The GentlemanMature

Look at him, standing there. He's one of those men, the ones
everything goes right for. Worked his way up from nothing, clothes
changing from rags to dapper suits in just years. He stands with a top
hat, arm around his latest girl, cane by his side. Consider another
snapshot; he sits at his dinner table, laughing, the moment frozen in
time. Guests have appeared at his house, and he entertains them,
telling all manner of witty jokes, the lords at his table never quite
picking up the subtle hints he's been giving the ladies sitting with
him. A flick of the glass, a motion to look at the other end of the
table and a glance towards the females in his present company. Ever so
small, but enough. It always goes right for him. But notice again, the
cane, propped up against the chair. A simple matter, perhaps. Simply a
tool of the gentry of that era - a status symbol, nothing more. The
steel inside is another matter, a shape blade, perfectly weighted, the
hilt carved from wood and worn from countless hours spent practising.
For this is not simply a rich man, no. Things are rarely that simple,
especially when, unbeknown to this man, the captain will involve
himself, on purpose or not. The moment caught in time resumes it's
course, and the man continues his polite laughter, humoring some
ancient baron's attempt at a joke. His laughter is real, yes, but
inside he's laughing at the fallacy of the man sitting with him,
imagining how good it would feel to put his blade through this fool's
neck and stare as his lifeblood runs freely across the floor. What has
this rotten society procuced? He thinks. How could man encourage the
birth of beasts such as these? He picks up his glass and draws a wink
from one of the ladies. At least the woman aren't bad here. He nods
his head, acknowledging her. He smuggles a knife from besid his plate
and while another man is talking, launches it into the air, taking his
eyes off of it as it sails through the air and crashes to the floor at
the end of the room. The guests tun to see the disturbance and he
shoots the winking lady a look. She smiles seductively back. She knows
his intentions exactly. He stands, and excuses himself, fluently
lying. He leaves the room, the guests under the impression that he is
fetching a servant, may take some time and that they should please
continue their most excellent conversations, and not mind his absence.
Exactly 7 minutes afterwards, the winking lady stands too, and shyly
excuses herself too. From the look on her face, she feels rather faint
and would not like to he disturbed, but as The Gentleman said, the
other guests should please continue to converse during her absence.
She turns to leave, and not one of them notices her smile.

The gentleman stands in the hall, just beyond the door, just out of
the line of sight of anyone who happens to open it. He waits, his
fingers deftly spinning an ornamental knife he has plucked from the
wall. The door opens, and he presses himself against the wall, waiting
for the figure to pass. The winking lady, a woman of extraordinay
beauty, and a fine figure, walks past. The Gentleman takes a momentto
watch her as she walks past. A sly smile spreads across his face, his body tense, craving the next move. He shakes it out and silently walks up behind the woman. He follows behind her, almost touching her, and slips his hands over her eyes, preparing to lead her to the bedroom. At that exact moment, everything changes. Suddenly, the woman he is standing behind is no longer a woman, but a man, a hairy man who
smells of the sea, of countless battles and of bloodlust. The
Gentleman throws himself backwards, unsheathing his sword which had
appeared in his hand and levelling it at the man. Something hard and
blunt pushes itself into his side and a voice coldly speaks out.
"move, and I will end your shit." although he does not understand the
phrase 'I will end your shit', it is spoken with such severity that he
gets the point. The Gentleman does not move. The hairy man turns and
something rather unexpected happens. He is smiling. "put it away, if
ye want to live your life to what you would had ye stayed", hairy man
says flatly. The hard thing on his side pushes into his ribs. A gun,
he can tell. "and tell me yer name, for to you I'd be The Captain" The
Gentleman does as The Captain says so. To keep his sword out would be to die, as the gun in his side tells him. Whoever is on the other side
of it, they aren't letting up. The Captain's voice alerts him.
"Hunter! Put the gun down, this is not the time to lose allies, be
they now or not" The gun is removed from his side and The Gentleman
turns. His first sight of the hunter's suit amazes him. The colours
swirling on it hold his gaze and for a few seconds, he cannot tear it
away, but by sheer force of will he finally manages to, looking up at
The Hunter's face, taking in his sharp features and stark green eyes.
The Hunter stares back, seeming to look into The Gentleman's very
soul. In that moment, they share more than many do over a lifetime.
The instant recognition of one another, almost the same, but so
different. Seperated by different worlds, yet recognising each other
as if here were a mirror between them. The Hunter silently holsters
his sidearm and sits, stoking the fire, and The Gentleman turns to The
Captain. He tries to look into his eyes, to search for some
recognition like there was with The Hunter, but there is none. All he
sees in the eyes of the captain is the sea. He looks away, assessing
his surroundings. Forest, it seems. His gaze is interrupted by the
voice of The Captain. "Tell me, my friend, where have you come from?"
The Gentleman looks back, slowly scannng the trees as he goes. His
gaze finally falls upon the face of The Captain, and The Gentleman
notices that he's smiling.

The End

7 comments about this story Feed