http://pub26.ezboard.com/fewa10716frm15.showMessage?topicID=4.topic

Evening. The sun is blood red, setting behind an urban landscape indistinguishable from any other Western metropolis. The drones flit around the streets, nothing better to do than the typical hum-drum of their lives. But that's how it always is on the ground -- Man is tied to the ground, and when on the ground, has no need to reach for the stars. However, as the sky calls, the ambitions increase. The camera finds itself called to one of the towering skyscrapers whose edifice dominates the skyline. Part reaching for the heavens, part trying to pierce their heart, it rises like a steel-and-glass obelisk to some modern-day Pharoah. But King Tut's remains are not memorialized on this monument. As one looks up the building, the lights on in the lower offices are replaced by the dark from the floor-to-ceiling windows on the way up. After all, the peons may have to work 16 hour days, but why should the executives? However, on one of the highest floors, the floor-to-ceiling windows in one of the corner offices are still on. A busy stockbroker? An executive struggling to save his company? Two mid-level managers doing the nasty in their boss's office? Inquiring, as always, the camera pans up, and starts zooming in on the window. A man is sitting in a high-backed leather chair, his back to the window, and three stiff-looking men in dark, conservative suits are sweating across the desk from him. The camera moves in, and the outside noise disappears, replaced by the unsettling silence of an office where no one wants to talk. Silent witness, the camera soaks in the room. Medium-sized, for an executive office. Spartan, almost bare. Dark. The three men in suits (definitely lawyers -- you can always tell the type) are nervous -- one on the left is visibly beading sweat across his expansive, balding forehead. Finally, the camera swivels to show our protagonist in his chair: Hoyakillah. He's wearing a three piece suit, but the dark-grey, pinstripe jacket is rumpled up on the floor, the metallic gold tie is loosened, the top button on his Marks and Spencer dress shirt is unbuttoned, and the sleeves are rolled up. The usually-unflappable "master of politics" is leaning across the desk, eyes fixed on the middle lawyer.

Hoya: Arend, what's the delay?

"Arend": (the middle lawyer) Well, we know it's dead in the water, but there's so much tied up in it...

Hoya: Make it happen.

"Joyner": (lawyer on the right) Now Hoya, we don't need to be so impetuous. There are other possible venues, other possible partnerships...

Hoya: God damnit, Joyner, when I want your opinion, I'll ask for it. I said terminate it. Do it.

Arend: But Hoya --

Hoya: -- Make it happen!

Flustered, the three lawyers pick up their attache cases, make mumbled excuses, and hurry out of the office. As the last leaves, he closes the door behind him, leaving Hoya in the room alone. He gets up out of his chair, and starts pacing about the room. On a sidebar, a decanter of an amber liquid (knowing Hoya, whiskey) waits with an empty glass. Hoya walks over and, uncorking the crystal, pours three fingers into the glass. Recork. One fluid motion of the arm, throws back the entire glass -- apparently without the ill effects he used to suffer from excesses of liquor. Rather than pouring another glass, though, he continues to pace, glass in hand, talking to himself.

Hoya: This isn't happening... (mutters something under his breath that the camera can't pick up, then raises his voice again) ...first Bartlett. Fuck. How the hell did that get under my wire? He lifts up the glass, and stares at it, seemingly talking to it. I told him never to come back. And then he shows up. Shit. This is not good.

The glass slips out of his hand, to the floor, but doesn't break -- rather, it's caught by the rug which Hoya is standing on. He continues to pace, now on the hardwood floor occupying most of the office.

Hoya: Bartlett. Then the Clash. Now Arelli. Something is seriously wrong here. Is it Hexane? ...No. He's done well so far. I'm very happy with it. The E Project? That hasn't been too preoccupying. Sighing. I need to clear my head.

Hoya walks over to his desk, and presses a button on it. A slight whirring is heard, and a panel slides away on the desk. From his pocket, Hoya pulls out a vial of some sort of white powder, and taps it out on the table. He then produces a razor blade, and starts cutting the powder into two lines. As he bends over the desk, he hears his door open, and spins around, to see Hexane.

Hexane: ...uhh... did I interrupt anything?

Hoya: No, no. What's going on?

Hexane: Are you... ok?

Hoya: I'm fine. What do you want?

Hexane: I just thought that you had said that we needed to talk strategy.

Hoya: Uhh... sure. He clenches his teeth and closes his eyes. Hexane's attention is drawn to his face, as he leans back, using one hand to massage his temple... but Hex doesn't see Hoya's other hand pressing the hidden button, and silently, the panel replaces itself on his desk. Let's sit.

The two sit in the chairs formerly occupied by the lawyers visiting Hoya, except that Hoya and Hexane turn their chairs to face each other.

Hexane: Hoya, what's the matter? Are you under too much stress? I can cook you up something in the lab, if it'll help...

Hoya: No need. From his vest pocket, he pulls out a vial of pills. He pops one, and profers them to Hexane. Take one.

Hexane: But I don't have a headache...

Hoya: Vitamins. All-natural. And see? He removes his hand, no more throbbing blood vessel in his forehead. All better. Trust me, Hexane, it's good for you. If nothing else, it'll help digest all that shit you've been eating.

Hexane: Sure. What the hell? He pops one of the pills, and sits back for a moment.

Hoya: So, how are we going to deal with our latest setbacks?

Hexane: ...

Hoya: Hex?

Hexane: ...uhh... sorry. Just feeling a little woozy. What did you say?

Hoya: How are we going to deal with our latest setbacks?

Hexane: ...hmm... the Clash will probably be a write off. Falstaff? Let me take care of him.

Hoya: Aren't you jumping ahead of yourself a bit? Remember, he worked with me back in LWN. He's damned good. And his work in EWA has proven it.

Hexane: Fuck it! Who cares about the SG! Who cares about any of that shit? He catches himself, finally, seeing Hoya staring at him. The stony silence hovers in the room like the sword of Damocles for a moment; Hexane blanches as he realizes he offended Hoya somehow, and his white face and hands start trembling a bit. Oh... shit... I'm so sorry, Hoya. I didn't mean that.

Hoya: (smiling, breaking the veneer of fear between the two) No worries. It's been a long week, eh? I think you should take the rest of the night off.

Hexane: (pulling himself out of his chair, a little bit unsteady) I think you're right.

Hoya: (getting up himself) The bar downstairs is open. And I heard there are a couple cute-looking pre-meds who could use some help with inorganic chemistry and multivariable calculus. Why don't you go check it out?

Hexane's face lights up with a million-watt grin. He heads for the door, but before opening it, turns back to Hoya.

Hexane: ...uhh... in case I haven't told you lately, Hoya... thanks for everything you've been doing for me. I appreciate it.

Hoya: Don't worry about it. Now go have fun.

Hexane opens the door, letting himself out, and closing it behind himself. Hoya turns, and spits out a pill into the wastebasket. He then continues his interior dialogue.

Hoya: Bartlett can be dealt with. And I've cut my losses on that other thing. But Arelli... that's the rub, isn't it? Pacing. What the hell is he doing back in EWA? ...back. What am I saying? Boy hasn't even been in EWA before. Of course, neither have I before now. Doesn't mean we don't know each other.

Hoya walks over to his desk, and flips out the panel again. Recuts the cocaine, and in two quick snorts, gets it up his nose and into his system. His eyes immediately widen a bit as the stimulant hits his heart, but after a second or two, the eyes are back to normal. His actions aren't, though -- they seem a bit jerkier. He rips open a drawer on the desk, and pulls out... a framed portrait. Of himself, with an innocent smile on his face... except that it isn't just him. Kallista is standing next to him, a flirtatious smile on her lips. holding him close to her. He looks at the photo and smiles... then smashes the glass against the desk.

Hoya: His one weakness. The one thing I could have used against him. The fact that I took the one thing he loved, and turned it away from him. Shit. If only I had twisted the knife the right way...

The door opens. Hoya's head snaps up.

Hoya: WHAT IS IT?

Clockwatcher walks into the office.

Hoya: What do you want?

Clock: I was just... coming by to talk. Business.

Hoya: Business? Business? In fast, powerful strides, he rounds the table, and crosses the office. Since when do you have carte blanche to walk in on me?

Clock: (standing her ground) It's important.

Hoya: (face to face with her) Not. Important. Enough.

Clock: It involves Healius and Nonz.

Hoya: Really? What? Have they started fucking each other? Do they find each other attractive? Do you have some sort of intel report which I can use?

Clock: (slightly flustered, but not intimidated) It involves the way that the next few weeks are going to play out.

Hoya looks at Clock, and softens his features. This automatically makes her relax, and he takes his right hand, and puts it behind her neck, staring into her eyes.

Hoya: Clock... I know what's going on... don't worry. We'll deal with that later. Right now, what I need is a little peace and quiet. His voice becomes softer and softer. You can do that for me... right? You'd do that for me... right? And as he says this, he comes in closer and closer, finally, pressing his lips against hers in a passionate kiss. He kisses her for a good five, six seconds, before he releases his hold on her.

Clock: O...k... we'll talk later.

Hoya: That's right.

Clockwatcher turns and walks out of the office. Hoya watches the door, grinning and shaking his head. But as soon as she leaves, the grin disappears. Hoya walks over to a credenza, opens it up, and flips open a laptop. He types some keystrokes on the screen, then walks over to the window, staring out at the now-dark sky.

Hoya: Demons. We all have demons. Mainly in our pasts. And Nonz, I am your demon. I took from you what you always wanted, and you'll never have it back. Now, you come here. You think you can take me down. Remember, you can't escape your demon. When you sleep, when you dream, you'll see me. When you think about making love to her, you'll see me there, before you. Every second guess will be because of me. Every misstep, I'll be watching. Every move, every thought. No escape.

The camera ventures back, to see a message on the computer, reading: "Increase surveillance of Clockwatcher."

Hoya: You'd probably make a deal with the Devil himself to get to me. Just remember, sometimes, demons don't tell. Remember, I know you. I've been watching you. I know your thoughts, your dreams, your nightmares. And I know exactly... exactly... what I'm doing.

Hoya closes his eyes, as the camera zooms back, outside the window, our protagonist standing in front of the window, eyes closed, yet staring out into the night sky, as our camera picks up the noises of urban night, pulling back, until the modern-day pagan temple is naught more than another feature in the endless, black night. Fade to black.