By night, when, wrapt in soundest sleep,
All mortals share a soft repose,
My soul doth dreadful vigils keep,
More keen than which hell scarely knows.
- John Stagg
It's the double breasted suit. In street lights that seemed as lazy as the graffiti he passed; liming him and the dirty road in shades of dragon fire, it was most definitely out of place. Most assuredly. In the distance, he could pinpoint the throbbing tribal bass of a run-down looking club thrumming as a warning growl from some strange beast's throat. Down a jagged alleyway he had passed moments ago, the dull impact of fists seemed to echo the tempo of the club, a wild-grab at surviving. He'd been warned about the gangs by Addison, the people he had politely inquired about this place"this West End"and had all assured him he would be careful. He would be fine. He would bring back up. Body guards. A weapon.
Julian, of course, had done neither. The very thought that he might need to rely on protection here, of all places, felt ridiculous.
Because dark called to dark.
A ragged lantern that had one depicted a lovingly painted koi fish spilled a spotlight of red light. He stopped beneath it to let nearly black eyes scan this strange corner of Alice's rabbit hole he had found himself in. He could almost see the blocky shadows of the warehouse district looming in the misty perpetual gloom that came and went as casually as everything else here. Some of them leaned on one another, precariously close to collapse. Some of them stood tall. A few he had walked under appeared to be occupied, cleaned up, and renovated. It didn't surprise him.
He had asked: Where would I go if I wished to be difficult to find unless I wished to be?
Addison had reluctantly told him about this place.
His clothing was unnaturally clean compared to the places he'd been walking. In fact, the weave of it was so utterly fine and expensive it had that unmistakable shine of expensive material. A flattering, dove grey with a silk tie of faded blush that accented, but did not detract. In the lantern, it looked a more sinister red than anything. It was exquisitely tailored in such a manner as to fit him flawlessly. His shoulders seemed shelved, his waist tapered, the slacks crisply pressed in a double pleat. This was not the place for names like Versace, Canali, Valentino...Nevertheless, there was a man who knew these names and wore them as casually as people wore skin.
And it was the way he wore it...the way he was able to prowl in the darkness, or club-lights, or spilled window squares, or under ragged lanterns like the one he was now that some how had turned him from an easy mark by the rabble that lived here....To something else.
Or, perhaps, it was the fact that anyone who had shown themselves or attempted to speak to him were granted the weight of his shark like eyes. Devouring. Steady. Daring.
Though it was unnecessary, he took a deep pull of his breath inward and exhaled. He could smell the stench of life and sex and decay. Everything that reminded him...
He reached into his pocket with a casualness that most men would lack deep in West End, far enough from friends, from help. He removed a slim black rectangle and thumbed across it with less grace than he moved.
Eventually, he held it up to his ear.
"Addison," crisply. He was at once (and always), all business. "I need you to look up if RhyDin, or West End, has an assessor's office or some sort of government site, lot database, office"whichever"that keeps track of land for sale, repossessed or abandoned here.
"No, I am not joking," slight annoyance as his brows drew together. Addison should know better. Julian only joked when the moons aligned with the seventh sun and Jupiter"
"Yes, I do. Find out who owns what, to the best of your knowledge, please. Have it on my desk by next week. The sooner I can find something the sooner I can contact contractors and get things started.
Good night," delivered as unwrinkled as his suit. He removed the slim rectangle and placed it back into his pocket along with his hands.
His eyes, shadowed in the overhead light of the faintly swaying lamp glittered with red of it. Despite the suit or because of it, somehow, someway, he fit.
A tight-lipped, carefully controlled expression rolled along his lips until they thinned. It might have been called a smile had it reached his eyes.
"Yes," he said to no one at all. "This will do. This will do just fine."
It's the double breasted suit. In street lights that seemed as lazy as the graffiti he passed; liming him and the dirty road in shades of dragon fire, it was most definitely out of place. Most assuredly. In the distance, he could pinpoint the throbbing tribal bass of a run-down looking club thrumming as a warning growl from some strange beast's throat. Down a jagged alleyway he had passed moments ago, the dull impact of fists seemed to echo the tempo of the club, a wild-grab at surviving. He'd been warned about the gangs by Addison, the people he had politely inquired about this place"this West End"and had all assured him he would be careful. He would be fine. He would bring back up. Body guards. A weapon.
Julian, of course, had done neither. The very thought that he might need to rely on protection here, of all places, felt ridiculous.
Because dark called to dark.
A ragged lantern that had one depicted a lovingly painted koi fish spilled a spotlight of red light. He stopped beneath it to let nearly black eyes scan this strange corner of Alice's rabbit hole he had found himself in. He could almost see the blocky shadows of the warehouse district looming in the misty perpetual gloom that came and went as casually as everything else here. Some of them leaned on one another, precariously close to collapse. Some of them stood tall. A few he had walked under appeared to be occupied, cleaned up, and renovated. It didn't surprise him.
He had asked: Where would I go if I wished to be difficult to find unless I wished to be?
Addison had reluctantly told him about this place.
His clothing was unnaturally clean compared to the places he'd been walking. In fact, the weave of it was so utterly fine and expensive it had that unmistakable shine of expensive material. A flattering, dove grey with a silk tie of faded blush that accented, but did not detract. In the lantern, it looked a more sinister red than anything. It was exquisitely tailored in such a manner as to fit him flawlessly. His shoulders seemed shelved, his waist tapered, the slacks crisply pressed in a double pleat. This was not the place for names like Versace, Canali, Valentino...Nevertheless, there was a man who knew these names and wore them as casually as people wore skin.
And it was the way he wore it...the way he was able to prowl in the darkness, or club-lights, or spilled window squares, or under ragged lanterns like the one he was now that some how had turned him from an easy mark by the rabble that lived here....To something else.
Or, perhaps, it was the fact that anyone who had shown themselves or attempted to speak to him were granted the weight of his shark like eyes. Devouring. Steady. Daring.
Though it was unnecessary, he took a deep pull of his breath inward and exhaled. He could smell the stench of life and sex and decay. Everything that reminded him...
He reached into his pocket with a casualness that most men would lack deep in West End, far enough from friends, from help. He removed a slim black rectangle and thumbed across it with less grace than he moved.
Eventually, he held it up to his ear.
"Addison," crisply. He was at once (and always), all business. "I need you to look up if RhyDin, or West End, has an assessor's office or some sort of government site, lot database, office"whichever"that keeps track of land for sale, repossessed or abandoned here.
"No, I am not joking," slight annoyance as his brows drew together. Addison should know better. Julian only joked when the moons aligned with the seventh sun and Jupiter"
"Yes, I do. Find out who owns what, to the best of your knowledge, please. Have it on my desk by next week. The sooner I can find something the sooner I can contact contractors and get things started.
Good night," delivered as unwrinkled as his suit. He removed the slim rectangle and placed it back into his pocket along with his hands.
His eyes, shadowed in the overhead light of the faintly swaying lamp glittered with red of it. Despite the suit or because of it, somehow, someway, he fit.
A tight-lipped, carefully controlled expression rolled along his lips until they thinned. It might have been called a smile had it reached his eyes.
"Yes," he said to no one at all. "This will do. This will do just fine."