Implode (Once More)

It had begun to drizzle again.

He listened as the raindrops pelted the Swedish glass, which was hand-blown and spun in Småland, by the tradition that is Kosta Glasbruk. There was a musicality to the droplets as they encountered the molten crystal, that was now a solid barrier between nearly three hundred years of private banking and the aqueous corridors of SoHo.

Though he occasionally turned his attention toward the peated aroma of the Ardbeg, which idled patiently upon the licorice marble counter top, he was still attuned toward the aquatic symphony that was occurring upon the Mulberry window pane. As he identified each note in its sonic splendor, he began to wonder whether the melodic occurrence was intended, for its resonance was ardent and purposeful, as though his friend had cut the slates of glass himself.

Benjamin absorbed the vanilla scented air deeply into his lungs, before exhaling in a weighted sigh, and turning his attention toward the scotch once more. Though his Tom Ford ensemble, the noir Wetherby jacket, the matching tailored pant, the white evening shirt, and black silk tie, were attentive upon his person and seemingly ready to depart, the de Gris Laurent heir maintained his post at the kitchen island, peering deeply into the chestnut beverage, as though it were an oracle of Islay.

And then it was decided.

He would begin with the egg caviar, accompanied by the young garlic soup, before moving on to the roasted loin of lamb. He was certain that if he could focus upon the particulars of the evening and not the lush panorama...

The supple parting
The moistened softness
the red allure

Of L:ucy's mouth,

He raised the glass of scotch to his lips, consuming the beverage.

He then turned his attention toward the Burmese door.

Implode. Part LXXXIV - DK