Post by You aren't even a real - Eagle on May 9, 2016 10:38:18 GMT -5
Uncanny
The blazing clouds of dust flared up underneath him.
"Hello," said a strange man, "How are you thus here?"
"I was sent for by he who is in this building. Tell him to come soon," replied the arrival, a man in his 30s, quietly wearing a leather case like a hidden handbag, with a slightly dark handle to his umbrella in the mist.
"Sure, but how did you arrive?" persisted the man.
"I have looked over the few routes which lead to this place, as you call it, Cerotraf -"
"Cerotraphé," replied he man, correcting a trivial distinction, but it seemed to matter a lot to the man, and perhaps the people inside. This might be a tiring journey.
"Yes. Well, I came by a carriage, but left it there, because, don't you know, there is a dirt road which a horse will just refuse to cross."
"Refuse? Perhaps too strong a term for it. In any case, come inside, all in there shall be well set-out, and you should enjoy your audience," the man said, gesturing.
"I have never been much into feng shui -," came the response. The genteel trappings of the place, along with the promise of more obedient horses, disheartened him.
"Fang what?" said the man, hardly seeming alarmed. Perhaps he was frequently addressed about other kinds of fang, like those of a needle.
"Never mind. Thank you, I am sure that I shall enjoy their audience. Well, go on and let us enter, I see there is a nice statue of David and Bathsheba."
"You like this? Few say so. Well, you shall be most welcome. Enter first," he said, intoning initially like one who was actually speaking a mystical language.
"Very well," and they both entered the door. The man who had just arrived went in first, but then waited for a while, while the man who had stayed here for longer seemed more hesitant to re-enter before grasping the door and stepping in, leaving the guest feeling uneasy.
"I'm dreadfully sorry about that," said the man who had just entered, "what is your name, sir?"
"Ah, of course. Reginald Slesing. Shall I know your name?"
"Very well. I am Brent, I serve here. You shall perhaps not see much of me, but not because I hate the place."
They stepped further in, towards a white room, hidden at first within a shadowy corridor.
The blazing clouds of dust flared up underneath him.
"Hello," said a strange man, "How are you thus here?"
"I was sent for by he who is in this building. Tell him to come soon," replied the arrival, a man in his 30s, quietly wearing a leather case like a hidden handbag, with a slightly dark handle to his umbrella in the mist.
"Sure, but how did you arrive?" persisted the man.
"I have looked over the few routes which lead to this place, as you call it, Cerotraf -"
"Cerotraphé," replied he man, correcting a trivial distinction, but it seemed to matter a lot to the man, and perhaps the people inside. This might be a tiring journey.
"Yes. Well, I came by a carriage, but left it there, because, don't you know, there is a dirt road which a horse will just refuse to cross."
"Refuse? Perhaps too strong a term for it. In any case, come inside, all in there shall be well set-out, and you should enjoy your audience," the man said, gesturing.
"I have never been much into feng shui -," came the response. The genteel trappings of the place, along with the promise of more obedient horses, disheartened him.
"Fang what?" said the man, hardly seeming alarmed. Perhaps he was frequently addressed about other kinds of fang, like those of a needle.
"Never mind. Thank you, I am sure that I shall enjoy their audience. Well, go on and let us enter, I see there is a nice statue of David and Bathsheba."
"You like this? Few say so. Well, you shall be most welcome. Enter first," he said, intoning initially like one who was actually speaking a mystical language.
"Very well," and they both entered the door. The man who had just arrived went in first, but then waited for a while, while the man who had stayed here for longer seemed more hesitant to re-enter before grasping the door and stepping in, leaving the guest feeling uneasy.
"I'm dreadfully sorry about that," said the man who had just entered, "what is your name, sir?"
"Ah, of course. Reginald Slesing. Shall I know your name?"
"Very well. I am Brent, I serve here. You shall perhaps not see much of me, but not because I hate the place."
They stepped further in, towards a white room, hidden at first within a shadowy corridor.