The Wings of a Butterfly
folder
Original - Misc › -Slash - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
22
Views:
8,006
Reviews:
28
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
1
Category:
Original - Misc › -Slash - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
22
Views:
8,006
Reviews:
28
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
1
Disclaimer:
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The Author holds exclusive rights to this work. Unauthorized duplication is prohibited. Laevi of Theed
2
.:2:.
After spending another small fortune on the project, all Julian could do was waiting for the next ‘amazing result’. He spent the time reading and daydreaming, feeling more excited than he’d ever admit. They had a glimpse of the past… No matter how unclear it had been, it was an enormous result. Even he could feel the anticipation when the men phoned him and invited him over for the next experiment. Maybe now they would see some more, and find out what time they were actually seeing.
Julian was pushed into the chair again, with a cigar and a brandy this time, and just like the first time there were flashes on the large screen. At first, it seemed as fuzzy as before, but then it happened. The drink went down the wrong way as Julian suddenly looked into the face of a young man with blue eyes, a white powdered wig, a high collar with a brooch and a white, thin wide blouse.
“Holy shit!” he gasped, quickly putting his drink aside. Now that was an amazing result! He made a disappointed sound when the image faded to black, and the machine shut itself down. “What? What’s happening! Bring it back!” Julian was perched up at the edge of his seat, glaring at Simon and Greg.
“I’m sorry sir,” sighed Simon. “This is all we can manage for now. It takes an tremendous amount of energy to bring even this brief image into view…”
“Energy? You mean power? You need more? I’ll give you more!” The blue eyes were still burning in his retina. “I’ll give you aggregates, as many as you need!” Julian jumped up, and legged fiercely to the computer. “You’ve taped that, didn’t you? Print me a copy of that face!”
Simon was taken aback, and stammered quietly. “I erh… Yes sir, we taped it. It’s… We’re…”
“I’ll give a nice print on glossy paper,” helped Greg his mate out again. “Maybe you can find out who he is, sir, while we work on the machine some more. How’s that?”
“Perfect!” Julian waited impatiently until the print was done, and almost snatched it from Greg’s hand. “Give me that. I’ll find out who he is… I’ll give you more money if you need it. Just give me results, gentlemen. I want more… Much more of this.”
When Julian left the two stunned scientists, first he arranged a few huge generators and enough fuel to run them for weeks. If they needed more power, they would get all they needed and more. Then he went to his personal tailor, to show him the photo. Research would go a lot easier when he knew what era to search in.
While he sat at the back seat of his Rolls, Julian couldn’t keep his eyes off the photo. The man was looking straight back at him, as if he had been looking into a mirror… And he looked sad. Something in the life of this handsome nobleman was not right, and it affected him. With that, it affected Julian as well.
Such beautiful eyes should never gleam with tears…
Sir Oliver –yes, even tailors could become noble, especially when you were as good as this man– welcomed his young friend with open arms. He expected Julian to ask for another suit, as he did almost monthly, and was surprised to have a photo pushed into his face.
“Who is that?” asked Julian bluntly, even before he sat down. “You’re a historian, Ollie, so tell me!”
“Oh, uhm… Maybe we should sit down first.” Sir Oliver set the example, sitting down in his favourite chair. “Now tell me what you mean. This is a photo… So why do you need me to tell you who it is, as an historian and a tailor?”
“Forget the fact it’s a photo,” waved Julian impatiently. “Look at his clothes and that wig, and that brooch. What time period did men wear such clothes and accessories?”
“Hm…” Oliver straightened his specs, looking more closely. “It’s amazingly accurate,” he said thoughtfully. “Looking at the wig and blouse, I should say… 18th century. The brooch should be able to tell us more… But then I need a book. One minute, Julian. Help yourself on some drinks, please.”
Julian walked to the drinks cabinet and poured out two brandies, waiting for the tailor to return. Finally, the man emerged, carrying a large, old book with him, which he opened in front of him. “Now, let’s see. Give me a light, please… There we go. 18th Century… Hm.”
“Georgian?” helped Julian, kneeling on the floor next to the low table with the book. The house was Georgian, maybe that helped.
“Maybe so… Late 18th century, probably. Now all we have to do is find a ‘who’s who’ of that era, hm?” Sir Oliver closed the book. “Can’t you just find that actor, or model agency, and ask them who he is?”
“It’s no model,” said Julian with a frown. “I can’t explain it to, not exactly, but that pic has been made with a time travel machine. It’s for real. And I count on your discretion not to tell anyone, okay?”
The tailor looked blank. “A photo made by a time travel machine? Gee… It will be so hard not to tell anybody. I’ve always wanted to be locked away in a nut house.”
Julian sat back in his seat, and took his brandy. “I’m serious, Ollie,” he said with a frown. “I’ve invested in this project, to make a time machine. I actually saw that actual image, but only briefly, and then the power went down. It’s real!”
“You spent your good money on a photo of a model, Jules… But you’re afraid to admit it. Oh well,” the older man shrugged, “suit yourself. It’s your money, after all. But I wouldn’t buy it for a million.”
Since that was just about the amount Julian had spent so far, he blushed a bit, and focused on his drink. “Maybe I’ll just go back and see what they’re doing,” he mumbled.
“Yeah, maybe you should. And you should spend some time with that machine to see what happens if you leave it on for a while. I bet you a new suit that you’ll see a whole crew appearing.”
“You’re on,” said Julian. “I get a new suit for free if it’s real, but not a normal suit. If I win, then you’ll make me an exact replica of an 18th century outfit, handmade, and complete. Deal?”
Sir Oliver laughed aloud. “Deal,” he chuckled. “There’s no way you’ll win. If you lose, I want the equivalent of a suit like that would cost you. Let’s shake hands on it.”
And so Julian left the tailor, more determined than ever, to find out if this was real. And who this man was. He hoped, no, he prayed, that he didn’t spend his money on a model.
After spending another small fortune on the project, all Julian could do was waiting for the next ‘amazing result’. He spent the time reading and daydreaming, feeling more excited than he’d ever admit. They had a glimpse of the past… No matter how unclear it had been, it was an enormous result. Even he could feel the anticipation when the men phoned him and invited him over for the next experiment. Maybe now they would see some more, and find out what time they were actually seeing.
Julian was pushed into the chair again, with a cigar and a brandy this time, and just like the first time there were flashes on the large screen. At first, it seemed as fuzzy as before, but then it happened. The drink went down the wrong way as Julian suddenly looked into the face of a young man with blue eyes, a white powdered wig, a high collar with a brooch and a white, thin wide blouse.
“Holy shit!” he gasped, quickly putting his drink aside. Now that was an amazing result! He made a disappointed sound when the image faded to black, and the machine shut itself down. “What? What’s happening! Bring it back!” Julian was perched up at the edge of his seat, glaring at Simon and Greg.
“I’m sorry sir,” sighed Simon. “This is all we can manage for now. It takes an tremendous amount of energy to bring even this brief image into view…”
“Energy? You mean power? You need more? I’ll give you more!” The blue eyes were still burning in his retina. “I’ll give you aggregates, as many as you need!” Julian jumped up, and legged fiercely to the computer. “You’ve taped that, didn’t you? Print me a copy of that face!”
Simon was taken aback, and stammered quietly. “I erh… Yes sir, we taped it. It’s… We’re…”
“I’ll give a nice print on glossy paper,” helped Greg his mate out again. “Maybe you can find out who he is, sir, while we work on the machine some more. How’s that?”
“Perfect!” Julian waited impatiently until the print was done, and almost snatched it from Greg’s hand. “Give me that. I’ll find out who he is… I’ll give you more money if you need it. Just give me results, gentlemen. I want more… Much more of this.”
When Julian left the two stunned scientists, first he arranged a few huge generators and enough fuel to run them for weeks. If they needed more power, they would get all they needed and more. Then he went to his personal tailor, to show him the photo. Research would go a lot easier when he knew what era to search in.
While he sat at the back seat of his Rolls, Julian couldn’t keep his eyes off the photo. The man was looking straight back at him, as if he had been looking into a mirror… And he looked sad. Something in the life of this handsome nobleman was not right, and it affected him. With that, it affected Julian as well.
Such beautiful eyes should never gleam with tears…
Sir Oliver –yes, even tailors could become noble, especially when you were as good as this man– welcomed his young friend with open arms. He expected Julian to ask for another suit, as he did almost monthly, and was surprised to have a photo pushed into his face.
“Who is that?” asked Julian bluntly, even before he sat down. “You’re a historian, Ollie, so tell me!”
“Oh, uhm… Maybe we should sit down first.” Sir Oliver set the example, sitting down in his favourite chair. “Now tell me what you mean. This is a photo… So why do you need me to tell you who it is, as an historian and a tailor?”
“Forget the fact it’s a photo,” waved Julian impatiently. “Look at his clothes and that wig, and that brooch. What time period did men wear such clothes and accessories?”
“Hm…” Oliver straightened his specs, looking more closely. “It’s amazingly accurate,” he said thoughtfully. “Looking at the wig and blouse, I should say… 18th century. The brooch should be able to tell us more… But then I need a book. One minute, Julian. Help yourself on some drinks, please.”
Julian walked to the drinks cabinet and poured out two brandies, waiting for the tailor to return. Finally, the man emerged, carrying a large, old book with him, which he opened in front of him. “Now, let’s see. Give me a light, please… There we go. 18th Century… Hm.”
“Georgian?” helped Julian, kneeling on the floor next to the low table with the book. The house was Georgian, maybe that helped.
“Maybe so… Late 18th century, probably. Now all we have to do is find a ‘who’s who’ of that era, hm?” Sir Oliver closed the book. “Can’t you just find that actor, or model agency, and ask them who he is?”
“It’s no model,” said Julian with a frown. “I can’t explain it to, not exactly, but that pic has been made with a time travel machine. It’s for real. And I count on your discretion not to tell anyone, okay?”
The tailor looked blank. “A photo made by a time travel machine? Gee… It will be so hard not to tell anybody. I’ve always wanted to be locked away in a nut house.”
Julian sat back in his seat, and took his brandy. “I’m serious, Ollie,” he said with a frown. “I’ve invested in this project, to make a time machine. I actually saw that actual image, but only briefly, and then the power went down. It’s real!”
“You spent your good money on a photo of a model, Jules… But you’re afraid to admit it. Oh well,” the older man shrugged, “suit yourself. It’s your money, after all. But I wouldn’t buy it for a million.”
Since that was just about the amount Julian had spent so far, he blushed a bit, and focused on his drink. “Maybe I’ll just go back and see what they’re doing,” he mumbled.
“Yeah, maybe you should. And you should spend some time with that machine to see what happens if you leave it on for a while. I bet you a new suit that you’ll see a whole crew appearing.”
“You’re on,” said Julian. “I get a new suit for free if it’s real, but not a normal suit. If I win, then you’ll make me an exact replica of an 18th century outfit, handmade, and complete. Deal?”
Sir Oliver laughed aloud. “Deal,” he chuckled. “There’s no way you’ll win. If you lose, I want the equivalent of a suit like that would cost you. Let’s shake hands on it.”
And so Julian left the tailor, more determined than ever, to find out if this was real. And who this man was. He hoped, no, he prayed, that he didn’t spend his money on a model.