Re: Log: Miles W + Damian W
It was not a castle, but the manor was ostentatious. Damian did not particularly enjoy it. It was gaudy in a fashion Grandfather was not especially prone to. To be sure, the caves in which Damian had been raised in, had had as much luxury as asceticism. However, there, the rooms were worn into the bone of the island, the shape nearly organic. This place—Wainright Manor—was as unnatural as Damian's own birth had been. Born of no body, but of some warped heterodoxy. This is is all to say, the gates did open for the car. They were smooth in their mechanics, revealing that nothing here had been left to deteriorate.
Cameras conveyed the image of the approaching car to Damian upon his phone as he walked. He inspected the driver's face closely, then tucked the device in his pocket. The kittens, just over sixteen weeks old, mewed together in a string-high chorus as the man reached into the penned space he had designated for them and plucked them up. They squirmed. Damian tucked his chin forward slightly, so the male might climb up to perch himself across the span of Damian's shoulders, as he enjoyed, while the female latched her claws into Damian's suit coat. He spoke softly to them in cradlesong Arabic as he continued his journey toward the door.
There was a measurable distance between the rooms Damian tended to habituate and where the potential cat-collector would arrive. Damian did not hurry himself. Inside the manor, it was cool, with most drapes drawn. Too, it was empty. Damian's heels heralded his arrival to no one as he moved through the foyer. With a kitten tottering unsteadily upon him, soft belly cushioning against the shaved back of Damian's head, and with another mewling as he curled one arm beneath her, he opened the great door and peered outward. Already a diminutive man was dwarfed by the mouth of the door, a fact he did not seem to notice.