adventure fantasy, character interview, Fantasy, fantasy romance, Fiction, Flash, gay romance, LGBT, long-reads, Lost Isle, Love, M/M, Novel, prose, reading, Romance, Series, Short Fiction, The Ocean's Aviary, Writing
(This is a teaser for the novel Lost Isle, on pre-order now.)
The man at my door has brown hair—loose, windswept, the ends just barely curling against his forehead and neck. His face is more long than round, giving him the appearance of being lean, though his body betrays that impression with enough muscle to make him unnoticeable in the working class neighborhoods—the docks, the factories, the workshops. His hands have the most personality throughout his entire person—strong, slender hands with scribe calluses built-up on two of his fingers and ink-spot tattoos where the quill had pierced deep enough to stain.
He has the look of an indoor man. The kind who would be hunched over a desk, or a book, or a map.
I step back to let him into my office and he follows me, his eyes quick to rove and quick again to come back to me. His pants were ironed, though not the most expensive. His coat was fitted, though the loose button in the middle again betrayed his throttled funds. He stood straight with shoulders back, but not with chest puffed.
As if, by remaining straight and following the narrow, he might give the impression of a proper gentleman in order to blend and not stand out. Fighting to be average, I’d have called him. A man who did not crave attention and did not seek it. A man who would step out of the light, away from confrontation were it to peek his way.
But perhaps that is me being judgmental. After all, while first impressions are everything according to perception, they are lies tricking us into crafting a reality that person cannot possibly fight against.
“Good morning,” I said, holding my hand out.
He took it with a grip that did not tighten too hard or pull away too quickly. “Edwin Vlaris. You said you wanted to speak to me of a map.”
I gesture to the bench I had just finished clearing off before he’d knocked. “A map, yes. Please sit, Edwin.”
“Thank you.” His voice is unassuming. Shall I say, perhaps even lacking a certain confrontational ability? Continue reading