So here are a couple of descriptions of one of the characters in St Anne’s Square which I’ve not introduced yet. The first one would be his opening introduction, the second is another character (Sheamus Laighléis) point of view. I plan to write more of this script at some point, so hopefully you enjoy this little tidbit.
Henry Macken (52) A career politician, immaculate in every facet of his clothing from polished shoes to each strand of hair pulled back into a neat ribbon. It’s more silver than anything else these days, but Henry has lost none of his sharp mind or smooth tongue. Currently, he is waiting – not something he is accustomed to, a man well used to being constantly on the move. Despite that, he is motionless, except for his eyes.
Men pass by him, some at a brisk march, others riding in carriages. From the wealthy to the poor, none look in his direction; perhaps because he is so conspicuous. A man who should not be there – yet is. Waiting. Silence seems to run through to his very core. It is deception though, his emotions are not voiceless, just held in a vice-like grasp.
Suddenly he comes alive, lips tight-pressed in thought, relaxing, curving just slightly at the corners. Warmth enters his steely gaze as he spots the person he has been waiting for.
“At last, you’re here.”
“I’m not sure how you’d describe him.” A pause, as I contemplated him, bringing his likeness to mind.
“Stern, a little intimidating I suppose.” Those were the first things that came to me, perhaps they had been my own first impressions.
“Tall, though he’s a little shorter than I am.” That did not do him justice, he could command a room without uttering a sound. When he entered his presence filled every breath and straightened every spine. Fear could be tangible, he’d shown me that, though I’m sure his men would swear it was only respect.
“The sort of man who knows how to dress, how to be immaculate.” There was never a stray thread on his regimentals, nor a line that was not crisp. Though time had gracefully left it’s mark upon him and once ebony hair now was threaded with silver, his eyes remained the same. Penetrating. Storm grey, a fact only known by those daring, or foolish enough, to get close to him.
“Not someone you’d willingly cross.” I could not help the tiny smile that, for a moment, lingered on my lips. In my younger years I am sure I had displeased him with “rude manners”, in hindsight perhaps I had goaded him purposefully. Perhaps I had wanted his displeasure, or merely his attention.
“It’s hard to gauge his mood.” When shifts of temper came they were minute. The press of thin lips into a line when deep in thought. The slightest curl of their edges when something pleased him. Or how the skin around his eyes would tighten when he was vexed.
“I’d recommend brushing up on etiquette.” I didn’t want to send him in unprepared, but there was a part of me, however small now, that would revel in watching them interact. Lochlan had been a friend once, now he was going to enter Henry’s domain, and all I could do was wish him luck.
“It’s not as though he’ll end you if you get it wrong..”