Most of us long to "Be" but when the path gets too costly, or steep, we take solace in what we "Have." Remove the trappings of what we own and then what is the sum of us?
They were the survivors, abandoned by the allies who swore to protect, in...
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The small weapon that was little more than a bejeweled letter opener bothered him. It should not have Victor pondered, testing for the umpteenth time the sharpness of the double sided blade on his thumb. It's little more than a letter opener...and yet...What kind of metal was it, silver, pewter, titanium?
Victor already knew it was neither, though something familiar and yet so alien to his eyes and the sensitivity of his fingers. He had never seen it's like, and the gems that encrusted the pommel what manner of precious stone were they? Appearing as oily contaminate trapped within beads of glass, in every diameter possible arrayed in a most pleasing design. However no amount of close scrutiny would reveal to him any clues to what they really were, and the craftsmanship was truly to his connoisseurs eyes otherworldly.
Victor rubbed his forehead lingering on aching temples, thinking he didn't feel at all well which was unlike him, and that a good relaxing massage was in order. At least he had that simple pleasure, a way to temporarily escape the hard realities of apocalyptic life.
Carefully he wound the beautiful blade in some fabric, and nestled it against a plainer utilitarian one. As he did so cursing his fortunes and his impending journey on the morrow as he stowed the weapons in black leather saddle bags.
Although he was always reluctant to make these trips Victor had readied himself to leave in his usual organized fashion. Methodically packing the minimal possessions he would require for the journey ahead. He was not usually one to fret, however the idea of his Lord's new bride filled him with a terrible dread. He could not allow this union to be consummated, and somehow he must continue to ensure that he held power here absolute, no matter what events were soon to transpire. The second in commands' ever calculating mind racing, belying his cool exterior.
This new bride must have an untimely accident. However that course seemed too blunt, too obvious. Perhaps he could assist her to escape en route? He was sure the independent woman would be happy with that outcome, after all she did appear very reluctant to have a husband chosen for her? However then Victor would be much maligned for his incompetence, and his inability to escort a lone woman to the safe bastion of her husband's holdings. How, just how could he amicably or even underhandedly solve this latest crisis?
Like many who ruled through a puppet king, for that was truly what Lord Lothar had become even if he had never suspected, Victor did not always inform his Lord of his actions. Infirmity had thankfully dulled his Lord's vigor, and once great acuity. Victor would simply leave an understudy in control of his Lord's care and do as he wished. He had decided to take his latest human captive with him. He had promised Jacques a contest after all.
However that was tomorrow's agenda, this journey he must undertake, the deals he must weave. Victor lay back in the tub, the ministrations of his daughter most welcome, easing at least for the present the deep lines of worry that crossed his brow, and the drawn furrows that creased his cheeks. Perfect hands, elegant fingers, fine pale flesh spared the exposure to the savage climes' above. She was his temple of softness, his symphony in pleasure. He lay back in the warm scented waters and let her touch ferry him away.
