Sir Ronan Radford was mild mannered but strict when he needed to be.
He sat placidly, fingers clasped, leg crossed.
The bald headed man gave a warm benign smile at the nervous Chetanna and gestured for he to come forward.
Chetanna giggled to himself when he squinted at the shimmering reflection of the halogen lights on the smooth bald head of the banneret.
Ronan was a genius, an S rank detective and a hero of the Cold War, knighted by the Queen, herself.
Often, the other knights would joke that the bewildering knowledge of the fifty-four year old was responsible for his unforgiving demise of hair.
Ronans grey eyes followed Chetanna charily, yet bearing no suspicion in them, unlike the rest of the crew.
He reached for the dark mans hands and shook them — oh behold the contrasting colorations between both hands, the chiaroscuro; the interplay of light and dark exaggerated by two skin tones.
The Alpha Knights diamond Rolex watch startled Chetannas eyes when Ronan relieved the African Englishman.
Chetanna found shelter beside a charming young man dressed in a velvet jacket that smouldered peacefully.
He smiled graciously, the lad beaming with innocence; such that eradicated all remnants of trepidation within Chetanna.
The twenty four year old was the youngest on the posse yet the bravest and most daring.
Knox Brandon, his name, an American Englishman with the air of a falcon; unassuming as unostentatious.
Some thought he was oo pretty to be dangerous but such underestimation swung the advantage to his side on the battlefield at all times.
He would smirk in triumph after he had disarmed an opponent who belittled him.
When he spoke, he flicked his shiny silky hair, the pigment of heated bronze.
Two stray strands fell down his forehead, greased with gel, often, they teared up his eye.
A bright blue fire orbited his dreamy turquoise eyes, giving them the charm of a lake, casting a spell on every single female they glanced at.
His skin was like polished cedar. The magnificence of the artistry evident on the lads face was applaudable; whether god or angel, whomever sculpted it was a master of art and the young crime fighter was a masterpiece.
The granite cheek bones, the narrow pointed nose, the rose pink lips were all splendorous too.
”Hi. Names Knox Brandon, Call me Knox, ” the lad said, raising a brow and stretching a hand.
His accent gave away an obvious southern English ancestry, perfectly unchanged despite those influential years back in the great American institution, Harvard where Brandon had graduated with a first class.
His adroitness lured powerful agencies to him and his fame grew rapidly throughout Europe and America.
From Swat, to Navy Seal, every criminal shivered at the sound of his name, a reputation as formidable as that had certainly attracted interest from Knightsbane.
Decorated and celebrated, Knoxs heroic antics had earned him innumerable medals; knighted by the Queen of England at a tender age.
There was much too special about the red knight, as though a magnetic force orbited around him, compelling all creation to gaze at his awe.
”Chetanna…Eze, Cheta, if you please. ” Chetanna said with a wavering smile, feeling somewhat embarrassed at the awkward strangeness of his own name as he shook Knoxs hand.
”Beautiful name, Im guessing West African? Chi-te-nar? ” Knox made funny faces in an honest attempt to pronounce the strange mans name but he just seemed to bite his tongue.
”You know what? Ill just call you, Tanna. ”
”Why do you love to shorten everything, hermano? ” a rugged classic man taunted Knox with a smile, mockingly toothy.
His accent gave away his undiluted pure Italian ancestry. His hair, darker than ebony was heavily infested with curls and his eyes were coffee brown.
They announced his foreignness, not to mention his tanned olive skin, pompous sideburns, humbly trimmed beard and sober mustache.
He wore a nicely pressed Tvente shirt, a customized fit that wrinkled at the elbows.
His collar button was loose, it revealed a lurid tattoo of Da Vincis venerable Mona Lisa across his neck.
Knoxs mischief-brewed smile hatched a naughty swerve at the corner of a single cheek.
”The Sicilian jester over theres Negrini Ermacora. You know clowns, always seeking attention, ”
Knox countered the Italians verbal attack and the whole table burst into laughter, Ermacora leading the uproar.
Ronan Radford was patient to permit such humour on the table before going straight to business.
”Knights, I present to you, our newest member…Chetanna Eze. ”
A round of applause accompanied Ronans words, following a few muffled murmurs, congratulations.
”What can I say? Mr Eze is a genius, an attorney of proficiency and mastery.
A talisman, with a winning streak of 30 solved cases.
His finesse and expertise caught our attention.. So I could not resist making Chetanna an offer…to join us here at Knightsbane.
As you all know, Knightsbane is an undercover agency, licensed by the government to investigate peculiar heinous crimes all over the world.
Our membership is comprised of artful crime fighters with unique abilities. And Mr. Eze… is one of kind!
Im glad hes agreed to work with us. ”
The acclamation resurrected once more bringing everyone to their feet and faded into shattering silence as before.
”Any words to share briefly, Mr Eze? ”
The adrenaline rush began bubbling within the dark skinned fellow again.
He sighed to overcome the nervousness that overwhelmed him and spoke calmly.
There was an absolute transformation in his accent, evolving his tongue to a flawless British elocution. It was one of his many talents; blending in…
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