{"sf1_id":1038469,"sf2_id":null,"title":"Wolfentraum: The Prologue","author":"Aux Chiens","words":2339,"posted_at":"2016-06-30T09:29:00.000Z","tags":["Germanicesoteric","Lycanthrope","Male","Norse","Transformation","Werewolf","nazi","racism","rich","roanoke","shapeshifting"],"url":"https://fse.anthro.fr/stories/1038469-wolfentraum-the-prologue","original_url":"https://sofurry.com/view/1038469","image_url":"https://www.sofurryfiles.com/std/thumb?page=1038469\u0026ext=.jpg","description":"","content":"One man will always be left alive to tell the story. _________Hannah Arendt, Eichmann\nIn Jerusalem\n\n            Andrew Lightfoot had just\nturned eighteen that October when his father took him to Roanoke for a gala\ncharity event, to be attended by the top whatever-it-was per cent of both\nVirginias, some of whom his father hadn't seen since Andrew was born - his\nbrother Stephen was sick, as he often was, and couldn't come with, so Andrew\nand his father, Archibald, made the trip alone. \n            They stayed in the sumptuous hotel which bares\nthe city's name, which was borrowed from the river which runs through the town and\nthen outward south and to the east, on to the Atlantic - not, as any native of\nthe town will tell you with some degree of universal irritation, the far more\nfamous folly of Sir Walter Raleigh down in North Carolina, the English\ncolonists who vanished in circumstances which are perhaps better left unsaid. \n            When the time came and the night arrived, Andrew\nwas, to Archibald Lightfoot's specifications, polished and immaculate - for though\nthe family was from West Virginia Archibald's son was to be a youth of Old\nVirginia, from manor born and manners bred.\n            And though he dared not question his father -\nbut Andrew hated it. \n            The gala was an exclusive invitation-only masque\nof late capitalist decadence which had to be seen to be believed: a dinner was\nserved of roast quail and braised asparagus and grouper over rice pilaf, an\nenormous English trifle for dessert, a small station where a bowl of black\nbeluga caviar could be spread on fresh crackers. There were three chardonnay\nfountains serving California vintages from sometime in the late 1970's, one\nroom had a modest but talented string quartet playing Vivaldi, while another\nhad a lively and smiling Israeli pounding out jazz standards on a grand piano -\nand all, all bereft of the shrieking irony how this was a charity event for people who could never dream of being this\nostentatiously rich.\n            It was nearing the end of the first .\n            And bad enough that Andrew was very easily the\nyoungest attending - but that he had to swim and wade through this very\nbullshit that, growing up, he had always detested, in what surely would be,\nthis time, a toxic dose.            Amidst the inebriated\nchatter, the buttonholed conversations around the silent auction tables, the\npoignant but endlessly rehearsed pleas of people holding microphones entirely\ntoo close to their mouths to give and donate - every piece of clothing, every noun, on every human being in this swirl\nof undeserved opulence had a little addendum attached to it: where it came\nfrom, what it was made of, who made it. \n            This went on, as Andrew overheard it: how lovely\nyour purse is, oh don't you love it, from\nCoach, it goes so well with this dress, don't you think? By Nicole Miller, my husband got it for\nme at the Neiman's in Coral Gables. Oh you haven't been to Coral Gables? Why,\nyou simply must! \n            It reminded Andrew - painfully, dreadfully - of\nthe two years he was presented at cotillion in Charleston, how every crook and\nevery moron and every ingrate who suddenly came into money lost their minds and\nthought they were God's Own, here on Earth. \n            The things he did - without question, every time\n- to please his father...\n            His tie choking him and his tailored suit like a\nstrait jacket - bespoke, Davidson's of Roanoke, he said to himself in his head with a biting sarcasm - Andrew\nwas bored and irritated under the watchful but famously jaded eyes of George\nWashington in the cavernous lobby that dripped everywhere with crystal\nchandeliers and brass railings and wooden paneling and real granite floors. He\nwas painfully alone even surrounded by the endless buzz of this black-tie\naffair, and so he had pulled out his phone - SonyEricsson, imported from\nJapan - to text his best friend, Bligh...\n            ...when he was stopped cold by who he saw coming\nin from the open doors that led to the iron-fenced veranda. \n            He was a man - a man carrying a small glass with\nhalf-drank whiskey on the rocks in it, garnished with cranberry.\n            Everything about this man was perfect - his\nsuit, his pants, seemed to be a part of him, so perfectly crisp and fitted, it\nwas clear that the clothes wore him. They\nwere all black, from head to toe, with a tie that was a solid, crystal blue,\nlike his eyes - not as icy blue as Bligh's, back home, but different,\npredatory, the eyes of a hawk, the vision of an alpha predator. He was tall and\nslender, but it was clear his body was strong, the power inside him\nconcentrated in small pockets, nothing overbearing, but together combined it\nwould prove invincible.\n            The sides of his head, bright champagne blond, were\nshaved to leave a long middle part on top that was slicked back, a kind of\nhairstyle several years ahead of its time that gave him a fascinatingly evil\nlook, like Heydrich in Prague - monstrous, but magnetic.\n            To complete the picture - as he took a sip of\nthe whiskey and cranberry - from behind him blew a crisp October breeze, as\nthough nature itself announced his arrival, forward go the banners of the king.\n            Andrew was transfixed, hypnotized by the\npresence of this - this man, this\nepitome, this wonder and this terror.\n            Painful seconds passed. He\nknew himself well - was he attracted to him? He certainly was handsome - no,\nthat wasn't the right word, handsome was\na paltry adjective for him - he could be a runway model, a soap opera actor,\nthe highest tier of conventional human beauty...\n            ...but no, Andrew wasn't\nattracted. There was something about him,\nsome enigmatic equality that Andrew wanted to fixate on, to study - yes, like\nhe was another insect for him to examine, an impossibly rare, exotic specimen,\nfor he had never seen anyone, anything¸like\nhim, in the world.\n            Now he glanced down at his\nphone - he slid it back together, leaving the text unfinished, uncomfortable\nwith himself, positively tormented by his formal wear. He maneuvered his way\nthrough the milling crowd, using his best fleeting smile of politeness as he passed\nby tuxedo and evening dress, closer and closer to this mystery that had\nappeared from nowhere.\n            But he was stopped - to his\nendless and immediate agitation - by his father.\n            \"There you are! Where've\nyou been, the bachelor auction is starting and I mean to make a fool out of\nthat jackass, Baird!\" \n            \"Oh - h-hey, Pa.\"\n            Archibald's usually carefully\ncombed and coifed hair had fallen just slightly in disarray - he had a handkerchief\nin one hand to mop his forehead, where a small glaze of sweat was developing\ndespite the cool of the temperature outside.\n            They gravitated together past\nyet more partygoers to find themselves by small set of steps that led to a spacious\nparlor crowned in the middle by a vast circular couch - Andrew noticed his\nfather's eyes were aqueous with too much chardonnay, his demeanor a little too\nrelaxed and at ease for the prim and pompous patriarch he usually carried\nhimself as.\n            \"Pa are ye - are y'okay\nthere, Pa?\"\n            \"Yes!\" his father\nanswered with a sweep of his arm across the lobby. \"Yes, boy, yes! Why\nwouldn't I be?\"\n            \"Ya seemed t've had a\nlittle--\" He let his face become nonplussed. \"Yanno. Wine.\"\n            \"Aww, c'mon!\" He\nlaughed his smug laugh through his teeth. \"We all having fun, ain't we?\nAnd it's all for a good cause, ain't it?\"\n            Andrew swallowed back his\ncontempt for everything - for his father, for this wealth, for this entire\nhotel - to nod in agreement. \"Yeah, yeah Pa we are - n'yer right, it is.\"\n            \"Good! Good! And how're\nyou doing?\"\n            \"Fine - um--\" His\neyes went back to the man he had been studying, and flicked his eyes over to\nhim to get his father's attention. \"I wanted to ask you - you see that guy\nover there?\"\n            \"What guy?\" His handkerchief\nwent stuffed back in the breast pocket of his suit.\n            Andrew repeated the action\nwith his eyes. \"That guy.\"\n            Archibald's head jerked where\nhis son had directed him - Andrew thought they both had spied the handsome man\nfrom the veranda, but at that unlucky instant another man, a tired, sad,\nhaggard-looking fellow with unruly grey hair that perhaps had once been blonde,\nstepped in front.\n            His mouth fell open in an\nunguarded moment of rare emotion.\n            \"God almighty damn, boy\nthat's - that's Jones--\" He saw\nhis father pause, a flicker of pain coming to his face that was erased in an\neyeblink. \"I don't - recall his first name - we all - just called him Jones.\" A pause elapsed, and Andrew\ntried not to grit his teeth in impatience, letting his father have the moment.\n\"How'd you know it was him, boy?\"\n            \"I didn't--\"\n            \"We - he and I - Bligh's\nfolks, when they were still living - we all used to be friends...\" He shook\nhis head, long and slow. \"But my gracious, what happened to him? I know what happened weren't pleasant, but--\"\n            Andrew rolled his eyes, at\nlast keen to change the subject. \"No - him.\"\nHe forced his head in a point to the mysterious man eyeing the room with his\nwhiskey and cranberry.\n            \"Oh...\" His father\nsaid nothing for a few seconds, as if recalling from his encyclopedic\nrecollections of every Mid-Atlantic aristocrat who this man was. \"Oh, Hell\n- he's here too? I didn't\nthink...\" His face lost the tipsy luster of a good time again. \"That -\nis Siegfried Stone,\" he father murmured, his face doing that\ncharacteristic twinge where disgust was being suppressed in order to be polite.\n\"His daddy owned a whole bunch of timbermills down into Scott County -\nVirginia - down that way - but I heard his family's but as old as ours, coming\nin through Jamestown and all that...\" He shook his head, just slightly, and\nAndrew realized with an eerie feeling he had wanted to say more, but couldn't.\n\"Best, ah - best stay away from him - the whole family's nuts.\"\n            \"Nuts?\" Andrew\nrepeated, askance. \"What kinda--\"\n            \"I can't really tell ya\nright now - I should probably go, Nelson Harris is here and while I don't like\nthe man's politics--\" He stopped. \"And maybe I should - say hello to\nJones - maybe...\" He glanced back to Andrew, meeting his son's frown, and\nput a firm grip on his son's shoulder in a rare display of camaraderie and trust.\n\"You keep being a good boy, alright? I'll tell ya later about Stone - and Jones - trust me, it's a story.\"\n            And with that, dashing away at\nsuch a speed that it almost made Andrew dizzy, his father melted into the crowd.\n            Andrew shot his head back to\nSiegfried Stone as though he were a piece of metal drawn to a magnet, just in\ntime to see him bend down to lay his now-empty glass on a wooden table. \n            As he came back up, Andrew\nwatched his face suddenly warp into a sneer of honest contempt - he was looking\nover the crowd in front of him, over them, through them, with a look of derision\nso complete and so palpable it struck Andrew cold.\n            Before, there had been abject,\nnameless fascination - now, seeing this, Andrew felt only fear.\n            He could scarcely breathe,\nwatching him - watching him as the sneer faded, warped, to bemused mockery,\nwatching him as he straightened himself and elbowed his way through another\nsmall crowd behind him, out of the doors of the Hotel Roanoke, into that little\nplaza where the limos were still pulling in, absorbed into the night as thought\nhe had never existed.\n            He was gone.\n            Andrew was relieved - the\nspell had broken, he blinked several times, leaning in on the railing by the\nsteps he had been standing on.\n            He shook his head rapidly -\nwhat the Hell had just happened?\n            Out from his pocket came his\ncell phone, he slid it open, he pounded out the beginning of a new text message\nto Bligh, and to Stephen too:\n            Dude I just seen            But he stopped - he\nstopped at that next word.\n            What had he seen?\n            He was absorbed into his own\nthought life, trying as hard as he could to rationalize how monomaniacal, even\nfor just a few minutes, he had become over someone he had never met - and who\nhis own father, who knew a son-of-a-bitch better than anyone, had flat-out told\nhim he did not want to meet.\n            It had all happened so fast,\ntoo fast to absorb, too fast to process.\n            For the second time that\nnight, the cell phone went back in his pocket, a text message unsent in\nbewilderment. \n            Now he was reminded again how\nuncomfortable he was in the get-up he was wearing, how much he hated these\nkinds of events his father insisted on dragging him to in order to groom and\neducate him in the world of the trans-Appalachian aristocrat - but right then,\nhe could not bear the thought of being alone. \n            He went down the steps back to\nthe lobby proper, to look for his father. \n            Andrew would never forget\nSiegfried Stone, having never spoken a word to the man...if man he was at all. He\nwould never forget him - though he already wanted to."}