Kostan's Getaway PG13/Champ Chlnge #130: Getaway
Posted: Thu Jul 14, 2011 3:06 am
Champagne Challenge #130: Getaway
by allegrita » Tue Jul 05, 2011 12:45 pm
What's your idea of a getaway, dear writers? Summer vacation? A journey to a faraway place? The person behind the wheel of that suspicious-looking car idling on the street outside the bank? Steve McQueen and Ali MacGraw? This summer, we'd like you to put your creative minds to work and come up with Moonlight stories on the theme of "Getaway."
Since we're in a lazy, summertime mood, this challenge will run through the end of August, to give you plenty of time to plan your "Getaway." Your story can be any length, any rating, as long as it's set in the Moonlight world. Please post your story in your office and put a link to it, with the title and rating, as a reply on this thread. We will keep the opening post updated with links to this month's stories. (If you don't have an office, please pm me and I'll set one up for you.)
= = = = = = = = = = = = = = =
Kostan's Getaway
PG 13
New York, 1955
Fighting out of a cage of my own making…… I took a drag off my cigar – jealousy cranking my last nerve, the itch to start something working its way from thinking about it to acting on the thought.
I thought I should call a cab, too antsy to drive my own self anywhere. I need to take steps out of here, if anything happened to the loudmouthed swell opposite me at the card table I’d be the vamp most likely to be flamed.
I’ve lived too long to say “I’d never”, but the play of night had been too close to the edge of ragged nerves and I wanted to shed my skin, loose the rank atmosphere that covered my flesh. Get away.
The card game had worn thin; shirtsleeves rolled up had just laid evidence that I wasn’t the card shark here. Either way I hadn’t enjoyed the meal, she had sent too many mixed messages as I supped from that thin wrist. Early on when I saw that insouciant expression shot my way I had misinterpreted it as for me alone, when did one woman’s attentions mean so much? Let’s just say it’s been a while since I’ve kept regular company with a member of the opposite sex. I’m thirsting for the familiarity of a shared heart.
That sensual insolence set the hook and it was the price I pay each time I open up my perversely eager heart.
“Kostan, what’s the meaning of this?” the wide lapelled swell waves an overly showy gesture at me as I dropped the cigar into the cut glass ashtray and pocket my winnings, vials of rare blood, exquisitely cut diamonds and gold coins.
“I’m coming clean. I need a getaway” I dropped the hand face up on the table. A straight flush, my eagerness to waste a hand like this is only surpassed by my need to purge this room’s scent from my nostrils, shed these “friends” like a snake sheds skin.
How did I end up like this??? Their butler clucked behind my heels, my hat in hand, my over coat ready to assist me into it. I shrugged it politely; it is not this poor schlep’s fault I have to wash all this out of me.
Tilting my hat at just that right angle, drawing the cashmere overcoat and patting for my smokes I stepped out the door too quickly, once on the sidewalk I felt for my light. Which son of a bitch pocketed my gold lighter? I chucked it off to swimming with the wrong crowd. My heels clipped down the sidewalk, looking for the right direction to get away. I felt deep inside for even a pack of matches.
Would it be south? Hell no, the last time I was South I ended up at a political fundraiser for a candidate by the name of Abraham Lincoln and the ubiquitous meeting of another vampire, Coraline Duval. That woman has clouded almost every aspect of my life since that day.
Would I go north? I can’t see myself as a Canadian. I’m just not “nice” enough. I’m as far East as I can get and stay on American soil.
Go West, I can hop a train…..enjoy the old ways of surreptitious hunting as I ride the rail cross country. Right, “go west old man” masquerading as a young man….
I had to go because right now something is about to swallow me whole. And that’s just not my style, to be consumed when it’s my right, my lot to be the consumer.
The thrill of impending hunts as the train bucked and rolled over the terrain pumped the recently renewed blood faster thru my system. I felt flush at the thought of it. While I pondered which western destination I’d choose I listened to the rhythm of heels on marble floors, babies crying, anxious heartbeats as lovers parted.
“One way to Chicago” I slid the bill thru the window at the harried attendant who belched back a ticket with nary a “harrumph”. “Which track?” I prodded just to make him speak, only to have him nod to the sign to his right, satisfied that it was the extent of his “service” I made tracks to the tracks.
I found myself rocking back and forth on the balls of my feet, mimicking the rhythm of the faraway trains. Then, a cloud of Arpege floated on heavenly tiptoes. The coral cashmere cape draped over gentile shoulders, her auburn hair alive in the harsh light of the platform. Any other woman’s beauty would be eclipsed by this brutal wattage.
I watched the ballet of her movements as she situated herself to wait for the arriving train. She threw a shawl of mink tails over one shoulder and the simple movement caused her curls to mingle with the dark fur, was that when I fell in “love”?. Waves of genteel impatience rolled off her, I could tell she needed something, a drink or a cigarette perhaps? Could I entertain a lady?
Patience, Kostan, I chided myself. There she stood, oblivious to my scrutiny, to my hunger for her attentions. This wasn’t even a primal thirst for her blood; it was my primal thirst for a Yin to my Yang. If I could just hear her voice, I even caught myself staring. Slowly she turned, soft lips pursed to speak I waited, hot for the sound of her voice, hungry for what she’d say.
“Do you have a light?”
I felt my heart get away from me.
by allegrita » Tue Jul 05, 2011 12:45 pm
What's your idea of a getaway, dear writers? Summer vacation? A journey to a faraway place? The person behind the wheel of that suspicious-looking car idling on the street outside the bank? Steve McQueen and Ali MacGraw? This summer, we'd like you to put your creative minds to work and come up with Moonlight stories on the theme of "Getaway."
Since we're in a lazy, summertime mood, this challenge will run through the end of August, to give you plenty of time to plan your "Getaway." Your story can be any length, any rating, as long as it's set in the Moonlight world. Please post your story in your office and put a link to it, with the title and rating, as a reply on this thread. We will keep the opening post updated with links to this month's stories. (If you don't have an office, please pm me and I'll set one up for you.)
= = = = = = = = = = = = = = =
Kostan's Getaway
PG 13
New York, 1955
Fighting out of a cage of my own making…… I took a drag off my cigar – jealousy cranking my last nerve, the itch to start something working its way from thinking about it to acting on the thought.
I thought I should call a cab, too antsy to drive my own self anywhere. I need to take steps out of here, if anything happened to the loudmouthed swell opposite me at the card table I’d be the vamp most likely to be flamed.
I’ve lived too long to say “I’d never”, but the play of night had been too close to the edge of ragged nerves and I wanted to shed my skin, loose the rank atmosphere that covered my flesh. Get away.
The card game had worn thin; shirtsleeves rolled up had just laid evidence that I wasn’t the card shark here. Either way I hadn’t enjoyed the meal, she had sent too many mixed messages as I supped from that thin wrist. Early on when I saw that insouciant expression shot my way I had misinterpreted it as for me alone, when did one woman’s attentions mean so much? Let’s just say it’s been a while since I’ve kept regular company with a member of the opposite sex. I’m thirsting for the familiarity of a shared heart.
That sensual insolence set the hook and it was the price I pay each time I open up my perversely eager heart.
“Kostan, what’s the meaning of this?” the wide lapelled swell waves an overly showy gesture at me as I dropped the cigar into the cut glass ashtray and pocket my winnings, vials of rare blood, exquisitely cut diamonds and gold coins.
“I’m coming clean. I need a getaway” I dropped the hand face up on the table. A straight flush, my eagerness to waste a hand like this is only surpassed by my need to purge this room’s scent from my nostrils, shed these “friends” like a snake sheds skin.
How did I end up like this??? Their butler clucked behind my heels, my hat in hand, my over coat ready to assist me into it. I shrugged it politely; it is not this poor schlep’s fault I have to wash all this out of me.
Tilting my hat at just that right angle, drawing the cashmere overcoat and patting for my smokes I stepped out the door too quickly, once on the sidewalk I felt for my light. Which son of a bitch pocketed my gold lighter? I chucked it off to swimming with the wrong crowd. My heels clipped down the sidewalk, looking for the right direction to get away. I felt deep inside for even a pack of matches.
Would it be south? Hell no, the last time I was South I ended up at a political fundraiser for a candidate by the name of Abraham Lincoln and the ubiquitous meeting of another vampire, Coraline Duval. That woman has clouded almost every aspect of my life since that day.
Would I go north? I can’t see myself as a Canadian. I’m just not “nice” enough. I’m as far East as I can get and stay on American soil.
Go West, I can hop a train…..enjoy the old ways of surreptitious hunting as I ride the rail cross country. Right, “go west old man” masquerading as a young man….
I had to go because right now something is about to swallow me whole. And that’s just not my style, to be consumed when it’s my right, my lot to be the consumer.
The thrill of impending hunts as the train bucked and rolled over the terrain pumped the recently renewed blood faster thru my system. I felt flush at the thought of it. While I pondered which western destination I’d choose I listened to the rhythm of heels on marble floors, babies crying, anxious heartbeats as lovers parted.
“One way to Chicago” I slid the bill thru the window at the harried attendant who belched back a ticket with nary a “harrumph”. “Which track?” I prodded just to make him speak, only to have him nod to the sign to his right, satisfied that it was the extent of his “service” I made tracks to the tracks.
I found myself rocking back and forth on the balls of my feet, mimicking the rhythm of the faraway trains. Then, a cloud of Arpege floated on heavenly tiptoes. The coral cashmere cape draped over gentile shoulders, her auburn hair alive in the harsh light of the platform. Any other woman’s beauty would be eclipsed by this brutal wattage.
I watched the ballet of her movements as she situated herself to wait for the arriving train. She threw a shawl of mink tails over one shoulder and the simple movement caused her curls to mingle with the dark fur, was that when I fell in “love”?. Waves of genteel impatience rolled off her, I could tell she needed something, a drink or a cigarette perhaps? Could I entertain a lady?
Patience, Kostan, I chided myself. There she stood, oblivious to my scrutiny, to my hunger for her attentions. This wasn’t even a primal thirst for her blood; it was my primal thirst for a Yin to my Yang. If I could just hear her voice, I even caught myself staring. Slowly she turned, soft lips pursed to speak I waited, hot for the sound of her voice, hungry for what she’d say.
“Do you have a light?”
I felt my heart get away from me.
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