[[[[[[MONROE'S NOTES: Monroe and Willow discuss Monroe's recent
interrogation by Xerxes Zapolya.  (That log is elsewhere on the site.)
And Monroe tells a story about a girl he knew in the 19th century.
Shmaltz, no sex.]]]]]]


Monroe calls Willow on the phone and seems to be a little worried - his
phone skills are absolutely *terrible*, and he talks over her several
times and doesn't catch what she says several times. But the gist of it is
that he would like her to come over. Which she does, and is greeted by his
usual smile...after the ordinary pleasantries which Monroe somehow feels
he has to exchange regardless of the situation, he says, "I must tell you,
Willow, I had a terribly frustrating interview with Dr. Zapolya this
afternoon." He murmurs and looks away slightly, "I fear I may be injuring
your reputation among your peers by your association with me."

Willow tilts her head. "What happened? Xerxes has always been
oversensitive."

Monroe says softly, "He said he wanted - for the protection of this
still-vaporous chantry - to contain the effects of our relations, within
what bounds I know not. I was so wholly appalled by the suggestion that I
simply assented that he could make whatever offer he wanted and I would
inform him if I declined it. And for his reason, he gave the conflict with
the Technocrats. I cannot but infer the remainder."

Willow looks absolutely enraged. "He did /what/?"


Monroe closes his eyes halfway. "His precise words, I believe, were 'We do
not seek to intrude; we wish to contain.'" He opens his eyes again and
they look somewhat sad. "I think he also fears our dissolution, but unlike
Niles, he has extended the fear to its natural consequence."



Willow frowns. "Natural consequence?" she looks like if she were a cat,
her hackles would be raised. "How /dare/ they! I'm not a child, and my
relationships are my business!"

Monroe nods slightly. "I quite agree, and I told him so in terms which
were as far from uncertain as I could deliver them. I must admit that my
first, instinctive reaction was to eject him from the premises immediately
- but in some ways I am glad that I did not, for I would not have heard
the extent of his opinion." If he were a dog, he would be slowly and
lugubriously staring at nothing. Dang familiar-analogies.

Willow takes a breath, "And what, praytell was that?" she inquires,
bracing herself.

Monroe says easily, "I have given it to you. His first impertinence took
the form of a searching inquiry into my intentions, which I rebuffed as
harshly as politeness would allow."

You say "Thank the Almighty that we had to part when we did. I cannot
imagine the next thing that would have come from him."

Willow scowls. "I've had enough of this. I'll challenge either one of them
to Certamen if I have to, but I won't let this continue any further."

Willow looks positively determined. "I'm going to talk to Bardon." she
says suddenly. "Maybe - just maybe I can get him to back me up on this."

Monroe raises a hand slightly. "You know I am ignorant of the true nature
of that contest, but please hear me." he says softly. "I think it possible
that they ask these questions and make these scandalous implications only
with regard to me, and do not actually hold these opinions. Perhaps they
have so thrown themselves into searching for some fault with which to pry
me loose from their company that there is no area of my life free from
their scrutiny and judgment. In that case, it means nothing with regard to
you and does not require your defense, certainly not to such a degree." He
pauses, then nods slightly. "I know Bardon does not share their terror. He
has been quite amiable in his doubts of me, for the most part, and has
always been honest, as far as I know."



Willow shakes her head. "Do you know that Niles thinks my judgement is
impaired?" she practically spits. "Because I read that damned book - and
because I've been with you. And Xerxes, the over-sensitive mild sop that
he is at times, follows Niles, lead right along by the nose." Meow! Who
knew Willow had an ounce of visciousness in her body?


Monroe shakes his head. "I did not know these things." he murmurs. "Those
opinions you will have to face - but..." He pauses and smiles a little
wryly. "...will you allow me enough unjustified pride to defend my own
principles on my own grounds? If they repeat these 'concerns' to you, then
deliver whatever defense you feel is necessary for your honor, but do not
judge them that they spoke so to *me*, for if they were deceptive, they
were deceptive to me only."

Monroe doesn't appear surprised at the viciousness. Maybe he knew her
better than they thought.

Willow seems about to insist, but then suddenly - she slackens her
attitude. "Alright." she murmurs, conceding to his wishes, but not
happily.

Monroe sighs heavily and leans against the back of the couch. "I did not
mean to ruin our evening." he says softly, with a kind little smile.
"Perhaps there is another subject which is more amenable to us."

Willow considers. "Did I mention I liked those tortillas?" she asks. Yes,
she has. Several times throughout the day, in fact. "We could make
arrangements for the gallery opening. Or talk more?"


Monroe says easily, "Are there further arrangements to be made?" he says
softly.

Willow considers. "Will you meet me there? Should we go to dinner first?
Should you come get me, should I come get you?"

Monroe says easily, "Let us go to dinner together beforehand - and I shall
arrive to escort you. That was simple enough." he says with a grin. "As
for the tortillas which you so fervently compliment - the next time you
come over I will prepare us a full empanada - do you prefer cherries or
apples?"

Willow says immediatly, "Cherries, but they're out of season."

Monroe hms. "Well - arrangements could in theory be made, but my expertise
is not sufficient to the task." he says, eyes twinkling. "We shall have
apples, then."

Willow claps her hands. "I look forward to it." she then adds, "I do have
other copies of that folklore spells book, you know." she grins.
Monroe chuckles a little and blushes. "I only wish I were superstitious
enough to believe it." he teases. "However, I understand that it works
even if you don't believe in it." Oh, god, the joke of all logic courses
is *that* old?

Willow grins. "Well, I ate your apples, remember? Of course, so did half
the kids in Larson."

Monroe chuckles. "No wonder I have been so popular with the children. The
same lad who was out so late the other evening stopped in this evening and
purchased a four-hundred dollar watch from me."

Willow remarks, "That actually doesn't supise me. He's not really a little
boy, you see." she then pauses. "You didn't see his aura, did you?"

Monroe shakes his head. "No, I was concentrating on a problem. What did I
miss?"

Willow says calmly, "He had a pale aura. That indicates that he is
vampire."

Monroe shakes his head. "I did not know they could look so young." he says
easily. "I will be cautious in the future."

Willow shakes her head. "I'd only worry if one of them shows you its
fangs, but you should be careful - they have means of reaching into your
mind, some of them. My own knowledge is very limited."

Monroe nods slightly. "My own is limited to instructions from various
sources to avoid them at all costs." he says with a grin. "Their mental
abilities and dental oddities are among the reasons given."

Willow grins. "Some of them are very well educated and interesting to talk
to - Niles loathes them, which I'm sure is the result of a close personal
encounter that he would not care to repeat."

Monroe nods. "I recall his vehemence on the subject. Fortunately, there
was little chance that I would encounter one in the west."

Willow notes, "I'm somewhat curious about them, but not near enough to
play Nancy Drew."

Monroe pauses. "To play whom?"

Willow pauses. "Nancy Drew. She was a girl detective in young adult
literature."

Monroe chuckles. "Oh, yes. I see. No, certainly not - though I cannot
speak for my fellow Etherians. Curiosity is to be excercised at all costs,
in many of their minds."

Willow smiles. "I think the most fascinating group is the faerie - there
are so many stories about them! But I've never met one..." she pauses, "I
don't think."

Monroe says easily, "I was actually given a little information about them,
or about some form of them - spirits that possessed human bodies and were
given great power thereby..." He shakes his head. "But I never came across
one either."

Willow smiles. "All the same, it would be fascinating to meet one.
Especially one of the Faire Ones."

Monroe nods. "That is very true." he says. He grins. "I always wanted to
meet a Hermetic, before my departure. But none were, alas, available for
casual conversation, and I cannot imagine having a more agreeable
experience with one."

Willow makes a little curtsy. "Well, they're here in spades."

Monroe chuckles and grins mischievously. "I assure you that *you* are also
here in at least one heart. Oh, that's a terrible pun, isn't it?"

Willow laughs. "Yes, that /is/ a terrible pun. I ought to club you over
the head for it.'

Monroe grins. "I should know better than to engage a woman of your talents
in a game of wits on Thursday - my own creativity is sure to diaMond-ay."

Willow groans, hiding her face. "I should have known you weren't playing
with a full deck."

Monroe laughs a little. "Enough." he says with a grin. "You are bringing
back memories of the Friday night poker games at Spangler's in San
Francisco, where my luck was far better than anyone's had any right to be.

Willow grins. "A word of warning - don't get into a poker game with Niles.
He'll rob you blind."


Monroe chuckles. "We played only for small stakes - we had to, since
neither the Army nor my shop actually made much in the way of money." he
says cheerfully.

Willow notes, "You have the money to burn now, though - and Niles will
readily part you with it. House Fortunato is notorious for that sort of
thing." she grins.

Monroe nods a little. "Gambling was considered sinful - but the west was a
different world and it seemed different there....much like here seems
different."

Willow smiles a little. "You don't look like you minded a little sin." she
then changes subjects, asking shyly, "Will you tell me more about Dona
Elisa? She just sounds so fascinating to me."

Monroe nods slightly and looks musingly at Willow. "Join me here on the
couch, as we were this afternoon, and I shall." he says softly, gesturing
downwards.

Willow does so without hesitation, even leaning in and resting her head on
his shoulder.

Monroe begins softly, almost teasingly, then grows more serious as the
story progresses. "Once upon a time, there was a distant land called
California. The Californios were considered a dissipated race among the
Mexicans, able to make great wealth from their ranches and their every
endeavour and squander it wastefully within the year. To encourage the
development of the land, the Mexican government allowed as many Americans
to emigrate as they wanted, so long as they converted to Catholicism. But
Mexico was torn with its own problems - civil wars and uprisings, and so
there were very few Mexican soldiers in California, and even fewer
officers. One prominent officer was Colonel Mariano Vallejo, and he had a
beautiful niece, born in California, named Dona Elisa."

Willow scoots her feet up, mindful of shoes on his furniture, letting her
head rest on his shoulder with the rest of against his chest. She listens
with attentive silence.

Monroe touches Willow's forehead. "She was tall and long-limbed. She had
dark eyes and spoke in a low voice. She was very beautiful and belonged to
a rich family, and for all these reasons, all the men of Yerba Buena, and
later San Francisco, desired her desperately - but she was born in
California, and in California, women did not have to act the way they
acted in the cities, and could devastate men with sharp words instead of
merely demurring. So she could have her pick and could destroy the rest."

Willow is making those mental comparisons, and is actually finding herself
relieved - short, fair, redheaded, though brown-eyed, and nontheless she
remains fascinated by the idea of Monroe's first love. She continues to
listen.

You say "After California became the Republic of California, and later
part of America, and her family's influence was ruined, she became very
sad, and some men lost interest in her. But she was still strong and could
take whomever she pleased, and soon grew to enjoy her position now out of
the public eye. And one day a young Yankee watchmaker caught her eye. He
had seen the terrible injustices visited upon her and had danced a
fandango with her - not well - but earnestly, and with such a serious
expression that she had laughed at him for a long time afterwards."

Willow smiles a little, her hand going to her mouth. "She laughed at you?"

Monroe grins. "She laughed me right out of the building. I had to take
some cool Bay air, my face and ears were burning with such embarassment
and shame."

Willow makes a sympathetic noise, and continues to listen.


You say "She arrived at his shop a few days later - perhaps not sure why,
perhaps taken with his seriousness, and fell into a long conversation with
him about the days of Yerba Buena and the changes since the great gold
rush. He said he honored her uncle above many others and believed him to
have been greatly wronged, which was not something she usually heard, and
so the watchmaker left an impression upon her. She arranged for him to be
invited to another fandango, and danced - more slowly - with him, and this
time did not laugh, and took air with him, and there in the darkness
beneath a firmament strewn with more stars than have been seen on earth
before or since, she kissed him, seizing the moment when his nerve failed.
It was unheard of to be so forward, but, as she said later, she wanted to
kiss him, and he wanted to be kissed, and the only other one looking was
God, and God had expressed no opinion in either direction...he was
persuaded - and easily."

Willow listens, smiling. "She was very clever." she comments, and then
silences so he can continue.

Monroe chuckles. "She was clever and willful." he says. "Perhaps
uneducated, though wise." He pauses, then continues. "They spent several
long and happy months together. He attended several family gatherings and
learned even more about the traditions of Mexico. They took long rides,
and walks, through the mountains around the Bay. It was easy to leave San
Francisco then, and it was not far in any direction before they would be
wholly alone." He pauses. "They were intimate..." he says, softly, "in
ways the watchmaker never dreamed - and she was patient with his
inexperience, and he with her ignorance. He knew the names of the birds
and the depth of the ocean and the names of the stars, and she knew how to
dance, and where a man should lay his hand during an embrace, and a way of
pushing her hair over her shoulder and grinning, eyes flashing, in such a
way as to melt the heart of the coldest, most ancient of men. Near the
end..." he says, and he pauses again. "...they grew apart slightly,
because he was feuding with his friends. He shouted at his friend
Lieutenant Sherman in the street. He knocked down a man at the dock who
gave him a message and cursed him in Spanish and English and kicked him
wildly before fleeing. She tried to comfort him and understand but he
would not reveal his secrets. Finally one morning she heard that he was
gone, that his shop had been ransacked and he had disappeared."

Willow blinks in suprise. Sherman? As in the Sherman who burned Atlanta?
She doesn't say that though, but her startlement can be felt. She
continues on to listen. "What became of her?" she asks softly.

Monroe says softly, "I do not know. I will always miss her."

Willow considers. "She must have thought you murdered." she sighs, her
fingers traying up to his hair in a comforting gesture.

Monroe nods. "That is what I think." he says softly. "But she was young,
yet, and would love again. I often wonder what happened to her - someday I
will gather the courage to find out."


Willow smiles a little. "I could ask the Legions if they have any
knowledge. Surely the Ferrymen..."

Monroe shakes his head a little. "I do not know to what you refer...do you
mean the journey of the soul through the Eighth Underworld? That was the
legend told - outside of church - in the area..."


Willow shakes her head. "The Restless Dead have many factions, divided by
culture, by locale, and by types of power. The Ferrymen are one such
faction who travel the routes of the Shadow Lands. I can perhaps ask one
of them to search for information on her, if she hasn't moved on."

Monroe pauses. "I hope she has. She was a generous soul and deserves her
reward."

Willow considers a moment. "There is really only one thing I hadn't
considered." she offers hesitantly. "Her Shadow may harbor anger for you.
Or might develope some for me."

Monroe nods slightly. "She did have a jealous streak." he admits. "Is that
what you mean by her shadow?"

Willow considers. "In a way - a ghost's Shadow is the darkness of its
soul. If it overtook her, she would do terrible things."


Monroe says softly, "I would not disturb her rest, if she is resting.
There are other ways of finding out."

Willow nods. "If she is resting, then she won't be amongst the Wraiths at
all. I'll ask." she promises. "It may take a long time, so you don't need
to feel hurried."

Monroe nods. "I thank you." he says softly.

Willow smiles. "I like the idea that I can help you." she considers.
"You'd think I'd be jealous - but I'm not. Curious yes, but I can't seem
to find it in me to be jealous."

Monroe says softly, "She is likely a hundred years dead. It is not so
surprising that you do not begrudge me a fond look back - she is quite
beyond my reach, and I quite beyond hers." He smiles generously to Willow.

Willow flushes. "That must be it. I'm sorry I over-reacted concerning you
and Desiree."

Monroe chuckles slightly. "Do not be ashamed of your feelings - I am
flattered that you would feel jealousy on my behalf. Please be assured,
though, that Desiree, as talented, charming and agreeable as she is,
cannot hold a candle to your qualities."

Willow smiles shyly. "Thank you." she says - she's beginning to learn to
accept compliments with a modicum of grace. "And so, what now, for the
evening's entertainments?" she smiles.

Monroe says easily, "But wait! You will not escape so easily - what of
*your* first love?" He smiles. "I am not the only one on this couch."

Willow smiles a little, looking embarrassed. "My first love was a
clockmaker from San Francisco." she says quietly. "Before that, the men I
loved were my father and grandfather. And the occaisional lead in a work
of fiction."

Monroe blinks, and has been struck slightly dumb. He knew he was one of
the first. But the *very* first?

Willow says quietly, "I've felt attraction - there was Lance, of course -
but as for love, no, I am afraid said clockmaker has had me in his
thrall." she offers a faint, shy smile, almost nervous. As if she's
putting some sort of burden on him, and is apologetic for it.

Monroe smiles when she does. If there's a burden, he's accepting it. Gotta
love that nineteenth century sense of responsibility. "Then God, I hope,
will aid him. Perhaps we could step around the corner and you could select
for me a movie that we could watch together."


Willow perks. "Phantom Menace is still playing."


Monroe kisses her gently on the lips before rising from the couch with
her. "The Phantom Menace it is."