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Once upon a midnight dreary...
As Edgar Jacobs Barker wandered, weak and weary.
The Raven Cried...
High hats and narrow collars.
• 26 years of age and they call me the crow Nothing like a dame to get your head spinning.
White spats and lots of dollars.
••Let's start at the beginning... A quiet, reserved sort of individual that usually dons spectacles and pours over the business accounts of the rich and famous, one would never think more of this studious bookworm. But as those who also dwell his proffession like to politely joke, never judge a man by his account statment.
A babied son of a well-to-do, morally straight, deeply religious parents, no one would do much more than scoff at the idea that Mr. Angel was, in fact, the frequent carouser of the seediest of speakeasies, glasses thrown to the wind and apparel past the nines and shooting into the tens. Though his moral fiber had long since crossed over the deep end, the perfect, charming gentleman he was and continues to be, believing that the floozys of the world mean nothing in the light of the one whirlwind of a romance he's die for. As soon as he can find it.
A blur of women, wine, and everything in between was what his thoughts reflected back to in the bank. Life was swell as berries, but the restlessness in him still grew more and more. His split life took no toll upon him, as he keep his whits amoung the various hooch of the underworld, but even those lovable, dim parents of him felt he had changed; and not for the better. If nothing happened soon, it would all be over.
Then she came along.
If you asked dear Edgar who she was, or even what she looked like, he stumble for the words. For as much as he wishes to know, that masked girl who sweeped him off his feet and into the skies with the rest of the lot remains his mystery. And his love, though he'd never admit it. One simply doesn't have Shakespear's romance, nowadays. Or do they..? Regardless, this keen sheik is nesting with the Raven until he finds out, or till the bulls catch up with him and break his mirrored world.
Spending every dime, for a wonderful time.
•••Everything would be jake if... He pines for that silly sheba who he doesn't even know with the most passion, but he also dreams of one day bringing the world of glammer, flappers, and hooch out of the dark corners of the city and into the light. He'd love to have a place of his own, all ritzed up and out where every doll and bimbo can stroll right in, despite who they are when the sun rises. A stretch? And how! But who says a fellow can't hope?
If you're blue and you don't know where to go,
why don't you go where fashion sits?
•••• And all that Jazz... The only bit of interest he finds about himself is his that he is the cat's pajamas when it comes to playing jazz. Classical, too, but who wants Mozart when they're cuttting a rug? His dear mother has had Edgar playing the large old piano in the sitting room since he was a wee thing, and he's finally found a practice even more enjoyable for his talents. Besides the lovely ones who flock about the instrument, the others on the rag tag team of musicians make for good company.
Putting on the Ritz.
Nevermore
 Orange Affair · Fri Jan 09, 2009 @ 03:56am · 0 Comments |
