01-05-2014, 05:20 PM
Tyrant? Dane looked Nicholas over in new light. The man liked strong words. Good for him. He was a writer, after all. Dane's smile died slowly, rendered intent and thoughtful by the images drawn by Nicholas. He was a vivid man. Though the drab colors of his appearance were something to be acquired. In many ways they were quite opposite from one another. Dane's voracity was all internal while Nicholas's presence was a hurricane seen from space. Yet his shoulders were slumped and his appearance mottled. Loose tie, unkempt beard, rounded shoulders. Dane was straight-backed, meanwhile. His legs were crossed, his posture relaxed. There were splashes of color on the inner lining of his tweed coat. His tie choked snug, its path narrow down his chest. Inside and outside, so opposite, and yet, their thoughts ran in parallel with one another. Sweet and familiar. Like brothers.
Dane shrugged off the question. "My grandfather was an Earl,"
he said. The announcement of birthright partly explained the lordly accent. The rest was heightened by a French education.
"Lucky would be if I were born in time to enjoy those titles."
He said, irritated. "As it stands, I am nobody but what I make myself to become."
His eyes slid sideways to Nicholas. "Allow me to correct you, however. I am subject to no one."
No title, no crown. No subject.
He traded the cigar for port. The globe filled his palm, delicate and trusting he would not crush it. The liquid within heavy, like congealed blood. His mood walked the dark edge of a knife, but held its delicate pose. Dane licked his lips before savoring the liquid on his tongue. Nicholas was unaware, but he likewise walked a nefarious edge. For it was his blood Dane was imagining slipping from smiling wrists. He would be seated as he was now. Shoulders slumped, beard unkempt, tie loose, sleeves rolled, and forearms tied down. What strong words would he call upon then?
"The world is going to burn anyway, Nicholas."
He said with unsettling revelation as his eyes were drawn to the crackling hearth in the corner. The flames danced their own little symphony. Just for him. It would burn indeed. "The best we can hope for is to have a good view."
Dane shrugged off the question. "My grandfather was an Earl,"
he said. The announcement of birthright partly explained the lordly accent. The rest was heightened by a French education.
"Lucky would be if I were born in time to enjoy those titles."
He said, irritated. "As it stands, I am nobody but what I make myself to become."
His eyes slid sideways to Nicholas. "Allow me to correct you, however. I am subject to no one."
No title, no crown. No subject.
He traded the cigar for port. The globe filled his palm, delicate and trusting he would not crush it. The liquid within heavy, like congealed blood. His mood walked the dark edge of a knife, but held its delicate pose. Dane licked his lips before savoring the liquid on his tongue. Nicholas was unaware, but he likewise walked a nefarious edge. For it was his blood Dane was imagining slipping from smiling wrists. He would be seated as he was now. Shoulders slumped, beard unkempt, tie loose, sleeves rolled, and forearms tied down. What strong words would he call upon then?
"The world is going to burn anyway, Nicholas."
He said with unsettling revelation as his eyes were drawn to the crackling hearth in the corner. The flames danced their own little symphony. Just for him. It would burn indeed. "The best we can hope for is to have a good view."