08-20-2020, 09:19 PM
Perhaps it was talk of the pending book discussion, but Nikolai was inspired. He was a voracious reader throughout his youth. To this day he prided himself on staying current with relevant literature. Current minds reflected culture, after all. As the pending leader of the entire globe, insight into shifting cultures were mandatory. Presently, he was reading a hardback book by a Brazilian author about the religious and tribal undertones of South America. The book began with a reflection on historical events, and the present chapter discussed the shifting landscape that was the 1990’s. In so many ways, the world was poised on the edge of modern advancements come the turn of the millennium, and in so many others, clung doggedly to outdated principles. Democracy. Nik shook his head derisively. In retrospect, the democratic state was declining during the decade, although none at the time realized it. Nikolai himself eventually caught on. Such was the earthquake that shattered the world, and he knew where to plant the epicenter…
… Moscow.
He had pre-arranged permissions for Allan to gain entrance to this section of the Grand Kremlin Palace. The building was the Imperial residence of Tsar Nicholas I, commissioned two-hundred years ago. The upper most level was designated as the former Royal Apartments. Seven suites all linked by a central corridor that since transformed into the private residence of the Ascendancy. The previous tastes were abhorrent to Nikolai, no offense to his Tsar predecessor. Gold and baby blues, plush pinks and alabaster, they turned his stomach like some puffery of some Parisian king. No. Following the destruction of his previous, subterranean residence, a new commission was made. The interior décor was darkened. Black marble, obsidian stone, and rich jewels enveloped him. The furniture was tasteful and plush, balanced between light and dark. Gold and riches remained, but the aesthetic was significantly darker.
When the time for Allan’s arrival was imminent, Nikolai noted the alert that flagged his line of sight. He left the book – a real book rather than an electronic version – behind on the table. The library was dim, lit by a fireplace crackling and popping, and cloaked in evening shadow. Something about the darkness was soothing. After living a life in the light all day, to recede to the stillness of a dim room was relaxing.
He wore a black robe and matching lounge pants. Both were neatly tied and gleaming with the sheen of the luxurious fabric. He’d already showered, though his hair was mostly dry. It was an immense rarity to behold the Ascendancy so casual, almost as if he was a human after all, but even the gods had to rest from time to time.
Nikolai stood in the threshold of the reception room on the far side from the double doors. With a surge of the power, the power wedged a spindle through keyholes in a protective shield that held the doors with iron might. Once it was released, twin ropes pulled on the handles and they opened on one smooth motion.
The reception room was wide but held only a few narrow seats and benches to make any forced to wait there slightly uncomfortable with the passage of time. A grand piano took up one corner, but it was currently cloaked with shadow.
“Allan,” Nikolai called from across the space, waving him in. “Shut the door behind you and come in,” he said. While he did, he retreated into the main living area beyond. Visitors were rare inside these doors. All of them were overwhelmed, if not by the architecture and décor, then by the man that called it home.
… Moscow.
He had pre-arranged permissions for Allan to gain entrance to this section of the Grand Kremlin Palace. The building was the Imperial residence of Tsar Nicholas I, commissioned two-hundred years ago. The upper most level was designated as the former Royal Apartments. Seven suites all linked by a central corridor that since transformed into the private residence of the Ascendancy. The previous tastes were abhorrent to Nikolai, no offense to his Tsar predecessor. Gold and baby blues, plush pinks and alabaster, they turned his stomach like some puffery of some Parisian king. No. Following the destruction of his previous, subterranean residence, a new commission was made. The interior décor was darkened. Black marble, obsidian stone, and rich jewels enveloped him. The furniture was tasteful and plush, balanced between light and dark. Gold and riches remained, but the aesthetic was significantly darker.
When the time for Allan’s arrival was imminent, Nikolai noted the alert that flagged his line of sight. He left the book – a real book rather than an electronic version – behind on the table. The library was dim, lit by a fireplace crackling and popping, and cloaked in evening shadow. Something about the darkness was soothing. After living a life in the light all day, to recede to the stillness of a dim room was relaxing.
He wore a black robe and matching lounge pants. Both were neatly tied and gleaming with the sheen of the luxurious fabric. He’d already showered, though his hair was mostly dry. It was an immense rarity to behold the Ascendancy so casual, almost as if he was a human after all, but even the gods had to rest from time to time.
Nikolai stood in the threshold of the reception room on the far side from the double doors. With a surge of the power, the power wedged a spindle through keyholes in a protective shield that held the doors with iron might. Once it was released, twin ropes pulled on the handles and they opened on one smooth motion.
The reception room was wide but held only a few narrow seats and benches to make any forced to wait there slightly uncomfortable with the passage of time. A grand piano took up one corner, but it was currently cloaked with shadow.
“Allan,” Nikolai called from across the space, waving him in. “Shut the door behind you and come in,” he said. While he did, he retreated into the main living area beyond. Visitors were rare inside these doors. All of them were overwhelmed, if not by the architecture and décor, then by the man that called it home.