Мой шеф сегодня очевидно был в хорошем настроении. Когда мы общались в кабинете - кто-то позвонил в офис, как оказалось, ошиблись номером. Так он разговаривал с этим товарищем таким натурально
сексуальным голосом, как будто тут не отдел капитального строительства МО, а бюро интим-услуг. Человек на том конце провода видимо подофигел основательно, потому что переспросил куда он попал кажется раза три. Я тоже мягко говоря удивилась. А вы говорите военные...
Я все такое в делах, в делах. Опять не высыпаюсь. Блин.
Зато мне сегодня сказали, что мой английский улучшися ^_^ Иииии...какая прелесть! Но написать начало-то я написала, а вот что дальше с моими персонажами делать - я не знаю. Предложения?
The semidarkness of this little cafe was quite soothing. Van Helsing rubbed the bridge of his nose, sighing. It was late in the afternoon and he was extremely tired and annoyed with the workshop which had been carried on by the London university. All he wanted now was to dinner in a quiet place.
Alone. Without those bored faces of old noble professors and their arrogant assistants. That’s why he had chosen this place, far enough from the university and all the crowded streets, with no people around here at this time. The only person, except himself and a waiter was a thin dark figure two tables away from him. The man’s appearance, as Helsing could notice from a passing glance, was strange for London streets – despite fine clothes, he looked unusual to say at the least: long locks of slightly curling black hair were covering half of his face, and the man was all dressed in black except the ridiculous red tie around the pale neck and a fur cape, dangling from his shoulders. An artist, maybe, or an actor, Van Helsing shrugged. They often dressed eccentric. Abraham bowed slightly at the entrance as the man was looking straight at him, then passed to his table and took a sit, leaning back in his chair and unfolding the papers he bought on the way here.
читать дальшеWhen the waiter finally came to him, Helsing ordered a chicken and a pudding with a cup of tea.
Skimming the articles absently, while waiting for his dish to come, he noticed with displeasure that the stranger was still watching him. And not just watching – staring at him. This was annoying. Abraham didn’t like to be watched, especially while he was eating. He also noticed with his side vision that the only thing that was on the man’s table was a bottle of red wine, opened, but not touched, and a clear empty glass, the man was twisting by the stem in his long thin fingers. Who could ever this stranger be? Another male prostitute, Abraham happened to meet in his rare journeys to the north of his town? Impossible. Not in the broad daylight, not in the centre of London. And the man’s clothes both as wine, he had ordered, seemed to be not of the cheap ones.
For some time Abraham tried to ignore his gaze in a hope that the stranger would lose his interest in him, but the man continued to stare as if Helsing was a kind of exotic animal at a zoo. Finally Abraham lost his patience and lowered the newspaper down to the table, turning to the impudent stranger with a strained smile. “Do we have the pleasure to know each other?” he asked in a cold defiant tone. The stranger raised his eyebrows at the surprise of the sudden reaction, then smiled broadly “I sincerely doubt it” He answered in a sickly-sweet voice. This mocking smile and luscious words enraged Abraham, though he tried to stay calm, his anger was quite noticeable now “Haven’t anyone told you then, that staring at people, you unfamiliar with, is at least impolite?”
The stranger stood up and paced to Helsing’s table in a cat -like manner and standing right before it made a deep long bow. “Allow me to introduce myself” the man announced, straightening “My name is Alfred Hoffman And I’m very sorry about my impolite behavior. Please forgive me, for I’m a stranger here. I came to this marvelous island two weeks ago from my native land and still don’t know all the customs and traditions of this country.”
As he talked, his speech was becoming more and more unintelligible, because he began to talk with a terrible accent, distorting the words, which was strange, because his first answer was spoken in a pure English. Van Helsing leaned back in his chair with a sigh – the foreigner was obviously mad, it was clear from the glimpse in his eyes. Such a specimen would interest Seward, but not him. He, himself, was often loyal to insane people and pitied them, but not now, when he was so tired and exhausted. Though he felt that his rage had suddenly disappeared, leaving its place to dull annoyance and a bit of surprise. Maybe that was not as bad as it seemed, he and Seward would laugh, remembering this story someday later.
“My name is Abraham Van Helsing” he paused, still not sure, if he wanted to talk to this geezer. “So what do you want from me, Alfred Hoffmann?”
The foreigner smiled and slid to the chair across the table, resting his hands on the table and leaning forward “You fascinate me, Abraham Van Helsing.” He whispered in a silky voice “You are so unlike all the Englishmen I see on the streets here” And now he was talking without an accent again.
Abraham smirked, fighting the wish to lower his eyes. He didn’t like the glance of the stranger. “Maybe that’s because I’m naturally Dutch?”
Hoffmann leaned back in the chair and threw his head back, laughing almost soundlessly, just his shaking chest showing the level of his amusement. “Oh, no, no.” He scoffed, turning his eyes back to Helsing’s totally unamused face “That’s not what I wanted to say. No. I mean you differ from common folk – you speak different, you move different, you breath different, gosh!.. you even smell different! I feel it but I can’t explain” He leaned across the table “Who are you, Van Helsing?"
Van Helsing frowned - this lunatic could be more dangerous then he supposed. He was going to answer something harsh, but in that moment the waiter came to their table, brining the dish and for several moments silence hang over the hall and there was only the sound of claning tableware breaking it.
When the waiter left, Abraham looked at the hot chicken, which was lying on the plate, exhaling the odorous smell, doubtfully . He seemed to have lost his appetite. "I'm just a doctor" he stated, still looking at the chicken, then raised his eyes to his interlocutor