bakerstreet | Hidden Relationship

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Hidden Relationship

hidden relationship;

The fact that you're in a relationship with this person isn't public knowledge. Actually, no one knows about it except for the people involved. Maybe you guys are just private like that; on the other hand, it may be a necessity to keep things a secret from others. Maybe you're both team mates, and others on the team would give you grief, or you're not supposed to be dating, or you're not the type to usually date and you're only testing the waters. Perhaps it's the combination of you two, possibly an odd couple, that would bring some controversy or some teasing. Or, you know, you could not want to deal with friends and relatives being busybodies. Your reasons are your own.

Are you content with stealing moments to be together as a couple? Do you want to make your relationship known and the fact that you can't drives you batty? Remember, there are lots of benefits to dating in secret. You can be yourselves completely, away from prying eyes, and get to know each other better as potential longterm romantic partners. In a way, it's ideal.

...still, do you ever wish you could scream from the rooftops how much you care for your significant other?

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Is Ambrose so sure? He gives a small, easy laugh. No he isn't, but he didn't accuse!

"I suspect you've at least been to Paris, if nothing else," Ambrose admits, conceding to what he senses is a soft loss of a game he didn't realize was being played. Guessing games, assumptions. He will take losing gracefully in any game; losses are opportunity to learn.

And learning more about Magnus is always his keenest hope, when they see each other like this. Ambrose seems politely curious at that insinuation, though he doesn't smell regret or guilt in the air around the wolf. His hand cradles the back of the other man's, holding him with fondness. It's the most pressing he will let himself be; he has no interest in forcing anything from another's hold. One of a number of differences between his sire, and himself...

What he receives is something else, but just as important to him. He learns now the potential that Macaire might indulge him, and it brushes a pleased glow across his pale lips. "I forget, mon chevalier...were we meant to convince me to postpone these travels? You're only making me eager for it all, now." Ambrose possesses the patience of a saint; here, Magnus has found right where to twist him that such yearning bleeds forth.

It's a tease, and he doesn't dare conceal it. "I suppose we must get well acquainted before then, as you said."

Before then...but Leon is quickly on track for seeing it happen, and soon. Collecting the eyes and hearts of backers at best -- possibly robbing his richest of victims, in the worst case. The mode of consideration shades over the vampire's expression. "I doubt I could convince Leon on my own...to delay his own hungry plans. He's an immovable force once his mind is made up." His eyes hold Magnus' own; he came here to speak with him, this was his forefront concern. Was it merely to proclaim a desire, or provide an idea? Ambrose doesn't utter anything more, but the question writes itself across his face. He so ever does hate putting others on the spot, for better, and certainly, for worse.

Magnus will fix his little vampire with a look. He didn't accuse, that's true, but he said his words in such a way that Magnus took it to be an assumption, a gentle probe. But it's of no matter. He doesn't mind, he's hardly shared anything detrimental or that could harm him. If they do make it to Paris then Ambrose will soon learn that Magnus is intimately familiar with the city, the changes in the last few decades since the end of the Revolution are minimal.

He shakes his head, good-naturedly. Ambrose does want to know more, he can see the attention in his eyes, the way his quick mind picks up on details and then he keeps them close. He can understand why, but Magnus is by nature a very inward creature. Information is power, and the more power someone holds over him, the less sway he has. He does not think Ambrose is out to harm him, but if Leon discovers this, how much information can he compel Ambrose to share?

But of course, if Leon finds out about them, does he not already have all the information he needs to twist a knife in Magnus' heart?

"I was trying to, dear, but I think I am facing an uphill battle." He replies, unable to feel a flutter in the slow beat of his heart at the open, innocent way Ambrose looks up at him. He is supposed to remain separate from all these feelings, distanced from them so he can go about his game and remove a rival player from the board. But he is fast realising that this time things will not be so easy. Yet he regrets nothing.

"I do not expect you to raise such a thing with him, Ambrose. It would be very unwise for him to suspect you did not want to go. He holds some power over you, and I will not have him... it is best you leave such things to me." Magnus' words are careful, trying not to phrase things in a way that makes Ambrose clear that this is not something he should meddle in. It's not a game without risk.

Ambrose knows that look. Not too dissimilar from the look Leon shoots him with every so often, enough to wither some of the other fledglings when leveled upon him. Some -- not him. Ambrose has never managed to be more afraid of him than in the moment that he became is death.

Yes, an uphill battle...but one being fought together, and against themselves. Ambrose has to laugh; even death, life is so poetic and typical. Little roaming gods with their own vices; he wouldn't have it any other way.

"You make yourself so convincing to me; I might believe you could accomplish most anything." Said not to make assumptions that Magnus couldn't, far from that. A level higher on the tier, in fact. He wouldn't put so much responsibility in another if it concerned his affairs, or primarily, anything involving Leon...but their agendas align. If Ambrose really didn't think Magnus could handle his own against Leon, he would insist otherwise. It absolutely makes him wonder, wonder what the wolf will do to accomplish such a thing for them -- and it makes him uneasy to not know, unable to assist. There's a looming, impossible potential of guilt to be stomached, should it fail, and Ambrose was kept so far away from affecting anything.

Alas, trust. If that is all he can do, then it is all that he must do. "Then it benefits us that I am at least a halfway acceptable actor." And easier to fool another vampire than it used to be. Leon is not so literally blind, but Ambrose no longer has the pitfall of having the tells he once had as a mortal. Leon could always peer into his mind -- naturally, given the power these creatures have above mortals -- and sense his fear without fail. The sire holds none of this over him now, now that he has made Ambrose the same; not quite as if Ambrose was the only one giving something up, in the transaction.

Ambrose lifts his head up, not away from Magnus' hand, which drifts now to the side of his throat, and considers the monsieur with renewed attention, though hardly with any criticism. One could mistake the way Ambrose looks at him with how he would regard a statue in a gallery, or a night-blooming flower in the garden. "How long has it been? Since you've seen France." The vampire is as transparent as he can be; nothing behind a veil, no secret question. To Magnus, it may succeed as disarmingly simple, or cause suspect, and Ambrose cannot control that. He simply wishes to envision it for himself, some shard of truth to let shine in their darkness.

It may not even be that much of a battle. Ambrose clearly wants to go and as much as Magnus is uncertain, he will go. He will go to make sure Ambrose is safe from Leon, safe from whatever dangers the young vampire might find, and to a much lesser degree, to sacrifice his own curiosity. How much more about Ambrose can he learn there, will the young man feel better for being in his homeland? For that matter, would Magnus? It has been a long time since he was there, and he has not even thought about the place until the soft undertone of an accent in Ambrose's voice had sent him back.

"You flatter me, ange." Magnus breathes, but it is truly a compliment especially from one so young, from someone who does not know his reputation or the rumours. There are plenty, after all, amongst humans who have no idea why his honorific was awarded, or where he came from, or why he can afford a townhouse and such comfort. He prefers not to have those details well know, he prefers to have some element of mystery.

That next comment earns Ambrose a chuckle, "More than half-way acceptable, as well you know." He points out, although he knows very well that Ambrose will resist the correction, brushing it aside as idle praise.

The question makes Magnus frown. Not because of any undue sadness, not because of any regret or pain. He really does have to think about the answer. Years pass in the blink of an eye and he really has to fight to remember what year it is now.

"Just after the Bastille fell. The summer of 1789." That was it, that had been when it had become too dangerous. It hadn't only been the rich and aristocratic that had been hunted down. Madame Guillotine's blade had been made of silver, a stake driven through each corpse. "Seventy years, I should think, a few more perhaps."

Ambrose might note that the remark is off-hand, as if it means nothing at all, that France, the events that caused Magnus to leave, all of that past kept a closely guarded secret, that none of it is even important. Ambrose is beginning to learn a great deal of Magnus' mannerisms, his tells. Of course there is a lot he's holding back, so much of his life from before then, before England.

'Ange', so simple and kind, perhaps not really anything warranting much surprise by most. He never uttered such a word to his sire, yet Leon always knew it was the image in his mind. Ambrose has looked up to others and seen goodness and grace, strength and conviction, from his happy place on the grassy earth. Looking within now, the sight to be seen appears darker and raw, something scorched that has gone cold. He sees something of demonic ilk, unsettling and wrathful, because he has nothing else to put to it. Then again...Lucifer was an angel once too, was he not?

It doesn't feel condescending, or cruelly incorrect... Ambrose might be naive enough to mistake it for forgiveness, a pardoning of what sins of his had grasped him and pulled him under. He wonders what it is -- a recognition of familiar monsters, or is Ambrose really not so lost as to be damned? He doesn't need to be seen as angelic, omnipotent, to feel assured, but even such a small word strokes him with a strange, even if difficult, relief.

It seems that his ask was not an invasive one. Ambrose watches with an admiring eagerness to his curiosity, fingers strolling lazily along the shapes and skin on the back of Magnus' hand as it rests against the side of his throat. He's given something, context of some kind, a piece of some past. His eyes grow round with keen attention at the mention of the Bastille alone, but the confirmation of the year is perhaps more staggering. It sounds so easy, as if remembering something from simpler, younger years. Ambrose isn't startled, for he knew Magnus was just like he is, long-lived as long as no fatal harm comes to either of them. Through time and illness, they will remain.

The expression on the pale face is full of awe. "I see," he breathes, though not completely racked with shock. Leon is centuries old, has recalled events from ages ago with the touch of seeing them occur first hand, but he has been the only long-lived immortal in his life, until recently. And until now, Ambrose could only guess at the scope of Magnus' life.

"Then France may well be a new home for you to return to," he begins, tone hopeful, almost asking. Ambrose travelled briefly, but years ago -- not that many years, alas! -- and not extensively. "Something we may discover together."

Are they really sure the tour must be forestalled? Slowly a smile sinks into his lips. It makes him want to ask so much more, he can virtually feel his head buzzing with all kinds of questions. Not too many, not too soon. This knight is protective...and Ambrose understands the need quite deeply. He mustn't be ungrateful; the promise to be there with him is alone is a gift, and the assurance to keep seeing the wolf until then will fuel Ambrose for the months ahead -- indeterminate time, as it stands.

"Is it not too much to ask? Your interference with the tour...whatever it is you have in mind." Magnus did offer, but Ambrose can hardly fathom that simply sharing time is an equal outcome to the effort.

Isn't it strange? Magnus attended, from birth, the same chapel services as Ambrose: despite the difference in their ages, the Catholic faith's traditions are unchanged over centuries. The Macaire's had a specially reserved place at the front of the chapel, they took communion before the rest of the congregation, the priests stood closest to them, knew them all by name. They had personally attended his mother when she felt unable to go to chapel because of the chill weather, or for fear of rain. And yet, Magnus has no fear of the Almighty and no concerns over the state of his soul. To be likened to a divine creature causes Ambrose mild anxiety, but Magnus says it and means it without batting an eyelid.

Perhaps it is something to do with the length of their existence. Maybe it has much more to do with their class. The Macaire's were not peasants, their place in society almost guarenteed a place in heaven, whether it was deserved or not.

But Magnus knows nothing of Ambrose's thoughts, so he can not try to philosophise. That is probably for the best.

He looks at Ambrose a moment longer, expression serious as he recalls the events that swept through Paris, and then he shrugs, as if it is of very little importance.

"I doubt I have a place in the Deuxième Empire." He does not think France is as enlightened as all that, despite what the fashionable ladies tell him. He has no real desire to call it home again, but he will go, because there is an eagerness in Ambrose that he knows he can not dissuade, and to do so would be cruel. He will not manipulate the young vampire like that, not when he wishes, truly wishes, for something.

"But I am sure there will be many things to discover anew. If the stage can spare you for a few evenings." That is teasing, his hand moving to stroke Ambrose's cheek again, to emphasise the endearment in the words. "There is a great deal more to Paris than there is to London. But I am sure you will see that for yourself."

He still must delay their journey there. He has no desires for Leon to continue to have any sway over Ambrose, and while he has no solid confirmation on who pursues the ancient one, he has some ideas. It would be terrible for those shadows to catch up with him, but only for Leon. Ambrose and the others would surely get over it. But the timing must be right. If they have left England already than it may be too difficult to follow, and if they are already in France but Magnus has not yet joined them, how can he be sure that Ambrose will not get even more entangled? No, it is best to delay, just a little.

"What is it that worries you so, Ambrose? It is all in hand, all arranged. The public will clamour for another two nights, maybe three. That would be enough. And a play that has proved so popular in London will be even more so in Paris."

Ambrose's face pinches in with a briefly fluttering intent for question, brows twitching inward as the expression shudders past. Doors shut upon his approach. What truths live within? What is it that can't be trusted in his gaze?

As reliably as always, Magnus' charm is a gentle guiding force back away from such doors, coaxing into different directions. It's comfortable for a while to be guided where he ought to be, but when done completely blind, Ambrose doesn't know how to reconcile the whiplash he's finding it affords him, more and more, as he encounters it.

All arranged, already, before Magnus had even come to Ambrose tonight. Was the werewolf really so confident in this discussion before it could even occur? Something deep in the pit of the fledgling's chest shifts, sleepy but stirring, beginning a slow-building coil inward -- not fully suspicious yet, but something much younger, curiosity, possibly concern.

"Not worried, mon cher," Ambrose assures softly, but maybe a little flatter than he would have liked. "You've put a lot of thought into all of this."

Something that Ambrose thinks he my have to do for himself, as well. He is resolute in his feelings for Macaire, that is of no question, and they would be hard-pressed to fall under re-evaluation. In Ambrose's heart, his beau is safe. Alas, this all rings dreadfully similar to a tune the vampire has heard before, and the air carries an unmistakable tension, thick and strained, a summer afternoon swelling until the atmosphere finally breaks, and all of heaven's wrath comes loose.

Overthinking it, perhaps. Ambrose draws comfort out of Magnus' touch upon his face, turns into it and plants a kiss on the heel of his palm. He hungers, and feels the fatigue from it, but he doesn't seek that here. "All this effort, just for us...I will have to see to it that it was all worth your while." Ambrose remains gentle, no weight carried in his eyes or his tone to suggest any scandalous intent, nothing more than a promise of devotion to their plot. Whatever it is that independently-inclined Magnus prefers to play, Ambrose can at least offer an idea of them working together, as much as they are their own movable pieces in this mechanism.

What Ambrose does not know cannot hurt him. It's a falsehood, but in some respects, keeping Ambrose as far away from the truth and far away from Leon is the best idea. But he can see, very clearly, that the titbits of information he has given Ambrose aren't enough. There are questions, silently weighing down Ambrose's tongue and he is swallowing them back. It leaves Magnus torn. He wants Ambrose safe. But if he tells Ambrose, he increases the likelihood of Leon finding out what is planned, and furthermore, he might believe Ambrose is part of that plot.

He isn't. He may well be an accessory, as the police would say, but that does not mean he would not be punished, possibly fatally. That is not what Magnus intends.

But there's a thin line. As much as Ambrose seems to trust him, how long can he ask for the young man to do so? How long with Ambrose accept that he is being brushed off? Not long. And Magnus does not like the fact he could probably be compared to Leon now: keeping Ambrose in the dark until it is too late. That... that is what really makes him think again, what makes him pull his hand back from Ambrose and reach for a cigarette case from his inner pocket. It gives his hands something to do as he speaks, taking out one and tapping it against the smooth black surface.

"Your sire has... caused a lot of people a great deal of grief." He says, words soft, too soft to carry beyond the pair of them. "I don't think that comes as a surprise to you, does it?"

No, it does not. Magnus is prepared to bet on that much. Ambrose is not happy, he has not come into this existence excited, in love. He has been cheated and discarded, used and forgotten while Leon ensures his own comfort and safety. The hives of London will not have that. Besides, there are mutterings, ghosts in the air from beyond London's smog that make even Magnus lock his windows at night. Leon is a plague amongst all of them, he'll have the mortals murdering them all and Magnus never wants to see a revolution again. He need to go, he must be dealt with.

"I would not lie to you Ambrose, I do not wish you to think this about you, or the others he has turned. There is more to this then you know."

Ambrose wishes he could be more demanding, more headstrong in these matters, when things don't suit well. It isn't a question of self worth or avoiding conflict -- it's a matter of instinct. If someone won't give up something, then it's not his for the taking. It keeps from disrupting the shared balance, but only up to a very specific point.

He thinks that point could be reached some day, with Leon. He finds himself a step closer every so often, and ever more quickly traveling as of late. It's a path that has lead Ambrose to Magnus, not away from him, not even now as the werewolf steps off his path so randomly. It's merely a fear that the monsieur won't come back to traverse by his side. Ambrose thought that his heart could break by losing Leon, which lead him to being wed in blood, but he wasn't ever really his to begin with.

Losing Magnus, on the other hand...could very well ruin the vampire.

He breaks away, palm sliding from Ambrose's face, and he watches with open attention as he fiddles with his lacquered cigarette case. The tone of voice he hears chills him, softer than Ambrose thinks he has ever heard from the other, but the words are what make him tremble gently. No surprise, no, not what Magnus states. That's been difficult to learn, to abide by, a fledgling dedicated to his sire, with a consciousness that won't be remolded. It's the very words themselves -- someone has said them to him recently, almost verbatim.

Lies, concealment -- what is the difference? Plenty. Concealing the truth can be deceptive, but Ambrose knows much better than to think the two are mutually exclusive. He sees a fault line here and wants to peer in. There is more to this, that much is admitted. Dare he?

"Magnus." It is not often that Ambrose addresses his secret companion this way, but it isn't said with any force -- low, even. "Other vampires have been restless about a supposed...impending event, of some sort. Leon is trying to arrange that we leave though he insists it's unrelated, that it's paranoia passing through other hives." But it's undeniable. Ambrose really does think Leon isn't certain what it is -- and that's why he's lying. If he was certain, he would be using that to fight, as opposed to simply running away.

But Magnus seems to know, know at least something. Ambrose reaches a hand out to settle on his arm, not to stop him from lighting a cigarette, but simply a silent request. "It isn't unrelated, then, isn't it?" Leon is seeking escape. From what? Ambrose can only guess -- other vampires have sneered in his sire's direction, and he can only guess who else out in the world has been crossed by his deceptively cherubic sire. There are plenty more forces in the world than demons and wolves in the bodies of men.

Perhaps Ambrose will learn in time. Perhaps he never will. Most supernatural creatures become very determined and autocratic but it is hard to imagine Ambrose in such a role. He is a great actor yes, but even if he had to pretend to be such a thing it would only last while the deception was required. And then he would ease back into this form, quietly thiughtful, intelligent and unbelievable gentle in word and deed.

Or at least, that is how he has always appeared to Magnus, who has a very soft spot for beautiful dark haired young men of such a temperament.

He thinks he can imagine what led Ambrose to be in this situation. Bewitched and beloved, befuddled. Led down a garden path only to find it is a path towards hell. And then for all intents and purposes he is left, clinging to a thread from his sire's coattails. Leon has what he wants of course, abd believes himself secure. But no position is every as concrete as all that.

Magnus' eyes lift from the idle distraction in his hands. He sees understanding in Ambrose's eyes, his features beautiful like a Greek god, cast in marble and yet strangely animated as he talks, as he reveals what he knows and has seen for himself.

"I have heard the same. Panic and fear in the hives is bad news for us all Ambrose." A hive can normally withstand most things but whatever it is, and no one truly seems to know, has every hive north and south of the Thames in a state.

Magnus can feel it too, somehow. A cry wind on the edge of hearing, a crackle in the midnight air. He can not place it, it wouldn't bother him if the vampires weren't so concerned. If the hives hadn't pulled together to order a death warrant for the ancient known as Leon, it might never have come to his notice at all.

"It is not unrelated, or so the hives believe, and they are the experts. If they believe it is everything to do with him, then I am in no place to agrue."

The vampire is seeing it all unfold, a blooming plot with petals so dark, illumination is still so scarce for understanding. Leon has laughed at the fear, the sneers and the hisses of outer vampires on the street, leaving Ambrose utterly bemused and alarmed. 'We make ourselves a higher kind.' Judgmental, archaic, paranoid, weak, unadvantageous -- Ambrose has been told many impressions of the other vampires, warned away from them, told that they are a failing breed in this day and age. Leon has claimed an intent to set his coven free from the stifling politics, the corrupt hierarchy. From Magnus, it's simply another level of order and politics. Boundaries -- Leon certainly hates those.

It seems as though Magnus speaks with them, often enough for it to matter, often enough to hear these developments. Ambrose feels a chill against his back, slow and gradual, building as he thinks. Magnus knows the scope of this, knows as much as Leon does -- if not more?

It doesn't feel like a betrayal. Ambrose stares at the werewolf and feels the shock of the notion, finding these two things parallel, but looking significantly different from one another. Ambrose may not be a fixture in these supernatural politics, but he knows how storylines work. Life is full of patterns, humans love them, and what they create are reflections of such lives and their events. He doesn't know how intrinsic to all of this the monsieur is, but he is a man with sway, with power. He has pressed to affect Leon's affairs, nearly from out of nowhere. Serendipitous, Ambrose has likened it. It would be foolish to assume he wasn't an agent in...whatever this is.

What is, all this, then?

"...The hives are harboring concern. They believe Leon to be responsible, or involved somehow, in this nightmare looming on our horizon..."

Ambrose's hand drifts, past the edge of Magnus' coat sleeve. His fingers ghost over the back of Magnus' hand. His secret confidant has urged Leon's escape to a halt, everything behind veils, every side, all of it. "They wouldn't come to a conclusion, and they certainly would not discuss it past their bounds, without a plan for action."

It is not a question, because Ambrose has had many questions dodged in his life, and in this life beyond. He won't put Magnus in a position of giving him anything more, if he felt that he couldn't trust him. Ambrose could not begin to guess what makes Leon a linchpin in this scenario coming quickly to an apex, and he feels stupid and sorry that he has nothing that he can give Magnus. Even worse that he doesn't know how to save Leon from himself.

Ambrose looks at Magnus, and doesn't quite know what to think.

The fact is that while the vampires and the werewolves in London do not get on, there are things which they discuss. There's certain things which affect all of them and information has to be shared, and Magnus makes a point to ensure that information comes to him as well as the official werewolf packs. And more often than not, as an outsider to both pack and hive, Magnus is the intermediary. Normally that is an unrivalled and beneficial position for all manner of reasons, but in this instance, he would rather not be the one trying to detain Leon and keep his nest here to accept his fate.

Not when he knows that the outcome may well deeply hurt Ambrose.

"Whoever is tracking your sire, the hives want them to find him. Once he is on the continent that becomes much harder. They fear him, Ambrose, what he will bring down on us should his madness continue. And they fear the repercussions of letting him escape."

Leon is a threefold risk. His ambition for power is not controlled, he turns humans against their will, his coven feeds with abandon and the humans will only put up with so much before they will turn on every supernatural. He disregards the hives, mocking them and their territory, disrespecting their ancients, and now... now there is something that none of the understands racing towards London, mere weeks after Leon's arrival.

The hand on his own makes him pause, before his hand turns to link his fingers with Ambrose's own, to try and offer him some little reassurance. Ambrose may well feel like his is just a pawn in these events, unwittingly betraying his sire, or worse, purposefully doing so. Magnus appreciates that such a thing feels near impossible: the bond between a vampire and its Sire is like the bond between parent and child, father and son, and it is difficult if not impossible for some vampires to ever break.

"I do not want you to think I see you as a means to an end, a... tool. This is not what you are to me, and I want to keep you safe from this. Please understand why I wanted to keep this from you."

It would be foolish if Ambrose didn't think that there was a large world outside of himself, of his small coven of fellow fledglings who are much to happy to cut each other's throats, of his sire who so dangerously looks to topple everyone else's game pieces over. He speaks like a revolutionary, but wants the benefits of a monarchy. He is all too happy to have his enemies before he has the power to match them. Ambrose knows there is more to this all than simply coexisting amongst other preternatural beings, humans in the balance of it all. He's found himself seated in a court beyond his imagining, one that Leon has mistaken for his playground. He came into all of this with such little awareness, but there is just no avoiding it now.

But his curiosity has him watching Magnus, his words insistent and reassuring. It is such a different shade on him, rare in this environment they share. It's an easy, slippery slope into suspecting the worst, and Ambrose is so easy to entertain possibilities -- but Magnus is an anchor, a stone on the bottom of the pond, pinning the earth underneath the currents. Ambrose can't be swept up too far, even now, with a few soft words uttered here in the quiet theatre.

It makes it sound ever more important to stay here in London -- Leon will risk their safety, everyone's, with his hunger so insatiable still after these centuries he has lived. Additionally, Ambrose can remain closer to Magnus.

He squeezes his hand, slow and gradual, confirming. "I would like to think you don't romance just any vampire you come alongside in your tireless work," Ambrose teases softly, a smile breaking through in spite of the tension in his eyes. "My sight is clear...I was only utilized, not used. I only wish I could have consciously cooperated for you from the start, but I don't hold you at fault."

Magnus doesn't have any way of trusting him, not really -- Ambrose can't assure anything. That is what makes Leon a threat: he is a loose cannon ball. He may even be quite too close to the situation on the table.

Ambrose is hurt, but for nothing that Magnus has done. He's hurt because he can't do what he had hoped, was born too late to the game to change Leon's way of thinking. It was too advantageous for Ambrose to think he could do enough to affect him at all.

But he earned something else along the way, a treasure of immeasurable value. Ambrose brings Magnus' hand closer, plants a kiss atop his knuckles, skin tinged with the scent of tobacco. "I don't see our having met now sullied. I find it more serendipitous than ever."

What will happen to Leon? It's hard to track why it is Ambrose won't ask it -- whether he can't yet face hearing the answer, or because he already knows it.

If the hives truly knew how bad it was within Leon's hive, they might have opted to dispatch Leon and all his offspring. A hive does not exist for the benefit of one but for all. True, the queen or the sire is usually the focus of those efforts, but they do not look out for their own ends. Leon seems to be an autocrat of the worst sort. He cares not one wit for those who have lost their mortal lives to him, he probably would not give a damn about their immortal lives either: if their existence had to be sacrificed to further his own, he would not think twice. Magnus has no pack and no kin, the temptation to further his line has never taken that form, but he knows that what Leon is doing is abhorrent.

But Magnus knows well that such behaviour can not continue unchecked. It will not be, and Leon must know that something comes for him. He would not be in such a hurry otherwise.

Magnus pulls himself from those thoughts, back to Ambrose and their hands touching. He should not trust Ambrose so completely, and in truth at the start, he did not. That is why Ambrose is only now learning more because Magnus has assured himself of his fidelity. It's a terrible thing, politics. But even so, this is not simply about him, or even the pair of them.

"If you must know, I did not intend to romance any vampire at all. It just so happened that you changed my mind." Obviously, if he had met any other of Leon's hive, if anyone other than Ambrose had been made the lead in their little production, then it might all have been different. As it was, Magnus had fallen a little more night by night.

He smiles, gently, at the press of lips against his knuckles, his amber eyes following the slight bow of Ambrose's head.

"I'm not sure I would put it down to luck, perhaps fate." He says, with a slight shrug. "But I do not regret it, mon ange. And if we do not get to France before all this is done with, we will go after. I promise you, if that is where you would like to go."

That is no surprise to Ambrose, and his fleeting shiver of an amused smirk says it for him; with how Magnus carries his business, he knows that romance wasn't even in the realm of consideration. Ambrose was hardly looking to betray his sire's heart, to be fair... Which hurts to think of, in such specific terms. Ambrose has never been one for revenge -- different from repercussion, comeuppance, he truly believes, because he is not an agent of the universal balance. But please, let him be allowed this, if he were to do anything worth judgement of moral or character, he will pay for his past sins, but absolve him of this. Leon takes whom he wants and at a whim, but Ambrose would take Magnus and no one else.

'Before all of this is done with.' Ambrose is cut into two halves, despairing and elated; then he is certain that by the end of it all, Leon will be no more. It's startling, it hurts deep where its rooted into the pit of him, and he will have a hand in weeding him out. That is, assuming all goes as planned on their end of things. Who knows what will actually occur? Leon is paranoid now more than ever, will it sharpen him against the potential of threat, or has it begin to unravel him?

He cannot know, though it is likely that Ambrose will needlessly entertain such possibilities as the time draws nearer. A man such as he who has always thrown himself to escapes and fantasy does not always slip into silken thoughts of paradise; his is a mind that sometimes slips on mud and finds pits of darkness instead.

But something about Magnus anchors him -- not quite 'something,' not just one thing, but perhaps more accurately, everything that he is. The vampire rests into Magnus' hand, eyes shut, an image of reverence, almost as if praying. He guides the gentleman's hand against his lips, his movements idle and thoughtful.

"...I would sell my soul a second time to let us leave this very night," he murmurs, nearly too soft to be audible, but he knows the wolf will hear him perfectly well. "Avoid all this trouble, to be far away when all comes raining down." There's a point to being vague: it tastes too much like Leon's superiority to assume one outcome over another.

The expression in Ambrose's closed-away face is still much too sober, as to almost appear mournful; he doesn't need explaining, he understands the reality well enough. The reality is the trouble. "...To have us, finally." There it is, the true conflict, Leon be damned. Ambrose can want plenty of things -- a way out of conflict, for his sire to let go of his stubbornness, to see a sunrise one more time -- but he wants nothing more than to be with the gentleman here at his side, as freely as he can possibly get away with. It may not be much, but it would be more than what he can take as it is, now.

If Magnus believes himself bewitched, then he must also believe Ambrose to be too. Perhaps their hearts cannot ever beat to the same rhythm, but is that to say that he does not feel his own heart swell or his breath falter in his lungs just at the sight of Ambrose? Does not the idea of him make Magnus' lips form a smile? Does the same not seem to be true of Ambrose? Do his lips against Magnus' skin lie? Do his eyes, dark as midnight pools, betray them?

No, he does not think they do. They are both of one mind, then. And as much as he wants to grant that wish, to take Ambrose away from this place, he can not. He could try to send Ambrose away, so he would not have to suffer what will come, the fate of his sire. But Magnus fears that Ambrose would not go alone, or if he did, Leon would find him and punish him. That is something that Magnus can not allow.

"I wish that were possible, ange. Even if it were possible for you, my feet are firmly on this path. But it is a path that has led me to you, and I owe it to the fates to see it to its end." What is a man who has no honour? No man, that is for sure, and Magnus has spent far too long trying to dispel the idea that all of his kind are beasts. He is sworn to finish this unpleasant task, and while the deed itself is awful, to have Ambrose free from a tyrant, to know that no other innocent can be harmed by Leon's madness, that will be worth it.

His free hand moves, gently stroking over Ambrose's cheek, pale and soft, even in the private darkness. He is so beautiful, elegant and pale, like so many statues. But Magnus has never felt so enchanted by statues, not even of the distant past. He is far more interested in the now, and as far as he is concerned, his now, his future, that rests with Ambrose.

"I dare not keep you longer. I do not trust that he would not suspect you, or that he would not hurt you if he did suspect you. We must be careful, and you even more so."

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