This is a scene that was originally in my urban fantasy. I was writing in first person, hit this scene, and realized that first just wasn’t doing what the story needed. Since I had just done omniscient viewpoint in a workshop, I tried it and this was the result. It convinced me to write the book in omniscient, though the scene ended up on the cutting room floor.
The snippet:
The first thing visitors noticed when they entered Governor Isai’s apartment was the smell. Thirty years’ worth of cigarette smoke permeated everything, discoloring the walls, the outdated furniture, and even the artwork.
Keymas followed a houseman to a conversational area near a window. Though the curtains were open, light struggled to brighten the dark room A sofa and loveseat were arranged in an L-shape around a small coffee table. A tea service with unmatched chipped eggshell china sat on the table, dangerously close to a full ashtray.
The houseman bowed. “The governor will be with you momentarily.”
Once the houseman left, Keymas nudged the ashtray away from the teapot with a spoon. Tea was better if it didn’t taste like cigarette smoke, though with butter tea, it would be an improvement. The smell was worse than the cigarette smoke.
‘Momentarily’ was exactly twenty-three minutes.
Keymas stood as Isai emerged from another doorway. Standing was a sign of respect for the position of governor, though Keymas did not respect the man himself. It was difficult enough pretending to be a subordinate of Isai.
“Good morning, Governor,” Keymas said, bowing. The bow was properly respectful, neither too shallow or too deep; yet, there was also a suggestion of arrogance, as if Keymas thought himself more important than Isai.
Isai tossed the morning’s newspaper on the table, the tabloidy headline prominently displayed: “Magic Stud Buys Dud.” The painting made a full page day for the House, since Chardoney’s murder occupied the below the fold slot.
Keymas glanced at it. “Nice photo of me. They got my good side.”
“Park it.” Isai flapped his hand at Keymas to sit down. He set out his favorite ceramic mug, stained from years of use, and filled it from the teapot.
To be polite, Keymas filled a cup halfway. He tried not to look too closely at what was floating on the surface. Normally, he would have turned down the offer or requested an alternative. Most people wouldn’t have thought twice.
Isai wasn’t most people. He considered an insult not to drink what was offered, even if the other person hated it. An Eighth House trait, Isai’s House of Origin. The newer generation of Eighth House were drifting away from the custom, but people Isai’s age still followed it.
“Why is it that I have sixty-three Kai and you’re the only one I have trouble with?”
That accusation would make most people try to answer it, defend themselves. But Keymas was an old pro under the spotlight. Nothing showed on his face, no anger, no defensiveness, nothing but pleasantness. One never knew when a paparazzo might be lurking.
“I can’t imagine. Sugar?” Keymas offered a chipped sugar bowl filled with cubes.
Isai batted aside the sugar bowl, nearly knocking it from Keymas’ hand. “Where’d you get it from?”
“It was on the table. Do you want the houseman to send up different sugar?”
“Not the sugar. The money. To pay for the damn painting!”
