[Haven] Kennedy, Wakelin & Parsons Law

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[Haven] Kennedy, Wakelin & Parsons Law

Post by Malpraktis on Wed Aug 26, 2015 9:23 pm

The city of London is generally vibrant and lush with sounds at most hours of the night; this slightly cool autumn night is no different.  One really never listens to the sound of the city as much as the things that contrast from it, such as the iconic 'click clack' of dress shoes on hard stone and the slight jangle of keys from someone that fiddles while he's being introspective.  It feels comfortable to walk up to the familiar haunt; the one small place in the city where one can feel a king.  The faded brick building would be nondescript if it weren't for the solid block lettering on the glass of a wooden door aptly describing the place as 'Kennedy, Wakelin & Parsons Law Firm.'  As the key turns along with the handle of the building, the door to the office relents with it's customary creaking sound coupled with the crashing of a now disturbed set of window blinds and the soft tinkering of a high pitched tiny bell, peeling it's greeting.  A flick of the light switch later, the office hums with some semblance of dull luminescence.  The radio with just a gesture sets the ambiance of the scene, preventing the intrusion of the ever uncomfortable silence.  As drab as the outside of the building seemed to be, the inside shows no expense was spared in the name of luxury.  Desks made of oak, chairs cushioned for comfort; on display are fine works of mind bending art from local artists of some renown.  Sitting down on the small office throne, in front of slumbering laptop, one cant help but lean back and sigh as it takes it's time to awaken.

"Six Years..."

It's been that long already?  No, one must not think like that, not anymore.  Six years is six months now, and six months is merely six weeks.  Clearly time is accounted for differently with the realization that it is now a currency one has in abundance.  It seems so long ago when things were of a simpler sort, dutifully carrying out the wishes of a superior with a penchant for greed.  Just hoping for the merest chance of recognition or the fleeting gaze of appreciation.  Speaking of, it's still a wonder that 'it' brought him here into this 'dead society,' as it seemed to be somewhat out of character for a monster to give up a plaything.  Mayhaps it's that he has finally become dull and boring, or mayhaps he is still being tested.  It's just as likely there isn't a reason; the original master never listed predictability high on his list of attributes.

The careful planning and sewing of seeds in mortal society may have finally come to fruition; Time to start the real service in earnest.  The denizens of the night seem to have a knack for getting themselves in trouble; especially my fellow associates short in the fang.  If one stops to think about it, it's hard not to bask in the new found vainglory.  How easy it is to want, to take, to flourish upon those whom are none the wiser, the things one were denied in life.  To exploit them is so easy now; I can make them mere marionettes with a fleeting glance.  I remind myself that these are people, potential friends, with lush lives and personalities and families like I once had.  I can't help but glance at a portrait of my family when I was a teenager.  My father's disappointment would be soul-crushing.  The truth is I will probably never see him again; perhaps it's best he thinks me dead and buried.  I can't help but wonder what he would think of me now.

Never-to-less, it is finally time to earn some return on investment of time and effort in the kine; in which the fellow young will hopefully provide payment.  The key is in trying to stay away from the old; they oft take a service as something that should be done for the entitled on their whim.  Perhaps they are right; what choice does one have when the reaper tells you to dance?  Sometimes it feels like the vulnerability of being in their mere presence is almost too much to bare.  That bridge will have to be crossed someday, but not today.  For now, it's just as well to stay unimportant, and insignificant of their time and effort.  What better way than to be one of the ones that plays the game of the initiate that does what he's supposed to do?  Who am I kidding, I am a fool.  We are all dancing.  


The computer is finally active; the icon of an envelope catches the eye.  There it is again, that nagging sensation of a job needing doing, a problem needing expert attention.  Glossing over the dreary normality of the contents, that eager feeling is replaced with the heart dropping thud of disappointment.  These messages can wait.  Lets go make some friends.

Malpraktis

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