Page 1 of 1

Golden Ticket

Posted: Sun Sep 04, 2022 6:31 pm
by Thomas
~14:30, 33rd Ash, 4514
Image
While it was the truth that Thomas had no ambition to be a kept man, he was able to admit that there was something gratifying in the borrowed prestige that came to him shortly after Lord Alistair made it clear to everyone in the Silver Sunset Society that Thomas was to be considered a member of his personal retinue. For one thing, none of the other Lords and Ladies asked him for anything any more. Instead, they treated him like he didn't exist, which as far as he was concerned was an improvement. Before, he'd been a well-used kitchen knife, picked up by whoever had a need. Now, he was polished and kept in a drawer. On the nights when Lord Reid attended the Society, Thomas was at his elbow, ready to assist with anything his Lord required. On the nights when he wasn't in attendance, he actually had a bit of free time, something that had been in scarce supply since he'd ended up on the streets. He spent it carefully mending his clothes with purloined needle, thread, and buttons and shining his shoes to a mirror shine. They were cardboard soles and vellum uppers, but with enough shellack and polish, they took on a weight that made them pass as the sort of loafers a minor Lordling would wear.

Yesterday, a ticket and the accompanying paperwork had arrived in the post for him (addressed to him and everything!) from Lord Alistair. It even included a personal note with notes on where to meet the Lord within the station: a place called Sarbane's Tea Room and an accompanying reservation. Thomas didn't have an appropriate outfit for a tearoom, but this had given him twenty four hours to acquire one and he felt his new shirt would work. Such a shame that Lord Collier's fine linen shirt had been boiled instead of washed in lukewarm water by an inattentive laundress, but there was no coming back from that mistake, and it fit him well enough once he took in the waist. Lord Collier never missed a meal, something Thomas only wished he could say of himself.

He stowed all of his clothes and what personal effects he'd managed to hold on to into a valise; he had no surety on the date of his return trip and no illusions that the servants in the Society would rob him blind the moment he was gone. The fact that he didn't have that much to take with him, and that the valise itself was clearly secondhand may raise some eyebrows, but he'd done his best. Hopefully, Lord Alistair wouldn't mind.

The station itself was not at all what Thomas had expected. He had no great familiarity with trains, but had spent lots of time down at the docks with Ned before the other man's passing, and he kind of expected a station to be like that: a place for loading and unloading goods, lots of rough workmen around to assist in that endeavor, and a great many people whose job it seemed was yelling at everyone else. He had vaguely thought it would be fancier, of course, because this was a means of conveyance for Nobles and the middle classes, but he had thought it would be fundamentally similar.

It wasn't.

Everything was white marble, brass fixtures, and shiny wooden benches from the hardwood forests Thomas had learned about in school but had never seen. Natural light streamed in from windows that had to be several stories tall; he hadn't known plate glass could be so big. Wasn't it fragile? With a shake of his head, he asked a smartly uniformed station attendant for directions to Sarbane's and, when the latter raised a polite eyebrow, handed him the invitation Alistair had given him. It seems he arrived at the place first, and once the waiter ensconced him at a small table toward the back, he was provided a menu. They offered a full high tea, but Thomas had no earthly idea if his benefactor would be interested in something so hearty, so he stuck to a pot of tea and some scones, hoping that Alistair would arrive before long because he had no way to pay for any of this, and presumably the bill would come due eventually. In his experience, it always did.

He tried to project the poise of someone who had been here a dozen times and was a bit bored with it. He focused on the patterns on the tablecloth, the ornate "S" stamped into each piece of flatware. Then when the waiter brought the tea service, a silver spoon disappeared up his sleeve because old habits die hard. He waved the waiter away airily, stirring his tea idly with the affected languor of someone who had nowhere important to be.


Re: Golden Ticket

Posted: Sun Sep 04, 2022 7:32 pm
by Alistair
Image

The Gilded pressed against the frame of the mirror, leaning it back so that he could properly view the area that encompassed his pockets, and his clothed thighs. He ran a hand over one side, brushing off any lint that had found its way onto the rich blue fabric. He leaned the mirror back to its resting position, then, and straightened the collar of his simple white button-down shirt, which was thin enough that his light bronze skin faintly colored through it, his nipples and the shape of his chest brimming through the fabric.

Alistair was thorough when it came to readiness. He checked every detail of himself -- his back, the fabric around his pants, whether he appeared pallored, whether his breath appeared stale or labored. His short beard needed to be the right length and shape, and his hair needed to twist along his hairline just the right way. When he was younger, it used to take him a while to go through all of the motions, but over time he'd gotten quicker. Being a Corvo helped with that, of course -- it was like the Blight threaded together the fine lines, and over time the pallor disappeared, and his hair settled more easily into place, and his smile remained white and tidy.

When all was said and done, he departed from his hotel room with a briefcase, a large bag of luggage, that simple white shirt, his beige-colored slacks and deep brown derby shoes.

He thought of Thomas on the way there: going to the station had been less about returning home, and more about meeting the young man he'd been intrigued by of late. So far, things had remained professional between them, even though maintaining that tempo had been difficult at times. Thomas was bright, well-spoken and handsome, with not a single moral flaw convicting his soul, save for the little things that appeared to go missing surrounding him. Alistair had noticed that, of course, but it had only added to his charm.

They had spent nearly every night talking, and during that time the Gilded had picked up subtle little details as to who the other might have really been. He didn't talk much about himself, though Alistair imagined he only had to ask. He didn't, though. The difference in class between them was undeniably substantial, and he had gathered the impression that the young man did not wish to accentuate it. He kept the topics largely centered around the Commonwealth, philosophy, himself, shared interests, music and the flavor of the day. At times that made their conversations appear hollow in retrospect, but in the midst of them, they had always been engaging.

It did not take long for him to make his way to the station, which was elegant, following the golden-white color scheme of the aristocracy, a contrast to the greyer shades of the city. Peering around, Alistair dropped his suitcase, scratching his inner thigh before his body suddenly rattled a small amount, a twitch-like sensation overwhelming him. He wanted Shimmer, but that was alright. Since he'd been Blighted, he had become able to ignore those cravings -- the rattle was as far as his body would get. Picking his luggage back up from the marble-tiled floor, the man's brows lifted, as he caught view of Thomas through the windows of Sarbane's. He nodded his head to straighten out his thoughts, striding towards the entrance and being allowed inside with a simple bow and nod from one of the hosts.

"Mr. Worth," the man called out from the entrance of the establishment. It was small, but well-decorated and elite, with patterned, ornate black walls and golden-framed paintings made by Starkwayte-born artists. In order to run a high-class establishment, one simply needed to be a patron of the Griscian arts. Alistair approached his date, remaining upright at the end of the table and looking down, eyeing the subtleties of his clothing. He flashed a warm, welcoming smile, setting down his briefcase and sliding it to the opposite end of the table, moving his luggage to his flank on the leather seat. Sliding in across Thomas, the man reached forward, offering his hand.

If Thomas took it, he would kiss between his knuckles, lifting his eyes to meet his.

"I apologize for keeping you waiting. Are you ready to go with me to Praetoria? If you are, we needn't remain here long. I normally just drink their chamomile and go -- a surge to keep the mind steady before we get into one of the cars." Alistair gestured over the waiter, whispering something beneath his breath. The man bowed, and made his way to the kitchen to prepare the Lord's treat. "We will be the only ones in car sixteen, all the way in the back of the train. It is most private accommodation, with an armed guard standing before it from the car previous. Staff will cater to us at designated times, though we'll also have a lemon-colored rope near the window that we can use to summon them. The very back has a bed, and there is a small bathroom tucked away into the side. This is the schematics-brochure, if you'd like to read," Alistair offered, reaching into his coat pocket and handing Thomas a large, folded paper.

"My mother paid for this train to be made. It is called... 'the Lady Margaret'. Proper of such a waif, but, it's a lovely investment for our Empire. Trains have not been profitable outside of freight transport for a long time, but these improved passenger trains generate high revenue among the uppers. If you're to be my valet one day, I'd like you to know these things. Take note," he offered, tipping his head. "Any questions?"

Re: Golden Ticket

Posted: Sun Sep 04, 2022 7:56 pm
by Thomas
~15:00, 33rd Ash, 4514
Image
Thomas did his level best not to act like a flower turning toward the sun when Lord Reid walked in to Sarbane's. It was how he felt, sure, but that sort of effusive gushing would serve only to make Lord Reid uncomfortable. Instead, he inclined his head slightly, and took the proffered hand, providing a gentle kiss, an acknowledgement both of their relative rank and surprising intimacy. Certainly, others had provided their hands like that before, but Lord Reid's was the first that Thomas didn't abhor. There was a faint scent to him that Thomas didn't recognize -- cologne? the smell of old money? raw sexual charisma? he wasn't sure -- but he found that he rather liked it.

"Such a pleasure to see you this afternoon, Lord Reid. I am, of course, ready to depart should you feel ready to do so." In truth, the opportunity to eat another scone would not go amiss, but with a multi-day journey on a luxury train ahead of them, Thomas assumed there would likely be scones there, too.

He accepted the schematics, giving them a once over. He was no engineer, but he could read a diagram outlining the characteristics of their car. It was big enough that there was a small servant's area tucked into the back third of the car along with a small preparatory area. Presumably, he wouldn't be called upon to make Lord Reid food, but it could be used to prepare a nightcap, or medicinal tinctures and the like for richer customers who were in poor health. It also included the less luxurious accommodations, which was more in line with what he'd expected: a small compartment with room for one or two beds and one or two chairs. As with everything, though, Lord Reid overshot Thomas' conception of how the rich did just about anything.

He opened his valise, dutifully folding the pamphlet and putting it alongside the only other papers he'd packed: the letter summoning him to Praetoria and the envelope it came in, and a slim volume of tongue twisters and monologues that he practiced as he had time. He made a mental note that if Lord Reid was going to be in the habit of giving him papers, he may need to procure some kind of attache case for himself to keep them from getting rumpled. This one would be okay, at least for now, but it was something to keep in mind.

"Should the position become available, Ser, I would happily accept." He knew Lord Reid didn't have a valet currently, but he was unsure what had happened to the last one who had attended the man. It was unusual for someone of Lord Reid's wealth and station to travel without an attendant, but he could fulfill those duties for the duration of their travels together.

"As for departing, Ser, we would need only settle up. I am happy to engage the porters so that you do not need to transport your luggage yourself." Not like the man would struggle under the weight of his luggage, but he was wealthy and powerful, so there were porters, while frailer, poorer people stooped from the weight of whatever was in their bags.

He could hear Ned's voice in his head saying it wasn't fair, that it didn't have to be this way. He finished his tea without slurping or chugging it instead of indulging that thought. Ned was dead, and he had no intention of joining him.


Re: Golden Ticket

Posted: Wed Sep 07, 2022 11:23 pm
by Alistair
Image

If there was one word Alistair could ascribe to Thomas' way of speech -- his appropriation of the Gilded tongue -- it was "amusing", perhaps even comforting. He spoke with something of that starlit fear that many common men spoke to the Lord with, but perhaps by virtue of his voice there was a confident zeal in his words that almost disguised the circumstances of his upbringing. He was not truly an actor yet, but he would be a good one. As Alistair had learned to fraternize with the lowest of the low, filling his veins with the bile of their Hell while circling around a barrel-fire, he saw a world where Thomas fraternized with the men-on-high.

"That will be alright, Thomas," said the man, his lips curling into a warm, smooth grin. "I will carry your luggage and mine. You may have noticed I do not have an attendant -- I believe such a thing weakens a man, shrivels him from his heroic nature. If you were to be my valet, it would be as a conversation partner, not as a servant." Standing upright, the man lifted his belongings again, reaching forward to offer a hand towards Thomas, so that he could help him as necessary. Whether or not he declined, the Gilded straightened himself towards the end of the table, nodding his head.

"Alright, then," Alistair began, "let's be off."

- - -

Boarding the train hadn't been much of a task. He was their special guest -- the son of the woman who owned the company -- so both upfront and behind the scenes, they ensured that every detail was made easy for him. Everything was configured the way he liked it, his things were taken and set where he typically placed them, and he was guided personally to his private car and seating, after informing the men present that Thomas was to be treated with equal dignity.

The train itself was large and of modern style, with a sleek, ornate silver-white helm and golden lining on the front car, where the operator was, followed by sixteen opulent, ivory-colored cars, their external details almost sculpture-like. All of the cars were roughly the same length at perhaps sixty five to seventy feet, though most of them carried a few dozen occupants. Once they were guided into the car in the back, which was done through a small, descending stairwell, it was made clear just how roomy their isolated car was. Alistair did not just have a bed in the back, but effectively a small lounge, not counting the leather window-seating closer to the front.

By the time they boarded, food was already prepared for them: Alistair's plate had a steak, a potato, vegetables, biscuits and a cup of what appeared to be Gentevarese onion soup, while Thomas' was less bountiful, with no potato, quinoa in place of the vegetables, and a single less biscuit. Each of them had a menu lined with options for different drinks and desserts -- the car in front of them was the kitchen, it appeared, given the menu's title: Serendipity on 15th.

As they properly captured their surroundings, Alistair exhaled out, before taking Thomas' hand and guiding him to his seat. He gestured for him to settle into it, helping him into the leathery bench and not releasing his hand until he was properly adjusted. Once he was, he slid in beside him, drawing his biscuit to his mouth and taking a small bite. The men that escorted them inside and placed their belongings departed, saluting the Gilded before they did. The moment they were gone and their door sealed, Alistair's lips smoothed, flattening.

"So," he began, looking out through the glass in front of them, "I am informing you now so that you have the opportunity to leave, if this displeases you: I expect you to provide me with sex, while we are present together on this train. I have a reagent that you will apply before bed to increase your relaxation and dull the initial pain. Given that you apply it correctly, it will not be an uncomfortable experience for you beyond the first hurdle." He bit into his biscuit again, this time turning to view Thomas from a sideward angle. "I would not ask this of you normally, but you are my companion during this trip, and I cannot keep sharp without exerting my masculine will in proper increments. Pillar of Prosperity, we'll call it. I like prospering."

Alistair turned away again, lifting his hand and widening his sitting stance. "There are papers from the Gazette if you get bored," he changed the subject. "They've even got an update on that Brightmoor murder-spree all of the lasses are crumbling over. I've yet to read it, myself."

Re: Golden Ticket

Posted: Thu Sep 08, 2022 12:11 am
by Thomas
~15:30, 33rd Ash, 4514
Image
Thomas enjoyed Lord Reid. Not because he was a good man; he wasn't. Thomas wasn't sure it was possible for Lords to be morally good, let alone a Gilded like Lord Reid. He was every bit as vicious as the rest of the toffs in the Silver Sunset Society. He was haughty, convinced of his own superiority, entitled, grasping, and greedy.

The Lord didn't pretend otherwise, though, and that was refreshing. Hypocrisy and faint-hearted attempts to make up for being rotten to the core characterized the noble family Thomas had grown up with, so seeing someone loudly proclaim that he was violent, and ruthless, and someone who wished to stop him had better come prepared, well, it held a certain magnetic appeal. Additionally, he was charming, when he wanted to be, and witty enough to be funny. By virtue of his rank and his stature, it felt safe to be with him: certainly, Lord Collier had not bothered him again, and the servants quietly did what he asked after it had become clear that he was attached to such a powerful benefactor.

The fact that the man effortlessly hefted his luggage and Thomas' as though it weighed nothing didn't hurt, although with a pang Thomas found that it reminded him of Ned. It was the only time Lord Reid had ever evoked his dead lover through a similarity instead of by contrast. Still, he was smart, rich, handsome, and powerful. Being with him made Thomas feel safe, at least from external threats.

He allowed himself a minute of pretending that there was nothing more to what was about to happen, that Lord Reid really did just want him for his casual conversation and company, and that they were about to enjoy a pleasant ride on a luxury train together. It was fun to look at the train station through those eyes; Thomas scurried after Lord Reid to keep up with the man's long legs and unapologetically fast stride and enjoyed the beauty of it, just for a bit. The alabaster stone and polished metal, the fine clothes of the Lords and Ladies and hangers-on like him, the smart uniforms of the station stewards and porters and attendants. It was sumptuous. Lavish, almost.

---

Thomas amended his earlier thoughts about the lavishness of the station when Lord Reid was shown to his private car. It was finally starting to click for him what it meant that his meal ticket seemed to ahve some kind of ownership in this company. He'd figured, in an abstract way, that this was a way that someone already obscenely wealthy became wealthier, and while that was no doubt true, the perks it provided astounded him.

There were still nods to the inequality between them. Lord Reid's plate was grander and had finer ingredients, for instance. If Thomas cared to explore the car he would find a small, respectable but spartan area reserved for the sort of servant that was not being taken along as a companion, and that would have laid bare their differences, were he silly enough to forget them. In truth, he was acutely aware of such things at all times, and was waiting for guidance from Lord Reid on if he'd be bedding down separately.

He didn't have long to wait.

Thomas' heart accelerated as Lord Reid slid in next to him with the casual disregard for personal space of someone who was used to taking up space. He listened to the terms of engagement. Briefly, he contemplated feigning shock before discarding it. Lord Reid didn't mind that he wasn't some naif ingenue; their conversations about gossip among the nobles had confirmed that he enjoyed that Thomas was well-acquainted with sex and the things nobles got up to when they were left unchaperoned.

So instead, in an uncharacteristic move, he told Lord Reid the truth: "I was rather sure of what the terms of engagement would be before I accepted your invitation, Ser. In truth, I'm flattered you waited so long. You could have had me the instant you threw Lord Collier and his out-of-season gloves out of that room and made it clear that I was taken by you, Ser, and I would not have objected."

"That you didn't, and chose to spend platonic time with me instead, has done me great honor."

He placed a hand on Lord Reid's knee and gripped the muscular thigh above it.

"And now you come to me with a way that I, your servant, can assist you on our difficult voyage. What sort of citizen would I be if I did not assist a Gilded in his diligent efforts to uphold the Pillars, my Lord? It will be my pleasure to assist you with prospering as often as you like."

For the first time, he made eye contact without being commanded to. He was unsure what Lord Reid had meant by needing special preparation, and that did give him a bit of pause, but he decided to disregard it for now. Unless Lord Reid thought he was truly so naive about matters of what happened between men to have no understanding of the mechanics of it? Regardless, if Lord Reid said it would help him enjoy it, he would use it as directed.

Besides, the alternative would involve leaving the compartment, disembarking from the train, and being homeless and unemployed again. As Thomas considered that, the train lurched into motion. Even if he'd had an intention of getting off, it was too late.

Re: Golden Ticket

Posted: Thu Sep 08, 2022 12:44 am
by Alistair
Image

The man laughed lowly, shaking his head as a final guff cleared out his throat. He was pleased, a fact demonstrated by the fact that he moved closer to the other, their sides meeting as he pulled Thomas' leg to rest atop his own, which certainly at least doubled the boy's in mass. "I have an eye for the ones that I want, and the ones that I like. It is a very different sensation, for me -- wanting is a strong, pulling, but ultimately temporary thing, like a meteor crashing through our skies, burning out before long. I value you, Thomas. To taste a man I value only once would be a shame -- I would rather, ah, become a sommelier." He grinned.

As often as you like.

"I do like to prosper often," Alistair warned. "Thank you, my dear, for being so considerate. You know -- I was impressed by you when I found you in that club," Alistair could barely remember which one it was, of the several he attended, "and my impression has only improved. You are well-spoken, intelligent, resourceful, and kind in your nature. It is rare in the Upper Cities to encounter so many of those features in one person. You are either good or good-looking, rarely ever both. You, my flower, are many things. That is why I could not have you until I offered value to you, as well."

Alistair reached over, grabbing a biscuit from his own plate and offering it to Thomas. He pulled him onto his lap, breathing against his neck, and sighing. "Eat the rest of your meal," he commanded, resting his chin against Thomas' shoulder. "I pulled you from Sarbane's, so this is the least I can do. I want you feeling content."

Re: Golden Ticket

Posted: Wed Sep 21, 2022 1:53 pm
by Salen
Image


Alistair and Thomas

Lores
x8 Generic Lores each

Loot: N/A
Injuries: N/A

Points: 8 each

Comments: Sorry I forgot to grade this after I read it, seems like a good read you two. Good job.