Post by Eluard Verlaine on Jul 23, 2012 7:19:20 GMT -6
The pillar clock in the intersection struck midday when Eluard was having lunch with his brother-in-law. The two had not spoken in long, not since the mutant’s desperate flee from the country of his origin one cold winter, three years ago. They sat on the terrace of a three level restaurant, in the far corner, at a small table, waiting for their meal. It was Monday and few other people came and went as the two discussed the past. Lydia, his deceased –no, murdered wife, and the other’s sister hung between them like a dark cloud. Although his own nostalgia and pain hazed his mind, Eluard found Geoffrey’s grief queerly superficial. Pain creased his expression but his eyes were deeply vacant in a way that was just empty and not some form of distant.
It was strange, how the other had found him after all this time. They had never been particularly close even when Lydia was still alive. Actually, she had been the only bridge between them, the moment that had marked her passing meaning the end of their interaction. Eluard had always found Geoffrey unnerving without directly being aware of the cause. That vacant look in his eyes, it wasn’t new, and it was permanent. The brother spoke with a great economy of gestures and facial expressions, always with those empty eyes, as if nothing truly moved him on the inside, as if no passion colored his life. For that, Eluard had always found him strange – unnatural, in a way that could be pathological. Every now and then he thought he could glimpse something sharp in those listless eyes, but it was always when he turned away, the impressions gathered from peripheral vision.
The meal arrived, mashed potatoes and salad for Eluard and steak, medium raw, with French fries for Geoffrey. A bottle of red wine was between them. “You can’t believe how good it is to talk to you again, Eluard,” the brother said, his tone almost sentimental where his eyes tried warmth and ended up cold as a rock. The astute information broker gave him a smile, sunk his fork into the golden mashed potatoes and took the morsel to his mouth. Geoffrey watched him, his hand already holding a glass brimful of wine. Eluard thought too late not to swallow, his instincts going haywire over the look he was getting. As soon as the soft food slipped down his throat he started feeling a tingling in his hands.
Geoffrey burst into laughter, rich malice filling his usually void eyes. “I always knew that if I dug long enough I could find something on you,” he told the blond man, swirling wine in his glass as he started getting up. Edward’s hand shot to his throat and his eyes widened. “You were always the perfect cautious type. In all the long fucking years you never shared one blasted weakness about yourself.” Geoffrey was up, looking down on Eluard. “Do you know how much I had to bribe that one doctor friend of yours to give me one fucking old file you left behind?” Geoffrey downed the wine in one gulp and wiped his sleeve across his mouth, his eyes shining with victory. “That bitch sister of mine never told me anything either, just like out parents. She was always the favorite. Always the only one who got what she wanted. Always the first in their decisions.”
Geoffrey slammed the glass on the table and started leaving their table, where Eluard’s mind was frantically working on considering the nature of his sudden condition. Warmth rushed through him, instantly giving him a fever and his throat was constricting, swelling, suffocating his windpipe. He realized what was happening to him during the same moment the other chose to shed light on it as well. “Peanuts. Who woulda thought the cautious brat could be done over by nut powder?” He laughed once more and then disappeared from the table to slip down the stairs and out of the restaurant. Eluard shot up from the table, his entire body already shaking from insufficient oxygen and the fit of his allergic reaction. With a trembling hand he pulled out a plastic cylinder from his pocket, clicked a button that made it pop open and reveal the syringe inside. As anyone else who suffered from a potentially lethal allergy to something, he carried around a shot for it.
His hand spasmed and he dropped it. Without being able to control it, his body was dropping back, vision darkening with each moment his brain failed to get oxygen. In the next second he tumbled back, colliding with the low railing of the terrace and going over it, beginning to plummet down three stories onto the sidewalk and have his last impact on something – the ground. The lifesaving syringe stopped rolling on the ground and lay very still near the foot of his chair, slightly gleaming under a ray of sunlight. The worst thing was that he felt he would remain conscious right up to the very end, his mind immortalizing every sight, every sound and replaying Geoffrey’s insane laughter through it all.
Now Eluard knew who had informed the government about Lydia and the last thing he thought he would feel was the rage that consumed his heart.
((Sorry this is so long >.>))
It was strange, how the other had found him after all this time. They had never been particularly close even when Lydia was still alive. Actually, she had been the only bridge between them, the moment that had marked her passing meaning the end of their interaction. Eluard had always found Geoffrey unnerving without directly being aware of the cause. That vacant look in his eyes, it wasn’t new, and it was permanent. The brother spoke with a great economy of gestures and facial expressions, always with those empty eyes, as if nothing truly moved him on the inside, as if no passion colored his life. For that, Eluard had always found him strange – unnatural, in a way that could be pathological. Every now and then he thought he could glimpse something sharp in those listless eyes, but it was always when he turned away, the impressions gathered from peripheral vision.
The meal arrived, mashed potatoes and salad for Eluard and steak, medium raw, with French fries for Geoffrey. A bottle of red wine was between them. “You can’t believe how good it is to talk to you again, Eluard,” the brother said, his tone almost sentimental where his eyes tried warmth and ended up cold as a rock. The astute information broker gave him a smile, sunk his fork into the golden mashed potatoes and took the morsel to his mouth. Geoffrey watched him, his hand already holding a glass brimful of wine. Eluard thought too late not to swallow, his instincts going haywire over the look he was getting. As soon as the soft food slipped down his throat he started feeling a tingling in his hands.
Geoffrey burst into laughter, rich malice filling his usually void eyes. “I always knew that if I dug long enough I could find something on you,” he told the blond man, swirling wine in his glass as he started getting up. Edward’s hand shot to his throat and his eyes widened. “You were always the perfect cautious type. In all the long fucking years you never shared one blasted weakness about yourself.” Geoffrey was up, looking down on Eluard. “Do you know how much I had to bribe that one doctor friend of yours to give me one fucking old file you left behind?” Geoffrey downed the wine in one gulp and wiped his sleeve across his mouth, his eyes shining with victory. “That bitch sister of mine never told me anything either, just like out parents. She was always the favorite. Always the only one who got what she wanted. Always the first in their decisions.”
Geoffrey slammed the glass on the table and started leaving their table, where Eluard’s mind was frantically working on considering the nature of his sudden condition. Warmth rushed through him, instantly giving him a fever and his throat was constricting, swelling, suffocating his windpipe. He realized what was happening to him during the same moment the other chose to shed light on it as well. “Peanuts. Who woulda thought the cautious brat could be done over by nut powder?” He laughed once more and then disappeared from the table to slip down the stairs and out of the restaurant. Eluard shot up from the table, his entire body already shaking from insufficient oxygen and the fit of his allergic reaction. With a trembling hand he pulled out a plastic cylinder from his pocket, clicked a button that made it pop open and reveal the syringe inside. As anyone else who suffered from a potentially lethal allergy to something, he carried around a shot for it.
His hand spasmed and he dropped it. Without being able to control it, his body was dropping back, vision darkening with each moment his brain failed to get oxygen. In the next second he tumbled back, colliding with the low railing of the terrace and going over it, beginning to plummet down three stories onto the sidewalk and have his last impact on something – the ground. The lifesaving syringe stopped rolling on the ground and lay very still near the foot of his chair, slightly gleaming under a ray of sunlight. The worst thing was that he felt he would remain conscious right up to the very end, his mind immortalizing every sight, every sound and replaying Geoffrey’s insane laughter through it all.
Now Eluard knew who had informed the government about Lydia and the last thing he thought he would feel was the rage that consumed his heart.
((Sorry this is so long >.>))
