Audition Applications May 30, 2006 22:57:49 GMT -5
Post by Harlow neo emdnatsrednu on May 30, 2006 22:57:49 GMT -5
One reaped what they'd sown was the common expression, and Seneca was damned if he wasn't reaping his every mistake today.
It had been early September and Seneca had just closed up at his shipping business, perambulating the docks and double checking the bonds on his boats. He stopped to gaze over the last arriving ship. Its resplendent sheen characterized one of his newest crafts, imprinted with black ornate lettering. It had been several weeks late on arrival and came not with its captain, but with a deckhand, claiming the unscathed arrival of the captain and its cargo and nothing else. The Elotania was a gift he had been reluctant to recieve, given by one of his more wealthy clients. Charity was not something Seneca assented to. He made his own fortune and could damn well take care of himself. More than a few choice words traversed his mind when he thought of anyone thinking he needed help or, worse, could be bribed. The Elotania had been an abberant case, however, the giver being one of his closest and most opulent of friends. Garrow and he had grown up together and one word was all it took from his trusted mate to overlook a single procedure; checking the cargo. Supplying his own boat, Garrow said, was only to furnish a suitable atmosphere for his cargo. Not second guessing Garrow once, he'd signed his name for the release of The Elotania's cargo and sent it on its way.
Seneca was sure as hell second guessing himself at the present. Pacing in front of the large oak desk in his small Earlshire mansion Seneca couldn't get the blasted day from his mind. How could he'd been almost killed twice in the past week? Garrow hadn't shown his face in six months; not so much as sent a letter explaining his absence or why he hadn't returned with his ship. Downstairs Seneca heard an almost inaudible peal of a doorbell.
Pounding two well-tanned fists on the ornate desk, Seneca furrowed his brow and closed his eyes. Standing at six feet, three inches, his dark, muscled frame would daunt most anyone. Dark auburn hair complemented the ebony suit he donned, stretching taut over his shoulders. Fourteen years of rigging sails, transfering cargo and maintaining seven massive ships was hardly obscured on his massive frame. Footsteps sounded at the doorway and only seconds later a hearty female voice pontificated, "A mister Scythe to see you, sir. I told 'im it was a down right rotten time to call but 'e insisted you'sed be wantin'..."
Less than a second later Seneca swung open the door, revealing a tall, thin man bearing a navy suit with french cuffs and a black, baroque cane. The man made to step forward and Seneca swung back a fist, harboring it square in his friend's visage.
"Where the hell have you been?" Growled Seneca, glaring down upon a bleeding Garrow. Making to pick himself up, the man braced the doorframe and pulled out a handkerchief.
"Now, Seneca..." Garrow dabbed at his nose. "I know what you must be thinking and..." Garrow had most obviously not known what the fuming man before him was thinking because in the next moment he was being dragged up by one of Seneca's large fists and being thrown bodily into the room. After glaring at the corpulent maid still breathless in the doorway, he kicked closed the door and turned around to face Garrow.
"Get up you bastard and stop bleeding on my Persian." He spat, striding toward a blazing fireplace and depositing himself in a plush chair. Garrow scowled and followed suit, falling into the chair directly opposite Seneca's. Not recieving further comment from his comrade, Garrow tilted back his bloodied head and ran a hand through the mass of black hair. Sensing no further attack, he gazed into the hearth and closed his eyes.
"You wish to know why you are being hunted so, why half of your faithful clients have vacated your company and why, in half a years' time, have I failed to contact you." He paused, searching Seneca's tight lips and furrowed brow.
"The boat, Garrow. What the hell did you take with my name signed to it?" The muscles in his arms strained as his hands clasped tighter around the arms of the mahoghany chair. Garrow recoiled slightly and sat straighter in the hard-backed chair.
"You wouldn't believe me if I told you, Seneca, but I suppose I will have to try." Mid-breath, Garrow paused as yet another visitor chimed the downstairs bell. He sighed and glanced toward the door with a satisfied shrug. Seneca's gaze followed. "I suppose I won't need to explain after all." Garrow scowled. "She's already here."