At The Opera

The aria sounded like shit. The decorations were tacky. And the fashion this time of year was too flashy. At least, that's what Fredrick would say if you asked him. He was sitting with legs crossed in the darkened theater, watching Victoria's ex struggle his way through his part in Don Juan. What a ponce.

Er wasn't with them anymore. They'd left her in the doll pen when they'd come in. A stone dungeon that most high class entertainment venues had installed where dolls could be plugged in and restrained when their services weren't needed. It was a shame. Thankfully, the venue had it's own in-house dolls who he could ping if he wanted a drink.

Victoria was sitting motionless. She was obviously running a chat with Mrs. Whaterford, who was sitting next to her. It was more polite to chat internally during a performance, even if the image of the two women sitting perfectly still right next to one another was amusing. Whaterford and her husband had both been Victoria's class at Stanford, so they probably were on familiar terms with Marcus.

Fredrick drifted away from the scenes. He casually opened his stock portfolio and matched it with the rise and fall of prices and commodities. His oil company investment would go well this quarter, considering the renewed price competitiveness of synthetic petroleum. But, that task got boring too quickly. He opened an E-copy of a book he'd been reading, Trilby, to the page he was on. However, that wasn't going to be satisfying and he knew it. The paper copy was always better.

At last he settled on sending a typed message to his sister. She'd probably have a laugh about him being trapped here....

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