M_Jehan_7
"O my eternal soul, hold fast to desire in spite of the night and the day on fire." -- A. Rimbaud --
Well, damme, screweth this clambake, I say! Let us all headeth back to yon castle and maketh a feast to die for, and regroupeth a little, eh? Sustenance be requir'd before we canst cometh up with any workable "Plan B".
My Lady Pandikat, this be neither time nor place to deciphereth yon paragraph code, but if ye wouldest care to visit yon "Boneyard", I hath lefteth detailed instructions.
Now, divine as it is to be tied up like this --
If ye dinna free me NOW,
there will be
NO SUSTENANCE
FOR ANYONE!!!!
A sudden flurry of activity around the Master Chef. Jehan rises, adjusts ridiculous purple fleece shorts, smiles.
Ah, I thanketh ye, good friends! And now, to yon castle!
M_Jehan_7 7:51AM - November 10, 1998 (818 of 821 messages)
"O my eternal soul, hold fast to desire in spite of the night and the day on fire." -- A. Rimbaud -- Vision fades to the grainy black-and-white of an artsy photograph. Trees vanish, and street lights rise up in their place. Overgrown paths become rutted asphalt. Famous, free-wheeling anthem is heard over the distant roar of motorcycles.
"Born to be Wiiiiiillllddd!"
The castle fades out, and in its place appears a classic diner. Color fades in slowly. Dull silver in the fog, the diner's red enamel trim appearing black in the dark. Blue neon winks, proclaiming --
Jehan's Blue Moon Cafe
Open on a never-ending continuum.
In the doorway stands a man in crisp, straight-leg jeans, immaculate white t-shirt, and no-nonsense, short-order cook's apron. His curly, dark hair is slicked back, and he stares up at the sky as he smokes -- something. He turns in the direction of the aproaching sound, smiles, extinguishes his smoking matter, carefully tucks hand-rolled cigarette into his t-shirt pocket. So lovingly protected, it cannot be an ordinary cigarette. No. The man is high as a kite, wonders how he will manage to brew up the coffee, but is determined to do it, nonetheless. Whistling a flawed version of Brubeck's "Take Five" against the Steppenwolf soundtrack already established, he disappears inside the diner...
chocolady3 9:37AM - November 11, 1998 (819 of 821 messages)
...has a tendency to daydream.
....ptui...(hork, spit)...yucko hate that - eating road dust for the entire ride into the latest leap through the continuum. Oh well at least I didn't have to go first. Where the hell are we anyway and is that a Pig on the roof?
Pandikat 9:45AM - November 11, 1998 (820 of 821 messages)
"If I only had da nerve!"
A battered Harley pulls up to the door of the diner, roaring in the silence. One of the two passengers dismounts from the back and removes the shiny black helmet, revealing a curly mass of red hair and full lips set in a pouty frown.
"Come on, baby." Her voice is barely heard over the steady rumble of the Hog. The driver flips up his face shield and kisses the young woman passionately, until her pout becomes a reluctant, lazy smile. She knows he has to leave, but he'll be back. He always comes back.
The Harley and it's handsome driver speed off, vanishing into the fog. The woman runs a hand through her tangled curls and sighs. She heads into the diner.
Pandi the Cat has arrived.
M_Jehan_7 11:22AM - November 11, 1998 (821 of 821 messages)
"O my eternal soul, hold fast to desire in spite of the night and the day on fire." -- A. Rimbaud --
Jehan the counter-jerk draws two in the dark, sets the white mugs down before the biker ladies, then comes out from behind the counter, straddles one of the chrome stools. Tight, but moderately-sized biceps strain against the sleeves of his immaculate t-shirt.
Ain't no pig, babe. Dunno what it is, but it ain't no pig. Ya want somethin' ta eat? I got these great blueberry muffins. No? Hmm...Somethin' tells me you ladies are holdin' out for somethin' more interesting, an' I don't think I'd be far off if I guessed that somethin' might be chocolate...Yeah? Well, I also got this French Silk pie. Y'all have at it while I -- ah -- step out for a smoke an' a look at that pig...
Jehan heads outside, carefully retrieving smoking matter from t-shirt pocket. He lights up, drags, holds breath, smiles, forgets all about the roof as he stares at street light he has mistaken for the moon...
chocolady3 11:52AM - November 11, 1998 (822 of 825 messages)
...has a tendency to daydream.
Roxy Chocolate glances briefly at the pie on the plate in front of her. She casually pulls an object from the inside pocket of her red suede jacket. A Death's Head tatoo briefly grins from the edge of her black Harley t-shirt. A sleek silver blade suddenly appears and she begins cleaning the engine oil from beneath her long blood-red nails. Having a suspicious nature, her thoughts wonder to the mysterious counter-clerk. Roxy has learned the hard way that rarely are things as they seem. "So Pandi, what time did Spye say she'd get here? I gotta feeling this is the the type of place we ain't gonna be meeting nothin but big time trouble."
Pandikat 12:26PM - November 11, 1998 (823 of 825 messages)
"If I only had da nerve!"
Pandi looks longingly at the French Silk Pie but makes no move toward it. Chicago Bob hates it when she binges on chocolate and he always finds out, even when he's a thousand miles away streaking down some lonely desert highway.
"I dunno, Roxy. I ain't seen Spye since the rally up in Lake George." She leans over in a conspiritory manner. "That counter boy is wacked, I think. You think he'll be trouble?
chocolady3 10:08PM - November 11, 1998 (824 of 825 messages)
...has a tendency to daydream.
"HA! Whacked is ....as whacked does, eh Cat? Roxy grins as she inspects the black onyx and ruby studded handle of the jack-knife. Like most of the people she knew, she traveled light and fast. Her possesions where chosen for their quality of service, reliability and personalities. The knife was a treaszured gift and the words "The Redemeer" were engraved along the razor-sharp edge. She closes the knife with a snap and shakes her silver spiked hair.
"Last I heard of Spye she was spending some quality time with the Pale Dude. One things for sure, we won't be seeing her hide until after the sun goes down. Aren't you gonna eat that pie? " Roxy leans back with a smirk and pulls a gleaming silver harmonica from inside her well worn crimson snake-skined boot.
M_Jehan_7 4:30AM - November 12, 1998 (825 of 825 messages)
"O my eternal soul, hold fast to desire in spite of the night and the day on fire." -- A. Rimbaud --
Jehan walks in carefully, his dark eyes far away and dreamy.
"Wacked? Nah. Just a little high, and a little -- sad. Waitin' for the right man to walk into my life, sweep me off my feet, carry me off to some great Blue fuckin' Heaven. Till then -- well, I got me this place, anyway. An' I can cook, right?
Jehan leans towards Roxy Chocolate, smiling mischievously, chucks her under the chin, much to her obvious annoyance.
Eh, relax, babe, wouldja? I got no designs on you -- just wanna know, whatcha think of the pie? 'Cause if you like it, I got temptations you won't believe. I could have you writhin' in a chocolate orgasmic frenzy in about two minutes. Just say the word. An' if you're not ready for that -- well, this is a diner, right? You can fortify yourself for the experience with my Blue Plate Special. Chicken croquettes and mashed potatoes. My specialty."
Jehan moves on to Pandi the Cat, perches on her leather-clad knees, and retrieves her plate of pie.
Come on, you know you want it. Just one piece. That ain't no binge, an' Chicago Bob'll never hear the story from these lips. An' you don't wanna go refusin' Jehan's best goodies, do ya? It would make him ever sadder than he already is, see? An' it's bad enough he likes to get high when he's sad, but if he gets any sadder, well, then he starts drinkin', an' then the food around here ain't so good for awhile. Bad for business.
Jehan feeds Pandi the Cat a bite of pie.
Oh, that's a good girl! An' I didn't lie, did I? That's the best damn French Silk Pie ever passed those pretty lips.
Jehan places fork and plate in Pandi the Cat's trembling hands, rises, meanders towards the back room.
Well, my break's over for the moment, ladies. Go ahead an' help yourselves to coffee. I gotta make up a batch a soup.
Pandikat 6:44AM - November 12, 1998 (826 of 826 messages)
"You know that I love you, but I'd be inclined to slap you in the mouth."
"Okay, this ain't turning out well." Pandi tries to put the pie back on the counter, but has to give in to the velvety smoothness of it after all. Well, it is only one tiny slice and she's been so good lately.
"Spye's still with the Pale Dude? You think she'd know better by now." Pandi finishes the pie and slides the plate back on the counter. Restless, she sidles over to the jukebox and taps on the glass front with one curved red fingernail.
"Any requests, Roxy?
Pandi starts to bob her head to a tune only she can hear, and thinks longingly of Rafe with only the slightest twinge of guilt.
The Gremster
9:02AM - November 12, 1998 (827 of 830 messages)
The diner door bursts open and in walks a 5ft 10" black leather clad woman of olive complexion. Her auburn hair has grown past shoulder length and smells strongly of the road. Sage turns her head away from the counter and notices two women similarily dressed. One about to hug the harmonica to her already pouting lips and the other female tapping lightly with an immaculate ruby red finger nail on the worn jukebox. Morning ladies, long time no see. As Sage strides purposely over to the counter to see what offerings are left to her, she feels and remembers the P220 Sig Sawyer .45, she accosted from a burly haulage truck driver the day before, placed firmly to the curve of her spine. Mitch was a nice guy in a weird sort of way, he had a way with weaponery that the SAS could only dream of. It's a shame she had to put him away, things might have been promising. With a smile Sage turns towards the back and sits down in one of the booths against the wall and puts her silver heeled boots firmly on the table. I need some pie and along cool drink, any one seen the cook?
Spye. 9:06AM - November 12, 1998 (828 of 830 messages)
"Let's do the Time Warp again!"
All talking ceases when the scream of tires sounds from outside the diner. Roxy and Cat glance at each other with knowing looks and swivel their eyes in unison when the door swings wide. Through the opening billows a cloud of dust kicked up by the Jeep that is now parked outside the door. The light refracts off the minute pieces of mica that hang in the air making it seem as though the woman strolling in has just passed through a portal. Unlike her younger days, her long legs encased in well-worn Levis and the sam brown hitched around her hips draw more attention that her wind tousled, sun streaked hair. And for good reason, she knows how to use the 44 magnum holstered there. Striding over to the bar, she slams her South Park baseball cap on the counter and grins at the two "ladies" sitting there.
Hey guys, what's up?
Pandikat 11:13AM - November 12, 1998 (829 of 830 messages)
"If I only had da nerve!"
"Well, well, the gang's almost all here." Pandi abandons the jukebox with a sideways glance at Sage. "The pie's good, but the counter boy's wacked out on the weed. I don't know if I'd trust him to make you anything."
"Whew, Spye, you been drinking already?" Pandi returns to her stool and swivels back and forth absently. She knows these woman, some for longer than others, and she knows it's no mistake that they are all gathering here tonight. It had been a while - a very long while - but here was the old gang back together again. There was definitely trouble brewing.
"When do you think the others'll get here?"
M_Jehan_7 4:11PM - November 12, 1998 (830 of 830 messages)
"O my eternal soul, hold fast to desire in spite of the night and the day on fire." -- A. Rimbaud --
Nah, I ain't wacked, Cat Lady. Just floatin' with the universe. An' if I wasn't -- well, then you'd have somethin' ta worry about! Ya don't wanna know what I'm like, otherwise. I'm mean. A real monster. But I guess that's what comes of never havin' no one to love. So, what'll youse have, anyway? I got -- well, anythin' your tuff lil' hearts desire, an' you get to look at some great scenery while I work.
Jehan turns on his heel, displays his tight, denim-clad haunches. No refrigerator repairman contours there!
Hey! Someone put "Paranoid" on the jukebox, wouldja?
Bijoox 9:23PM - November 12, 1998 (831 of 837 messages)
O my joy has jaws...
The woman on the Harley is tired, bone tired. Her windburned cheeks sting from the assault of road grit, but she grimaces and tightens her fist on the throttle, screaming through the dark night at a steady 78-and-a-half mph. She had left the Black Hills and the Sturgis Rally abruptly as soon as she heard...no, felt...the Voices calling her.
Her beloved hog, Gunrunner, rumbles beneath her, steadily devouring the cruel miles of dangerous road that lie between her and her destiny. 657 pounds of American steel, with a twin cradle frame,a low rise and staggered shorty duals. The woman smiles as the 1450cc Twin Cam 88 engine growls mightily, shooting them through the sinister night.
She hears something...could it be music? Coming from deep inside her head...Oh yeah, that Garbage tune....
"You can look, but you can't touch
I don't think I like you much...
I think I'm PARANOID!..."
Then...a speck in the distance. Light, yes. Blue light. Neon. Blue. And Jewel knows that she is finally, inexplicably...home...
boneyard 12:16AM - November 13, 1998 (832 of 837 messages)
Doest ye meaneth I no longer have to talketh like this??? Whew!!! That's a relief!! I guess I'm considered the Pale Dude around these parts. Is this Quantum Leap? Can I get a drink around here? Nice 44's ya got there Spye! And the guns ain't bad either! Hey! Counter boy! Don't bogart that joint, my friend.... Nice bike bijoox... maybe we can go cruisin' later.
The Gremster 2:53AM - November 13, 1998 (833 of 837 messages)
(I'll pretend I wasn't ignored earlier, new gal and all, boohoo.) The roar of the Harley engine gathered momentum on the dusty grit riddled road when Sage caught sight of the diner up ahead. She'd been recovering from a gunshot wound to the shoulder and was almost fully recuperated when she got wind of the feds asking questions in the neighbourhood. It was time to split and she could think of only one place where her kind was welcomed and the friends were true. She pulled up and climbed gracefully off her metal stead. The diner door bursts open and in walks Sage, a black leather clad woman of olive complexion. Her auburn hair has grown past shoulder length and smells stongly of the road. Morning all, long time no see. Sage strides purposely over to the counter to see what offerings are left to her, she feels and remembers the P220 Sig Sawyer .45, she accosted from a burly haulage truck driver, placed firmly to the curve of her spine. Mitch was a nice guy in a weird sort of way, he had a way with weaponary that the SAS could only dream of. It's a shame she had to put him away, things might have been promising. With a smile Sage parks her firm butt on the nearby stool and nods her head in time to the jukebox single that's belting out a golden oldie.....
TheGremster 2:57AM - November 13, 1998 (834 of 837 messages)
Sorry guys my spacing doesn't seem to be working. Go figure...Any ideas anyone?
Pandikat 6:51AM - November 13, 1998 (835 of 837 messages)
"You know that I love you, but I'd be inclined to slap you in the mouth."
Pandi nods stiffly to Sage. They hadn't parted the best of friends back in Aztec - didn't they know better than to fight over the locals? - and she isn't sure how things will be between them now. A lot of time and miles of road have passed since New Mexico...maybe they can be friends again.
"What you been up to, Sage?"Pandi asks, noting the slightest bulge at Sage's back that indicates she's packing. She's sure that by the time everyone arrives, there'll be enough weaponry and ammo in this diner to take over a small town. And if Dragon showed up it would be certain; he never traveled light. If he showed...he was more of a phantom these days.
(Not much of an entrance there, Pale Dude. But welcome to a whole new world!)
Spye. 7:57AM - November 13, 1998 (836 of 837 messages)
Butch blinked his eyes trying to focus on the formidable group that had assembled while he slept. Huddled in the corner booth by the door, he wiped the back of his hand over lips crusted with half-healed cold sores and sized up the assembled weaponry. The old fart came pretty close in his estimate - automatically including weapons tucked in boot tops and cleavage. For the most part he is ignored by the others present. He may once have been a threat, but the bloodshot eyes and the tremor in his hands confirm that his speed aint what it used to be. Too many experimental drugs out there, and too many losers willing to take the chance.
Butch's attention shifts to the door as a dark wraith-like figure enters. The stranger's unobtrusive arrival goes unnoticed by everyone else. If Butch had had just a few more brain cells, he may have known enough to be scared shitless. But the last blow he scored was cut with just a little too much chlordane so the fact that no engine noise heralded the stranger's arrival in this desert setting did not even register.
He watched the reptile-like movements of the dark man's head while the stranger surveyed the scene. The lifeless eyes of the stranger seemed to be settling on him. Before he knew what was happening, the dark man had moved from the door and those dead orbs were hovering inches from his own. Opening his mouth to scream was his last conscious movement. Unimaginable pain wracked his body as his very essence was drained from him. Releasing the body that now consisted of useless bone and a sagging outer shell, the dark man shifted his hungry gaze around the diner. He no longer needed to feed, but he figured there was enough fresh meat around here to keep him nourished for a week. No longer afraid of drawing attention, he flung the door open and passed through with incredible speed.
(Sorry Gremster - I didn't see you there. Your post went on as I was writing! BTW, put a p between <> to start a new paragraph.)
M_Jehan_7 3:40PM - November 13, 1998 (837 of 837 messages)
"O my eternal soul, hold fast to desire, in spite of the night and the day on fire." –A. Rimbaud--
Jehan, in the kitchen, feels a sudden chill, and knows the Dark Man has come and gone again. Not the first time, and nor will it be the last. He tugs at the neck of the t-shirt, peers down at his chest and the fushcia-and-turquioise Celtic Cross tattooed there. On a silver chain, dangling in front of the cross, is a tiny vial of Holy Water. He puts down his cleaver and reaches into the garlic basket, tucks a head of the stuff into his front pants pocket.
I've been gettin' careless. Too careless. Shit.
He picks up the cleaver and chops meditatively.
Wonder if he took anyone out this time. An' how the fuck am I supposed ta explain it if he did? Too fuckin' many times. An' if any of 'em get found, my ass is in the stir -- an' I ain't meetin' no Prince Charming there -- just a bunch a muthas who'll ream me a new butthole when they're sick a the old one.
Jehan drives cleaver into the wooden cutting board and emerges from the kitchen, looks around casually, trying not to appear nervous at all. Sure enough, there, in the corner booth. Jehan's heart plummets, but he does the only thing he can, and leaps up on one of the counters, whistles through his teeth sharply, and stamps his bootheel to command the attention of those assembled.
Looks like we got us a problem, people! You're all packin' pieces, I know. I'm no fool. But didja think ta pack a crucifix? This here ain't no peaceful place, an' the kinda trouble we got could take every single one a youse out in the blink of an eye. Like it did ta him.
Jehan points to the dead man.
I gotta put him ta rest now, an' I'm gonna need some help. An' if youse ain't willin' ta help, youse can all get the hell outta here now.
Jehan sits down on the counter, swings his feet calmly. Several of the customers appear to be reaching for weapons.
Eh, I don't give a fuck if ya wanna -- dispatch me. Go on. See if I resist. Hell, I'll even make it easy for you.
Jehan strips off his t-shirt, bares the contours of his muscled, hairless chest. All the women stare, and there is a faint ripple of applause.
Very funny.
Jehan leaps down from the counter and strides over to the booth and points at the corpse.
Now, what're we gonna do about him?
Chocolady 4:51PM - November 13, 1998 (838 of 840 messages)
...has a tendency to daydream.
Roxy glances quickly at Sage. She's one of the few that know of Sage's three years service with British Ingeligence as their Numbr One sniper. Roxy jumps quickly to diffuse the situation.
"Lighten up Lavender Boy or y'all be wishin' ya stuck to Interior Decorating. The less said about the Dark Man the better and nobody'll be asking stupid questions about a piece of blowed-out garbage like Bucky,not unless they want a quick trip to the after-life. This is Desperation and we all have our appetites,eh. And don't even think of laying a limp wrist on any of the heat or that clove of garlic will be the only thing hanging in those tight-assed drawers.
"Yo Spye see you're still drivin The Beast. Next thing you'll be pulling up in an Airstream. When you gonna wise up and get that wide load of yours back on a two-wheeler?" Roxy gives Jewel a conspiratal wink as she reaches for the remains of the Cat's silk pie.
chocolady3 5:02PM - November 13, 1998 (839 of 840 messages)
...has a tendency to daydream.
..curses..can't get the damned "edit" thing to work either. Oh well Bucky's middle name is Butch right?
M_Jehan_7 5:42AM - November 14, 1998 (840 of 840 messages)
"O my eternal soul, hold fast to desire in spite of the night and the day on fire." -- A. Rimbaud --
Jehan leaps up on the counter again, back-flips off it into a fighting stance.
Hey, you watch who you're callin' Lavender Boy. An' I ain't layin' hands on anythin' or anyone. I'm sayin' I got me another fuckin' dead man in my diner, an' the last time the cops acted like they was beginnin' ta think I had somethin' ta do with it! An' I didn't. I just wanna run my business an' live my life in peace, maybe find me someone ta spring me outta this lousy widowhood. But the Dark Man found me again, an' he ain't gonna be content with no French Silk Pie. He wants whatever means the most to ya. Ol' Bucky Butch, there -- he was just a fuckin' snack!
Jehan sags onto the closest chrome stool, face in his hands.
Please! You -- you gotta get him outta here for me. I don't care whatcha do with him, just -- please!
Jehan folds his arms on the counter, rests his head. His eyes look hollow, haunted, and he sure as hell isn't high anymore.
I was workin' in the city, an' Tony an' me, we had us a place alot like this. An' we worked it together, an' we loved it; we were happy. An' then one night we were closin' up, but ya know how it is. Ya leave the door open in case someone wants that last cup a joe. Tony was out front, washin' the floor, an' I was cleanin' up in the back room, an' I heard the door, an' then Tony said, "What can I getcha, Buddy?", just like he always did. An' then he yelled for me. "Johnny!" Real panicked, like. Yeah, he always called me Johnny, 'cause he couldn't pronounce Jehan right. An' I ran out, an' I just saw the tail end of the dude snakin' out the door, an' Tony was down on the floor, white as a ghost, sucked dry. God!
Jehan shivers, picks up his fallen t-shirt and puts it back on, but his arms are still studded with gooseflesh.
I'm cold. Oh, God, I'm cold! An' he's still here, y'know. Lurkin'. Waitin'. An' I don't know why he's always hangin' around me! He took Tony. Ain't that enough? Oh, God. God! An' the only way I can forget is ta smoke myself to oblivion. I don't know what else ta do. Would one of youse help me out here? Out in the kitchen, on the spice shelf, there's this big jar that says "Holy Basil". Bring me that, an' I'll be O.K. A joint an' some music, an' I'll snap out of it. A joint, an' some music, an' --
Jehan jerks his head in the direction of the late, not-long-lamented Bucky Butch.
-- an' that poor ol' fly's playground outta here!
chocolady3 9:19AM - November 14, 1998 (841 of 853 messages)
...has a tendency to daydream.
Roxy gives the nod to Sage and Jewel as she grabs one of the cheap, greasy plastic tablecloths from one of the booths. Butch's sad, sorry remains are quickly wrapped in the cloth and the three women head out the door with the body. At just over six feet and with her finely toned muscles, Roxy could have managed alone but there is a ritual to be performed and Jewel is the one with the words to be spoken.
Roxy grabs a rusty, tin gas can from the back of Spye's Beast as the three walk towards the edge of the desert.
Ten minutes later, the women and Jehan watch in silence through the diner's window as the flames of death lick the night sky.
Roxy's face is grim as the trio re-joins their silent companions in the diner. She points a finger at the sobbing, hysterical cook.
"Get this straight Lollipop, this aint about the cops or evidence. I'm sure y'all wouldn't want ol'Bucky to be making any return visits. Now why don't you russle up another pot of fresh java. There nights are long in Desperation and we've got business to discuss."
Her good mood long gone, Roxy heads toward the washroom to clean the fetid smell of death from her hands.
--bijoox-- 10:12AM - November 14, 1998 (842 of 853 messages)
"Guide you my stray down quiet roads where peace is. Be my engine of myth..."GB
Quick as lightening Jewel leaps to her feet, snatching a twelve-inch, razor-sharp Bowie knife from her bootsheath. Whirling and shrieking a battle cry she flings the glittering blade straight at Jehan. The big knife flashes by his surprised face and thrums into the wall behind him,piercing the picture of a smiling doughnut dead center.
In the shocked silence the walks calmly behind the counter and frees the Bowie, carefully checking the blade for nicks before re-sheathing it.( All the while silently thanking her stars for her years as a carny girl with Fitznibbie's FunTabulous Travelling Krazy Karnival Karavan.)
"You gotta get a grip, kid." she says calmly to the shaken boy. "We're gonna need you with all your wits intact...."
(oops Choco! Looks like were tapping away at the same time here! Looks like it works anyway!:)
M_Jehan_7 10:21AM - November 14, 1998 (843 of 853 messages)
"O my eternal soul, hold fast to desire in spite of the night and the day on fire." -- A. Rimbaud --
I ain't sobbin' an' I ain't hysterical, an' the name's Jehan, not Lollipop.
Jehan dries his eyes on his apron, then slips behind the counter, where he measures coffee beans into a grinder. The strong, fresh scent fills the air, bringing with it a new reality. The machine processes for quite some time, pulverizing the beans into powder. Jehan then whips a cover off of Something, ignored in a dark corner of the rear counter. There is the sharp gleam of copper and bronze, and Jehan flashes a crooked smile.
Say hello ta my pride an' joy, unless ya don't care for hi-test.
Jehan strokes the contours of the espresso machine lovingly.
After what you done for me, Rox, it's the least I can do. Just can the wimpshit nicknames, an' I'll be as happy as I can be, given the circumstances. An' don't be thinkin' I ain't no good when push comes ta shove, 'cause I ain't got a weapon on me. Things ain't always what they seem, an' let's just say my Karate belt ain't lavender. Now, name your poison. I got Cappuccino, mochaccino, espresso, latte -- an' I can give it a little -- ah -- enhancemnt, if ya get my drift.
Jehan reaches beneath the counter and holds up a bottle of Kahlua.
An' I got other stuff, too. Just you go ahead and name it, an' I'll be makin' ya a cup a joe you're not likely ta forget anytime soon...
(Jeeze, great minds think alike and simultaneously on this continuum!)
M_Jehan_7 10:34AM - November 14, 1998 (844 of 853 messages)
"O my eternal soul, hold fast to desire in spite of the night and the day on fire." -- A. Rimbaud --
An' doncha be pitchin' no more knives at me, Jewel-lady, or I ain't gonna make ya no cheesecake anytime soon. I got plenty a wits, and they're always about me, stoned or not, but I always get a little flipped out when I start thinkin' about Tony, an' I couldn't help that.
Jehan lays a hand on an odd little canister, tucked in the corner by the espresso machine.
Yeah, he's still with me, but I miss him anyway, an' I wanna get the bastard that took him outta my life.
Jehan pats the canister gently.
By the way, if I ain't here for any reason, an ya wanna make more java -- it ain't coffee in here, an' doncha forget it.
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