A bizarre, bleary, godless ambient dusk settles over the trash-swept streets of downtown New Lichtenberg, a shimmering, warped, bloated orb of a sunset bearing translucent in the freezing fog that climbed from the many leaking air ducts of the functional, brutally spartan arcologies that littered urban Berlin like a trash man's paradise, the gentle patter of the nocturnal rain half drowned itself by the thunderous roar of atmospheric engines and the march of feet and pedestrian chatter as several million, exhausted, menial servants of the state limped back to bare beds, and wondered, without hope, when the war would end.
Just a little way off Kratzen Straße, floor 666, and directly behind the head of a fifty foot high depiction of an ever-peeling, ever-immobile Kanzler and a further five foot of partition wall, lay a small, ornate, lavishly furnished smoking room, far removed from the chaotic doldrum of the common Rheinlander, from the mahogany of it's panelling, to the cretian coffee in the Cambridge china mug which lay congealing on the centre counter. Further alien, was the mansized, dandily adorned feline had slunk into the room with an air, before flumping cattishly down on the upholstery, groaning with the leather. After a time, the creature settled, resigned itself to comfort and took a determined sip of the coffee without passing judgement, ears pricked and attentive, calling for pause.
A creak of a board.
"Sublime". The cat breathed, dulcetly, with a wry hiss."Your timing is mechanical, master".
THE SYNDIC LEAGUES
(A co-operative of Rheinland's Shipping Unions, retired from a life of piracy.)
" As always, my dear " the creak was interrupted by a soft voice, lacking in any intonation or expression, as mechanical and artificial as the punctuality of its owner on the other hand, yet decrepit after an obviously laborious day filled with who knows what ludicrous events.
The next moment, the muffled sound of a tack erupted from the floor as if a wooden staff plummeted against it. It was right afterwards followed by two rushed and consecutive creaks, one haste driven and melodious in motion while the other slow and clumsy. The creaks ended quickly, and again, a tack shattered the silence which barely outlived the blink of an eye, only to be followed again by two irregular yet consecutive creaks on the wooden floor. It was unknown what or who exactly caused these distressing, ear pestering sounds as the respective room which confined this certainly not melodious events was enshrouded in a somber darkness, an obvious testimony that the place is badly lit.
The three sounds continued one after another in the manner described like a maladroit waltz where each of the singer forgot not only his musical score but his entire set of musical skills as well! Certainly the orchestrator of these incongruous sounds didn't have three legs, no, more than surely he would have a walking stick, and a limp leg hurt in the ordeals that he may have carried.
Silence ensued out of a sudden, the inept waltz has ended out a sudden as if the singers either died by the hands of the criminal which was nothing else but their abhorrent musical talent or simply had a revelation concerning their proficiency. Frankly however, the symphony of waltz has been merely replaced by a quartet of jazz, even clumsier and preposterous as the squeaky sound of stretching leather.
A sigh broke this symphony of ineptitude.
" You were absent for a long time. " the soft, tranquil yet devoid of any articulate animation voice emerged yet again. Certainly the one who worked his vocal chords to resonate these words couldn't be older than the age of forty. It's author however, couldn't be noticed throughout the thick, squalid fog of darkness and obscurity as no light yonder passed.
(08-10-2015, 07:03 PM)Antonio- Wrote: King Eduard is the greatest
The cat shot off an inscrutable squint, Tail curling and arcing back and forth, a bleached duster, poisefully caressing the air beneath its ankles.
"A lengthy absence when the work itself is lengthy, is an adequate absence".Asmodeus shrugged imperceptibly, gaze locked, pupils pooling in the dark."You would not have wanted me a moment sooner, nor would I have graced you with incompletion".The chimera twitched, all but a statue for the motion of it's empennage.
Finally, the being moved, sliding a left paw out his robe like a magus with a hare, flashing an unexceptional, tarnished, Libertonian tablet before drawing the doodad shapelessly back into the folds of his clothes, boring on dark with a bright, angular stare that spoke of nothing.
The pause passed.
"Your eyes do not fail you; nor I, the better appendage". The creature motionlessly lisped with a tone of factual reproach. "Nor would you expect me to fail you, unless, logically, your expectations have lowered". Asmodeus moved not, mouth functionally shut, but a certain cattish, self-satisfaction radiated regardless. Perhaps it was the ears.
"All you wish… all you desire to know, is on datapad. But as for the man, well…"
The tomcat blinked, pointedly.
"…It is your head, master - and thus irreplaceable. You know of who I speak - erratic, impulsive, possessive of an alternate power... Perhaps your sanity will also be claimed although that is more simplistically rectified, than an organ."
Two paws moved in tandem, And a second sip resounded.
THE SYNDIC LEAGUES
(A co-operative of Rheinland's Shipping Unions, retired from a life of piracy.)
The author of the soft, dull and empty voice paid no attention towards the flashy, electronic object which his own, eccentric feline flashed in front of him. His mind focused on that one man, that man which his cat alluded to.
" It matters not, dear Asmodeus. I have made a deal with that man long ago and it is this deal which will allow me to act as I have planned. " he soothed with a commanding tone, yet still retaining the soft, lack of expression.
A moment of silence veiled the room tighter than the previous veil of velvet darkness. It was suffocating with anticipation as the shadowy figure garnered his next words:
" You may think that it was merely that toy which won his heart. But I do not like to believe that obvious fallacy, that charade. " He murmured the word "Charade" a few times as if the mere intonation, or expression of that word delighted him. It was after all, a word which a rheinlander wouldn't meet or employ very often. " But if that were the case... " he continued, delivering a strong tack on the floor as he began his sentence. " Then I wouldn't be looking to... install ourselves in that congregation. After all, my talents are far too great to be wasted amongst incompetents. "
The incompetent jazz quartet must have exerted its presence once again with yet another clumsy, ear violating song as the squeaky, furrowing sound of leather was heard again as if the furtive voice lounged its entire body on whatever couch or sofa he may have sat on.
" No, it is our talents that the man looked after and it were also our talents which convinced the man. " the voice chortled. " That object was nothing more than a... gift. "
The wet sound of moving, yet muffled lips were heard for no more than a second.
" But I digress, would you turn on the lights? " a devoid inquiry was heard which was followed with strident haste by another as the man was struck with an idea:
" Or what kind of... risks were you pointing towards, to be precise? "
(08-10-2015, 07:03 PM)Antonio- Wrote: King Eduard is the greatest
“A deal? I know of it.”The creation dodged, disdainful of the detail without directed disrespect, breathing impassively.“…A mere toy may win a man’s heart, with the correct tug of the particular string, may be effectual, yes…” Asmodeus trailed, voice diminishing beyond the verge of auditability, as though some passing, fleeting realisation had sundered him from his course.
“I purport these ‘risks’ as a concept experiment purely – obviously one such as you, master, will face no danger. Can face no danger”. He amended, scratching delicately at his nose.“However, the subject matter is a person of means – less gratuitous than our own, but substantial. Ever more material will be his desire for the continued maintenance of these same luxuries – further, the advancement of those assets.”The feline demurred.
If the tremulous cacophonies of free jazz record (who's associate artist appeared determined to push the boundaries of that freedom) rankled the creation, he showed it not, tracing the rim of the mug with sheathed digits.
“Your finespun companion master… the Autoine, is an incorrigible thespian. He will not relent the stage so… simplistically – all are assets to him, and I would rather see you savaged and bleeding than demeaned by an unequal”. The cat nodded, providing concession to a satanic slip of a smile that vanished as rapidly as its emergence.“…Again, a thought experiment only, abstract and fanciful. I presume you have arranged contingencies?” He replied, leaning on the wall switch with a servile nonchalance.
THE SYNDIC LEAGUES
(A co-operative of Rheinland's Shipping Unions, retired from a life of piracy.)
As the staunch feline, ever animated by a stalwart loyalty to his humanoid sovereign, leaned its furred, hair clad appendages on the deviating switch, an explosion of light started to besiege the room and propagate ferociously right from its epicenter, a glass embellished chandelier strangulated with an iron chain by the ceiling, throughout the entirety of the room, devouring and shunning the obscure cold touch of darkness as if the supreme serpent of emptiness, Apophis himself, regurgitated the sun throughout its jaws from the inside of his coils which struggled to encase the stellar beauty.
The sickly yellowed light tickled the face of the feline's master, revealing the entirety of the intricate details pertaining to his physical, and especially facial, appearance of his, thus, revealing his strikingly blond hair, an instant victor and beseecher to the stereotypical imaginations one would contrive regarding rheinlanders as the hair found itself groomed and arranged elegantly to the side. His eyes, embroidered with a blue of mesmerizing emptiness, were to jump into conspicuousness right afterwards as they betrayed an idea that they would possess a peculiar affinity for the nothingness in front of them, yet combined with his knitted eyebrows, one would observe an air of intelligence and wry deviousness caged in his irises like electrifying blue clouds of mist contained in balls of glass.
Two, almost parallel, wrinkles would paint his forehead only to implore any who'd gaze on him, to move his eyes towards his thin lips of a pale pink and then, to his cheeks, slightly burrowed so that they would reveal the firm cheekbones.
At that present time, as he lolled haphazardly on the extremely comfortable coach adorned with a soothing leather a nuance so red that it resembled blood, this scrumptious individual was dressed in a impeccably white shirt as if it was tailored from angelic wings, only to be tightly covered by a raven redingote, somber ball pants and varnished shoes as black as the redingote they matched with.
However, beyond the ravening beauty that his costume exuded, there was one tarnished detail which disfigured the perfection: The trouser's left knee appeared slandered, tarnished and scantly ragged with a barely noticeable stain of dirt and dust here and there.
In his hands, the man carefully wriggled, chafing with intricate subtlety, a walking stick which had a most peculiar carving, an exquisite and overtly finespun decoration on its top: The head of a poodle.
It is with this walking stick decorated with a poodle's head that the man delivered the decisive sound of that inept waltz.
It all appeared as if the lucrative rubbing of his fingers delivered on the stick's sleek surface represented his masticating thoughts as they excogitated the words which his undoubtedly animal, yet talking companion exuded.
Gazing into the nothingness that laid in front of him as if it was rendered visible to him and him only by the chandelier's light until boredom struck him, his fingers ceased their lucrative motion.
His left hand gripped the stick, coiling the five impaling appendages around it as his right hand extended forward with an open palm, signalling that he is now willing to receive the prize.
" Tell me personally, Asmodeus, since you so much wish to bring him into discussion, what did your eyes found out on your ordeal ? " his soft, inexpressive voice articulated. For some reason, the man wishes his servile cat to relate him the knowledge he webbed as he seemingly preferred that over skimming over a PDA in deafening silence.
A faint, convulsive smile futilely tried to decorate his face right afterwards.
(08-10-2015, 07:03 PM)Antonio- Wrote: King Eduard is the greatest
The cat twitched again as he curled back onto his seat, observing the unflorid Speer with a perplexed, curious air, before casting the tablet aside, dissuaded, as though the master had somehow offended him. Not that he would ever inform Speer of that irritant, of course. “My eyes?”Asmodeus lisped, narrowing the subject matter. “My eyes makes for poor observance, as does singular reason. Bur reason and eyes, in tandem, make for vigilant sentinels”.He shrugged, more explicitly than the first.
“Autoine is a man driven by multiple magnetism, and thus finds himself torn towards opposing fields – necessity and amusement. The first is a labour, the second, irresistible”. He finished, draining the glacial mug to its dregs with a restrained aplomb.
“…The necessary quality of Autoine’s profession, indeed, the conceptive mother of his soul is the clandestine; personal secrecy, and the acquisition of the secrets of others. This is a factor of his position, yes, but… hm”.
“…I am not fond of the proposition, master. You feed a dog, you bate a wolf; yet we execute the inverse. The man has had four months since the impromptu announcement of his retirement to fade into the shadows, yet he has not done so. Released the reigns? Yes. Left saddle? No. Regardless of reasoning, he will not roll over for us… for you, master”. Asmodeus added tactfully – suffixing in submission.
THE SYNDIC LEAGUES
(A co-operative of Rheinland's Shipping Unions, retired from a life of piracy.)
The man remained impassible, frozen in the position he adopted mere moments ago as he allowed his ears to be caressed by the feline embroidered voice his companion expulsed.
A blink would disfigure his frozen posture and forcibly squeeze an ounce of animation. A realignment of the lips would soon follow, accompanied by yet another muffled, wet sound of lips touching one another. But the eyes, the devious reeking crystals of electrifying blue mist which were dug into the man's cranium were devoid, frozen and empty.
His silence was due to his excogitation over the words his feline minion oozed through his meticulous fangs and teeth. The instrumentation of his thoughts, as well as the plans they contrive are shrouded in obscurity, yet it is clear from the glare of his eyes, and the entourage he embellishes his suite with, that this man musters an audacious plan to wreak the continuum of peace, tranquility and balance through the addition of a spiteful spice over a certain organization. " Power play, merely " his mind would resonate so harshly that it would traverse past obscurity and echo through the metaphysical realms.
" What can you... tell me of his entourage? " his soft voice broke the silence once again.
The same, faint, convulsive smile lagged with spasms tried once again to carve his face. An attempt which concluded with futility once again.
(08-10-2015, 07:03 PM)Antonio- Wrote: King Eduard is the greatest