The Solicitor & The Baroness Ch. 00

The airplane lazily cuts through the cloudy, gray sky like a bored knife through warm butter. The air is wet and cold. Windy. Inside the plane, the tacky orange carpet screams of gaudy 1960's. The bright, orange seats were plump and cushy. And the place had much more in common with a small 1960's party room/sitting room, than an airplane. The stewardess walked in, carrying cakes and champagne. She smiled a gentle grin, her hair poofed up in a Mary Tyler Moore cut.

"Would you loik some cake, love?" she offers, slightly blushing due to being ever so attracted to the big man sitting in the chair next to her, reading a newspaper. He pulled the paper down, smiling. Around 27-30 years old, his eyes are heavily slanted. He hashigh cheek bones, a round nose, thick Africanesque lips, thick and silky black hair in a short professional neat cut, and dark reddish skin the color of reddish chocolate. His shoulders are wide, and his belly flat. He's built like a linebacker. She giggles to herself, as he reminded her of those statues from America, in front of a cigar store. She flutters her blonde eyelashes, wishing to all damn he'd just take the hint and ask for her number.

"Um, no thank you." he smiles sweetly, eager to get back to his paper.

William Kikiwawason.

Born in Atlanta, Georgia. Moved to Chicago. Got into college, and attended for 8 years. 8 years to get his bachelor's. Then went to Tuskegee, hoping to get a fair shake.

William, a Muskogee kid, went to college. But... college was miserable for him. Because, despite all the love and friendliness shown to him, he was a target. His advisor, Jan O'Henehan, pretended to be helping him, but in reality, she was working overtime to mislead him and destroy his record. Jan was a firm believer in certain religious things, and as a Midwestern woman from the cornfields, she believed it was her duty to make things "right". And she dedicated her life to it. She made sure she was always in charge of the minority students, or was hands-on with their information and their school lives. And always, they ended up quitting college. Or not graduating unless spending nearly a decade in college.

Jan was always giving an "oops, I made a mistake." with these students or scheduling them for extremely religious retreats.

The day William graduated, she was sad. And William smelled something fishy. She was sad, admitting it, but not admitting that she felt as if she failed by him graduating. He was treated by his non-Native American classmates as if he didn't exist. And only called "friend" out of a feeling of duty. That they HAD to do it. He was tired of nobody just saying "Hi." but "HOW!" instead. Or every conversation always bringing up tribes, or tomahawks, or General Custard. He hated it. He hated all those backwards, inbred, psychopathic monsters. He wished they stayed in their damn hick cornfields.

He was given a job from a Canadian Real Estate company, Stokingham, headed by Pierre Jean-Viaulle. Pierre expanded his operation into Atlanta, Georgia, moving there to oversee it himself. He appreciated William's legal and people skills, and threw the newcomer into the thick of the field. Finally given a chance, William proved he succeeds in working with contracts and more importantly, winning people over. With his kindness and gentle personality, in spite of his massive size.

But now, William is enjoying himself. He's only flown in a plane once before. Because of lack of staff, he was offered an international assignment. And he jumped at it. He's to do his usual, but with a client overseas. William knows his neck is on the line. But he loves all of this.

He's being sent to Austria. The flight to England was exhausting. But, as luck would have it, the client wanted him to take first class to Austria from London, for the sake of being refreshed and able to fully explain the ins-and-outs of the business. He eases outward his size 16 shoes, enjoying the freedom to stretch his legs. As the stewardess makes her rounds, she comes back around again, her beautiful face marred by her crooked teeth.

"If you need anything, please feel free to call me. Anytime, love." she blushes hard. Mad inside that he's too shy to just up and ask her out.

"Sure, thank you so much." he smiles, just feeling the nervousness from hoping he doesn't mess this job up.

"Groovy." she flutters her eyes, leaving out.

*********************************

A gorgeously pristine, glossy black car peacefully, yet rapidly rumbles down the road. A Mercedes G-4 Wagen. Like a 1920's Volkswagen crossed with a hummer and given jeep tires. It formerly was a Nazi car. But the ornaments on it have been professionally and tediously cut off and replaced with what looks like a hammer that has an upside-down U for a top. Runic designs lace them beautifully. The car has been tediously customized. As if a despiser of all things Nazi has edited the car to their own proud likings, furiously ripping any and all things tied to the Reich away from the vehicle's every inch. The car barely bumps, as it races down the dark and lonely road at extreme speed.

At the helm of the speeding black wagon is a small German woman with a thick tawny bun. Her driver's hat, like a black police hat, is pulled down over her head, obscuring her face. Her tiny, white hands calmly work the wheel like a perfectionist driver filled with experience. Cheap little 1950s earrings sit in her ears, dull and boring. A gentle German opera whispers from the radio in front.

William sits in the plush backseat, half-way in the twilight of sleep. The music, the warmth, the rocking of the car, and the gentle fall of the snow, all rocked him asleep. The flights were long and rushed. He barely had time to drink a cup of water before running from the Atlanta airport to the London one, and then touching down in Austria. When he landed that evening, it was almost black outside. And had begun snowing. He quickly touched himself up in the mirror with his little cousin's afro pick, splashing water on his face and straightening up his appearance before he had rushed out. He had been thankful for signs in English, since he could barely make out what the German signs said, let alone understand the sweet, smiling people around him. When he walked out, hoping he wasn't stranded, he saw a small brunette, with tawny brown hair, 5 foot 9, about 140 lbs, thin but shapely, standing in a black driver's suit for women. She held up a sign with his name. He walked up to meet her, held his hand out to shake hers. But she pulled her cap down way over her face, which was already hard to see, and abruptly turned around, briskly exiting out the door.

"Damn... well... maybe that's Austrian manners." he thought, as he followed her while carrying his case with him. In the dark part of the driveway, she opened his door in the back and bowed like a female butler. When he stopped in front, trying to get out a normal "Danke", it seemed like she was frozen. Stuck. Like a mannequin. But the moment he "ummm"-ed and got into the car, she abruptly slammed the door and walked to the driver's seat. The seats were immaculate. They were fur. Thick brown fur covered them. And the back of the front seat's leather was embroidered with what looked like runic animal drawings. When she got in the car, silent, she strapped in her belt, and clicked on the radio, whispering German opera through the vehicle.

"Good?" she said in a hard, Rgg-ling accent.

"Yeah. Uh, ja." he said with a hard J. Her pink lips spread into a smile, a flicker of light from her eyes. A flash of red in the mirror, he thought he saw.

"Is "yah", yah." she corrected.

"Sorry... yah."

"Mm-hm." she started up the big car and down the road they had went.

For so long.

Hours maybe.

And he fell into sleep.

************

A small, rough hand jerks him awake. William's slanted eyes open the moment he breathes in cold, fresh winter air. He looks up to see the little driver woman holding his huge case in one hand as if it's nothing for her little body, and standing there, as if unamused. In the darkness, he truly can't see her face now. The sounds of voices barely trickle through the hard blowing winds. He blinks hard, looking in the dark. The little driver turns her back to him, throwing her dainty hand up in the air and screaming something in German.

Then, there is nothing but the wind.

"Damn..." he says to himself, easing his big muscular thighs out the back of the car. His black shoes crunch in the snow, as he stands up in the darkness. In the darkness, the moon shines through a cloud break, revealing what is a monstrous house. Almost like a castle. No, wait... it IS a castle. Isn't it? It reminds him of Highclere Castle in England, but... some parts look medieval. And some look super modern. Only a small lantern of light hangs from one of the doors. The tiny, gloved hand grabs him by the forearm, and jerks forward, nearly making William fall.

((Damn, she's strong. And pushy!)) he thinks to himself. She briskly walks through the snow, making him hurry behind her up the paved road. She plops his suitcase on the door and stands within inches of him, clearing her throat and opening her palm.

"Uh... OH!" he reaches into his wallet and grabs a few dollars, stuffing them into her palm. A smile with pointy looking teeth smiles, stuffing the dollars into her perky, plump, small bust. She clomps away, getting into the car and seeming to melt away into the blackness with the car.

The whistling howls of the wind and the inky blackness of this winter night make William's throat wobble, as he adjusts his clothes and curses himself for thinking about those old horror movies. ((Get your shit together, cat.)) he thinks to himself. He knocks on the huge door. Then looks around for anything else. A large, gaudy, 1960's looking golden flashy doorbell sits on the side. The huge castle is dark, as if every light inside is off. His chocolate finger presses the bell, causing the inside of the house to seemingly explode with a ring. He jumps inside, then losing the jumpscare to the feeling of humiliation and wanting to shrink 2 inches tall. ((Does it gotta be so DAMN loud?!)) his brain screams.

The door opens by itself. Slowly. Creaking.

Or seems to.

From behind it is the driver lady. But how? Didn't she ju-...maybe it's another one. Her hat also pulled down over her face. She bows like a butler in the doorway. "Come in, please." she says gently. Then she seems to stop. To freeze in time. As if she's pretending to be a mannequin in this bent over pose with her welcoming hand out. Except there's no shaking, no breathing. A perfect freeze.

William stands there. And nothing seems to happen. At all. The inside of the castle reminds him of the house from 'Gone With The Wind'. It's brightly lit. Warm and toasty. Elegant. He grabs his suitcase and walks in. The moment his foot crosses the threshold, the butler woman snaps to life again, slamming the huge heavy door as if it's just a flimsy piece of wood. The house echoes with a thunderous THROOM!

"DAMN!" William screams. She ignores him, briskly fast walking away to turn a corner. He rushes behind her to catch up, trying not to slip from the wet snow and the hard, glossy floor that doesn't have carpet.

She's gone. Disappeared. Where the FUCK, DAMMIT! I'm too tired for this shit!

"Ma'am?! Frau?!" ((Slamming doors n' shit, this heavy-handed bitch...)) "Miss? Um, I think you..." ((...must be out her damn mind... actin' a damn fool.))

"Oh, hello. William, right?" echoes a gentle, intelligent voice. A German accent to it. But just barely.

"Uh, YES! Yes!" he turns around, heading back to the main hall where the voice came from. He returns to see a beautiful, brunette woman gently heading down the stairs. She is skinny and dainty. About 5'9. 120-140 pounds. Thick, silky brown hair rolls down her shoulders and back. Immaculate earrings like mini-chandeliers dance from her earlobes. Her hair runs down to her knees, her bangs sweep partly over one eye. Her lips are deep red, and a necklace that looks easily $5,000 sparkles around her smooth, toned neck. Her chin is soft and squarish, her cheekbones beautiful and ivory. Her long, white nails glisten in the light, flat tipped at the end. A long, silken red dress drizzles down the stairs behind her. Her tiny cleavage plumps up, rosy topped. A runic tattoo seems to run from under her right ear to down the side of her neck, and down her shoulder.

"Dear heaven have mercy..." he mumbles.

She looks down, disgusted. Her wrist drips with jewelry, lifting up to sweep a tawny curtain of hair from her face.

"I am sorry. I thought I should look my best when meeting new company. I look bad."

"N-no...you're gorgeous... I-I-I mean, look. I'm not trying to-"

She blushes, smiling and looking down at her feet. Naked toes in the red-carpeted shag steps.

"I meant to say that you look very, very beautiful this evening, Mrs. Elga. And I was just shocked at how nice everything here is. ((There you go, brother. Smooth coverage.)) I'm blown away. I have never seen anything this nice and modern in my life." he admits, looking at the shag carpeting, and even a disco ball. So damn modern.

"Miss."

"Uh, I'm sorry, what?"

"Please, I prefer Amiria. May I call you William? Or Will? Your surname is...heehee, difficult for me to pronounce."

"It's okay. Will, William, or "Kee-Kee". Whichever is most comfortable for you."

"Alright then, William." she smiles, finally descending from the last step; "I know you are tired and hungry."

Amiria paces towards him, looking up at his massive chest. She smiles a wide, pearly grin. Her bright red lips contrasting with her white teeth. Her eyes have a bright orangish tint to them. Almost red, William thinks. Her tawny hair glistens yellow, but looks chocolate in it's darkest parts. Her skin is pale and ivory, but bright red rosy is her cleavage, shoulders and face.

"Excuse my red ass. I was scrubbing with a new skin stone, and it made me just so damned red."

"You look wonderful, no worries."

She beckons him up the stairs, and he follows. William feels dead on his feet, tired.

"What would you like to eat? You know, we are the homeland of schnitzel? The best."

"Oh, no thank you. I'm just VERY tired. Heh, I'm probably too tired to eat."

"None are too tired to eat. I have never been too tired to eat."

A mist of animosity in her voice puts William on alert.

"I'm sorry. Sure, what is schnitzel? Is that a dessert?"

"Hahahaha, noooo! It is a fried veal patty, perfected and given the true flavors of Gothic craftsmanship! You simply must dine."

"Thank you."

"If you want to. It's your choice. I... apologize. Sometimes, I forget, you Americans are... different."

"It's okay, Ms. El..er, Amiria."

"Thank you, William." she teases. They head to the top floor, and go down one of the long hallways. It looks regal and old, lined with massive, beautiful doors, white-painted stone walls, a lovely carpet, and dimly-lit bulbs of light hanging from the ceiling.

They stop at a large door. It looks beautiful and well kempt. She turns the knob, pushing it open as if it weighs ounces. The inside is glorious, like something from a fantasy. A large bed coated in red, silk covers. Artistic wooden furniture at every corner, each bit of them designed with high detailed shapes and forms. A large window sits at the wall, tall and thin, square at the bottom, rounded at the top. It's sill is almost like a miniature stone table, at waist height. The 2 glass doors to it are latched locked by a golden inside latch. William walks in. The cold wintry winds blow outside, but the room is so warm and toasty. A fireplace with lit but low fire sits in the wall. It is covered by a modern metal screen. A small shelf in the room is lined with all manner of books. And a small table with two chairs is mere feet from the bed.

"Are you sure you would not like to eat before bed, William?" she frowns, looking disappointed. "I have some leftovers that can be brought up to you?"

"No, I just would to like to get some sleep. Is there a shower I can use in the morning?"

"Yes. But I will show it to you myself. I do not want you traipsing around my home by yourself."

"Oh. Yes, ma'am."

"Good night, William."

"Good ni-"

The door closes shut gently. A loud clack signals a key going into the lock, and locking it shut.

"Damn..." he whispers to himself, pulling his shoes and suit coat off. He looks for a mirror, but... he can't find one. Ah, well. Culture clash. As he goes to open his case, he lays some fresh clothes on the table, and puts some of his knick-knacks on the stone mini-table/window sill. As he does, something catches his eye. Like a red flag's tip flipped into the night. Meh, probably some kind of cloak she has. Or either he's more tired than he thinks. He ignores it and goes back to doing his thing. William looks up, to peek out at the white snow before laying down to notice what looks like disturbance in the snow. As if a light cloth was dabbed on the hard snow layer. It wasn't there before. He swore the snow was plain and naked.

Eh. He's tired. He's dead on his feet.

William flops into bed, falling into an undercurrent of sleep. Not drifting. But drowning. As he sleeps, he starts dreaming already. Dreams of goofy stuff. And giggles. Like people giggling...