A Walk Down Amory Lane

[Crixus]

Dromund Kaas. A world of beauty and imperial pride... unless you happened to wander too far from a city into the murky swamps. The ruins scattered in the jungle overflowed with savage beasts twisted by powers beyond Quin's grasp. Quin didn't expect to visit this world so soon, but a friend of his fathers had called in some favors and here he was on leave. They never told him where he was going, yet he'd still gotten into the limousine. Quin shook his head, questioning his good sense. On the plus side, the ride was certainly luxurious. Inside the car looked like a custom yacht, all white leather and sleek chrome.

Beside him, a young date. Roysa, the daughter of a billionaire tycoon. Her father bought and sold entire companies, transferring millions of credits with aplomb. Beyond that, he knew little of her. They'd only met a few days earlier. She was on the phone, and had taken at least two calls since she'd climbed into the car with him outside the hotel.

Seventeen minutes passed before she tucked her phone back into her pocket. "Forgive the interruptions," she said.

Quin shrugged, allowing himself a smile.

As the car came to a stop he looked out the window beside her.

Outside, a rich red and black building sat isolated. Six massive columns fronted the building, and ornate friezes surrounded each of the myriad windows across the two-level facing. The roof was muted, though he imagined it would glint in the sun, while the trees reached to the sky around it. The fountain in the courtyard seemed to be made out of chrome and holograms, it's mythical creatures forever stuck in a loop in time.

A man opened the door and smiled at them. He said something about the masquerade and the events planned for the evening. Roysa's arms wrapped around Quin's arm as they stepped out of the car and hurried along the path until they reached the house. The entrance was vast, and inside large synthetic crystal chandeliers were suspended from three different points. The glittering crystals threw light into every nook and corner of the fresco, which gleamed with rich golds, deep blues and vibrant reds. A series of chrome chairs circled around holographic statues that moved more lifelike than Quin had ever seen. Imperial flags hung proudly above every doorway.

Despite being raised in houses of similar size and that wistful feeling of being at home, apprehension was a tight ball in his stomach. Every time a grey-haired man passed by a breath caught in Quin's throat; the last thing he needed was to stumble across his father, or anyone he knew for that matter.

 

[Toska]

His name was Amory Blane.

The party found its peak early in the evening with guests filing through the great halls towards the awaiting banquet. Chrome along the walls, plated and shined, blue holographic letters forming names to a dull fanfare playing from speakers hidden behind paintings and light panels. Chardonnay within, spilling from pyramids of crystal-work, and charlatans beyond; they danced to a tune of their own, masks proffered coyly to attendees while painting smiles onto their lips.

There, around the east gate, a pair stepped from a limo garbed in an aplomb that bespoke the wrinkles crowing at their eyes. They were smiling too, paper masks in hand held up by dainty gilded needles. Feathers off the crown and a splash of color over the nose. Matching too. The taller of the pair, a woman whose heels stumbled with every step, crinkling the gown trailing between her legs, helped her partner along. Words of praise and a wrist tilted for guidance. Her lips were smudged red, stark against her milky pallor and pampered cheeks that were a tad too smooth and doubly plump.

But her smile was undeniable, ear to ear and a little shine glinting in her eyes. Rimmed with tears and the occasional cough; happy, nonetheless. Her partner shared it in his own stilted way. Hunched over and hair craggy and matted, he leaned into her every step. Suit impeccably blue and bowtie lopsided on his freshly pressed shirt. The crest of the old Empire lavished his breast, and he wore it with pride, straightening his coat and chest at every opportunity. It glimmered gold at the edges, crimson for the base, and black at its heart.

The pair encroached on the hall, pattering down the steps until a crop of hair stole their attention: "Ah, boy!" the man called. A turn and a blink. "The spitting image of your father. Isn't he, dear?"

"Yes dear." The woman couldn't stop smiling. She patted her man's arm. "Sir Baliatus Senior. We've met with him quite often."

"A stunning fellow. To think he would ask us to look after his son. There was that matter with the boy, ah, what was it again?"

"Amory, dear, the Mr. Amory Blane."

"Yes, of course. Amory. How could I forget." He was breathless, now, but continued anyway: "Your father wishes for the two of you to meet. He's a remarkable chap himself, yes, well worth your time."

"Quintus, dear."

"Right, Quintus. Say, dear, isn't Amory around his age?"

"At least a decade his senior." She chortled behind a hand.

He wiped his brow. "Is that so? You young folk all look the same."

"Take a breath, dear and let the boy speak. You're overwhelming him."

A cough and a smile, a bow of the head.

 

[Crixus]

Quintus looked over the couple that accosted him, raising an eyebrow imperiously. "Excuse me, if I can have a moment... what are you talking about?"

"Look," Roysa interrupted, tugging on his arm with purpose.

He turned to where she pointed, then he felt her body press against his. It was intimate, casual, but distracting nonetheless.

The servants entered the room, carrying with them plates of appetizers and wine. "Let's enjoy the party for now," she breathed into his ear. His pulse thrummed, he wondered how he would get through this evening when suddenly he couldn't think of a single thing to say.

Which didn't seem to matter when, before he even had a chance to part his lips, Roya's phone buzzed in her pocket. She answered it. The call lasted only a few heartbeats before she hung up and turned her attention back to the elderly couple.

"I shouldn't have been so rude -- please forgive me. Tell us more about this Mr. Amory Blane?"

 

[Toska]

The man squinted and cocked a grin: "Lovely little thing, yes. A pleasure to meet you my dear." That smile quickly twisted from his lips at his wife's touch. More of a squeeze, navy lacquered nails digging into his flesh, crinkling the fabric of his blazer.

She kept her face smooth, lips hidden behind the back of a hand. "Now now, dear, don't get distracted."

"Of course, of course. The Mr. Amory Blane. Shame on you, miss, to ask about another man in front of your escort. They raise them petulant and audacious in the industry these days." A wink as he pried his wife's fingers from his arm.

She pilfered a goblet from a passing waiter and picked at the oeuvres. "Mr. Blane is a chivalrous young man. Reminiscent of you, dear, over the course of your campaign. Strapping, truly." Toothpick wiggled between teeth, bouncing off her ill-painted lips.

"Ah, yes, he walks like a soldier. Always stands stiff as a board, like his back can't remember how to relax. A little levity would do the boy good." The goblet spilled into his mouth. "Champagne? Weak for the occasion. Fetch a man for me. I'd like a whisky to cool the throat before introducing young Quintus to the Mr. Amory Blane."

His eyes wandered to the partition beyond, settling lazily over Quintus and his date. "Make that a double. And a gentle white for my wife."