Wolves of Versailles - [Closed]

[Squad]

Preston paced about the suite waiting for the characteristic drone of Amanda’s intercom ring to signal his guest’s arrival. While the choice of meeting location was not entirely surprising, it told him much about the Prince’s character given Versaille’s current possessors. Of course, this was not to say Preston had a favorable attitude himself.

His temporary accommodations were sparse compared to the likely luxurious furnishings the room once held. A simple mahogany desk loomed in the center of the room, likely a former reception room, with Amanda’s arrangements outside the door leading to a poorly-traveled, almost shunned hallway, which he preferred. Windows flanked the room from either side until reaching a broad double-door leading to the remainder of the penthouse, which had been abandoned by the station’s occupants for some time. Preston had little interest in exploring further, but his brief foray into its ill-maintained depths assured him he was likely to be left alone.

In front of the desk were four leather chairs surrounding a conspicuously lavish round carpet depicting the various astronomical objects plotted throughout the system with New Paris at its core. A broad gold circle encompassed the planet with equally broad paths leading from it in each cardinal direction, a highly suggestive design that encouraged one to walk around the capital instead of on it. One of the chairs had a tall, curved back carved with the Crown’s sigil carved onto it with simple velvet accents. While Preston originally considered it a bit uncouth, he was not inclined to unearth other options from deeper in the penthouse’s catacombs. It was impossible to know what may be inspiring or insulting to a man brazen enough to announce himself to the world as the Price had done. The various wall spaces between the larger window sections likely held tapestries given the faded silk wallpaper in suspiciously rectangular patterns. Preston wondered to himself what stories the Royal Family may have chosen to memorialize.

The Judgment loomed outside, but he did not expect an immediate audience. The purple docking lights were lit, Florian’s typical method of letting Preston know its passengers had departed, and his nervousness was palpable when he reported on the Prince’s entourage several hours earlier. A simple man, but a loyal one. Preston stood at the nearest window to the desk, cupping an old book behind his back. Its spine crinkled as he flexed his fingers in thought, the cover well-worn and cracked with age. His right index finger rifled against its pages, their gilded edges brushing smoothly against his nail.
Amanda’s voice echoed in the reception room, likely magnified by its lack of furnishing.

“Laurie, a visitor.”

Preston smiled to himself without turning from the window. Amanda was the only one brave enough to call him Laurie in public. Over the years, he had come to admire it.

“Of course, Amanda, see him in. And refreshments if you don’t mind.”

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