shiles

Details on my writing style, preferences and characters can be found here* but here's a writing sample**:

“Three hours ago, he had been waiting just inside the glass double doors of the infamous Talbot hotel. It was an establishment that boasted a hefty nightly fare and for good reasons. The building itself was old, built in the 20s, in the time of the Art Deco movement, when artists and designers that visited the city came in throngs, looking to explore and immortalize its residents in their favorite medium. But that was a long time ago. The paint had since peeled and yellowed, stripping away to reveal the reddish brown bricks beneath. No longer did the Talbot stand as one of the landmark lodges but now housed vagabonds with cash to flash and their entourage of street walkers and coked up partyboys. But the doors opened to a scene that was almost comical in how it countered the exterior of the hotel. The interior walls of the hotel were doused with a deep burgundy that looked almost like the colour of rich blood in certain lights. A keen sense of foreshadowing, perhaps, on the painter's part. Minor filigree detailing on the ivory ceiling and sidings were gilded, catching the warm light from the crystal chandelier that hung over the very centre of the lobby. Paintings by the likes of Goddard and Janmot hung on the walls of the ground floor and the executive suites. Yes, the interior of the Talbot still looked as pristine as her inaugural day.

By the time the sleek black Jaguar pulled up to the front of the hotel, Pavel was done taking in his surroundings. Tavi was already high. As the doorman held the door opened for him, he entered the lobby with a raucous, tin-like laughter echoing across the high ceilings of the hotel, tripping over his own feet like a foal. He was followed closely by his four favourite friends. If they could be called that. It was apparent to everyone except Octavio Valencia that his crew was really only a part of the package so they could be associated with one of the most revered families in Chiapas. But that was just what this life was, wasn't it? Every time he was in the company of Tavi and his friends, Pavel would watch them with the keen eye of a scientist. Or an artist. Like an outsider who's not completely a part of the picture but without whom, the picture would be incomplete. Every now and again, Pavel would reach out to catch Tavi's hand, bringing him back up onto his feet. And that seemed to be, both literally and metaphorically, his role in the man's life.

Soon all the colours faded, drained from the sky by the overpowering darkness of the night sky. Tavi's voice was distant, adding to the din of the music and chatter inside the stretch Lincoln. Background noise. Through the tinted window, Pavel watched as they passed by the boutiques and little shops, their gates illuminated with a golden glow, inviting in the people off the streets with promise of warmth and shelter from the cold streets. Within minutes they arrived at the club and he was pulled out of his reveries by a hand to the crook of his elbow, pulling him out of the backseat of the Continental.

Four other men accompanied them inside and Pav hated it. There was no escape from the claustrophobia of having five other people in his immediate vicinity, close enough for him to smell the Drakkar Noir with the underlying scent of sweat and old smoke. A part of him worried the smells would transfer. That they would perforate through the heavy mink stole that covered his shoulders and taint the sleek slip of his dress, ruining the ivory silk. It was, maybe, a strange fear. Especially since no one was ever allowed to get too close to Tavi's little entourage but it wasn't so much about another picking up on the malodor as it was his own little neurotics. He had tried to explain it to Octavio once but he hadn't expected the man to understand. As suspected, he hadn't.

They settled into a booth on the second floor, separated from the crowd and Pavel finally relaxed, spine following the contours of the seat behind him as he leaned back, folding one long leg over the other, the thin silver heel of his d'Orsay pump threatening to dig into Octavio's calf. He shifted to tug at the hem of his dress, leaning forward. By chance, his dake gaze lifted and he caught the stare of what he instinctively thought might have been a vampire in the crowd. His skin prickled with a wash of gooseflesh and it took Pavel a second to talk himself out of the vampire theory. He watched as the figure moved as if locked into a stance with a sleek predator. Like if he looked away, they might lunge, jaw unhinged and aimed for his throat. Finally, he cracked a small smile at the onlooker, lashes lowering briefly as he straightened back up, head tilting away to look over at one of Tavi's men, only half paying attention to the tall tale the male had begun to spin.”

shiles's Characters

shiles either hasn't made any characters yet, or all of their characters are anonymous.