The knock on the door of the room where the Musica della Notte were given residence sounded more urgent that usual; a sharp three knocks, unusual for the attendents who are more subtle and soft.
"Monsieur van der Meer?" The voice of which did not sound like the usual attendant that worked on that floor of the Theatre building; instead it is youngish, a little hesistant despite the fact that the knocks seemed authoritative.
"If you please, the Lord d'Santorus has requested to see you, in the tea room. First floor." A direction is offered but of course the voice assumes that Sander van der Meer knew exactly where the tea room is. There is no other call for the rest of the troupe, not the young girl or the other woman. Just Sander only.
The room the three Toreadors have been granted to use was very well to their liking. Plush furniture of the finest velvet, art upon the walls reflecting the fine taste of the owner and various other items that gave this chamber the distinctive air of luxury. Dominique had been diligently brushing Salome's red curls while Sander was rifling through his music sheets when the three knocks at the door forced all three of their movements to an halt.
The brushing continues and the beginning of an aria leaves Salome's lips as Sander rises from his arm chair. "I will be there momentarily, thank you," his deep voice replies. As usual, he was already dressed to impress but he wasn't satisfied. The sharp white suit of summer linen, accompanied with a sleek black tie and black high polished shoes just wasn't enough. So on his way out, he grabs a white Fedora and places it upon his long dark hair which is tied into a pony tail. "Wish me luck, mon cheres," he says with a wink and exits their suite. [Sander]
Upon exiting, one would realize the attendant waiting outside is clearly not the one serving their floor; a youth of delicate angelic features and dark hair — there's just no reason not to have such a sight serving the lord himself.
The boy bows towards the pianist in all due respect without exactly unwavering and yet appears a tad awed by the attractiveness of the former. "The tea room, Monsieur van der Meer. If you will." He bows once more and departs with soft steps, as if this is part of his cue to leave, and Sander is left on his own.
It would probably not be difficult to find; even if there are sign posts and arrows all set up to direct the pianist — Etienne's own presence from that room itself would provide enough attention to have Sander find his way.
The door of that particular room is left open, at any rate; the interior itself decorated again — and this time with only two chairs; one which is occupied by the tall blonde lord; the other waiting, with gleaming cutlery and plates set out; and a name-card on which Sander's name is inscribed in pretty flowing script, rests in the middle of the plate.
The beauty of the boy doesn't escape Sander's dark grey eyes in the least bit and they roam just a bit too long upon his face. He had to be working directly under Etienne and rightfully so, no pun intended. Finding the room was not a difficulty as the pianist had many nights to get acquainted with the theatre and the rooms about. [Sander]
After just a few moments, in which he halted twice to take in the beauty of some of the paintings displayed at the walls, he arrives in front of the already opened door to the tea room. He politely knocks, enters and bows in a flourish manner with his right leg pointed. His hand reaches for his Fedora which is quickly removed, letting a lose strand of hair fall into his exquisite features. [Sander]
"Good evening, my lord. Thank you kindly for seeing me tonight. It has been my wish to meet you ever since we entered your lovely city. And my, what a lovely city it is indeed." Still bend over in his bow, he glances upwards with a boyish smile. [Sander]
"Kind words, Monsieur, too kind. You enrich our beings just by being here." The greeting given by the Lord d'Santorus seemed too warm, so warm and overflowing like too much wine. The blonde man rises from his chair, a glass of scarlet held in one gloved hand, and angles his body in a bow towards the pianist. [Etienne]
His gaze is thus lifted after which; and a long look is placed upon Sander's features — the look itself wreathed completely in a pliable, pleasant smile. "Good evening, and take a seat. It will just be wine, and gloved hand, and angles his body in a bow towards the pianist. His gaze is thus lifted after which; and a long look is placed upon Sander's features — the look itself wreathed completely in a pliable, pleasant smile. [Etienne]
"Good evening, and take a seat, Monsieur van der Meer. It will just be us, and wine, and small talk this evening, and feel free to speak what you request or require." The blonde man remains standing, and then his glass is raised once; to herald the same angelic youth in to deign a glass of similar claret for Sander. "It is not /my/ lovely city, as you know, Monsieur. Technically, by proxy, our Prince has control, un-technically - the mortal community has more power, or would it seem so." [Etienne]
He chuckles brightly and lifts his glass in a toast towards the pianist, his demeanor appearing as if he made a joke. "Something we must not dwell on; after all we are dedicated to the Art, non?" [Etienne]
Sander raises to his full height as the youth politely offers the glass to him. The Toreador's fingertips lightly brush against the youth's skin and he sighs inwardly while placing his immaculately manicured hand upon his shoulder. "It may be not /your/ city per se but we both know who here has the grace and beauty to lighten it up in its magnificence, oui?" [Sander]
His demeanor is equally laden in its richness and gallantry as he raises his glass towards Etienne. The youth is quickly forgotten as Sander acknowledges his Lord's features seemingly for the first time. Ahh yes, he would most certainly enjoy himself here. [Sander]
"As far as what I request…it is just your blessing to dwell a while in this lovely theatre and entertain you with the music of my troupe. That is all," he says but then quickly adds "We are all about the Art, my Lord." His dove eyes sparkle in amusement. [Sander]
"You would perhaps forget all those pretty words in Monsieur Klein's presence, Monsieur van der Meer." Etienne speaks quite surely as his blue eyes darken their gaze, following Sander's slight move to caress the youth's shoulder. [Etienne]
"If you have met him. Just even once." There seems to be a tight note of jealousy, or on a serious note, rage in the blonde lord's tone; directed without confirmation though at either the Prince, or at Sander's invasion of Etienne's mortal territory. Yet, the glass held by the blonde man is gracefully tilted towards the one grasped by the pianist, and he clinks it against Sander's. "A toast, to our Art, to you being here; along with your two beautiful ones." He lifts his glass, and takes just one drink, and pulls the rim of the receptacle away, the claret strangely not staining his lips. [Etienne]
"Conveniently, Monsieur Klein has not requested to meet anyone within here; apart from Mademoiselle Moncreiffe." It is an offish statement; not exactly an opinion, nor does it seem like important information; and the blonde lord just watches the pianist with the perpetual smile upon his face and he lowers his glass, setting it on the white linen of the table. [Etienne]
Sander very well notices the change in Etienne's tone and manner. His hand slides from the youth's shoulder and is placed behind his back as he dips his head toward Etienne "To the Arts," he says while taking a small sip from the refreshing liquid. "I believe Salome had the opportunity to make the acquaintance of Mademoiselle Moncreiffe. I've only seen her in passing but mon dieu, what a stunning beauty. An actress she is, oui?" [Sander]
Perhaps it would be wise to find out more about this lady, especially since she seemed to be in good standings with Monsieur Klein. An audience with him..yes, he'd very much like that as well. Naturally, he'd have to approach him differently but that would be figured out once the time came near. His grey eyes intently watche those blue ones of the Lord, eagerly waiting to see how he'd felt talking about the Mademoiselle Moncreiffe. [Sander]
The blonde man settles himself into his chair again, his mood seem to be lightened suddenly; and his arms are placed at languid rest upon the chair's. "Do sit; one must not go into too much small talk standing — else it would be too heavy business, Monsieur." Sander's words are giving a long, mulling thought as Etienne's hand move to cup the scalloped arm of the chair he is in. [Etienne]
"Mademoiselle Salome is the little beautiful one you have, Monsieur? The one with a rather intriguing temper, oui? Ii would appear that ma cherie Rasha does not enjoy her attentions very much." The cupped hand now arches into a five-finger hold upon the chair's rest, the pale length of the index digit tapping in monotonous notion. [Etienne]
"It would not be good to offend the little lady, Mademoiselle Moncreiffe of course, whom I speak of. She appears…" Etienne's head tilts, his lips pursing into a deeply thoughtful pout, and a frown marring his attractive features. "…to be a confidante of Monsieur Klein himself. A close comrade, maybe or something else." The blonde lord smiles under his breath, a compressed smile that spreads just a little further across his lips. "An apology might just suffice, you understand, would you? Enough to ease ma chere Rasha into being generous." [Etienne]
Sander follows suit and settles into his offered chair, placing his hands upon the arm rests and crossing is long legs. "Yes, a temper Salome has. Something she and I have talked in length about but my words have not found solid ground as of yet. She has angered Mademoiselle Moncreiffe? Whatever did she do to offend her? Mind you, I've noticed somewhat of an infatuation that has taken hold of Salome when it comes to the Mademoiselle." [Sander]
His fingertips reach to the bridge of his nose as he gently massages it while continuing "I will most certainly press Salome to offer an apology but, alas, I can not make a promise. She has a mind of her own." A long, dramatic, drawn sigh escape the lips of Sander and he places his elbow on the arm rest and his chin atop his hand. He shrugs his shoulders "While she is no child anymore, she most certainly has not lost the temper of one," he says with a light smirk echoing his lips. [Sander]
"She is indeed your charge, is she not? Have you allowed her to be free of your reign?" The blonde lord's question is tailored to one of superb, innocent curiosity, yet one cannot help but find a progressive hint within that question — a nudge at Sander's inability to control his childer; or his lack of foresight in creating such a temperament foolish childe. [Etienne]
"I did not know of such infatuation that little one of yours have towards ma chere Rasha. But the Mademoiselle herself does not give her attentions easily." Woeful words slip from Etienne's lips and now that he has sunk himself into his chair, sighing mockingly. "There is one more she is close to; a former playwright but he has returned once more." [Etienne]
"Someone not of our clan but someone whom I would suggest to be on good terms with." The blonde man comments, and sits up, twisting his gloved fingers in-between each other to form a slight pyramid to rest against the edge of the table. [Etienne]
"He keeps to himself, only writes plays for her and her alone — if his works did not make thus much money…" Etienne left his sentence hanging, the tip of his tongue moving to just quickly lick the top of his lips and he ends it merely with a raise of his glass once more to Sander, and takes a sip of wine. [Etienne]
"The real cast we have here, Monsieur van der Meer, is as interesting as any play we act on this stage we own." [Etienne]
Sander throws his hand up in playful resignation. "Lord Etienne, what she needed was a father figure when she came to me but I am by no such means a person with any of such inclinations. I do not well with children and back then, she still was one. I admit that I have been spoiling her," now his smirk grows wider. "But can you fault me? She is such a delight to look at…and dress." [Sander]
Still aware of the seriousness at hand, his voice grows sincere "However, Dominique seems to have a better halt on Salome. Perhaps it is she that needs to talk to her instead of me. I might just worsen the entire thing," he acknowledges. Sander was cognizant of Salome's infatuation with grown women, adulthood was something she'd never reach but how was one to except such a final sentence. He pushes those thoughts back and instead asks : [Sander]
"The playwright you mention, what might be his name? He might be the person we have to go through in order to make amends with the Mademoiselle, perhaps we'll even be able to work with one another. A good play depends on good music after all." Sander nestles himself further into the plush seat and brushes a stray lock from his face. [Sander]
A very, very long observing look is placed onto Sander; positively or possibly admiring of the pianist's good looks; "I cannot help now but agree — even so, such talent in your pretty little one is sufficient to be excused for any trouble she she poses." [Etienne]
The blonde man's chin drops slightly, drawing his blue sights across the wet rim of his glass, another comment slipping from him. "I have good faith in your ability to keep harmony and poise within your troupe, Monsieur." [Etienne]
The lord stands now, upright, though his motions do not appear as if he's ready to leave the room — and instead, paces and closes just that two-step distance to stand behind where the pianist is seated. "And him, he would be Christian von Karlach. [Etienne]
A gloved hand moves to rest on Sander's shoulder, Etienne's hand, the slim fingers moving themselves to contort and coil against the fabric of the pianist's garments. "Be friends with him, and he will put a good word with the Mademoiselle for you. [Etienne]
And all that is said, with a meaningful nuance, the advice whispered in closeness into Sander's ear, no breath escaping from the lord's long-dead lips. "He is a cold one, Christian. And rather dangerous. But wouldn't that be exactly exciting, oui? [Etienne]
The blonde lord re-arches his back, straightens it and pats Sander twice on the latter's shoulder. "But now I must take my leave, and attend to business elsewhere, my dear Monsieur. Perhaps you can enjoy the attentions of Matthieu for a while. He seems eager." Chuckling, the lord takes a step back to wait for the angelic youth to make his way in, as if, on cue again, before he leaves. [Etienne]
Sander follows Etienne's movements closely as he moves about the room and behind his frame. He arches his head and turns it to look up at him while intensely listening to every word uttered. [Sander]
The hand resting on his shoulder feels heavier as it should or perhaps it was the advice given about Christian von Karlach that pressed upon him. Sander wasn't one for talking politics and Monsieur von Karlach didn't sound like the person whom he could talk about Art as much as he was able with Etienne. [Sander]
Either way, it would have to be. "I thank you very much for the time you have been granting me and the advice you've offered." The Toreador stands to his feet as soon as Etienne's hand slips from his shoulder and licks over his lips as the door opens to reveal the youth, Matthieu. "I bid you a good night, Lord Etienne. You are most gracious with your offer," Sander wraps one strong arm about the youth as Etienne leaves. The other hand reaches for his face, gently caressing the warm skin. [Sander]
"Now, Matthieu. How would you like me to play some music for you?" he asks sensually as his ivory fangs descend. [Sander]
