//------------------------------// // Talks (Part 1) // Story: The Moon In Me // by Gray Compass //------------------------------// Grayish blonde hair – eyes of a bird of prey, staring into my soul – a dark scarf wrapped around her neck, as an old vampire trying to hide its frail skin from the scorching morning sun. She stepped inside the room, unbuttoning her elegant cape – a beige trench coat that probably worth more than my own life – with a sigh, she removed a pair of glossy leather gloves, and placed them aside, over a shelf. "Dear God Craig! What have you done to this place?" Marianne Elinor Bilderberg... Astor – mid-fifties, an immaculate blonde hair, always tied up in a peculiar bow, except for a few yellowish strands which were falling over her shoulders. Her edited, and stretched face was of sheer disgust. "...look at this mess- oh my holy Christ- just look at yourself! – What have you done to your pretty hair? It's ridiculous darling, definitely awful!" She was also called – Mom. "It's not ridiculous it was- wait a second- what the hell are doing here, anyway?" I asked, looking at her in disbelief, as she pierced me with a disapproving glare, pursing her lips and all that kind of shit mothers are capable of doing only to make you feel bad about yourself. "Watch your mouth, you little bastard!" She hissed. "What degenerate times are these we are living?! Web blimps everywhere, poisoning our skies. People plugging those... 'things' inside their heads, virtual marriages- mass madness! A bunch of snoot-nosed punks I say! Can't a mother visit her son anymore?" Coincidence or not, one of Life Inc's blimps could be seen floating at distance over the clouds, the silvery skin of the zeppelin shaped drone was the only thing capable of (eventually) making its presence known to us, as it reflected the sunlight. New York, Paris, Tokyo, Sidney – during the last decade, almost every city received at least one blimp, but not necessarily a Life's one. Google was the first company to deploy the technology, with Project Loon – in a matter of months, the internet was literally, in the air. "Three times – Since dad kicked the bucked – you only cared to visit me three, irrelevant, times!" I said, testily pacing around the room. "Y-you know we are very busy people Craig- I simply can't leave your brother and-" "In fourteen – years!" I shouted "How come, mom? You've been so busy in your last decade being the- the incredible 'Baroness of Arlington', doing your duties, and drinking Cabernet Sauvignon - that simply couldn't find time to your son?" I snorted, digesting her absurd excuses. "What an insult! I don't even drink Cabernet Sauvignon!" She stated. "I- I... don't even... What exactly – do you want from me, mother?" I sighed, sitting on the bed, and generously pointing to a chair, so she could sit down as well and stop glaring at me for 'offending' her personal taste. Reluctantly, she accepted. Slowly, and without saying a word, she picked up a small envelope from her purse, and handed it to me. It was a plain white card, with a golden seal of sorts stamped on it. "What is this?" I asked, looking at the card sideways, as if it would bite me as soon as opened. "It is a formal invitation, Craig. Read it, please." Marianne insisted. "Open it!" Luna whispered over my shoulder, as usual, scaring the hell out of me. I hissed something, which made my mother raise an eyebrow at me. As always, I had to come up with the 'I was thinking loud' excuse. I finally complied, tearing the golden wax and opening the card. Chateau d'Allender November 12, 2027 Mr. Craig Willoughby Waldorf Astor Dear Mr. Willoughby, On behalf of your mother - Baroness Marianne of Arlington, her husband - Count James III Earl of Wessex, and all of the people of Loire Valley, we would like to personally invite you to come in January, to live with us in our property, and take part of all benefits the Chateau d'Allender has to offer. We strongly feel that your presence would be of mutual benefit to all the parts involved, and also of great importance to the country's economy and possible investments. Please come join us, as we celebrate our past, and imagine our future. Sincerely yours, Count James III Earl of Wessex, and Baroness Marianne of Arlington. Looking from the card to my mother, and back to the card, I closed it but kept in my hand, as I rubbed my forehead. Marianne was in the armchair, coldly turning her wedding ring around her finger. Not distracted – she was never distracted – Marianne had a precise and calculating personality, and was merely awaiting for the best time to speak. Placing the letter aside, I stood up, avoiding direct eye contact. "Let me see if I got this straight- " I started to pace again - boy, I've been pacing a lot lately. "After over a decade, you decide to visit me. Without calling, without any warning – What if- what if I was with someone? What if I was with my girlfriend?" "Don't be ridiculous Craig, you have no girlfriend!" She snorted. "This is not the case, mom! You can't come to my house and simply throw something like this – I pointed to the invitation – on my face. What do you want? What your people want from me?" "We only want you to be-" "It's the heritage again, isn't it?" She was muted. It was quite frustrating, as always. People called once in a while, they wanted to know 'things'. They talked about a lot of things, it was always a lot – of money, of people, of companies. I never understood this futile fascination of them with the 'game', it's always this fucking game. They're not here fore the money anymore – they don't even need it – they are here for the game. But I refused to take part in the play, and that was the problem. "What happened this time?" I asked. After a slow sigh, she noticed it was time to spill the beans. "Not a week ago, we received a call from Switzerland. It was Mr. Carlyle. At first I thought it was something about James and his business – but it wasn't." She paused, fidgeting with her ring again. "It was about your account – they couldn't contact you, as I presumed, so the information was delivered to me. It turns out, Craig, that your father – in conformity with the law – specified in his testament, that if within exact fifteen years after his death, no major investment was carried with the money, all of his patrimony would be automatically transferred to the Rothschild family." "What?" I jumped. "Why would he specify something like that??" "I don't know Craig, maybe he was expecting you to give continuity to his plans – to grow up, to take over the reins, just like he did, like your grandfather did, your grand-grandfather did, and all the rest of your family!" Marianne said. "He never imagined you would hide for all this time, playing house with your shadow, working eight hours a day, and pretending to be an average programmer." "I am not pretending to be anyone, this is who I am, for Christ's sake! I am... I am..." I looked around, my head leaning against the moldy curtain – there was a pony on my bed, a baroness on my armchair, and several billion dollars in my account. Who am I, anyway? "I'm sorry mom, but I still can't understand all this shit. What this invitation has to do with my money? What's the difference of loosing everything in my apartment, or in your fairy tale castle?" "The difference is simple; if you accept to come with me to Allender as my son, a noble title will be automatically given to you, and as a member of the peerage, the testament specifications become invalid, and your patrimony, safe." She stated, a weak smile on her face. "No thanks." "Craig!" They said in unison, Luna even threw a virtual pillow on my head. "This is madness, dear! Think about it – the Rothschilds, Craig, think about them! Please, just – for once, try to be reasonable!" She stood up and walked towards me, placing her hands on my shoulders and lightly squeezing them. "I know I have failed Craig – many times – I recognize it. You may hate me for that, but I'm still your mother, and I care about you. Please, promise me you'll... You'll at least think about it." You know, I've always thought my mother looked – just a little bit – like Michelle Pfeiffer. Maybe it was the hair, or the chin -- I'm not sure. It was a quite silly thought, but luckily, I was used to my silly thoughts; they happened frequently. She looked quite beautiful for her age, and I guess that sometimes, this fact caused me to forget that 'Marianne' was indeed -- my mother. In a negative way. But in her grayish blue eyes, I could feel concern. Since she stepped inside my room, you could feel the trouble in the air – or worse; in my bank account. Though, coming from her, such concern was something to consider. "I... H-how much time I have?" I muttered. "A month." Those jet-black high heels were provoking that typical sound as she paced on the polished floor. It was making me sick. "Perhaps a few days more, but I'm not sure." I took a deep breath, rubbing my forehead in helpless frustration. "I will – think – about it. For my father." "Oh dear, I'm so, so glad you will! You have no idea Craig – Oh my, Danny will be so happy when I tell him his brother will come back home!" She tightly hugged me, forcing the air out of my lungs. Have I mentioned I'm not into hugs? "O-kay, okay, let me breath now! Look, your dress is getting all wrinkled!" She immediately released me. The wrinkled dress tactics never failed. "I'm not saying I have accepted the invitation, I merely said I'll think about it." "Yes, but coming from someone as stubborn you, it's more than enough." She weakly smiled, as if something painful eclipsed her happiness. She was always touching, and turning her wedding ring, almost compulsively. "You know... your father- he would be so proud. You look so much like him – It's almost... Unsettling." "Y-yeah... I t-think so." I stuttered, quite surprised. She never talked about him. "Well, anyway... I h-have to go now – Danny is alone in the hotel, and I really don't like to leave him that long without... supervision. It's all about 'ponies' – ponies everywhere. He said when we died, he would rename the property and call it 'Canterlot'. Can you believe it?" "Ah..." I looked at Luna, who was sarcastically grinning at me. "It's really unbelievable." The following morning hours were quite dead and filled with a constant cracking sound – my innocent knuckles were acidly tortured for the rest of the day, almost as witches in middle ages. Few people could make me nervous – should I remind you, I was a great liar as well – and Marianne was definitely one of them. There was always a problem; a dying relative, a death threat, a missing Bichon Frisé – Respectively, those were her reasons to visit me over the last decade. I used to maintain a mental collection of ridiculous memories, just in case I needed to laugh, and certainly, through the years, my absurdly diverse family (and the absurdly diverse circumstances they've made me go through) had become an always growing folder of this collection. It was okay, though, I had mixed feelings about most of them, but in the end – I guess it was 'fine' to be an Astor. I was no saint, after all. Family members aside, I've been noticing a peculiar calmness following Luna's actions – I couldn't decide if that was a problem or not, but surely it was something to think about. God, I had much to think about... Maybe because my future somehow affected hers, she was trying to leave me alone for a while, maybe Allender would suit the virtual princess better, or perhaps, I was over-analyzing things. When I finally gathered enough will to walk down the stairs to the kitchen it was almost noon, and my stomach yelled profanities at me for keeping him waiting for so long. It surely wasn't 'will' who drove me to the fridge though – It was hunger. I definitely should buy a food printer... Artificial meat is terrible, by the way. All they do to mask the taste – or the lack of it – is inject dozens of flavoring substances in a cocktail of chemicals – however, what the companies won't tell you, is that within a few years your chances of developing cancer increase by 50%. I opted for a toasted cheese sandwich, which was very ordinary, but also had a bonus for not killing me in the long run. "How the machines know the taste of meat?" Luna suddenly asked me, her body half visible on the other end of the kitchen island, like a fugitive hologram, hiding from a potential deletion threat. "They don't know – And that's the problem." I said, taking a bite of my sandwich. "It's not even 'real' meat – It's like soy meat; it looks like meat, smells like meat, and sometimes tastes like meat, but it's not meat 'meat'. Just a bunch of self-multiplying cells trying to look like a beef." Luna giggled, shaking her head at me, as her neverland-like mane flowed in the empty air. "Well, thou are a lucky one. If I was a real pony, such conversation would be a quite controversial one – potentially causing discomfort and physical sickness to one of us." "One of us? How a conversation about meat could cause me physical sickness? It's not like I'm a vegan or anything." I snorted. Wiping the corners of my mouth with a paper towel. "I could harm you for offending my cultural views. I thought humans were already familiarized with this concept, aren't they?" She asked. I was silent for a few seconds, the coffee maker buzzing in the background. "Yeah... I guess we are." Lilly was a vegetarian – except for fish, and bacon – she definitely loved bacon. She was also hipster, steampunk, cyberpunk, new age, libertarian, esoteric, and probably a lot of other things she couldn't quite remember. To become part of Lilly's personal spectrum of sub-cultures you only needed to give it a 'peculiar' name. She liked this word, 'peculiar' – Lilly was very peculiar in a way. She would always knock on the living room window, instead of using the door bell. That because my door was 'boring', and that window in special 'smelled like forest', since it overlooked the front garden and its bushes. I must admit I never noticed this particular scent before – but well – I rarely noticed the small pleasures of life. Lilly noticed, and speak of the devil – look who's coming! "She looks like a potential carrier of ICD-10 F20." Luna stated in a serious tone, observing the auburn-haired girl as she made her way through the sidewalk. She was in a simple white dress, stamped with a yellow floral pattern, her crimson scarf flowed in the wind as she crossed the street, the drenched pavement reflecting her look. "What the hell is ICD-10 F20?" I asked. "Schizophrenia" Luna said, walking away from the window with a sarcastic smirk. "She's not schizophrenic! She... She's an incredible woman, with an eccentric personality, that's all." I justified. Lilly had stopped to contemplate a gasoline rainbow on the street. "If you say so, Craig." She slowly said. "Let's see what this 'eccentric' woman is capable of..." ---