Hades Moon

Only raw crunch can satisfy now. The spines of crisp romaine, buttery chokes, young birds crackling in their own juices… The second salad forsakes good taste for the sublime. The help whisks away the courses so quickly… Which course is this?  It doesn’t matter, because She’s spread out his folder on Father’s activities. She’s reading the ledger with a hard smile. Liam proudly looks at Her as he sips his watercress soup. He’s a good investment. —— The tux is the best choice. Liam knows She likes him in a tux. He and Tic got these together.  Did he ever wear it? He looks smarter than he did at dinner the night of… Watercress soup must have been earlier this evening, yeah? —- Liam looks at someone and they disappear. That’s his super power. He knows these galas, these auctions, these intermissions and these dreadful cast meets after the show is over. Liam doesn’t have to like them. But Liam will do everything in his power to make sure everyone has a lovely time. Part of him wishes Prue st

Woe to the chef who underestimates the palate cleanser! It washes away the past and forces your guests back to their seats. They have barely begun to experience the journey you have prepared for them. For many years, Father’s feeble mind forgot the first bit of “business isn’t just what you know, but who you know” and coasted by on the fumes of his reputation. Reviewing Father’s books in his office, Liam grew increasingly disgusted as he worked through years of his family’s various interests. Business still required knowledge. Business still required work. Liam saw little evidence of either in the figures and reports he relentlessly dissected…. …Until a few years ago. The years Liam was in Her Majesty’s service and Father began spending more time with Victor. Suddenly, the books became a symphony of the family’s holdings. Point, counterpoint… rising crescendos that reached the heavens and a deep and well-funded foundation.  These  books weren’t business- they were art. Liam had always

  We've Escaped...   Now Wut? Tic and Anthony stepped out of the cab at the hotel and looked at each other before going to check in. Tic had been here before, but that was with Izzy and Stella, presumably so that Izzy could meet up with someone to "restock his shelves". Tic wondered if this level of sleaze would be a problem for Detective Pellecano,  although by all indications, he didn't think it would be a problem. Americans are a funny lot, Tic thought, never really fully who they say they are, usually a lot darker than they believe themselves to be.  As they were checking in, Tic pulls out his (fake) French driver's license and credit card with the name "Pierre de la Croix" and handed it to the punked out mistress popping her gum behind the counter. Tic admired her bubble gum pink hair and self-confidence as he coyly lingered over her tits held up by her dayglo dress and name badge that simply read "Candi". She would have to be confident to

       We lived in a cottage on the estate of the Manor House my Grandparents worked at. It was a smaller house only staffed by a few people, my Grandma was the housekeeper and ran the inside of the estate and my Grandpa was the groundskeeper and ran the outside of the estate. I would sometimes help my Gran around the house but mostly I was allowed to run around the grounds and village. The family that owned the estate had two children, a boy 2 years older than me named Andrew and a girl who was my same age named Lucy. The mother hated the city so she chose to live in the manor house with the children; since I was the same age as her daughter she invited me to join her children with their tutor, and that’s how we became close.      From ages 3 till 7 the 3 of use were practically inseparable. When I was 7 and he was 9 Andrew was sent to a French boarding school by the order of his father who said he needed a more proper education. That year they also started spending the summers in Fra

A social punch course is the intermission of a proper meal. A well-made punch possesses enough propriety to balance out the guests’ loosening morals and enough sweetness for their bitter tongues. The course should last just long enough to entice guests to stay after for a coffee and brandy. “She asked for you, specifically.” Liam was gleefully - insistently - skipping up Her front steps, grasping the hand of some old mate from the rowing team. Liam grinned and pressed his friend’s hand on the bell-pull. “Don’t mind the help. They’re dreadful. But She is going to love your work on the future of shipping logistics. She’s very interested.” Liam paused on his way back to his car. “You’ll tell me if She mentions me, yeah mate?” Liam did not expect an answer from... He’d already forgotten his name.

The entree sings the aria, while the removes are the decadent chorus, rich with tastes and textures that elevate the meat course into a sublime crescendo. As each dish is whisked away, guests should exclaim that every one could be a main course. A master chef knows there can be only one . Among the members of his rarefied clubs and sport leagues, Liam’s newfound zeal for business provoked friendly jokes, then awe... and finally fear that his acumen might put their own investments at risk. What had they told him over a draught, assuming business talk meant nothing to him? The smart ones flocked around him. Liam had an invitation for dinner every night of the week, often followed by an old mate pitching him on an investment over coffee and coke. Liam had done little more than be himself, just with a bigger dick and a major investment project. But now, his extensive network came to him for more than just a drink. As more and more came to him for advice and backing, he saw their needs, the