08-07-2014, 03:04 PM
Firas Boshoven was the one to open the door. He was near Vincenzo's age, but was perhaps slightly more portly around the middle and thinner of hair than the Frenchman. Firas had great respect for Enzo, and he lowered his gaze reverently upon meeting the man face to face. Enzo's tale was sadly all too common among Atharim, and his heart ached for the man's substantial loss.
"I am Father Firas Boshoven," he said softly as he offered to shake hands. But he was eager to remove himself from the path of the one Enzo was here to truly greet.
When the Father stepped aside, Enzo would behold the warm, dim room that made the Moscow office of the Regus. The walls were covered with wood paneling and the floors were warmed with an enormous area rug. A seating arrangement was placed against one wall; against the other were floor to ceiling shelves. Upon them sat books spanning many decades of ages as well as artifacts of Armande's personal significance. Among them all was a silver picture frame that encased a black and white photo of a man none in the society would recognize. He was nobody; merely a priest: a deceased priest.
A number of holoscreens collapsed at Armande's desk as he stood. He met Enzo half-way and shook the man's hand as well. They clasped forearms and each quietly studied the other. They were of similar height and build with nearly identical colored blue eyes.
"Welcome home." Armande said finally and gestured that Enzo make himself comfortable. With the wave of one hand, Firas was dismissed and they were left alone.
Armande returned to his desk.
His posture was relaxed, yet engaged as he laced his fingers together. "I regret to hear of your mentor. Corrado was a good man and an even better hunter. I admired him greatly."
"I am Father Firas Boshoven," he said softly as he offered to shake hands. But he was eager to remove himself from the path of the one Enzo was here to truly greet.
When the Father stepped aside, Enzo would behold the warm, dim room that made the Moscow office of the Regus. The walls were covered with wood paneling and the floors were warmed with an enormous area rug. A seating arrangement was placed against one wall; against the other were floor to ceiling shelves. Upon them sat books spanning many decades of ages as well as artifacts of Armande's personal significance. Among them all was a silver picture frame that encased a black and white photo of a man none in the society would recognize. He was nobody; merely a priest: a deceased priest.
A number of holoscreens collapsed at Armande's desk as he stood. He met Enzo half-way and shook the man's hand as well. They clasped forearms and each quietly studied the other. They were of similar height and build with nearly identical colored blue eyes.
"Welcome home." Armande said finally and gestured that Enzo make himself comfortable. With the wave of one hand, Firas was dismissed and they were left alone.
Armande returned to his desk.
His posture was relaxed, yet engaged as he laced his fingers together. "I regret to hear of your mentor. Corrado was a good man and an even better hunter. I admired him greatly."