Machinations of the Machine
Sunday, January 13, 2008
12:10 AM

"Are we not associates, Titus?" Savana stood before his desk, her back like a straight edged razor. The loose robe-like garments of black were liquidesque, a slick satin, reflecting darkly the light from the few lamps that hung from the ceiling. Titus leaned heavily in his cushions and exotic furs, a saccharine smile curling along the corners of his mouth, "Of course we are associates, Savana. But I know nothing of what you speak."
"You are lying to me, Titus. I dislike when people lie to me." She moved from the forefront of his desk, an indolent pace that crept along the side, skimming the perimeter of the room, "I have documentation. Witnesses, that say otherwise."
"You are misinformed," Titus remained relaxed, feeling himself with the upper hand and such a notion showed easily upon his swollen pink features, "Are you in need of salt Savana? I am sure we can work out something."
"Who is Ibrahim of Tor?" She came to a halt again, a dip of chin leveled the austere gaze upon him closely. Patient, with a predatorial bent, she studied his every subtle gesture, every nuance from the twitch of his brow to the rate of his breathing. "I have never heard the name before," He lifted a hand loftily, but noticably grew more tense, "I think it is time you left, She-Killer."
"You force my hand, Titus Octavius."
"You overstep your bounds, woman."
I left the slaving house of Four Palms that evening. I did not however return home. The next day, Titus would find his morning tea interrupted.Labels: Civitatis Aria