STV - Rhys and Cressida
Originally, Rhys and Cressida had a very different relationship. Here's a snippet from the ballroom scene with Cressida in it... (Unedited)
"Viviane." Over the faery's shoulder Viviane saw Rhys approach. She felt the faery tense as her fingers tightened about her wrist, and then she clutched her hand behind her waist. When the faery turned to face the oncoming werewolf, Rhys slowed. His expression changed so quickly, Viviane found she fixated on every movement he made. He recognized this faery. It was as clear to Viviane in his open-mouthed gasp, as when he immediately tried to soften that to utter surprise. "Monsieur Hawkes," the faery said. "It has been a long time." "Madame Cressida." He touched his forehead and then his chest in an acknowledging manner. The faery bowed to him, touching her heart slightly. Interesting. Viviane was unaware of propriety amongst the sidhe. Rhys obviously was. Of course, as one who lived in the country and close to nature, she assumed the werewolves must have a repour with the faeries. Rhys positioned himself between the two women. He did not take Viviane's hand, and he seemed unsure what to do with them and so clasped them loudly before them. "Mademoiselle LaMourette, you are acquainted with Madame Cressida?" "We've only just met," Cressida jumped in. Her eyes danced in Rhys's regard. Viviane sucked in a breath at her reaction to the twosome. It was almost as if the twosome were putting out—what had the faery termed her ability to attract male vampires? Whatever it was, these two had it. "How do you two know one another?" "Ah?" Rhys now met her gaze as if he'd only just noticed her. He couldn't erase the struggle between confusion and helplessness from his face. "It's been decades," Cressida said. "The wolves and the sidhe share a natural bond. Likely a midsummer's eve celebration, wouldn't you guess, monsieur?" "Perhaps, yes." "I can see Monsieur had no intention to find you anything but alone," the faery said. "I'll take myself back into the ballroom. Pleasure to speak but a moment, Mademoiselle LaMourette. Monsieur." The faery curtsied and glided off into the ballroom. Waiting for Rhys to move in close, to embrace her, or at the very least kiss her quickly, Viviane was disappointed. She touched his face, drawing his attention back to her. "Decades ago? You seem far too troubled by the faery for it to be a mere chance meeting tens of years ago." "Hmm? Oh, Viviane, no, she is correct. It was long ago. So you've wandered away from the festivities? I got worried when I didn't see you in the crowd." "I needed a moment away from Constantine's side. I'd much prefer to stand at your side at these soirees. Can we ever make it so?" He kissed her knuckles and stroked his beard across her flesh. "I will die to make it so. But you are the one who will decide our fate when you determine whether or not you will mate with my werewolf." "I like having control." "I like giving it to you. But now you will be angry with me. I must leave you again. Orlando is meandering about, and I don't think he should be left to his devices tonight. He's had far too much to drink." "Drunk wolves make for randy bed partners?" "It's not so much his virility I worry about, as the woman he pursues. She's a dryad. Nasty sidhe, if you ask me." "What of Madame Cressida? Is she nasty?" "Viviane." He kissed her jaw and the brush of his nose along her skin made her shiver deep in her breast. "You are jealous." "Have I need to be so?" "Never. I love you, Viviane." With that, he stepped away, and backed down the hall away from her. He did not turn from her gaze until he was five paces from the door, then he quickly slipped away. Compelled by a deep instinct, Viviane scurried forward, lifting her skirts as she made the ballroom, and lifted her head to scan the crowd. Rhys was nowhere in sight. Though, there, she spied Madame Cressida's pale tresses. And behind her, leaning in to speak close to her ear, was Rhys.
[To learn what Rhys and Cressida's relationship originally was, stop back tomorrow.]
"Viviane." Over the faery's shoulder Viviane saw Rhys approach. She felt the faery tense as her fingers tightened about her wrist, and then she clutched her hand behind her waist. When the faery turned to face the oncoming werewolf, Rhys slowed. His expression changed so quickly, Viviane found she fixated on every movement he made. He recognized this faery. It was as clear to Viviane in his open-mouthed gasp, as when he immediately tried to soften that to utter surprise. "Monsieur Hawkes," the faery said. "It has been a long time." "Madame Cressida." He touched his forehead and then his chest in an acknowledging manner. The faery bowed to him, touching her heart slightly. Interesting. Viviane was unaware of propriety amongst the sidhe. Rhys obviously was. Of course, as one who lived in the country and close to nature, she assumed the werewolves must have a repour with the faeries. Rhys positioned himself between the two women. He did not take Viviane's hand, and he seemed unsure what to do with them and so clasped them loudly before them. "Mademoiselle LaMourette, you are acquainted with Madame Cressida?" "We've only just met," Cressida jumped in. Her eyes danced in Rhys's regard. Viviane sucked in a breath at her reaction to the twosome. It was almost as if the twosome were putting out—what had the faery termed her ability to attract male vampires? Whatever it was, these two had it. "How do you two know one another?" "Ah?" Rhys now met her gaze as if he'd only just noticed her. He couldn't erase the struggle between confusion and helplessness from his face. "It's been decades," Cressida said. "The wolves and the sidhe share a natural bond. Likely a midsummer's eve celebration, wouldn't you guess, monsieur?" "Perhaps, yes." "I can see Monsieur had no intention to find you anything but alone," the faery said. "I'll take myself back into the ballroom. Pleasure to speak but a moment, Mademoiselle LaMourette. Monsieur." The faery curtsied and glided off into the ballroom. Waiting for Rhys to move in close, to embrace her, or at the very least kiss her quickly, Viviane was disappointed. She touched his face, drawing his attention back to her. "Decades ago? You seem far too troubled by the faery for it to be a mere chance meeting tens of years ago." "Hmm? Oh, Viviane, no, she is correct. It was long ago. So you've wandered away from the festivities? I got worried when I didn't see you in the crowd." "I needed a moment away from Constantine's side. I'd much prefer to stand at your side at these soirees. Can we ever make it so?" He kissed her knuckles and stroked his beard across her flesh. "I will die to make it so. But you are the one who will decide our fate when you determine whether or not you will mate with my werewolf." "I like having control." "I like giving it to you. But now you will be angry with me. I must leave you again. Orlando is meandering about, and I don't think he should be left to his devices tonight. He's had far too much to drink." "Drunk wolves make for randy bed partners?" "It's not so much his virility I worry about, as the woman he pursues. She's a dryad. Nasty sidhe, if you ask me." "What of Madame Cressida? Is she nasty?" "Viviane." He kissed her jaw and the brush of his nose along her skin made her shiver deep in her breast. "You are jealous." "Have I need to be so?" "Never. I love you, Viviane." With that, he stepped away, and backed down the hall away from her. He did not turn from her gaze until he was five paces from the door, then he quickly slipped away. Compelled by a deep instinct, Viviane scurried forward, lifting her skirts as she made the ballroom, and lifted her head to scan the crowd. Rhys was nowhere in sight. Though, there, she spied Madame Cressida's pale tresses. And behind her, leaning in to speak close to her ear, was Rhys.
[To learn what Rhys and Cressida's relationship originally was, stop back tomorrow.]
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