21October2012-Michael-Janvier

Galen smiles, "Well you will have ot let me know when oyu plan to open." He then adds, "I wouldn't want to miss the best pizza and beer."

There's something to be said for the bright cheerful smile that appears upon Anabelle's face when the count offers to come by for dinner one night. "Joe's Pizza and Beer." Simple enough name. "He's in charge of pizza, I'll be doing the brewing, though I'll likely help with the pizza as well. My pizza dough won a few prizes back home, along with.." She goes on to list a variety of food before realizing she's babbling and blushes further. "Sorry." To Galen, she does offer, "We're hoping to have it open within a week or so. Shouldn't have too much to do to the inside beyond clean, paint and get things moved in." When Leras leans over to offer the hand to the odd blob of pink neon slime chimera, it eagerly moves over his hand - let's hope Leras doesn't mind the slight 'sliming' affect. Think thicker hand sanitizer, for that is what will happen. Oh, and the piece of food picked up from the ground? It's sort of hanging there in the middle of the blob. "That's Bobbie." And then she hisses to the thing, "Don't ya be begging for food from the Count!" Yes, that's what the blob is doing, giving Leras the puppy eyes.. up on eyestalks like a snail.

The Countess moves to Leras' side, A hand sliding down his shoulder to his chest, fingers gripping the leather of his doublet before she leans down to kiss his lips. There is a sweetness to the kiss that in no way diminishes the edge of possessiveness to it. Once it is over, she murmurs, "Hello, beloved." She looks around, nodding and offering a warm smile to Ophelia and then to Galen. Anabelle gets a curious look and a then there is a glance to Leras.

Michael Janvier strolls in, taking ownership by his mere presence. His gait is languid as he makes his way toward Leras and Ionae, unhurried. A hint of a disdainful smile curves the thin line of his lips and he stops before the count and countess, ignoring the others gathered as beneath his notice. He offers the two a carefully metered bow, precisely fitted to their station, "Michael Janvier," he introduces himself, "Baron High Ridge ap Balor."

"Joe's Pizza and Beer," Leras repeats before nodding his head. There is a glance cast off towards the approaching Sidhe, that expectant look still about him, then he turns back to regard the bob of pink goo. There does not appear to be, it seems, any issue with the sliming effect of the creature. "Hello, Bobbie," he greets the creature civilly as though he believed that was proper to do. "I regret that I do not have any food to offer you, although perhaps we might remedy this if you stay for a longer period of time with us." Yet even so, he casts another look towards Ophelia, and eyes the remnants of her meal in contemplation. There is the Countess though, and let us face it, once she is in the general proximity of him not even Bobbie can keep him so interested. So the poor chimera is abandoned in favor of his wife, though given the ritual there is no surprise there. His hand lifts, fingers weaving across her shoulder before moving to her neck and then twisting in her hair in a display of his own possessiveness midst the kiss. There's... a hungrier edge there than anything sweet, something that might hint at a strike of teeth more than lips. This does not come, though once he draws back he claims lips once more. "Hello, beloved," he murmurs, eventually drawing his eyes from her though a hand lingers there upon her waist. His head inclines towards Anabelle and he murmurs, "This is Miss Anabelle Brown, Ionae. She is staying with Joe and they are making a pizza and beer restaurant within the County." There is however the arrival of Michael Janvier however, and thus his eyes move to the man. It is the look however that perhaps causes him to rise to his full height, to take the Baron's features in full. The introduction? It has him stiffen, his jaw setting as he stares at him with eyes gone hard. "Greetings, Baron High Ridge ap Balor. It is rare for one of your House to make himself so boldly known here in Concordia." His voice is no kind thing, a precise neutral.

Galen looks over to the newly arrived Baron. He does not speak up as yet but edges closer to Anabelle. His eyes fixed on the new arrival.

The slime chimera does seem to sigh at being told there is no food, and yet it seems happy to give a little 'suck' of his hand before moving to the table top. Leras' hand will feel quite clean after that. Sanitized by the chimera who now starts looking at Ophelia's left plate. If no one will claim it, the chimera will! As for the kinain, she's glaring at the chimera until the moment that Ionae comes into view to kiss her husband, and then poor Anabelle is blushing furiously, glancing away and fidgeting just a touch, almost embarrassed by such a kiss given in public. Innocent? Oh yes. When finally the introduction comes, she remembers her manners, curtseying to the Countess, "A pleasure, milady Countess Ionae. " But then there comes the newest guy, and she's stepping quickly out of the way once his name is given, reaching out to scoop up her chimera and hold the blob close.

"Miss Brown, a pleasure." Ionae murmurs, despite the kinain's blush. Though her attention isn't long on the kinain, with the approach of the Baron. She moves to her husband's side, forming an unquestionable alliance with her fellow Fiona. The Balor's overt disdain, draws a singular brow lift as she looks to the other sidhe. "Hello, Baron High Ridge. What can we do for you, mmm?"

Leras chill greeting washes right over Janvier, unnoticed. "Yes, it's rare," the Baron agrees. "But my purpose here seemed to suggest it best to come directly to you." Janvier ignores Anabelle and her chimera completely, while Galen gets a brief glance and is dismissed as a mere functionary of the court, a flunky even if a sidhe. "I hope not to inconvenience you too greatly and I don't think my time here will be extended."

Perhaps it is that the Baron's arrogance is contagious, for now it does not seem as though the Count's regard for his previous conversational fellows is very high. There is solely a reach for his wife's hand, a snatch that appears to be almost violent in its sudden claim. Then again, his dismissal is likely due to the Balor before him. "Then it is that we should speak and you can make your business known." He nods, head angling, before he says, "I presume what you have to speak of is of private nature?"

The man is tall and slender, with a long neck, and long arms and legs, almsost gangling. There's an air to him as if he is above the things and people about him...the image of an overbred aristocrat. He has dark sandy blonde hair, stylishly cut, and a carefully trimmed goatee, brown eyes, and thin lips are usually set in a line or perhaps curled in a faint sneer. The man dresses well, an expensive charcoal grey pinstripe suit cut in the English style, probably bespoke, and expensive black leather shoes. A dark purple kerchief adds a tiny splash of color to the suit where it pokes from his jacket pocket. The sidhe is tall and slender, with a long neck and long arms and legs. He's also proof that not all sidhe are beautiful as he is the image of an overbrd cretinous aristocrat, the sort of look that a movie producer would send back to casting with a blistering memo about stereotypes and typecasting. His hair is sandy brown, or dark dark blonde stylishly cut, as is his well trimmed goatee. He has brown eyes, and his thin lips are usually curved in a faint sneer, as if he smelled something bad. He's well dressed, in a tunic of darkest purple silk embroidered with gold thread around the cuffs of the sleeves, hem, and collar and the house balor crest of a serpent winding around a tower is embroidered over his left breast. His hose are black silk tucked into black leather boots so highly polished it's hard to tell what color they really are.

Galen say the two higher ranks noble talk more he trys to postion himself between the new comer and Anabell he distrust for the man almost palpable. He maintain his silence and makes no overt action though beside he attempt to reposition himself.

One might think Anabelle is glad for the position that Galen takes, her small form barely peeking out from around the taller Sideh to peer at the Balor with distrust in her own gaze. She might be new to much of the Court, but she's heard the stories, obviously.

Janvier looks about, a bit surprised at Leras' comment about privacy, his expression as if to say 'we're not private?' since the staff clearly doesn't count. "A simple matter," he says after that brief pause. He pulls a parchment from the sleeve of his tunic, unrolls it and glances at it. "Yes...this says it all." He hands the document to the count. "I am here for my bride." He smiles.

Catchy catchy, the contagion spreads. Ionae's demeanor shifts, a coldness settling over her that has yet to be seen from Autumn. Her face turns to a porcelain mask, devoid of much color, her eyes glittering with a cold gem-fire. She lifts her chin eyes narrowed, "Your bride? And who, pray might that be?"

There is an unmistakable serpentine cast to the Fiona Count's eye with the statement from the Balor. While his hand is already gripping that of his wife, the words spoken by the Balor have him swiftly pulling to draw her towards him. In a swift, sharp motion her hand is released so that he can coil his arm around her and set his hand at her abdomen possessively. Clearly, irrationally, venomously, he believes her the bride in question. A smile is flashed, one that has no small amount of brilliantly perfect teeth and may be slightly unsettling. Even so he manages to take the parchment offered, snatching it with his left hand and then looking over the contents. "The Scathach?" he asks. "Why is it that you would wish a /Scathach/?" There is implication there of that House's station, though if it is genuine or merely a ruse to dissuade the Balor from his target is uncertain. The parchment is shown to his wife, her still held close.

There is no fighting Leras in his possessive grabbing of her. Ionae doesn't resist the shift of position when Leras pulls her to his side. She looks down at the parchment and a quizzical expression breeches the cold mask. "This is foolishness."

Michael Janvier smiles at Ionae, impervious to the chill in her voice. "I believe the Count has all the details Countess. As it is his demesne, I believe it fitting he make the announcment, as he sees fit. For now, though, I will leave you. I have some preparations to make." The baron turns to Leras and spreads his hands, "My wishes have little to do with it, Count, it is an agreement between our houses that I must honor." Again, that same smile like a snake would smile if it could. Janvier bows again, perfectly correctly, to the Count and Countess, and turns to make his way from the room, retracing his steps.

Galen brows furrow as he flips through his mental rolodex of people he has met befoer landing on hte one Scathath. He looks over at the Balor Baron apraisingly. He remains slient though.

Veins of lava burst to life under the skin of the previously pale Ionae. Cold shifts to hot within the blink of an eye. Light shimmers through her skin, glitters in the glow of her opal eyes as she launches forward, lips pulled back in a sneer. Her rage infuses her with the awe of the Dreaming, fully formed and wrapped around her like a pennon, making her shine. "You have overstepped your place, Balor." Her resonant voice rings with derirsion, looking at the Baron as if he were something nasty on her shoe. "This is OUR demenese and you do NOT get to come in here and dismiss me in MY Demense. Get. Out. Now."

The Balor bows again to the countess, that same smile still on his lips. He turns and makes his way from the gardens, pace unhurried, stride languid and relaxed.

Galen shakes his head as the Balor Baron leaves, "I know it is not my place to say this, but please tell me I wasn't the only one who wanted to stab him?"

"This is not--" starts Leras, his own lip drawn up, twisted, flashing those pretty teeth that he has. The words are however cut off by the sudden flare of rage from his wife. Yes, there is an irony there, the Count so coiled and her going off as such. That hold he has upon the waist of his wife tightens, an angry glare set on the back of the retreating (albeit leisurely so) Balor. A second arm joins the first, holding tightly there, before he turns his face and bows his head, burrowing it against her neck as though this could somehow calm.

Don't mind the Countess who is vibrating with rage. She's lit up yellow and orange and the metallic streaks in her hair have all taken a molten cast. Despite her usual Earthen cool, she is blazing nearly as bright as Summer, waves of humid heat radiating from her. Her rage is such that it takes several long moments of Leras' arms around her, his face buried into her neck before she begins to cool down, slowly relaxing back against him. "Unbelievable."

The Count's head tilts somewhat as though moving towards the back of his wife's neck, though in the end he manages to withdraw. This is likely due to the fact that the other Sidhe is starting to relax. He himself though is clearly still wound, muscles tight and tension remaining about him. With the ability to once more view the world, his eyes shift briefly in the direction that the Balor went before there's a slow sweep of his attention back to Galen. "You are not." Yes, he did hear the other Fiona, evidently there was simply a delayed response regarding the words.