Call of Cthulhu

Chapter 2: The Bar

I knew it would take time for Carson to ready Traveller considering his disregard for accepting the help of the newly appointed stable hand. His stubborn and sheer will is quite admirable but on occasions such as these, it is no more than a pain. 

A sigh. A foot tap. Forcefully crossed arms. And yet no Carson.

 I trot steadily down each step as though I'm in the midst of a Tea Dance, wasting time for my butler. Like most of my fathers' many many houses, the overly grand charismatic foyer architecture  design is dripping something rotten all over: the long lapses of acute exercise one must take to go to bed along our staircase; how grand regal furniture swallows the air and space in all the rooms; the cold shiny metal worth more than most jewelry on which we dine with. All rather extravagant for my tastes. Especially so for Christopher...a pang of sadness grips my chest as I land at the last step. Carson breaks my melancholy silence, half rushing ahead of Marie.

"My lady" ah another bow, now with an extended arm across Marie's path. 

"M'lady", a small but polite curtsy that earned a few daggers from Carson's eyes. If we were in a school yard, he might've pulled her hair and stuck out a pouted lip. If he were in my previous academy, he might've stabbed her.  Pushing down a small chuckle that came with a rather absurd image of my good friends and servants with blades up in arms at a pitiful curtsy right here in my living room, I turn to Marie.

"How is my boy today?", I may have the odd tendency to enjoy observing the innocent gossips among my staff, to which this opportunity hasn't arisen in quite some time due to the vast grasp the Infection has had. However cruel, to my...experienced eye, 'pitting', if you will, Carson against lower staff here has always been a fun game. My body scarred and bruised, I grant myself the indulgence of strengthening the spine of these young. 

"Oh, m'lady, he's comin' on jus' fine. A hard buggar to break, I must say. But alls well that ends well", a proud nod I note. I make a small barely noticeable scrunch at the informality, my annoyance fictitious, however, not to Carson. He erupts internally but maintains face. The chuckle returns. She's quite a pretty girl: hair tied tight but not enough for the artful curls of fierce red to spring out of place; sweet doe eyes and a heart shaped face. If it were not for her calluses and her hard cockney pronunciations, she might've broken hearts. 

"Ah well that's excellent. Carson," energy and concern splatter across his aged face, "I will not be back until around oh say half 4 am. I must apologize for the lateness but there are...shifts in the wind. I must stay out longer than the usual rounds. If it a pain, I'll seek my own source of food and beverages-"

"I wouldn't dream of it my lady!" Chest puffs up, pride seeping from his environment, "I shall have Cook prepare the finest of platters." I send an appreciative nod towards him, and glide through the door. There, my stallion awaits, plumes of air rushing out his nostrils, exhaling from an almighty chest. If my father could help it, there would be six with a carriage at their backs. But my father is not here, my beast is.  

A sweet harmonious whistle makes a parting through my lips and that is when Traveller notes my presence, loping towards me. 

We're to travel to the Hunter's Academy, ready with news of my dream. I hardly have to instruct Traveller during the journey: too many times have we walked the same path. Along the way, I list off noticeable areas and land marks: an oak tree tattooed in carvings from teenage sweethearts; the police station, always desolate - never enough crime where more than 3 officers are in need. Then a park comes into my view. Some unnamed emotion creeps behind my eyes and into my stomach: the green of that field I see every day has something...to it. 

It takes almost all of my body strength to force Traveller to change course, I must understand. 

When we arrive, the air shifts around us as though there is life to this place. And that is when I recognize this psychological phantom: I have been here. When "here" was just a destination in dream. I met Gherman or what I thought was him, when white delicate lotus' drowned the grass beneath in blood. A shudder breaks my stillness and leaves a trail of want behind. Want for an innocence found in my childhood. When the world did not seem so vast and dark. 

In a delicate manner, I mount my horse and speed off. It takes a while for my senses to awaken and realize where I'm leading us. 

"Hunter's Rest" written in aged wooden letters, hanging above a local bar's door, makes me wriggle with uneasy awareness. Ah, my brother has done well for himself I see. I worry not about tying Traveller to a horses post, there are no infected transformed during daylight. Not even in this back end of London's finest thug and thief residence. There are many within the building, of course this is not an unusual sight as for most, their work shifts have just ended. As is the way of the Hunter - work all night, drink, eat and sleep (if you're so lucky to even reach sleep).  A hum of laughter and early morning chatter illuminate the bar with life. Which suddenly dies as I creek open the door. 

Many lower class hunters and students stand in my presence. My brutality with a switch blade and unmatched accuracy with any British made weapon, has earned me a reputation among the masses. A small smirk lines my face with a regality I am unused to. Clearly, many here feel the same as admiration slowly turns in to dots of jealousy. Quick Alice. Think. 

"Fellow hunters!", my smirk soon replaced with a toothy grin, "Drink on, and be merry, for this morning, the next round is on me!". An eruption of cheers and sighs of relief wave through the customers of the Hunter's Rest, soon replacing that jealousy with merriment. Well, for most anyway.