The Night After The Party We Don't Talk About

[alanwrotethis]

Niketas lets out a long, slow breath, the calming sort made by a dancer staring at the stage. He lowers one hand, the blade stops spinning, the smoke settles, the paper retreats from the candlelight. He lowers the other hand, and the flickering flames steady, the writhing of the candles halts. Once again they are just candles, and the shades on the wall are simply shadows.
"Durham..." he speaks softly. "Please retire to an alternative residence tonight, and ask elder Jerome to do likewise. If you could relay that same missive to elder Hermina, I would be grateful."
His eyes open, slowly.
"This is my house tonight."

[Posh-Tim]

Keane sits and -absorbs-. When Aurelia begins to talk, to set the scene, he is framed with the same polite attention as before. The various effects and chicanery effect him little, he pays no regard to the tendrils and they approach and is content to just take in the ancient tale as he has with all the others.
Then Aurelia begins with the dissection, or vivisection, of the story they are all bathed within. The cycle she describes. The acceptance of the Skeleton Woman, The Hag. To invite death and it's changing and rebirths and find it so fundamental to true love...
He changes a little, by parts his aura flares and others it dies away. This time he doesn't keep it from his face, his mien is at first dropped and inverted; An appearance of acceptance and defeat. Then, by parts that acceptance swells and becomes a face of not triumph exactly, but success. For the first time since he returned to the house that evening Keane sits a little sharper, a little straighter.
When she finished, his aura is bright but constrained. His thoughts all inward and reflective. He says nothing in the silence that follows until Dukes speaks.
Keane nods;
"Of course, Sheriff. Though I would ask if you would be free some time in the next few nights? As we both agree, we need to talk." Then to Aurelia; "I cannot adequately put in to words my thoughts on what you have given us. Suffice to say, I look forward to our travelling together. And to meeting your companion."
Should no one else interrupt, he then stands and turns to Valentina. Breaking her from her reverie. he offers a hand.
"Ancilla Audley, would you care for a repeat of our walk last night? I was hoping we could talk some more as well."

[Valentina Audley]

Valentina finished her abstract piece. It's taken the shape of a woman in outline, one who's feet are waves, that cede into sandy beaches, then into fields then forests, then hills, then mountains as the landscape travels up thrpugh the outline.

As Aurelia tells her tale Valentina deftly unhoops the landscape woman and fits a new piece of cotton into the hoop. Without pausing, she rethreads and starts to stitch again. When Aurelia looks to her she glances up to smile at the other woman, hands flicking as the needle flashes through the cloth.

When the shadow pauses at her feet she tilts the hoop to show her work to it, this time the outline emerging is of a rose, twining round a harp contained with in a heart outline.

Valentina enjoys the story telling very much, her aura pulsing with pleasure, but it's intermingled with love. The constant talk of it brings Dyo firmly to the forefront of her mind and thought of her lover always calms and cheers her.

When the story is finished, she snips the last thread off, inspects her work smiling and turns to watching the room once more.

As Aldrich, Dukes then Keane speak, she's tidied away her sewing, all except the landscape woman. Keane's offer conflicts her slightly. Part relief that she wouldn't have to share her story (which, for all her fondness of it, seems unutterably inane compared to what has come before) and sad that this most interesting of gatherings appears to be drawing to a close.

Still, she's not about to gainsay her elder. "I should be delighted Elder Keane." And she smiles at him, taking his hand to stand.

Once stood though, she gives him another small smile and holds out the landscape woman she stitched first to Aurelia. "For you Elder, if you care for it." She says simply. hoping Aurelia will like it.

[Laurence]

At some point during Aurelia speaking, tears of blood start slowly creeping down Laurence’s face. He is enraptured by the words, happily extending his hand out to the winding smoke as one would to a new dog. As the final line is spoken, Laurence pulls a handkerchief from an internal pocket and wipes away the tears, keeping a stoic expression on his face but his aura betrays sadness and hope mixed together.

“Tha-...thank you for sharing that tale Elder. Those are words I will think on, they...have a lot to unpack within my mind.”

Falling quiet, Laurence stands and pulls his hipflask from a picket to take a hearty sip. The opium makes him recall the night before and he remembers to gather the items he left behind.

“Thank you Elder Dukes for your hospitality, both tonight and last night. As you said on the tour, we need to have a conversation in the near future.”

Inclining his head to the Elders, then slightly less to Valentina and finally to Lenore snd Durham. Laurence takes a breath and his aura calms. “Elders, Miss Audley, Neonate Lenore, Neonate Durham, the pleasure is mine. I hope you all have a good night.”

Turning, Laurence carefully departs from Duke’s home and starts his travel back to the south side of Bath.

[Manacledairman]

[L .]

Aurelia takes the offered craft with reverance, handling it as someone might a precious heirloom. Her mouth works briefly, and she looks up.

"This is beautiful." Her gaze returns to the stitched landscape, roving over its vivid threads and rolling hills. One thumb sweeps a gentle line over the woman, and when Aurelia speaks, her voice is very quiet. "Thank you."

She remains enraptured while the others move, but eventually is drawn out of her thoughts by Laurnece's voice - or rather perhaps the emotion in his tone.

"You are most welcome," she says. A fierceness punctuates her expression where the tone does not; her voice remains as soft as before.

*

And one by one, the Kindred leave.

((Fin.))