...::: Character Visit: Ciarán Malone
Unsurprisingly, Ciarán was always dressed perfectly for whatever occasion at which he happened to be making an appearance. Furthermore, he never agonized over his decision. He always knew, instinctively, the perfect cut, style, and degree of formality appropriate for the event. He didn't take too much pride in the talent, oddly enough, as he knew it was something he had never had to work at to master.
This occasion was doubly strange, then:
First, the very idea of the thing was extraordinary. The hoi polloi would have their crack at him, as usual, with the typical mixture of envy, curiosity, lust, disgust, and admiration. That he was accustomed to. However, there was something added here: he would answer. Everything. In a usual setting, he would have been a different degree of honest--truthful, but in the idea that there was a wealth of hidden meanings in each of his words.
Secondly, he paused before choosing his outfit!
But he was still unassailably, irritatingly calm, as though his figure had been cast in molten glass in a hellish reinterpretation of the Greek classics: sinewy, beautiful, but sickening and threatening, with only his eyes bright.
The stage was cute, as though it was attempting to be dramatic for him in the absence of any theatricalities. Ciarán looked lovely, and had an air of approachability about him in his the finest mohair and fitted denims. The tiniest twitch of his wrist saw the materialization of a luxurious armchair of brown Italian leather, with curling, minimal embellishments along the armrests. He sat. He smiled. So many lovely little ducklings. He leaned forward fractionally.
"Good evening, all. I do hope you'll be as forthcoming here with all your darkest little desires as I plan to be--that is, completely." His voice, British tinged with a European umbrage.
"Otherwise, what use would as unique a forum as this be?"
Ciarán flexed his fingers experimentally, and settled back into his chair. He hoped that an opportunity for complete candor would shake the banality from these proceedings. He was already feeling a bit sleepy!
While they collectively worked up the courage to ask the first question, Mr. Malone busied himself with thoughts of what he could do in a forum like this, in which no one could remember anything outside the hall. What fun could be had with tea and knives....Montague was right. He worried about his image too much.
This occasion was doubly strange, then:
First, the very idea of the thing was extraordinary. The hoi polloi would have their crack at him, as usual, with the typical mixture of envy, curiosity, lust, disgust, and admiration. That he was accustomed to. However, there was something added here: he would answer. Everything. In a usual setting, he would have been a different degree of honest--truthful, but in the idea that there was a wealth of hidden meanings in each of his words.
Secondly, he paused before choosing his outfit!
But he was still unassailably, irritatingly calm, as though his figure had been cast in molten glass in a hellish reinterpretation of the Greek classics: sinewy, beautiful, but sickening and threatening, with only his eyes bright.
The stage was cute, as though it was attempting to be dramatic for him in the absence of any theatricalities. Ciarán looked lovely, and had an air of approachability about him in his the finest mohair and fitted denims. The tiniest twitch of his wrist saw the materialization of a luxurious armchair of brown Italian leather, with curling, minimal embellishments along the armrests. He sat. He smiled. So many lovely little ducklings. He leaned forward fractionally.
"Good evening, all. I do hope you'll be as forthcoming here with all your darkest little desires as I plan to be--that is, completely." His voice, British tinged with a European umbrage.
"Otherwise, what use would as unique a forum as this be?"
Ciarán flexed his fingers experimentally, and settled back into his chair. He hoped that an opportunity for complete candor would shake the banality from these proceedings. He was already feeling a bit sleepy!
While they collectively worked up the courage to ask the first question, Mr. Malone busied himself with thoughts of what he could do in a forum like this, in which no one could remember anything outside the hall. What fun could be had with tea and knives....Montague was right. He worried about his image too much.