with him, for after so much experience, I could smell a scoundrel. Sense him deep inside. I had no doubt that this Baron was one of the very few good ones, as they say. And it was, indeed, a pleasure to dance with him. Once the song was over, the gentleman bowed and bid me a good night, just as a proper gentleman should.
On the other hand, there was that braggart.
William D. McFerret belched a boisterous laugh as he entered the ballroom, causing others to turn around and stare. Americans.
He had instructed me to meet him at a pub after the ball. A dark and dank one, no doubt. I was almost certain I knew what he would have to say. One could predict such things after all. There were types, and after so many centuries, I could tell with near certainty on the first meeting. In five hundred years, I’d only been mistaken once, as I said. It was in the early days, when I hadn’t yet honed my empathic abilities, nor the supernatural gifts afforded me. No, I didn’t make such mistakes anymore.
Willie was a coward, through and through, but one that was so very full of himself that he saw near nothing else besides his overly large head, or, in this one’s case, jaw. He was broken inside, fractured into nothingness, which was likely what he feared the most: that others would see into this void. Still, it didn’t excuse hurting others. None whatsoever.
Just as I was about to make my way into the library for a rest, a tall, lanky man tripped and spilled his wine all over the front of my gown. It was none other than Doctor Nesbitt.
“My dress!”
“So sorry,” he slurred from beneath his black mustache, pointing straight out on either side. The amount of wax necessary for such a comical display had left flakes of yellow here and there from where it had cracked apart. His sunken black-rimmed, tea-colored eyes molested me as they took in every curve of my body and fold of my gown. He switched his pipe from one side of his mouth to the other. Grabbing the brim, he tipped his blackened helmet and nearly dropped it on the floor. Stringy black hair slipped from its single black ribbon and dangled in front of his sallow face, clinging to his bushy jaw. After fumbling with the hat for a few seconds, he plopped it back onto his head. “Do let me get that for you.” Dragging his hands down the front of my dress, he wiped away the wine, more than grazing my breasts. He fondled me then and there, unapologetically, in front of all of London’s elite.
“I beg your pardon, sir!” I tried to move away, but he held me in place with one hand and continued the pretense of wiping off my dress, slowly, with the other. Fortunately, my recent dance partner, the Baron, saved me by taking the offensive man away.
The doctor didn’t go with grace. He spat and cursed and demanded to be left alone to attend to his most unfortunate blunder, but the soft-spoken and kind Baron whispered something about promising opium. The doctor’s eyes lit up, and he said, “Well go get it, man! I’ll wait over there. Chop! Chop!”
Such revolting behavior. Still, intrigued at these drunken public displays, I kept just outside of this bizarre man’s peripheral view to see what I could. I was rather amazed to see the number of women who approached him, but none of them stayed too long.
Understandably.
§
"I so enjoyed your lecture the other night on big game hunting on the continent, Doctor. Such a delight, as usual,” the first one said.
"It is you who are the delight, my lovely.”
"Oh, my. Can we expect more tales from the continent this weekend?”
“And more dancing, too, Doctor? Perhaps you would dance with me?” the second asked.
“Yes. Yes, of course, my sweet dumpling. My, aren’t you delicious.” His salacious glare trailed from her head down to the bottom ruffle of her dress, and then back up again. He licked his lips and stroked his mustache on either side.
“Well. I'm about to join my husband for a cup of tea,
On the other hand, there was that braggart.
William D. McFerret belched a boisterous laugh as he entered the ballroom, causing others to turn around and stare. Americans.
He had instructed me to meet him at a pub after the ball. A dark and dank one, no doubt. I was almost certain I knew what he would have to say. One could predict such things after all. There were types, and after so many centuries, I could tell with near certainty on the first meeting. In five hundred years, I’d only been mistaken once, as I said. It was in the early days, when I hadn’t yet honed my empathic abilities, nor the supernatural gifts afforded me. No, I didn’t make such mistakes anymore.
Willie was a coward, through and through, but one that was so very full of himself that he saw near nothing else besides his overly large head, or, in this one’s case, jaw. He was broken inside, fractured into nothingness, which was likely what he feared the most: that others would see into this void. Still, it didn’t excuse hurting others. None whatsoever.
Just as I was about to make my way into the library for a rest, a tall, lanky man tripped and spilled his wine all over the front of my gown. It was none other than Doctor Nesbitt.
“My dress!”
“So sorry,” he slurred from beneath his black mustache, pointing straight out on either side. The amount of wax necessary for such a comical display had left flakes of yellow here and there from where it had cracked apart. His sunken black-rimmed, tea-colored eyes molested me as they took in every curve of my body and fold of my gown. He switched his pipe from one side of his mouth to the other. Grabbing the brim, he tipped his blackened helmet and nearly dropped it on the floor. Stringy black hair slipped from its single black ribbon and dangled in front of his sallow face, clinging to his bushy jaw. After fumbling with the hat for a few seconds, he plopped it back onto his head. “Do let me get that for you.” Dragging his hands down the front of my dress, he wiped away the wine, more than grazing my breasts. He fondled me then and there, unapologetically, in front of all of London’s elite.
“I beg your pardon, sir!” I tried to move away, but he held me in place with one hand and continued the pretense of wiping off my dress, slowly, with the other. Fortunately, my recent dance partner, the Baron, saved me by taking the offensive man away.
The doctor didn’t go with grace. He spat and cursed and demanded to be left alone to attend to his most unfortunate blunder, but the soft-spoken and kind Baron whispered something about promising opium. The doctor’s eyes lit up, and he said, “Well go get it, man! I’ll wait over there. Chop! Chop!”
Such revolting behavior. Still, intrigued at these drunken public displays, I kept just outside of this bizarre man’s peripheral view to see what I could. I was rather amazed to see the number of women who approached him, but none of them stayed too long.
Understandably.
§
"I so enjoyed your lecture the other night on big game hunting on the continent, Doctor. Such a delight, as usual,” the first one said.
"It is you who are the delight, my lovely.”
"Oh, my. Can we expect more tales from the continent this weekend?”
“And more dancing, too, Doctor? Perhaps you would dance with me?” the second asked.
“Yes. Yes, of course, my sweet dumpling. My, aren’t you delicious.” His salacious glare trailed from her head down to the bottom ruffle of her dress, and then back up again. He licked his lips and stroked his mustache on either side.
“Well. I'm about to join my husband for a cup of tea,
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