather of morning pursuits that only lordlings tended to afford from her sensitive nose picking up on the horseflesh. "I'm known as Lady Esher," She smiled a bit more warmly, a soft curve of lips unadorned save for natural youth and beauty, though hers was wan, clearly suffering from lack of sleep,"Though I prefer to be called Llywellynn, if you please. How shall I address you, good sir?" She was holding her calm together with both hands, her delicate fingers holding onto her cane for dear life and clenched into her skirt, but she was determined to act as if nothing supernatural was leaning down towards her grinning so charmingly...
Dorian was fearsome, and a might be a god amongst men by some reckonings, but he only took that as far as duty required. What was leftover past what had been ingrained by years under the tutelage of a man who'd lately disappeared, was borne of being the other half of a twinset. Someone who enjoyed life's simplest pleasures, a man who treasured and admired the fairer sex. So when he perceived fear in her, or what the thought might be something like it, he held up both hands staying apace away so as not to threaten, including one with the box of baked goods, then rejoined warmly, grin an unfailing crescent upon his lips, "Forgive me, I should have said from first, I am called Dorian. Dorian Windgrace to be precise. Did you say CLU-wellynn?" He did try with the Welsh thing as it fell upon very English ears. It was well meant if clunky, and he went on, "I would say that calling you simply by your name seems a travesty when you are doubtless a lady. How is Mademoiselle, perhaps? You are.... far too kind about my voice, and a si-- a vis-- it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance."
He'd bend in a courtly bow which would not have been out of place in Versailles some centuries past, and rising continue, attempting to get past remarks about eyes that she seemed not to have access too in sharp contrast from his twin, "I mean you no harm, Mademoiselle, and on my honour as an Englishman, a lieutenant in the royal navy, would gladly help you find your way to your destination, should you require assistance." Behaving himself he returned to his stature of a few inches above six feet and contented himself to fix his eyes upon the hat's brim where eyes might be as a gentleman should.
Lady Llywellynn Devoreaux Esher Lady Esher had quickly regained her composure from all outward appearances, ingrained in her to never show any overt expressions, especially of alarm. But she had clearly perceived him when she had first lifted her hat, and had clearly lost her train of thought at the sight of him before she hid from view. Her show of nerves was very subtle but a man as well lived as him would certainly pick up on the signs of her controlled distress. In fact he might make note of deeper notes of it from her overall demeanor that might only be gleaned when studying the woman more closely. That she was completely exhausted, that only the steel sword of sheer willpower kept her upright at all. It might be a testament to an innate practiced stubborness that she was comporting herself with gracious courtesy at all, but she did, persisting with a grace a lesser man might not see under, much like under her hat. She did tense slightly less when Dorian stepped back, grateful for his insight into such subtle interplay between a lord and lady meeting at random on the street. The fact she was completely shocked by who and what she was witnessing was just the deeper layer that she hoped only she was privy to.
But Llyw decided to chance it and took Dorian at his word, that he meant no harm, despite his unnatural presence and odd allure. His old fashioned courtesy surprised her as well, less due to gestures she was far too young to recognize the significance of but rather just the casual common kindness he offered her. Considering her own background, such simple gestures were rare and almost disconcerting, but for better or worse, this courtly gentleman of enchanted deathly glory had captured this haunted lady's attention. His offer of assistance would be accepted, no matter what or who he was. She was that desperate and she knew it. Such hidden duress cut through alot of useless embarrassment otherwise and she had little energy to spare for it, despite her natural inclination to shy away and flee from a situation she had no means to contend with. There was only ever one way and that was forward, onward towards a better outcome than where she currently was trapped.
Esher finally unclenched her gloved fist and took off her hat from the brim, dropping it to her side, to reveal her platinum blond hair streaked with silver and grey as if age had already crept upon her...and yet her face was smoothed with young despite being a tad too thin for good health. She had a wavering beauty to her, like the faint shimmer of light on the water before dawn, a flash almost dazzling but still too lost in the darkness of night to truly shine. Her overall frame far too delicate for it either. But she smiled now, a determined one on soft lips, her glasses hiding her gaze but she was looked directly at him, aligning to where his eyes would meet hers if seen, and he could perhaps feel her attention instead, as if she couldn't help but regard him unable to look away. Whether out of fear or fascination was entirely unclear, but her voice still held to a soft gentle level was almost a welcome more warm than a stranger ought to offer, "I am pleased to meet you, Lord Dorian Windgrace." She knew enough of the levels of Peerage that the name Windgrace should be given at least the basic courtesy all of the titles were granted, "You may call me Lady instead, if you will. Though I would be happy to make further acquaintance with you, good sir. I have to admit...that I do require help. I am grateful for any assistance you wish to give in fact." She hated to admit it but there it was, an admission of weakness that reflected what was plaguing her if not the actual cause.
"I am in search of two gentlemen for a matter of private discussion. But I only know of their descriptions, being a new arrival to this town only two weeks past, you see. I seek a priest of advanced years and a man who deals with cards, I believe. Do you know any such persons, by chance?" She was leaning on her cane now, needing the support. The world was slowly starting to spin, her last second wind about to give out, from the shock of witnessing whatever being he truly was. She didn't even question that no one else noticed anything out of the ordinary. She was too used to the uncanny nature of her own vision that no one else could see to second guess this situation now.
Llywellynn Devoreaux (llywellynndevoreaux): * blond coiffed hair
Llywellynn Devoreaux (llywellynndevoreaux): *looking directly
Dorian: || Dorian had been known as Lord or milord, Sir, or Lt., and was content to keep that formal business at a nice misterly distance on these far shores. His nobility and noblesse oblige were matter of course and in the modern world were better kept philosophically to himself, on the far side of Machiavelli. He laboured under the delusion that his family's doings were of little interest to the general public as to him, their very wealth and immortality were both taken for granted. Or in stride. Taken as part of a bargain. Where he was to do his part in defending the defenseless, providing work for a small community, and serving the family interest to maintain their ability to continue their good work. And their bad work. The sourcing of aetherite to the war front was arguably both. He did not consider the shop on the waterfront, the large ships with his family's name upon them, nor their home's prominent placement on mansion row as one of those few the English not to have borne their abodes aloft giving lending him any fame. So it was that when he was pronounced Lord, alongside her fluttering on the edges of needing a fainting couch, that he'd step a bit closer, offering his arm to her side which bore no seeing stick, informing her as he did, "Oh! I would comport you to either if only I knew where to find such people, my lady! Only... the card vendor I know if is no man. At least I think she is not, forgive my sounding quite mad, but never have i seen their face, though the form and voice.... I rather think them to have been female. Neither do I have a name, but she frequented the Seiiki, the Japanese side of the isle."
He'd gently attempt to place her hand over his bicep, for proper walking posture, and a keen eye for matching strides shorter than his own, and suggest warmly, "If you should like, I might walk with you to a cafe where you can break your fast. I would suggest mine own home; however, it is a bit longer of a walk than to the cafe. You must let me get you some provender, to return some colour to your cheeks. It is important to start one's day in a way that nourishes, else how can we carry on? Hm?" Once he was nearer he'd taken in her strangely aged and also not appearance, and her evident need for succour. "You must tell me, whither shall we go for now? Either way, I shall assure your safe conduct until you deem yourself ready to depart. I am not needed on the waterfront until midday."
Lady Llywellynn Devoreaux Esher Lady Esher drooped slightly when Dorian confessed he didn't know anyone that fit the descriptions she gave, speaking instead of an unknown female soothsayer of some king. Well, it had been a long shot anyway. Her Sight had proven unreliable in pointing her to them and now her witness of this man's astounding otherworldly nature had derailed all hope of progress on her own two feet for now.
So when Dorian stepped carefully into her personal space she barely reacted as she might normally to any person who might try to touch her. It was taking all she had just to keep her head held high now, feeling the sun's rays beating down on her pallid complexion. She really should get out more for the air and sun, she thought distractedly, trying to take in a steady breath to calm her pulse and stop the wavy lines at the edges of her sight. Though the ash choking the skies here still persisted in her vision no matter how sunny the day might actually be, the oppressive pall of the world never relenting its grip on her awareness at all times.
The gentleman's touch however pulled her out of her spacey thoughts with a faint gasp. The heat of his hand burned through her, bracing her with more than just his strength if he only knew, his body temperature just shy of a hearthfire, his honest kindness baffling her enough to snap her focus entirely upon him and his offer and everything that she didn't know, all the knowledge she had to learn to survive, he embodied all the mysteries she was striving to uncover..... and so this more than anything managed to give her a sliver of hope. Such a fragile thing blossoming within her that she almost didn't dare to pull in another breath in fear of shattering it before it even could open towards this beacon he set before her. Oh, such a dangerous thing to foster, however simple the gesture, if only he knew the true cause of her suffering....
But Lady Esher tamed her nerves, the sudden rush of unbidden elation keeping her on her feet, along with the much needed steady heated presence of the kindly monster she had met by sheer coincidence. His assurances and questions washed over her, a current she was so unused to she didn't know how to respond other than to let her relief shine through her smile, her first genuine one of this encounter, lighting her face up just enough to suggest how lovely she might actually look if she could be fill up with proper care and relieved of her pall of despair and disability perhaps.
"I..I am not well versed on what shops are of quality and where they may be located. I am happy to rely on your best judgment, Lord Windgrace. I will of course gladly accept your offer of lunch." She spoke almost up to a normal speaking level, the most animated he had seen her so far, which meant she was almost to a normal level of expression rather than her steely calm reserve.
Her hand sheltered under his own to lay her elegant fingers over the sturdy solidity of his arm, was as thin and light as the rest of her, the touch of her almost birdlike and as fragile, as if a strong wind might gust her right into the bay. She smiled almost fiercely however, her spirit the steel in her weak mortal form it seems.
"Lead on, good sir. I look forward to making your acquaintance."
Dorian placed her hand upon his arm and then informed her that he was moving with a, "Alright, here we go my lady. Two three four." He would lift each booted foot on the fourth beat, with a dancer's coordination, with the certainty of a man who had no short career escorting women on his arm. He'd stop counting and rather commute that to a quiet tune of the blue Danube waltz's 1234 time signature, to give her the pattern of steps despite eyes he presumed were unseeing. Going about their shared business, once the pace was set he'd explain, "There is a patisserie," again his enunciation was perfectly English rather than perfectly French, but with his people's assurance the world was theirs, he'd continue, "in Victoriana with the best baked goods and a fine selection of teas, coffees or chocolate. They have a cook who makes a French sandwich that will prepare you for any day's travails. I had one yesterday. I suppose I am doomed to find another today, before my work begins in earnest. They coat the thing entire in egg and pan fry it, ham cheese and all, you see... then serve it with a berry jam..."
He could put off for a little while the business of getting home in service of such a worthy diversion. He'd chatter idly on, guiding her to the cafe's sidewalk tables and after pulling one out for her to sit in, patting the seat behind her to demonstrate where it was, he'd remark, "Here we are. These poor folk see no end to me, as I am here nearly every day."
Only once she was seated would he go and take a place for himself, setting the box of croissants aside to get a head start on his first meal of the day.