Post by Sylvestre de Valmont(D) on May 5, 2006 15:12:51 GMT -5
“Betta,” I yelled, bursting through the doorway before I remembered that I had many servants to dance attendance on my lightest whim, and I’d rather behold any of them than that ghastly grendel of a woman. It was too late, though, because Betta had already responded to her Master’s voice and she came bounding towards me.
“What’s the matter, Master Sly?” she panted. “You’ve got a face like thunder.”
“I’m fine,” I said. “Bring me that bottle of absinthe and some water. I’ll take it in the library. See that the fire is lit.”
“Which one first, Master Sly?”
“Namaah’s tits you stupid woman,” I exploded, dashing my gloved hand across her infuriating face. She barely blinked. So I struck her again. This time a few tears trickled from her eyes – I don’t know whether it was pain or distress but I hoped it was both. “We’re not in a cottage anymore. You don’t have to do everything yourself.”
By the time I had dispensed with my outer garments, one of the footman had rushed into the library and by the time I was settling into one of the comfortable chairs, Betta was hovering at my side like the spurned dog she is. I ignored her, stretching my booted feet towards the blaze and staring moodily into the flickering heart of the fire. I kept ignoring.
“What’s the matter, Master Sly?” she asked again. “You smell like a woman. Didn’t you have a good time?”
“Betta,” I snarled, “if you ever get close enough to me to be able to smell me again I will slit your throat with my letter opener, do I make myself clear? Now leave me alone. I’m not in the mood for you. Or anything.”
There was the clink of glassware by my side and she galumphed away. Eventually I turned to the table at my side, and poured out a generous quantity of the absinthe watching the liquid swirl in the glass like snake venom. I added water drop by painstaking drop until the first pearlescent moments of change. I like this ritual. I think it possesses a certain beauty. I find it calming. The first swallow burned gloriously against my tongue and, slowly, I felt myself relaxing, my thoughts clouding and clearing almost simultaneously. Reality faded, replaced by a lucid waking dreamscape of drifting thoughts and shadows.
I let myself remember Allisande in soft-edged, abinsthe-tinted fragments. I wanted to humble her, as I felt she had tried to humble me. I wanted to break through all her learned graces and find what lay underneath it all … and then break that. And, if along the way, there was further opportunity to stroke her skin and taste her lips and feel the heavy silken weight of her hair across my body … well … so much the better. So much the better.
“What’s the matter, Master Sly?” she panted. “You’ve got a face like thunder.”
“I’m fine,” I said. “Bring me that bottle of absinthe and some water. I’ll take it in the library. See that the fire is lit.”
“Which one first, Master Sly?”
“Namaah’s tits you stupid woman,” I exploded, dashing my gloved hand across her infuriating face. She barely blinked. So I struck her again. This time a few tears trickled from her eyes – I don’t know whether it was pain or distress but I hoped it was both. “We’re not in a cottage anymore. You don’t have to do everything yourself.”
By the time I had dispensed with my outer garments, one of the footman had rushed into the library and by the time I was settling into one of the comfortable chairs, Betta was hovering at my side like the spurned dog she is. I ignored her, stretching my booted feet towards the blaze and staring moodily into the flickering heart of the fire. I kept ignoring.
“What’s the matter, Master Sly?” she asked again. “You smell like a woman. Didn’t you have a good time?”
“Betta,” I snarled, “if you ever get close enough to me to be able to smell me again I will slit your throat with my letter opener, do I make myself clear? Now leave me alone. I’m not in the mood for you. Or anything.”
There was the clink of glassware by my side and she galumphed away. Eventually I turned to the table at my side, and poured out a generous quantity of the absinthe watching the liquid swirl in the glass like snake venom. I added water drop by painstaking drop until the first pearlescent moments of change. I like this ritual. I think it possesses a certain beauty. I find it calming. The first swallow burned gloriously against my tongue and, slowly, I felt myself relaxing, my thoughts clouding and clearing almost simultaneously. Reality faded, replaced by a lucid waking dreamscape of drifting thoughts and shadows.
I let myself remember Allisande in soft-edged, abinsthe-tinted fragments. I wanted to humble her, as I felt she had tried to humble me. I wanted to break through all her learned graces and find what lay underneath it all … and then break that. And, if along the way, there was further opportunity to stroke her skin and taste her lips and feel the heavy silken weight of her hair across my body … well … so much the better. So much the better.