Repent: Gwyllomay of the Darkness (1.5) (MANUSCRIPT)

Capitol 44 - Taste, 2

    "So, a wonderful holiday banquet is to begin, my lord?" Danyard sighed, his crimson irises glowed some. 

    "I do say, Master Quilke, I am quite impressed. I had had my doubts- I thought you were going to distinguish yourself from Gwyllomay by proceeding on with less holidays." Cesare stroke his left ring finger. 

    The posh vampyre simply rested his cheekbone upon his right hand. "I am quite appalled, Cesare. Did you not think that I too love to party? To participate and partake in a party." 

    "Ah, yes, funny how the English language works like that." Cesare wagged his finger and smirked. 

    "I do love the English language- Especially when it dribbles off the tongue of a wonderful dame." Quilke winked. 

    "I have yet to find a language that doesn't sound good whenever a lady speaks it." Danyard nodded. 

    Kellnex rubbed the nape of his neck. "WH-" 

    "Well, then there's you." Cesare sighed. "And I'm pretty sure you could make any language sound absolutely alarming." 

    "Hmph. Alas, it is that time of the hour then. Cesare, I demand that the Brisk Festival commence as it always has, yet I, with haste, wish for my dinner." Quilke touched the top of his hat. 

    "I understand, your highness. I shall get right on it." Cesare bowed, locks of his oily hair falling down his cheeks. 

    Danyard quickly got to his knees, his fist tapping against the hard ground floor. "We thank you, lord." 

    "YES, WE-"

    "N- Shut up, George. Anyway..." Danyard ran a hand through the front of his golden hair. "... we find you quite humble, cooperative, and merciful with the wishes of the people of Polidora, Lord Quilke Barclay Weldspar!" 

    A pair of his own fingers reached to the back of his hair as Quilke pulled out a ponytail holder, the black stretchy material widening and shrinking. "Hehehe. I am absolutely grateful, Danyard Bathory, for your assistance in the creation of my new kingdom. Your brother, Eris, must absolutely be rewarded! Regardless, however, I desire to see someone." 

    "Ah, of course sir. Is it her?" Danyard's gaze rolled. 

    Quilke's head shifted. "Nay, I can't say it is. Not today, anyway. She still needs some more time to rest. I need make her prim and proper for such a festival such as this, since it is -- in fact -- happening now. Hmhmhmhmhmhmhm. I cannot tell you how many times I heard that name, 'the Brisk Festival' come out of Gwyllomay's mouth. I'm so damn glad that those days can be put behind us now." 

    "Ah. I am too. For that former Lord would have brought nothing but death if he stayed in power. So I speculate, anyway, for you -- King Quilke -- have brought on the movements and progressions which will lead to immortality for all." 

    "Hm, yes." Quilke licked his upper lip. "As of right now, I wish to see Dr. Halanay." 

    Danyard's eyes widened. "D- Doctor... Halanay?" 

    "The one, the only- The good ol' 'Dr. H', as this land has decided to christen him, long before I had any choice in the matter." 

    "He's-" 

    "A very dangerous vampyre, I know. The kind of creature who has feasted more on the love and devotion of humans, only to keep it locked up in capsules and vials. Eheheh. Ho boy! How does he do it? He must have an occasional snack every so often or so. The only vampyre who I've known to ever go so long without a vampyre's favorite treat is none other than the founder of this land." 

    "The traitorous first Lord? I remember Eris telling me that Gwyllomay had ripped off his foot in the heat of some scuffle they had!" 

    "Yeah, I guess that wasn't exactly a perfect display of good bedside manners from Gwyll. Hmph. It's alright, I find. If he does show up, he will unfortunately find that now most of Polidoria has turned against his better respects." Quilke's red eyes darted down to his own feet. "Ah, Gwyllomay, how it's been so long since I got to be beside you in an informal manner." 

    "Well, Daven, I think it's been a looong day." Tying up a line of buttons on his shirt, an older man with a face like a bearded pineapple yawned. 

    "I agree, Bob. I agree." Another man clicked his fingers against a white desk. 

    "You know, I thought getting a job for the City Hall Adornment Facility would be high-paying and easy. And it's definitely not easy. Working with jewelry is a complete wash sometimes." 

    "Yeah? Yeah, some of us around here do get to wash some of the jewelry every so often. HUHUHUHUHUH! Hm." Daven continued to click his fingers over the table. "I sort of get what you're saying, though. I guess I can't complain, other than the fact that the printer runs out of ink more than the coffee-room runs out of creamer, BAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!" 

    "BAHAH-Holy shit, Daven!" Bob's smile fell. 

    "What?" 

    "Over there, by Brooch Display Number Fourteen-Thirteen!" 

    Daven's head, akin to a plum, turned all too late. Through a series of clear windows, the lankier adult bit his tongue at the sight of a dark silhouette. In other room, clear as day, stood a man with black attire as this stranger's hand dove into a cushioned display case. 

    "Shit! I'm calling the cops." Daven stomped his foot to the floor. 

    "Ugh. I hate being one of the last two guys to work here at night." Bob's head lowered. 

    "Complain later, damn it. We've got a fuckin' thief- I thought guys like this only existed in the movies." Daven reached for a corded phone, the black string-like system curling up. "Reality check, they don't. Hah. I guess this damn office job has all but fattened me up, huh? I was never prepared for something like this." 

    "I mean, we were, procedure-wise. But not emotionally." Bob crossed his arms. "This damn guy sees us too, and yet he's not stopping. What a piss-ant. Grrr. I actually wish he was a piss-ant. Ugh- Oh, what is he d- doing?" 

    Daven's head rose from the landline phone. "Looks like he's pulling out a piece of paper from his pocket?" 

    "Well, I thank my lucky stars that it wasn't a gun, knife, or a bomb. TSK!" 

    In front of the men, the masked thief held up a piece of rustic parchment. 

    Daven squinted his eyes. "Does that say-" 

     "Loup Noir."