Petronia
City CouncilMember is offline
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Posted: Jul 2nd, 2008 at 06:49 am
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Sitting as always at a favorite corner cafe, outside table. It was Petronia's favourite time of year - Summer. From a very public vantage point, Petronia could soak up the party feel of a city so full of grandiose life, that even the shadows hung like stage drapes. Presenting a great comedy of energy.
The waitress brought the usual double espresso, in it's tiny cup. She had pretty ice blue eyes, open expression and soft spoken tone. Petronia smelt the coffee, it was thick, black and soooo good. The cup was comfortingly hot in the slim, delicate hand of the vampire. Such a dreadful shame to slowly pour it away, over the course of the hour that the Mysterious stranger would sit there alone. Watching..
The figure's thoughts turned to Lestat and New Orleans. How he called it "His city" and how too, all the fledglings knew it, and did not hang off his coattails for fear of death. No doubt, it had been a brave thing Quinn had done. To seek out "The Prince of New Orleans" The way he did. Longing to escape Goblin and the fiend of his making. Such bitter longing.. "Quinn..." An airless sigh.
Roma was Petronia's New Orleans. No court was held, No assumption of greatness was permitted in beautiful Rome. It was greatness itself..Every soul a player. Now.. 'twas only to wait and see. Who would enter in this act? To play out their final scene.
The vampire raised it's head, clad as usual in the guise of an eccentric male traveler. In overlarge hat, brim dipped low concealing a disdain filled narrow gaze. Long light coloured shirt, with a delicate (foppish) ruffle down the front. The shirt was perhaps the only nod to it's concealed femininity. The coat the figure wore clung to the creatures lithe, yet strong body. It was brown suede and kissed the cobbles, draping slightly in the small puddle of coffee at the feet of the 'Mysterious Stranger'
A violinist was playing for a couple at a table close by. The music was pleasant but over accented with flourishes, Petronia felt. The untrained musical pallet of tourists, would not hear the strained effort the violinist was putting into selling 'romance' as a commodity. For something to sell, it has to be bigger than nature intended. To Petronia though, it was like costume jewelery. Utterly vulgar.
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Petronia
Jul 2nd, 2008 at 06:51 am »
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Nicolas
Administrator Member is offline Le Violoniste
Posts: 50
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Posted: Jul 2nd, 2008 at 06:52 pm
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It was like nails on a chalkboard. I couldn't concentrate on anything else. I couldn't hear anything else, least of all the hum of another immortal so near, close enough to reach out and touch, close enough sense the heartbeat.
But I didn't, because there was that violinist and his terrible Czech violin with a string just slightly out of tune. I wanted to snatch the thing from his fingers and throw it across the Piazza, but instead I sat there, peering darkly at him over the top of the cup of chai that I wasn't drinking. My eyes slid over the careless layers of resin dust that clung to the instrument and travelled up to his disaffected face. A couple of tourists sitting at the table cooed over the monstrous show, and I half wanted to throw them across the piazza too. In retrospect, it's a wonder I managed to remain seated as long as I did.
But it wasn't to last, this calm, watchful nature. Abruptly, I reached my tolerance threshold and rose from my seat, stalking the few tables toward him purposefully. Oh dear, how clumsy of me, I must have bumped him with my cup of chai, tipping the contents of the untouched mug down the arm of his cheap china-manufactured tailcoat. The music halted and he whirled to look at me angrily. I read his thoughts, heard the insults. The sudden silence made me smile, which only really made matters worse. The couple at the table gawked at me in vague astonishment as I stood there beaming at him.
Ahhh... much better. I could hear myself think! I could hear the laughter from across the piazza, and cooing of the pidgins on the rooftops above us, the soft shuffle of feet in the adjoining alleyways, the distinctive humming throb of an immortal presence, close enough to touch.
I jumped instinctively and whirled where I stood to dart my gaze precisely at it's source. ow had I not noticed? Ah, damn the violinist! I blinked at the gentleman in the hat as the violinist mumbled under his breath and slid away, no doubt to dry his jacket. My own violin hummed deliciously in it's case across my back from the force of my movement in having turned, and that alone was infinitely more precious and beautiful than the terrible tinny voice of the Czech Strad copy.
A creeping sense of acknowledgement slid up my spine, the knowledge that the entire scene had been watched, that I had been watched. I shivered faintly and tore my gaze away from the other immortal to glance at the flabbergasted tourist couple. I didn't care that they were upset, or that the violinist was upset. There was, after all, no good or evil, only good art and bad art, and his art was certainly the latter. Really, I'd done them a favour, done the whole piazza a favour.
Still reeling from the imposing sensation of that presence, I scratched at my head anxiously and suddenly began to pick my way through the clusters of tables, toward the open piazza, toward escape. It felt odd to know there was another, to know I had been spotted, to know I had been watched if even for a short moment. I was unaccustomed to it, having abided by sticking in the shadows for so many years. I wasn't sure how to interact with another immortal anymore, and somehow I felt almost violated to have been seen by one.
I quickened my pace once I reached the sprawling cobbles beyond the cafe tables, and made a bee-line for an alleyway to the far right corner from my vantage point. I suppose it's what I must have expected for having travelled outside of my comfort zone that was Paris. The whole realisation shook my little sense of hapless peace and unnerved me.
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La Citta Eterna - (Read 76 Times)
