Post by oliver on May 26, 2008 11:12:41 GMT -5
(Quick disclaimer: This is just a bunch of stuff taken from history, mixed and moshed up and isn't meant to be taken seriously. While the names of certain people may be real, the stories and imagery are all fiction. No profit is being made here...)
He was surprised to find the photograph hidden under some old material samples. It was old, discoloured and slightly crumpled at the edges... But otherwise it was no worse for wear. The affectionately handwritten words were still visible as was the waxy remains of a kiss, preserved for all time in a single snapshot. Sitting back on the floor of his newly furnished shop, Oliver allowed a small smile to grace his face while fingers ran over the yellowed faces of those he called friends... One whom he called lover.
*****
He'd met him through the delectable Greta Garbo.
Perhaps it was the atmosphere of a glamorous era, perhaps it had been her irresistible charm, or perhaps it was the loneliness that had been gnawing persistently at his insides as the final drive that pushed him through the ornate doors of the Hearst Castle ballroom.
Dragged like a reluctant pet by the arm, he wondered absently if Miss Garbo herself was nosferatu. She sure had the strength and tenacity of one if not the same perfectly sculpted complexion.
She was his muse, his source of inspiration for a few of the gorgeous gowns now in her keeping. Very much alike in their love of the quiet and shunning of publicity, and she didn't even bat a lash at his occasional fall into something less lucid nor did she shun him for what he was. He adored her and she him. So how could he refuse when she begged him for just one more favor?
"Miss Garbo, am I to believe that you've dragged me all the way here just to see someone?"
She just smiled that Mona Lisa smile of hers and pulled him further into the mass of the rich and famous.
"Darling," she purred in her heavy accent, "Indulge me please? This man is so full of potential and I just couldn't let him slip by without meeting you."
Oliver raised a brow, "You mean you want me to help him."
She batted her lashes and he rolled his eyes in mock exasperation, he could never say no to Greta even if he tried.
"Ah! There he is... Oli I'd like you to meet Adrian Adolph Greenburg."
"Oh Garbo such formalities, just Adrian will do..."
At a glance he'd have been nothing special. Just another mortal man of the roaring 20's with a slick haircut and dressy pants. But in all his years, Oliver had never been so easily captivated by a smile. Greta hardly smiled herself, but her beauty lay in her mysterious ways. This man exuded cheer and mirth, contagious enough to have Oliver smile back.
"Oliver Galworthy, or just Oliver."
Hands met in a first greeting, warmth suffusing his cold fingertips in a way that almost made him shiver. Like electricity causing his skin to tingle in a way it shouldn't, not when he was nothing more than a non-living being.
"Miss Garbo, I-I mean Greta tells me that you're something of a design prodigy yourself."
The dark haired man flushed and rubbed the end of his nose, "You ought not to listen to her, she's a real ham with these things..."
Friendly banter began between the two humans and Oliver could see why Greta liked Adrian so much. A laid back easy manner that hid a certain amount of intensity that could rival Miss Garbo's own, a passion for his craft and his career that fairly sparkled with energy...
Like a bolt of lightning out of the blue right into his body.
*****
"Adrian..."
Pyewacket's mewl broke him from his near slip into the rabbit hole, snapping him back into focus and the vampire let out a relieved sigh. Rubbing a hand across his temple he smiled wearily at his cat.
"Thank you old boy, that was close..."
Leaning back against the counter, he let the Somali settle into his lap, carding fingers through his fur while he held the old photograph loosely in his other hand. Dark eyes glazed over, lips slightly parted as he exhaled slowly.
"Too close."
He was surprised to find the photograph hidden under some old material samples. It was old, discoloured and slightly crumpled at the edges... But otherwise it was no worse for wear. The affectionately handwritten words were still visible as was the waxy remains of a kiss, preserved for all time in a single snapshot. Sitting back on the floor of his newly furnished shop, Oliver allowed a small smile to grace his face while fingers ran over the yellowed faces of those he called friends... One whom he called lover.
*****
He'd met him through the delectable Greta Garbo.
Perhaps it was the atmosphere of a glamorous era, perhaps it had been her irresistible charm, or perhaps it was the loneliness that had been gnawing persistently at his insides as the final drive that pushed him through the ornate doors of the Hearst Castle ballroom.
Dragged like a reluctant pet by the arm, he wondered absently if Miss Garbo herself was nosferatu. She sure had the strength and tenacity of one if not the same perfectly sculpted complexion.
She was his muse, his source of inspiration for a few of the gorgeous gowns now in her keeping. Very much alike in their love of the quiet and shunning of publicity, and she didn't even bat a lash at his occasional fall into something less lucid nor did she shun him for what he was. He adored her and she him. So how could he refuse when she begged him for just one more favor?
"Miss Garbo, am I to believe that you've dragged me all the way here just to see someone?"
She just smiled that Mona Lisa smile of hers and pulled him further into the mass of the rich and famous.
"Darling," she purred in her heavy accent, "Indulge me please? This man is so full of potential and I just couldn't let him slip by without meeting you."
Oliver raised a brow, "You mean you want me to help him."
She batted her lashes and he rolled his eyes in mock exasperation, he could never say no to Greta even if he tried.
"Ah! There he is... Oli I'd like you to meet Adrian Adolph Greenburg."
"Oh Garbo such formalities, just Adrian will do..."
At a glance he'd have been nothing special. Just another mortal man of the roaring 20's with a slick haircut and dressy pants. But in all his years, Oliver had never been so easily captivated by a smile. Greta hardly smiled herself, but her beauty lay in her mysterious ways. This man exuded cheer and mirth, contagious enough to have Oliver smile back.
"Oliver Galworthy, or just Oliver."
Hands met in a first greeting, warmth suffusing his cold fingertips in a way that almost made him shiver. Like electricity causing his skin to tingle in a way it shouldn't, not when he was nothing more than a non-living being.
"Miss Garbo, I-I mean Greta tells me that you're something of a design prodigy yourself."
The dark haired man flushed and rubbed the end of his nose, "You ought not to listen to her, she's a real ham with these things..."
Friendly banter began between the two humans and Oliver could see why Greta liked Adrian so much. A laid back easy manner that hid a certain amount of intensity that could rival Miss Garbo's own, a passion for his craft and his career that fairly sparkled with energy...
Like a bolt of lightning out of the blue right into his body.
*****
"Adrian..."
Pyewacket's mewl broke him from his near slip into the rabbit hole, snapping him back into focus and the vampire let out a relieved sigh. Rubbing a hand across his temple he smiled wearily at his cat.
"Thank you old boy, that was close..."
Leaning back against the counter, he let the Somali settle into his lap, carding fingers through his fur while he held the old photograph loosely in his other hand. Dark eyes glazed over, lips slightly parted as he exhaled slowly.
"Too close."