Business Affairs
Joaquin drew the razor down his cheek leisurely, the blades glided silently through the white foam. It was still early; perhaps a little past five, with cool blue skies and bare hints of light. Outside of the hotel suite there were no stirrings in the halls or adjacent rooms, and cars passed rarely in the streets below. It was a far cry from the clogged streets soon to come.
He clicked the razor against the side of the ceramic sink to let excess hair and foam fall loose. Then, touching his jaw, Crowley bared his throat to the mirror and slid the blade down again; throat, chin and jaw became exposed as he progressed. Briefly he rolled his shoulders, still adapting to the surprising chill the morning brought with it after a long hot shower.
Tock. Crowley set his razor to the side and turned on the faucet, collected water in his hands and rinsed the last remains of gel and hair from his face. The face he looked back to in the mirror smiled. He dried his face and hands on the green towel provided courtesy The Holiday Inn, then ran a palm over his cheek. The flesh was smooth, even against the grain.
Joaquin liked his clean cut image; it put people at ease and trimmed the years down from his age. Satisfied, Crowley popped open a complimentary hotel bottle of aftershave and lathered it in his hands, then rubbed the musk-scented oil onto his face.
Behind him laid a young woman, sprawled on the room’s king sized bed. In the mirror he could just make out the curve of an arm, red hair pooled on dark pillows and cascading down the side of the bed itself. Dark red satin sheets were pulled up to the redhead’s midriff, and a hand was raised to her chest in some ironic show of modesty. The woman’s name was either Cindy or Elisa or Elsa or Jennifer or Charlie; it didn’t really matter – only that she was a reporter that had been dogging him for some time was of any consequence. After weeks of staring appreciatively at her form and playing ignorant to her coy remarks he’d given in – or rather, found cause to celebrate, and invited her to a one-on-one session in a private suite of The Holiday Inn. It wasn’t hard to seduce women like her – girls in their mother’s clothing, thinking they had all the power and fire of a man and yet were better somehow too; a real ‘I am woman, hear me roar’ type of gal. He could see it in the way she clumsily held herself, the attention to detail from her toenails to her hair roots and the missed splotches in between – meticulous fabrications common of her type to overcompensate for who they wanted to be versus who they truly were. Gatsby might have been a more appropriate name for her.
“Can I ask you something, Mr. Crowley?” The redhead purred, leaning forward to emphasize her breasts – they pressed hard against her shirt, threatening to spill forth. Crowley wouldn’t have minded.
“Why, you can ask me whatever’s on your mind, darling, I just can’t be promising anything,” He replied with a smile, pouring the champagne and charm the way a snake poured venom. These were subtle signs of confidence and control women like Heather or Clarice or whoever she was would need spelt out to even notice, nevermind hope to emulate.
“The Mayor, is he actually your brother?” She paused, longer than was appropriate. Crowley smiled the entire time. “It’s just, there are these photos of you two together that look… close. Real close.”
Crowley walked over to her and handed her a glass of the champagne. He didn’t lose his smile. “Oh?”
“I mean, it isn’t anything dirty, but… well, not clean enough to be innocent either.” She took the glass, smiling at him playfully. Her powers of persuasion were not unlike those of a wall – that was to say, wholly absent, save for the most obvious and blunt of attempts. “Come on, you promised me a story. What’s really going on?”
“To be frank,” He sat down beside her, relishing the way she slid closer to be against him. “I’m not sure I even know as to what photos you are referring to. However,” Crowley fought hard not to fall into an old southern drawl, “If there was something going on or we were related, that’d hardly be the business of the public. The mayor is young and physical, anyhow. I am sure there are plenty of photos with him and the kind folk around the city.”
“So you aren’t denying it, then?”
The reporter trembled faintly on the bed but didn’t open her eyes; Crowley wasn’t at all surprised. It’d been a long, exhausting night and even after that hot shower he could feel the knots in some of his muscles remain. Finished for now he stepped into the bedroom, crossed the bed and moved to the scenic window; he peeled back a blind, squinting at the sudden light and turned to watch it trail up the bed and across the lovely Miss Gallieno. Esterraz. Typica? It highlighted the smooth contours of her face and body, accented the vibrancy of her hair – it had to be dyed, no hair naturally shone that colour. Soundlessly she shifted, and her eyelids flickered briefly; Crowley let the blind fall back into place and once more clothe the room in a darkness that seemed thicker than before.
Crowley strode to a black suitcase leant near the bed, dropped to a knee and pulled it sideways onto the floor. He unzipped the flap and pushed it back swiftly to reveal the few articles he’d packed; two business suits, both hung on a wooden hanger and in a dry cleaner’s plastic bag. They were pulled out and placed on the bed infront of him as he rose, unfolded as they went. Beneath them were tucked a few pairs of socks and boxers. He took out a pair of black boxers and pulled them on, looking down at the reporter whilst he did so. With them snugly in place he bent over to pick up a pair of socks, but paused when he noticed something off about the reporter’s nose.
Before the slight twitches of her left nostril and throat had looked like breathing; now, however, it looked as if some tumor were forming and slowly moving. The nostril bulged and twitched and then, from the depths, twin red mandibles appeared, followed by the thick red head of an ant and finally its whole bulbous body. It clicked its jaw and writhed grotesquely, insect legs scrabbling against the flesh of the woman’s nose as it tried to squeeze its fattened body out of her nasal cavity. A brief flash of red in her ear might have been power of suggestion or real; the mucus covered red ant scrabbled along her face and to her mouth, prying her lips apart with tiny limbs and shoving its way into her mouth. Crowley watched, momentarily transfixed, then grasped the edge of the satin blanket and yanked it back. In the darkness he could only vaguely make out movement, and so again he found himself pulled to the scenic window. The blinds were pulled back with a flourish.
On the bed, only one arm – the one she’d placed above the bed covers– and the chest and spine remained. Everything else on the woman had been eaten, and even now plump red forms ran rampant across her stale gristle and bone to gnaw at anything and everything. As a collective force they heaved and moved her, body flapping more violently the less of her that remained. The reporter’s eye opened, revealing an empty cavity a dozen or so ants crawled out of or into, chewing and biting as they went. Smirking, the brunet decided to leave the blinds open and returned to his suitcase, finishing with his socks and holding up either suit in the light.
“Which one you reckon’ today, boys?” A misplaced ant was currently hauling itself up the one he held in his left hand – the one he’d placed on top on the bed. Setting the other suit down he gently pried the insect from the plastic and brought it near his face. Like a small dog it twisted and shoved its legs against his fingers, trying to pry itself free; he bit the head off, the sound akin to a wet balloon being popped and tasting faintly of champagne. He bent the still body in half and popped it into his mouth as well, chewing once before swallowing. “Silver one it is.”
The care he took in watching after the mayor truly was extraordinary. Perhaps it was time to ask for a raise.
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Right, so, not the story I promised, but still something I tried to get together in time. Technically three minutes to go (I just edited it to throw in this note). WOO.
Yutora
YOU LIVE.
Sorry, I've just been really eager to read your entry! I even asked about you, lol. /stalker. No, but seriously, I loved your entry for the previous prompt and have lurked around to see this one!
So... I kind of demand you make it in time c_c
Thanks! Haha, that really means a lot.
I'm hoping to figure out how to manhandle the original piece I had intended for this into something more interesting. I'll probably submit it for May into the AGWC.
Solar, once again, I'm sorry about how late this is. Also if it doesn't make a lot of sense. (Horror is meant to be ambiguous, right? xD )
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