This is just the barest start to a story. I’m trying to figure out if it’s compelling enough right now.
They gathered, as they did every third Thursday, around the long table. A mixed bunch, the one thing they had in common was that they were the movers, the shakers, the society people. It was Stan‘s turn to host, his turn to come up with something new. A lot of pressure given the group. After three hundred years it was a challenge to do something novel, to shock.
Marie was impatient. “Stan, dahling, please get on with it. We don’t have forever.”
“Actually My dear, we do have forever. That’s exactly the problem isn’t it?” said Donnie. He could always be counted to speak plainly. He was different from the rest, even his clothes reflected that. A plain shirt and faded jeans over canvas shoes, Chuck Taylors usually. He wasn’t even beautiful, face a bit too wide, eyes a boring brown. Contrasted with Marie it was like they were a different species.
Let them wait. Nobody was going to top tonight. In another three hundred years they would still be talking about tonight.