Dahlia♠️

Chapter 1:

~November 17,1924~

The smoke curled in his throat burning and making his vision hazy. A low ambience of jazz playing while sultry women clad in sequins and feathers, coaxed men into gambling away more of their earnings. Their bodies heavy in perfume and sweat clinging to their skin in a thin sheen.

Men speaking in low voices doing their private, probably illicit, business dealings. In expensive pristine suits permeating an air of power. While others were drugged and drunk; Hanging off stools or laughing for no reason at all with a stranger, trying to forget their troubles. It was the 20's. The decade with a prohibition of alcohol that just made getting your hands on it so much sweeter. Speakeasies were popping up all over the city with tons of booze and gambling opportunities for the masses.

Archer was making a long overdue return to the city of lights for some fun. The past couple of years had been something of a bore over in France. And even the people over there knew this was the place to be. The center of music and culture. He smiled into his glass letting it burn under his tongue cool and quick. It was too late right now for any more excitement. It was just after 9:12 that a flood of drugged bodies came in. Their vitality pouring off of them in waves. He let himself get lost in the haze for a while. Lost and gained some money, however it made made no difference to him. Drink after drink pressed into his hand from the random passerby or appreciative glance cast his way.

He had dressed spectacularly tonight. Intentionally to catch the eye. Fine tailored lines the clothes hugging his body in a way to make a suggestive fit. A dark crimson suit and matching hat tilted to shade his eyes as he surveyed the room. He twirled a cane in one hand and held a drink in the other. He didn't really need the cane. It just added to appearance like he was more suave than he was. It was pitch like his hair. Completely in disarray now from the night's festivities. He just leaned back on the bar with his elbows. His head was fuzzy and slow.

How sad were these people to stay here all night and no one seemed to care they were here or bothered looking for them? What were they trying to forget? They'd never get away from it unless they stayed drunk the rest of their lives. If this was their plan it wouldn't be much longer. He tilted his head. He knew why he was here. He had no attachments. No strings. Some may look at his life and call it low and sad. But it wasn't. He looked younger than he was, but he also felt older than he is. In a lifestyle like his, you tend to meet many people.

He loved traveling all over the world. Never knowing where he was going, for how long, who he was staying with, or who he'd meet there. Sometimes it be a flicker of blurry faces he'd never see or remember again. But occasionally and a couple times (too much if you asked him) he'd meet someone who's life just burned so brightly that it'd stay with him. Those moments he was alone he couldn't help those flashes of memories that were imprinted into him forever.

He tapped the counter for another drink. The bartender nodded turning. It was a quarter to 4 a.m. now the place dim and smoky. Just a few stragglers left in the bar. One of the men sitting at a nearby blackjack table started trying to shove a girl off his lap before just falling of his stool and passing out on the floor. Archer snorted taking a sip of his new scotch. He smiled wistfully into his glass. The only thing you knew certain that got better as it aged.

"Well if my eyes don't deceive me, it's Cyril Archer." He heard a sultry voice beside him. He didn't turn to look.

"In flesh and blood. Now what do you want?" He asked not taking his eyes off of the players at the table, still idly stirring his glass. He heard a tinkling laugh, "Is that how you greet old friends? I'm just delighted to see you after all this time. How long has it been? About 10 years?"

"Well I'm sorry when I say I don't quite recall your name." He finally glance at the not quite young woman next to him. She looked still young in figure, but you could see, if you looked closely, the beginning tellings of age in her face. Petite woman with short blonde curls brushing her shoulders. Hawklike hazel eyes betraying her carefree expression. Her skin was as pale and smooth as milk.