I see you're catching up with comments again :) I know you've relented a little on the Lady Gaga front, but I still think you might change your mind again in the other direction " :)
Investment Des, the Presiding Religious Authority, looked around the foyer of the Shard. It was London's tallest building, had a hotel about half-way up to make good money from the view, and otherwise was mostly offices. He'd been up to the top already and the viewing platform and had enjoyed the gently sway of the building for a few minutes, but he'd gotten bored fairly quickly. Though London was popping up clusters of skyscrapers here and there, mostly in the City it seemed, and there were still enough trees to make you think you weren't exactly in a city (in most directions, at least), the country was, ultimately, not that bumpy and the view turned flat before getting too far. He quite liked that as well, but there was only so long you could look at it before wishing it changed a bit. Two gentlemen, though the word had a precise meaning when Des used it: a clipped, final sort of meaning that suggested that these gentlemen were more men than gentle and that they were hired for specifically that distinction, were casually wandering the foyer and stopping here and there to speak briefly, but quietly, to other people. Who were then slowly, and without any kind of hurry, looks of panic, or looking back over their shoulder, were discovering that they had other places to be -- good grief, was that the time? Which meant that when Loretta Calveston stepped out of the lift and marched across the foyer, her high heels tapping out Morse code signals of distress and her snow-white skirt swirling around her ankles like the dance of the seven veils, the lobby was empty save for Des, his gentlemen friends, and a bemused pair of security guards at the front desk. Loretta reached the chairs where Des has sat down and halted. She glared at him, then held her hand out. Since she was standing and he was sitting, her hand was several centimetres above his head.
"Sit, please," said Des as though she wasn't trying to shake hands with someone taller than him. "Blessings be with you." "Any particular blessings?" said Loretta. Her face was smooth and as pale-gold as washed sandstone; her make-up was meticulous and minimal, accentuating sharp cheek-bones and deep-set eyes. She was stunning and well-aware of the fact, and she intensely disliked it when someone like Des didn't even look up at her. "I think security will want to check them out first, in case you've hidden anything inside them." "You're familiar with the Etruscans?" Des might have sounded curious, but not surprised. Loretta blinked though, which to those who knew her was an admission of bewilderment. "I think... I think I may have met them at some society thing," said Loretta. Mentally she was flailing, but externally she wasn't even sweating. "They've all been dead for several thousand years," said Des. He still hadn't looked up at her, and in her confusion Loretta decided that sitting was the simpler option. She folded gracefully up like an origami flower settling into place, and was suddenly at eye-level with Des. Whose own eyes proved to be deep and clear and made her feel a little bit uncertain. "I expect they were part of the display," said Loretta. "I get invited to a lot of openings for things like archaeology, medicine and... historical artefacts of interest." Des might have smiled, but it might have been a shadow cast by one of the gentlemen walking past. Loretta was recovering well. "They are the only religious organisation I represent who would have concealed a curse inside a blessing and smuggled it in," he said. "And no, my blessing are not Etruscan, nor are they Greek gifts. They are freely given and may be treated as you wish." Loretta's perfume, a faintly sweet smell with undertones of marigold and hyacinth, swept over him as he turned, and his nose wrinkled just a touch. "I will have the staff put them in a vase," said Loretta archly. "If they can find them. What do you want, and... what do mean, you represent religious organisation for people three thousand years dead?" Her voice rose just a fraction in intensity as she realised what he'd claimed. "What I said," said Des calmly. "I'm here on their behalf; they wish to avail themselves of your investment firm." Loretta just stared at him, aware that her voice would tremble and crack if she tried to ask for more information. "It's like this," said Des, spreading his hands apart and smiling tightly. "Their idea of investment is not fiscal, nor fiduciary. There is no property for collateral. There are no artefacts for you to hold on to. What there is, is a collection of souls that no-one has been able to put a price on, partly because there don't seem to be numbers big enough. But they are being offered, to your firm, if you can invest in a certain something for them. Though... you may annoy the Vatican in the process."
3 comments:
I see you're catching up with comments again :) I know you've relented a little on the Lady Gaga front, but I still think you might change your mind again in the other direction " :)
Investment
Des, the Presiding Religious Authority, looked around the foyer of the Shard. It was London's tallest building, had a hotel about half-way up to make good money from the view, and otherwise was mostly offices. He'd been up to the top already and the viewing platform and had enjoyed the gently sway of the building for a few minutes, but he'd gotten bored fairly quickly. Though London was popping up clusters of skyscrapers here and there, mostly in the City it seemed, and there were still enough trees to make you think you weren't exactly in a city (in most directions, at least), the country was, ultimately, not that bumpy and the view turned flat before getting too far. He quite liked that as well, but there was only so long you could look at it before wishing it changed a bit.
Two gentlemen, though the word had a precise meaning when Des used it: a clipped, final sort of meaning that suggested that these gentlemen were more men than gentle and that they were hired for specifically that distinction, were casually wandering the foyer and stopping here and there to speak briefly, but quietly, to other people. Who were then slowly, and without any kind of hurry, looks of panic, or looking back over their shoulder, were discovering that they had other places to be -- good grief, was that the time? Which meant that when Loretta Calveston stepped out of the lift and marched across the foyer, her high heels tapping out Morse code signals of distress and her snow-white skirt swirling around her ankles like the dance of the seven veils, the lobby was empty save for Des, his gentlemen friends, and a bemused pair of security guards at the front desk.
Loretta reached the chairs where Des has sat down and halted. She glared at him, then held her hand out. Since she was standing and he was sitting, her hand was several centimetres above his head.
"Sit, please," said Des as though she wasn't trying to shake hands with someone taller than him. "Blessings be with you."
"Any particular blessings?" said Loretta. Her face was smooth and as pale-gold as washed sandstone; her make-up was meticulous and minimal, accentuating sharp cheek-bones and deep-set eyes. She was stunning and well-aware of the fact, and she intensely disliked it when someone like Des didn't even look up at her. "I think security will want to check them out first, in case you've hidden anything inside them."
"You're familiar with the Etruscans?" Des might have sounded curious, but not surprised. Loretta blinked though, which to those who knew her was an admission of bewilderment.
"I think... I think I may have met them at some society thing," said Loretta. Mentally she was flailing, but externally she wasn't even sweating.
"They've all been dead for several thousand years," said Des. He still hadn't looked up at her, and in her confusion Loretta decided that sitting was the simpler option. She folded gracefully up like an origami flower settling into place, and was suddenly at eye-level with Des. Whose own eyes proved to be deep and clear and made her feel a little bit uncertain.
"I expect they were part of the display," said Loretta. "I get invited to a lot of openings for things like archaeology, medicine and... historical artefacts of interest."
Des might have smiled, but it might have been a shadow cast by one of the gentlemen walking past. Loretta was recovering well.
"They are the only religious organisation I represent who would have concealed a curse inside a blessing and smuggled it in," he said. "And no, my blessing are not Etruscan, nor are they Greek gifts. They are freely given and may be treated as you wish." Loretta's perfume, a faintly sweet smell with undertones of marigold and hyacinth, swept over him as he turned, and his nose wrinkled just a touch.
"I will have the staff put them in a vase," said Loretta archly. "If they can find them. What do you want, and... what do mean, you represent religious organisation for people three thousand years dead?" Her voice rose just a fraction in intensity as she realised what he'd claimed.
"What I said," said Des calmly. "I'm here on their behalf; they wish to avail themselves of your investment firm."
Loretta just stared at him, aware that her voice would tremble and crack if she tried to ask for more information.
"It's like this," said Des, spreading his hands apart and smiling tightly. "Their idea of investment is not fiscal, nor fiduciary. There is no property for collateral. There are no artefacts for you to hold on to. What there is, is a collection of souls that no-one has been able to put a price on, partly because there don't seem to be numbers big enough. But they are being offered, to your firm, if you can invest in a certain something for them. Though... you may annoy the Vatican in the process."
Greg - one day I'll be on top of comments consistently. One day.
Hah. This seems like a... complicated investment. I wonder how well equipped Loretta is to handle it?
Post a Comment