Re: log: flower delivery - ella g/mason j
Ella Gainsborough was a beauty, but the world was full of those. On any given morning, he could walk anywhere in the world and find a lovely human creature. He could knock on a door, ask for them to come, and about half would say yes, given time and explanation of the advantages to them. Never grow older, never die. Live in a deep, dark place, but have anything your heart wants, anything but leaving.
Her beauty wasn't what caught his eye, and if beauty was what he cared for most, he could have stocked endless opulent corridors with an unending menagerie. But when he asked for a soul for himself alone, that wasn't what he looked for. He had no interest in trifles. His existence had been too infinitely long and alone for that.
Seeing her here in her element reminded him of why he asked her to come down with him in the first place. She practically crackled with life. He looked at her and saw the soul inside the shell, brighter than it had been in years, and he coveted.
He sucked on the cigarette and moved slowly away from the piano, leaned the broom against a pew. "I'd like that," he said. The preacher had warm brown eyes. He didn't hide himself from her. What was the need? But he didn't confirm what made her almost drop her flowers, either. There was sweat on his brow from sweeping in the warm church, and it smelled like cigarette smoke - he was real, such as things were, very much present, no vision or trick of the light. It had been some time since he'd heard her play, and almost a century since he heard it in this world.
"Ain't been tuned. Hope that won't deter you none."