mr Soual, again

Anthea Soual wears a classical outfit, one which seems to be uncommon among the inhabitants of the Inner City. He wears a tailored vest, single-breasted, six buttons, matched to the rest of his suit which when I saw him was of the old continental style, double vent, his lapels peaked, every line in the brown pattern matching immaculately at every seam, his shirt beneath without a single rumple, collar perfectly symmetrical in a rich white cream contrasting the dark, sanguine purple and green striped tie. The effect was stunning, both by the very combination of such arresting elements; but also in that it set him clearly apart from his cohorts, they, clean and conservative, a dull background, and duly ignored (as was intended, not that anyone took care to note such things as intentions anymore).

His face is long, equine, but its proportions are such that they seem to be derived from abstract aesthetics: his appearance is at once uncontrived and yet unreal as though fashioned from a dream of something shocking when encountered in the mind only to be seen the very same day as imagined, and to find such that very same appearance ordinary and almost mundane (and therefore subtly unsettling). His hair is likewise fashionably styled, like a duck's ass, unmoving as he speaks.. his aristocratic air is then punctuated but not betrayed by his youth, which is indeterminate but definite, and while authoritative in his classicism the fact that he is presented strikingly is cause for consideration. This effect, of course, leave those whose company he keeps, unconsidered, and wholly unnoticed.

He appears like a picture, and is never shown in motion.. his speeches are articulate but unfeeling, his gaze slow and sweeping, his manner and direction of presentation glacial but fearsomely inevitable: if his eyes have not yet arrived at you they will, and though they may have passed, too surely will they return.

And though the teleosperes within Outer Autopia are attenuated to character instead of appearance, there is no reading of mr Soual's intent: it is as though he is an empty statue, speaking but unthinking, directed but unintending.

Quite the figurehead.