Writers: Tom, Barb
Characters: Khayyin, Theresa
Date: Day 3, late
Location: The Manor
Khayyin stood, staring at himself in the mirror and feeling foolish. "Do you know what you're doing?" he asked, for perhaps the fifth time. The small smirk he gave his reflection by way of answer was indication that yes, he did in fact know what he was doing. He chuckled. Hell, he was settling their bet and getting a date, all at the same time. Something in the back of his heart and mind was mildly offended by the cavalier thought. If it were conscience, its voice could be ignored, pushed back with the ease of long habit.
But it wasn't conscience. It was something else. Something like the feelings that rose up in him the minute he'd seen her through Nick's window, stumbling down the street and pale as Molly. He'd promised himself he wouldn't see her again, and already he'd reneged on that. No surprise there. Still, Theresa made him do and think and feel many things, many of which he wouldn't believed he was capable.
This evening, for instance. He was wearing a billowing white shirt and what could only be called breeches done in black cloth and tucked into shining black knee boots. In his hand was a tri-cornered black hat with a huge white ostrich feather that curved around and touched his shoulder.
A small black torpedo waddled into view. "Master, you look simply... imposing."
Khayyin glanced down and smiled, thoughts of feelings and meanings pushed from his mind. "Thank you, Winston. Though I fear I never look as good as you do," he said, teasing the penguin gently.
The bird stared up at him, monocle glinting in the soft overhead light. "No sir," Winston agreed, "but you do clean up well, if I do say so myself." If the bird had had lips, it would have smiled. "Besides, I was born this way."
"You're just saying that because you don't want me to remake you, old friend." But there was no chance of that happening. Winston had been Khayyin's manservant for age upon age, and Khayyin leaned on him heavily, insofar as his domestic affairs were concerned.
"I trust the lady will enjoy the evening's festivities, lord?"
"I hope so," Khayyin said, swinging a voluminous black cloak around his shoulders. "No, I know so. You have no idea the lengths I went to, to arrange this night."
"I believe I do, my lord. You had me making and returning calls all afternoon."
"And a fine job you did of it," Khayyin smiled down at his servant, and gestured across the room to a carved wooden box. "Be a pal, Winston, and bring me that. But be gentle with it; it's quite valuable." And expensive, he thought, considering what he'd had to do to get it.
****
The note said he owed her for forfeiting the pool game at Jack's last night. It said this in an extremely poetic way and she had been charmed reading it, as she supposed she was meant to be. Theresa checked it again before stuffing it into the pocket of her jeans. It had been delivered an hour ago by, unbelievably, a round, waddling, monocle-wearing penguin who claimed to work for Khayyin. She raised a fist and knocked on the door.
When it opened, Khayyin stood there looking unlike anything she'd seen in quite some time. He swept off the hat and bowed low, his eyes sparkling with humor. "My lady."
"If you think seeing you dressed like that is enough to repay your forfeit, you're wrong." She arched a brow, a smile curving her lips. "I mean, it's close, I'll grant you that, but you're still wrong. Also, I'm afraid I'm a little underdressed for whatever you have in mind."
"It's taken care of. All you need to do is take my hand." He held it out to her. When she just looked at it suspiciously, he clucked his tongue and grinned. "Don't you trust me? I'm crushed."
Her eyes narrowed, looking at his outstretched hand. "Considering the day I've had, I'm not sure I have any trust left. Besides, let's face it. My luck today isn't so hot." She couldn't see anything behind him; it was pure blackness. "Should I trust you?"
He drew his hand back and laid it over his chest, then surprised himself by saying, "I would never do anything to hurt you. My word of honor. Close your eyes. Please."
She smiled at his solemnity. "Alright." She put her hand in his and stepped over the threshold. There was a sensation of swirling wind around her, and when she opened her eyes she was standing toe to toe with Khayyin, nearly touching, his face mere inches from hers. His eyes were dark and riveted on hers, and he was still holding her hand, up, as if they were about to dance. The air crackled blue-white between them, literally, but was nothing compared to the way she felt inside - her blood rushing, her heart pounding, and her stomach was fluttering in a way she recognized as true desire.
She stood, savoring the feeling, staring at him for longer than she intended. "I didn't know you could stand this close to someone and not be touching them."
"I didn't know I could either," he said, making her laugh and relieving the tension of the moment.
She stepped back with a smile, and then looked down at herself with amazement. She was now wearing a red dress. The bodice was a stiff corset that came barely to the tops of her breasts, and the skirt billowed out at the waist down to the floor. It was sleeveless, and she was wearing red silk gloves that went past her elbows. Over it was a floor-length black hooded cloak like Khayyin's, clasped at the base of her throat with a silver pin identical to his. The edges of the cloak were thrown back over her shoulders.
Between the top edge of the bodice and the clasp of the cloak at her throat was an amazing expanse of bare skin. She looked down at it and for the first time that day, laughed out loud. Waving a hand over the bare flesh, she said, "And what is this all about?"
"Period dress was required."
"What period is this?"
"Late 16th century."
"I think they were a little more restrained than this."
"Alright, I know. That part was for me," he said, his eyes glinting with good humor. "But the rest of it is pretty accurate. Right down to the hair." He reached out and touched one of the mass of spiraling curls that were piled on her head and falling around her shoulders. He handed her an elaborate red silk mask decorated with feathers and what appeared to be diamonds. "You'd better put this on."
After she had, he raised his hood and donned a black domino. "Ready?"
She smiled at him. "I hope you don't think we're going to Jack's like this."
The thought of it made Khayyin laugh out loud. "Well, we could," he began, but the look on her face stopped him. "Don't worry. This won't hurt a bit." He looped her arm through his and turned with her, then took three steps forward into his chambers. Except they weren't in his chambers any longer.
They stood on a cobblestone square, tall stone buildings rising up around them. The streets were filled with people all dressed as they were, and everyone was masked. She could smell food, wine, and sea water. "Where are we?"
"Piazza San Marco," he said, "Venice. Yesterday at the Arboretum you said you liked Carnivale."
"I do," she said, and for the first time all day her mind was filled with nothing but pleasure and anticipation. She looked around eagerly, her smile huge. "It's fabulous! I love it!"
"What shall we do first?"
Theresa's eyes glittered. "Everything," she said, simply, and pulled him into the crowds.
Related Entries:Posted by Iki at April 27, 2003 04:10 PM (1337 Words)