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It's the end of the world as we know it
Feb. 11th, 2010 03:18 pmFrom: Lara Raith <lara@houseraith.com>
To: Thomas Raith <godofcologne@livejournal.com>
Subject: Our Mutual Problem
Brother-mine,
I know how much you adore our dear father’s presence, but several matters of business have arisen here that require his personal attention. I’m sure your presence as a companion will soothe his nerves. Papa does hate to travel alone.
I’ll see you soon,
Lara
*****
Thomas stared at the computer screen for a long, long moment, sorting through his thoughts. The idea that his father was leaving (for good, if he hadn’t misread between Lara’s oblique words) was a relief, but why he had to be the one to escort the old man back was a troubling thought. Was her message a means of simply reasserting her influence over both him and his father, or an attempt to pull Thomas into some unknown game? He tried not to think of the possibility that it was an attempt to remove him from a game in motion, because that meant betrayal, and from a source he had wholly considered safe.
He sighed again and hit print on the screen, taking the moment to stand up as the printer spat out a single page, the contents of his sister’s email. Gesturing to one of the crewmen for a pen, Thomas added a few lines to the page:
The Bitch Queen calls. I’ll be back whenever she lets me off the hook.
He left the message pinned to the kitchen counter and headed out.
To: Thomas Raith <godofcologne@livejournal.com>
Subject: Our Mutual Problem
Brother-mine,
I know how much you adore our dear father’s presence, but several matters of business have arisen here that require his personal attention. I’m sure your presence as a companion will soothe his nerves. Papa does hate to travel alone.
I’ll see you soon,
Lara
*****
Thomas stared at the computer screen for a long, long moment, sorting through his thoughts. The idea that his father was leaving (for good, if he hadn’t misread between Lara’s oblique words) was a relief, but why he had to be the one to escort the old man back was a troubling thought. Was her message a means of simply reasserting her influence over both him and his father, or an attempt to pull Thomas into some unknown game? He tried not to think of the possibility that it was an attempt to remove him from a game in motion, because that meant betrayal, and from a source he had wholly considered safe.
He sighed again and hit print on the screen, taking the moment to stand up as the printer spat out a single page, the contents of his sister’s email. Gesturing to one of the crewmen for a pen, Thomas added a few lines to the page:
The Bitch Queen calls. I’ll be back whenever she lets me off the hook.
He left the message pinned to the kitchen counter and headed out.
