Morningstar Manor

The window faced east and light streamed through the stained glass panels as the sun rose. The materials for the window had been imported at great cost. Sections of glass from all the great cathedrals, made with love and devotion. A pelican pierced her own breast, dropping blood to feed her children, the Lamb, without reproach, bowed its head for sacrifice. Both were there, if you knew where to look. Light streamed through, a chaos of red and gold and blue, spattering the luxurious room with colour.

Jon ignored it, having other things on his mind.

( Read more... )

"Sit down, son." Vision gestured at the chair. "Take a load off."

Trevor sat. His guts were tied tighter than a virgin's bikini strings. He linked his fingers together, pressed them between his knees to hide the shaking.

He wondered if it would hurt.

But what could hurt worse than this? Knowing he'd fucked up his life so bad?

"I just want it all back. The way it was before."

Vision nodded, sympathetic. "Of course you do, son. Of course. And all I need is your guarantee that you'll...be available...for whatever I might need from you. Now or in the future. Or even after that."

Vision's grin was something dark and terrible; the taste of bitter fear coated Trevor's tongue, and darkness poked at him with slender, spidery fingers.

But he nodded. "Yes. Whatever you need, take it. You can have it. I just want my wife back. My life back."

"Fine." Vision sat back in his chair. "It's done. Now go on, kid, get out of here, you're starting to wear my nerves."

Trevor stood, waiting to feel different, but he didn't. He held out his hand to Mr. Vision, who didn't take it. Then he went out of the office and went home...

...hoping when he got there things would be back to how they'd been before.

Dog days. That's what they called them in August, those burning hot days that melted your brains and set you into craziness. It was only July, but those dog days were coming, and Jonathan Vision smiled to himself as he thought about what this year might bring.

He slid his tongue along his teeth, but absently, sitting on a stone bench with one leg crossed and a thin cigar in one hand -- he wasn't smoking it, not at the moment, but the smoke curled around his head and sometimes slipped from his nostrils anyway.

He waited for someone to come and sit by him; to pass by and offer their name, a greeting.

Basically, he waited.

He had all the time in the world, after all. Didn't he?

There was a new world just outside of this office door, the door that now had 'Jude Marcus' etched into a sleek, marble plaque. This was his life. His world. His job. It didn't matter that he didn't remember where he'd been, or it seemed that sixty years had passed without him knowing. There were cars. Lights. Half-naked women on something he knew to be a billboard outside of his office. He had knowledge of the last sixty years, he just didn't remember how he gained it. He knew the face in the mirror looking back at him was his, though he didn't quite understand how it was still young and handsome. He didn't have to.
His father had told him this was his life and he came with all the knowledge required to run it. He trusted his father.
He adjusted the collar of the sleek Armani suit jacket he was wearing, and turned back to face his father with a smile. "What should we do first?"

( Read more... )

It was hot. Unbearably hot, and the thin breaths he could manage to choke down weren't of clean air. It smelled like sweat and death and something he couldn't quite place. All around him his followers were laying down and not getting back up.  He felt... Hopeless. Abandoned. This was supposed to be the rapture, and instead all of his followers,the people that had trusted him, were dead and he knew he was right behind them. They had sealed themselves in this cave days ago because that was what the angels had said to do. They were only supposed to be down here for an hour, maybe two tops, and they would be safe from the worst parts of Armageddon until the angels could come take them to Paradise. Plenty of air, food, and water for everyone.

"Have a seat, son," Vision said. "Cigar?"

He himself was smoking the very finest, but he could be generous when he chose.

"Whiskey?"

Darkness.

It was Vision's favorite flavor.

He slid his tongue across his teeth, already tasting what was to come. And what was that? A knock on his door? A discreet murmur from Mary, that lovely spirit who served him so well?

"Send them in," Vision said, and waited.

Hey, everyone! As Sal announced, I'm going to be playing Vision again, so if you want him, ping me at everythingcountsinlargeamounts at Y! or authorm on AIM.

My playtime is sporadic and limited, but if you need Vision for something, let me know and I'll do my best to accommodate!

you can also get me at welcometochaos@gmail.com if you can't find me on IM. I'm usually logged in, but sometimes invisible when I am really there and sometimes away when I'm visible...so...yeah. :)

M

Every so often it was good to carry out a tour of inspection. It kept the staff on their toes, made them feel appreciated that the boss cared enough about them to visit them in their places of work.

Plus there was the possibility of running into a few tenants.

After a fleeting visit to the 13th floor, where he accepted the fawning devotion of his minions gracefully, he stepped into the maintenance department to listen to Ruprecht's grievances, then went to the back room of the Mocha and brought a smile to Joy's sour face.

"I'll have a tall skinny latte," he told her, "at my usual table."

Which was free, as luck would have it.

He sat and sipped and looked around with great interest and satisfaction.

Ahhh, Christmas. There were decorations to order, though she didn't really need to oversee the hanging of lights and putting up of the tree. Gifts for the staff and certain long-time residents to buy.

A present for Mr. Vision still eluded her -- what to buy the man who'd been so good to her for so long? Tapping her pen against her lips, Elspeth thought and thought as she went over the eternal paperwork that never seemed to end, not even at Christmas.

Jon had a feeling he was missing something. And when he had that feeling it could be bad news for the Manor until he had tracked the source down.

The Mocha was a good place to start. Sooner or later everyone came in there.

Dear Ms Rossi,

Re: Booking for Saturday, 3rd October in the name of Vision.

To confirm the arrangements agreed for the above, one dozen of your operatives [8 female, four male] to be available in the foyer of the Empress Hotel at 8 pm, Saturday evening, dressed appropriately for the Empress but carrying a change should their partners for the evening prefer to go elsewhere.

Please find enclosed a cheque to cover the deposit and security clearances, plus a little extra should any of your young people need some help with their wardrobes.

Yours faithfully

[illegible signature]

pp J. Vision.

Enc. one cheque for a startling amount of money.

Isabella sat alone at a corner table of the Mocha, wearing a black dress and a pair of whimsical leopard print shoes that did not match her mood. It had been a fuck all of a day. One of her girls had been nearly assaulted last night by one of her clients. Luckily, security had intervened before anyone got hurt, but the girl was still shaken and understandably so. She'd quit today and left Isabella short for the next two weeks. That in itself was stressful, but Isabella felt worse about the girl and what had happened. She'd left at lunch today and didn't plan on going back for the rest of the day. She had more refunds to issue and clients to soothe than she'd manage to take care of this morning, but she just couldn't do it right now.

With a note in an old fashioned copperplate hand:

My dear Isabella,

I have recently come into possession of a number of these little devices. Very new, very up to the minute design and very easy to use. About the same size and weight as a standard cell phone, yet the flexible fold out screen is quite the innovation.

I would be delighted if you would accept one, with my compliments. I have an ulterior motive, of course. If you could let me know of any problems you have with it I would be most grateful and will pass your thoughts on to R&D. Perhaps we could discuss it over dinner?

Ah - two ulterior motives. Please don't hold it against me.

Best wishes,

JV

In the box is this, which folds out to this.

Del was up early for once, bright eyed and bushy-tailed and amusing himself with the crossword in the local paper. He took a sip of coffee, gave Joy a blinding smile as she voluntarily refilled it and tried his best to ignore the amused look of the man two tables along.

Leo Beck scribbled on his feint ruled paper, half an eye on the time and half the other one on the man sitting near young Mr Avilar. For some reason he made him feel slightly edgy.

Palug hid in a dark corner behind a potted plant and growled softly - the sing-song snarl of a cat that's very very scared and trying not to show it. At no time did he take his eyes of the man and every time he moved the growl grew a little louder.

Fin Welch had started off in the Mocha but someone had brushed past him and he had started feeling the first gasping breathlessness of a full blown panic attack. Now he sat in the conservatory close to an open doorway and tried to get his breathing back under control.

Mr Vision sat with his coffee and his cigar, perfectly well aware of what was going on around him and thoroughly enjoying it.

"Hey on, not sure if you're still looking for work but My friend Mr Moray of the Moray Record Company has an opening for a general assistant. You can drive, can't you? Because he'd need some deliveries done. Not need to worry if you haven't got your own transport, that would be provided. You get a pencil now and I'll give you the number to call to set up a meeting, 'kay?

....
...
..
.

Ready? Okay ..." he reeled off the phone number then repeated it.

"You give him a call and tell him Mr Vision said you should. Good luck, son."

The new secretary put the call through for him and Jon inspected the end of his cigar while he waited for Moray to respond.

Moray - suitable name. The man was just like an eel - cold eyed and his business dealings were covered in slime.

When Isabella had walked into the office this morning in her new black dress and black shoes, the look of Daphne's had become ten thousand times more eloquent. Isabella didn't care though. So what if she'd dressed a little for a date? So what if she wanted to make a good impression on Jonathan Vision?
It was none of Daphne's business who she spent time with or how she chose to spend her lunches. 
She struggled not to push her last appointment  from her office when she saw the clock zeroing in on one, and after they were gone she went to the private bathroom attached to her office and reapplied her make up.
One could never be too prepared.

Summer time and all the honeys were out in their little nothings. A good time to go for a stroll around his domain.

Also, it was time to give things a nudge. "Things" that he could feel as a growling roil of discontent writhing within the fabric of the building. Everything needed a break from time to time, their subsequent re-confinement would be that much more painful.

So he left his apartment and passed along the corridor. He lay a hand on one door, causing the varnish to crawl and blister, and gave what lay within specific intstructions. it screamed with frustration and Jon snickered as he walked on.

So many lives, so much drama and angst and anguish. So many deaths.

In another place he paused and held his hand over one particular patch of carpet and the blood, long since washed away, welled thick and hot. He walked on licking his fingers.

No part of the Manor was unvisited. In the basement he looked into a long dead face which looked back in terror. But Joy in the Mocha bloomed and blushed as he touched her, her face briefly that of the woman she could have been.

Then he went out into the garden and stood between the two statues - angel and demon - and looked up at the sun.

Did it dim a little?

Quite possibly.