08-02-2018, 06:50 PM
The glare from the gargantuan, 4k monitor threw shadows on the wall behind Aiden; cigar smoke gradually rose to his right from the half-smoked Cuban, a crystal glass just beyond it holding a few swigs of whiskey and ice cubes long since melted. Wagner’s Die Walküre was playing in the background, the second act now coming to a close. Since moving to Suzdal, Aiden had sworn to throw himself into everything Russian; so he really should have been listening to Tchaikovsky... Aiden never really cared for the composer. Now, Wagner, that was an artist a man could really get lost with.
Moving to Suzdal was a huge change for Aiden; the village, because that’s exactly what it was, felt like someone tore a hamlet directly from a Medieval fantasy. Suzdal housed less than 10,000 citizens and it’s city’s design remained unspoiled by Soviet hands of the past. Onion domes lay scattered amidst a gentle rural landscape. Nuns and robed monks were a common sight in Suzdal, often rushing about the town square. Many of the streets remain unpaved, despite the rapid technological growth enjoyed by the rest of the world. The small town had become a popular tourist destination for its old world charm and that is exactly what drew Aiden to it.
Securing a decent portion of land in Suzdal had been hard until Aiden had caved and called in a favor from his Father, Seamus Finnegan. One call from him to the Russian government and the deeds to the land were drawn up the following day. It had been a small price to pay, Aiden letting his Dad in on his secret; but Dad insisted he’d keep his mouth shut, especially after learning that Aiden was planning on building his own home on the land. Just like Dad did all those years ago in Metairie, LA.
All of that had happened about a year and a half ago. As far as Aiden knew, Dad still hadn’t told anyone else that he had moved here. The tabloids and paparazzi hadn’t caught wind of it either; which wasn’t too hard when you consider only half of the residents in Suzdal had internet access. Most of them hadn’t even heard of Aiden Finnegan before he moved to the small hamlet.
The manor (Aiden’s original, modest design had inflated in size quite rapidly) was now about half finished; the only thing left to build were extra bedrooms, bathrooms, and other amenities. There was also the landscaping to tend to, of course, and the poolhouse, the guesthouse, the running track, the tennis court, and so many other small things. Thankfully Aiden had Dimitri, his part-time personal assistant, to see to many of those things; or at least hire the right contractors to see to those things. It didn’t really matter to Aiden, so long as the third-parties followed his designs for the dwelling. He had not been disappointed yet. Dimitri was very good at his job.
Dimitri had set up that entire computer system as well. Aiden had a long laundry list of features and programs he wanted to be installed on the desktop, and his personal assistant had supplied. Video games, a wide range of different writing and ‘art-making’ programs, touch monitor, the whole nine yards. Wikipedia lay open on one half of the monitor and Microsoft Word took up the other half.
“’Scholars have identified a variety of beings in folklore who share similarities of varying extent with Baba Yaga,’”
Aiden said aloud as he copied the text from Wikipedia, “’These similarities may be due to either direct-‘ wha-?”
He let out a stifled gasp as a weird, instant-messaging type of window popped up on his screen. What was this? Some kind of virus? Aiden never used any type of messaging software on his computer; there were too many weirdos out there… and trolls. Aiden hated the trolls.
Do you want to play a game?
The computer screen read, completely ignorant of Aiden’s work. It was important work. Notes for his novel. He didn’t have time for this.
That was a lie.
He had plenty of time for this. A little innocent self-indulgence wouldn’t hinder his work, in fact, it might invigorate it. Aiden took to his keyboard with vigor and responded to the stranger.
Depends… Who’s askin?
Aiden hit send and sat back in his leather swivel chair, finding new interest in his Cuban and whiskey.
Edited by Aiden_Finnegan, Aug 2 2018, 07:10 PM.
Moving to Suzdal was a huge change for Aiden; the village, because that’s exactly what it was, felt like someone tore a hamlet directly from a Medieval fantasy. Suzdal housed less than 10,000 citizens and it’s city’s design remained unspoiled by Soviet hands of the past. Onion domes lay scattered amidst a gentle rural landscape. Nuns and robed monks were a common sight in Suzdal, often rushing about the town square. Many of the streets remain unpaved, despite the rapid technological growth enjoyed by the rest of the world. The small town had become a popular tourist destination for its old world charm and that is exactly what drew Aiden to it.
Securing a decent portion of land in Suzdal had been hard until Aiden had caved and called in a favor from his Father, Seamus Finnegan. One call from him to the Russian government and the deeds to the land were drawn up the following day. It had been a small price to pay, Aiden letting his Dad in on his secret; but Dad insisted he’d keep his mouth shut, especially after learning that Aiden was planning on building his own home on the land. Just like Dad did all those years ago in Metairie, LA.
All of that had happened about a year and a half ago. As far as Aiden knew, Dad still hadn’t told anyone else that he had moved here. The tabloids and paparazzi hadn’t caught wind of it either; which wasn’t too hard when you consider only half of the residents in Suzdal had internet access. Most of them hadn’t even heard of Aiden Finnegan before he moved to the small hamlet.
The manor (Aiden’s original, modest design had inflated in size quite rapidly) was now about half finished; the only thing left to build were extra bedrooms, bathrooms, and other amenities. There was also the landscaping to tend to, of course, and the poolhouse, the guesthouse, the running track, the tennis court, and so many other small things. Thankfully Aiden had Dimitri, his part-time personal assistant, to see to many of those things; or at least hire the right contractors to see to those things. It didn’t really matter to Aiden, so long as the third-parties followed his designs for the dwelling. He had not been disappointed yet. Dimitri was very good at his job.
Dimitri had set up that entire computer system as well. Aiden had a long laundry list of features and programs he wanted to be installed on the desktop, and his personal assistant had supplied. Video games, a wide range of different writing and ‘art-making’ programs, touch monitor, the whole nine yards. Wikipedia lay open on one half of the monitor and Microsoft Word took up the other half.
“’Scholars have identified a variety of beings in folklore who share similarities of varying extent with Baba Yaga,’”
Aiden said aloud as he copied the text from Wikipedia, “’These similarities may be due to either direct-‘ wha-?”
He let out a stifled gasp as a weird, instant-messaging type of window popped up on his screen. What was this? Some kind of virus? Aiden never used any type of messaging software on his computer; there were too many weirdos out there… and trolls. Aiden hated the trolls.
Do you want to play a game?
The computer screen read, completely ignorant of Aiden’s work. It was important work. Notes for his novel. He didn’t have time for this.
That was a lie.
He had plenty of time for this. A little innocent self-indulgence wouldn’t hinder his work, in fact, it might invigorate it. Aiden took to his keyboard with vigor and responded to the stranger.
Depends… Who’s askin?
Aiden hit send and sat back in his leather swivel chair, finding new interest in his Cuban and whiskey.
Edited by Aiden_Finnegan, Aug 2 2018, 07:10 PM.
Russian Dolls and Broken Gods, a new Fantasy novel by best-selling author, Aiden Finnegan, out this December! Preorder online and instore today!