Prepare for randomness and heart attacks

I was just going to write book reviews, but I haven't felt like it lately. So, I'm going to write just whatever I want.

Today is a short story I wrote in 15 minutes in class for my villains creative writing class. It was fun and I was please with how it turned out. (PS: The instructions were to not us cliché villains, specifically, according to the teacher, villains with cats, maniacal laughs, and monocles. A friend of mine told me that the teacher looked like he was going to have a heart-attack at the beginning of mine. Read it and find out why!)

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“And then, I shall take over the world!” the older man finished, laughing so manically that his monocle fell off and his white Persian cat skittered off under the piano.

“Yes, of course, dear,” said the young lady, sitting across from him without looking up from her embroidery.

“Time for a drink,” he muttered and tried to stand, but his portly belly and arthritic knees caused him to flop right back into his chair.

“Let me get that, dear.” She stood and swept a lock of golden hair back from her face. The hem of her skirt swayed about her knees as she walked over to the drinks cart.

With her back to her husband, she filled his glass, the ice chiming as it dropped in, the liquid sloshing deliciously. She glanced over her shoulder once, before finishing her task.

“Here you are, dear,” she said warmly, handing her him his drink and interrupting his moody contemplation of the flames.

“But it would never work,” he mumbled back to her.

“Of course not, dear.” She kissed his wrinkled cheek, leaving a crimson stain of lipstick. “Drink up,” she said as she sauntered back to her couch and stretched out on it. She stared at him intently, transfixed as the old man continued muttering to the flames. Gradually, his head began to nod and the glass slipped to the floor.

She reached for the silver bell and before its melody had faded, a servant enter, ducking under the door frame and eyeing the chandelier.

“Yes, ma’am?” She said nothing for a moment, her gaze now fixed on him.

“I’m afraid that Lord Tomas has fallen asleep in his chair. Again. Would you see to it that he gets up stairs?”

“Of course ma’am,” his muscles were obvious under his white shirt. He would need them to get the old man upstairs. There was a squeak of old floorboards at the closed door behind them. “Such a shame that it’s been happening so often,” he said, his voice raised a bit. His gaze dropped to her legs, exposed and draped across the couch, the pale flesh glowing like pearls in the firelight.

“Such a shame,” he repeated, quieter this time with a wry smile on his lips.

“Quite,” she agreed, her crimson lips stretching into a smile.