Writing exercise: POV of a rich man meeting Knight for the first time.
Joseph Anthony Goodman IV sipped his bourbon and looked outside the port window of the ship, while he rested in the Neptune Lounge of the Westerdam cruise ship, on its way to Canada. He had rented the Neptune Suite for himself, with the belief that he would find any female he wanted. With his high-brow good looks and easy smile, many a model had graced his arm and bed. He had salt and pepper hair, and he had to take the little blue pill to keep him ready at all times.
At the moment, he wasn't ready to go out hunting just yet. He wanted to take a breather, to relax a bit on this cruise, before having to go out and perform. He gazed out the window, watching the water and the horizon.
The door opened, and a large, heavy-set man came in. He was smoking a cigar, and that bothered Goodman. I suppose if I really wanted peace and quiet, I should have stayed in my room, he thought.
The man, huffing and puffing, made a beeline for Goodman. "I say, good man," he said, with the accent of the high brow Englishmen of Cambridge, "why are you sitting alone in here?"
"I heard the good liquor was in here," he said, waving the bourbon.
The big man plopped down in the couch next to him. "Jolly good." The waiter, as good waiters do, appeared out of no where and came up to him. "I will have a good stout. None of that American beer."
The waiter nodded and walked away. Goodman started to get up. "If you'll excuse me--"
"No, no, my good man, please stay. I've been hearing the screeches of my wife these three hours and would like to have some decent human conversation."
"I don't know if I'm up for that," Goodman said, sitting back down. "My plan was to relax."
"And stare out the window."
"That was my plan."
"Holy shit!" came a deep voice from the far end of the room. Goodman raised his head, and the Englishman turned around. Standing at the doorway were two men, both large, broad, and young. One had whit hair and was in a casual shirt and pants, the other in a t-shirt and jeans and had long blond hair past his shoulders. The one in casual dress stepped into the room first, graceful, like a dancer. The second man entered also, but warily, like testing the floor for unseen traps. He scanned the room, his eyes wide open like saucers.
Goodman rolled his eyes - great. Someone got lost on this floor and somehow had access to the VIP room. He only hoped that the concierge would escort them out quickly.
"Misters King," said the waiter with a bow. The two men nodded to him. "Can I get you anything to drink?"
"Jack an' beer," said the one in the t-shirt.
The waiter frowned. "I'm afraid we do not have Jack here."
"A blended whiskey," said the white-haired man. "And an India pale ale for him. I will take a vodka."
"Very good sirs," said the waiter, and went to get their drinks at the bar. The blond wrinkled up his nose and turned his head to look at Goodman and the Englishman. Goodman must have been putting off some vibes because the man said, "Mal, over here," and guided the man to the other side.
Goodman finally got up, the lounge was getting too crowded for his taste. "Excuse me," he said. "Maybe those two will give you the conversation you're looking for."
Goodman started walking to the main door, and the blond man kept his eye on him the entire time. He had no idea what was in the blond man's bonnet as he walked out the door and headed to his own suite.