09-10-2018, 08:51 PM
Ryker was seated at the bar, arm draped along the drink-rail. He sank into the curves of the seat with all the relaxation of a lion sprawled atop high rocks. Where his fingers wrapped a glass tenderly as a lover’s throat, a ring on his finger clinked rhythmically upon the glass. Nothing to draw attention, just a plain charcoal band. The only apparent ornament of decoration to his appearance. Hardly a symbol of wedlock. That was long ago confiscated from the raided flat left behind. He never attempted to find it again.
The lion sipped occasionally at perfectly clear, cold liquid that sparkled like diamonds filled the glass. Faces dredged deja vu from the ball. Captains of industry filtered around the room, descending to their base blood lusts to fulfill barbaric needs unmet in civilized society, ascending when the reprieve from brutality beckoned. He was recognized in return, but the silent promise of exclusivity did not draw them near. Ryker’s was a face not easily forgotten, though perhaps dismissed. He nodded once in a while when such moments of epiphany flashed recognition in lingering eyes. Otherwise, none lured conversation.
A woman crawled the floor like a spider sniffing the best corner to cast her webs. The prey was fresh, Asian meat. He watched her languorous analysis even as she watched the tendrils soon to be her meal. Her selection was unknown to Ryker, but by the way that others shot him glances askance, his was a face apparently widely known.
The internal cross-reference did not place him at the ball, Ryker guessed, but he hadn’t the opportunity to study all 300 guests before they were so rudely interrupted. Ascendancy was suppose to hail Ryker a hero before his privileged gentry. Instead, Ryker slipped away another unknown. Perhaps it was for the best. Agendas should remain buried. Ryker’s plowed deep trenches.
Gaze gliding from the spider with all her emaciated, gangly limbs, he spied Ivan before the cop saw him in return. The way others stared dismissively plucked proud feathers from Ryker’s chest. Underestimating an enemy was one of the best advantages to hold in hand.
He waved the young cop over when the chance came.
The lion sipped occasionally at perfectly clear, cold liquid that sparkled like diamonds filled the glass. Faces dredged deja vu from the ball. Captains of industry filtered around the room, descending to their base blood lusts to fulfill barbaric needs unmet in civilized society, ascending when the reprieve from brutality beckoned. He was recognized in return, but the silent promise of exclusivity did not draw them near. Ryker’s was a face not easily forgotten, though perhaps dismissed. He nodded once in a while when such moments of epiphany flashed recognition in lingering eyes. Otherwise, none lured conversation.
A woman crawled the floor like a spider sniffing the best corner to cast her webs. The prey was fresh, Asian meat. He watched her languorous analysis even as she watched the tendrils soon to be her meal. Her selection was unknown to Ryker, but by the way that others shot him glances askance, his was a face apparently widely known.
The internal cross-reference did not place him at the ball, Ryker guessed, but he hadn’t the opportunity to study all 300 guests before they were so rudely interrupted. Ascendancy was suppose to hail Ryker a hero before his privileged gentry. Instead, Ryker slipped away another unknown. Perhaps it was for the best. Agendas should remain buried. Ryker’s plowed deep trenches.
Gaze gliding from the spider with all her emaciated, gangly limbs, he spied Ivan before the cop saw him in return. The way others stared dismissively plucked proud feathers from Ryker’s chest. Underestimating an enemy was one of the best advantages to hold in hand.
He waved the young cop over when the chance came.