Gracie Musica/Southern Charm |
Chapter Zero: The Fool Notes: I live in Louisiana, and have visited the now-devastated New Orleans many, many times. To honor this, I wanted to write a story set in New Orleans. Hopefully, this will give everyone who never got the chance to visit New Orleans a small glimpse of what the city was like. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- The conventional 78-card tarot deck is structured into two distinct parts. The first, called the Major Arcana, consists of 21 cards without suits typically referred to as "trumps", plus a 22nd card, The Fool. The second, called the Minor Arcana, consists of 56 cards divided into four suits of 14 cards each. The traditional Italian suits are Swords, Batons, Coins and Cups. In modern tarot decks, the Batons suit is commonly called Wands, Rods or Staves, while the Coins suit is often called Pentacles or Disks. (Arcana is the plural form of the Latin word arcanum, meaning "hidden truth" or "secret knowledge".) The 14 cards in each suit consist of an Ace, nine cards numbered 2 through 10, and four court cards (not dissimilar from the structure of 52-card bridge/poker playing card decks, except that bridge/poker playing card decks have three court cards rather than four). The four court cards (or face cards) of the tarot deck traditionally consist of the King, the Queen, the Knight and the Page (or Knave). In bridge/poker decks, the court cards typically consist of the King, the Queen and the Jack. The Jack corresponds to the tarot deck's Page. In the Western world today, the Tarot is usually seen either as a means of divination, the practice of ascertaining information from supernatural sources, or, in a more modern view, as a psychological tool for accessing the unconscious. However, early references such as the sermon refer only to the use of the cards for game-playing and gambling; and in some European countries such as France, Italy, Switzerland, Austria and Germany, Tarot is still a widely played game. ---from Wikipedia, the online encyclopedia. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Desmond Richardson stumbled out of Harrah's casino at three fifty-three in the morning. He reeked of cigarette smoke and alcohol, and he was flat broke. He contemplated selling the clothes on his back, but thought better of it; he'd rather just go home and sleep it off instead of getting picked up for public indecency by the cops. He stumbled down Decatur, one hand deep in his pocket, the other outstretched to touch anything he could hold for support. Only one thought was going through Richardson's alcohol-fogged mind: Where could he get more cash for tomorrow? Desmond Richardson was a gambling addict. He was already deep in debt, too; his family had long stopped giving him money; his wife had left him a good ten years ago, taking their two children with her; and at work, he had been fired just the day before, which had spawned the latest gambling binge. It was when he turned down into a darkened alley towards his thrice-mortgaged home on the verge of repossession that he ran smack into another person. "Damn it, watch where you're going!" the drunken man lashed out, waving his arms around. The motion threw him off-balance, and he landed heavily on his rear. He got an idea from that. "Ow, hey man, I think you might have broken something! You should give me some money for my hospital bills, yeah?" "I don't think so," came the cool reply, and something in the voice made Richardson sober up considerably. He looked up, peering into the darkness at the figure that loomed above him. The person was dressed in a black pinstripe suit, their hair hidden underneath a wide-brimmed fedora. There was a faint light coming from the other end of the alleyway behind the newcomer, and he could barely make out two shining pinpoints of light that were their eyes. They were deep, dark eyes, almost black, and quite mesmerizing. Looking into them took Richardson a moment or two to find his voice. "Well, I think I deserve some form of compensation," the gambler said, put out. "Compensation I can do." The last thing Richardson remembered seeing was the cold glint of light off steel. --- |
Chapter One: The Magician -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Café du Monde is a famous coffee shop on Decatur Street in the French Quarter in New Orleans, Louisiana. It is best known for its café au lait and its French style beignets. In the New Orleans style, the coffee is blended with chicory. The location at the upper end of the French Market was established in 1862. For over a century it was one of two similar coffee and beignets places in the market, the other being Morning Call, established in 1870 and for political reasons forced out of the Old French Market in 1974 and moved to the suburb of Metairie, Louisiana. Starting in the late 1980s, Café du Monde has opened up additional locations in shopping malls. While originally appearing as far away as Atlanta, Georgia, in recent years the company has restricted its operation to the greater New Orleans metro area and a single location in Baton Rouge, Louisiana. Café du Monde locations can also be found throughout Japan. It is open 24 hours, 7 days a week, except for Christmas Day (and days when "the occasional hurricane passes too close to New Orleans," according to the shop's Web site), and is patronized by both locals and visitors. Hurricane Katrina did, indeed, pass too close to New Orleans -- the shop has been closed since the city's mandatory evacuation. ---from Wikipedia, the online encyclopedia -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- "Shit, this place is crowded," Dee Latyner swore, looking around the small, wrought-iron table he and his partner, Ryo Maclean, were seated. "Well, it is one of the most popular breakfast spots in the entire city, Dee," Ryo chastised, looking at the side of the silver napkin holder, where the restaurant's menu was pasted. It seemed the only thing there was to eat were beignets, whatever those were, and drinks such as coffee, tea and milk. The place WAS crowded, though. The tables were jammed in as close as physically possible, and the patrons had barely enough room to sit in. The entire restaurant area was open-air, giving it a almost Parisian feel. The air was thick with the scent of coffee, baked goods and sugar, and outside the black wrought-iron fence around the perimeter of the café, fat grey pigeons hopped around, waiting for crumbs to fall. "Hey, Ryo..." Dee leaned over close to his lover, a smirk on his face. "Is it just strange that all the workers are Asian?" "Dee!" Ryo exclaimed in a whisper, smacking the dark-haired detective on his arm. "What! It's true!" Dee replied in a low tone as three Asian waitresses, their arms full of trays, quickly swept past them. "Just shush and tell me what you want to drink." The two entered whispered conversation briefly before a short black-haired man came up to them. He was dressed in khaki slacks and the green and white striped uniform shirts, a paper soda jerk hat perched atop his head. He set two small glasses of water before them, the glass clanking on the marble tabletop. "What you want?" he asked in rough English, his eyes bored. Dee tried hard to hide a smirk as Ryo ordered two plates of beignets and two cups of coffee. It was brought out in relatively short order, placed before them with disinterest by their waiter, whom the half-Japanese New Yorker payed before he left. The New York natives eyed the beignets; each plate contained three squares of fried pastry, roughly two by four inches, and COVERED in powdered sugar. Obsidian eyes met jade ones and the two lovers shrugged. "I guess... we just..." Dee said, picking one up delicately by the corners. A mountain of powdered sugar sifted as the French pastry was moved, thick granules falling off the sides. Dee leaned over and bit into it. Powdered sugar blew up into his face, sticking to his hair. Jade eyes widened in surprise. Ryo started laughing. Dee bit off the corner, chewing thoughtfully before swallowing. "Not bad. Messy, but not bad." Ryo was still giggling as he dipped a napkin in his water to wipe a streak of white powder off his lover's face. "So it was worth it?" "Eh," Dee replied, going for another bite. This time, the sugar didn't kick back as much, and Dee chewed the steaming delicacy. "Better than those pra-lean things we got yesterday." "It's pronounced 'praw-leanes', actually," came a feminine voice from Ryo's other side, drawing the two detectives' attention. A young woman put her coffee mug down on the tabletop before turning to them, a smile tugging at her lips. "And y'all must be Yankees, yes?" She was very pale-skinned black, a café au lait color and obviously half-black like Bikky. Her hair was a lighter color brown and in thick wavy ringlets, pulled back in a high tight ponytail before cascading down to her mid back. A pair of gaudy dangle earrings hung from her earlobes, and she looked at them over imitation designer sunglasses. Her southern accent was soft, with a hint of French laced through it. "How could you tell?" Ryo asked, cocking his head to the side. "Y'all have an accent. It's unnoticeable from where y'all're from, but it's plain as day down here." She turned sideways in her seat, crossing one long, smooth leg over the other at the knee. "Lemme guess... New York?" "She's good," Dee muttered, going for another bite of beignet and ending up with another face full of powdered sugar. He grumbled to himself, swatting at the streaks that ran down his shirt; however it seemed to make the sugar cling to the fabric even more. "There's a trick to these," the young woman said, picking up a beignet off her own plate. She showed it to the tourists, making sure they saw the pile of powdered sugar on the top of her square before delicately biting into it. The sugar on top trembled slightly, but otherwise didn't move, and she pulled back, chewing and biting her lips. After she swallowed, she smiled at them. "Breathe in whenever you bite down." Ryo smiled at her, going for his own breakfast. "Thank you." "Mais oui, but of course," she replied, standing and smoothing out her clothing. "Bonne journeé, good day gentlemen, I hope that our paths shall cross again." The two detectives stared after her as she left, crossing Decatur and disappearing into the French Quarter crowd. Ryo took her advice and breathed in through his nose as he bit into the pastry, grinning at his lover as he chewed, free of powdered sugar. Dee, in retribution, leaned over and licked a spot of sugar off the corner of Ryo's lips. "Dee!" the blonde hissed, although he leaned into the contact. "We're in public!" "Hey, you're teasing me, so I'm teasing you," the dark-haired man replied, kissing his lover's sugar-sweetened lips. "Besides, we're on vacation. They don't know us." A small gust of wind blew something against Ryo's foot, and he broke away from the enjoyable activity of kissing Dee to look down. Something that looked like a playing card was fluttering against his shoe. He leaned down to pick it up. On the face of the card was a hand holding a gold chalice. A dove holding what looked like the communion in a Catholic mass in its beak was above the chalice. At the bottom of the card were the following words: Ace of Cups. Inflexible will; unalterable law. Ryo heard Dee's voice call his name and he looked up. "Turn the card over, Ryo," Dee told him, his eyes wide. Ryo did so, his own eyes widening in shock. The back of the card was stained with blood. --- |
Chapter Two: The High Priestess -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Jackson Square (formerly Place des Armes) is a city-block sized open park, at the old center of the city. After the Battle of New Orleans it was named after victorious general Andrew Jackson; an equestrian statue of Jackson is in the center of the park. The square originally overlooked the Mississippi River across Decatur Street, but the view was blocked in the 19th century by the building of larger levees. The riverfront was long given to shipping, but the administration of Mayor Moon Landrieu put in a scenic boardwalk along the river across from the Square; it is known as the "Moon Walk" in his honor. On the opposite side of the square are three 18th century historic buildings which were the city's heart in the colonial era. The center of the three is Saint Louis Cathedral. The Cathedral is designated as a minor Basilica by Pope John Paul II. To its left is the Cabildo, the old city hall, now a museum, where the finalization of the Louisiana Purchase was signed. To the Cathedral's right is the Presbytere, built to match the Cabildo. The Presbytere originally housed the city's Roman Catholic priests and authorities, it was then turned into a courthouse at the start of the 19th century, and in the 20th century became a museum. On the other two sides of the square are the Pontalba Buildings, matching red-brick block long 4 story buildings built in the 1840s. The ground floors house shops and restaurants; the upper floors are apartments that are the oldest continuously rented such apartments in North America. Directly across from Jackson Square is the Jax Brewery building, the original home of a favorite local beer. After the company ceased to operate independently, the building was converted into several businesses, including restaurants and specialty shops. In recent years, some retail space has been converted into luxury condominiums. From the 1920s through the 1980s the square was famous as a gathering place of painters of widely varying talents, including proficient professionals, talented young art students, hacks, and dreadful caricaturists. In the 1990s the artists were largely driven away by tarot card readers, mimes, and fortune tellers. Live music is a regular feature of the square. Occasional formal concerts are held here, but for a century or more musicians playing for tips have set up in the square, the subject of unending controversy with nearby residents. Diagonally across the square from the Cabildo is Café du Monde, open 24 hours a day, well known for the café au lait with chicory and beignets served there continuously since the 19th century. ---from Wikipedia, the online encyclopedia -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Ryo sighed as he leaned on the balcony railing of the hotel room he and Dee had gotten. To his left sat St. Louis Cathedral and Jackson Square. Huge floodlights cast their beams on the white marble sides of the Catholic church, drawing the eye to it. The black iron fences around Jackson Square were locked tight for the night, but the statue of Andrew Jackson on his horse could be seen over the trees. Beyond the French Quarter, his dark eyes could barely make out the Mississippi, slowly winding its way alongside the Crescent City. Down the street to his right, Royal Street and beyond it Burbon Street were brightly lit and busy. The mixing of rock and cajun music along with laughs and jeers from the streets' patrons made a heady brew, making Ryo's blood spin. The half-Japanese detective looked down at the ornate, Spanish-style iron, his fingertips caressing the cool metal as his dark eyes unfocused, drifting back to the New Orleans' precinct he and Dee had visited earlier that day. The precinct was old, and had that well-worn, frayed at the edges type of dirt that was ground into the floor tiles and soaked into the walls; the kind that only years of polishing or a complete renovation could get out. It was crowded, too, the benches and walls full of people waiting to talk to an officer. However, both the detectives were smart enough to head back to the hotel and get their badges before going to the precinct, and the shiny gold shields had given them immediate assistance. The detectives they spoke to about the case were quite hush-hush about the entire thing, but Ryo hadn't liked the way their eyes lit up when he produced the bloodied tarot card. They had taken their fingerprints to eliminate the contamination that had occurred when they picked up the card, taken their hotel information and given them a small business card in case they remembered anything else. Ryo sighed. His gut told him that there was more to this than they were letting on, but his head told him to drop it. He was on vacation. He was supposed to relax. Two strong arms encircled his waist, pulling him back against a warm body. Ryo smiled and turned his head up into the kiss Dee placed against the shell of his ear. "Hey, wanna go on over to Burbon Street? I hear they've got some gay bars over there." Ryo rolled his eyes. "Just what I need," he teased, turning his head to look at his lover. "Some sweet thang with a southern accent stealing you away and leaving me all alone." "You'd have the music to go along with the mood," Dee teased back, and Ryo nudged him with his elbow. "Aw, Ryo, you know I'd never leave you." Ryo crossed his arms and sulked in Dee's embrace, squirming away from the soft kisses Dee began pressing against his neck. The two lovers backed into their hotel room, swaying slowly in time with the jazz music floating in through the window from one of the bars along St. Anne's Street, the street their hotel, the Place d'Armes, was located on. The slow seduction of the dancing and music, along with Dee's drugging kisses along his neck and face, made Ryo's angry facade fade as the half-Japanese blonde leaned into the loving caresses. Dee's fingers slowly drifted down his torso, thumbs hooking into his belt loops before spinning Ryo around to look him in the eyes. Ryo's hands slid up to tangle in Dee's dark hair, the taller man leaning down to give the blonde a proper kiss, the first of the night. They continued dancing to the slow beat of the jazz music, their mouths gently caressing one another. Dee pulled Ryo's shirt out of his pants, ghosting his fingers over the sensitive skin just above the waistband of Ryo's pants, making the blonde moan moan into their kiss and lean against his lover. His hands slid down underneath the collar of Dee's shirt, tickling the short hairs on the back of his neck, grinning inwardly when Dee moaned as well. The two slowly undressed one another, clothes dropping to the ground as they slowly rotated, clinging to one another as their tongues slid over and around one another. Once they were divested of their clothing, the two of them fell onto the bed, hands sliding over humidity-wet skin. Dee bit down gently on Ryo's pulse point, licking and sucking the delicate skin as he ground their hips together, slick intimate flesh sliding against one another. Ryo groaned, tugging at Dee's hair. "Dee... please... want you...!" Dee smirked as he nipped at Ryo's ear before smiling down at his lover. "You are so easy." "Just shut up and do me..." Ryo replied, reaching for the lube. Dee reached over as well, their fingers getting in one another's way as they reached for the bottle. Dee's finger found it first, and he sat back, grinning down at Ryo before leaning up and kissing his lover deeply. Although the two of them had been lovers for a years, and although Ryo had considerably loosened up when it came to their bedroom activities, there were still traces of that shy, inexperienced lover that he first have known. The two of them made love with the windows wide open, sultry jazz floating into the room and covering them like a blanket. Afterwards, the two lovers snuggled against one another as their pulses slowed to less-than-critical levels, sharing lazy kisses and gentle caresses. The two shivered when a cool breeze blew through the open window, and Ryo reached down to pull the covers up over both of them. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Down below, across St. Anne's, a black-clad figure wearing a fedora smiled. Dark eyes cut up towards the open window, where sexual and love energy poured down onto the paved street like a waterfall. "Too bad... It's tainted," the figure lamented, tugging the hat down over dark eyes. A hooker dressed in a mini skirt and fishnet stockings crossed the street, heading towards Burbon. The smile curved upwards a little more. "Ah, well... I can get it from other places..." |
Chapter 3: The Empress -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Saint Louis Cathedral is the cathedral in the French Quarter of New Orleans, Louisiana. Three Roman Catholic churches have been on this spot since 1727. The first version of the current Cathedral was constructed in the 1790s; the building was extensively renovated into its current appearance in the 1850s. While not one of the largest or grandest of the city's Catholic churches, this historic Cathedral remains an important religious and social center and a landmark for tourism. While Hurricane Katrina did not affect the French Quarter as profoundly as other parts of New Orleans, the high winds managed to displace two large oak trees by the Cathedral. In the process, thirty feet of ornamental gate was dislodged, while the marble statue of Jesus Christ lost a thumb and a forefinger. --from Wikipedia, the online encyclopedia -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- At breakfast the next morning, all everyone could talk about was the murder on St. Anne's, just a block down the street from the hotel. The hotel manager actually came into the breakfast room and spoke personally with all the patrons to let them know they were perfectly safe. Dee momentarily wished he had brought his gun. Instead, while Ryo went back to the room to call Mother and check in on Bikky, Dee went across the street to the Cathedral. He wasn't a practicing Catholic, although Mother had baptized him as a baby and he had gone through the confirmation rites, but he always felt drawn to holy ground when he was worried about something. He assumed it was from growing up in a Church, familiar surroundings and whatnot. The holy water was surprisingly cool on his fingers as he crossed himself, walking down the long aisle that lead to the altar. St. Louis Cathedral had long rows of hard wooden pews and high, vaulted ceilings. Prayer candles flickered in front of statues of Mary and Jesus and other saints, and Dee stood in the middle of the church aisle, staring up at the crucifix hanging on the wall behind the altar, his mind blissfully blank. "Is there a problem, my child?" Dee turned to see a dark-skinned priest standing behind him, short curly white hair adorning his head. He was carrying an armful of hymnals, and looked concerned. "No, Father. I'm going to Hell anyway, so it's not worth your time," the detective laughed at his own joke. The priest, however, wasn't amused. "If you'd like, I'm free to hear your confession." "Thank you, but no. Being with the one I love may be considered a sin by some, but never to me." To Dee's surprise, the holy man chuckled at that statement. He placed a friendly hand on the detective's shoulder, smiling up at him. "What the world--and what this religion--needs is nore people like you." At Dee's puzzled look, he explained. "In today's time, with people running planes into buildings and praying for others to die and doing a plethora of hateful things to one another all in the name of God, for Chrissakes, what we need are people like you who love unashamedly and unapologetically." Dee was slightly taken aback by the outpouring of emotion from the shorter man before him. The priest, however, chuckled at the shocked look and patted his cheek like a fond uncle. "Faith, hope and love, my son, faith, hope and love." -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Dee lit a cigarette the moment his feet hit the marble steps of the cathedral. The nicotine hits his lungs and flooded his veins, calming his frazzled nerves. Such emotion from a stranger was slightly unnerving. "Father DuBois can be quite observant at times," a soft voice floated into his ears. He looked down at the source of the voice and saw the same woman he and Ryo had encountered in Café du Monde sitting on the wide, shallow steps. Her arms were hugging her knees to her chest, a long brown peasant skirt rising to her mid-shin. She stood, brushing off her rear and smiled winningly at the detective. "What are you doing here, stalking me?" Dee half-joked, raising an eyebrow. The woman scoffed. "Please don' tease me. If I was to stalk someone, it would be that trés magnifique lover of yours." "How did you--" Dee's question was cut off when the coffee colored woman reached into her pocket and withdrew a card, flashing him the face. A naked man and woman were holding hands in the foreground of a meadow scene, and the label The Lovers jumped at him from the bottom of the card. He frowned, looking over the top of the card into her eyes. Her eyes were dark brown, almost black, and Dee was instantly reminded of Ryo. "Who are you?" The girl dropped a polite curtsy. "You may call me Marie, Monsieur. I often read tarot cards here in the Square. Maybe one day I will read your fortune, oui?" "We'll see," Dee replied, looking at Marie with a weary eye. Something about the tarot cards set him on edge, but he couldn't explain why. "Dee! There you are!" Jade eyes lifted upwards where Ryo was leaning on the balcony railing, waving at him. "Hey, Mother says hello, and Bikky's fine. What are you doing down there?" "I'm just talking to--" Dee's reply cut short as he looked at the air around him. Marie had--seemingly--vanished into thin air. "--No one" |
Chapter 4, The Emperor -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- The spell is a magical act intended to cause an effect on reality using supernatural means of liturgical or ritual nature. When the goal of such spell is to guess the future it is usually named divination or augury and when it tries to put someones's will under control, enchantment or incantation. It is a substantial component of many Pagan religions and can also be found in some monotheistic religions like Islam, whereas others like Christianity explicitly forbid this practice. Medieval collections of spells were called grimoires. Spells were probably developed during the Neolithic magical belief period and have been practiced since then both in accepted and clandestine environments. They were common in Pagan societies as part of massive official holidays promoted by authorities: this activity is well documented in a number of historical sources and has even survived in vodunist or shamanic religion areas. On the opposite, practitioners were harshly prosecuted in other places and ages, specially in areas whose state religion was Christianism. Nowadays practitioners are protected under the freedom of belief, a fundamental right regarded by most democratic countries, although hoaxes based on the gullibility and need to believe of many people are usually punished as frauds. Typically, a spell is a symbolic representation of the purported effect performed under the invocation of a deity. It can even be an unwilling instantaneous action with no specific shape, like some forms of Evil Eye. But in more developed Pagan beliefs, spells have the following general structure: - Preparation, when all needed products are disposed in the appropriate location and the involved individuals perform preliminary activities like fasting, praying, etc. - Overture to start the ritual or liturgical performance, create an appropriate, solemn "magical environment" and reinforce the communion effect among participants. - Invocation, when the cooperation of supernatural forces is requested to take the spell to reality. - Execution, where all ritualized magical acts belonging to the spell are precisely performed. - Sacrifice, when a symbolic or tangible gift is offered to participating deities. - Closure, to solemnize the end of the act and dissolve the "magical environment" created during the overture. --From Wikipedia, the online encyclopedia -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- A young mulatto woman shivered apprehensively. her eyes cut up to look at her customer, a figure clad in a black pinstripe suit, a black fedora covering his eyes. The candle flickering on her small table cast faint light and sharp shadows on his face. His black eyes seemed to suck up what light reached it. She tore her gaze from his, looking down at her table. She was in the middle of a tarot card reading, her hand hovering just above the final card. Her instict was to run, leave the reading half-done, and fuck the consequences. She had never seen a reading this bleak before. The cards told her that this customer was... evil. That he would kill to gain power. That he already had. Her hand barely touched the back of the final card, and she felt a shudder run through her arm. She swallowed thickly, but turned it over anyway. The Tower Card. The worst card in the entire Major Arcana. "Well, well, well... Looks like you lose." Dark brown eyes snapped up to stare at her customer, eyes wide with fear. He grabbed her frizzy brown hair fiercely, knocking the table over. The candle gutted out on the cold stone of Jackson Square, scented wax hardening immediately. She opened her mouth to scream, but found she couldn't. He smiled and waved a gloved hand at her, and she cursed inwardly. There was hoodoo magic all over it. He had cursed her the moment he touched her. He yanked her head back, exposing her throat in the pale light of the secluded square. He leaned down, inhaling her scent and licking at her skin. And she couldn't even shudder. Bastard... "Bonne nuit, ma petite," he whispered into her ear, reaching across her neck to slide the cool metal of a knife across her throat. He pulled it back towards him, and the blade bit into her skin. Warm sticky blood spilled across the murder's clothing and the cold stone. Her breathing became short and labored, the blood from her main arteries flowing down her trachea into her lungs. She was drowning, the world was getting darker... Ryo sat straight up in bed, gasping, his dark eyes wide. A dream... Just a dream... But it seemed so REAL. Next to him, Dee sat up as well, awoken by Ryo's sudden movement. The arm around the half-Japanese detective's waist tightened as a soothing hand came up to rub at his back soothingly. "Nightmare?" he asked, his voice groggy and rough with sleep. "Yeah." "Shhh..." Dee pressed a gentle kiss underneath Ryo's ear. "It was just a dream. It wasn't real." Ryo slowly relaxed under his lover's gentle caresses and soothing words. Of course it was a dream. It was so vivid because he encountered death on a nearly daily basis. His mind was working overtime--this vacation would be just what he needed. Dee nuzzled his neck comfortingly with his nose, and Ryo turned into the loving touch. The faint light that filtered in through the hotel curtains from St. Anne street made it so that Ryo could barely make out Dee's beautiful jade eyes. The dark-haired man kissed him sweetly, brushing Ryo's honey brown hair out of his dark eyes. "Feel a little better?" Ryo nodded, looping his arms around Dee's neck and snuggling in close to his lover. Although he knew it was only a dream, it had still rattled him. Now, he craved the close physical contact of another person, wanted the touch that only Dee could give him. The dream had shown death; now he wanted to feel alive. |