He suddenly straightens himself up, as if you caught a boy with his hand in the cookie jar. He adjusts himself sidesaddle and joins you on the ground, straightening his uniform. He recovers from his landing quickly despite being middle-aged.
Dr. Holloway?
he shuffles forward, closer to you. But you're walking in—?
The door opens from inside the carriage. The first thing you see is the beard: long, white as a wizard. Behind the beard is a three-piece suit A sparkly, iridescent three-piece suit, as a matter of fact. He looks amazing., giving extra weight to the lanky old man sporting it. A plume of smoke follows from inside the carriage as a cigar dangles from his hand, much needing to be ashed. He shoots you a grin.
Why are we still stopped?
the carriage rider calls out to the driver, breaking eye contact with you. I think we've helped enough people on the side of the road by now.
He turns back to you with a curt remark: No offense intended.
You extend your hand to him instinctly, attempting to curtail any potential inconsideration.
Nice to meet you, sir,
you say. Your... beard precedes you.
The old man seems to soften and shakes your hand earnestly.
Well met. My name is Gordon Holloway.
You turn to the carriage driver upon hearing the name, but you see he has returned to his post on his horse. He says nothing. You open your mouth to speak, but before you can respond, Gordon exhales his cigar.
Are you coming to the party?
Gordon asks, curiously jovial as he ashes his cigar on the path.
What do you do?
| "Holloway," you repeat. "Do you know a Jane Holloway?" | "A party?" you ask. |