GBA(s)FC Entry #26

Ampullae DeLorenzini
by Caveblogem

Jeremy's plans were unfolding like a Triple-A roadmap. After only three years of carefully calculated pandering he had secured an invitation to the boss's house, an opportunity to charm and overwhelm his daughter. She wouldn't know what hit her.

"Glad you could come, Jeremy," the old man said. "Let's walk to the main house."

Jeremy raised his eyebrows.

"We just greet guests here. Come, let's tour the grounds while we chat."

"Chat, sir?" Normally DeLorenzini of DeLorenzini was all business.

"I want to keep the company in the family, son. I've long hoped to find someone suitable to help my daughter preserve our fortune."

"I'm honored, sir."

"You're smart and hardworking, Jeremy, but it was your charm and diplomacy that the company needed, your people skills, trustworthiness."

Jeremy blushed, just enough.

"Don't worry," the old man smiled, "if she doesn't like you, you still work for DeLorenzini."

"Yes, sir."

"Jeremy. Amy's completely blind."

Two more eyebrows lifted in concern. "From birth?"

"Accident. Point is, her other senses are heightened. Hearing, of course, but her senses of touch and proprioception support a sense entirely novel. Bats use echolocation. Her method, developed in childhood, combines all her other senses. We have no name for it."

Jeremy briefly wondered about disfigurement. It didn't matter, really, not for this kind of money. DeLorenzini continued as Jeremy evaluated the property, thinking: the driveway cost more than my house.

"She reads a room's air currents, body heat. She sees gestures, Jeremy, posture, perhaps even facial expressions."

Jeremy blinked.

"You'll find her behavior odd," he continued, past the heliport and garage, the legendary car collection. "Careful not to dissemble."

Jeremy's nostrils and eyes burned as they entered an opulent, Regency Era, oven. DeLorenzini shed his jacket and tie.

"Warm, dry air is easier to read, she says." He shook his head, smiled. "She'll be right down."

Jeremy saw her atop the stairs and gasped. Early twenties, long, straight, golden hair in a pony tail, she was tall, athletic, in shorts and halter top, no shoes, radiant and exquisite.

She descended quickly, lightly, nowhere near the railing. Her eyes, nearly shut, lent a relaxed, dreamy air to a half smile. Jeremy's jaw dropped.

Introductions made, she began a strange dance composed of slow arm lifts, measured pirouettes, oddly paced, shifting postures, while they talked small. Limbs arrayed antennae-like sought the perfect fix on his signals. She circled hypnotically, quizzing him about his education, his childhood, facing him to speak, maintaining her fairy waltz.

Eventually, she asked what had brought him.

"Oh, some business," he said, quickly regretting his mistake.

With a shout, "you pompous thief!" she rent the exchange, just as he decided things were going well.

She is insane, thought Jeremy, reeling on his heels, and then aloud, with a hurt and patronizing tone, "I'm sorry if I've offended you, Amy," throwing pleading eyes at her father.

Amy stepped smartly between them and punched Jeremy in the throat.