Down In New Orleans

-Closed to Nina327 and myself. Feel free to read and enjoy though!-




Jackson Laveaux
Age: 31
Height: 6’0”
Build: Trim
Eyes: Light Blue
Hair: Dark Brown
Occupation: (Once Successful)Writer, Owner of St. Thomas’s Antique & Used Books


-New Orleans, LA-


The sharp buzz of the alarm startled Jackson awake and reminded him that indeed yet another Monday morning had arrived despite the previous night’s prayer for some world ending apocalypse. A sigh of resignation escaped as he turned off the alarm, yielding to the unstoppable force that was everyday life. Not that it was all bad mind you, Jackson was quite proud of St. Thomas and there was always the dream of another return to literary success. But those dreams were for later, right now called for a shower and a pot of coffee to brew before the store opened for business in an hour.

Jackson Laveaux had at one point been a quite successful non-fiction writer, having penned the true crime novel “Bayou Bloodbath: The Frederick Theriot Story” at only 25. The case was a national sensation due to the gruesome details and bizarre rituals that Mr. Theriot would perform as a part of his killings. Jackson was young freelance writer at the time when the case broke and he followed in earnest, knowing that this had all the makings of a best seller if put together properly. Jackson spent the next 2 and a half years working on the book, even scoring a coup-de-gras jailhouse interview with Frederick Theriot himself as the last chapter of the book. The interview was what put sales over the top and Jackson found himself with a #4 New York Times best-seller along with a lucrative book development deal with Random House Publishing.

Flash forward 6 years and St. Thomas was all that remained of the fame days though Jackson treasured the store for the peace & stability it provided combined with that fact it fueled his inherent love of books. The two story building had that inherently unique New Orleans design, the bookstore on the first floor and Jackson’s apartment on the second with the outdoor balcony that faced the street. Jackson had spent many a quiet evening on his balcony, sipping a cool drink and typing away at his old Remington Typewriter. Everything that Jackson had written since he was 18 had been on that typewriter, it was honestly his longest last relationship to anything. His typewriter quirk drove his editors absolutely batty but Jackson refused to type on any sort of a computer since he claimed it “lacked soul”. Unfortunately, soul didn’t help sell books and Jackson’s 2 follow up books didn’t combine to match the sales totals of Bayou Bloodbath which lead to his release from Random House. Now Jackson simply thought of himself as freelance again, though it’d be a lie to say he didn’t miss those amazing royalty checks that allowed him many a reckless night through his twentys.

Freshly showered and shaved and dressed in his usual blue jeans, black shirt and black sketchers boots with a steaming mug of coffee in hand; Jackson was officially ready to do business with the greater New Orleans public. By 9am Jackson was in his usual position, sitting on his stool behind the counter and sipping from the mug, front door wide open to let in both the warm summer breeze and hopefully some business….

Name: Destiny Révélé
Age: 29
Height: 5'2
Build: Slim with curves...
Eyes: Jade Green
Hair: Dark Brown and to her elbows


She walked down the street in her sundress and sandals trying to absorb every detail of the old buildings. Letting here eyes drink in what they pleased as her feet carried her in no particular direction at all. Today was her first official day as a resident of New Orleans and she wanted to explore.

She picked her apartment specifically on this street for its proximity to the Antique District. They were her only frivolous hobby. Well not frivolous, mind you, just the only thing she allowed herself to splurge a bit on. Though now that she didn’t have to pinch every penny she still couldn’t see the point in spending just because she could. Her realtor couldn’t believe she wanted that 'tiny' apartment but to her it was a gem; two bedrooms, a walk in closet, an eat in kitchen, lovely sitting room and a bath room with a claw footed tub under the window. It was cozy and all hers as she explained to the very tightly wound woman.

She wandered in and through a few of the shops mentally picking out lovely bits to furnish her apartment with, having breakfast in a quaint cafe and wondering just what she would do for the next year. She was taking a hiatus from everything that was her life and smiled to herself as she thought of the coin toss that brought her here. As it was here or New Mexico. Either one had 'new' in the name aside from New Jersy which didn’t sound appealing in the least.

The sign caught her attention as she walked past “Antique and Used Books”. Wouldn’t they be used if they were antique. Books were generally not like coins where one could find then both antique and uncirculated. Ducking inside she laughed at herself for being far to literal.

To her surprise the man behind the counter wasn’t an antique nor did he look all that 'used'. She smiled warmly tipping her head in greeting. Letting here eyes adjust to the lower light she passed her fingertips over the book cases and bindings till she happened upon one with a particularly ornate binding. It was pretty to say the least. Leather bound with a metal closure. She had only seen such bindings on her two-hundred year old bible but this one didn’t have a cross on the cover like hers did. Its hinge was slightly rusted and even though her fingers were tiny she still didn’t want to handle it overly much for fear of breaking it.

Carrying the book up to the counter she handed it to the blue-eyed man and asked him “Would you open this for me I'd like to see if the inside is as interesting as the outside?”

Jackson glanced at the book for a moment while sipping his coffee, using these few extra seconds to think of some clever line. Unfortunately for Jackson, all that God given talent for writing and creativity seemed to elude him so instead of opening with a sonnet, it was a simple...

"Sure"

Fucking brilliant Jackson! Graduated from Tulane as an english major and the best thing you can open with is sure. The mental scolding continued for several more seconds but Jackson tuned it out, instead manipulating the small rusted latch open and carefully opening the front cover. The hinges gave a small squeak of protest but that was all the resistance they would muster that day, revealing the contents of the book to their prying eyes. The script was written in french, a common site down in New Orleans and it was in moments like these that Jackson was grateful Grandma Leveaux insisted on teaching him through his childhood.

"This book is called "Éternité de flamme" by Jacques Ponchaneaux, translated it means Eternity Of Flame. Ponchaneaux was a originally from Bordeaux, France and immigrated to New Orleans in 1845 where Mr. Ponchaneaux became a rather prolific local talent. According to the publisher stamp, this is a first edition from 1862 which means it was towards the end of his writing career. Now while all that information is wonderful and I'm sure more then you wanted to know miss, the real question is wether or not you speak French because that would certainly determine your enjoyment of this fine peice of literary work. Then the second part of that offer extends to if you don't speak french, I can always take you on a date Miss....? I'm sorry, what is your name exactly?"

She expected someone overly verbose to be running a shop of words from floor to ceiling but the fact that he couldn't string his own thoughts together in linear order just curved her lips in the sweetest smile she could force to the surface without giggling.

Biting her lip momentarily she decided 'fuck it', meeting his eyes she held them and held her voice in a tone that showed no hint of the giggle that wished to double her over. He was cute, almost cute enough to hold her tongue still.

"Hmm, you say second offer and then state your availability for a date. Were you perhaps offering to teach me french or read to me over dinner? Either way I'll take the book, it's pretty."

Watching his face contort and fingers whiten on the books delicate cover warmed her smile even more. Her own delicate fingers sliding the book from his grip; closing it with its small squeak.

"Mon nom est Destiny, and that's happens to be just about all the french I know."

Her giggle finally broke the surface. Silently at first, shaking her frame and making her hair dance around her face. She didn't know why or what was so extremely funny. Maybe it was the last bit of stress lifting itself from the last year of her life or the way his jaw twitched before he found his voice but she couldn't stop giggling.

It was the giggling that really punctuated to Jackson just how badly he was stumbling over himself to seem slick and charming. Instead of making a first impression of a refined New Orleans native with a passion for the written word, Jackson had simply managed to project the image of over-eager shop owner/single guy. His right hand absently rubbed over his chin and cheek, a habit whenever Jackson was taking a moment to organize his many scattered thoughts.

"Miss Destiny, my name is Jackson Lavaeux and it is an absolute pleasure to meet you." His hand reached out and gently took ahold of hers, lifting it to his lips for a brief kiss. "Forgive my terrific lack of both manners and verbiage earlier, I'm not exactly a morning person no matter how much coffee I indulge in." Jackson had turned on the charm, his voice rich with the drawl that was distinctively Orleans while flashing his best bookjacket photo smile.

"My offer is to take you on a date and read you the book, I rather fear teaching you French would take more then a mere evening. Not that I would mind your repeated patronage to St Andrews, though it would be a problem if I were to ever have other customers. I just know that I'd have a hard time tearing myself away from you long enough to properly help anyone else out." His eyes glinted with a hint of mischief, mind already whirling with ideas of how to bed her on their potential date. Jackson's self confidence bordered on the delusional in regards to women but by his own count, no one had registered a complaint about his skills.

"I promise as a true gentleman of the south that not only will you not regret going on a date with me, I also promise you some of the finest cajun food you've ever had the pleasure of eating. So what do you say Miss, care to see if I can do more then simply make you giggle?"

Watching him collect himself and puff up like a peacock was truly delightful. Not that his hand and lips were not warm, firm, soft and delightful. Not that his tone wasn’t honeyed just right. Quite the opposite. He just didn’t have a snowballs chance in hell at this point. She also had enough of pompous self-admiring crap to give a damn about proper southern etiquette.

“Hmm. We have to see if you can do more than make me giggle.”

She thought for a long, well just shy of too long of a moment before she giggled again and actually hopped up on his counter, crossed her legs and turned to face him slightly better.

“Well, it's good to know all these books haven’t gone to waste. Here I almost thought you may have been just a hired hand. I'll put it to you straight. I'm brand spanking new to New Orleans and by your lovely accent, you have been here long enough that you may be a very useful tour guide. I'd like to counter your offer with one of my own.

“As you just said you don’t function in the morning no matter how much coffee you drink, so I think later would be better. A few evenings a week I'd like you to take me around this city. Show me where a girl can find a good time, places I should stear clear of alone at night, places I should never enter and the gems that one just shouldn’t miss. It will be my treat if we happen to go out to diner while on our excursions.”

Leaning back she spotted the credit card swiper and its little carbon copy slips. She helped her self to both, pulling her card from her tiny hand bag, swiping it in the little machine and signing her name. Taking her card, bag and her new pretty book she slipped back off the counter.

She straightened her skirt and turned to leave, adding “Think about it, I'll be back at closing time for my receipt and your answer.”

Jackson couldn't help the amused grin as he watched this petite lil thing hop onto his counter and give him an enticing counter offer. It was immediately apparent that Jackson had underestimated her, Destiny would clearly not fall for the usual southern charm bit. Not that this new fact would disuade Jackson at all, quite the contray in fact. A bit of a challenge would be good for him, maybe it would be the catalyst that would also facilitate his ability to start in on a new book. Maybe it was simple coincidence but Jackson always found his ability to write came easier when he was also involved in a relationship with someone. One passion feeding into another was his best guess as to why that was so.

His eyes followed her every move as he watched her gently glide off his counter and smooth out her sundress. There was no doubt about it, Jackson was smitten with this fiesty new woman and the challenges she provided. She exited his store just as quickly as she had appeared but with the promise to return later for both her receipt and his answer, though both already knew he'd gladly agree. Jackson sat there for a few moments after her departure, holding the credit card receipt in his fingers and admiring the flowing scrawl of her signature. Destiny Révélé. Destiny indeed....

The rest of Jackson's day seemed to drag on which was rather unusual for him but it was because he found himself rather distracted. Thinking about Destiny, the subtle but undeniable swish of her hips, how those pretty lips formed words that he wanted to silence with a kiss. But at that though Jackson scolded himself, it was rather unbecoming of him to be fawning over some woman he just met. Jackson instead focused his attentions of where he should take her later, how much they should try and accomplish in one evening. A simple bar crawl along Burbon St seemed like a good idea, finishing up at The Bombay Club for the finest in French-Creole food.

Jackson closed the shop 30 minutes earlier then usual, deciding that being fresh and clean greatly outweighed the potential of a single sale or two. A splash of Polo Black cologne completed his outfit crisp black jeans and a neutral colored button down, gel lightly run through his hair to keep it from looking an unruly mess. Jackson admired the image in the mirror and decided he met his own personal standards in the ready to go department. The final touch was sliding on his black leather jacket, completeing nicely the look for a well groomed rouge. At least that was the image Jackson was trying to project as he casually strolled down the backsteps from his apartment into the shop, unlocking the front door in an anticipation of Destiny's arrival. Jackson then once again took up position of his chair behind the counter, trying to look as casual as possible as he waited on her arrival.

Destiny spent her afternoon in and out of a few more shops making her way back home with several delivery slips for the next few days. Closing her door behind her she finally let herself think about the morning. He certainly had a mouth on him. Not just the words tripping out but how soft they look like they might be. She hoped her offer this morning would at least be pleasant if not eventually very fun.

Shaking her head she growled, kicked a box and yelped 'Damn-it'. That would be her iron kettle door stop and a now very sore toe.. Huffing out a breath she told herself to be patient while she reached down undid her sandals and kicked them towards her coat closet. Then pulled the zip to her dress down her side, letting the whole thing just puddle in the floor round her prettily painted toes and off she went into her new bathroom.

She wished she had time for a soak but she didn't wish long. The sound of indoor rain filled her ears while she closed here eyes and just reveled in the sounds of 'home'. The showers steam billowed out as she stepped in, letting the heat seep in to her skin before washing away dust of many antique shops. One of which she was returning too in a short amount of time. For a receipt and a... tour?

Laughter echoed through her new surroundings as she thought of what in the world the 'tour' this evening would entail. Museums and parks and art centers didn’t seem his style so when she popped out of the shower and finished getting ready she opted for a less than formal look; her boots were black, calf high and kitten heeled, jeans were dark, tight and went well with her burgundy wrap top. She topped it all off with her hair loose in waves and a black leather duster.

Not bothering with mirror longer than to check she had no tags showing she grabbed her keys, locked the door and walked the few blocks to book shop. She had ten minutes till closing time according to the script written times on the door marked with a closed sign. She pushed on it anyway and smiled when it granted her access. He was sitting exactly where he was this morning only dressed for damn near anything but selling books.

“The sign said closed but didn’t stay shut when I pushed it.”

“The sign said closed but didn’t stay shut when I pushed it.”

The comment elicited a smile from Jackson which only grew as his eyes swept over Destiny, enjoying every inch of her wonderfully feminine form. Clearly Destiny had taken a "Expect Anything" approach with her attire, looking good enough to turn heads but simple enough to be comfortable anywhere. It was becoming abundantly clear to Jackson that his initial assessment of Miss Révélé was quite wrong; she was much more then a pretty face and an empty head.

"It's a pesky door Miss Révélé, it seems to have a mind of its own in regards to whom it will actually keep out even if the sign says closed." Jackson grinned at his own joke and slid from his stool, moving towards her with a slip of paper in hand. "Now I'm going to say based on your clothes that your here for more then just your receipt and I'm clearly only too happy to oblige your request. I certainly hope you can hold your booze Destiny because I am about to show you the proper way to get shit faced down in Orleans."

Since feeling bold was the default setting around women whom interested him, Jackson looped his arm in hers and led her out the front door into the evening. New Orleans was about to become the duo's playground, starting with his favorite local gin & jazz joint Beauchamps that was a mere 2 blocks from his shop. "I can't promise you'll remember everything Destiny but I do promise this, tomorrows hangover is going to be epic!"

As he moved closer she realized he was taller than she thought, much taller. Plucking the receipt from his fingers she stuffed it in her remaining empty pocket and smirked at his comment. She certainly thought she was prepared for anything he had planned. One pocket contained her cell which she programmed with a reliable taxi company's number; thank you trusty stuck up realtor. The other pockets contained her ID and one credit card. Her last preparation which she always did before going out was the twenty-dollar bill and her contact card, her old info on the front crossed out and her new address written neatly on the back. Both securely paper-clipped to her bra strap under her shirt.

“Propriety in getting shitfaced, how disturbing. I believe I can hold my own when needed.”

She laughed at him as he took her arm. It was a southern trait she usually enjoyed so she didn’t mind the gesture overly much. Her arm slid through his as they walked, till just her fingers griped the muscles of his arm.

“Not remembering much, is that a goal of yours? I rather like to remember somethings, lest your planning on showing me a multitude of shit holes. Then I should have simply asked you to teach me french!”

Grinning and near yet another fit of giggles that day, she watched the muscle of his jaw tense and relax while he tried to think of what to say. They walked for almost two blocks like this before her stomach reminded her that it was not drink that was required so early in the evening.

“Food first... I don't care much for drinking my dinner and I'm so not eating bar food.”

Jackson's reaction was a simple arched brow that said it all, namely "you've got to be fucking kiddin me". They were paused on the sidewalk just a few steps short of Beauchamps solid oak front door and suddenly Destiny was hungry?! Women! Why did God create such a stunning and yet such a fickle creature to torment man? The only plausible explination was a terrible sense of humor, one of the many reasons Jackson found himself a lapsed Catholic. Oh lord, give me the strength to not kill this woman...

"First off Miss Revele" Jackson's drawl thick "Your insinuation that Beauchamps is mere bar food is a travesty! They've gotten me loaded with food and drink many a time and I clearly do not look any worse for my patronage, now do I? Certainly not! If anything, I'd credit their fine food and spirits for my vitality and vigor that invariably attracted you to me."

It became abundantly clear though that for all his passion of Beauchamps, Destiny was clearly unimpressed as she gaze him an incredulous gaze over folded arms. Jackson licked his lips and quickly decided on admitting defeat instead of letting his obsessive need to win interfere with a pleasent evening.

"Fair enough Destiny, a proper meal it is before endevoring on the rest of our evening. Luckily for you mon chéri, I happen to be more then a simple barfly and I know a few choice spots around the city. It's a short taxi ride away over near Jackson Square, a resturant called Muriels. Famous for both it's food and the local lore." Jackson grinned as he leaned in close, whispering into Destiny's ear "It's supposedly haunted." Jackson pulled back and paused for dramatic effect. "Are you brave enough to eat at a haunted resturant Miss Revele?"

"First off Miss Revele... insinuation that Beauchamps... blah blah blah blah.... attracted you to me”

She couldn’t tell if his anger was genuine or if he was pulling her leg. No, he was seriously being that childish over her dislike of bar food and the mere mention of changing his plans. Her arms crossed themselves and she stood there, brow raised, lips flat, listening to his tirade of crap for only a moment longer than she could tolerate it.

“Monsieur, it is only 6 in the evening and I told you I would pay for meals. So your being pissy over a change in plans, or rather a delay in your plans. This will be the first and last time I ever think of asking you out if you're so inflexible that you would throw a damned tantrum in two minutes flat. You.. need to choose now. Bend or break, I don’t care which.”

Watching him stand there and lick his lips was interesting as they were one of the reasons she decided to proposition him. Apparently he chose to bend.

“Fair enough Destiny... taxi ride... Muriel’s...”

Man in her ear. She half-stepped back realizing his proximity and his childish glee over something being haunted. She really did need to pay attention to all the words that made their way past those damned lips. If he proves interesting she just might. She decided to try now, only to hear his next question.

"Are you brave enough to eat at a haunted restaurant Miss Revele?"

Her arms relaxed at some point. Yes, he had managed to gloss over his tantrum well. As for the question she didn’t know how best to answer. Any answer would do really but all would change his perceptions of her. So she just decided that honesty would be best.

“Bravery has no bearing in the matter actually. If it is haunted, big deal, the dead cannot harm the living. If it's not and its just a spooky setting, great, the lighting shall cover crows feet and make the food look more appealing. My only concern is if the place were possessed. That is entirely different. So it shall be interesting to see which it will be.”

She stepped around the 6ft gaping man and hailed a taxi. When it arrived she open the door and slid across the seat allowing him entrance to the taxi without having to walk around it. A nice gesture she thought completely forgetting she was dealing with a southern gentleman that was probably now pissed off she opened her own damned car door. Instead of thinking on it too long she simply addressed the taxi driver.

“Muriel’s, please”

“If it is haunted, big deal, the dead cannot harm the living... My only concern is if the place were possessed. That is entirely different. So it shall be interesting to see which it will be.”

Jackson stood mute, a throughly perplexed look upon his face as his brain rolled around her answer like clothes in a dryer. Muriel's being haunted was simply folklore as far as he were concerned, another rich tale that helped paint the background of Orleans. Jackson was a skeptic of anything that was described as quote "paranormal", those concepts were simple flights of fancy for those with an active imagination. Not that he lacked an imagination mind you; Jackson simply chose to keep his fantasies to women, booze, books and another successful novel.

A shake of his head snapped him back to reality, to the here and now of being on a date with Destiny. The thought flicked across his brain about making a comment about not allowing him to grab the taxi door for her but opted against it, the Beauchamps rant hadn't exactly ended well a few minutes previous. Instead Jackson simply slipped into the cab and made a point of sitting just a tiny bit closer then necessary to create a bit of spatial intimacy. Plus it would be a lie if he didn't admit to himself that he was enchanted by whatever scent she was wearing, something light and feminine, hints of vanilla and jasmine.

The cab ride was filled with idle chatter, Jackson sharing random facts about New Orleans as they drove. Historical monument here, famous graveyard there, a brief glimpse of Jackson Square and St. Louis Cathedral. Destiny seemed mostly interested or at least amused by his attempts to educate her about his beloved city. Never one to get flustered by women, Jackson felt completely off his game with his repeated attempts to impress her which only rewarded him with an amused grin. That reason is exactly why he was so keen to start drinking at Beauchamps, at least take the edge of his pesky nerves!

As they arrived at Muriels, Jackson was quick to cut Destiny off and insist that he pay for the cab. This earned him an arched brow, apparently she wasn't too big on being treated like she were a mere fragile damsel. It was a point the pair could debate over their meal along with Jackson's pressing desire to ask her exactly what the difference between haunted & possessed was. Moments later they were inside the resturant and at their table, perusing the menu and awaiting on their drinks to be delivered.

The question exploded out of Jackson with all the force of Hurricane Katrina, an unexpected response to her inquiry as to a recommended appetizer. The proper response was to suggest maybe the Crawdaddy's with a cold beer, instead this is what happened.

"So what the fuck is the difference between haunted and possessed?"

Yep. Real subtle Jackson, buttery smooth you jackass!

Well, well he can be surprising. That’s good. The car ride over was extremely polite and no bitching about her opening her own damned car door. Good, good. It was nice to have him close to her without feeling completely smothered. Actually it was nice just to have him very warmly beside her. She watched him talk of historical places and smiled to herself. He was the right one to give her a tour of the city. Interesting monuments, places and sites rolled past the windows and her attention just kept getting drawn back to his cocky mouth. It was as if him knowing about his city was supposed to monumental in itself or that she was supposed to praise him for knowing where they were going. So she just grinned and let the peacock be a peacock. Hopefully he would relax once they started eating.

'Oh yes hopefully he would relax soon.' was all she could think as they were seated in the restaurant. Well no it wasn’t all she could think of. She was also thinking that if he didn’t relax she would have to tie him to a chair to be able to taste his lips without having him come completely undone. She didn’t know why these thoughts came to mind when thinking of his damned lips but they did. She sat there at the table lost in musings answering and asking benign questions, looking over the menu and absorbing the atmosphere of the restaurant. Inquiring as to just what would be good to eat when he exploded.

"So what the fuck is the difference between haunted and possessed?"

She dropped her menu laughing, a deep gut wrenching laugh. She had no idea that her statement became his 'elephant in the room'. Oh he was going to be so much fun... The waiter was a ways away but appeared at their table during her subsiding laughter, picking up her menu from the floor with a grin to his own face, asking if they were ready to order.

Looking from the waiter to Jackson she realized they wouldn’t be ready to order for while or at least until she could clear up her statement so she ordered for them.

“For starters we'll have three of something, I don’t care what. Then we'll both have 10oz sirloins, medium rare. For god sake tell the chef not to kill them and or get pepper anywhere near them. Anyway, with that, baked potatoes and steamed broccoli. On the side bring garlic butter and sour cream. For dessert ask the chef to make us something with chocolate and mint, no fruit and extremely yummy. As of right now we need two shots of tequila with our drinks.”

Turning back to Jackson her smile was sweet but still dared him to protest her ordering for him. She simply kept going with the conversation while she watched his jaw twitch.

“Well, now that we will have a little while to talk you want to know the difference. To me that's quite simple. Haunting is benign while possession is malignant.. and if that doesn't suit you.. hmm Lets see. Haunting. Spiritual presence, rather unnoticed by most as they are in their own plane and have really no clue they can be seen, felt or heard. Usually they are attached to a place rather than a person... but can be attached to a person's energy. Mostly causing no harm.. Maybe something out-of-place, strange smells, rather gooseflesh inducing. Sometimes they know they are interacting with the living and do it on purpose but that’s rather rare. Now possession on the other hand is a totally different matter. Whether it's a person, place or thing a demonic presence is intentionally attached or has a percentage of control over what it has. It won't let go and for some reason is usually quite angry or is just bent on corrupting whatever it fucking wants at the moment. They also have a nasty habit of preying on peoples willingness to accept a familiar face, such as a loved one. So people will actually invite them into their lives believing they are interacting with a ghost. So I find haunted places interesting but I'd rather give a wide birth to a place that’s possessed.”

The shots of tequila arrived just as Destiny finished her explination and Jackson couldn't of been more grateful. The glasses didn't even get a chance to touch the table, Jackson instead taking and downing both in a quick motion. His face contorted at the burn of the tequila, the good stuff always kicks, before swallowing it and turning to the wide eyed waiter. "2 more please. You know what, make it 3 actually. Make them doubles. Now!"

The waiter kindly disappeared in a flash and Jackson then turned back to Destiny, expecting full well something akin to a death stare. As it turned out, a death stare may of been preferable to curt words she offered to him.

"Mr. Laveaux, I don't like alcoholics and I certainly don't tolerate the rude. This is your second less then charming outburst, do you care to explain to me why I shouldn't simply up and leave your ass sitting right here and now?"

Jackson pinched the bridge of his nose, a habit left over from childhood for when he was stressed out. He took a deep breath, shook his thoughts into a clear and concise order before attempting what needed to be the greatest speech of his romantic life.

"Destiny, I do apologize for the trainwreck I have been thus far. Blame it on a mixture of nerves, attraction, bravado and southern male ego which I know your already mentally dismissing as hogwash. I swear that usually I don't have my head this far up my own ass, in fact I don't quite think I've ever been this flustered by a woman." He paused just long enough to see her expression soften slightly, a bemused look spreading across her face. It was a start and Jackson continued to push on with his explination. "I also was thrown off by you ordering for us, it's just a bit of a shock to the system. I know it sounds silly to you Destiny but it's bred into men of the south to be in charge, open car doors, order how their meat is cooked and the ability to pick out the dessert selection."

This brought an arched brow from Destiny, clearly she must of thought him daft. Jackson was now in a full on panic, the alcohol having numbed his brain to clever rational but left all the primal parts untouched. It was this fact that led to what happened next, a move so bold and unexpected that Jackson didn't even process what he was doing until he was in mid act. He leaned across the small table and kissed Destiny, his lips hungry and fueled by his overstimulated brain. It lasted only a few moments but it felt like an eternity, a single crystalized moment in time, a major defining moment in their romantic infancy.

Thankfully the waiter appeared then with the new round of shots, buying Jackson a split second to explain himself before Destiny more then likely punched him. "I uh, I don't know what came over me just then..." Jackson licked his lips unconciously, enjoying her taste for it was more then likely his first, last and only.

Destiny sat there perplexed for several moments looking from Jackson to the waiter and back again. Did he just kiss her? Her hand floated up and her fingertips traced her tingling lips. Yes, yes he did. This completely amused, irritated and annoyed the hell out of her. Though it was the very first time a first kiss made her speechless.

Her head canted and fingers thrummed her bottom lip. Her left hand drifted out, lifting a glass from the table, replacing her fingers with its rim, she tipped back letting the golden liquid slip almost unnoticed down her throat. Her inner self was already on fire, so enjoying its burn wasn't going to happen.

Still watching him intently a smile crept across her lips, it wasn’t a happy thing nor was it angry per-se. It just was her thoughts upon her lips as her boots caught the rungs and legs of his chair. One pushing, one pulling in perfect fluidity. Jackson didn’t have time to grab the table. He was there and then he laying on his back still seated with her sitting between his knees on the front of the chair-seat, her boots resting beside his ribs on the chairs back.

Peering down at him, her elbows resting on her knees she waved off the waiter and completely ignored the gawkers. Her attention was entirely on him. She wanted to both beat and kiss him senseless. A damned conflicting set of variables.

“Hmm, you know I do get the whole 'You Tarzan, Me Jane' thought process. I have lived it for years. I do apologize that I met you after I was completely sick of that shit. Might have been fun. You seem to know just the right Southerish things to do. But in all actuality I find myself bored with it. You see, it's the motivation behind it. I cant help but think all the flounce and babble is just to sweep the poor pretty lass off her helpless little feet.” At the word feet she turned her heels into his ribcage, pressing just enough to make her point. While she was little she was far from helpless.

She leaned down and ran a finger over his lips, urging them to continue their silence for a bit longer. She knew he wouldn’t stay quiet much longer as he was already attempting some form of ill-flattering feedback.

“I don’t think I wish to count that kiss as a first. While yes, I do want to kiss you. And I do find you completely fuckable. You are going to have to find a way to release these notions and dead set rolls you have stuck in that mindset of yours. I want to have a good time tonight. Maybe a kiss or two, Your not getting laid tonight so stop trying and relax. We just met this morning for god sake, give us 24 hours before you're trying to cut my meat on my plate.... Oh.. and speaking of which, I will keep in mind your desire to order your own food next time. This time I'm just starving and wanted a meal sooner than later. And you have just learned the way I like my meat and my desert so don’t take it as a loss to your ego but as a little insight into me.”

With her final words she leaned down and kissed his nose. Rising she offered him a hand up which he declined.

Laughing to herself she was entirely great full for the other shots on the table. She drank one and put one closer to his side wondering just when their starters would arrive.

The movement was a blur, one moment Jackson was sitting across from Destiny and the next he was upon the floor with her perched over him. Being shushed by a finger as he started to unleash a tirade combined with the heels digging into ribs brought his own incredibly mixed feelings. Part of him wanted to laugh, the whole absurdity of the situation being played out with slack jawed onlookers had a certain comic appeal. Another part was wounded pride; how dare some woman put Jackson on his ass, to further do it in public no less! The last confusing and conflicting emotion was one of interest mixed with desire, a combination commonly associated with women Jackson found himself attracted to.

He made a face and declined her offer of a hand up, his ego more bruised than ass and currently very unwilling to accept help from her. He stood, dusted himself off and righted the chair, glowering down at her the whole while. Destiny had slid one of the glasses towards his half of the table as an apparent peace offering, a playful smile greeting his less then amused stare. Jackson eased himself back into the chair, checking to make sure he knew where her feet where in relative location to his seat.

"You know, any other woman I'd simply leave sitting without a further word. But you Destiny..." Pauses mid-sentence, taking the moment to down the drink. "I take this more as a challenge then anything. It's more then just a Tarzan and Jane thing Miss Revele, southern pedigree is an ingrained set of traditions that most men of culture such as myself strictly adhere too."

Jackson ignored her arched brow and scoffing sound, throughly intent on reclaiming the upper hand and correcting what he percieved as a universal imbalence. The plan was about as subtle as a sledgehammer with an incredibly high rate of implosion but that wasn't really the point, it was simply about ego anymore.

"You see Destiny Revele" Jackson intentionally drawled her name out "In the South we do enjoy our women fiery but they're also tinged with sweet and a bit of respect. Simply put, if you feel bold enough to put me on my ass in public, you should not be surprised that the same would happen to you."

His movements were fast, knowing that even a moment of hesitation would result in his face being ripped off. Using his distinct size advantage, Jackson hoisted Destiny from her seat and laid her upon her stomach across the open table. One arm held down between her shoulder blades to control her thrashing while his other hand proceeded to loudly and solidly paddle her ass.

"You." Swat "Will." Swat "Be." Swat "Charmed." Swat "And Like It!" Swat

Ignoring her shrieks of protest and proclaimed violence, Jackson instead turned his attention towards his fellow resturant patrons and addressed them. "I'm glad you enjoyed this evenings show but alas, my charming date and I must depart your esteemed company. But remember, nothing says first date like a spanking in public!"

The only words that Jackson could postively hear from Destiny was a promise to "Fucking kill you!" along with various other shrieking curses. His arm relaxed just long enough to lift her from the prone position and encircle her arms to keep her from flailing more. It was the equivelency of holding a wolverine as he carried her out the front door in a reverse bear hug, sustaining repeated blows to the shin and thighs from kicking legs. Thankfully for Jackson's grip and lower extremities, a cab was parked right at the curb outside and the driver had clearly seen them approaching due to the comotion.

Jackson tossed her into the backseat as gently as possible before swiftly slamming the door and barking orders at the driver.

"Take her St. Thomas Books on the corner of Rubidoux and Chataues. I don't give a fuck where she tells you otherwise, make sure she gets there specifically. Your also to stay parked out front and make sure she goes inside and stays put until I get there. Understood?"

A hundred dollar bill earned Jackson an eager nod and off the cabbie sped, money and key in hand, the whole transaction taking no more then 10 seconds. Jackson grinned as he watched the car round the corner, Destiny clearly giving him the finger out the rear window as he turned back towards the resturant to pay their bill and change it into a take-out order.

Jackson knew full well that there was going to be hell to pay for this stunt, possibly even charges of kidnapping and false imprisonment. The most important thing though was that she didn't burn down the shop but Jackson didn't figure that too likely. Destiny may hate him at the moment but she clearly possessed a love of antiques, she would not punish historical works merely to spite him. Beyond that though, it was clear the dinner date had erupted into World War 3 between the pair and somehow Jackson bringing their meal back to his shop didn't seem quite like the Treaty of Versailles...

Pissed didn’t come close to how she felt. White hot boiling rage. The cabs tires ate pavement at an excruciatingly slow pace as the last ten minutes raced through her head over and over again. Several stop signs passed before she demanded the cab driver to take her home. He flat-out didn’t answer her no matter what she accused, threatened, screamed at him or pleaded. That is till the next stop sign. She opened the cab door and stepped out. Then he said something but she wasn’t paying attention. She looked around searching for any land mark she could recognize but found none. She'd have to call another cab to get her home. She would have to wait where ever in the hell this was till that cab showed up. Sighing heavily she sat back down and closed the door. The book store was only blocks from home.

The sheer audacity of it all made her laugh. She never expected him to do that! Yell, topple a table, walk out, anything but take it, (giggling more) take it lying down. Her 'anything' did not include being spanked and carried out the fuckin restaurant! She wanted to rip him apart but she would be a good girl and go home. And then what, pace and trash her own apartment. Oh hell no.

Was she pissed off, yea but still interested. It was really weird. Well very weird but that’s how physical attraction works, right, right. Still a strange concept; that wanting to smack him, scream, beat, scratch, kiss and fuck him till she felt better.

Her whole conflicting conversation with herself played out on the rest of the cab ride. By the time they reached the book store she was deadly calm. Determined to gain back the, the what... her power over her life, the situation. Just what ever. Yes he was physically larger than her. Hell that was a quality she loved. Being petite she really couldn’t ever control much of anything physically but her manner, demeanor... just what made her, her tended to get her what she wanted. Right now she wanted him on her terms.

She took the key from the cab driver after he unlocked he book shop door. She was not about to be in the shop with a strange man with a key right outside. It was odd enough she actually went in the shop herself to wait for Jackson to show up. Flipping on the light she hummed to herself walking through the shop. Fingers walking over tiny beauties, old books, trinkets and fine pieces of craftsmanship throughout history. Jackson really did have exquisite taste.

Stopping in front of an ornate red tinted glass vase she picked it up. It was just over a foot tall and would be perfect if it were not a fake. Her family knew Ruby Red glass works. The color was distinct given the quality of the gold used to color it. And this thing just wasn’t even close to being of any caliber to be surrounded with the other pieces in, well any damned collection. She tossed the thing over her head behind her and just let the crystalline echo of glass shattering on solid flooring wash through her senses.

She made her way through the bookshop to the very back. Giggling she thought she found an exterior door but was faced with a stair case instead. Smiling so much more when she arrived at the top than she thought she would. She found herself in his apartment. So much better than sneaking out a back door after shattering a few fakes. She caught herself tiptoeing through this place. His place. This spartan contrast to the eclectic history display down stairs. Everything here served a purpose. It was a minimalist relieving view of him and what she would call 'man trash' decor. Need a spot to put your coffee cup, here's a clean but badly repaired table. There was a well used couch, an odd-looking floor lamp next to a comfy looking low back chair, a small table just outside the kitchen, nothing but a coffee maker on the kitchen counter and in the corner by the terrace door a tribute to the shop below. An antique writing desk with a typewriter, silver desk set, ornate antique pens. All well-worn and apparently quite loved given their position of honor.

She heard a car stop on the street below and the sound of two men talking. He was here and she was here. And she had leverage. She waited till the cab outside pulled away before unlocking the terrace door and picking up the typewriter off the desk. She walked it out on the terrace and rested it on the railing, keeping it from tipping off and shattering on the cobblestone below with one small hand.

There she waited listening to his voice bellow from below. Giggling as he found the several shattered pieces. Her heart raced as his foot falls thudded up the stairs and her stomach growled when her nose caught the smell of steak and garlic and more. He had brought the food! Hmm was it the food she ordered or did he change it all after she left. She didn’t know but was even more interesting to find out. She almost let go of the typewriter to follow her nose but his form came into view just then.

The light from outside casting him in deep shadow. She had not turned on a single light in his apartment. He looked just as shocked, pissed, confused and animalistic as she felt but his had a wonderful sheen of fear at the forefront. Her smile lit the way to her thoughts. The typewriter was definitely the right choice for this moment.

Her eyes traveled over him from the fire in his eyes to the slight flexing of his toes in his boots making them move just that much. Like he was holding back from pouncing. That thought reflected in the purr that was her voice; soft, clear, low, deceptively calm and aimed directly at his senses as her eyes crawled thier way back up to meet his.

“It seems we need to reach some kind of understanding.

“I think once we find it...

“Things could get very interesting.”

Seeing the taxi still parked in front of St Thomas's was actually a bit of a relief for Jackson. It meant 2 very important things to Jackson, first and foremost was that Destiny was in fact somewhere inside the shop. 2ndly, Destiny apparently hadn't called the police regarding his stunt since there was no obvious SWAT team awaiting his arrival.

Jackson spoke with the driver, learning about Destiny's defiant attempt to walk away at a stop sign only to resign herself to St. Thomas being her final destination. The man also informed Jackson that he thought he heard a few smashing sounds but wasn't positive, more of a general heads up that Destiny may of hit his shop like a mini-Katrina. Jackson nodded and rubbed his face, praying that her destruction was minimum but never the less grateful for the man's compliance with his wishes. A handshake and another hundred dollar bill sent the taxi on it's way, well payed for being apart of such a strange series of events.

Jackson turned his full attention to his shop, carefully unlocking the front door with his own key while balencing the take-out bags on his arm. The shop was bright but otherwise silent, no signs of life as he gave a loud shout. There was no backdoor to the shop, it wasn't like she could of escaped out the rear....

"Destiny?"

A grunt of annoyance escaped Jackson as kicked the door shut behind him, eyes starting to survey the shelves for some signs of the purported damage the driver may of heard. It took a few moments for the missing item to click but when it did, it felt like a lightening bolt to his very soul. She had broken one of his favorite peices, a replica of a vase from Degauge's Ruby Glass collection; a peice whose value was more sentimental & orimental then monitary.

"Destiny!"

The lack of an answer once again led Jackson to an even more dreaded realization then Destiny had simply killed a favorite vase. Destiny was more then likely upstairs in his apartment, Jackson never locked his apartment door because no one besides him usually had access. His stride was brisk and purposeful, cutting through the shop and up the back stairs, the only thing preventing a full out sprint was their combined dinner on his arm.

His eyes instantly absorbed the scene, her position on the terrace, his typewriter perched precariously on the wrought iron railing. Jackson set the food down on the table, eyes darting between the typewriter and her own gaze. He slowly crossed towards her, stopping a suitable distance short so as not to startle her and make her loose her grip. He stood there silently, licking his lips in anxiety as he listened to her words, apparently this had turned into a bit of a hostage negotiation. Even though every nerve of his was alive and screaming, Jackson tried to keep his voice level and cool just like she had addressed him.

"Ok, I understand your a bit steamed with me. You have every right in the world, let's start with that. Spanking you might of been a bit rash, at least doing it so publicly anyway. But that typewriter, it's an innocent in this war, no sense in unneeded collaterall damage." Jackson was slowly inching forward to close the distance so that if it became absolutely necessary, an attempted leaping dive wasn't out of the realm of possibility. "I wrote Bayou Bloodbath on that typewriter Destiny, it's a historical peice in that aspect. Long before that though it was owned by Johnathan Cazinuex, crime beat reporter at the Times Picayune in the early 1900's. My grandfather bought it at an office supply auction in the 60's and it's been in the family ever since."

Jackson has closed enough of the gap that he now within lunge range for sure but he stilled hoped that such drastic measures wouldn't be required. He nodded his head towards their food sitting on his table.

"How about you hand me the typewriter and we sit down to a delicious meal that's only growing colder and losing flavor. We'll start over, no bruised egos or power struggles, just 2 adults having a nice first date with one another. Besides, if that typewriter were to meet an unfortunate demise, I think that you'd most likely follow suit shortly there after. I'd much prefer to enjoy a fine steak dinner and dessert rather then be arrested for homicide, I imagine you'd prefer to avoid victim status. So, please kindly remove that from the ledge and let's move forward shall we?"

His eyes were locked on hers, waiting for any sign of her next movement one way or another. It was never a good thing when a pair of wild cards such as themselves went toe to toe in a battle for supremacy...

Her brow arched several times as he crept closer. He was ballsy enough to spank her in public but smart enough to know she would drop his treasure. What a very good combination. Though the spanking part would still earn him much more retribution than he could even dream of.

Her fingers lifted leaving only her index finger keeping the typewriter steady. She was enjoying watching his whole body tense as each finger left his precious trinket.

“You will have to get this from the ledge in a moment as I want both your hands full going back inside. I wont let it drop if you don’t charge at me. I'm all for having a meal. Especially if it's the one I ordered. If you changed anything I'm leaving, if you didn't I'll stay.”

Her body slid to the side so he would have to choose: catch her or his trinket. He didn’t pounce though. How amusing. He either trusted her at her word or meant what he had said. An amicable meal with an interesting start. She watched him inch forward and claim his prize. Stepping away she watched his hands glide over its surface to curl around it. She moved as he did.. back into his apartment. Making her way to the food.

“You are quite interesting, you know that. Wound your pride and you attack. Attack your sentiments and you become very mailable.”

Laughing she didn’t bother to look back she knew he was giving her one hell of a dirty look. It's not easy to deal with, when someone completely dismisses what you're saying. She knows that though. She picked up the bags and carefully emptied them onto his coffee table. Lowering herself to the floor she began opening things, her mouth practically drooling. Now she was starved. So much adrenaline used she wanted food and she wanted it now.

Oblivious she just pried open boxes and de-lidded cups, smelling and tasting everything as she did. Pulling both steaks to herself she poked each one, choosing the rarer one just by feel. She didn’t care that it was far cooler than she normally liked. Completely lost in laying things out she actually started when he cleared his throat standing just beside her.

Looking up from her perch she was happily surprised to see he brought plates, utensils and glasses for the wine. Taking the plates she dished out only the steak onto his and fixed hers with everything he had brought with it aside from the dessert. Slicing a bite... she knew she couldn’t wait or rather wouldn’t wait for him. The smell too divine. The taste... even more so. She sat perfectly still, eyes closed, savoring the mix of flavors. She didn’t know why but garlic and meat just, well, was better than chocolate most of the time.

Opening her eyes finally she almost blushed. He was watching her, paused mid-fixing his plate. She set her fork down and waited for him to finish, pour the wine and settle himself to eat before resuming the feast to her senses. She was calmer now, food did that, especially good food.

“Thank you for not changing the food. As for bruised ego and power struggles. My ego is fine. Just don’t ever, ever spank me again. I'm fine with public displays of almost anything. I'm never ok with spanking.” grinning she paused to savor more of the meal, slowly before she went on. “As for power struggles, those are inevitable, fun, frustrating but inevitable. Tis good to know though, that you would resort to homicide over a typewriter.”