Interlude 3.1: Returning obligation
"Are you certain, Mik? No pressure, but from what I heard things are quite different since the move," Daniel mentions as another night unfolds at his bar, the one without a name yet the sole establishment in town. With December already well underway, the urgency of preparing back home seems somewhat rising.
"Well, Daniel, you know how it goes. The obligatory feast and all. Unless you're talking about the Morgensterns; I do envy your freedom," I jest, recalling the ongoing family banter about his father breaking off to form another faction. Bring some of the cast to another continent, making a name as “Morgenstern”.
"True, they never quite grasped the true intentions behind the Godfrey and Morgenstern facade," Daniel chuckles, touching on the hidden truths within the apparent holy war that concluded a longstanding rivalry.
Though the public usually picked at every retort aiming to be roundabout shenanigans between, free marketing was what kept both afloat anyway. What is good about theories if you are not the bystanders?
"The world divided under two names? Hardly anyone outside our house knows about that," I retort playfully, attempting to maintain my sobriety while engaging in a game of darts. Each title of black or red, is a colorful distraction from the real bullseye.
One half of the family now manipulates the Americans, manipulating political strings like a playground, while the other side weaves Europe into an alliance engaged in the underworld's murky affairs. All stemming from a singular promise, an impressive yet convoluted arrangement.
"Which mansion is hosting the festivities this year? These ceremonies are becoming cumbersome. I have lost count of how many times the venue changed, depending on who's calling the shots." Daniel sighs, sliding a glass of dirty martini across the counter, snapping me out of my half-drunken state.
"This time it's in California, thanks to Kendrick's influential movie this year. But don't dwell on it too much. Anything noteworthy on your end?" I inquire, casually discussing the intricacies while aiming for whatever pins remain on the metaphorical board.
Revealing this much information seems adequate; after all, the real tolerance between the two families often emerges during the summer reunion, where both heads offer a comprehensive report on their respective factions. Only the most toleratable ones and the head would come, otherwise, any else would be considered an “uninvited guest”.
"Perhaps Italy this time... or maybe Greece. My little brother seems to have found someone, recently inducted into the family," Daniel muses before downing a pint of beer.
"Ah, Samson's finally found someone? You've been smothering him," I tease, only to receive an irritated reaction from Daniel, his drunkenness beginning to show.
"You're getting on my nerves, Mik. And I'm not foolish enough to leave the country amidst an impending storm. I don't fancy being stranded in a foreign land during winter," he grumbles. Ah, a New Year trip, I gather. Understandable, given the complications of staying too long outside of America after the last incident.
The previous time he ventured abroad caused quite a stir in the Midwest. There was a whole commotion after he went missing in Greenland's mountain range. The mess was large enough that Lucian himself had to contact my father to ask for a “clean up”. Fortunately, no harm was done, and his lineage remained undisclosed.
For the lackey that caused trouble? Well, those people are easily disposed of, don’t need to get blood on my hand that easily so a couple of strings from Gabe to pull, and suddenly the headache is gone. Of course, the whole thing has to run about Remyne first; she has the most medical influence after all.
"Alright, I'm calling it a night. Put it on my tab; I left my wallet at the apartment," I gesture before making my exit. Despite the absence of snow, the winter night still carries an unbearable cold, but thankfully, I've draped myself in the scarf I stitched during my free time.
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Upon my return, the television plays its usual mindless shows, filling the room with its flickering light. Gene has retired to his room, leaving behind the lingering remnants of a day's work. Meanwhile, Kris remains seated, absorbed by the shifting scenes on the screen.
"Still up, Kris? I thought you'd have turned in by now," I remark, draping my scarf over its designated hook. My attire isn't drenched, courtesy of the mild southern climate. No snow means no fuss with extra drying.
"I can't seem to close my eyes. Christmas is around the corner, and you'll be away. Then, I've got those articles lined up for Canada in January," Kris laments, his voice carrying the weight of our sparsely populated apartment.
Despite his inclination toward inebriation, he uncorks two bottles of wine, attempting to infuse the space with a semblance of festivity amidst our collective lack of family ties.
“Gene’s off somewhere until February, leaving the apartment empty until spring ends,” Kris remarks, passing me another bottle.
The wine tastes more like grape juice, but I humor my roommate's choice. The television show concludes, prompting a lingering sense of continuation. Departures often feel like unraveling knots, stirring emotions about our connected lives.
“Don’t worry, we'll still have two-thirds of the usual bunch around here. I’ll bring back some souvenirs before heading abroad,” I reassure Kris, escorting his tipsy self to his room—a daunting task considering his size compared to mine.
Opting for a plane ride tomorrow instead of enduring dusty train journeys, even though the wait might be cumbersome. Despite my lack of enthusiasm to return, the infrequent communication, even from childhood, makes it evident. Gabe... I unlock my phone, contemplating sending him a message.
{Mik: I know it’s late, but when are you going to the feast?}
{Gab: Like 22nd, and you? I know being in that small town is cozy and all…}
{Mik: Tomorrow}
{Gabe: That early!? You know it has only been 18th, right?}
{Mik: The mayor said I should get off soon since the railroad would be closed near it and I can do work through phone if he needed.}
{Gabe: That old man is really something…I was really surprised that Father let you leave the old government job, you could have been a senator if-}
{Mik: No more of that, do you want me to block you?}
{Gabe: Fine…Are we done now? I really need to sleep before tomorrow's drill, the soldiers still need some commanding, you know?”}
{Mik: Fine, sleep well.}
I woke early to the morning dawn, an hour ahead of my usual schedule. Breakfast with Gene and Kris was a silent affair, each of us lost in our thoughts about the days to come.
Taking a cab to the airport, I noticed fewer travelers than usual. Perhaps it was the early hour, but I found solace in the quietude of the nearly empty domestic terminal.
By ten o'clock, the lines were shorter than usual. During the flight, I lost myself in the pages of a few books I'd brought along. Landing in California, the crowded streets greeted me, void of snow but still bearing a chill.
My driver, accompanied by the aged bodyguard, awaited my arrival. It had been years since I'd returned here. The bodyguard, once stern, now bore a ring denoting marriage, an unexpected turn.
"Who's the woman who managed to capture you?" I quipped, trying to lighten the mood. But his response darkened the air.
"The silver scissors..." he began, and the conversation took an unexpected turn toward his marriage to Violet, the eccentric French tailor.
As the conversation unfolded, the car came to an abrupt halt. It seemed the old woman's quirks had ensnared the driver as well.
"How...Why? Well, at least you're happy," I try to lighten the mood.
"That woman has softened my guard after years of wear. I had no choice but to marry her for my retirement. But..." His tone shifts, revealing a mixture of determination and frustration. Revealing old marks of the man I once knew, still there just hidden with the obligation of formality; Darwen Gaucher, the proud leader of the old Godfrey’s mercenaries.
"Days with her are filled with both amusement and confrontation, a life I've chosen," Darwen confessed with a wry smile, a mix of determination and frustration evident in his words.
"Looks like she's met her match," I jest. As the car approaches the mansion, the colossal estate with its sprawling garden comes into view. The driver signals our arrival.
"Don’t jest with my reputation like that. I’m nothing like her. But do enjoy your stay, Master Mikhail," Darwen, now back to his refined self, opens the car door. Before me stands the figure I both respect and fear—the one I've returned to meet. With a slight bow, I greet him.
But instead of a warm welcome, a stern voice accompanied by the sound of a cane reverberates closer.“You have finally decided to come, Mikhail.” The one and only man, I feared…
Sariel Godfrey
The end