Disclaimer: Characters portrayed in the following are not mine and I did not create them.
*
Changeling:
Raining harder than a month of Sundays outside. Droplets the size of eggs.
We're in Kitty's room back at the mansion and it's the evening and we're getting tipsy on one of Peter's secret stash. She tells me he keeps his bottles in a coolbox in his wardrobe, secure from the elements and at a slight drop in temperature. He was away on business but might be back tonight.
Although we started out with glasses, the small volume ones Hank always insisted we buy because the measurements were proper and therefore not enough to floor you after two helpings, the state of the evening has suggested we concentrate now on necking the bottle. Each time it's handed back, I can taste Kitty on the rim. She mixes with the acid of the 'what's this made of?' 'Rkatsiteli grape,' spice and is a wicked cocktail when you're talking boys in your underwear. Boys in their underwear in your underwear. Muscles and bones, body hair and sweat. Clenched fists. Oh yes.
Kitty just finished out the shower when I had knocked on the door.
'Rachel? Come in, sit down. Sorry, I'm just getting dressed.'
I waved the crystal in her face and she looked sly.
'What's the occasion?'
Told her it was my birthday.
'I thought you didn't know when you birthday was?' She said.
Today, I said. Tomorrow, whatever, I haven't spoken to you in ages.
'So you brought the glasses but no bottle?'
Said I thought we could try one of Peter's wines. White, preferably.
Rooting around in her over-stuffed mini-fridge, she seemed to put herself inside.
'Dimensionless depths. Some Skrull thing I picked up on their homeworld few years back. Looks just like a fridge, but you could fit Horenstein and the Berlin Phil in there.'
And she keeps it chock-full with celery and Philadelphia.
'Here you go. This one's from Krasnodar. Nice colour, huh? I have a bottle or two in here for when he comes over.'
She walked back into the bathroom, taking off the towel and shaking out the frostiness of the fridge. With the bottle down, I concentrated and *POP* out came the cork and away we went.
Now the storm has gotten worse. The windows give a slight rattling and the shape of the tall pines outside waver shadows when lightening signs. Kitty gets up to close the curtains, finally leaving us in peace as we giggle and sip beside a small bedside lamp.
Her hair is still damp, she looks fresh and revitalised. Never was one to wear much make-up. Looked too beautiful and doe-eyed; would've been a mistake. I put a bit on though. I used to do loads, but I think it was her that snapped me out of it when we were younger. Telling me the reason I did it was to try and cover up the scars I thought I had. The markings of my conditioning as a Hound. Course they faded eventually, as did my insecurity about covering up. But I still get it, now and then.
Nothing wrong with being easy on the eyes!
The wine may have needed a little more space.
'How long have you had it in there?' I ask.
'Few years.' She sips. 'Why?'
'Tastes... musty.'
'What are you talking about? A minute ago you said you liked it. Spicy and floral.'
'That was then... I never said it was "floral". I'm not some flower-girl.'
'The heck is a flower-girl?'
'Someone who sells flowers. Didn't they teach you anything at Jew-school?'
'What?! They're called Yeshivas and Jewish Day Schools, and I didn't even go to one so shut your yap.' She says.
'Sound like Wolverine.' I grin. 'Point is -- I bet you and Pete don't even get round to opening it before you... uncork him!'
'Ray!'
'Face it Pryde, if you two were any more into each other you'd be one person.'
She muses for a second. 'S'not true.'
'Yes it is! You and he could be the pin-ups for CK Eternity, you're so cheesy.'
'Oh, and you don't long for that kind of romance? Bull. I bet the next guy who comes along with a firm jaw and stubble and keys to a Porsche makes you wet your pants. There's plenty of men round here, fit that bill.'
I roll onto my back, the satin fluttering down onto my bare skin.
'You are so bad. But that is true.'
I think it over for a moment.
'Man, sometimes I wish...'
'...What?'
'I just wish...'
'What, Ray?' She asks quietly.
I turn to her. 'I wish I could jump all of them in one big orgy. Ha ha!'
We fall about laughing.
'Oh, dear.' Kitty says, gazing at a spillage. 'I'll get a towel. Urgh, how could I be so clumsy.'
'Hang on,' I start 's'okay, let me do it.' And focussing as hard and as intricately as I can, I manage to secure the spilled wine in a loose formation, and as it hasn't fully soaked into the carpet yet, the process is a lot easier than it could be. Fibres and dust -- yuck -- doesn't bear thinking about. I take the layer of liquid and ball it up like you see in space movies when they turn off the gravity.
'Amazing.' Kitty says, while I hover it around her head -- even threatening to douse her in it. She gives me those beady 'don't you dare' eyes and steps out the way as I project it into the bathroom and let it dash over the plughole.
'You know your mark lights up now when you do that.'
'I know. Cool huh? It's 'cos it's working at such a small level.'
'Kind of projects off your face. Like a hologram or something.'
'That bit is just an illusion though,' I reply 'the heat I feel is over my left eye, and the more I exert myself the hotter it feels. Not painful or anything, but it doesn't "lift off" my face.'
She stares at me.
'It's very pretty, Ray.'
I flick the short wisps of red behind my ear and give her a wiggle. 'I know.'
Tossing the towel into a corner she raises her eyebrow. 'So, Ms Annabelle Chong... who are the lucky mortals who get to fumble with Phoenix?'
I give a half-hearted smile. 'Don't call me that, please Kitty? Phoenix was my mum.'
'Sorry. I know it still hurts. In fact, it doesn't ever stop hurting does it, not unless you're dead yourself.'
