The Letter
Rating: PG
Summary: Albert's impressions after he receives the first letter from Alphard
Disclaimer: Jo owns most of this; I own Albert and Paul Nash owned the lovely piece of art.
Thanks a million to the lovely minnow_53 for the beta.
Alphard's first letter to Albert is here
Albert Deschamps re-read the brief message, written on best-quality paper almost like old parchment. Actually, it was old parchment, he noted upon a closer look.
The handwriting, in emerald-green ink, was neat, and the letter seemed to have been written with a quill. He snorted; it was probably a fancy fountain pen. Who would use a quill nowadays?
At the top of the page there was a crest he didn’t recognize and the initials A.P.P.B.; at the bottom, just the word ‘Sincerely’ and the signature, ‘Alphard Black’.
Alphard Black.
It hadn’t taken him more than a few minutes to rack his brain and remember the owner of the odd name. It was the handsome youth whom the poetess Michelle Higgins had brought to the gallery opening.
He and Alphard had talked briefly, though long enough for Albert to detect an aristocratic accent. With his aesthetic eye, he noticed the fine hands with the long fingers, the perfect physique accentuated by a sharp-looking suit and the natural elegance of the well born and bred.
But most striking of all was the perfectly-chiseled face with its grey eyes, crowned by the jet-black hair. Just like a painting by one of the Masters.
He glanced through the letter for a third time. So Mr. Black was interested in his art? Good.
He’d love to meet the young man again.
Summary: Albert's impressions after he receives the first letter from Alphard
Disclaimer: Jo owns most of this; I own Albert and Paul Nash owned the lovely piece of art.
Thanks a million to the lovely minnow_53 for the beta.
Alphard's first letter to Albert is here
Albert Deschamps re-read the brief message, written on best-quality paper almost like old parchment. Actually, it was old parchment, he noted upon a closer look.
The handwriting, in emerald-green ink, was neat, and the letter seemed to have been written with a quill. He snorted; it was probably a fancy fountain pen. Who would use a quill nowadays?
At the top of the page there was a crest he didn’t recognize and the initials A.P.P.B.; at the bottom, just the word ‘Sincerely’ and the signature, ‘Alphard Black’.
Alphard Black.
It hadn’t taken him more than a few minutes to rack his brain and remember the owner of the odd name. It was the handsome youth whom the poetess Michelle Higgins had brought to the gallery opening.
He and Alphard had talked briefly, though long enough for Albert to detect an aristocratic accent. With his aesthetic eye, he noticed the fine hands with the long fingers, the perfect physique accentuated by a sharp-looking suit and the natural elegance of the well born and bred.
But most striking of all was the perfectly-chiseled face with its grey eyes, crowned by the jet-black hair. Just like a painting by one of the Masters.
He glanced through the letter for a third time. So Mr. Black was interested in his art? Good.
He’d love to meet the young man again.