11-09-2014, 10:34 AM
For someone looking into the abyss of his own death, Oakland was a surprisingly pleasant fellow. "Since you've asked, I am rather fond of Lord Gregory."
Damien's entourage opened to swallow Dane within. Just like that, he was side by side with the individual he'd known only from television. Unfortunately, the colors of Damien's attire dwarfed the more sensible selection chosen by Dane. The man was taller as well, but Dane would have the advantage once his ankles were sawed off.
Wisely, Oakland acknowledged Dane's potential. He was not going to be accommodated, but the gesture of affirmation was nice.
"You promise?"
Dane asked of Damien before sharing his attention with the one walking nearest them. A Mexican, he was about Dane's age with sleek hair, grim eyes and a slender build. Uniformed and armed, he was security. "I don't like broken promises,"
Dane shared. The guard kept his gaze forward.
The interior of the estate itself was grand. The marble shone, the furniture was new. There was artwork and flowers and beauty all around them. Columns held enormous ceilings far overhead. Tropical themed murals decorated palacial walls. Yet there were hints of family life, danger, boredom and a conspicuous desire to appear sophisticated sprinkled about. Whomever lived here - prior to Oakland - produced cash like cocaine. The evidence of which piled about like discarded trinkets. The Gregory's home, the one he barely resided in as a boy, having been shipped to the continent for boarding school, felt dusty and ancient by comparison. Dane sniffed in disgust.
He roamed at will, but of all the things to draw him, he drifted to a sideboard where waited a discarded take-out menu. Dane recognized the restaurant as a trendy sushi bar downtown. A swipe translated the Spanish into English.
The party paused briefly, perhaps to let their guest gather their bearings. Dane felt their eyes on the back of his neck, and loved it. It gave him a moment to speak his mind. He dropped the menu "A waste of time. Their sushi is filth."
Bored already, he returned to the guard that ignored him the first time. Dane cocked his head, trying to meet the man's eyes and when they didn't, a scowl sprawled itself across his lips. The guard took a step back, seeking Damien's help instead.
Ignored again. Dane's sharp gaze whipped to Oakland and back. On its heels curled a strike of power. The slap twisted the man to the floor like the worthless bloodsack he was. Satisfaction surged fascinated relief. Particularly when the man cupped his face and groaned. He started to kneel and gauge a closer look, but Dane's act was not without consequence. Half a dozen black barrels suddenly surrounded him. Surging with powers resonant of superiority, Dane smiled into their cold faces and remained upright. Such was when a glimpse of high glossed ebony in the background tempted him beyond the foyer.
He moved toward it and asked of Damien, fondness filled the void of his otherwise articulate voice. "A Shigeru Kawai. May I play it?"
Damien's entourage opened to swallow Dane within. Just like that, he was side by side with the individual he'd known only from television. Unfortunately, the colors of Damien's attire dwarfed the more sensible selection chosen by Dane. The man was taller as well, but Dane would have the advantage once his ankles were sawed off.
Wisely, Oakland acknowledged Dane's potential. He was not going to be accommodated, but the gesture of affirmation was nice.
"You promise?"
Dane asked of Damien before sharing his attention with the one walking nearest them. A Mexican, he was about Dane's age with sleek hair, grim eyes and a slender build. Uniformed and armed, he was security. "I don't like broken promises,"
Dane shared. The guard kept his gaze forward.
The interior of the estate itself was grand. The marble shone, the furniture was new. There was artwork and flowers and beauty all around them. Columns held enormous ceilings far overhead. Tropical themed murals decorated palacial walls. Yet there were hints of family life, danger, boredom and a conspicuous desire to appear sophisticated sprinkled about. Whomever lived here - prior to Oakland - produced cash like cocaine. The evidence of which piled about like discarded trinkets. The Gregory's home, the one he barely resided in as a boy, having been shipped to the continent for boarding school, felt dusty and ancient by comparison. Dane sniffed in disgust.
He roamed at will, but of all the things to draw him, he drifted to a sideboard where waited a discarded take-out menu. Dane recognized the restaurant as a trendy sushi bar downtown. A swipe translated the Spanish into English.
The party paused briefly, perhaps to let their guest gather their bearings. Dane felt their eyes on the back of his neck, and loved it. It gave him a moment to speak his mind. He dropped the menu "A waste of time. Their sushi is filth."
Bored already, he returned to the guard that ignored him the first time. Dane cocked his head, trying to meet the man's eyes and when they didn't, a scowl sprawled itself across his lips. The guard took a step back, seeking Damien's help instead.
Ignored again. Dane's sharp gaze whipped to Oakland and back. On its heels curled a strike of power. The slap twisted the man to the floor like the worthless bloodsack he was. Satisfaction surged fascinated relief. Particularly when the man cupped his face and groaned. He started to kneel and gauge a closer look, but Dane's act was not without consequence. Half a dozen black barrels suddenly surrounded him. Surging with powers resonant of superiority, Dane smiled into their cold faces and remained upright. Such was when a glimpse of high glossed ebony in the background tempted him beyond the foyer.
He moved toward it and asked of Damien, fondness filled the void of his otherwise articulate voice. "A Shigeru Kawai. May I play it?"