EXT - Khymeia Academy Faculty housing, back yard; day
Dorian had a bouquet in one hand alongside his jacket, and a thermos in the other. He'd strayed to one side of the isle, intending to pay a visit in addition to his usual haunting of his sister's environs, looking for a particular personage. Only the view from aloft caught his eye, and he'd move to one edge of the skyborne isle looking at a stoney outcropping of islets and the sea beyond with something like longing or some sadness atop enjoyment of the vista upon his face, writ large also in his spirit.
Lady Llywellynn Devoreaux Esher: Llywellynn was sitting on the back stairs of the faculty housing building leaning against one of the sturdy pillars. The area was generally empty of people and so she had found a quiet spot to sit and contemplate the vaults of the sky and the horizon in relative quiet. The campus had enough warding to give her at least some breathing room from what lurked on the other side, but there was always something or somethings wandering about.
For now however she curled upon the steps, cradling a flask reminiscent of Dorian's own, taking slow sips of its contents from time to time. She didn't seem to notice anyone nearby yet. Her hat was off, her pale hair loosely done up today as if she had too much weighing on her mind and frail body.
Llyw was singing. A whisper so gentle and quiet the tune was little more than a hum to shiver on the air. A lullaby sung sweet and mournful, much like the widow herself. Her honeysuckle and sweet woodfire scent was on the breeze as she sang a song from her origins. And the dark note
Lady Llywellynn Devoreaux Esher: of brandy was quite strong today...
*"Go to sleep you little baby
Go to sleep you little baby
You're mama's gone away and you're daddy's gonna stay
Didn't leave nobody but the baby
Go to sleep you little baby
Go to sleep you little baby
Everybody's gone and the cotton and the corn
Didn't leave nobody but the baby"*
Dorian keyed into the song being sung alongside the marvelous vista, and did not turn to seek it out for some time. With his back turned to it, his grin stretched out past scimitar levels to fully burning high wattage with both rows of straight white teeth on display. He'd found her without the eyes in his face. Perhaps it was the winged ones that did it, given they were behind him. But his mundane form would slowly turn and face her, like a bird or skittish filly he'd not wanted to have run from him. He was not one to interrupt music, particularly hearing something so exotic as a tune from the Americas sung live. It was at that moment that he understood why her accent was as it was.
Lady Llywellynn Devoreaux Esher: Llyw's voice kept to a sweet murmur but she had a tonality that hummed smooth as the dark liquor she was rather liberally imbibing between stanzas. The dark glasses that dominated her face were aimed towards the azure expanse unseeing as her true accent swayed the words roundish and lush, harking to her home state of New Orleans and its humid southern environs.
*"Don't you weep pretty baby
Don't you weep pretty baby
She's long gone with her red shoes on
Gonna need another lovin' baby
Don't you weep pretty baby
Don't you weep pretty baby"*
Once Dorian turned around to spy the slender widow perched on the back stoop, he might notice the faint glistening lines on her pale cheeks as she lifted the flask to her lips again. She sighed the last lines as if the sad lyrics meant something to her.
*"You and me and the devil makes three
Don't need no other lovin' baby
Go to sleep you little baby
Go to sleep you little baby
Come on lay your bones on the alabaster stones
And be my ever lovin' baby"*
The humming notes died away at the song's end. It was then Llyw suddenly felt eternity gazing into her and she turned her head with a gasp towards the golden shining being contemplating her so.
"O..oh! Dorian? Oh my stars, I'm glad to see you. Are you doing well?" Her greeting was startled but warm, lifting above a whisper with her exotic accent rolling through her voice as if she didn't notice she wasn't speaking the Queen's English in the proper manner. Nor did she seem to realize the wetness on her face. She in fact sounded rather tipsy...
Dorian would address a few things at once after he'd been spied. First the distance between them, he strode her way with his carefree cadence of steps, and extended to her the bouquet. "M'Lady, these are for you. I had not known they were for your performance until the time came. May I say you have a lovely voice. Are you.... have you come our way from the Americas, then?"
And as if he was not addressing tears, the way the English do, he'd wait til the flowers were out of hand to reach into his jacket pocket for the embroidered handkerchief of white silk with his initials D. E. W. upon it in green thread, made by his mother, and offer that to her as well for the tears not to be acknowledged in good company, without her broaching the topic.
Lady Llywellynn Devoreaux Esher: Llywellynn was not nearly as shy as she might have been under other circumstances to be thusly observed while singing. The brandy ensured she had little regard for propriety either. She flushed however at the compliment, her fair skin yielding to redness far too easily.
She stared at Dorian as he approached, all his arcane brilliance filling her sight and the abiding regard of his wings until she had to blink and finally look away slightly. But she had a smile for him, a small happy one in contrast to the sorrow painting her face. She tucked away her flask to accept the flowers with a wavering hand, clearly touched despite half her expression always hiding behind dark glass.
"Oh..Thank you, Dorian. That's sweet of you." She murmured in reply looking rather abashed now, "I...don't sing often now, but I used to when I was young. My mother liked it..."
She stared at the offered handkerchief in confusion for a brief second as she extended delicate fingers to gather the silk fabric into her hold. Then realization. She lowered her head away slightly, bringing his second gift to her cheek to catch what ran down there unchecked.
"A..ah, my apologies...Thank you, good sir..." Llyw tried to summon her proper manners but failed, the alcohol having loosened more than just her vocal chords, her accent unable to revert to the Brit veneer here, "I..am just having a moment." She strove for any distraction from her thoughts now, noting he hadn't answered about himself yet, "I come from New Orleans city state. I was married off to England you see...." She couldn't hide the bitterness that crept into her voice with the last sentence and she hid her flushed face behind the white silk.
Dorian waved off excess thanks and acknowledgement of damp cheeks by looking to one side for her to have time to daub as he replied, "Married off to the Great British United Kingdom. I know it is not as sunny a place, but hopefully we were not all so terrible, m'lady. Though who am I to speak who avoided thus far that unhappy state guided by some parent's perspective, prospective desires?"
As was mannerly he'd go on speaking, to give her a moment, "I had owed you some contact, friend that I consider you. Time flies, tempus fugit as they say. I had some business I was attending meanwhile. With it done, I find myself some leisure once more to rove as whim demands. This day I found you, rather than trying to leave you some vapid missive. And gladly. I have been keeping well and if you would like, if you have not had enough of my sort, later this month we are having a little 'do' at our home. Croquet, garden party, that sort of thing. It would brighten my heart to see you there."
Lady Llywellynn Devoreaux Esher: Llyw laid the bouquet in her lap, a gathering of spritely colors against the unremitting black of her mourning dress. Much like the deathless man's presence bringing his radiance into the widow's pall of gloom. Her mouth curved into a tremulous smile at Dorian's gallant steadfast avoidance of bringing attention to her moods for which she was infinitely grateful.
Her grief stained the pure white of his handkerchief with no trace of makeup to mar the fabric. But she had to give up after a moment, lowering her hands from her face with a tired sigh. There was no stemming this tide, one coming to shore now with no energy left for her to stop. This was a quiet storm however, slow and silent teardrops falling one by one from under her rimmed lenses to coast down her delicate cheekbones.
She reached for her flask again, taking another determined sip, feeling the burn of the plummy flavor chase the chill from her bones. The scent was stronger this close, of her own sweetness and of the drink itself, quite fruit-forward with a hint of spice and caramelised wood to suggest she had Armagnac in hand.
Dorian's words spilled over her like a warm breeze, his presence a warmth as well, though still nervewracking to a slight degree. Regardless she was just rather relieved and happy to see him. And she couldn't help but be terribly honest with the worlds spinning slow around her.
"I am glad just glad to see you well and whole and dapper as ever, good sir. I am always delighted for your company, Dorian." She replied rather candidly, then considered his questions. "You are lucky you have avoided such a fate. I was not so lucky. I was....unhappy there. I am sure the Kingdom has its grand appeal but I was...stuck away in the countryside for most of my time there." She spoke hesitant but rather quietly vehement about the topic, a point of angst clearly for her.
She brightened considerably with the man's invitation however, "That sounds wonderful. I shall be overjoyed to come visit then."
She clutched the flask of brandy with a slightly shaking hand as if even its slight weight was too much to bring aloft, but the slender widow looked intent upon finishing the whole draught, despite the unexpected delight of Dorian's company, if not diverted.
Dorian would save her from drinking it all by reaching to take the other side, barely brushing fingertips with hers, offering, "May I try some? And you try some of mine?" He'd put his jacket up on his shoulder and then offer over the flask of his own brandy, more full than hers to exchange. There was a rakishness to the proposal, even he knew drinking with a lady was a bit outside of propriety, but he did not judge this, either. He'd been alive for so long with a really nigh immortal's capacity for the stuff, whose liver and kidneys and blood brain barrier repaired in minutes and hours rather than weeks and years.
He'd not tug past her willingness to trade flasks, but he would murmur, "I was in the countryside for the entirety of my youth, until I was sent to naval service. I had twelve years and 3 months when I first arrived upon HMS Fortitude." He did not say so, but to his reckoning, by tone, it woudl be clear that the English countryside was a better destination.
Lady Llywellynn Devoreaux Esher: Llyw was as much of an open book currently as her blocky eyegear would allow. It would be clear that something was gnawing at her enough to cause her current morose behavior beyond the norm for her. The burden of her fate was weighing too heavily upon her. The recent news eating at her as surely as the cold settling in her bones. All the recent events both horrifying and confusing to wear her nerves down to a thread. Even her grand stubborness had its limits.
And so she turned to her reckless drink of choice. Her health did suffer for it, but it was no worse than what she suffered every day anyway. At least this was a poison of her own choice. Either brandy or coffee were her preferred beverages, sometimes at once. Both served the purpose of staving off either despair or nightmares when she could bear no more. Both liquids for whatever reason didn't convey the taste of death nearly as much as others. She found what solace she could wherever she might find it.
Her current company might be considered such as well, though such comfort came at a cost. All the eyes of his form bore into her in a way that got right under her skin, whirling her thoughts, speeding her pulse. But the perfect form of his appearance was becoming more familiar to her at each meeting. Her eyes didn't ache as much this time to look at him, all his glorious arcane unearthliness, when their fingers brushed. But there was a slight shock there this time for her and she let go without a fuss. She hadn't the strength in her hands to get in a tug of war anyway.
The offer of his own warmed flask, the tone of his offer, all conspired to raise the blush across her face again, spreading all the way across this time. "I won't deny you." Llyw murmured, accepting the trade gingerly, "I acquired some Armagnac from an enterprising young man. You are welcome to have the rest if you like."
Her flask was smaller than his, not as decorated but well made, etched with floral designs similar to the ones on her glasses. Her scent lingered on the rim. She took a swallow from his to taste what he had brought, letting it burn down to join the rest to tip her further into slow inebriation. She had quite the tolerance but he had could across her already half in her cups. She didn't care about scandal or what was proper at this point and perhaps just didn't anyway anymore, considering what she knew now.
She smiled at him, poignant and sad, noting what went unsaid, "Service to god and country requires hardy service of which I know you are capable and excellent at...I imagine it was not a happy time though?" She leaned back against the pillar, stretching out her legs abit with a sigh, feeling the effects tingling down to her fingertips, her tongue loosening as well towards this man she considered her best friend on this island or anywhere. The irony did not escape her of him being beyond death and her so close to teetering off the edge of it...
Her lips twisted to a bitter line, her hands twisting together for a moment in recollection, speaking soft yet her words were not, "I was frankly *trapped* at the estate. He...wouldn't let me leave at all, you see. I was not there by choice. Not at all." She was likely to spill all her secrets in her current mood if he chose to let her.
Llywellynn Devoreaux (llywellynndevoreaux): *he had come across
Dorian had taken her little bottle and drank from it as she finished her tale, leaving her with a similar drink, but more filled from his own flask. It had taken this long for them to speak as frankly as this and he was not running from it. It was a simple matter to speak of his own truths at once, "Mine own father thought to make a man of me. By sending me to fight the Spanish, and their pirates. He was not altogether wrong. But if bloodshed is what it means to be a man..."
Well women had their share, without being allowed the wide world. Something he knew intimately, as his sister hadn't had the liberties he had, however unwanted they'd been. That hadn't stopped him learning from, befriending lower classes. From mutinying ultimately and his father having to buy him out of legal troubles. That shame wasn't something to speak to. What was, well he'd explain, "Mine own sister loved not the countryside after confinement to it. Gods and country, well... that is a different sort of calling. Yes?"
It took some getting through of thoughts to say as much but he'd hoped that his explication showed her that he was not entirely unsympathetic. That said, when her flask was tipped to nigh emptiness, he'd set it down on stone steps at her side.
Lady Llywellynn Devoreaux Esher: Dorian's brandy was again given from a deathless hand, replete with his abiding heat, and thus was pure, unsullied by the taste of death and ash. She had to restrain herself from drinking too much. She had enough manners left she didn't want to empty his flask entirely. But the sweet clean burn was exactly what she craved and needed right now. His company and conversation a gift in itself to pull her out of her bout of gloom.
Yet she felt the need to talk frankly. Why waste any more time dithering along the lines of social expectations. She hadn't the time left to spare. So she would ask and answer today it seems.
Dorian's sympathy was easily picked up upon, a simple thing perhaps to him but it was a balm to her. Llyw grimaced in sympathy to the man as he recounted his unfortunate experience with war and his father. "I should think warfare is the least of what makes the measure of a man. Other merits have far greater value, in my estimation. I can sympathize with your sister as well. I am sorry both you and she had to deal with unpleasant circumstances. I am glad we are all here now at least, and hopefully free of such things." She said this in all earnestness, though with a hint of wishful thinking perhaps for the last part.
Something in the way Drystan had spoke of his brother had let her know there had been trouble. She had heard of the duel amongst the gossips on campus but she didn't know much more about those involved or what else might be afoot. She didn't want to pry...and yet she wanted to know, wanted to help somehow, with her friend's burdens, however little of use she might be.
"I do hope all is well with you. Please, let me know if I can be of help to you in any way, Dorian. I want to be kind to you too, you know." She sighed speaking true and gave him a small soft smile that somehow lightened her features, glum and drowning her own sorrows as she was.
Dorian took back his flask gently and grinned at her. It might be a presumption that he knew that his hand did what it did, but he was just that oblivious, rather than understanding. He'd, in his own very English way, explain, "I behaved dishonourably at a duel, m'lady. Let my opponent get under my skin. I would not be surprised if you heard tell of this. But... trust... I fought not for brutality's sake."
"As to your own concerns, and the growing pangs of moving past what had been arranged for us... let us drink to knowing that we know better than those that chose for us, no? Those phaelenopsis, I understand they grow from oaks like yourself in that delta... clinging to the north side of trees, taking what they must to present delicate beauty and strength. Take heart. Give good cheer. I believe you are stronger than any one loss." A small smile appended that hope and belief as he tucked the flask away once more.
Lady Llywellynn Devoreaux Esher: Dorian's damp handkerchief was laid in Llyw's lap now next to the flowers, a neatly folded square of white upon the black of her coatdress. She leaned her head back against the stone column, raising trembling lace covered fingers to brush back the loose stray strands of hair that were clinging along where her tears fell. She made no apology for crying so openly and yet so quietly, no sobbing or sniffling, just tears flowing unstopped. The cork was out and there was no stopping it, but all the sobbing she had wrung out years ago and this was all that was left to show. She was too exhausted to try to hide from the one person she had grown comfortable enough to speak to about anything beyond blandishments in any case.
She let go his flask without a fight when he fetched it, though her touch was clearly reluctant to give up the spirit. She didn't know what to make of her responses to whatever gestures he was oblivious to, too much else on her mind to dare arbor anything more of it than whatever might come to be by fate or chance.
She had to turn her gaze from Dorian and rest her eyes again, though she found herself wanting to look at him, marveling at him in fact, once she had gotten used to his supernatural aura again. But she looked out at the sky, to her a dull grey no matter the time of day or night, dirtied with winds of ash and dust and filled with the laments and trailing tatters of the dead.
She listened however to his explainations, delivered with his particular British charm. She smiled at him, a touch of warmth and sweetness imbued there now for him, speaking quiet and low as was her way, "I had heard some of it, from the students going on about it." She turned her head to consider him again thoughtfully, her hidden gaze meeting his gold glow, "I do not think you the kind of man to be violent for violence's sake. I imagine you are one to see to a matter decisively however. I hope the issue had been settled to your satisfaction in any case."
She was momentarily lost for words from his roundabout compliment, the flush lingering to join the redness of the drink now spreading through her system, "I've not heard of the name of such a plant ...though I have seen what you describe there. You flatter me, sir. I am not....gifted with such things."
She glanced to her own empty flask with a tinge of regret, but she was truly feeling the effects now in any case. More would only lead to more regret. The brandy and the man had managed to push the horrible nightmare earlier from her thoughts for the moment, though her fate hung over her like a cloud of ash.
She blinked at his efforts to cheer her up, mentioning strength and loss....She smiled back at his, a bittersweet expression flashing across her face, shaking her head, "You might misunderstand I suppose. I am not so big hearted to those who aren't kind, you see. I am a *happy* widow."
???: She looked back to the sky blindly her expression falling, a touch of her shyness returning as she extended out her hand to him briefly, palm up, either an offering of closer friendship or of despair, unclear.
"I...don't have much time, I've learned. And I have become *haunted* by a man who was cruel to me in life." She finally admitted what was troubling her without explaining, her voice so lush of an exotic accent slurring her words slightly as the brandy took hold.
Luciano yawned as he meandered towards the back of the dorm building. His shotgun lazily laying over his shoulder as he rubbed his eyes with his free hand. Trying to blink the tiredness out of his eyes He grumbled silently to himself as he followed Llyw's note, "Take a nap for an hour and she disappears again..."
He rounds the corner to see Dorian and Llyw sitting there casually. Raising up his off hand and giving a wave towards the duo. "Afternoon!" He proclaimed loudly. Not wanting to hide his approach. "Dorian, good to see you again. My lady." He sent an individual nod to the each of them, continuing his approach as he wedged himself into the conversation.
Dorian: "No? I thought this would be welcome from home... ahahhahahahaha." his laughter was easy to fall into, readily given as it was. While he admitted, "It took me this long to see you had America in you voice. These ones," he'd point to the wiry extensions of vibrant magenta blooms on their spikes, set beside her, "They grow and show a stubbornness that has lead to orchidelirium."
How could she know that swam flowers became prized on this side of the world? Unless he said? though he wasn't beyond asking, "The other, he was.... well...." He couldn't help himself being beyond the pummeling he gave in his sister's name. He had yet to feel sorry for it.
Lady Llywellynn Devoreaux Esher: Llywellyn by all appearances was rather quietly drunk. Tears ran down her flushed cheeks. Her pale hair was wrapped in a messy bun, many curling strands falling down around her face to cling.
"The flowers are thoughtful of you, Dorian. I do appreciate them." She whispered to the man, realizing their significance now, her New Orleanian accent rolling her words as she sighed, meandering abit in her pronunciations. "I've never had... the chance to partake in the game of flower language.. amonst the peerage. I am afraid I don't know much of the meanings. I shall have to find a book... on the subject at the library..."
She turned her head to look at him again when he mentioned something of the duel, quite curious as to his feelings on the matter. She inferred he was pleased to have fought the other man, some doctor from what she had heard. "You won, I think?" She inquired, wondering if he would divulge more past his british stiff upper lip.
Luca chose that moment to arrive. She knew he would find her note and come across her here eventually. The man had to sleep some time however and she found it the best time to slip out and have a moment to herself. Dorian's arrival had been a happy happenstance. A pleasant diversion from her intended moment of drinking alone with her despair.
She raised her hand to wave. Her smile to her bodyguard was complicated however and her flush heightened as she looked away from both men. "You get some rest, Luca?" She asked softly, laying her hands back in her lap where Dorian's bouquet and handkerchief rested.
Dorian had won, and she'd see him address that as her guard came up. His beyond the veil self showed silver eyed and golden haired, up unto the perception of his wings and godlen eyes. Was he creature or human? He surely thought himself human, based on how he spoke, "You owe me nothing m'lady. I only wished to ease your path. Such any gentleman would desire, yes?"
By then his face had turned to Luca, a man he'd met and trusted, with a smirk, to care for a woman i need. Italian or not, he'd tip his head that way and mutter, "Good day, friend."
Dorian: in need***
Luciano paused in his tracks as he saw Llyw's tears. He slowly glanced back to the corner of the building that he came from, musing his options... He could just, flee- Oh, no. She's seen him, he's committed. He has to deal with this now. A momentary flash of regret crossed his eyes, before he blinked it away. His smile returning to his face.
"Yes, my lady. Thank you." He politely replied. Shifting his weight onto his left foot. He turned his attention to Dorian and slipped a thumb into one of his pockets. Giving another nod and beaming a smile his way. "I'm not... Interrupting anything, am I? If this is a private conversation, I can remove myself until the time is more -ideal-."
Lady Llywellynn Devoreaux Esher: Llyw nodded to Dorian's affirmation of her guess and smiled, glad for it. It was clear who she would cheer for in such a contest. For all the eldritich strangeness that suffused his otherworldly gold and silver appearance, all the *eyes* staring into her, she viewed him as a kind being regardless, at least to her. Whether he was human or not, was of lesser importance to someone like her. Kindness was something she treasured, no matter who or what was willing to offer it to her.
She noted Luca's wince and she just smiled sadly at him. She had tried to keep her upsets to herself, hence why she had sought this sheltered location for a good cry alone. But now both the men were here that had the capacity to make her fluster in some way. The brandy ensured she hadn't the means to retreat into prim and proper form to hide anything. So she just propped herself up against the pillar and let her tears continue to flow and drip off her features.
"I don't mind either way." She offered softly, leaving up to them to sort out, as she was too drunk to parse it now, "I'll just be here for awhile yet, if either of you don't mind."
Dorian backed off just enough to let her know what he knew, as he pulled back to look at the other man, "Keep her safe, Luca. She is a common denominator. I feel better knowing she has you here."
Maybe it robbed the widow of agency, but he grinned at the Italian. "Begging both your pardons, I must away." He had his sister to find. TO get more flowers for before then. He'd about face and step away from them both, heading around the building's side.
Luciano chuckled and shook his head. Lifting his coach-gun off his shoulder slightly and wiggling it playfully. Keeping the barrel pointed up towards the sky. "Oh, don't thank me. Thank the coach gun, it does most of the work. It was good to see you, Dorian. Hopefully I'll see you again soon."
He looked back to Llyw and gnawed on the inside of his cheek... He was never particularly -good- with drunks. The man just... Slowly stepped forward and took a seat next to Llyw. Giving her a bit of space as he placed his coach-gun down on the steps. Just... Sitting there, quietly.