06-22-2014, 01:54 PM
Michael no longer looked forward to Christmas. In Moscow it meant snow, ice and pain. He missed the warmth of the southern sun and seafood on golden beaches. This Christmas he hoped would be different. 'Invited' to meet with the Ascendancy in private before his official dinner party held some promise.
Tonight he was clad in a heavy black coat, much to the Ascendancy's attendants annoyance. It covered the gaudy shirt of orange and grey they had forced upon him. They were certainly none to pleased but at least the coat was tailored by the best Moscow had to offer.
Michael did not remove his thick gloves as they ushered him through the Palace of the Kremlin precinct. If he had had the time, he would have stopped to admire the cultural history inlaid upon the very walls, but the meeting with Nikolai Brandon drew him far more than any artefact would. Tonight could decide his fate, and the thought was exhilarating. After Mecca and the mist-monster, he wondered if he had lost his mind. He should be nervous, surely?
"Mr. Vellas, we have arrived. Please remember what an honour it is to be invited to attend the Ascendancy. You must act with the greatest respect at all times,"
his guide said in accented English.
Michael studied the pretentious man for a moment, which seemed to unnerve him. "Thank you."
Worry painted on his pale face, the man opened the expertly crafted door and announced his guest. Michael stepped into the room and his eyes fixed on the man that stood awaiting him. He barely heard the door close behind him.
Die!
A cool, deep rage filled the marrow in his bones at the sight of this...man. Nothing in particular distinguished him. He was handsome perhaps, and held himself with dignity and polish.
Michael was well adept at stifling his abiding anger that swelled in him at times but he held himself ready like a wolf with bared fangs. "So...You are Nikolai Brandon."
Tonight he was clad in a heavy black coat, much to the Ascendancy's attendants annoyance. It covered the gaudy shirt of orange and grey they had forced upon him. They were certainly none to pleased but at least the coat was tailored by the best Moscow had to offer.
Michael did not remove his thick gloves as they ushered him through the Palace of the Kremlin precinct. If he had had the time, he would have stopped to admire the cultural history inlaid upon the very walls, but the meeting with Nikolai Brandon drew him far more than any artefact would. Tonight could decide his fate, and the thought was exhilarating. After Mecca and the mist-monster, he wondered if he had lost his mind. He should be nervous, surely?
"Mr. Vellas, we have arrived. Please remember what an honour it is to be invited to attend the Ascendancy. You must act with the greatest respect at all times,"
his guide said in accented English.
Michael studied the pretentious man for a moment, which seemed to unnerve him. "Thank you."
Worry painted on his pale face, the man opened the expertly crafted door and announced his guest. Michael stepped into the room and his eyes fixed on the man that stood awaiting him. He barely heard the door close behind him.
Die!
A cool, deep rage filled the marrow in his bones at the sight of this...man. Nothing in particular distinguished him. He was handsome perhaps, and held himself with dignity and polish.
Michael was well adept at stifling his abiding anger that swelled in him at times but he held himself ready like a wolf with bared fangs. "So...You are Nikolai Brandon."
"She saw a flaring halo around his head, radiant in gold and blue. It shouted of glory and power to come"
"No matter how fast light travels, it finds the darkness has always got there first, and is waiting for it."