13

  Neric was woken by a small snuffle which was not his own.

He looked over at his couch and the state governor sleeping thumb in mouth thereon.  

    “Well, hello my dear fellow,” Neric murmured happily, hopping off his desk and drawing nearer to his exceptionally deserving victim, “my dear laddy boy.  My dear boy fellow, laddie fellow boy, boy laddie boy fellow, laddie dear, boy laddie-lad, fellow-boy laddie!”  With this hushed expletive he tweaked the man’s nose till he woke up.

“Ou-- ah, Neric!  Forgive me for ascending directly to your room of employment, but your secretary directed me to, and I find it unwise  to disobey secretaries.”

He squatted, waited for any response, like a bald, obese lapdog.  Neric leaped backwards into his office chair and spun around a couple times.

“Yes,” he said drily, and offered a cigar to the governor, who took it, examined it with confusion, and put it in his pocket.  

“Yes…” the governor repeated senselessly.  “I was possessing a great desire to discuss more on that matter of which we spoke of earlier, concerning certain issues it is expedient to…”  Neric spun around a couple times more, pushing off from the desk with one foot.

“You do that very well,” the governor began, realizing his earlier approach had flopped.

“Thank you.”

“It becomes you, the soft and whirly-twirly seat of power.”

Neric whirly-twirled some more, thoughtfully.

“The seat of power,” he agreed, “is soft and whirly-twirly.  And very comfortable.

“But it makes me hungry,” he added as a kind of afterthought.  “Go buy me coffee.  And some doughnuts.”

The governor nodded uncertainly.

“Jelly ones.  With sprinkles.”

he nodded again and rose to leave.

When Emmet woke, the architecture was odder, older.  Myra had finished her book and had her nose pressed to the window.

    “It’s stone,” she said, with a kind of unnatural, hushed reverence.

    It was stone and cement, with pillars and carvings-- tiny, grandiose greek knockoffs.  The road stopped, and the sidewalk, and everything…

    “It’s the end of the world,” she said, and Emmet was close to agreeing.  He hadn’t known it would be like this.  They walked on asphalt and concrete and then rough, uneven cobblestone that tripped them and made soft sandpaper sounds, echoing uneasily in this abyss.

    “It’s so beautiful,” she said.  He wasn’t sure that was the word he’d use.

    The building was an off-white that reminded him unreasonably of a dropped marshmallow.  It was sturdy and massive and looked painfully expensive; it filled the end of the road completely.  

    “It’s overwhelming,” Myra said with what breath she had, and Emmet wondered why she found it necessary to share her every impression with him. She’d be trying to hold his hand, next...

Reviews

[Flarare Weet]

I randomly clicked on your work, and I'm glad that I came across this book. I didn't thought I'd get this far in one go, but the way you use your writing skills is mesmerising.
The description of Neric, Emmet and Myra are very insightful, and I love the interaction between the 'stone cold' gentleman and the 'ditsy' lady. It makes me think whether Emmet will ever develop feelings for her, or whether he'll get rid of her soon. I can only hope that this story will have a killer ending - no pressure x)