First Posted: 16 January 1996
The heavy musk of incense muffles the light and increases the senses.
"Huhg," i snort softly. "A fine lass ye are to speak o' bein' young. Ye've nay aged a wink in the time i've known ye."
"Oh, yes, my fine, blond love. And why do you think this is?"
"Regular constitutionals?" i ask in deadpan.
A throaty chuckle from her.
"Because i am never bored. Boredom, banality...these are truly the things that kill. Oh, yes, death comes in...so many forms. A rumor reaching the wrong ear, an accidental fall in a riot in the market, an explosion on some battlefield or other." Her hand withdraws from my neck and her arm slides down across my chest. Delicate teeth nip my earlobe. "But, really, it is the boredom with life that makes you careless. That makes you tired of the whole thing. To live, to truly live, such as it were, you must embrace the new, the unusual. Never forsake a new experience."
I chuckle as i turn in her arms to face her. "Oh, aye, had i been one to forgo 'new experiences', as ye say, i'd never ha met you, Rhapundee."
"Very true, sir. And had you not been otherwise i would surely have tired of you long before now."
Flickering candles cast shadows across us. Ever so beautiful she is. Eternal. A damp breeze blows through the terrace doors. Silk gauze billows. Tiny flames dance, temporarily bringing her face fully to view. She is so beautiful. My angel. My devil. Her dark eyes drink the candles' glow, returning her to the shadows. Red silk cascades as Rhapundee stretches, lithe and hard and soft in my arms.
"My...bretheren wonder what i see in you," she muses (having switched to her native tongue), lazily tracing a finger through the blond curls on my chest. "You are so unlike them in so many ways. And yet, you and they, and we, share certain...attitudes. In many ways we are very similar, despite our differences."
"Hmm...but your people do not find me an...appropriate companion for a lady of your...caliber," i reply in Hindi. "Your 'caste', as is it were. To dally with me would be one thing. But this long relationship we share must be...unsettling to them."
"Mmm, well, you will allow me to tend to my own affairs. What my bretheren think is my concern, not yours."
"At least until one of them decides to come to settle accounts," i say, tangling my fingers in black silk of her hair.
"That shall not happen." The barest taste of steel in her voice. The promise of what she is. Oh, no, never underestimate my Rhapundee. Of course i love her. How could i not. And how could i? Ah. Always that question... "Besides," she continues, playful now that the coals which glowed briefly in her eyes have faded away, "you keep me young. You and your English ways. Shall you make a lady of me? Like your Queen?"
"Oh, nay," i reply lightly, but with all seriousness, having switched back to English. "Lady you be already. The Dark Lady o' my dreams. An' more a queen than any that sits upon a throne." Surely the finest, the truest survivor. The purest. Claiming me for her own.
Pulling me towards her i feel her lips, her tiny, sharp teeth, graze across my cheek, my neck, as her hands slip within my shirt. "Remember, do as the young do, and you shall never grow old."
***
The clatter of the girl dropping the telephone receiver back on its cradle jars me back to th' present. Hunh...how long has it been since i ha' last seen Rhapundee? Wonder where she is now. And what latest fad she has embraced.
"Hi there!" says the perky, young, brunette voice, "Sorry to keep you, but things have been soooo wiz with biz!"
"Not a probl'm, luv. Do ye still have tickets for the show on Friday?"
"Mmm maybe. Who wants to know?"
"Me." Saucy wench.
"Just you? Or are you purchasing as...a gift?"
"Two, if ye please," i say, taking my wallet out. "Who's openin' for the Headstones."
"We've got two openers, both local talent. Actually," the girl continues as she takes me money and counts the change, "Pure and Mystery Machine both tour around the country, but they started out here in V-town, and do play a fair number of gigs here."
"Hmm, yeah, well, i've got a CD by Mystery Machine. Pretty good. Liked the ROM track at the start of it."
The girl gives me a quick once over, perhaps considering that th' old "Nev'r trust no git over thirty" may not apply to me. Ta be fair, i suppose me suit and poster tube dinna fit th' image one'd expect for a Mystery Machine-Headstones listener.
"Don't ye worry," i say with a wink, "These just be me day-clothes. I'll be lookin' raz Friday."
"Pretty spiff," she says, looking me over again, re-evaluatin'. Licks her lower lip slowly.
"Oh, nae near," i reply, indicating her hair. "Yer coif is tres."
"Hmm...mutual, like," she says, leaning forward on the counter.
Showing cleavage. Playing with a curl of hair that falls forward over her left eye.
Makes me smile. For more than th' obvious. Flirtation 'twas near dead for so long. Refreshin' ta see it comin' back in style.
"Deadly," i sigh, putting a hand over me heart. And wink.
She laughs. And then gives a wink of her own. "You really like the Headstones? Or are just predacious for some young gothic?"
"Twer it so, you'd be tops o' my list," i reply, as i take the tickets and my change from her, makin' her smile, though i be sure she's heard it all before. Still, there be rules in flirtation. But as i'm turnin' to go i glance back and add, "But, yah, i like the Headstones. They keep me young."