Gloria is twenty-six years old and everything is perfect.
She's just graduated summa cum laude from NYU with her LLM in International Business, showered with honors and jobs offers. Including one from the prestigious Khloris Industries. She had accepted it, of course. Everyone around her had assumed as much as soon as she got the offer and who was she to disappoint them?
She poses for a picture, a bouquet of roses crumpled up against her graduation gown and Zane's arm around her shoulders inside the large hall. The ring on her finger, new and glittering and heavy, sits front and center for the camera. Gloria's lips form a smile as her mother snaps too many pictures, and her face hurts because she's stood here posing for too long, but the moment she stops, so does her mother's attention.
The air in the hall steams. Even with the air conditioning, this many people above ground begs for a thermal disaster. Her breath feels shallow but she quietly ignores the urge to gasp for oxygen.
Her mother talks about their dinner reservations now, a cute new place where the chef was just nominated for some award. Zane is already back on his phone, someone from work asking him to come in and he sounds disappointed telling them that they need to call an alternate surgeon due to a prior commitment.
"Gloria? Are you listening?" Her mother is in front of her and moments away from snapping her fingers in her face.
"Oh, yeah. That sounds great, Mom."
As they leave the ceremony, Gloria finds herself looking up at the smoggy sky, all haze and blur, and wonders why happiness feels so suffocating.
Emeric is twenty-eight years old and everything is boring.
It's one of those hot, neon nights in Veroudia that's inebriated the throngs of people with humidity and vapid gossip. He should be getting home soon, but there isn't much difference to returning to an empty house than staying at a party like this. He blithely wonders if the old man is busy sneaking off with his mistress while Emeric lounges in fumes and trendy cushions.
The Minister of Production's dauphi taste's like smoke and something bitter. Emeric runs a large hand down the length of his back, watching his spine arch under his fingertips.
"What about tomorrow night?" Emeric asks, mouth wet and aching from his clumsy kisses.
Breivou has taken at least three different pills of something, so it takes him a moment to focus on something other than trying to straddle Emeric's thighs. "I wanna," he says, sultry and wanting, "But my daujhou has a meeting I have to go to. I'd rather be in your bed than talking to some old guys."
"Old guys?" Emeric laughs, pressing his finger into a spot that makes Breivou purr, "Oh come now, old men can be interesting too."
A rural statesman's dauphi is giving him hungry eyes behind Breivou's shoulder. She's an attractive woman with an unfortunately dull background. He breaks eye contact and returns to the Production Minister's dauphi mewling in his lap.
"Not when they're talking about supply chain issues. Who cares about steel production?"
So it's steel they're after, he thinks, and rewards Breivou for unknowingly giving him what he had wanted with an open mouthed kiss.
Emeric lies back, one hand on the other man's hip, and thinks about writing up his missive in the morning. Aegelev will be pleased for all of five minutes with this information. Emeric is the dauphi of the Minister of Intelligence, poised to take over the role in the future, and he's good at his job. His life is going according to plan with a revolving door of beautiful faces at his whims.
At some poi…
Old writing exercise I really enjoyed for learning my main characters by writing little drabbles for their backgrounds. Comparing where Gloria and Emeric were in their lives nine years prior to the main plot.
nsfw warning for Emeric's bc he's a deviant
#OCSky #OCWriting #WriteSky