alistairmather

so, i have gone ahead and finished chapter ten of The Adventures of Hunter Cartwright. many references to one of my favorite authors and yet more profanity from Stacia Brennar.

i like profanity.

anyway, have a secondary interview tomorrow at a local coffee shop. jobs are good, jobs with free caffeine are better. wish me luck.

am currently reading Raymond Chandler's Philip Marlowe series and enjoying it immensely. its odd how much alike my writing style and his are at the beginning of the "Big Sleep" when i have never even read him. i am enjoying the seemy side of LA from the thirties immensely though. plus: homosexual photographers and porn!!

aren't books great!

without further ado, welcome to the tenth episode in the stunning Adventures of Hunter Cartwright, in which are narrator gets drunk and we witness some of the technology of this brave old world...


Ten

For a moment I was sure my heart had stopped. Pain constricted my chest till I was sure I would soon be hearing the sound of my ribs breaking. Lights danced before my eyes in whorls and patterns no mind could comprehend.
Then I remembered to breathe.
I gasped, the sudden influx of air heightening the affects of the alcohol I had so rapidly consumed, and the world swung before my eyes. Swung till it settled shiftingly on the tilting form of Hunter in the doorway.
Brand has escaped. he stated simply from the rocking door frame. I need the two of you to be ready to leave as soon as I bring the carriage round.
I turned to gauge Ms. Brennars reaction to this cryptic statement. She lounged languidly in the divan, unruffled and seemingly unconcerned by either Hunters command or her earlier actions. The only proof that they had happened, that I had felt the soft, sweet breath of this angelic creature on my lips, was the small, wicked smile that played easily on her face.
Good then, said Hunter, taking our silence for assent, Ill meet you both at the front door.
Whats left of it you mean. commented Stacia in low tones.
I giggled ridiculously at this statement, quickly silencing myself when I realized what I was doing. The scotch was starting to take its toll.
Wonderful to see you in such good spirits, my boy. I was beginning to think wed never rouse you from that melancholic state of yours. And at that Hunter turned from the room and was gone.
I turned towards Stacia again, meaning to confront her with the meaning behind what had just happened. Instead, I found her already standing, buttoning up the coat she had slipped back on while I was looking away. I watched admiringly, and a bit drunkenly, as the soft, pale tones of her skin disappeared behind the dark jacket. I started when I realized I was staring so openly, but found that that same wicked smile I had noted earlier had not left her lips.
Come on. she said, casually slipping her feet back into low cut shoes that had been resting beneath the divan. Ill give you a hand getting to the door.
I giggled again at this reference to the door, stifled it quickly, and then giggled again. I tried to stand, felt the world swing dizzily around me and fell heavily back into my chair.
I rather believe I am drunk. I stated quite calmly, if somewhat slurred. Then I giggled some more.
Yes. replied Stacia as she picked up my cigarette case from the table beside me. She pulled a fresh cigarette from its silver confines, giving me pause, as I watched in fascination the play of dim red light across the polished surface. She placed the cigarette between her lips, struck a match, and casually lit the slim white tube. She drew a quick breath on the cigarette, causing the end to flare a bright red, then handed it to me.
I held the cigarette dumbly between numb fingers as I watched her slowly exhale, blue smoke lazily drifting past her exquisite features, giving her the aspect of some ephemeral spirit or foreign djinn. She smiled down at me, gently took the hand holding the cigarette and moved it towards my lips. Enraptured by the feel of her delicate fingers upon the mean flesh of my hand, I drew deeply on the cigarette.
Too deeply, for I found myself wracked by a fit of coughing that helped clear my head a bit. I doubled over in the chair, dropping the cigarette as my form shuddered before the onslaught of coughing, feeling the world shift about me, but perhaps not so wildly as before. When I could sit upright again, I found a fresh cigarette being held out to me.
Lets try that again, hmm. she said with equal parts humour and friendship.
I gladly accepted the new cigarette, and with her aid, rose unsteadily to my feet.

World spins and tilts. Angles and planes shift randomly. A floor that was just beneath my foot is suddenly a much greater distance away. I stumble. Walls move inwards suddenly, striking my shoulders, my arms, my legs. There is no pain, just the tactile recognition of another solid object now in contact with me. Soft, strong hands grip me, steadying me. I look at a form of abject beauty. She glows with an inner light. I think or speak, there is no difference between the two anymore, about my undying love for this vision of perfection. A brilliant smile. A pair of hypnotic eyes. A delicate, perfect limb. A soft, broad nose. These things fill the entirety of my vision, interspersed by quick, magnified views of pale carpet. Of overly bright electric lamps. Of strange art pieces. Of darkly painted walls.
And then we are outside and the cool, damp New England air strikes me like a physical blow. The past few moments are a haze to me, an almost perfect recreation of my first entrance to the house. I can only recall brief fragments of the journey from the salon to the street, like a series of photographs shown rapidly out of sequence. I realize that while my head is much clearer, I am not yet sober.
As we step out the door we frighten a couple of pulpy, amorphous shuggoths from the top of the stairs. I look down to see what has caused these usually timid creatures to approach so close to a place of habitation, something they usually shun. I quicly avert my eyes, a brief wave of nausea passing through me as I finally discern why it is no one had made any attempt to remove the dead things bodies from the street front.
Stacia adds a glancing kick to one of the rapidly retreating shuggoths, her foot making no noticable impact on the gelatinous form.
Filthy fucking scavengers. she mutters under her breath, her angelic features momentarily twisted by a look of disgust. Wish hed never found the things.
Foolishly, I look back at the shuggoths latest meal, another wave of nausea making me sympathetic to her views.
I pick my way carefully down the stairs, the cold air has sobered me much more then the momentary relief of the cigarette, but the world around me still has not completely settled. Stacia moves slowly by my side, one arm extended to steady me, should the need arise. At the bottom of the steps, where I had expected to find more shuggoths at work , we find nothing but a faded stain on the walk. From the nearby shadows I catch the stealthy, fluid movements of tentacles and amorphous, sliding shapes.
We stand side by side on the stained walk, Stacia tapping her foot impatiently, myself shifting to maintain my balance when the world made one of its occasional lurches about me. My recollections of the trip through Hunters home were slowly starting to return to me as the effects of the scotch began to dissipate, and I was beginning to develop the vague fear that I had been terribly forward with the lovely Ms. Brennar.
I didnt..., I begin to say, when I start to feel a heavy thrumming at the center of my being. It is a deep, basso vibration that starts in the pit of my stomach and seems to spread through my bones to the rest of my system. Before I can even turn to look there is a soft, sudden blast of air and grit, and the throbbing, thrumming sensation fades slightly.
Pulled up beside the raised walk is the most impressive repulsor carriage I have ever seen. It looks like some great, sleek jungle cat, frozen in the moment before it pounces in silver and steel and dark cherry wood. The flaring silver skirt, like great polished paws beside it, hint at wheels no longer necessary, an idle comfort in this age of rapidly changing technology. The front end has an arching feline grace, crafted in silver and steel. The curved sides of the hood hold slitted air intakes to supplement the toothy, elliptical grill set in its front between twin round lamps. The two doors that faced us, cut from polished cherry wood, opened away from each other by styled silver handles. The back end curved swiftly down like the flowing haunch of a crouched predatory feline. The whole thing gave off a sense of motion and poise more like a living creature then a construct of metal and wood.
I had never even imagined anything like it.
Of course I was familiar with repulsor carriages, Arkham was a terribly progressive city, and while the rest of the country may lag behind us in incorporating the latest advancements in technology, we were always at the forefront of scientific change. However, I was used to the boxy cabs and freight carriers one saw moving people and freight through the city streets, conveyances that hadnt much changed in appearance from any of the broughams or wagons one saw still drawn by horse. This looked more like one of the new magnetic train carriages the city was busily constructing tracks for above the cobbled avenues of the city center, all sleek lines and subtle curves.
Quite the vehicle, yes? calls Hunter from the left hand side of the drivers compartment. He is wearing a long black overcoat to protect his suit, and a set of smoked goggles cover his eyes. His bright red hair is wild and there is a grin on his face that was infectious.
Been working on her for a while now. Fastest thing about. Even the new mag trains wont be able to outdo this girl. he gives a quick laugh, then takes his left hand off one of the steering levers and gestures at Stacia and I, Come along now, places to go and all that.
With a grace and ease I envy, Stacia grips the side of the first door and smoothly vaults into the drivers compartment beside Hunter, flashing an enticing amount of smooth, white leg at me in the process. I carefully take hold of the handle to the passenger compartment and slowly let myself into the carriage, trying very hard to maintain my balance upon the gently rocking surface. I move to the center of the passenger seat and gingerly set myself down.
A pair of smoked goggles bounces off my chest, causing me to start. I look up to see Stacia wearing a similar pair and smiling that wicked, knowing smile at me. I have just managed to get the goggles on and adjusted when Hunter opens the throttle and we are off.