Preternaturals playing pretend

A conversation between inhuman creatures.

Victor Volkran approached the porch of 1367 Gellermie Lane just before 2 hours had passed noon. As he closed his parasol once under the eaves of his host's home, he gave a once over of the parts of himself that he could see, finding only a pair of stray hairs on his rich linen coat. Valeria had missed them. Forgivable to some, but not Victor and indeed not when accepting an invitation to tea from Rosalie Noto. The eccentric Lady Noto was one of five or so people in the city with whom Victor didn't have influence and one of three who might pose a threat to himself. Determining his opinion of her, and hers of him, was one of the reasons he had all but jumped at the chance to speak alone with her and why he was preening a touch more than usual.

He checked his watch, a 200-year-old timepiece made from white brass with gold and ebony accents, and as the hands told him 2, his knuckles struck twice on the door to Lady Noto's home. Seconds after he had returned the polished piece to its silk-lined pocket, the door opened of its own accord, and neither the Lady nor a servant was visible to even his eyes. "Lady Noto?" he called into the seemingly empty home, "It's Victor Volkran. You invited me to tea with a letter last week. May I come in?"

The house's open maw remained silent for nearly fifteen seconds before his host slowly came around a corner, her advanced age slowing her movements. However, they suffered no loss of grace, a dancer's elegance clear in her steady, deliberate motions. "Mister Volkran, I was warned of your punctuality. Forgive me, I didn't believe a young man like yourself could have such command of his time." Her face spoke of a beauty that could have enslaved Kings to her whim, and though past her prime, she still caused a stir in his breast.

Victor smiled at his host, inclining his head, "No need, Lady Noto. Rumours may make for idle conversation, but rarely should they be trusted." The man remained in his place, feet together with his parasol hanging from an arm, crooked behind his back as he waited for his host to make her decision.

"Indeed. Come in, Mr. Volkran. Your coat and parasol may be hung there," The Lady's slender right arm gently extended, identifying an empty rack and closet in the corner across from the door Rosalie had entered from. "And your boots, if you will. There is a selection of house shoes in the closet for your use. Choose whichever fits your feet and fancy, then through the door to the drawing room. We'll take tea there." Lady Noto departed as Victor did as he was bid, shedding his coat, oxblood boots, and gray parasol before selecting a pair of navy blue house shoes from the closet. He smoothed his vest as he stood up before following the remainder of his host's directions. Something about her words compelled him more than even his mother's ever had, and she had had, unique, leverage on his will. Lady Noto was more than she seemed, he supposed. Not unlike himself, yet not in the way he was more than he might appear. He distinctly felt he was in danger, even though the how eluded him. Soldiers amid their battle-frenzy were but toys to play with to him, yet he was learning a distinct fear of Lady Noto.

Compulsion guided him through the hall, selecting the eighth door on the left, even as he couldn't recall her specifying a count to use to find it. Inside was a luxuriously appointed room, thick rugs over much of the waxed hardwood flooring, flickering moody candles and a half-lit chandelier hung from a high ceiling. The walls were lined with a thousand novels, at least, and a sliding ladder allowed one to reach the high shelves. It was utterly perfect for Victor's tastes, something he'd thought of building for his own use as a study, and yet it sat in the home of Rosalie Noto. Even to his understanding of what was and wasn't real, it was impossible for this room to exist. It was too large to fit in the home he'd entered; it couldn't even match the hallway it was attached to, whose doors were crammed together like salt-fish barrels in a merchant ship.

It was then that the door he'd used opened again, a soft rattle coming as his host rolled a finely carved cart laden with cakes, biscuits, jams, spreads, cheeses and two pots, one smelling of tea, and the other something entirely different that he couldn't place. He hadn't heard her coming, not even the door moving nor the air shift. Only the shake of the cart crossing the doorway told him of her arrival. "Lady Noto, allow me to help," he moved to at least hold the door from her path, but before even one foot had finished moving, she shook her head.

"Tish. Sit, Mister Volkran, sit." Again, her words compelled his actions, and he was soon sitting on a chair of plush madder upholstery and rosewood arms as she transferred the various plates, bowls and utensils onto a low table between his and other chairs. "Now, tea is what I promised, and tradition would dictate, but I have heard coffee has taken on a measure of popularity. Which would you care for, Mr. Volkran?"

"I'm afraid I've not had coffee before, my Lady. And the tea smells too good to not choose it." The words came without thought from his mouth, her velvet words pushing him around as though he were not but a child clinging to his mother's skirt. And he'd not been in that position in more than a century.

"Then two cups it shall be," she said, producing two porcelain cups from within the cart, pouring one pot into one cup and the other in a second, both liquids steaming, almost boiling in their cups, though no fire was present. Both were placed on the table before Victor, and he noticed Lady Noto seemed younger than before. Her movements were sharp, fluid, and not merely graceful but spell-binding. He barely shifted his gaze before she caught him staring at her movements and near-ethereal features. As she sat in a chair across from his own, she saw his eyes trying to focus anywhere that wasn't her and smiled as she drank from her cup. "If I may, Mr. Volkran, the decor, is it to your liking?"

Victor paused, caught between the immediate compulsion to answer her, and the irrational awareness that he was in some way soon to be trapped if he dared to speak the truth. He locked his eyes on hers, blue as the oceans, and he saw in them the same two-fold promise the sea gave to sailors. An incredible life, and just as likely an ignominious death in crushing darkness. "It's not my place to say, Lady Noto," he attempted to sidestep the danger, the curl of her lips seeming to goad him on. It was the same smile he gave to the fools last night who had challenged him to a brawl. Drunkards were no match for him, and only their inebriation protected them from death at his hands, as Victor abhorred the taste of alcohol in his meals. That smile was of a predator whose prey is wise to the game, perhaps that bit too late.

"Please, Rosalie. That is, if I may use Victor?" Her eyebrows shifted the slightest measure of her face, which was, once again, younger, the face of a princess, an unrivalled jewel of beauty, untouched by time. His senses rebelled at even the thought of answering her as his mind tried to remember what creatures held such powers and how to avoid their traps.

He swallowed before hazarding an answer, guessing what his host was, and now afraid to eat any of the enticing bounty before him. "You may call me Victor, Rosalie."

She smiled a full-faced, honest thing, a light shining under her skin. She began giggling, "You can relax, Victor. I'm not so foolish to attempt to capture you. You have too many servants for it to be worthwhile. Same as when you spared the Fellerton's youngest. Some prey are simply not worth the risks." She finished her tea, her clothing no longer that of a human noble but instead the garb of an elder faery. Spidersilk woven with autumn leaves against pale green skin, her face finally its true pixie self, sharp angles with clever eyes that teased you for not knowing what they did.

"Why invite me if you know what I am? Why not out me to the town?" He challenged, wary of her power, but if her cards were on the table, so should his be.

"Because I'm here to ensure the humans forget about my kind. Reminding them that monsters, faery, and more besides reside in the dark of night doesn't align with that." Her face spoke volumes of how dim she thought the question was. "And you're too established to simply disappear, and evidently too smart to place yourself in my gilded cage. So, dealing honestly with each other is my best remaining choice. I'm faery, you're a nightspawn. We need to keep ourselves out of the spotlight, and it would be better if we didn't step on each others toes while avoiding it, or do you disagree?" She had leaned back into her chair now, and none of Victor's senses warned him of treachery any longer.

"It would seem wise. What is it you propose?" He asked, still not eating or drinking any of the proffered food.

"Nothing. Merely that now we know who is who, and we have an understanding to not harm the other, and perhaps help each other in staying out of the human's suspicions if we must." She extended a graceful, tiny hand over the table, a deal struck in ways no faery would recognize. Victor waited for a breath as his senses reached out to assess her words once more, and he shook her hand as he found no trick among them.