The small jet soared above the clouds, swiftly winging its way to a small private airport removed from Washington, D.C. by about two miles. Though only one of the three passengers aboard would be recognized by the average American, his presence on the plane was in fact less intriguing than that of the other two. Tall and thin, with a Roman nose and short-cropped auburn hair with greying temples, he looked the part of the consummate American politician. And indeed he was, perhaps more so than his history would indicate. To his family he was known as “John” or “Dad”, but the rest of the nation just called him Mr. President.
The nationality of the other two men was less easily discernible; they spoke in a near-perfect aristocratic English, but its status as a second language was occasionally betrayed by a tinge of something Eastern European, or perhaps Western. The men had strangely pallid skin, matching suits, and cold, businesslike demeanors, and appeared to be identical twins; in fact, the President couldn’t discern the difference between them. Truthfully their presence made him very uneasy, and they knew it (though he had never, and would never, admit it to them or anyone else). Most oddly, they nearly always spoke in unison, and when they did it sounded as if a million others were echoing the words along with them. On the rare occasion that they would speak separately, it was in a quick interchanging barrages of words and phrases, as if the same mind was bouncing ideas back and forth between the two of them. They had introduced themselves as Hobbes and Locke, though clearly these were only aliases or codenames of some sort.
“L.A. in two weeks?” the president asked. “Is that really necessary?” The men glanced at each other. “Yes, of course it is,” they replied in perfect unison. “You do understand this has been part of the arrangements for quite some time, don’t you?” The president sighed and nodded in the affirmative.
The nationality of the other two men was less easily discernible; they spoke in a near-perfect aristocratic English, but its status as a second language was occasionally betrayed by a tinge of something Eastern European, or perhaps Western. The men had strangely pallid skin, matching suits, and cold, businesslike demeanors, and appeared to be identical twins; in fact, the President couldn’t discern the difference between them. Truthfully their presence made him very uneasy, and they knew it (though he had never, and would never, admit it to them or anyone else). Most oddly, they nearly always spoke in unison, and when they did it sounded as if a million others were echoing the words along with them. On the rare occasion that they would speak separately, it was in a quick interchanging barrages of words and phrases, as if the same mind was bouncing ideas back and forth between the two of them. They had introduced themselves as Hobbes and Locke, though clearly these were only aliases or codenames of some sort.
“L.A. in two weeks?” the president asked. “Is that really necessary?” The men glanced at each other. “Yes, of course it is,” they replied in perfect unison. “You do understand this has been part of the arrangements for quite some time, don’t you?” The president sighed and nodded in the affirmative.
1 comment:
o_0 write more! What's going on? Where is the plane flying to? What happens in L.A.? What's with the picture at the bottom? AAAAAAA!!!
In all seriousness, I love the style you're using here, Daniel. It's just the right amount humorous while maintaining mystery and intrigue. Write more!
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