That Story I Started

Full of lies.
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Ghost
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That Story I Started

Postby Ghost » Thu Feb 15, 2007 12:54 pm

Roderick Stormweather fingered the top of the Glenfiddich bottle, contemplating whether or not to pour himself another drink. Reluctantly he placed the bottle back into his father’s old liquor cabinet, replaced his tumbler, closed the door, and locked it. Sliding the key back under the clock on the mantel, Roderick thought about what was giving him such a hard time that even a belt of Scotch wouldn’t clear his head. Could it be the automobile race on Sunday? No, the Stormweather’s were competent racers and his father, Magnus Stormweather, had won the Gentleman’s Auto-Competitive 28 years in a row. There was no reason for this year to be any different. It couldn’t be his studies either, Roderick was a top tier student at Chandler Academy, constantly placing in the top five percentile of students in academics and, it should be told as well, athletics. A fine competitor, Roderick had won scads of accolades in each of the sports he participated in.

Roderick ran his fingers though his hair, being careful to only muss it just so, and placed his hand into his right jacket pocket to wipe away the pomade. He always did this when something was troubling him, the inside of all of his jackets from the Academy were lined with Huck Waxson’s Special Pomade. With a sigh he slumped into the old red leather and oak chair by the fireplace. He had been sitting for only a moment when it hit him; he leapt up and snapped his fingers loudly. “Virginia Caine”, he cried out, and his voice echoed in the cavernous recesses of the library at the Stormweather estate.

Virginia Caine was the girl Roderick was attempting to court and she had yet to return his telephone call. The beautiful youngest daughter of Sir Ellington Caine, Virginia had all of the privilege of the Stormweathers; perhaps, it was spoken in some hushed circles, even more. The patriarch of the Caine family was not only a railway magnate, but he owned several textile mills upstate, had innumerable land holdings around the country (as well as abroad), and had considerable stock in Treadwell Aeronautics, the nations leading aircraft design and manufacture firm. This all went without mentioning that Virginia would look stunning pulling up to the Summer Formal with Roderick in his 1967 Stutz Bearcat convertible.
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MT
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Postby MT » Fri Feb 16, 2007 6:53 pm

i've read that a while back. I'm still on the edge of my seat. i'm not sure why i haven't thrown out that damn lumbar support pillow, i hate it.
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Ghost
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Postby Ghost » Mon Feb 19, 2007 12:55 pm

Working on an update JUST FOR YOU
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Ghost
Octothorpe
Posts: 17949
Joined: Thu Sep 21, 2006 8:44 am

Postby Ghost » Mon Feb 19, 2007 5:39 pm

Clanked this out for you, MT. I'll do more tomorrow.

Roderick rushed over to the antique oak desk whereupon the telephone in the study rested. He pulled open the top left drawer and produced without looking his father’s telephone directory, an aged leather bound book upon which “M.A.S.” was monogrammed in gold lettering. The Stormweathers and the Caine’s, though not exactly friends, did run, or in this case yacht, in the same circles after all and Roderick was certain that his father would have the number to their home in his contact list. Sure enough, he did. With more excitement and anxiety than was anticipated Roderick dialed in the number as quickly as possible and it occurred to him that the eternity in which the dial took to circle back home seemed insufferable.

The line rang for ages and finally a connection was established. “Caine Estate, Heathrow speaking”. The voice was dusty and apathetic to the point of vocal atrophy.

His pitch undulating a bit, embarrassingly undermining his polished demeanor, Roderick answered, “Good afternoon Heathrow, this is Roderick Stormweather phoning, I’d like to speak with Miss Virginia Caine if that’s at all possible.”

Heathrow exhaled heavily into the receiver, “I shall endeavor to fetch her, sir”. His words ran together such that it wasn’t so much a sentence as a sigh with multiple parts. Roderick could taste his heart in his throat. He was thinking that he should have gone for that second drink after all and began eyeing the liquor cabinet again, wondering if he could take a belt of courage before Heathrow alerted Virginia about her telephone call. He couldn’t; there was a clacking of the receiver as she picked it up and a muffled, “Thank you, Heathrow, that will be all for now.”

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