The Elite (tentative title)
 

This story pretty much sprung out of nowhere. Two of the characters were from a previous no go story and got added into the mix. The rest were a random inspiration. I figured that I'd try to just sit down and write something that flowed instead of getting caught up in trying to make every little phrase and punctuation mean something. It's an exercise for fun.

I didn't think I would be continuing it. I really only intended to write a few sections in my drabble thread and abandon it, but I just kept writing more. I figured I should move it into its own thread as it isn't a drabble anymore.

Comments and critiques are welcome.

Enjoy.

A man stormed into the room, looking about ready to tear out his own hair or that arrogant woman's throat. There she was sitting on a high stool, doing her nails and sipping a martini without a care in the world. "Why? Why do you hate me so much?"

"Oh, get over yourself, Roy. I don't hate you. I simply don't care about you." Ella cast him one of those looks from her twirly stool.

"And why is it that you're always hovering around, making sure I get everything right?"

"I don't always hover. However, in this case, your work reflects me as well as you. It's in my best interest to ensure your accuracy." She smiled ever so calmly and picked up her glass. "A drink, Roy? You certainly seem to need it--"

"I don't need a bloody drink!" He raised his hand as if to slap her, but instead simply sent the glass flying out of her hand.

She seemed mildly shocked. A lesser woman would have been appalled but not Ella. "Well, well, Roy. Just what is your problem?" The faintest hint of annoyance now laced her polite society's voice.

"My problem? It's your problem now, woman! I quit!" Roy fumbled angrily to pull something from his pocket. When he had it, he ripped it up and threw it in her face. He looked as if he wanted to spit upon her but thought better of it. With a masculine "hmph" he fled from the room.

The corner of Ella's mouth twitched. She sighed the littlest of sighs and appeared to crumple. The gentlemen rushed to catch her, but she regained her composure and held them at bay with a gesture of her small hand. "But the show, or shall I say the ball in this matter, must go on."

There were murmurs in the crowd and nods of agreement. Of course Ella was right. Rory, Roger, or whoever that was, was just another no-gooder. It was so hard to find good help these days. If they weren't gentlemen themselves, they would have considered it an honor to act for Miss Ella.

"I should like to meet the Daunset sisters."

Jenkins ever composed face blanched for the merest instance.

"Yes, Jenkins?" Ella allowed.

"Sisters, my lady? I believe that only one of them has dressmaking talent. The other is a social busybody."

Ella smiled. "Oh, Jenkins. Because you're a servant, you only see the, say, useful type of help. There are many other talents out there. The elder Miss Daunslet happens to be excellent at organizing people and and hosting."

"Excuse me, miss, but may I be frank?" At her nod he continued. "I am certain that you are correct in your esteem of the Miss Daunslet, but are not you to play the hostess?"

"A minor detail. She shall be an asset to me for... instances. Arrange a meeting, Jenkins." She said it in a tone that allowed no further conversation.

"Very well, Miss Vertes."

"Sellah!" The shrill, yet strangely musical cry reached Sellah's ears all the way from the landing. However, Sellah did not have such a lovely or carrying voice as did her adopted sister, so she simply waited for Missy to come bounding up the stairs.

"Sellah, Sellah, you deaf horse, why won't you answer me?" Before Sellah could answer, she plunged right on. "Nevermind. Anyways, we've been invited to meet with Miss Vertes!" She clapped her hands and grinned.

Sellah's face remained blank. "And who--"

Missy gasped. "Sellah! Don't you tell me that you don't know who Miss Vertes is!" She seemed apalled. Such dramatics were what led to the gossip of her being an empty headed social butterfly, but Sellah knew better. It was just Missy's way; she was actually a very intelligent girl even if she didn't appear it.

"Alright then." Sellah began to hum and went back to her sewing. Stitch, pick, in, out, stitch, pick...

"Sellah!"

"Yes, Missy?" she asked innocently not looking up from her work.

Missy rolled her eyes. "Aren't you even the least bit curious as to who the woman is? She does want to meet you... and me."

"Both of us? That is curious indeed." Sellah's put aside her work. "I figured she probably wanted a dress, but she wouldn't need to meet you for that." She paused. "And anyways, even if I was curious, it wouldn't matter; you'd tell me because you're too impatient."

"Fine. I would. But perhaps I shan't now just to spite you." Missy crossed her arms and turned her nose in the air.

"You wouldn't." Sellah said in knowing voice.

Missy held her pose for a few more seconds. "Bah! Fine." She turned back towards Sellah and arranged herself on the bed. "Miss Vertes is only the talk of the season. She just recently inherited from her great uncle whom willed everything to her even though he has two sons. He said something about her capturing his heart in her young eyes. The sons were in a jealous rage, but Miss Vertes divided up some of the will and gave it back to them sweet as you please. The boys were so flabbergasted at her generousity. She's become a great hit, and there's not a man in the kingdom whom would say no to her hand second to the queen's."

Sellah waved her off. "The usual then."

"Sellah!"

"What? All the ladies I make dresses for are like that. Talk of the season. Rich. Generous. Blah blah blah."

"But Miss Vertes is special. You'll see."

Sellah shook her head. "We'll see," she allowed.

He kissed the seal of the envelope and sighed as if breathing against a lover's skin. "Write back to me," he whispered to the letter, perhaps in the fancy that it would carry his words on the wind.

He set the letter on the tray for his servant to pick up, and turned away to the window. "Dear, dear Carolina..." he mused to himself, and the letter turned itself over in his mind.

How I have missed you! Women often accuse men of being unsolicitous and distant when women are guilty of the same crime. See proof of my sweet tenderness here! Am I not the one beseeching you first? It has been too long since I've seen you. It has been but two days, but each hour is eternity. I have endured fifty seven eternities without you. My heart grieves with each one's passing.

I miss you, my love. Write back to me.

Yours now and always,
Edward Duclairc

He sighed and leaned his head against the side of the window. Perhaps it had been a bit much. Perhaps he should rewrite it to not sound so forward. He turned back toward the letter tray, but halted himself. But what else could he write? He had poured his heart out into that letter and could hardly temper his spirit to write less. He meant what he wrote. So be it if he damaged his reputation by confessing his heart!

Edward slumped against the wall and muttered into his hands. He really was no good at this. He needed Sebastian. His brother was always so much better at these things.

Yes, that was it! He'd write to his brother! He sat himself back down at the writing desk and grabbed a new sheet of parchment, but then he stopped. He couldn't possibly write to his brother before he decided to send the letter. His brother was a horribly irresponsible letter writer and would most likely misplace his brother's message before he could pen an answer to it. Oh, Sebastian always answered a lady's letters, but of men's letters he was irreputable. Men often asked their wives to write or met with him in person.

Edward muttered darkly. Such a sudden, spontaneous meeting would come right at the hour when Sebastian was surrounded by young and beautiful ladies. Of course, having any meeting with Sebastian usually meant encountering the harem. Edward shook his head. He was being rude. The ladies were fine people. It was his brother that was simply irresistible. Poor ladies.

He sighed. Well, if he went early, perhaps he'd avoid the rush.

The Elite (tentative title)
 

Roy Grierson sat alone in his studio with his feet propped on the desk. He had put off all other jobs and clientele when he had been hired for the Vertes job. After his magnificent performance that afternoon, however, he found himself quite freed up.

He turned a ribbon over idly in his hands. He glanced at the clock--four in the afternoon. It wasn't too late to go visiting, but he never really had much taste for sipping tea and making small talk. Perhaps he'd join the other boys down at the club. It had been awhile. They'd be surprised to see him before Vertes party was over.

No, going to the club would not be a good idea. He glanced at the clock again. It was now one minute past four. His hand clenched the ribbon. He was going to go insane.

He got up and began to pace the room, as if pacing could keep his demons at bay. Roy Grierson, call him a nancy, but he was the best decorator in the country, perhaps in the world. He was obsessed with his work, and though a gentleman, rather unsocial because of it. The Vertes' party would not be the same without him, but he had to face it.

He was bored.

"Guuuuwaaaaaaarrrrrrggghh," he moaned to the ceiling in frustration. "What am I--" He was interrupted by a knock on the door. "Yes?"

The door opened the barest crack, so that a voice could be heard. No doubt the servant was put off by the moan. "Sir, there is a gentleman here to see you."

Roy quirked an eyebrow. He never received visitors. Besides, who in the world would be calling when he was supposed to be at Miss Vertes still planning the decorations? "Has he given a card?"

He heard the servant draw breath to answer but instead emit a squeak and then a hurried whisper. "Sir! You aren't supposed to be here yet!"

Then another voice spoke, "Oh shut up, me and Grierson don't stand on formality. You are unnecessary here."

At the voice, Roy stood up straighter. "Sebastian?"

The door flew open with a bang. A roguish gentleman leaned against the doorway. His hair was a mess, but artfully so. The strands fell across his face, highlighting his piercing gray eyes. His mouth was sensual and strong. The gentleman grinned almost devilishly. "The one and only."

Edward muttered under his breath. The one time he depended on his brother to be entertaining in his salon, Sebastian had to go out calling. Perhaps one lady had finally caught his attention like Edward hoped, but why now?

He was now back where he started, staring at a letter. He could almost hear his brother's voice in his head. A love letter? Please tell me you're joking, so I don't have to disown you. Those things are the stuff of legends. It's like if you gave a girl a sheep today. Sheep aren't valuable to them. Love letters aren't either. She'd probably slap you or be so embarrassed for you that she'd never speak to you again.

"So what am I supposed to do?"

On this point, the voice of Sebastian in Edward's head chose to remain silent.

"Sebastian, why do you have to be such a prick? Can't you even cooperate when you're in my head?" He raged to the empty room.

But he received no further answer. Edward sighed and took the letter off the tray and slipped it underneath the sofa. He wouldn't send it, but he couldn't bear to simply throw it away.