Tom
Well-Known Member
Only darkness greeted the man as he walked the streets on the outskirts of Nepleslia. It was well past midnight, the crisp, slightly sulfuric air itching the inside of his nose. His cane tapped loudly on the pavement, the man moved rigidly. The weather and activity inflamed the arthritis in the Nepleslian's hip, accented by an occasional rubbing of the skin above the pained joint.
The street eventually gave way to a beaten gravel path that wound up a hill. A house resting at the apex was the man's destination, a finely-kept two-story building made of wood and tile. His breath heavy from the uphill excursion, the man silently reached into his pocket, pulled out a polished key and unlocked the door.
The Master Admiral was home.
Robert Davis's house provided the simple creature comforts one wanted when returning from a long day's work. Being somewhat of a traditionalist, however, Davis cared little for the incessant whirring of electrical devices following him from the office to his home. The living room, at least, was a slice of the past, with a comfortable leather chair facing a fireplace. The mantle of the fireplace held a bottle of red wine and a glass, classic novels from great authors, pictures and mementos, and a remote for the operation of a high-quality stereo system running throughout the room.
Davis walked to his mecca of solace, resting his cane on the floor and taking off his beret and placing it on the familiar corner of the mantle. He leaned over and pressed a button below the spot, and, with a click and a puff, the fireplace was lit with dancing flames. It was the only light in the room, the shadows flickered sporadically against the walls, dipping areas into and out of darkness.
He reached a hand over to the bottle of wine, popped its cork and poured himself a glass. He swirled the glass, taking an appreciative sniff of the liquid before sipping it. Davis's mind wandered, the wine bringing back memories of his wife, Vivian. They always drank this wine together...
Instinctively, Davis grabbed the third picture on the mantle, and sat in the leather chair. He rest the picture in his lap and sighed deeply, gently brushing his fingers against the glass of the frame as he held his wine in his other hand.
"I've missed you Vivian... it's been a long week...â€
The street eventually gave way to a beaten gravel path that wound up a hill. A house resting at the apex was the man's destination, a finely-kept two-story building made of wood and tile. His breath heavy from the uphill excursion, the man silently reached into his pocket, pulled out a polished key and unlocked the door.
The Master Admiral was home.
Robert Davis's house provided the simple creature comforts one wanted when returning from a long day's work. Being somewhat of a traditionalist, however, Davis cared little for the incessant whirring of electrical devices following him from the office to his home. The living room, at least, was a slice of the past, with a comfortable leather chair facing a fireplace. The mantle of the fireplace held a bottle of red wine and a glass, classic novels from great authors, pictures and mementos, and a remote for the operation of a high-quality stereo system running throughout the room.
Davis walked to his mecca of solace, resting his cane on the floor and taking off his beret and placing it on the familiar corner of the mantle. He leaned over and pressed a button below the spot, and, with a click and a puff, the fireplace was lit with dancing flames. It was the only light in the room, the shadows flickered sporadically against the walls, dipping areas into and out of darkness.
He reached a hand over to the bottle of wine, popped its cork and poured himself a glass. He swirled the glass, taking an appreciative sniff of the liquid before sipping it. Davis's mind wandered, the wine bringing back memories of his wife, Vivian. They always drank this wine together...
Instinctively, Davis grabbed the third picture on the mantle, and sat in the leather chair. He rest the picture in his lap and sighed deeply, gently brushing his fingers against the glass of the frame as he held his wine in his other hand.
"I've missed you Vivian... it's been a long week...â€
