The City of Angels, Revisited
by northern

for Music Diamond

Grace is important in the Pillar Hall.

JC sits with his legs together, hands folded on his left thigh. His head is slightly bowed, showing off the line of his neck. The cold marble step he's sitting on is slowly numbing his backside. He knows how to ignore that, though.

He also knows how to weave notes into a song, how to read and write the signs, how to mix the pigments correctly and paint with them, how to twist his body in the firelight in the Dance of War. But no one asks for that here.

He makes an effort to look very soft and pleasing when he hears the sounds of someone approaching him. Lets his lips smile demurely while he tries to judge the most advantageous angle for his eyelashes. The footsteps stop in front of him and the hall echoes with soft sounds and voices. For a moment, he's reminded of the noises of the forest. This place is nothing like his home, yet the tiniest details of it bring up flashes of green and shade in his mind.

After this long, the memories should have faded. They have not, and JC assumes it is because he's not applying himself hard enough.

He risks a discreet glance at the person in front of him and glimpses rich folds of mustard yellow silk. A councilman, then. He's surprised. He's never seen one of them down here, except for official reasons. He doesn't think this one is here for official reasons. He would have stopped at the entrance, by the long desks of dark polished wood, if he had been.

There's no sound coming from the councilman watching him; just a vague scent of sandalwood and orange blossom that makes JC think of rooms filled with dark furniture and fabrics in shades of red.

"I'm looking for a companion," a deep voice says and JC feels the skin at the back of his neck tighten at the sound of it, so rich and pure. If this man chooses him and is pleased with him, his future may be secured for years. A companion leads a pampered, sheltered life. He has no idea why a councilman would come here looking for one, and even less of an idea why he stopped before him.

JC slides gracefully to his knees on the stone floor and waits with his head bowed. The floor is old and its polished surface worn with years of use. He can see the broken swirl of an embedded skeleton of some ancient animal; small and slender and many-jointed. The shallow crate made by some careless steel shod staff has removed its head many years ago, leaving an indent only gathering dust. The dust is upset by the draught of the heavy, billowing hem of the councilman as he steps forward. A hand settles in JC's hair, stroking carefully through it once before tightening and pulling gently, tilting his head backwards.

JC's eyes travel upwards along folds of yellow silk. The councilman is young. Much younger than he had thought. Probably younger than him. That makes no sense. The men coming here are old, seeking adventures away from home and family, or ugly and alone - never young and beautiful. Unless he's wanted for something else. JC's mind whirls with memories of stories told with hushed voices and grief-stricken faces about disappearances from the Pillar Quarter that were found again, their dead bodies disfigured and disgraced.

His sudden fear must have showed on his face, because the man bends down and takes his face between his hands. They are cool and smooth, soft against his skin. This close, JC can't help but notice that the councilman's eyes are an unusual shade of light green. They are staring into his own eyes as if they could dig their way into his head and find secrets he has even forgotten himself.

"There is nothing to be afraid of," the deep voice says. "I'm looking for a companion, and you seem like you would fit my requirements." A finger caresses his cheekbone. It feels like he is being marked. His eyes are burning. He can't look away from that heavy gaze. The scent of sandalwood and orange blossom is stronger now, and it's making him dizzy.

"I would like to take you home with me now."

There is no way he is going to be able to say no to that voice. Not ever. Something inside him tells him that this man might be the reason he came to the city so long ago, and he wants to trust that thought. Maybe there is a meaning to all this.

"Yes... Master?" With a feeling of falling inside, he watches as the councilman slowly smiles; a pleased smile, satisfied.

"You may call me Lance," he says and rises.