The Captured : Awakened

One : Vanessa

I

"Awaken in His image as saviors of man,
and let the blood of His Messenger flow pure
through His children."

I

______________________________

One

...

Vanessa

          Suede blazer, deep maroon, and fitting a touch tight. Straight-leg trousers of the same color, and polished black brogues. He's dressed better than the groom, but honestly so is everyone else. This is an exclusive venue, one with snowy cap views, and twinkling lights that catch swirling steam escaping through the balcony doors. The subdued mass of bodies inside gives off just enough heat to sweat under their formal layers. The wealthiest among them are waiting for the thing to be over, and drag down the sound of joy with their judging silence. The friends save face as the night ends; a fellow princess of industry has married outside of her wealth. Daddy's pockets have been laid barren by her dream wedding to a sad five-digit nobody.

Approving of the groom or not, Daddy sure loves his dear only daughter. A mammoth mansion in the mountains provides nothing short of a destination wedding, for this California crowd. Is it a log cabin, or a royal English estate, the designer couldn't quite make up their mind. The gaudy golden statues, purple rugs, and crystal chandeliers are out of place here. The main features of the venue are that it's built around gigantic cedar tree limbs, and a huge wall of raw stone, a staple of cliff-side builds. And yet the wedding planners covered it all up with blinding twinkle lights and fake, gold-dusted flower features. It's of course in character for these elite-types, to take hold of something beautifully natural and turn it disgusting.

Their power lies in the jewels around their necks or ticking metal around their wrists. All the while the one individual who sits comfortably under their noses, commands the room. Distant and uncaring, his presence a mere obligation, he sits alone at an under-lit table in an abandoned corner of the reception. He's draped lazily on his chair, legs outstretched in a manner that claims the entire space, incredibly unapproachable. His greased black hair falls over his face, concealing his identity while fiddling idly on his phone. He is the only one here who holds real power.  

Perhaps his threatening aura is visible not only to me; he attracts attention with ease. The mystery, the danger, it's all so irresistible to them. Men want to throw him under their wing, being his friend could really boost their social game. Just imagine, being the guy he looked up to. They'd clamor to put him down just to raise him up to be like them. Women want to unwrap him, diagnose him, mother him. They'll be a hero to the prized racehorse, and tame him as their beast, before releasing him into the wild once they get bored. They're all the same, writhing within their complacencies, wondering if they have the guts to take on a dangerous plaything. The rich get tired of their useless lives, why not bring a promising youth into their misery?  They murmur to each other from a safe distance, failing any subtlety by pointing.

"Do you know that man?"

"No, I thought maybe you did."

"Must be a friend of the groom."

"Oh, right! You think it's that doctor guy?"