Storm was there, it always was, never did a single spec of that color ever seem to want to be still in his eyes. Perhaps that is why the steady, solid, blue cloth. Maybe it was a firmness to which never was capable of being placed to those eyes of Williams. Maybe...maybe...maybe… there was a lot of that word.<br/><br/>Maybe that was a slight smile at the edge of his lips as the question was offered towards him.<br/>Maybe that was a surprised look that was mixed in there.<br/>Maybe he was thrilled by the casual way to which he was now addressed.<br/>Maybe that was a flick of anger at the casual way in which he was now addressed.<br/>Maybe…<br/><br/>There was a theme here, one in the underlying terms of groundwork beforehand. Things not forcing, but rather falling into synchronicity. As if those who chose that path of life had found a way, this however was not one of those followers. Again, William pulled his arm to hold her closer, to keep her close, and to have his storm licked eyes set against Vivian’s gaze.<br/><br/>“In two months, we will have an additional home. In three months, we shall throw a grand celebration. In four? Well, the fourth one will be interesting.”<br/><br/>William did not work into the nooks and crannies of the world, and flow between them like the tides. Nor was it a soft gravity of a moon that unseen could be felt. No, William was a force unto himself in a way the two other gentle spirits who passed nearby the lifeline of the Dear Pet. There was no tune, no harmony, he overrides it with so much as a flick of hand. The moment broken, the dual nature of the man on display not only in the way his eyes flicked today, cloud capped and lightning soaked, but also in the sudden dismissal of the fairytale around him.<br/><br/>As if on cue, the clockwork motions of the Chef turned, whirled and before a blink a plate stacked with bacon, eggs, and toast was laid within William’s waiting hand. Not a word needing to be spoken, needs anticipated, the strange woman managed to once again bow, waiting without so much as a glimpse of her face being seen.<br/><br/>And that was that for William at the moment. A simple, gentle, kiss without hesitation to the Pet’s forehead. A half whispered, half teasing, half serious set of words before he simply turned and moved off to handle whatever plans were in motion.<br/><br/>“Behave yourself.”<br/><br/>Music fades with the lowering of bow, and of course that where the violin was before. Mister Weaver set it with surprising care there down against the wall out of the way of foot traffic. A mix of gold, pink gold, and a dark...yes… blue swirled in a pattern that didn’t seem to make sense upon his suit. Confusion, worry, or another emotion displayed upon every bit of thread work that the man wore.<br/><br/>-Why wear shoes if no one is going to pay attention to them?-<br/>That would be along the lines of what Mister Weaver would say if asked why he walked with a click of hard leather against the ground. Slightly elegant sway of body spoke of dancing as easily as Chef did, but there was perhaps power being that sound.<br/>Maybe…<br/><br/>Anyway, back to the fabulous peacock as he had been described from time to time.<br/><br/>“Alright, that’s enough, come here honey, let's have a good look at you.” Those lips twisted words with honey and milk, promised that they tasted like no others. Ah, a burden to bear, but such was the wonderfully torturous life of Mister Weaver.<br/><br/>“Can I tell you a secret sweetie?” Weaver leaned forward, and smelled of cinnamon.<br/><br/>The Chef twitched in her odd way, waiting for the next order in cut string proposal of servitude, it was a signal of agitation like that one of before. In response Weaver lifted his hand into a claw like motion, and made a cat hiiisss… while scratching at the air once. Turning back to Vivian, that smile was back.<br/><br/>“This, all of this?” Same index finger as before motioned around them. “Is happening, even if you or even I don’t like it, and dressing like the little orphan down the street with no money isn’t helping anybody. Dressing like you're favored by William though…” A slow little shrug of delicately framed shoulders beneath his suit.<br/><br/>“Might just give anyone a second thought.”<br/><br/>Clean shaven chin rested suddenly upon Vivian shoulder, sleeve of conspiratorial colored reds like her hair reached forward to point to towards the workers. Brutes, dock workers, ogres… look how careful that finger said without a word. Things not meant to be gentle, not breaking anything, and all because why? Because they were<u><i>his</i></u>.<br/><br/>“So, how about we fix you up, feed you, and give them something to second guess? They…” That sleeve pulled away, as did that cinnamon scent as he leaned back. “.. aren’t the only things The Lord deals with.”<br/><br/>Strange, did you catch that? There was an odd flicker to that note of name. Not William, but The Lord. As if they weren’t the same thing. Fear was there too, trembling that cord as clear as a violin. Weaver didn’t like the words… didn’t like them one bit.<br/><br/>“What does Mistress Vivian wish for su….food?”<br/>The Chef dancer repeated, no agitation for her. No, so that begs the question then, what ever did that pigment shifting fellow do? He touched the spice rack. That’s right. Fucking bastard strolled right in here, messed with her god damned dance…<br/><br/>Shoulder twitched of the Chef just maybe.