The Holidays (OPEN)

(Thread idea to get me back in the swing of writing.}

Guidelines I’ll be using (no pressure to conform)
-all posts are at least a few hundred words or so
-no posts are edited after posting
-no edits of the post after writing
-all writing is pretty much stream of consciousness

John reached up, adjusting the too-tight collar on his ruffled shirt, trying in vain yet again to shift it into a more comfortable position. He took a few steps, wading through the loosely packed group of aristocrats inside the mansion of a Coronian magistrate, the name of which he had already forgotten. He had been tasked with looking big and tough, and making sure nobody caused any trouble at any part of the celebration. One of the aids the magistrate had assigned him approached. He was a swarthy man who cleaned up quite nicely and blended in with the dainty crowd, but as John shook his hand, he felt callouses, which no well-to-do person in this room would ever deign to possess.

“Everything’s alright here, boss,” he said quickly, angling his face up. People were seldom surprised with John’s stature any more. He’d grown as a man, of late, and patched together the pieces of his broken life into something not greater, but something different. He’d moved from a crazy smith on the edges of Radasanth, to a respected craftsman, to adventurer, and more. He got out now, and actually mingled every once in a while. He actually managed a smile that didn’t feel forced.

“Good, keep an eye on the doors,” John replied as he turned to navigate this floor’s maze of rooms to make his way down to the courtyard that surrounded the mansion. As he turned a corner though, he saw a familiar face.

John immediately flushed as Jamie deftly separated herself from the arm of an elderly bespectacled nobleman, and took a few steps toward him in the hallway. She offered her hand to him. He engulfed it in his own as softly as he could manage, and tried to hold her image in his mind as much as he could in the moment. Her dark green dress was almost black in the soft light of candles on one side of the hallway, and moonlight streaming through windows on the other. It gave her an ethereal look as it contrasted with her pale skin, like she was some strange ideal of beauty, never attainable except in this instant. She was graceful, as always, as she curtsied.

How she did so in that dress was a mystery.

“Mister Cromwell, it’s been too long! How fare your projects?”

He lifted her hand to his lips and gave the back of her hand a gentle kiss. Just a formality, but John hesitated. Was that her perfume? What was that, Rose petals? He pulled his face away at last, and looked back at her. She’d said something, he was sure of it.

“My what?”

“Ahem.”

John looked past Jamie to the nobleman beyond. He seemed impatient, even in John’s estimation. She curtsied again, lifting her hand from his in the process, and returned to the nobleman, winding her arm around his.

“I simply must stop by your establishment sometime John,” she said easily as the pair passed him. John stood there for a moment, then turned to the windows.

Look at you, jealous. You’re acting like a child, you are.

He sighed, knowing that he couldn’t do anything about it at all, and glanced down to the torchlit courtyard. It was filled with paved squares and gardens, full of dancing people and food served by vendors, all in celebration of the last days of the fall season. All paid for graciously by the resident upper crust. Last year, Jamie had spent the evening with him, not some stuffy veteran of a long-lost war. A cry went up louder than the music and singing below, and John dashed down the hallway. A fight looked to be breaking out, and he had to be down there to quell any conflict. He took a side passage leading to some stairs, and came out into the huge crowd of people. He pushed through, tugging on his collar again, and made his way to the growing tussle, which by now had three or four participants. If he didn’t get it under control soon, it would grow past anyone’s ability to contain.

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