Coffee Pot Fantasy

By: Mary Jenkins (4-98)

It is late, really late. You turn blurry eyes towards the time display in the corner of your screen.

"2:18 in the morning." You mumble. "Oh yeah, it's time for bed."

Fumbling with the mouse, you quickly save your latest Dark Perk epic and close Word. You flip off your computer and stand up. Stretching your hands over your head, you smile with a twisted sort of pleasure as your back does its own impression of Rice Crispies.

"I've been spending -way- to much time in front of the computer." You smirk. Flipping off the stereo as you pass, you head towards the kitchen.

You give the coffee pot a cautious glance; it was a double edged sword, there -is- some left, but you can't for the life of you remember just -when- you brewed it. It takes a while, but you eventually do the right thing and rinse the pot out.

As you set the automatic timer to ensure Mr. Coffee will be up and running in time to greet you in the morning, you let your mind wander back to your Tracy story. "Tracy as a vampire hunter…could work." You muse out loud.

"Indeed." Comes a voice from behind you.

Spinning around, you slip on the little throw rug in front of the sink, the one you've been meaning to get some sort of adhesive backing for, and land hard on the linoleum. Tail-bone aching, you look up, straight into the ice blue eyes of Lucien Lacroix!

"Uh, uh." You can't seem to think of anything to say. Not that that was the problem, even if you could, there was no way your mouth is going to co-operate and form words anyway.

"Good evening." Lacroix says, raising one eye-brow at the less than graceful heap of you on the floor. "I would like a word with you my dear, if you please."

You look up at him. 'Oh my God!' Your brain screams at you, then it repeats the same phrase a couple hundred times. Lacroix is in your kitchen! You quickly look him over: pale gorgeous face, impeccable black suit, nice shoes too. 'You never see what great taste in shoes he has on the show,' you babble silently to yourself, as your mouth hadn't quite remembered it had positions other than 'agape.'

With a disgusted sigh, Lacroix reaches a hand out to help you up.

You just stare at the hand for a bit. Was he here to kill you then?

Lacroix looks impatient.

Realizing that if murder is his purpose, staying balled up on the kitchen floor probably -isn't- going to save you, you allow him to help you to your feet.

Once you're back in your normal up-right position, you feel even more uncomfortable. There you stand, no make-up, in shorts, your old T-shirt with the coffee stains, socks on your feet, and half of your hair gathered in a lop-sided ponytail on the top of your head. Grace Kelly you ain't.

"Um, uh." Nope, you still can't manage the whole vocal thing yet. You giggle nervously.

"I hear you have been busy." He said lightly.

"Busy? Me?" Your wayward tongue has returned, of course it hasn't hooked back up to your brain yet. "What do you mean?"

Lacroix looks momentarily annoyed before his old charm reasserts itself. "I have heard rumor that you have joined a new faction."

All color drains from your face. 'Oh hell,' you think. He's found out about the Dark Perks and he isn't happy. Before joining the newest faction you'd been a Cousin, an Addict, a complete Lacriox nut. But then you'd read your first Tracy story, one thing had led to another and now you're in the Dark Perks. "Um, yeah. I suppose that would be…um, right?"

Lacroix traces one long finger across your jaw line. "And that this faction has attracted a great many talented writers."

You nod. It was true, many gifted writers had joined.

Lacroix reaches around and pulls the scrunchy out of your hair; he runs his fingers gently through it. You stand perfectly still, alternating between hoping he'll go away and praying he won't.

"You used to write about me." He leans closer. His voice was almost a whisper, so seductive.

You whimper.

"And now you've left the Shrine and taken up residence in that run-down Victorian monstrosity." Lacroix's hand slipped down and caressed the side of her throat. "And taken so many of my children with you." His voice takes on a menacing quality.

Your eyes snap open, though you can't remember when you closed them. "I- I didn't!" You open and shut your mouth a couple times. Well maybe you had. "It wasn't like that! And they're not all from the Cousins! Some were, I mean -are- N&N packers or Ratpackers even! Knighties, Ravenettes…" You trail off, continuing to name factions under your breath.

"I don't mind them." Lacroix's cups your chin in his hand. "Look at me."

You stare up at him. Looking at him -wasn't- a problem. "They-, we still like you too." You sigh.

"I know." He smiles at you.

You close your eyes. This is it; he's going to kill you. 'Oh well, all-in-all not a bad way to go, better than getting hit by a bus or something.' You think.

You feel his hands skim up your arms. Then he gently takes your face in his cool hands and lays a gentle kiss on your lips, so soft you barely feel it.

Suddenly his hands are off you. You stand there silently for a moment; your eyes still tightly closed, your breath held. You wait for him to touch you again, to kill you. But nothing happens. Cautiously you open one eye, then the other. You're alone.

Looking around the kitchen you noticed a single perfect dark pink rose sitting on the counter by the coffee pot (where you're sure to see it?) A small note card sits near the bloom.

With trembling hands you pick up the card. //Just don't forget about me.// Was all it said. "As if I could." You sigh, fanning yourself with the card. "As if I could."

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

fin.