So far the story has been going back in time (sort of) and will now be taking up a new sense of order. These scenes are to set up what is going to happen later. This is short, but it is just a tease of what is going to be posted tomorrow. Enjoy, and thank you for all of the loving support!

Moa Osen


December, 1920

New York, New York

The man's face was like a polished stone, oval and smooth. His hair lay flat on his head, only a slight curl or two mussing his waves. An American Gentleman in the flesh, all tails and ties- but with the same kind of bite that a shark has after blood has been spilled on open water. He was every bit as sharp as Sir Richard had been, perhaps even more so. His American breeding hadn't given way to the guilt that the self made have about their wealth in England. He stood before Martha's fireplace, his shadow growing and shifting as the flames popped and cracked in behind him. Outside the streets were paved in snow, sticking to metal railings and clinging to the trees. He was like a Titan, scanning all of creation as though it were his.

"Tom, have I introduced you to the Senator yet?" Martha had a hold of Tom's arm and was pulling him through the crowd that had amassed in her house. Her yearly Christmas party had become a fixture of the season. Martha held onto Tom as though he would wander off, get lost in the labyrinth of figures that gathered like so many moths around a single flame.

"Former Senator, I assure you. William." He held out his hand and shook Tom's, with a grip like Eugene Sandow's.

"Tom. Branson." He replied, broken syllables, trying to hide the fact that perhaps he'd tied one on and was dangerously close to losing his ability to properly speak.

"He's my grand-daughter Sybil's husband. And a journalist." She added the last word as though it were made of glittering syllables. "Tom, have you read any of William's newspapers?"

William smiled from the corners of his mouth.

"Martha, come, leave your poor grandson-in-law alone." He teased.

"Nonsense, William. Tell me, Tom, have you read any of William's newspapers?"

"I can't say for certain, ma'am, but there is a chance."

"A chance?" Martha laughed loudly, making it clear that her state was rivaling Tom's. "I am almost certain that you've read at least ten of Mr. Hearst's newspapers!"