Post by Kenneth Ashland on May 5, 2005 10:50:51 GMT -8
The home was an intimidating mix of satin lace and chandelier glisten, with heaping portions of southern charm to add to the atmosphere.
He entered with a flourish of cordial smile and polite handshake, while the other skulked submissively behind, carrying the gentleman’s coat.
The theme was The South Shall Never Fall, as decreed by the hostess, and many were sporting the patriotic grays and belting the occasional rebel yell; on the other extreme, bonnets and bodices were the visual fare, to which the other could not help but silently stare.
From the booth he watched as the pleated skirt, and the woman who filled it, exited the ambiance. The conversation had been mutually investigative, though her digging had not resulted in paydirt. For his part, he hoped, another wheel was now set in motion to gain ground on the overall goal. It was the second such conversation he had engaged in this week, with two separate persuasions of the female.
Very separate.
He left his Apple Martini to keep the untouched Bourbon Ball company while he collected his cane and made his way out. The Bartender and the Bouncer each nodded a goodbye, in likewise succession, to their consistent financial contributor. He replied, in kind, as the door opened and the night air hit him.
Approaching from across the packed room of elite, like a force of nature even amongst the surrounding population, came one such gossamer-skinned monster in beauty’s clothing; all curtsies and smirks, the dainty hand offered was answered with a gentlemanly bow and respectful kiss.
“Why, Lady Davenport, we are all but commoners before your magnificence this evening. I do thank you for your kind hospitality in holding this lovely soiree, and am most respectful of the theme upon which it is based.”<br>
Eyelashes batted, and the other felt compelled to cast his own gaze down, just then.
“Why sir, you do me a great honor with both your presence and your flattery this evening. Please, make yourself at home and partake of the refreshments, if you so choose.”<br>
The shining creature motioned to the far wall, where several people, dressed far less formal than the rest, stood looking either dazed or inebriated.
The refreshments.
The other noticed that he was clothed the same as they.
The passersby were eclectic, and interesting, and their pulses rippled across his senses. Though only a select few, he knew, could ever sate his thirst. Such was the added torment.
Downtown Seattle was, as ever, awash in cobalt sky and sodium gold, the passing cars leaving four-tired whispers that melded into a constant hum. He fancied it all as a grand pageantry of activity and commerce, and felt privileged to be one of the few to watch it grow and evolve through ageless eyes. He was above it all: time, disease, the law. He was superior.
He was superior.
He strode and mingled amongst the walking abominations, the other following in his wake. A man dressed as a Confederate General, a man who might very well have been a Confederate General, stepped forward, an unlit cigar clamped firmly between needle fangs.
“Cousin! So good to see you emerged from your cavern, as it were. I hope the nights are treating you well?” A solid handshake; a conspiratorial wink. The gestures were reciprocated.
“Primogen Rhodes, the nights treat me quite well, as I trust they treat you likewise. My current concerns have made themselves a’right, and all is well on Bull Street.”<br>
There was a grinned nod of cryptic message received, and the General gained a predatory glint to his eye. An eye which, having other curiosities sated, turned toward the other who stood behind.
“And who have we here? Another visiting relative from far off lands?”<br>
He scowled slightly, only barely turning towards the other in acknowledgement.
“Oh, this? No sir, certainly not a relative. Certainly not. Merely property. Aren’t you, Kenneth?”<br>
He step-clicked-shuffled the few blocks back towards his car, nodding politely to the people as they passed, saying hello to those who were so inclined to respond. He came to an intersection and, waiting for the walk signal to ignite, pulled out his cell phone.
Checking the glowing display, he noted a missed call from his…<br>
From his property.
He paused there, on the corner, suddenly lost in fetid nostalgia.
The other did not deign to look up at them, knowing he was not worthy of such a gesture.
“Yes sir, Mr. Allen. I am property.”<br>
The other felt, rather than saw, the smug smile of his Master, and he quietly hoped that his reply had been pleasing to him. The General’s own hearty laugh gave him hope.
From along the far wall, there was a scream. Those observing the act applauded in appreciation.
The other was glad he was not one of them.
Not anymore.
He entered with a flourish of cordial smile and polite handshake, while the other skulked submissively behind, carrying the gentleman’s coat.
The theme was The South Shall Never Fall, as decreed by the hostess, and many were sporting the patriotic grays and belting the occasional rebel yell; on the other extreme, bonnets and bodices were the visual fare, to which the other could not help but silently stare.
*
From the booth he watched as the pleated skirt, and the woman who filled it, exited the ambiance. The conversation had been mutually investigative, though her digging had not resulted in paydirt. For his part, he hoped, another wheel was now set in motion to gain ground on the overall goal. It was the second such conversation he had engaged in this week, with two separate persuasions of the female.
Very separate.
He left his Apple Martini to keep the untouched Bourbon Ball company while he collected his cane and made his way out. The Bartender and the Bouncer each nodded a goodbye, in likewise succession, to their consistent financial contributor. He replied, in kind, as the door opened and the night air hit him.
*
Approaching from across the packed room of elite, like a force of nature even amongst the surrounding population, came one such gossamer-skinned monster in beauty’s clothing; all curtsies and smirks, the dainty hand offered was answered with a gentlemanly bow and respectful kiss.
“Why, Lady Davenport, we are all but commoners before your magnificence this evening. I do thank you for your kind hospitality in holding this lovely soiree, and am most respectful of the theme upon which it is based.”<br>
Eyelashes batted, and the other felt compelled to cast his own gaze down, just then.
“Why sir, you do me a great honor with both your presence and your flattery this evening. Please, make yourself at home and partake of the refreshments, if you so choose.”<br>
The shining creature motioned to the far wall, where several people, dressed far less formal than the rest, stood looking either dazed or inebriated.
The refreshments.
The other noticed that he was clothed the same as they.
*
The passersby were eclectic, and interesting, and their pulses rippled across his senses. Though only a select few, he knew, could ever sate his thirst. Such was the added torment.
Downtown Seattle was, as ever, awash in cobalt sky and sodium gold, the passing cars leaving four-tired whispers that melded into a constant hum. He fancied it all as a grand pageantry of activity and commerce, and felt privileged to be one of the few to watch it grow and evolve through ageless eyes. He was above it all: time, disease, the law. He was superior.
He was superior.
*
He strode and mingled amongst the walking abominations, the other following in his wake. A man dressed as a Confederate General, a man who might very well have been a Confederate General, stepped forward, an unlit cigar clamped firmly between needle fangs.
“Cousin! So good to see you emerged from your cavern, as it were. I hope the nights are treating you well?” A solid handshake; a conspiratorial wink. The gestures were reciprocated.
“Primogen Rhodes, the nights treat me quite well, as I trust they treat you likewise. My current concerns have made themselves a’right, and all is well on Bull Street.”<br>
There was a grinned nod of cryptic message received, and the General gained a predatory glint to his eye. An eye which, having other curiosities sated, turned toward the other who stood behind.
“And who have we here? Another visiting relative from far off lands?”<br>
He scowled slightly, only barely turning towards the other in acknowledgement.
“Oh, this? No sir, certainly not a relative. Certainly not. Merely property. Aren’t you, Kenneth?”<br>
*
He step-clicked-shuffled the few blocks back towards his car, nodding politely to the people as they passed, saying hello to those who were so inclined to respond. He came to an intersection and, waiting for the walk signal to ignite, pulled out his cell phone.
Checking the glowing display, he noted a missed call from his…<br>
From his property.
He paused there, on the corner, suddenly lost in fetid nostalgia.
*
The other did not deign to look up at them, knowing he was not worthy of such a gesture.
“Yes sir, Mr. Allen. I am property.”<br>
The other felt, rather than saw, the smug smile of his Master, and he quietly hoped that his reply had been pleasing to him. The General’s own hearty laugh gave him hope.
From along the far wall, there was a scream. Those observing the act applauded in appreciation.
The other was glad he was not one of them.
Not anymore.
