Scrambled Eggs - Take Two

When Brit opened the door, snow flurries swept in to the room in a swirl along with a bundled woman named Miriam. The door shut with a whistle of wind. Brit welcomed the visitor while helping her out of her cloak and scarves. The woman greeted Brit stiffly in a heavily accented voice, “My name is Miriam. I have come to instruct you to make eggs.” Brit smiled happily and Miriam watched as Brit placed the cloak and scarves on a hanger. Turning, Miriam saw Ethan sitting near the window and froze in place.

“This is my beloved Ethan, Miriam. Ethan, we have a visitor,” Brit said in her soft lisp. Miriam offered an awkward curtsey, which caused Ethan to frown. Tilting her head, she quirked over Miriam’s change in behavior. “I am sure that Ethan was expecting you, Miriam.” Miriam nodded and kept her attention on Ethan.

Ethan turned his attention to the woman. “I was indeed. Please do come in. I thank you for offering your services.” With a grin toward Brit, he continued, “Brit seeks to learn the art of perfecting scrambled eggs. We were told that you have been practicing for years.” Ethan returned to his book.

Miriam relaxed a bit at the smile. Nodding, she exclaimed, “Yes. Yes. I have been scrambling eggs for visitors and..well, visitors for a few hundred years!” Brit’s eyes widened as she had seen the woman out during the daytime. The woman looked at her hands and said more softly, “Yes, yes. A few hundred years can expand to a lifetime.”

The woman Miriam looked to be about 40 years of age. She seemed to be a woman who had lived life without much luxury. Walking to the refrigerator, she pulled out several ingredients: Eggs, milk, and real butter. Turning to Brit, she seemed to almost appraise her before speaking. “You will not get a good result if your ingredients are not quality. Look here.” Miriam poured a bowl of water and tossed in a few pinches of salt. Swirling the water, she then put in the eggs which sank immediately. “Eggs that float are old.” Brit nodded in understanding. “Fresh egg shells are rough and chalky. If they are smooth and shiny, you can discard them.”

Brit’s eyes widened at such sage advice. Miriam gave a nod of approval seeing that her words were being heeded. Brit tested all six eggs and found one that floated. “Out it goes,” said Miriam. Brit tossed the egg into the waste bin and retrieved another egg. Ethan raised an eyebrow before closing his book to watch the lesson.

“Low fat milk is used, though it is a modern concept. For years, we used cream. Un-pasteurized cream.” Brit said nothing in reply. Miriam muttered, “Modern times. Now people think even whole milk is too heavy,” which caused Ethan to grin again. Miriam reached for a bowl and instructed Brit to break the eggs into the bowl. Brit carefully cracked each egg and inspected for shells between each egg addition. Miriam waited patiently. “Sometimes, you may be forced to use an egg that is not so fresh.” Lowering her voice, Miriam whispered, “They will seem fresher if you add one single drop of vanilla.” Brit mouthed the word ‘vanilla’ as she committed the secret to memory.

Miriam tapped the bowl. “Use copper for eggs. Add 1 half eggshell of milk for each egg and one dash of salt for each two eggs.” Miriam demonstrated. Pantomiming, Miriam added, “And do not stir the eggs with a whisk. You will lift them and drop. Like a tilted wheel motion. Beat them until they are frothy and even colored. Brit carefully followed the instructions. Miriam turned to Ethan after ensuring that Brit was on the right path. She opened her mouth as if to say something to him but he was focused on Brit with an expression of sheer amusement and delight.

Miriam examined the contents after 2 minutes and warned, “Never over beat the eggs. They will fail to be fluffy.” Brit waited for the next set of instructions. Pulling a well-used 12 inch skillet, Miriam said, “This is the right size for six eggs. First, heat it up. Do not add butter before it is warmed.” Setting it on the flames, all three simply watched as the fire licked the skillet. Miriam indicated that Brit should add about a tablespoon of butter. The butter flowed without sizzle and coated the bottom of the pan.

Brit tilted the skillet as Miriam showed her to do and then added the eggs into the skillet as the last bit of butter liquefied. Miriam showed her to watch for indications that the eggs were setting before using a spatula to push the eggs toward the center and tilting so more liquid eggs would fill the spot. Brit followed the instructions carefully to Ethan’s delight at watching his wife’s wonder over such a simple thing.

As Brit slowly pressed the eggs as indicated, Miriam turned again to watch Ethan. After a moment, she spoke, “When ingredients are not kept properly, they will age. Age fast.” Neither Brit nor Ethan responded but Ethan’s glance shifted to Miriam. Miriam continued, “It is a little thing…to keep something from aging.” Ethan’s jaw set a bit before he walked over to Brit. His hand touched his wife lightly on the waist and caressed her hair pulling it back. Miriam kept her gaze on Ethan even as Brit smiled up at his touch. Brit continued to cook the eggs. Miriam’s eyes shifted to Brit’s hands before looking down at her own weathered hands.

Miriam showed Brit how to break up the large clumps and, when there was no more egg to run, Miriam told Brit to flip all over and count to fifteen. Then, she pointed to the plate and said, “Good. Now place them there and you can add more salt or pepper, if you like.”

Brit beamed at Miriam, “They look perfect!”

Miriam laughed briefly, “I assure you that you will find none better.” To Ethan, she added, “Your lady is a budding chef.” Ethan nodded obviously pleased at Brit’s excitement. Miriam politely declined when Brit asked her to share the eggs and directed Brit to enjoy them while they were warm. As Brit nibbled, Miriam went down the list of things one should never do to eggs. “Do not stir eggs. Do not beat whites then add yolks.” Brit ate slowly taking in all advice. “Never use baking powder in eggs. Nor sugar. Sea salt and salt. It is truly all the same.”

Brit said to Ethan, “We should stay a long time! I could learn lots, I think.” Ethan smiled at her as she ate the eggs.

Miriam responded quickly, “I could offer other lessons.” Brit bounced looking to Ethan.

Feeling the over anxiousness of Miriam, Ethan’s smile faded. He shrugged and said, “We shall contact your employer when Brit tires of eggs.”

Miriam pressed a thumb to her mouth staring at the window. Brit took another bite of eggs and Ethan caressed her hair again as he watched the woman seated across from them. Taking a hard look at her, Ethan could see Miriam's panic within and he was sure he could smell death upon her. Miriam was aging quickly. “Are you okay,” asked Brit.

“I.” Miriam looked from one to the other. Ethan could hear the woman’s heart race. “I need to drink,” she whispered in a panicked voice staring straight at Ethan. Brit looked to the refrigerator offering a stammered apology for not offering Miriam a refreshment. As Brit babbled, Ethan spoke silently to Brit to return to the table and sit down. Brit turned to him and blinked before doing as he indicated.

Placing his hands on Brit’s shoulders, Ethan said calmly, “You need to talk to your keeper. Several centuries yield a lot of loyalty. Perhaps you can find a way to remind him of your needs.”

“Please,” Miriam whispered. “I only need a little.” Ethan stiffened as Brit looked from one to the other bewildered. Miriam begged, “Please. I..I shall not last much longer.” Ethan did not respond. Miriam’s voice caught, “My years were like hers less than a month ago.”

Ethan’s hand went to Brit’s hair protectively and he said, “I am sorry. You should go now.” Pink-tinged tears formed in Miriam’s frightened eyes causing Brit no little anxiety. Ethan pulled Brit to him and nodded to Miriam. As Miriam started to say something else, Ethan whispered, “Go.” Miriam’s sob caught in her throat. She grabbed her cloak and scarves to run out of the cabin.

The wind howled into the cabin from the opened door. Ethan crossed to secure the door before returning to pull Brit close. Picking her up, he covered Brit and sat back in his chair cradling her to him. “Why is her beloved not feeding her?” asked Brit.

Ethan felt her racing heartbeat and could imagine her thoughts within. “I don’t know, baby. I do know it will never happen to you.” Not wanting to remind her that not all who are kept are beloved, Ethan pulled Brit closer and shushed her softly. He could hear the questions she was forming within.

Scrambled Eggs - Take One

The recipe seemed easy. It called for six large eggs, six tablespoons of low-fat milk, and some butter for frying. It also called for three dashes of salt, which caused Brit some concern. Additionally, Ethan was quite sure that black pepper might enhance the flavor. “The book does not say that though,” whispered Brit.

“Cookbooks are guides, Brit. Not Bibles,” replied Ethan. He paused looking over a letter that he was reading. Tapping the paper, he smiled to her. “Unless you are baking. Then you may wish to stick to the recipe as baking is a bit like alchemy. There is an art to it.” Brit puffed her cheeks and looked at the recipe again shifting uncomfortably. Placing his letter aside, he said encouragingly, “You can follow the instructions as they are written. Then we shall assess what to change.”

Brit nodded and found a small bowl. She changed to a larger bowl after adding the fourth egg. Using a fork, she meticulously removed broken bits of shell. “Oh no. I did not heat a large non-stick skillet.” Turning from the bowl of eggs, she fished about for a skillet.

Ethan said, “Maybe reading the entire recipe would be the better plan. Then you would know what to do and in what order it should be done.”

Beaming at him, Brit said, “That’s a way good plan.” She sat at the table and read the book again carefully making pictorial notes on a separate piece of paper. Comparing the notes to the cookbook, she looked up satisfied. Ethan helped her adjust the heat to “medium” after she pointed out there were no markings on the stove. Placing the skillet on the heat, Brit went back to adding the milk. She paused with the salt. “How much is a dash?”

“A dash is…” Ethan rubbed his chin. “Just bounce the shaker three times in the bowl.”

“Is that a dash?” Brit asked.

Ethan gave her another confident smile, “We can add more than take it away. Let us try that for now.” Brit carefully bounced the shaker three times over the bowl. Looking at her notes, he said, “And now, you should beat it vigorously for 2 minutes.” Seeing her hesitation, he motioned what he thought he should do.

“You mean mix them up lots?” She held the bowl peering into it.

Ethan nodded affirmatively, “Indeed. They are called ‘scrambled’. Brit started to stir the eggs after peering up at the clock to keep time. Ethan watched her with a hint of amusement. Brit had been enjoying the small cabin and playing house. Her hair framed her face as she worked. Noting the stove, he picked up a ribbon and walked behind her as she stirred. “When cooking, I wish you to tie your hair back, baby.” He could not help but shudder at the brief thought of what fire could do to both of them.

Ethan helped Brit add the butter to the skillet and watched as she poured in the egg mixture a bit too soon. The sizzle caused her to pause. Using a flat wooden spoon, she started to stir the eggs to the center as it said in the cookbook. Almost immediately clots of yellow egg started to form. Brit’s eyes widened as if she were witnessing magic. She continued to stir until all of the yellowy egg mixture had congealed and the outsides looked wet.

“Brit, it says you should break apart all of the big pieces and flip them over,” Ethan said as he pointed to the line in the book watching as Brit followed his instructions. Brit watched and counted the extra time to cook the eggs before scooping them out onto a plate. Ethan turned off the flame smirking, “And the last line is salt and pepper to taste.”

“What does that mean,” asked Brit.

“It means that you add salt and pepper until it is how you best enjoy it.” Brit nodded and Ethan gestured to the table. Brit nibbled her lower lip realizing she had forgotten to make toast. Ethan chuckled, “It does not matter. You can make toast later as it would be better, I think, than cold eggs.”

Shrugging, Brit grinned as she slid onto her chair and watched as Ethan brought the salt and pepper with him to face her. She ate the eggs slowly sprinkling a few grains of salt and/or pepper with each bite. Finally, she announced, “I like the eggs with salt and a tiny bit of pepper.”

Ethan chuckled and said, “Then we should write that in your book.” He picked up a pencil adding the note as Brit finished her eggs. When she was cleaning up, he asked, “Were the eggs good?”

“They were good, but they were not as good as when other people make them,” Brit replied. Ethan frowned and reread the recipe thinking that Brit had followed it reasonably well. Lisping, Brit said, “They were still yummy.”

Flipping through pages, Ethan said, “I am sure that we can find how to make them as you like them. This is but a start.” He placed the book aside and turned to her as she finished clearing the table. “You are yummy but that does not mean that I do not desire ways to see how I can improve on your perfection.”

Grabbing her up, he gave her several playful bites until she was giggling while squirming in his hold. Ethan continued until her heart was racing and then he bit deeply and drank several long sips while holding her closely. She melted against him fluidly making him think of the butter in the pan. As he drank, he swore he could taste the pepper. It was seemed like a memory of some dream.

Doing Things Alone

For Brit, the most exciting part of the trip was not the clandestine flight. It was not the elegance of the spectacular Mandarin Oriental Hotel in Munich with the suite that had uncovered windows that faced north allowing her an unobstructed view of the city. Ethan noticed that Brit spent time gazing out of the windows, and she also enjoyed the stretch limo that took them to the most exclusive places each night of their stay. The food was predictably excellent the night that Ethan took Brit to dine on a saddle of Whitford Hill deer smothered in dark chocolate and spice jus. Regardless, neither of those items made as much impact as when they checked out and Ethan accepted keys to the fiery red Mercedes. He held the door for Brit to get in as she stood in the stunned realization that a driver would not be taking them on the second leg of their trip. Ethan smirked, “Are you waiting for sunrise to continue our trip, Brit?”

Giggling, she hopped into the car and slid back against the buttery leather still blinking at him as he adjusted the mirrors. “I didn’t know that you really could drive, Ethan.”

Motioning to her seatbelt, he put his own on as she did. “I am full of talent, baby,” he chuckled with a wink. Turning the key, the car purred. Brit beamed at him. Her bright smile caused him to smile. “Well,” he explained with a wave of his hand. “You did say that we rarely do anything alone once we leave home.” She continued to look at him as she nuzzled a cheek against the leather of the seat. “I suppose I felt that perhaps we should stray from home more on our own.” Tapping his fingers, he mentally went over every aspect of the trip. He had not strayed from home without assistance in a very long time, but the drive would not take more than a few hours and they had all night.

Putting the car in gear, Ethan tapped the gas and the car lurched in fluid motion causing Brit to gasp in gleeful giggles. Her merriment caused Ethan to smile. His smile waivered upon hearing the GPS chirp out directions ‘Turn right’. “Yes, I know,” Ethan responded once and then simply shook his head. “Modern conveniences can be…” Brit looked to him expectantly. “Modern,” he grumbled softly turning as the GPS commanded him to do.

The full moon was high as they drove from the city. Ethan had considered taking a train, but what if it broke down? He relaxed more as the city lights formed a glow behind them. It had been several years since he drove on his own. Ethan had to admit that it felt good to be alone with Brit and not dependent on another. A disturbing thought of a car breakdown or other issue crossed his mind but he pushed it aside. It was simply a short trip, and he desired to give Brit a glimpse of what would be normal for any mortal couple.

As Ethan drove on, Brit played with the buttons on the car. She looked in the glove box and found chocolate. Chewing a piece, she smoothed her lipstick by using the make-up mirror above the visor. Ethan produced a CD of Trans-Siberian Orchestra to Brit who had been playing with the radio and was paused at a song by Flyboy. She inserted the CD and the sounds of “Wizards in Winter” seemed to surround the car. Snow started to fall.

Brit twisted in her seat exposing her thigh so that she could watch the snow swirl behind them. Ethan’s hand slid to the soft warmth of her thigh and lightly touched the bitemarks there. After several moments, he tapped her thigh and said, “Turn around, please. You can help watch where we are going.”

Brit turned to face forward lisping, “But I don’t know where we are going.” The sky continued to sprinkle snow as music played and they raced along in the car. Ethan’s hand stayed on her thigh and Brit watched out of the front window noticing that the road was winding while it carried them higher into the mountains. With the bright moon behind the scattered clouds that dropped snow, the world took on a blue-tinted glow.

Another hour passed and the clouds had thickened giving the air a darker feel. As the elevation climbed, the snow stopped falling. In its place was a slightly foggy glow. “Turn left in .5 kilometers,” said the GPS giving both of them a start. “Turn left in point five kilometers, Ethan,” lisped Brit.

Ethan stopped glowering at the GPS map and grinned. “Thank you, baby.” Turning at the correct point, the car followed a twisting gravel road that seemed to have been carved out of the mountain. The GPS was silent as if it had no more advice to give. “This looks familiar,” said Ethan. Ethan drove for another 10 minutes. Brit was quiet unsure where they were and feeling that the road was growing smaller and smaller.

Cresting a hilltop, Ethan made a hard right and pulled into a clearing. Other cars were peppered around tree stump guides hinting where one should park. As Ethan cut the engine, a figure emerged from a small cottage and walked toward them. In a language that Brit did not understand, Ethan greeted and the greeting was returned. The cloaked figure nodded to Brit and assisted Ethan to gather luggage from the car.

Brit took Ethan’s hand and followed the person who was helping them to navigate to their lodging. Brit noted that Ethan’s voice seemed relaxed and jovial to the other person’s comments. Turning down the path, Brit exclaimed, “Pretty!” Down the path, small cottages were each lined in Christmas lights.

Turning, the cloaked person said in an accented voice, “Many thanks. Though most visitors will be moving during the day up here. Skiing.” Brit nodded and Ethan motioned to go further. Turning down another line of cottages, the figure stopped at the one on the end. “You can still stay at the lodge, Ethan.”

“My wife and I wish to give seclusion a try,” replied Ethan. The cloaked figure gazed at Brit a moment and nodded before opening the door.

As lights were turned on, Brit broke into a bright smile. The cottage was like a tiny house. It had a small kitchen and bathing room. There was a living room area complete with plush, leather sofa and a cozy throw and fireplace. Ethan grimaced at the fireplace as the figure explained how to ignite it with a touch of a button. The cottage had a queen sized bed with luxurious covers, and every window had foil-lined shudders.

Ethan nodded with satisfaction. “It all looks to be in order, friend.” The two shook hands and the cloaked person left. Turning to Brit, he kissed pulled her to him and kissed her softly. “I’ll bet you are hungry,” he said. She nodded and he grinned impishly, “There should be sustenance in the refrigerator, baby.”

Opening the refrigerator, Brit paused looking over the eggs, milk, cheeses, and assorted vegetables with some meats. “It’s raw ingredients for food.”

Ethan chuckled giving her a small book titled, “You Can Cook!” Brit slowly opened it and read with her lips moving silently. Ethan offered encouragingly, “You said that we rarely did things alone. How hard can this be? I once cooked for myself in the field often.” Ethan picked up an egg and said, “I used to be quite fond of eggs.” Searching for a pan, he motioned her to the book and said, “See if you can find something to do with eggs.”

Thirty minutes later, they left the cottage to travel to the lodge. “Tomorrow, we will spend time with the cookbook,” Ethan assured her. “Tonight. Well, no one cooks the same day of travel.” Brit passed a pretty white wired tree and admired it while Ethan flipped through the book. Tapping it, he said, “Do not order scrambled eggs tonight, Brit. It may be something for you to make tomorrow.” Tucking the book in his pocket, he offered his arm and escorted her to the lodge to ensure that she ate before resting.

Painting 'Mine'

(Taken from RP)
Overlooking the details of her painting left unfinished, Ethan goes over them with a brush though he still lets Brit do most of the coloring. Brit’s head rests on his shoulder as she stands behind him. Her fingers played with the texture of his vest. “Did you ever paint, Ethan?” she asks while her fingers press in a light tickle-touch.

“I was never too much into painting, Brit,” Ethan replied with a shake of his head. “No. Well. Unless you count actual house painting as ‘painting.’ Nothing too artistic, I am afraid.” With a look over his shoulder, he presses his lips to hers and whispers, “You are much better than me in it.”

Brit blinked in surprise, “But…you had no time at all to help paint while we fixed up the shelter.” Ethan grinned impishly at her and her eyes widened which caused her eyes to blink more. “Perhaps we can find your skill when we need to repaint!” she exclaimed with a glance to the walls. The walls looked like they could already use a fresh coat of paint.

Shaking his head, Ethan replied, “It has been many a year since I last had to do that. And I am not so inclined to do that anytime soon. The paint..the way it splatters.” Raising his shoulders a bit, Ethan shrugged, “Definitely not my past time of choice. This is far more acceptable,” he murmured while watching her brush stroke a bit of color from the palate he was holding to the canvas.

Brit nodded in agreement and continued to paint the section she had been working on silently. A bit of shouting could be heard outside, but nothing caused Ethan concern. While he focused on the environmental noise for a moment, Brit selected a clean, new brush. Her fingers neared the palate, but she brushed it instead over the back of his hand. The dry sable bristles drug softly over his skin. Looking down to his hand, he flexed his fingers neither pressing against the brush nor moving his hand away. “Do you like the feeling of the brush against your own skin, Brit?”

“I don’t know,” answered Brit after a moment of musing. She pushed her glove down to expose her skin, then focused to trace the light bluish vein under her skin from her wrist to her elbow. Smiling, she peeked up to him as she continued to drag the brush. “It tickles a bit, but,” she whispered, “it is pleasing enough.”

Setting down the used brush in a glass, Ethan selected a fresh, dry brush waiting in a jar. He made sure that his brush was thicker than hers and started to trace up her exposed skin with it. “Tickly is a pleasant feeling,” he repeated and saw his words confirmed in her expression. Brit held very still and giggled feeling the bristles drag over her skin. Leaning to one side, she placed her brush at his earlobe and traced the outer ridge of his ear before dragging the brush down the side of his neck.

Ethan stretched under the brush’s touch and tilted his head to the side. “That yields an interesting feeling, princess. Rather different compared to skin touching skin.” His eyes widened with realization that his skin prickled in response to the tickly touch. “Yes, yes,” he said softly, “it is rather tickly.” Brit smiled at his word “interesting” and continued to play with her brush by dragging it over his skin. She pulled it over the back of his neck and followed with a soft, moist kiss with an open mouth on the curve where his neck joins his body.

A soft moan caused Brit to pause to look at him. Ethan looked the painting up and down before saying, “Maybe we could continue with the painting a bit later and go make ourselves comfortable on the couch to experiment a bit with just brushes.” Placing the palate aside, he directed Brit to the chair not waiting for a response. Ethan really was not asking anyway as his wife’s attention has strayed from the painting.

Brit had started to blow on the wetness her kiss left on his skin and stopped to put away her easel. “That would be more fun than fencing, I think.”

Ethan turned to face her, “What does fencing have to do with anything?” His brow furrowed as he watched her. With a hint of disappointment, he said, “You do not enjoy our fencing lessons too much it seems.” With a soft sigh, Ethan moved to the sofa and sat before motioning her to him. Brit joined him and he selected a spot to drag the brush over her exposed skin having an easier time with her facing him.

Brit watched silently for a moment as she pouted sensing his disappointment. “There are parts of fencing that I like way lots.” He peeked up at her like a schoolboy while brushing bristles against her inner elbow. She stretched her arm to feel the touches almost involuntarily. “Like..when you drug your epee over my body, like a finger, slowly,” she continued with her cheeks pinkening at the memory. Glancing toward him, she found herself caught in his gaze. Smiling shyly, she touched his chest and continued, “And when we fence together, I like that way lots too.” Nodding, she processed to be sure she was correct in her words to him. “It’s like dancing then. But last time, we spent the entire night rotating my wrist and ended up with no time for even one date!” Brit looked shocked that anything could be more important than dating!

Ethan flashed a toothy grin and nodded, “Ah, I see.” So I must ensure that I include epee dragging and dating in our night to make fencing more attractive with the less solo theory.” He shook his head slightly in amusement over her comments as he finds his way up over the swell of her breasts to her throat, then to the side of her neck with the tip of the brush.

Brit nodded affirmatively before losing her thoughts to the feel of the brush. Closing her eyes, she moved to expose her skin. The sensations of the brush caused her heartbeat to quicken and produced a slightly harder throbbing along the length of her aorta. “Oh, yes please,” came the eventual response.

“As you wish then,” Ethan said with a nod of understanding. His lips parted watching her. “I will try to add more actual fencing time and only correct your mistakes when you do them, like the positioning and stance.” He could feel her mood lift regarding fencing. “From what I understand, dating is to become a permanent part of our fencing lessons then. Tis just as well regardless whether we involve the epee in it or not.” He grinned mischievously while finding her pulse with the tip of the brush and circling around the throbbing part of her skin.

His words and promise increased her heartbeat. “Yes,” she whispered stretching under the bristles of the brush. Her warm body felt slightly chilled on the surface, but was warm beneath her skin and where his body insulated hers by touching. Under her skin, a map of blue veins pulsed promising dark crimson should the skin break. Shifting on his lap, her head lay against his shoulder allowing him to touch, trace, and watch as he wishes while she felt completely at ease with the world.

Ethan settled back into the couch to gain more support as she relaxed against him. He took his time to follow the paths of her veins and arteries that were visible under her pale skin and wondered if she was always so pale. This was how he remembered her, but was it truly so?” Dreamily, he whispered, “I do enjoy our fencing time.” The brush danced over her skin in a specific pattern.

Splaying in his arms and feeling the soft bristles drag over her exposed skin, Brit replied breathily, “I enjoy fencing..when we fence together. And our dancing…and dating…that is nice too.” Readjusting a bit, she let him fully support her body weight and enjoyed the brush dragging over her skin. With a soft whisper, she said, “I like this…”

Looking directly at her, Ethan asked, “Do you now?” He leaned to her to place a soft kiss on her lips as he brought the tip of the brush to her temple down over her cheek then over the lower lip when he broke his kiss. Lower, the brush was drug down her chin and lower to her décolleté as far as he could reach with the brush. Looking up to her again, he grinned a bit impishly as he whispered, “I like this too.”

Lying beneath his brush, Brit returned his kiss. Her gloved fingers caressed his skin and hair. Her lashes on her cheeks resembled sooty fans against her white porcelain skin. As the brush traced her lips, they parted and moisture from her mouth smeared lightly below her bottom lip. As the brush swept beween her breasts, she squirmed ever so slightly even as the moon’s soft light casted shadows on her skin from the brush like a dark finger. “I do like this,” came her soft confession.

Ethan leaned closer again kissing her deeply. Setting the brush aside, he pulled her closer to him deepening the kiss and wrapped his arms around her in a more demanding than protective way. With none near, his hands drug over her body boldly. “Your skin is an amazing canvas. Even with only paint imaginary patterns on it, Brit.” He kissed her again grappling her to him. If one could have looked closely, the last thing he traced on her skin would form the word “mine” before he stood to carry her back to their resting place.

Dressing for Summer

After rising and giving Brit her triad of kisses, Ethan left her in their resting place. Brit pondered their discussion while watching him go. Ethan struggled with ensuring that Brit had mortal experiences and, in such a mindset, he suggested that she select an outfit that pleased her and was fitting with the summertime climate. Then he left her wondering what she should wear.

After unsuccessfully seeking the clothing she had prior to their marriage, she went to the old theatre where she knew some remnants of clothing remained. Sorting through items, she found a small green dress that she thought seemed summery. The skirt had deep green leaves that fell about her hips. The leaf-theme flowed throughout the costume making her look like a wood sprite.

Rosalie was standing outside as Brit left the theatre. “Mon dieu, Brit! But whatever are you wearing?” Brit explained what Ethan had said and what she was trying to find. Rosalie waved a hand exclaiming, “How can he expect you to dress modern if he only purchases frocks from 100 years past?” Muttering, Rosalie continued, “I suppose that Ethan’s years are catching up with him. Insanity is not so uncommon after so many years.”

Brit pouted as she touched the leaves of the dress. “It looks summery. And I like how it flutters when I walk. It will look pretty when dancing, I think.” Swaying side to side to watch the dress flutter, Brit added, “I do not think Ethan is insane. Do you think he will not like this dress?” Brushing her hands over the fabric, Brit confessed, “Besides, I cannot find my clothing from before I married, and there was little to choose from in the theatre.”

“The dress is a costume, Brit. I am certain that it is not what he had on his mind. I tell you what: I will help. Come along!” Rosalie gestured for Brit to follow her to the barber shop where she worked. Once inside, Rosalie took Brit to a closet and pulled three dresses from it. “Look, cherie. Notice the seams of the dress. And the fabric.” Brit compared the costume with the proper garments. She noticed the feel of the cloth and the finished seams. “Proper clothing is meant to be worn and to last for longer than a play. See?”

Brit nodded. Rosalie shuffled her off to try on each dress. Putting on the yellow dress, Brit tugged it up. “I think it is too big,” she lisped. The dress hung on her by the straps. Rosalie agreed. The second dress was blue with lace accents. “Oh, I like this one.” She swayed her hips left to right and watched as the dress flowed with her motion.

“It is trés beautiful on you. Yes, I think it will suit,” said Rosalie. “Come now! We will fix your hair.” Rosalie trimmed Brit’s hair in its usual style after washing it and adding a conditioner that was scented with sandalwood and oranges.

Brit sniffed her conditioner-coated hair. “It smells nothing of the perfume that Ethan bought for me, Rosalie.”

“Well, Ethan is too set in his ways, no?” She chuckled. “He wished for some change, so we can give him some change. Perhaps he will find he likes things that he has long forgotten or has not yet encountered.” Rosalie brushed out Brit’s hair after giving it a good trim and drying it. “Now, let’s see how we look.”

Brit stood and turned slowly while Rosalie appraised. Rosalie noticed the bite-marks on Brit’s tummy that were visible by the design. “Do you think he will like it?”

Rosalie laughed softly, “But of course he will.” Rosalie mused that Ethan would indeed like that his marks showed on his wife. So arrogant and typical, Rosalie thought. Walking about Brit carefully, Rosalie continued to look over the dress. “A jacket for when you are outside, perhaps. And sandals would be better, but I do not think they are suitable for our city.”

Brit lisped, “I have a pretty jacket that is blue. It’s denim.”

Rosalie nodded approval. “That will be chic, I think…wear it when outside. But when inside…” Rosalie smiled walking to the closet and pulled a jacket from a hanger. “When you walk into a room with Ethan, do this.” Stepping in front of Brit, Rosalie glanced over her shoulder and unbuttoned the jacket from the bottom to the top gliding it off of her shoulders and handed it to Brit.

Brit watched with widened eyes. “Let me try,” she said with a bounce.

Smiling, Rosalie handed Brit the jacket and watched her button it up. Brit practiced unbuttoning it several times without moving. Then she buttoned it again only to step in front of Rosalie. Her eyes met the kindred before letting them lower. Brit’s sooty lashes fanned on her cheekbones as her lips parted while she unbuttoned the jacket and slid it from her shoulders. Taking the jacket, Rosalie smiled with a nod. “He will indeed like your new look.”

Giggling, Brit hugged Rosalie and bounced from the shop. Rosalie watched her leave and marked the items on a bill she would later give to Ethan as they had previously arranged. Tapping the yellowed paper, Rosalie thought of the mortal girl who had captured her ancient friend. “Yes,” she said aloud. “Ethan will love it to the point of discomfort.” With a laugh, she cleaned up the bits of red hair that surrounded the barber chair and prepared for the rest of her evening.

No Buffing Around

Another movie by Ethan but made in Rappelz as a diversion from studies, work, and other stressors. Please enjoy....srsly. :)

Never Let Me Go

Sunday night found Ethan making his way quickly through the streets. A glance to the church clock told him that he had little time to waste. He nodded greetings to several as he made his way to find Brit in the library. As he passed the Haven, he glimpsed Kylean down the street which caused him to pause. He had wanted to relay information regarding the island resort, but it would have to wait. It was, after all, Sunday night.

It had been years since Sundays held any significance to Ethan. However, in the past year, he had taken to viewing the new episode of True Blood, an American television drama series based on The Southern Vampire Mysteries, with Brit when the show ran its season. In fact, it had become a ritual that Ethan found he enjoyed. Brit was not in the library, but was with Rosalie in her shop.

Rosalie offered him a seat, but Ethan refused. Brit’s soft voice excitedly explained why they could not linger. Rosalie’s asked in astonishment, “You are hooked on a soap opera?” Ethan’s eyes narrowed as his old friend taunted him with her bemused look while feigning interest in Brit’s explanation of the show.

Ethan reminded Brit that they must leave less they not see the show when it was aired. As they left the shop, Ethan paused and turned to Rosalie to say, “How better than to educate my wife about the nature of our kind than to correct media misinformation?” After seeing the wisdom of his words was comprehended Rosalie, he ushered Brit toward their resting place.

Brit was practically drug through the streets as she kept pausing to discuss prior episodes starting with Season one. The show was based that vampires had progressed from monsters to citizens overnight due to the creation of synthetic blood. In the first season, the characters were defined. Brit was fascinated by Sookie, a human telepath who falls in love with a 173 year old vampire. The first season surrounded murders of women who were considered “fang-bangers.” Ethan cringed as he heard his wife say the term.

“A dreadful word, Brit. It’s not one I have heard prior to the creation of this show,” Ethan growled. He did not mention that he would likely gun down anyone who dared to say such a thing within his hearing. Other curiosities emerged from the show. Brit and Ethan had discussed chylders and sires (called makers in the series.) Also there was a storyline regarding addiction of humans to vampiric blood, and even a storyline regarding shape-shifters and werewolves.

Ethan beamed as he could not have asked for a better conversation focus than the show – even if he did have to endure the horrific accent representing the good people of Bon Temps, Louisiana. Season two had several overlapping plots. Bill, Sookie’s immortal lover, had been forced to turn a teenager. A new creature had emerged: a maenad named Mary Ann, whose actions allowed Ethan to discuss mythological stories of these creatures. The church group, The Fellowship of the Sun, opened the door for Ethan to discuss prejudicial ideas and religious zealots.

Once they had settled, Ethan set up his laptop that allowed the show to stream. Brit snuggled in his lap. It was hard for her to wait until the show was over to start asking questions. He knew they would likely review bits and pieces of the show over the following week. Brit wriggled excitedly as Sookie explained to Bill, “You’re different. You’re not like them. You have a heart whether it beats or not.” Ethan struggled not to groan at the campy dialog.

His inward groan changed to a grin at Brit’s happy squeak when Sookie told Bill, “I want you. In every which way. I just want you.” Turning to Ethan, Brit lisped, “I know what she means.” Ethan’s eyes widened and he tilted his head to look at her with big eyes that blinked as hers often did. Brit kissed him softly and returned to watching the show.

A sleepy rendition of “Never Let me Go” played while Sookie and Bill shared an intimate moment. It was not the Curtis Mayfield version and Ethan tried to place whether he had heard it before. Ethan stood pulling Brit to her feet. As the credits rolled, Ethan pulled Brit to him and danced slowly and lazily. Prior to resting, he had patiently responded to each of her questions before kissing her hand softly. Turning her hand gently, he felt her press her wrist to his lips. Keeping his eyes on hers, he bit into her succulent flesh and drank slowly from her wrist.

As they rested, Ethan briefly wondered whether the show might tell more of Erik, the Sheriff of Area 5’s turning or of his sire.


http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mwlHExxp5XM