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#pedigree rambles
featherbreak · 8 months
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Camilla Hect's sworddaggerknives: an exhaustingly comprehensive weapons inventory
(alternate title: "In Which Tamsyn Muir Tries to Kill Cosplayers with Imaginary Weapons", or "How to Consult a Swordfighter for the Fight Scenes but Not Give Nearly As Much of a Fuck About the Implements Used")
Written in hopes that this will either spare other Cam cosplayers some misery, or bring them to the commiseration station --
Gideon The Ninth - Canaan House Cam: In Which We Meet the Weapons Nerd of the Sixth
When we first encounter Camilla Hect, she's using a somewhat traditional sword + offhand combo against Gideon:
Gideon The Ninth, chapter 12, bold emphasis mine, italics canon -
She dropped the wedge of sculpture with a clonk, drew her sword from its shabby scabbard before the wedge had bounced once, and advanced. Gideon, neurons blaring, drew her own. She slid her hand into her ebon gauntlet—the grey-cloaked girl let the flashlight fall, drew a knife with a liquid whisper from a holder across one shoulder—and their blades met high above their heads as the cavalier leapt, metal on metal ringing all around the chamber. ... Blow after lightning blow rattled her defences, each one coming down like an industrial crush press, the short offhand knife targeting the guard of Gideon’s blade. ... her opponent dropped as though shot, crouched, kicked her dagger up into her hand, and did a handspring backward down the stairs.
Anime physics aside, we have also immediately established Tamsyn Muir's love of using "dagger" and "knife" interchangeably. The sword is described as a rapier a paragraph later, at least:
Gideon was stronger; the girl’s arm was buckling—she brought up her rapier to harass Gideon’s blocking arm ...
We get a closer look at it in the duel against the Second:
Gideon The Ninth, chapter 23, emphasis mine -
The rapier looked, like Gideon’s, maybe a million years old. It was the first time she had seen it in a good light, and here it looked as though it had never been designed to take an edge blow; the blade was light and delicate as a cobweb. The offhand looked like Camilla’s whole House had gone searching down the back of the sofa for weapons. They had come up with what looked more like a long hunting or hacking knife than a duelling dagger: thick, meaty, cross-guarded, with a single sharpened edge. The whole effect was sadly amateurish.
We quickly learn that she can still deliver a drubbing with this combo. However, it is not clear whether her offhand in this duel is the same knife as the one she fought Gideon with - which is described as a "short offhand knife" compared to the "long" knife against Marta - and we can call that into question more confidently once we learn that Cam is PACKING LOTS OF STEEL:
Gideon The Ninth, chapter 27, emphasis mine -
There was no question about whether or not Camilla inhabited the horrible cot attached to the end, cavalier-style. It sagged beneath assorted weapons and tins of metal polish.
Gideon, being a weapons nerd herself, calls Cam on her setup bluff partly by elaborating on Cam's pile o' pointies:
“So, hey. What do you really use when you’re not pretending the rapier’s your main wield? Two short blades of equal length, or one blade and one baton?” Her keen eyes narrowed into black-lined slits. “How did I mess up?” she asked, eventually. “You drew your rapier and your dagger at the same time. And you’re ambidextrous. You keep cutting like both your blades are curved. Also, there’s six swords and a nightstick on your bed.” “Should’ve tidied my mess,” admitted Camilla. “Two blades. Double-edged.”
Gideon refers to Cam's offhand in the duel with the Second as a dagger here, too, despite having previously observed that it looked more like a knife. She also refers to all the blades on Cam's bed as "swords", but it's clearly a mix of blade types. Gideon is only as consistent or reliable a narrator as Tamsyn is; her terminology is equally laissez-faire.
Cam, meanwhile, is not more specific when she describes her main wields: they're just "blades." We finally meet them when shit hits the fan later on, but they are confounding:
Gideon The Ninth, chapter 32, emphasis mine -
With only the faintest liquid whisper of metal on sheath, Camilla drew her swords. Gideon had never had the opportunity to study Camilla’s two short swords before: they were more like very long daggers, slightly curved at each end, wholly utilitarian.
So Gideon's observation that Cam cuts as if the blades are curved seems to hold water, but Cam specifically only identifies her blades as double-edged - which is much less common on curved blades longer than a few inches. In the same breath, they're implied to be shorter than short swords, but remarkable enough to call "very long" for daggers, which also means they're longer than the "knife" length in which having double edges is relatively common without making tradeoffs in durability/blade structure.
(This is where my brain broke.)
To add insult to injury, for the rest of the chapter, Tamsyn calls them knives:
Gideon The Ninth, chapter 36, emphasis mine -
She crashed into her from the side, her two knives flashing like signal lamps in the sunlit hall. ... Camilla Hect off the leash was like light moving across water. She punched her knives into the Lyctor’s guard over and over and over.
Well, mostly. That would be too easy. Here's the lone exception:
Camilla slumped next to her, swords crossed over her knees.
SWORDS AGAIN?
We also see Cam with a single knife. It's unclear if it's one of her main dual wields or another one she had stashed:
Camilla, as she’d seen from above, had caught up with Cytherea the First. She had one hand in the Lyctor’s singed curls, dragging her head back. The other hand pressed a knife against the smaller woman’s throat.
Whatever it is also is well-balanced enough to throw -
Her good arm was up behind her head, holding the blade of her knife. Gideon ducked. The knife whistled over the top of Gideon’s head in a flashing blur and buried itself in Cytherea’s upper back.
- which usually implies something shorter and less medieval dagger-y. Different knife? or more Anime Physics? We don't know.
In conclusion: Canaan House establishes Cam as Very Hot and Good At Pointy Objects. Who the fuck knows what they are, though.
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Harrow the Ninth - Random Planet Encounter Cam: Still Kickin'
At this point, Cam has been chugging along under the tender mercies of BoE, hauling her pulverised necro around, and comes face to face with a delightfully lobotomized Harrow. She's still dual wielding, although whether they're her Canaan House blades is doubtful, and they're described as knives all the way through:
Harrow The Ninth, chapter 32, emphasis mine -
... you were astonished by the speed with which Hect drew those big, balanced knives from each shoulder, and hurled herself at your skeleton like a stone from a sling. Her first sweep with the butt of a knife shattered the ribcage—it coalesced back; you now disdained skeletons not made of permanent ash. ... Camilla Hect sheathed her knives with as much speed and fury as she had unsheathed them, and she said: “No sudden moves.”
Still a badass, obviously. And "big" knives seems to imply they're still of a long-dagger/short-short-sword length as Gideon described. "Butt" instead of "hilt" or similar terminology seems to imply they're more pedestrian than daggers. What the hell does Harrow mean by calling them "balanced", though?
Who the fuck knows. That's all we get. Onward to:
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Nona the Ninth - New Rho Cam: More Badass & More Bonkers Than Ever
Cam is living her best worst best-given-the-circumstances guerrilla fighter rebel operative life. This means she's just...armed to the teeth all the goddamn time, and it's knives all the way down:
Nona The Ninth, chapter 2 -
... Camilla looked the person deep in their eyes and casually touched the hilt of the knife she kept down the waistband of her trousers, and then the person moved to the back of the queue.
Nona The Ninth, chapter 9 -
Camilla had been crouched down, wiping her knives on one of their jackets. ... Then she had equally normally set to putting her knives away – sticking them in the bands down her thighs, inside her trousers –
Nona The Ninth, chapter 12 -
Almost all of the knives Camilla had strapped to her got taken away, but not the very hidden knife, or at least the one hidden knife Nona knew about. There were probably more.
This could be because they're actually knives, or because Nona's vocabulary only goes so far, and her narration - backed by Tamsyn's established lackadaisical approach to pointy objects - is too simple for disambiguation.
To hint at this: when upon prepping for the final mission(s) of the book, Cam empties out the hidden armory, and Nona goes so far as to compare two of her blades to kitchen or filleting knives:
Nona The Ninth, chapter 22, emphasis mine -
Pash said, “Your people... that obsession with swords.” “We are our swords,” said Camilla. She shrugged on a criss-cross halter of black plastic straps and clipped it tight across the front of her chest, and then she opened a box and took out two long, plain knives, the type of thing they used to chop up fish at the market. All of Cam’s secret knife stash, Nona thought, numb with anticipation.
Cam seems to only say "swords" to mirror Pash philosophically, not to describe her weapons, but it's worth noting.
A detail that is mentioned once and then never brought up again, though, is that she's carrying at least four blades into the fight. Earlier in that chapter:
Camilla flipped open boxes and took out a belt, which she tied around her waist, and she secured a hook to the side of the belt. To this hook she reverently attached a long plain black scabbard, then a shorter plain black scabbard, and she tested the hilts in her hands.
So: two unseen blades of possibly different lengths - described only by the hilts, but stored in scabbards of two different lengths - in addition to "two long, plain knives" that are presumably stashed in the shoulder? back? chest? "criss-cross halter" holster situation. Or something.
Say it with me: WHO THE ACTUAL FUCK KNOWS.
Nona The Ninth, chapter 23, emphasis mine -
Just for shits and giggles, Tamsyn throws in the only use of "daggers" to describe Cam's weapons in the whole goddamn book right before the final duel with Ianthe:
The two uniformed soldier zombies knelt Camilla, roughly. They squeezed her wrists until, with an agonised hiss of breath, she dropped her daggers. They clattered softly on the carpet.
Her main dual wields of choice, this time, seem to be single-edged, likely the "fish knife" pair:
She mopped a little at her chest... she was bleeding freely and messily... and she picked up, from where they had fallen, her two long, plain, one-sided knives.
Even Ianthe agrees that they're knives:
“I didn’t mean to take anything to this planet I couldn’t replace,” said the Prince. “I shouldn’t have bothered. Why two knives?” “Shock and awe,” said Camilla.
And then Paul happens and my heart broke forever that brings us to the end of Camilla Hect As We Knew Her x Bladed Weapons OTP For Life is too short and love is too long.
So what's our takeaway on accurately portraying Camilla Hect, you might ask?
tl;dr: use whatever the fuck you want. go loud, Cams.
do not be like me and spend a cumulative 15-20 hours spread out over three weeks debating how to accurately portray her weapon shape because fanart seems to mostly depict her with daggers.
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as for me? I've finally gone with utilitarian but elegant hunting daggers (long, cross-guarded, single-edged, curved at the end) for Canaan House Cam and a scrappy pair of Bowie knives for New Rho Cam, after polling a bunch of Cam fans; votes were overwhelmingly in favor of curved blades being more important than double edges. THE PEOPLE HAVE SPOKEN.
with the utmost thanks and apologies to the patient & best beloved folks in the Library for responding to my Cam poll, and for emphasizing & reassuring me that cosplaying On Vibes is kosher and encouraged in this fandom
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farm-paws · 10 months
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The fact that we have evidence of Dandie Dinmont Terriers (or their immediate forebears) from as early as 1677 is insane to me. Prior to Walter Scott’s novel in 1814, they had no name, no standard, and barely any recorded pedigree. Yet, in the places that did care to record them, their foothold remained for generations.
In the late 1700s there was records of Peachem and Charley, two dogs who were so valued by their owner ‘Piper’ Allan that he refused the lifetime rent of a farm for Peachem, and when asked the value of Charley, stated; “the whole estate would not buy Charley”. Peachem in particular was renowned for his otter hunting ability.
Peachem’s son, Old Pepper, bred by Allan’s grandson, was grandsire to a dog called Shem, who it’s stated that most modern Dandies descend from. Given the ever dwindling population of the breed, this is almost certain to be true. Shem was born in 1839. His granddam belonged to James Davidson of Hindlee, who Walter Scott based his terrier owning farmer Dandie Dinmont off, and started the first craze over the breed.
Tales of their exploits, and descriptions of their courage, gameness, and tenacity, are worlds away from their image today. But some of that original temperament must remain in the breed, to have endured for so long and relatively unchanged.
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bones-n-bookles · 2 months
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When people show interest in my adhd rambling >>>>>>
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mostly-tame · 2 months
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Aaaaaaaand that's all I've got on Dinah's pedigree!! :3c
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jamestaylorswift · 6 months
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ibytam is superb in every way and we should talk about it more
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Writing for me is basically a mix of “oh I want to talk about this”, “oh SOMEONE needs to talk about this”, and “here’s how I’m going to attempt breeding feelings in others that coincide with mine to make more friends”
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fbwzoo · 2 years
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Food attempt #4, no luck yet. Sigh
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blueskyheadleft010 · 1 year
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I got a doggie last month :)
He is also bigger than he is genetically supposed to be and enjoys trying to eat things he’s not supposed to.
It’s ok tho, he’s still a puppy and is learning.
I am still constantly baffled why he looks nothing like his siblings.
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bambirosedoll · 3 months
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Wut doez it mean?
It means bambi is a troll of the 1st order 💖
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artturilehsbian · 1 year
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cat-identifier · 7 months
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OH MY GOD FINALLY SOMEONE HAS A CHANCE OF DESCRIBING WHATEVER THE FUCK MY DEAR LILY HAS GOING ON
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I love her so much and she is so weirdly and beautifully coloured??
(We adopted her from a local humane society; they had her breed listed as "Snowshoe" but we doubt that; she seems much more Ragdoll is anything.)
I have no damn clue where to even begin to describe her colouring or coat pattern, so, uh... help?
Phenotype: black tortoiseshell colorpoint longhair with <50% white
Just your normal tortie point! The color is more faded on her back because it's warmer there than her face, paws, and tail.
Breed: Likely random-bred
I've gone on rambles about this before but the gist of it is that if you don't know your cat's pedigree it's probably not a specific breed. And that's ok, because all cats are awesome!
Interesting Features: colorful and stunning ✨️
Truly an excellent cat!
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just-mint-to-be · 4 months
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What you need (Yan! Soldier Boy x Fem Reader)
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A/n: no idea what this is, something primal possessed me and I pelted this out whilst watching trashy tv. Just a short, self indulgent drabble I guess. He’s just soooo fine but awful. Anyway, goodnight x
NSFW: dub con, breeding, use of ‘bitch’, sexism
With every thrust, regret seated itself further into your heart. You tried to reason with yourself and in turn with his silent but knowing self assurance; you were not wrong for going, for not playing into his cardboard,
Yet, your current position filled you with both a literal and figurative . The thought of being anywhere else was alien, the idea alone having you subconsciously clench around him in apology for the daring thought of not needing him.
With your back arched like a bowstring only he could let fly and your bare breasts at the mercy of hard hazel eyes, you were in no state to do anything but feel. You could do little more than let him have his way; a reality akin to quicksand you were loosing the desire to swim against.
‘For a sweet girl…’ he grunted, adjusting your position on his lap, ‘you’ve been acting like a real bitch.’
Your lips parted, desperate to say something to no avail. Instead they remained open, every movement vocalised in meek little exhalations overshadowed by his wanton grunts.
‘It’s ‘kay,’ he pulled you closer, forcing you to steady yourself on his chest with one arm, ‘I don’t mind reminding you who’s the man, who’s boss here, you seem to enjoy it.’
‘I just wanted to go back home…’you blurted, earning a firm squeeze on your rear. The tingle of his prior disciplines lingering in faint red marks on your cheeks.
‘Home is here,’ he stated. ‘I don’t care what people do these days, if you’re my girl,’ he paused, one brow raising, ‘Which you are whether you like it or not… that means you stay at home, do as I fucking tell you.’
‘I want to be happy…’ you swallowed, knotting need in your core and budding sadness in your eyes making for a hefty lump of suppression in your throat.
For a moment, he was sympathetic- only ever wanting the exact same thing for you, but even more so for himself. You’d learn, eventually; but why relinquish the lovely present for what were future guarantees? For him, joy manifested only in the image of you safe at home, where he had complete control. Bliss, sheer reverie however, was encapsulated only by his current view of you bouncing on his cock- caught between
‘Sweet heart…’ he drawled, holding you in place with one arm whilst the other came to daintily brush your cheek. ‘I want you to be happy too, I know what’s best for you. But I can’t make it happen if you won’t let me.’
Compliance, submission, acceptance of his obsession…that was silver bullet to all that plagued you. The male was like a piston, matching his gyrations to your own slipping resolve and his own turbulent train of thought. Each one felt deeper, more intensively with the garnish of his ramblings.
‘We’ll move somewhere nicer. Some posh place in the suburbs, somewhere with a pretty little garden, get one of those pansy ass pedigree retriever dogs…’ he exhaled, sliding himself in even further, ‘plenty of space for a few little brats too, you’d make such a perfect mother y/n, wouldn’t that be good?’
‘I… I don’t know Ben,’ you swallowed, not daring to outright disdain his intricate, picture perfect plan. ‘I’m scared, I’ve never thought about kids… or marriage or any of this…’
‘Hmmm,’ he hummed, somewhere between contemplation and the small scraps of composure an impending orgasm offered. ‘Well dollface you,’ a heavy thrust preluded his next statement, ‘have, plenty, of, time, to think.’
You knew his wicked plan the moment two arms stronger than your whole being pulled you further atop him. ‘9 months in fact,’ hungry lips were forced on yours, the trials of his tongue only matched in intensity by his length. ‘Big… full tits, a kid inside you…. My kid….’ He exhaled, ending his assault with a deflating sound of relief. ‘There’s no way you’ll want to be anything but mine, no way you can be…’
You felt him paint you from within, staining you with the blueprint of his lifelong plan. Laying slump, a strategy akin to playing dead against his chest- one that quickly failed. ‘Hey, look at me…’ his tone was spent, soft with the trill of satisfaction. ‘You’ll be fine, it’ll be good. Teach you to be more ladylike, none of this independent, not needing me bullshit.’
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farm-paws · 1 year
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😭 there’s an earthdog club hosting training and competitions near me and I CANT GO
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teasodium · 3 months
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Specific species Usagi!!
that i completely forgot to post here oops
had too many thoughts about different types of rabbits affecting character design and did too much research! like; what of gigantic Usagi!! what of absolute fluffball Usagi!!! SO i went down a rabbit rabbit hole hohoh
most devastating bit of knowledge i kept coming across though was recomendations for pet owners to get 2 or more rabbits cause they are social creatures and are happiest when living in pairs...
if you want more ramblings theres more sourced research on these 4 breeds below-
Belgian hare is an actual rabbit species! wild how names are like that. They're known as a 'fancy' breed cause they were purposely bred to look like a hare- not through crossbreeding rabbits n hares though. Unfortunately because of this pedigree-ness they're not the most... sturdy and hate humidity or heat. They're essentially made to look rugged and wild but are very much showponies but their speed is nothing to be sniffed at. Poor fellas are nervous lil guys but surprisingly intelligent and can be trained to walk on leashes. Very inch-a-resting to think about for Usagi if one wanted to show I suppose the side of him being the son of the village magistrate when growing up?
Little... little lionhead. Compact! Little bodies!! But big ears!!! Another Belgian origin that is believed to be a cross between Netherland Dwarf and Swiss Fox rabbits. So small they be, so much so to be considered a toy breed. They can have two types of manes: single mane (short, less bushy, gets outgrown) or double mane (vEry bushy n big, stays forever). Very very affectionate and high maintenance because of hair. Also quite smart and can be trained like the Belgian hare. The lionhead getting trained/raised by a lion... need I say more.
BIG! The Continental Giant rabbit (aka Conti) do be big. Very docile in nature and smart and bIG!! Apparently they can develop dog-like behaviour if handled as a baby. Prone to spinal injuries though because of BIG :( . Prone to wander with 'low activity levels.' They curious, they nooosy. Contis also are the rabbits with biggest ears!!! Unlike their cousins the Flemish Giant, Contis have more of a thick, dense fur that needs more careful grooming. Nothing of note to add to compare to Usagi lore other than it would be funny if he was huge sdfbkb-
Another big one but not as big but the English Lop Rabbit! Very pretty!! Loose ears that dangle with male ones being longer than female. Alas, fancy ears means its harder for them to be very active so they're easy going by nature. Also has the longest ears!!! This one I see less as Usagi cause of how active he be but, at the same time, it could lean hard into his nickname of 'longears' and make it more impressive how as a ronin his ears stay long. The breed's characterised as being so calm n curious that it is regarded as the 'god of the rabbit world.' Good for them.
Sources 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8.
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sednonamoris · 5 months
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unbridled
Pairing: John Marston x gn!reader
Summary: A theft gone right and a deal gone wrong.
Warnings: Canon-typical violence, strong language, lots of dialogue, lots of horses
Word count: 2,322
A/N: my humble take on horse flesh for dinner <3 this is our last bit of plot before john and ghost have some time alone to figure out what exactly is going on between them next chapter... as always tysm for reading!!
Series masterlist • AO3
— 
You manage to avoid Micah and Dutch and your own complicated feelings for all of a week before things start getting serious with these two families, the Braithwaites and the Grays. No longer is there time for your own petty feuds. Hosea has the ear of the Braithwaite woman, and Dutch has sent John to lean on the Gray head of house while he helps that Sheriff, Leigh, drink himself to death or uselessness. Maybe just death; he’s pretty useless all on his own. 
You report back on the Braithwaite horses - finely made English Thoroughbreds with pedigrees to boot - and soon enough John sends for you and Javier to meet him at Caliga Hall. Arthur is supposed to join you there, too, but between playing sides and settling as a husband and surrogate father he’s barely had time to breathe, let alone rustle a stablefull of horses. 
Tavish Gray waits in his own stable. He seems about as drunk as his brother - face flushed, eyes shot red and out of focus. His clothes are quality but his manner is entirely unkempt. If this is what a store of gold gets you, you might have to tell Dutch it’s not all he’s made it out to be. The animals in the barn don’t even seen that nice.
“Hello, sir,” John greets on everyone’s behalf. “You wanted a word with us?”
“That’s right.”
And what a word he wants. 
In his rambling accent, he goes on about those traitorous Braithwaites and how high and mighty that Catherine is with her prize nags. You get the idea pretty quickly that he’d like you to steal them out from under her - knew that before you came, really - but he doesn’t stop there. Soon his rantings turn to how friendly your group has seemed. How troubled things have been in spite of it. His eyes squint as he says it, and his lip sticks out more with suspicion than with the tobacco he stuffs there. 
By the time Arthur shows up John is in the middle of selling the usual lie - that your merry band of misfits suffered a failed investment in a railway company out West and came here seeking that ever-elusive American dream. 
“We heard good men can do well in this country,” he says.
“Sure,” Tavish agrees, his speech slow. “And bad men.” 
In spite of his doubts, though, Tavish promises gold - and five thousand dollars rustling those horses to boot. You give a subtle shake of your head when John raises his brows at the price. They’re nice animals. You’ll certainly turn a profit. But there’s not one fence down here in Nowhere, USA paying that much for Thoroughbreds that’ll have to make it over state lines to sell. Not one. 
Crazy old fool.
“Five thousand dollars for horses?” John says when you’re far enough away that the manor guards won’t hear. “Guess we should’a taken a page out of Ghost’s book all this time. We been robbin’ the wrong folk.” 
Arthur scoffs. “He doesn’t know what he’s talkin’ about. Who’s his contact?”
“Never said,” you reply. “Worst case scenario I’ll take John and run ‘em out of state myself. It’ll take longer, but the profit might be better. Tidier, anyway.”
“Sure. Dutch won’t be too happy about losing the extra guns, though.”
You roll your eyes. “He’ll be happy enough when we come back with the money.”
He always is. And, selfishly, a week away with John hardly sounds like the worst thing in the world. 
“So,” Javier says, “how are we doing this?”
You about fall out of your saddle when John suggests shooting your way in and out, and again when Arthur wants to pose as buyers with the four of you looking every inch the no-good thieves that you are - miles away from respectable. You share a can you believe these morons look with Javier before announcing that you’ll all be riding back to camp before anyone else pipes up with any more rotten ideas.
“You been spendin’ too much time with Hosea,” Arthur grumbles as he tugs at the starched collar of his shirt.
After a change of clothes and horses, you’re near to the back gate of Braithwaite Manor now. The four of you cut a much more respectable figure on matching Morgans brushed to a shine with clean faces and clothes that aren’t marked by a lifetime’s worth of wear. You’re still armed, but to Arthur’s point, anyone about to ‘spend’ this much would be. 
“Why don’t you leave the finer details of horse theivin’ to them that know better,” you snipe. “You clearly ain’t spent enough time with him if you think you’ll be able to waltz into a place like this all covered in mud and dressed like a degenerate.” 
Javier snickers. Arthur glares at you both, which only makes you laugh more, but you sober up the moment the gates are in sight. John talks you all past the guard. It’s only a matter of setting a nice, easy pace along the manicured dirt paths to the stables after that. You offer directions here and there, but John leads confidently. Probably so Arthur can’t say I told you so if he messes this up.
You observe the grounds with an air of practiced indifference as you go. This place was certainly grand once, but a look at the peeling white paint and leaning fenceposts makes you wonder, not for the first time, if the Braithwaites have any riches left. Their horses may be fine enough, but the barn they reside in is decidedly ordinary. The closer you get the less impressive it is; its wood is unpainted, and there are shingles missing from the roof. Bales of straw lie hither and thither, like they can’t afford the help they need to move it all in place. Fence boards are down between paddocks. Only a single hand works out front, oiling a saddle that’s seen better days.
He’s suspicious of you all at first, even going so far as to call Javier greaser, but once Arthur spins a story about stables up in Saratoga he eases off and beckons the lot of you into the barn. A dark bay stallion stands tall and proud in the nearest stall, marked only by the stockings on his legs. His head is finely-featured, his eyes dark and intelligent. His legs are straight. Hindquarters strong. The stallions beside him - black with a star on his face and unmarked dappled grey, respectively - are much the same. Their ears flick to attention at the prospect of visitors. The grey tosses his head and paws, willful, but the black stud brings his head right over the stall door to whoof at your pockets for treats.
“We call him Old Father Time,” the stablehand says. Talking about his charges has warmed any remnants of suspicion right over. You almost feel bad he’s taken the bait so easily. “He loves his apples. Here,” he produces one from his pocket for you.
Father Time’s whiskers tickle as he gently takes it from your flat, outstretched palm and you can’t help but smile. You give an affectionate rub to the white snip on his nose while your new best friend tells you everything else there is to know about these animals. The bay stallion is named Cerberus. The grey one is known as Autocrat. Each one has a race record, he tells you, and each one is already a proven producer. You ask after specifics in their pedigrees just in case you find yourself forging papers later, but mostly to keep him busy while Javier slits his throat. 
“Uh-huh?” he sneers as the body slumps to the ground. Blood pools over hard, dry dirt. “Greaser, huh?”
Autocrat rears up at the dark shift in mood, tossing his head with nostrils flared. The other stallions whicker nervously and dance in place. Their eyes roll white. 
“Alright boys,” you say, loosening your gun in its holster and adjusting your bandana over your face. “Grab a horse and get a move on. Time for us to to get gone.”
It’s a close thing, but you make it off the manor without losing any horses or getting shot full of holes. Your pursuers turn back through the brush before making it to Clemens Clove, where Tavish’s mystery fence awaits. Everyone - human and horse - is blowing hard and sheened with sweat. 
The fence’s covered wagon sits tucked in among the crumbling stone fences of the cove, just off its shoreline. A few horses mill about in temporary fencing. Nothing particularly impressive. Worth a couple bucks at most. But the thing that really turns your mouth in displeasure is the realization of exactly who Tavish’s associates are: Clay and Clive Davies. 
“Well, well, well,” Clay drawls as you ride up, “look what the cat dragged in, Clive. The Ghost Rider of New Austin all the way up in Lemoyne and visiting little old us. My, how times change.”
“Fellas,” you greet tersely. 
Clay leers a grin. “Ain’t you gonna introduce us to your friends?”
Between clenched teeth you make introductions on both ends. John, Arthur, and Javier, meet Clay and Clive Davies. Professional acquaintances. Old rivals. John raises his brows at your obvious displeasure, but you just grimace a polite smile. You’ve known the twins for longer than you care to recall. Back when you were young and dumb and maybe fifteen - just starting out - they were your biggest contacts. Those boys helped you move stolen horseflesh all across and beyond the state of New Austin. If you didn’t happen to sell to another fence and make twice your usual profits, you might never have realized just how bad they’d been fleecing you. Wool over the eyes. Played like a damn fiddle You were livid, of course, going so far as to tip the law off about their whereabouts - a favor they returned in kind. You’ve encountered them plenty over the years since, both of you ripping one another off in equal turns, and seeing them always puts a sour taste in your mouth. 
“I haven’t seen you since you screwed us out of a good spot out near Blackwater,” Clay continues conversationally. 
You shrug. “Anybody could’a tipped the law off. Obvious place.”
“Oh, sure,” he snorts derisively. “Anybody.” 
“Look, we’re trying to move some horseflesh here. Think you can help us, or do we need to make other arrangements?” John interrupts. 
Clay purses his lips and folds his arms, taking a step back to get a good look at your animals for the first time. They toss their heads but stand quietly otherwise. Their coats glisten in the sun. The brand marking each of their shoulders stands out, dark and obvious. 
“I know these horses,” he finally says. He flashes a smug little grin your way when he adds, “They ain’t yours.”
“They ain’t yours yet, either. We’re askin’ four hundred a head.”
“Oh, you’re a real hoot, Ghost,” Clay laughs, wiping a fake tear from his eye. “Man, that is funny. How about six fifty for the lot of ‘em?”
John bristles beside you. “I was told we could get up to five thousand.”
“And I was told that the moon was made of ladies’ tears, only it ain’t true. Not one little bit.” He leans back on the crumbling stone wall and raises a single, challenging brow. “I ain’t got more than seven hundred on me. You want it, or you want to ride them fellers into town and maybe someone there’ll hang you?”
“We’re gonna need more’n that,” Arthur argues.
Clay puts his hands up. “I ain’t got no more money, pop. Take it or leave it.”
Arthur almost makes to shake hands, but you step forward and block him. “Then we’re leavin’ it. Keep your goddamn money and try a hand at sellin’ the nags you got lined up here. I’m sure there’s a better deal elsewhere.”
“Now wait just a—”
But you don’t wait. You don’t even listen. You just turn and take the horses and go.
“Well shit, Ghost,” Arthur says when you and your stolen goods are far enough away from the twins and tucked out of sight among the treeline near camp. “Seven hundred would’a been better than nothin’!”
“It’s not nothing,” you insist. “I told you I can get a good deal. Give me John and a week or so to run ‘em out of state. Plenty of buyers for nice animals like these— Ones that can afford more than seven hundred for the lot of ‘em.”
“Five thousand?” 
“Don’t be stupid. Over a thousand altogether, but not without papers. I got somebody who’ll do some up nice.” 
Arthur sighs. “Fine. I guess I’ll tell Dutch.” 
You clasp his shoulder in thanks. “We’ll be back before you miss us.”
Without another word, he and Javier take the leads of the Morgans you and John rode in on while the two of you pull your tack and whistle for your regular mounts. Moonshine and Old Boy emerge from the brush in short order. Sunlight filters through the tree canopy to paint their coats dappled gold. Arthur and Javier take the spare horses and wave goodbye. 
— 
It doesn’t take long before you’re on your way, just you and John and Old Boy and Moonshine and three Thoroughbred studs and the wild country ahead. 
“So,” John says, “where we headed?”
“North,” you tell him, and he nods along beside you. “We’ll cut through fields ‘til the state line just in case any law is on the lookout, then take the roads up to a town called Thunderhead. I know a counterfeiter lives there who’ll give us a good price on papers.” 
With any luck, some decent-looking paperwork will make these animals easy and profitable to sell. Just a breeze across state borders. A quick trip and a neat score. 
What could go wrong?
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differentcatcat · 4 months
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Alexander and Alexandra
Dear Reader: Here's a fic to occupy you and relieve your holiday stress - pleasant and full of imaginary Alex. It is lengthy but works best as a whole. Please persevere and comment as you like. NC-17
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Lexa jerked awake with her heart racing.  Dawn was breaking and she heard the all-aboard bell of the streetcar running the St. Charles line.  The rambling antebellum family residence she had inherited seemed to sigh contentedly with the sluggish morning breeze caressing the New Orleans history so proudly displayed in the Garden District.  Lexa remembered then, she was home, she was safe.  “Fuck me, it’s Saturday,” she said to no one.
Alexandra Richard LeBlanc, one of the last of the old New Orleans LeBlanc’s, had only been about three months occupying her family’s old home place.  That described what her new-to-her home was, but hardly told that the LeBlanc House was a showplace of the District.  Lexa’s great auntie, Bella LaFontaine LeBlanc, the last prideful inhabitant, had passed away at 101.  Lexa had gotten close to her in the last years of her long life and enjoyed hearing all the stories of the exploits of her antecedents passed down and certainly embellished.
Lexa had many relatives scattered in and around Cajun country, Louisiana; Mobile, Alabama; and the panhandle of Florida – just none left in New Orleans proper.  As the chicory coffee perked, she remembered her famous cousin, Reese [Witherspoon], had sent an email with news that she would be shooting a film in the French Quarter and would see her soon.  Lexa smiled in anticipation, hugging the sweet memories of summers in Alabama with Reese, the cousin closest to her own age.
Lexa, like Reese, had ambition first and foremost.  She studied hard in school.  She was a nerd and looked it but bloomed after college into a near Reese look alike, but with Creole dark hair and a creamy complexion.  Reese followed her dream and found her celebrity, still the cousins managed to keep in touch when there was news to tell.
Lexa had never considered her life incomplete without a man in it and had been unlucky in her limited experience with the other gender generally.  Reese was forever threatening Lexa with blind dates and celebrity parties.  Lexa was not enthusiastic.
She loved instead her career that most found boring in its details.  She was powerful in finance circles, having worked her way up in Bayou Bank & Trust.  Under her reign, her bank had acquired several smaller banking establishments.  Bayou Bank & Trust was up and coming thanks to her.  Her success led to many mandatory social engagements representing the bank and its interests that she attended, but she would have rather spent the time in her office, closeted with her numbers.
Lexa thought she didn’t miss companionship and did not seek it out.  After an ill-advised dalliance with a polite, well-connected employee of a rival financial establishment, with a hidden agenda and a big mouth, who thought he could sleep his way to the top, Lexa hardly socialized except singly for business functions.  But as her work became less all-consuming and her inner circle were all able, trusted hires, her eye began to rove over the eligible in New Orleans society.
She looked but did not touch until she met Charles Chadwick at a charity gala.  He flattered her so sincerely, talked of a New Orleans pedigree and privileged education, insisted they had so much in common and that she was so beautiful.  He had to see her again and she acquiesced.  Charles was attractive, well-groomed, persistent, and a self-serving blackguard, a roue and a thief.  They began to be regarded as a couple at all the most prestigious events.  Charles was charming with his courting of Lexa in public and devoted in private.  Charles insinuated himself into every aspect of Lexa’s private life.  Still, she was hesitant to sleep with him.  She was no virgin, but Charles was clingy, and Lexa had been used to her independence.
Of course, eventually Charles wore her down.  He served her favorite champagne and made love to her slowly, sweetly and provided enough ambience for Lexa to achieve a roiling orgasm.  He was a talented mountebank.  When Lexa thought about it later, she realized that he had not finished, had not mentioned it and had ceased being so touchy/feely with her immediately afterward.  At the time, however, she was aglow and imagining love in her heart.
Charles played on Lexa’s post-successful-coitus feelings with promises of more, a romantic trip, described scenes of a future together, all the while being consistently short of funds, then short of time for Lexa, and late for dates. 
Charles had charmed Lexa’s beloved Aunt Bella and listened raptly to one especially outlandish story of a hidden treasure concealed in the house and consisting of precious jewels and other valuables pre- and post-civil war.  Aunt Bella told a good story that Lexa was sure was highly imagined and told Charles with a grin that she had once known where the “hidey-hole” was but had long ago forgotten.  Every time Charles and Lexa visited, Charles would hold Aunt Bella’s hand and beg her to remember the hiding place.  Aunt Bella would say that she was far too old to even try to recall, and her Lexa would have the house when she was gone, so Charles could look to his heart’s content.
When Charles unbidden doggedly proclaimed he would move into Lexa’s pricey condo with her just to spend more time with her, Lexa took a step back and examined the relationship.  He had pushed her too far.
Lexa began to be unavailable to Charles even as he began to verbally berate her for everything from her petite Creole looks to her brilliance at work.  He adamantly averred that she needed him to get through the day; that she was incapable on her own.  Lexa knew better.  Right before she was ready to set him free, Charles disappeared, off the face of the earth it seemed.  He’d either left town in a rush or met with foul play, the police said.
Lexa was furious with herself for being taken in; but when the NOPD called to say that a body burnt beyond recognition in a single car accident in Texas was purported to be that of Charles Chadwick, Lexa thought it best to mourn him somewhat to satisfy convention while inside she leapt with joy at having dodged a .50 caliber bullet.
Shortly thereafter, Auntie Bella had passed away and her entire estate settled on Lexa.  With her luxury condo sold, Lexa had been only three months settled into the family estate.  Now her cousin Reese would be visiting and would, no doubt, badger her into a blind date or two.  Lexa thought she could try to have fun with it.  She didn’t have to fall in love at first fuck.  She had taken to thinking of herself as the antithesis to romance, or the “Lexa” Luthor to Super Kissy Face. 
When the movie Reese was shooting blew into town, Lexa joyously welcomed her cousin and explained that where love was concerned if it weren’t for bad luck, she’d have no luck at all.  Reese assured her that she had just the “fella” in mind, and they would schedule a friendly dinner before actual shooting began – i.e., very soon.  Lexa was less than enthusiastic but would agree and endure to please her cousin.
The blind date was set for two nights hence which gave Lexa time to reconsider (Reese would never hear of it) and then time to be excited, guessing whether her date would be a known face or a hunky grip or a boring numbers nerd in the accounting department.
Now the time was nigh, and Lexa anxiously waited for the chauffeured car to arrive.  Reese and Lexa’s date would be greeted at the front door of this stately mansion that Lexa hadn’t even occupied long enough to have yet explored all its rooms and attics.
Reese exited the car with a tall blond guy that Lexa was sure she had seen before but couldn’t place him right away.  As they got closer to the porch, she saw that Reese was and so she would be, a good foot shorter than the good-looking dude.  As soon as Lexa received them into the front room, Reese hugged her and laughingly said, “Look who I brought you, Alex Skarsgård!”  She was very proud of herself, and Lexa thought for good reason.  Alex was handsome.  Lexa was staring. 
Alex smiled and took her hand she offered.  He turned her hand palm up and bent to lightly kiss her wrist.  He murmured to her, “Tu es trop belle pour etre celibataire.”  [You’re too beautiful to be unattached.]  He kept her hand as he straightened continuing in perfect French, “Ma bonne chance, je veux t’embrasser maintenant.”  [My good luck, I want to kiss you now.]
Lexa was entranced.  Her wrist was one of her favored erogenous zones and whether Reese had told him so or not, Alex had absolutely charmed her with that kiss.  Lexa met his eyes and using his hand holding hers for leverage, reached for his shoulder.  Alex bent and with an arm around her waist, lifted her into an embrace and a very passionate kiss as he’d said he wanted.  Lexa enjoyed that kiss at such length that she blushed as Alex gently put her feet back on the floor.  He whispered, “Thank you, darlin’,” in her ear and nipped her ear lobe with his lips.
Reese was watching with a big smile and exclaimed, “Finally, some fuckin’ chemistry.  So you like this one, Lexie?  Where did you make reservations, cuz?  I think I need a drink.”  Reese was faux fanning herself with her open hand.
Alex and Lexa were smiling and gazing into the other’s eyes.  Lexa unwillingly turned toward Reese, “Dooky Chase’s, Creole and soul food.  Remember, you used to love it there.”
Reese hopped up off the sofa arm.  Lexa started toward the door.  Alex brought up the rear with a protective arm around Lexa’s shoulders lightly.  She had no idea what she needed protecting from (possibly Alex) but it felt comforting and before she thought she had leaned into the caress and looked up with a smile.  Alex seemed to be concentrating on the exit and was looking ahead, but he gently squeezed her shoulder.  What the fuck?  Lexa told herself to step away from the cliff edge.  She couldn’t possibly fall; they had just met this minute.  But there was that kiss – so perfect, so loving, so meant for her.  “Hell, a little foreplay won’t kill me.  I’ve convinced myself to relax and enjoy the company of such an intelligent handsome man.  I’ll kill Reese later,” Lexa said to herself.
Reese had met Alex at the filming of Big Little Lies.  She said that as the main male character, he could’ve stolen the show.  Instead, he heightened the leading ladies’ performances and played to them.  Everyone received positive recognition for their parts and Skarsgård received deserved awards.  Reese liked Alex and Alex was taken with Reese’s southern sensibilities and charm.  They remained friends.  Reese was glad to be working with him again and couldn’t wait to introduce him to her pretty cousin so unlucky with men.  Maybe southern men expected Lexa to assume a role she refused, that of a delicate, almost subservient southern belle.  The cultural stereotypes hung on in the deep south and Lexa had never played the part.  She had made her own way as Reese had, but Lexa was no actress.  Reese congratulated herself on her idea that a Swede could not even subconsciously make Lexa feel inferior in any way, and Alex was certainly courteous, notwithstanding that lustful kiss in greeting that Lexa either initiated or accepted.  Reese wasn’t sure who was on top there.
Alex loved fruits de la mer, as did the LeBlanc women.  The restaurant was casual, but business casual, so clothes were worn over everyone’s naughty bits.  Crawfish were discussed at length and consumed in short order, as were redfish and shrimp.  Pinot noir was the wine of choice regardless of the “suggested” whites on the menu.
Alex had visited New Orleans a few times while filming True Blood (who could forget the episode of Russell Edgington, et al. in the French Quarter and You Light Up My Life), and he was glad to be back he said.  Alex regaled the cousins with his first impressions of Cajun culture, “When we were shooting in Shreveport, me and a couple of friends went down to Lafayette because they had a big zydeco music festival down there.  We spent two days dancing to zydeco music, eating fried alligator… It was one of the craziest festivals I’ve ever been to in my life.  I loved it.”
Reese and Lexa giggled over stories they told on each other about the summers they shared growing up.  Alex was right in there with tales of five younger siblings.  There were no awkward silences, just raucous laughter and the clinking of glasses toasting each other’s silliness.  Alex didn’t overtly flirt with Lexa, but he did casually caress her fingers with his own, and after the second bottle of pinot noir, he held her hand openly.  Reese noticed and suggested they go for a nightcap to the Quarter.  Alex lamented that he didn’t know the words to You Light Up My Life, causing the women to hoot with laughter.
The Bourbon Street Pub was Lexa’s favorite spot to drop in for a drink.  A friendly gay bar, Lexa had spent many a rambunctious, over-served, night of fearless fun there.  The bartenders knew her by name.  Lexa didn’t have to do much persuasion to make that their stop.  She was greeted with shouts from behind the bar, then the appearance of the recognizable stars of the screen shut the staff right up.  They were accustomed to celebrities, tourists, high-handed vocal gay bashers, and drunks of every ilk.  They behaved perfectly, brought drinks promptly and were polite and absent.  They were until Lexa told the story on herself of how she danced on the bar (topless) one night after a rousing game of spin the bottle with the bartenders and waiters.  Alex asked what the game entailed (he hadn’t paid too much attention to the scene in The East of the cross-legged circle with the bottle in the middle).  Lexa and Reese explained.  The bartender brought over an empty bottle; Lexa motioned him to sit.
Certainly harmless enough (until the players try to best each previous kiss), Alex, the novice, took the first spin.  He took his big paw and gave the bottle a powerful twist yet managed to keep it on the table.  The bottle slowed, stopped, pointing to the cute bartender who graciously gave Alex an out by kiddingly saying that the game could be heterosexual only if Alex would like.  Alex laughed, “What would be the point of that?  C’mere.”  Alex gave the thrilled bartender a peck on the lips to the applause of the LeBlanc chicks.  The bartender spun; the bottle pointed to Reese.  The bartender respectfully gave her a kiss on the cheek.  Reese said, “Hell fire, that’s no kiss.”  She grabbed him by the cheeks and gave him a lengthy, although tongueless, lip smack.  Reese spun and got Lexa.  Lexa said, “Let’s show ‘em how we used to do like they did on the soap operas.”  Reese laughed and grabbed Lexa.  She planted a faux kiss of passion with tightly closed lips and active hands running over each other’s hair.  They parted when the giggling ruined the romance.  Everyone laughed but agreed that afternoon television was no place to learn kissing technique.
Then Lexa spun.  Alex was watching the bottle very intently like he was willing it to stop on him.  It came to rest between Alex and the bartender.  Alex leaned closer to the bartender and said, “Look, it’s pointing right at me.  Yes.  It is.  It certainly is.” 
Reese said, “Let’s call for a ruling from the judges.”  She knew very well, there were no judges to call upon.  As Reese was ruminating about the bottle placement, Lexa gently tugged Alex’s collar, turning his attention to her.  Alex grinned then and kissed Lexa intently, thoroughly and for a long enough time that Reese proffered a card and asked the bartender to X out their tab.
The bartender returned and Reese gave him a nice tip.  He indicated the kissing couple questioningly with a look and a head nod.  Reese shrugged her shoulders, “It’s a blind date,” she said and thanked the bartender for the good time.  She punched Alex good naturedly in the arm, “C’mon, Skarsgård, that’s my cousin you’re munching on.”  Alex broke the kiss then.  Lexa gave a tiny sigh of disappointment that made Alex kiss the tip of her nose.  Lexa had enjoyed a wonderful evening.  As they traipsed to the car, Lexa was walking on air and Alex only had eyes for her.  Reese found she was talking to herself.
While riding the short distance to the LeBlanc house, Lexa debated with herself whether it would be too forward to invite Alex to stay.  Oh, she wanted to ask in the worst way – or in the best way.  She could imagine that Alex would coax physical responses from her she had only dreamed about. 
As they pulled up to the curb in front of the house, Alex said, “I’ll walk you to the door.” 
Reese spoke up, “I’ll wait in the car – but not forever.” 
Alex laughingly said, “OK, OK.  But I like this one, Reese.”
Alex had his arm around Lexa’s shoulders all the way to the door, which he unlocked for her with her key.  As he turned to kiss her, Lexa said, “Would you like to come in, Alex?” 
Alex tucked the fingers of one of his big hands into Lexa’s hair and gently pulled her closer.  “I don’t trust myself.  I won’t rush you.  Let’s do this again, just us, OK?”  
Lexa nodded, secure on her tiptoes against Alex’s sturdy frame, as their lips met, conveying wordlessly the many things they would do with each other at the proper time and place.  That promise was enough for the night.
Reese called Lexa as soon as she got in the door of her accommodations at the Bienville House.  “Damn, girl.  You whore,” she laughed with Lexa. 
Lexa replied, “No, not a whore.  This one’s on me.  I’m a slut.  I like him.  Make sure he has my number.  Oh just fuck me.”
“I’m sure he will.  Give him a little time, cuz.”  Reese hung up the phone, surprised at Lexa’s quick and definite reaction to Alex.  Maybe she had done her cousin a good deed.
Alex called Lexa the next morning while Lexa was still in the sleepy haze of mutual attraction anticipation.  She thought it might be the bank and sighed grumpily, “Lexa LeBlanc, what?”
Alex just laughed, “Wake up, pretty girl.  I guess I was too anxious to tell you I had a great time with you last night.  Sorry I woke you.”
Lexa had opened her eyes wide as he spoke, “Alex.  I thought it might be work.  I’m sorry – I would hear your voice anytime.  I had a good time too.  Thank you.”
“Tomorrow I’ve got a little break.  Would you share your Sunday with me, ma jolie fille [my pretty girl]?”  Alex spoke sincerely.  Reese had said that Lexa thought herself unlucky with men.  He didn’t want to spook her with inuendo or moving too quickly.
Lexa was doing the dance of joy inside, “Je te ferai le petit déjeuner?” [Shall I make you breakfast?]  Then she thought – I shouldn’t have said that.  I’ll scare him. 
But Alex said, “Sounds perfect.  About ten o’clock OK?  [Lexa interjected a yes, fine.] What shall I bring you, ma petite chou?  [my little cabbage]”
Lexa laughed with glee.  She hadn’t been called an affectionate anything in French in forever it seemed – perhaps not since her daddy had done.  She said, “Just yourself, chérie pie [sweetie],” playing on what her daddy had called the south of France, that the “chérie” sounded like “cherry”. 
“See you then, Lexa.” Alex ended the call.  Lexa was too excited to stay in bed and too dazed with romance to get up.  But get up she did and ordered in all manner of delightful foodstuffs to pile her larder high.  She planned her menu, checked her liquor and champagne supply, straightened the rooms she used.  Lexa now only briefly paused before closed doors to areas of the house she had not yet seen.  She had been used to condo living and had incorporated her favorite furniture with the horribly old antiques whose fate she hadn’t yet decided.  Her bedroom was especially comfortable and relaxing, so she changed the linens with a positive thought for a frisky Alex.  She tidied up the kitchen where she spent most of her time.  It had been impressively modernized and it was huge with a wall of French doors and an area large enough for lounging.  The massive fireplace had been added well after the house proper was built since at that time, the kitchen was a house separate from the main quarters, far enough away so when it burned down, no other structure was damaged.  The fireplace would never be used in the New Orleans heat and humidity and so Lexa had installed a huge flat screen television for company for herself, and that she called “Marcel” when she asked him what he was doing (i.e., turned it on to see what was on).  There was a considerable butler’s pantry that ran alongside the kitchen and housed all manner of china, dishes, glassware in the LeBlanc family for more than 150 years.  Lexa couldn’t bring herself to go in there and look since she was creeped out by the many mirrors placed among cubbies and cabinets to enhance the light so the “help” could prepare dishes pleasing to the eye.  Lexa would make a sandwich in the kitchen proper, put it on a paper towel and call it dinner.  If more dishes were required for her breakfast, she would send Alex after them, she grinned to herself.  Lexa was used to being alone and might have preferred it, but not in such an unknown, eerie place.  She knew she was procrastinating the necessary exploration but continued to leave it to another day like Scarlett O’Hara.
The next morning, Lexa was up with the dawn and by 9:30 she was ready to receive her highly anticipated guest.  Alex would be her first real guest in the cavernous manse.  Others had merely dropped in to see her inheritance and fairly quickly dropped out.  Lexa had spent an unusual amount of time on her appearance.  She thought she looked a bit like Marion Cotillard, the French actress.  Even if she didn’t, she was certainly presentable and maybe even alluring – all the better.
Lexa had made herself at home in her own kitchen and enjoyed cooking the dishes her father had taught her.  She was excited to cook for someone.  That Charles fool had to go out all the time and opined that Lexa was inept at household abilities as well as every other aspect of living she had got on well with without him for years before.
Lexa made and very well, eggs hussar, shrimp and grits, a simple fruit salad, and bought croissants and tiny French pastries to tickle one’s sweet tooth, although Alex had been sweet enough.  She perked the chicory coffee and had orange juice and champagne at the ready for mimosas.  Lexa had butterflies waiting for 10:00 to roll around, so she took a deep breath and fixed herself a mimosa, tried to relax like she entertained the most perfect gentleman caller every day.
At the sound of the bell, Lexa let out a tiny yelp and flew through the kitchen, slowing her steps to a stroll as she gained the front room.  Oh, putain, [fuck] Alex was a vision in jeans and a shirt; he looked just like himself.  The way the sun shone behind him, he looked as if he had a halo.  Lexa swallowed the exclamation of glee that leapt to her throat and opened the door. 
Apparently not one to ever appear empty-handed, Alex had brought warm beignets and cold Perrier Jouet champagne, Lexa’s favorite.  Sure Reese might have told him, but what a sweet, romantic gesture where nothing was required.  Lexa knew that heaven was missing an angel.  She exclaimed over the champagne and said, “You braved Café du Monde on a Sunday morning!  My hero!”  She hammed it up by looking up at him and batting her pretty eyelashes. 
Alex laughed, “Oh, I didn’t realize you were in the movies, Mary Pickford.”  As Lexa had taken the offerings from Alex’s hands, he swooped her up and planted a very ample and welcomed kiss on Lexa’s hungry lips. 
“What have you made us, darlin’?  It smells wonderful.”  Alex let Lexa lead him to the kitchen.
They began with mimosas and light conversation and progressed through Lexa’s delicious fare with sharing confidences light-heartedly.  Alex was kind and intelligently silly as fuck, both qualities Lexa found absolutely endearing.  Eventually the subject of Lexa’s bad luck in the romance department was broached and she gave Alex the abbreviated version of the Charles Chadwick tale, not without his belittling, cruel and avaricious nature and how she was grateful he disappeared, so she didn’t have to kill him, she teased. 
Alex asked softly, “Did he ever hurt you?” 
Lexa knew what he was asking and answered honestly, “No.  He wanted to; I could feel it.  But he must have known I wouldn’t stand for that, not for a second.”
Alex took Lexa in his arms and pulled her closer.  He murmured, “You’re a brave person.  If you hadn’t killed him, I would have.” 
He kissed her with respectful affection that Lexa returned as desire, urgent passionate desire.  Alex drew back with questions in his eyes that he would not ask.  He was still defining his intentions.  He said, “You are a wonder in the kitchen.  My dad used to do a lot of cooking for us as we were growing up and I like to cook as well.  Maybe you could show me.  I’d love to be your sous chef and cook with you sometime.”
Lexa was not sorry for her kiss.  She might be rushing things, but she wasn’t getting any younger, damnit.  She unabashedly looked directly at Alex, “Of course you can cook with me.  Is that all you want to do with me?”
Alex’s eyes widened as he looked at this pretty woman who had caressed his heart and soul with food and who now openly gazed at him with lust, that no strings right-the-fuck-now lust.  Lexa did not lower her gaze that had given Alex a raging hardon.  His voice was a lustful growl as he honestly answered her, “I want to fuck you until you breathe my name, until you come so hard you think you’ll die and then you come again.  I want my cock inside you right now.  I want to fucking love you.  That’s what I want to do with you.”
Lexa purred, “Laisse-moi chevaucher ta bite!  Baise moi maintenant!” [Let me ride your dick.  Fuck me now.]
Alex leapt up and grabbed Lexa, kissing her like he would never stop, like he couldn’t stop.  He pulled his shirt off and tugged at Lexa’s.  He held her against the counter, kissing her with the passion of the gods.  They wobbled into the butler’s pantry, still embraced without pause.  Lexa gasped at the myriad reflections she could see of Alex’s taut, thrusting butt in his well-fitting jeans.  Alex lifted Lexa onto the counter height workspace.  Lexa took a breath and pulled her shirt over her head.  Alex hurriedly unfastened Lexa’s jeans and pulled them off her feet, panties and all.  Their frenzy lessened then.  Alex looked into Lexa’s eyes as he gently unfastened her bra.  He groaned with desire as he kissed her neck and each breast with the adoration one might have for the earth and the sky as nurturers of life itself.  Lexa had never felt such worship.  She thought she could have come then with little further stimulation.
But Alex paused, took a condom from his pocket and took his pants off.  Lexa knew he was the blond god from her dreams who would give her pleasure beyond her imaginings.  Alex stroked back his foreskin, rolled the condom down his cock and stepped toward Lexa.  “Are you ready, babe?  Is this what you want?”
Lexa reached for him, “Fuck me.  God fuck me.”  As Alex slowly entered her, Lexa began to pant.  As Alex hit her g-spot and was fully inside her, Lexa came like the dam had burst.  She moaned and went silent, riding the heavy-hitting waves of ecstasy.  Alex was surprised; he’d done nothing to bring her to orgasm but want her desperately.  As her walls clasped him rhythmically, he thought she was in for a ride alright, as was he.  How many times could he make her come?  Damn she felt good, even through a condom.  He should tell her.  He couldn’t speak.  His thoughts dissolved to clever lines and comforting spaces as he fucked her to oblivion again and again.  She loved it.  She wanted all he had to give her.  After he’d lost count of her orgasms, he knew he had to have his own release.  He moved his right hand for firmer leverage and easily put it through a wooden façade on the butler’s pantry storage cabinetry.  He paid no attention.  He was going to come.  God it was so good.  He tried to tell her, but he groaned and couldn’t form real words.  He thought he hadn’t felt this before, this ahhhh urrgggg uhhhhheh.  He shot so hard he fleetingly imagined the condom would come off.  He was not in control here this minute and Lexa had escaped into another dimension.  She looked at him in awe, sated.  He kissed her and didn’t want to stop.  He wanted to be inside her forever.  He thought that he fucking lov….  Wait.  His arm was bleeding from a little scratch from putting his hand through that wood panel.  He kissed her again and withdrew, snatching the condom off his withering weapon.
Lexa couldn’t speak, but she hopped off the counter to fetch band-aids and peroxide.  Not much blood considering she’d died several times and been brought back to life with a heart-starting orgasm unlike anything she had heretofore experienced.  She looked at the magician who had awakened the stilled nymph.  He was magnificent.  She bound his small wounds and kissed them.  She looked into his blue eyes and opened her mouth to explain (she couldn’t), to thank him (she dasn’t), to make a joke (not when she had seen god and he stood right there).  Alex kissed her to stop her effort.  “Let’s leave this one for a bit.  I can’t even know right now what the fuck we just did, OK?”  She nodded her grateful agreement and turned to see what her superman had destroyed that some butler sometime had so cared for.
The lovers, as they must be called hence, examined the small space that Alex had pressed on just right for it to give way to the mystery beneath.  As they dressed, they speculated on the whys and wherefores of that obvious bread-keep built not to keep bread.  Lexa fetched a claw hammer and Alex finished the demolition the one thrust of his hand had not accomplished.  There was a small panel at the back that must have had a spring latch as there was no visible means of opening it, yet through the years it had moved imperceptibly until it was without doubt that it was meant to open.  Alex and Lexa laughed about Indiana Jones and this lost what (?); other explorers who had found something and rehidden it.  Lexa spun a tale of a civil war union soldier whose family jewels were hidden there.  Then it hit her – could this be the hiding place of her Aunt Bella’s story of family treasure?  Was this the reason that the Charles fool had adamantly courted her?  As she explained the legend to Alex and Charles’ insistence that the treasure existed, she continued to search by feel for a latch and opened a drawer beneath the work surface that contained silver serving pieces.  She felt around and pressed a button at the top of the opening of the drawer, unseen only felt.  The little door sprung open!
Inside were bags of jewelry – necklaces, bracelets, and loose stones.  There was a diary from civil war time, land deeds, and people deeds – which, regrettable now, were valuable as historical artifact.  There were pieces of hair jewelry and notes in longhand about the hair, the lineage from whom it came and how much the deceased would be missed.  There was civil war currency, medals and memorabilia Lexa knew nothing of, including one dutifully decorated presentation revolver, loaded and a belt of ammunition.  Lexa was not particularly impressed, having items of that era around her entire life, but Alex was over the moon since he was intrigued with the American Civil War.
Lexa opened a bottle of champagne and told Alex the history of her family, the parts she was proud of and the parts for which she was ashamed.  He was a rapt listener, interested in how far back her people went and the details of those lives that had been passed down through the generations.  When the bottle was empty and Lexa had concluded her history lesson, Alex said, “In Sweden, we only chose our surnames in this last century.  I would be hard-pressed to trace the Viking I’m descended from.  I can only imagine your legacy.  Hell, we can’t change the past, but I can say that I am so happy to know you in the present.”  He pulled Lexa to him and kissed her like he loved her.  She thought so anyway, and she gave it back to him.  Admittedly it was way too soon to have feelings for each other.  Still, Lexa had never engaged with another human as deeply as she had fallen into Alex.  The thought crossed his mind that he might love her.  He was experiencing the heretofore unknown himself.  He assumed he would figure it out eventually, by which time Lexa would be his or would be gone, tired of waiting for a Swede who lived out of one suitcase to decide what to keep.
Alex suggested that Lexa might want to make an inventory of the trove, just in case.  Lexa suggested that maybe they should go on kissing instead, or she would put the find in the safe and they could go to the zoo.  “Fun now, inventory work later, pleeeeeaaaase,” Lexa playfully teased the scruff on his cheek with her nose.
Alex noticed there was no hesitation on his part.  He would forever give in to her.  Alex had never done that before, not even with his siblings.  Maybe he knew that Lexa would never ask the ill-advised or the impossible.  He wanted to give her everything, anything.  He wondered if he’d already given Lexa his heart.  “Holy fuck,” he thought as he got ready to go to the zoo.  They would take the streetcar.  It would be fun.
On the trolley, Alex held Lexa’s hand like they had known each other for years.  They were that comfortable with each other already.  Alex looked out the windows and was thinking about something that he needed to fix if his affection for Lexa was real, could last, would remain his.  He turned to the happy girl beside him.  “You know, darlin’, we have the same name.  I’m Alexander the Great and you’re Queen Alexandra of Denmark, not genetically, I know.  See, I’ve dated one before and it became creepy and irritating.  That last might just have been the woman, not necessarily our name.  She decreed I could call her nothing but her given name as nicknames were demeaning, whether affectionate or not.  So please tell me now your feelings about this because you are nothing like that other one, whom I have really forgotten, except for the irritation.”
Lexa laughed outright, “A-lex-a.  I remember your press barely.  Nevermind her.  I agree with you that it’s a little creepy for me to call you and it might come out my name by mistake, or, heaven forfend, you think you’re back with the other one.  My entire name is Alexandra Richard (pronounced the French way) LeBlanc.  You could call me Precious Darlin’ Angel.”  Lexa was teasing him hard about his ex.
Alex took it in stride, “No, you are not, nor ever would be or could be ever or never the she who doesn’t cross my mind.  No comparison.  No.  My name is Alexander Johan Hjalmar Skarsgård.  Want to pick one?  You could call me the Best Lover You’ve Ever Had, but it’s too long to scream if you’re panicked.”  They were teasing each other like a married couple and laughing like loons.
“Isn’t Johan Swedish for John?”  Lexa continued to tease.
“Yes.  So then I can call you Richard, pronounced the English way.  Is that it?”  Alex clutched Lexa to him and whispered, “Oh my Richard, I love my Dick.”
Lexa hooted, “You’re the best John I ever had, honey.”
It was so decided.  Perhaps a less silly discussion might have been better, but as the days and weeks went on “John” and “Richard” were always uttered with such love and affection that any sentiment of silly was forgiven.  Alex loved to tease Lexa when he was looking for her by going through the house shouting, “Where’s my Dick?  Has anyone seen my Dick?”  Lexa would usually hug him and say, “Yeah, everybody’s seen it, mon amant.” [my lover].
The Audubon Zoo on Magazine St. was very fun.  They strolled, talked, held hands and made a few tasteful but effective public displays of affection for the capybara.  Things were moving quickly and despite fear of all that can go wrong or the knowledge that the other person has baggage that will be dealt with at some point, Alex and Lexa consciously or sub decided to go with the flow.  Life’s too short to deny joy wherever it comes.
Lexa insisted (with little to no insistence as there was no resistance) on oyster po’ boys from the Red Fish Grill for lunch/dinner they would take home.  Alex was ravenous and made short work of the sandwiches and sparkling water that encouraged uncouth carbonation-expelling noises.  Alex recited Shakespeare – Hamlet’s speech to the skull (Alas, poor Yorick) during his burps to see how far along he could get each time, eliciting great giggles from his captive audience of one.  Lexa loved his humor and hoped all his appetites were as large as his hunger for food and silly humor.
But she had acknowledged to herself that Alex was right when he suggested an inventory of the stash and she got her laptop and the items from the safe.  Alex would gladly help her make short work of that as well.  To keep the party atmosphere going, Lexa brought out Alex’s gift of champagne, which Alex was glad to open and pour.  “A toast to the most beautiful girl in New Orleans, no, the most beautiful girl east and west of the Mississippi; and certainly, the most beautiful girl in this room and the very one I’m going to make smile later.”  Alex raised his glass to Lexa. 
Lexa blushed and hugged Alex, “I’m smiling now, but later will be good too.”  Alex kissed her thoroughly.  There was no doubt later would be good.
The inventory took a little longer than it did for the pair to leisurely drink the Perrier Jouet.  Alex was a big help, and he was able to examine the items to his heart’s content and remark on the history of each piece.  The jewelry was especially fun since after each necklace or bracelet or ring was listed in detail, Alex would put it on.  He modeled it very nicely for Lexa’s photographic addition to the inventory, until he decided that naked would be better so his clothing did not detract from the inventory items.  Lexa made a few pics (tasteful considering the ribald nature of the model) that would be seen by no eyes but those currently in the room.  Soon the over-exposed posing was done.  The model had tired of making love to the camera and said he preferred a more animate partner, with a wicked wink for Lexa.
Lexa stowed the treasure trove for safe-keeping and remarked that she would take it to the bank tomorrow, put it in a safe deposit box and ask the appraiser to come to the vault to examine the items for valuation and to see if any were museum quality.  Lexa did not have a desire to keep any of the items unless some piece could be attributed to her Auntie Bella’s mother and she didn’t see how that would happen.  She asked Alex what he would like to have since he technically “found” the treasure.  Alex chose a civil war officer’s ring and a small brooch of hair that a widow had made from the leavings of her soldier husband (because hair jewelry is strange to us and a little creepy).  Lexa was glad for him to have them and struck through them on the inventory.  She mentioned that she knew of Rafael Eledge, the civil war memorabilia appraiser on the Antiques Roadshow, that he had appraised other LeBlanc items and that she would call him.  Lexa would be glad to not have the cache in the house.  It reminded her not of her Auntie Bella, but of that fool Chadwick who would’ve really killed her for it. 
Lexa picked up Alex’s clothes and Alex chased her up the back staircase to her bedroom.  She let Alex catch her.
For no reason Alex could think of other than it was Lexa, he was on fire for her.  The moment they put feet in the bedroom, Alex took his clothes from her, dropped them on the floor, urged her shirt over her head, took her in his arms and kissed her as if he hadn’t seen her in years.  She gave herself so trustingly to him, for him, as if her pleasure was a benefit to the objective of his, and she looked so beautiful to him when he pushed her over the edge into all-consuming ecstasy.  Without her confessing, he knew she’d never known she could experience such pleasure.  He would strive to give her all she needed and as many soaring orgasms as her body wanted.  His need was palpable, and Lexa intended to give him all she had as well.  As she pushed her pants off, Alex nibbled her neck.  She loved that and she rewarded him with a moan for more.  They reclined on the bed and Alex complied.  He wanted to fulfill her every desire, her every whim, the entirety of that she had not yet imagined.  He ran his hand down her glorious body, relishing every inch of her, to her sex.  Lexa wanted him.  Alex pushed one finger into her hot channel and curved it.  Lexa moaned with her own need for him.  As he moved his finger insider her and thumbed her clit, she begged, “Please, please.  Je veux ta bite a l’interieur de moi.” [I want your dick inside me.]
Alex would ever deny her nothing.  He found a condom, donned it and entered her.  She seemed to pull his cock into her until he had no more to give.  It was hers.  He would give his all to her without hesitation.  The southern girl had captured the Northman without setting a trap or throwing a snare, without conscious thought.  Lexa would not comprehend for some time that she had him, from head to toe, inside and out.  He fell hard, but Lexa soothed any bruises he may have felt by her very nature. 
Lexa was secure in his arms.  She felt free and beautiful and alive.  Her orgasms were her own, yes, but intensely Alex’s too.  Lexa gave herself to him in the certain knowledge that he could never mean to hurt her.  All this was felt by the lovers and not voiced.  Words could not approach their feelings that their cognizance hadn’t yet recognized.  They were trustingly in love, in the blink of an eye.
As Alex moved inside her, he felt her walls caress him as Lexa went up the curve and flew into her orgasm – for him.  She whispered his name as her body convulsed with the waves of passion he gave her.  Fuck, I love her, Alex thought.  He was unaware of the single tear that dampened his cheek.  I want all of her, I need her.  Suddenly, he withdrew and quickly rolled the condom off his throbbing cock.  He looked at Lexa, “I need…I need to feel you.”  A low sob escaped him as Lexa nodded her assent.  As one now, they rose united to heights not attained before.  Their mutual orgasm was more than the seconds of pulsing release, it was an ethereal, death-defying melding of two as one.
They lay side by side, breathing in each other, trying to place what they’d done into reality – unsuccessfully.  “If it’s like this every time, I won’t be able to finish this movie,” Alex whispered, “I love you.  I do.  Darlin’, you OK, baby?”
Lexa had the Mona Lisa’s smile.  She found Alex’s hand and brought it to her pounding heart, “I love you.  I don’t know how it can be.  I love you.”
The next morning, Lexa awoke on time as usual.  She never needed an alarm.  She reached for Alex, who sleepily turned toward her and wrapped her in his arms.  “Do we have to?”  Alex whined, but in a sweet way since he knew the answer.  Lexa kissed his chest.  “If you want to, just stay here with me instead of your movie accommodations.  I have the irrational desire to be with you every moment.  It’s crazy.”  Lexa was of two minds; both of them were on Alex.
“Not crazy.  I’ll be back this evening.  I’ll text you when.  I can’t stay away.  I meant what I said.  Se lever, Belle Chatte.” [arise, pretty pussy.]  Alex gave Lexa a little kiss and jumped ahead of her for the bathroom not realizing that the house was full of them.  Lexa smiled at the ache in her stomach for him and stepped into another shower.  She had never been in love, and she hoped it didn’t wash off.
The coffee perked itself and was perfect with the day-old beignets, still tasty.  Lexa looked professional.  Alex was clean and smiling and looked good enough to eat.  With the treasure in a banker’s box, it went out the door with the banker and the actor.  Lexa drove Alex to the set, and he lingered over the goodbye kiss until Lexa was breathless and assured her he’d see her tonight.  Reese wasn’t in sight and Lexa couldn’t be late. 
Fortunately, the appraiser would begin today.  Lexa had had the benefit of twenty-four hours of lifechanging experiences.  She would count the hours until she would see Alex, treasure forgotten.  But the appraiser was ecstatic.  Apparently some of the items were considered “priceless” and museums would vie for them.  Lexa called the family attorney and put him together with the appraiser.  She took time out of her day for one photo for the paper about the find.  Lexa was happy to let others handle the where and how the treasure would find another home and be seen.
Alex began to stay with Lexa, and they grew ever closer.  It was as if they had always known each other.  If Alex had a night shoot, Lexa would visit briefly just to touch each other and confirm all was well.  The sex remained irrepressible, intense and frequent.  The pair seemed to be on the same wavelength and often words were unnecessary.  Reese, in observing her cousin and her friend, alternated between afraid they were in a strange space that could not be maintained and each one would hurt excruciatingly, and amazed that the two found each other and were such a perfect fit.  When Reese asked Lexa how the sex was, Lexa was always at a loss for words, she babbled and gushed and ended with “perfect”.  Reese so wanted this to last for Lexa.  But what happens when the movie wraps?  Reese knew it was too intrusive to ask Alex such a question.  Alex wouldn’t have wanted to admit that he didn’t know.
 Alex was with Lexa most every night.  Lexa didn’t really enjoy the rambling house on her own and they explored together.  They had found rooms of antique furniture, attics (more than one) with photographs and mementoes of childhoods long past.  All this would have daunted Lexa, but with Alex there, it was fun.  He thought everything was interesting and if there wasn’t a story attached, Alex could make up a suitable one.  He said a screenwriter would have material for a lifetime in Lexa’s house.  The house became happy, as did Lexa.  Her past failures in love were forgotten and tossed out, trampled under her bed of roses.  The only one who mattered loved her unflinchingly.
One night after a simple dinner, Alex and Lexa went upstairs and made love like they invented it.  Afterwards, they were cuddled up like peas in a pod, nodding in sweet-dreamed slumber when Alex jerked, waking Lexa.  “Shhh,” Alex cautioned, “I heard something.  Stay here, baby.  I love you.”  Alex slipped on his underwear and picked up the ball bat Lexa had kept handy from her condo days.  He silently closed the bedroom door behind him. 
Lexa wondered how many times Alex had to deal with a possible intruder.  She figured a woman alone might have more rational thought on keeping safe than a man who thinks first to fight.  Nevertheless, Lexa wouldn’t let Alex do whatever was necessary alone.  She quickly pulled the pistol from her bedside table and put a robe on, tying it securely.  As she left the room, she wondered why Alex hadn’t turned on the lights.  Without night vision goggles, no one has an advantage in a dark room.  By god she’d turn them on, all of them.
At the flick of the light switches, the scene before her shocked her to the core: Alex was standing with the raised ball bat at the head of the front stairs, ready to swing.  Another figure was on the top step facing Alex.  She recognized the intruder.  No, it couldn’t be.  But it was.  There was Charles Chadwick, dressed all in black, and with a gun in his hand.
Lexa had made her presence known when she turned on the lights.  Charles, never taking his eyes off Alex, said, “Have you missed me, my love?  I see it didn’t take you long to take up with the pool boy, you whore.  And I saw you found my treasure.  Didn’t you know I’d be back for it?”
Charles began to cajole her in a sickeningly sweet voice, “Just give me all that shit, and I’ll be out of your way, so you can teach your neanderthal here to read and write while he fucks you.  Hand it over and I won’t have to kill your pet pecker.  C’mon, sweetheart, you don’t want his blood on your Auntie’s carpet.”
Alex was fuming.  Lexa thought she could feel the heat from where she was behind him.  Alex was fearless in the face of the gun, “Shut the fuck up, you no-dick creep.”
“Oh, it talks.  Alexa, come give me a kiss like you used to do.  I know you want me.”  Lexa was about to vomit, sickened from the words and the situation.
“Alex, just step back, let him through.  Please, Alex.”  Lexa knew she would kill Charles Chadwick no matter what he did.  She just wanted to do it before anything happened to her Alex.
Instead of backing up, Alex refused her request this once and decidedly took a step forward.  Charles took aim at Alex’s chest.  Lexa immediately fired her gun into the ceiling.  Charles was startled, took a step back and tripped.  As he went ass over neck down the stairs, his gun fired wildly.  The bullet harmlessly tore through the layers of wallpaper on the wall next to the stairs.  He had tripped over his own greed and ego and landed at the bottom of the staircase, twisted and broken.  Charles Chadwick didn’t move again. 
Alex dropped the ball bat and ran to Lexa.  “Oh baby, tell me you’re alright.  Goddamn you’re a brave little bit.  Alexandra, are you OK?”  Alex was feeling of Lexa all over then held her tight.  He kissed her face.  She noticed the tears in his eyes.
“Alex, I’m fine.  You’re fine?  You’re fine.  We’re fine.  Fuck, hold me…  Alex.”  Lexa was shaking now. 
Pressed into Alex’s chest, she mumbled, “Is that motherfucking asshole cunt dead?” 
She had gotten progressively louder until she was screaming.  Lexa screamed again and sobbed against Alex’s chest.  Alex held her tight.  He was shaking a little too.  It was just a short time until Lexa had calmed and kissed Alex’s ebbing anxiety away.
“I’ll call my second cousin, Jeffrey Thibodaux.  He’s the coroner for Orleans Parish.  He can interface with the NOPD for us.  It’ll be OK, baby.  No publicity for you.  I promise.”  Lexa made the call and unlocked the front door with her phone. 
“C’mon, Alex.  Sit here on the bed with me.  Jeffrey will be here soon.  Don’t look at that wasted fuck down there.  C’mere.”  Lexa calmly reloaded her gun and put it back in the bedside table drawer.  It may not be necessary to mention that she thought to herself.
Alex was alright, a bit shaken.  He’d never been in a real situation like this.  He didn’t like it, but stoically he thought, “shit happens.”  As he and Lexa began to breathe normally cuddled on the bed, he began to think happier albeit scary thoughts: I fucking love this woman.  I would’ve died for her.  She was ready to die for me.  And she would’ve killed him to save me.  I don’t doubt that.  Jeezus, I truly love her.  I won’t lose her, whatever I need to do.  Alex always eventually knew his own mind.  He kissed his woman until the coroner called out for them.
“Cher!  Is just me.  You been rougarrouin’?  Come see, heah.”  Second cousin Jeffrey was a Cajun.  Alex looked at Lexa, not understanding that the coroner had just sweetly called Lexa to come out.  That it was just him. 
Lexa took Alex by the hand, “It’ll be OK.  I promise.”  They emerged and went toward the head of the staircase. 
Jeffrey was examining the body.  “Good law, you need a gris-gris on your menz, Cher, sure nuf.  Now that couillon deserved nothin’ better.  Wha’ happen?”
Lexa explained that Charles Chadwick had broken into the house while she and Alex slept.  Maybe Jeffrey could find where he did to show the police?  Alex kept him at bay at the top of the stairs with a ball bat.  Charles had a gun.  Charles lost his balance and fell down the steps.  He never moved again.  Coroner Jeffrey nodded and became medically understandable, “That all fits.  He broke his neck, a shoulder, his spine lower down (we could call it his ass, Cher).  He’s all bruised up.  I see there where his gun went off.  And we all thought this sonofabitch was dead, burnt up.  Well, he sho is now.  You alright, Cher?  You gotta good man this time maybe?”
Alex spoke up then, “Hey, Jeffrey.  I’m Alex.  I do my best by her.”  Alex hugged and kissed Lexa then.  Looks like I’m gonna have to understand Cajun eventually, he thought to himself.  It made him smile.
Jeffrey said, “Hey, don’t I know you?”
Lexa spoke up, “That’s the thing, Jeffrey, Alex is in that movie they’re filming in the Quarter, the one with Reese in it too.  Can we just keep him out of it?  He doesn’t need the publicity.  He’s Alexander Skarsgård.  Remember Eric Northman in True Blood?”
Recognition dawned and Jeffrey nodded, “So you beat him down the steps, Cher?  Or you wanted to and he just tripped?”
“Yeah, I wanted to, but he did just fall.  Hell, he was going to shoot us all over that bunch of stuff we found that was in the newspaper.  Auntie Bella’s treasure.”  Lexa would be calm when she had to tell her story to the police that she only had a ball bat, but Chadwick tripped himself.
“That sounds like him – a con man with no finesse.  Good riddance finally.  You’re in the clear.  Alex just needs to keep still.  I’ll handle it.  Looks like he jimmied one of your French doors in the kitchen.  Lock your bedroom door.  You know how the law pokes around.  I’ll call you, Cher, when they need a statement.”  Jeffrey had the situation in hand.  He had called a detective in the NOPD that was a good friend.  Lexa knew it would be wrapped up shortly.
The blue lights came quickly.  Jeffrey met them at the door and explained it all.  When the detective saw who it was, he said, “Motherfuck.  We thought this asshole was dead.  You done, Jeff?  Let’s get the body gone.  Is Ms. LeBlanc alright?  She fought him off, did she?  She’s a pretty thing to have had so much trouble out of one piece of shit.  What?  Oh, he broke in back there, she threatened him with a bat at the top of the stairs, he fell, he’s fuckin’ dead.  That it?  I don’t think we need to bother the poor woman.  Does she need a doctor?  Yeah, that’s right, Jeff, you’re her cousin somehow.  That’s why she called you.  OK.  Let’s wrap this up and get out of here so she can sleep.  Give Ms. LeBlanc my best, will you Jeff?  I’m sure sorry this happened.”
Alex and Lexa heard it all because the detective spoke loudly enough for his patrol officers to hear, he didn’t have to repeat himself.  There was much tromping of policemen’s shoes, muffled voices, and blue lights in the windows.  After only about fifteen minutes, everything was quiet.  Jeffrey called up, “We’re out, Cher.  Lock your door.  Don’t give that goddamn couillon a thought. Laissez les bon temps rouler, Cher.  Get you some off Eric Northman, heah?  Call me if you need anything.”  They heard the door slam and Lexa locked it with her phone.
Death and disaster thwarted!  Alex and Lexa looked at each other lustfully, having averted all harm and feeling so alive in the face of ultimate finality.  “Laisse-moi te baiser,” [Let me fuck you.]  Alex breathed as he kissed Lexa’s neck.  Lexa was so ready and pulled him to her. 
Alex’s cock knew the way and he was inside her making her moan like the saddest coyote with the joy of birdsong.  Lexa met his thrusts and demanded, “Baise moi plus fort!” [Fuck me harder!]   Alex denied her nothing.  He banged her roughly. 
“Viens pour moi,” [Come for me,] Alex commanded, “fuck me, give it.”  Lexa gave him the orgasm he asked for that was as smooth and fine as the gait of a Tennessee Walking Horse and as strong and hard as it’s kick. 
Alex praised her, kissed her and kept thrusting.  Fuck, she feels so good, so fucking good, I want to do this forever, he thought.  He felt it, Lexa would come again soon.  And in this finest fuck, he would with her. 
Alex shouted, “Viens, bebe, viens maintenant!” [Come on, baby, come now!]  They came together and the waves of ecstasy seemed to go on forever.  “Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck,” Alex moaned. 
Lexa screamed, “Aleeeex!” and reached to kiss his skin, the first she found, to muffle the exclamation. 
When Lexa caught her breath, she giggled, “Damn, boy, you are fine.  Let’s just not sort of dangerously enable death to do that again.”  She laughed outright. 
They hadn’t technically killed him but by law they could’ve shot the intruder by right.  Alex laughed with her.  The strain of the evening’s events had broken.  He held her like valuable porcelain.  The thoughts that kept running through his head made him smile: Fell in love, found a treasure, made a movie, truly fell in love, hastened asshole’s death, have the love of this surprising, beautiful woman.  This is the most fun I’ve ever had even though I almost got shot protecting my woman and thinking of MY woman, I’m going to marry this one because she is truly the treasure – lifechanging shit here.  Ma bonne chance!
And they lived happily ever after.
‘Alas poor Yorik’ monologue spoken by Hamlet, Hamlet Act 5 Scene 1:
Alas, poor Yorick! I knew him, Horatio: a fellow of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy: he hath borne me on his back a thousand times; and now, how abhorred in my imagination it is! my gorge rims at it. Here hung those lips that I have kissed I know not how oft. Where be your gibes now? your gambols? your songs? your flashes of merriment, that were wont to set the table on a roar? Not one now, to mock your own grinning? quite chap-fallen? Now get you to my lady’s chamber, and tell her, let her paint an inch thick, to this favour she must come; make her laugh at that.
(How much of this can you spout in one carbonated burp?  It’s a talent.)
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photo from Infinity Pool press
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