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Pour a Little Bit Out in Your Memory // [Lemour]
Jul 16, 2015 14:18:16 GMT -5
Post by Baby Wessex d9b [earthling] on Jul 16, 2015 14:18:16 GMT -5
Glamour Kinkade
your compliments look good on me
He'd waited, longer than he probably should have, to summon Leon Krigel. He had wanted everything to be perfect. It wasn't. He had pushed his staff to the point of breaking, literally. One of the painters had fallen off of a ladder and broken his leg. It was as if he had never pulled an all nighter before. Extreme exhaustion, the doctor had told Glamour. He'd only wished he had pushed him farther sooner. It aggravated him on a deep, core level to see the ceiling mural unfinished, though the rest of the scene was complete.
He toured the indoor pool one final time with his architect. Begrudgingly he admired the wave action of the Olympic sized pool, the fine bubble spray of the rock-lined hot tub, the sandy beach at the shallow entrance. At the far edge, the architect hit a button, and the frosted glass shifted to transparent, offering an unparalleled view of the Capitol at night.
Across the street, he could see into his own bedroom. He left the glass clear when his butler entered with the finishing touch. Glamour took his leave as the butler set up an iron table with four items: a chilled bottle of champagne, a bouquet of white mourning flowers, a brass hand bell, and a simple note in Glamour's hand:
Tonight, and forever more, this sanctuary is yours. This is the only space in the Capitol where I will not come for you. If you wish to summon me, you need only ring the bell.
I am sorry for your loss.
Love,
Glamour
Confoundingly, it had been the send off that had most stumped him. Should he profess such a thing in this letter? But he couldn't very well sign off with 'condolences' or 'in mourning' as he felt no such things. Nat's death was a welcome thing, a simplification of his life. Having Leon grieve was necessary, if not additional insult to injury; even in death, Nat found a way to divide Glamour from his lover. He was impatient for the mourning period to be over, but according to his friends, that would take time. Perhaps as much as a year.
From his darkened bedroom, Glamour watched as the Peacekeepers led Leon into the converted greenhouse. Glamour swept aside his coattails, settling into a chaise lounge with a scotch and soda in his hands. It would be a long night of practicing patience; he could think of no one else for whom he would do such a thing. But then, he'd never given anyone else the power to summon him, either. If nothing else, this was the beginning of something new.
In the dark, he lifted his glass to Leon and his dead brother.
He toured the indoor pool one final time with his architect. Begrudgingly he admired the wave action of the Olympic sized pool, the fine bubble spray of the rock-lined hot tub, the sandy beach at the shallow entrance. At the far edge, the architect hit a button, and the frosted glass shifted to transparent, offering an unparalleled view of the Capitol at night.
Across the street, he could see into his own bedroom. He left the glass clear when his butler entered with the finishing touch. Glamour took his leave as the butler set up an iron table with four items: a chilled bottle of champagne, a bouquet of white mourning flowers, a brass hand bell, and a simple note in Glamour's hand:
Tonight, and forever more, this sanctuary is yours. This is the only space in the Capitol where I will not come for you. If you wish to summon me, you need only ring the bell.
I am sorry for your loss.
Love,
Glamour
Confoundingly, it had been the send off that had most stumped him. Should he profess such a thing in this letter? But he couldn't very well sign off with 'condolences' or 'in mourning' as he felt no such things. Nat's death was a welcome thing, a simplification of his life. Having Leon grieve was necessary, if not additional insult to injury; even in death, Nat found a way to divide Glamour from his lover. He was impatient for the mourning period to be over, but according to his friends, that would take time. Perhaps as much as a year.
From his darkened bedroom, Glamour watched as the Peacekeepers led Leon into the converted greenhouse. Glamour swept aside his coattails, settling into a chaise lounge with a scotch and soda in his hands. It would be a long night of practicing patience; he could think of no one else for whom he would do such a thing. But then, he'd never given anyone else the power to summon him, either. If nothing else, this was the beginning of something new.
In the dark, he lifted his glass to Leon and his dead brother.
