Christian Holland (![[info]](http://www.insanejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} aegistic) wrote in ![[info]](http://www.insanejournal.com/img/community.gif){kind=small} x_flashback_x,@ 2008-11-02 22:47:00 |
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| Entry tags: | aegis, flux |
Who: Aegis and Flux
When: September 6, 2009. Evening.
Where: The rebuilt Holland mansion, Upstate New York.
What: The reading of Nathaniel Holland's last will and testament.
Status: Incomplete
Rating: PG?
It had been a full six years since he had been back to the Holland estate in upstate New York. Christian was not particularly satisfied with going alone to such a somber event, but nonetheless, he had to go as the heir to the Holland name and all things therein. Chris had woken up at around six in the evening to get ready for the reading of would be his last shred of familial memories. His parents and siblings shred to bits, that's what kept Christian going every day since the gruesome discovery. Showering was easy enough for him, the hunger had not fully taken over again. Wiping the foggy mirror with a hand, he looked at himself with an appraising eye. His skin was crawling with worms, writhing inside his skin. Sighing heavily, Christian turned the nozzle of the sink all the way to the left. Leaning over the sink, he splashed his face with scalding hot water. The shock made him wince deeply, but as he stood up straight once more, the worms had gone. You aren't coming out to play now.
Having dressed himself in a nice tailored suit, he began his descent down his apartment building in uptown Manhattan, calling his transportation while walking through a series of interconnected elevators until he made it into the spacious lobby. The lobby, covered in Grecian marble, was especially empty tonight. The track lights almost blinded Chris, he squinted as he sauntered towards the exit. Only the concierge at the front desk, who nodded to Chris politely, and the doorman stood around, looking rather bored, were around. Chris looked at the concierge with a slight scowl as he exited through the quiet revolving door out onto the street. His transportation was waiting for him promptly in front of the building, as it should. Pulling his wallet out of his pocket, he tipped the door man who had opened the car door before stepping into the back of the car. "Where to, boss?" The chauffeur, who had a deep Brooklyn accent, rumbled.
Chris looked outside for a moment before turning his head towards the chauffeur, "The Holland mansion. I believe you know where it is." he said absently. "Gotcha, boss." And with that, they were off to the rebuilt Holland mansion. The trip was shorter than he remembered, the traffic had been lighter than usual. The memories began flooding back into his mind when they got into the familiar wooded area right near the mansion. A long wooded road led to the massive gate of the mansion. Without much ado, the gate opened unceremoniously as if welcoming the master to his castle after a long departure. Pulling into the immaculate driveway, the car stopped in front of the wonderfully ornate door. "Thanks." Chris muttered as he opened the door of the car, the chauffeur nodded in silent agreement. He fixed his jacket before walking to the door and opening it, the cold door of the knob rather unusual. The inside was just how as he remembered it, but with a much more modern feel. When he lived inside the walls of this house, it felt archaic and ancient.
But once he stepped foot into the house, he stifled a breath. Looking around, he made his way into the parlor where various businessmen that knew Nathaniel Holland were drinking cognac, brandy, and other sorts of hard liquor. Chris didn't remember asking them to help themselves. Narrowing his eyes, he made his way over to them and shook their hands stiffly while maintaining a courteous smile on his face. Christian knew some of these fellows, having been to the office since he was a child. So it was no surprise that they exclaimed how much he had grown. They were playing a game, thinking they might get a piece of Holland Enterprises. He knew his father better than that.
Having dressed himself in a nice tailored suit, he began his descent down his apartment building in uptown Manhattan, calling his transportation while walking through a series of interconnected elevators until he made it into the spacious lobby. The lobby, covered in Grecian marble, was especially empty tonight. The track lights almost blinded Chris, he squinted as he sauntered towards the exit. Only the concierge at the front desk, who nodded to Chris politely, and the doorman stood around, looking rather bored, were around. Chris looked at the concierge with a slight scowl as he exited through the quiet revolving door out onto the street. His transportation was waiting for him promptly in front of the building, as it should. Pulling his wallet out of his pocket, he tipped the door man who had opened the car door before stepping into the back of the car. "Where to, boss?" The chauffeur, who had a deep Brooklyn accent, rumbled.
Chris looked outside for a moment before turning his head towards the chauffeur, "The Holland mansion. I believe you know where it is." he said absently. "Gotcha, boss." And with that, they were off to the rebuilt Holland mansion. The trip was shorter than he remembered, the traffic had been lighter than usual. The memories began flooding back into his mind when they got into the familiar wooded area right near the mansion. A long wooded road led to the massive gate of the mansion. Without much ado, the gate opened unceremoniously as if welcoming the master to his castle after a long departure. Pulling into the immaculate driveway, the car stopped in front of the wonderfully ornate door. "Thanks." Chris muttered as he opened the door of the car, the chauffeur nodded in silent agreement. He fixed his jacket before walking to the door and opening it, the cold door of the knob rather unusual. The inside was just how as he remembered it, but with a much more modern feel. When he lived inside the walls of this house, it felt archaic and ancient.
But once he stepped foot into the house, he stifled a breath. Looking around, he made his way into the parlor where various businessmen that knew Nathaniel Holland were drinking cognac, brandy, and other sorts of hard liquor. Chris didn't remember asking them to help themselves. Narrowing his eyes, he made his way over to them and shook their hands stiffly while maintaining a courteous smile on his face. Christian knew some of these fellows, having been to the office since he was a child. So it was no surprise that they exclaimed how much he had grown. They were playing a game, thinking they might get a piece of Holland Enterprises. He knew his father better than that.
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