A Demon on Campus (Closed)

[Apollo Wilde]

Cassandra Barton was pretty unremarkable at first glance. At least, that was her assumption. She was of average height - brown-skinned, long dreadlocks that she kept pulled back in a ponytail, and dressed fairly “under the radar.” Well, compared to the other students. Jeans, some nerdy t-shirt or the other; well worn purple converse, beat up leather messenger bag. Reading glasses when she spent too much time in front of the computer (all too often nowadays) - brown eyes, dark hair that the sun had bleached to a warm amber color, big gold hoop in her left nostril. Various sets of earrings.

Too arty for the more straight-laced academics, too much of an academic for the art kids, she was often a woman alone; working overtime in the library or helping her assigned professor grade papers. Not that she was complaining about that set up - actually being picked as a Teacher’s Assistant meant that a good chunk of her tuition went bye-bye. That meant that whatever money she made on the side -tutoring, slinging coffee, posing for the art classes once a week, whatever- could actually go to living expenses and paying off the loans for her undergrad degree. All in all, she couldn’t complain too much; she knew she had it a lot easier than most students.

Her problem, though, was her unrequited….thing (could it even be called that? More like a burning, “Please rip off my clothes and throw me against the stacks” unbridled lust) for her mentoring professor. Not that he’d notice her, being so unremarkable and all. And this was something that she occasionally lamented over her chai latte, with her one stripper roommate with the stage name of “Cristal” (like the champagne), and the innocuous real world name of Kate Morse, and the other roommate that was some sort of make up artist - all she really knew about him was that he kept odd hours and always had the most on point eyebrows she’d ever seen.

“Girl, you gotta tell him. This pining is killing you,” sniffed Kate, licking the whipped cream off of her -third- complimentary mocha. Kate was a slip of a girl - probably a brunette, originally. Once upon a time. Now, what remained of her hair was dyed bright pink, the sides of her head shaved. A myriad of piercings lined each ear, and she had mother of pearl earlobe plugs. Her eyebrows both sported studs, and a septum piercing rounded out her “face shrapnel”, as she affectionately called it. She wore a loose off the shoulder sweatshirt, the studs of her nipple piercings dotting the thin fabric, and the edge of an elegant chest piece. Ragged shorts and scuffed combat boots completed the look. On her right thin thigh was a Japanese style goldfish tattoo, and on the left thigh, a phoenix made of stylized Arabic rose out of an Persian-style set of flames.

Standing behind the counter, her chin in hand, Cassandra could only sigh. The coffee shop, “Reet Petite” (the owner had been a huge Jackie Wilson fan), was a popular hang out for the older crowd - grad students, business men and women. Everything that was unique to the place was named after an old song - for example, the “Mustang Sally” was the name of a particularly delicious panini topped with applewood bacon and smoky goat cheese. It was a cozy little hole in the wall, sitting snugly between a used book store on its left and a record store on the right. The interior was all old “upcycled” wood furnishings, found on dumpster dives, police auctions, shady friends. Potted plants hung from the ceilings, and in the back corner, a fish tank full of neon tetras and gold fish bubbled away.

“It’s not ‘pining.’ It’s…”

Kate raised a pierced eyebrow, took another long drag of her drink. “You want the d. in his Ph.d.s. Totally.”

“Didn’t say that I would turn it down if it were offered. Just that it will never ever be offered because look at me, for Christ’s sake. I'm an unmitigated walking disaster.” Cassandra gestured to her coffee-stained blue apron, her hair messily piled atop her head, held back with a red bandana. Her jeans were more on the worn side than she usually found comfortable - but at least she had on her favorite black Star Trek shirt. Under the blue of the apron, the gray writing on the shirt said, “Property of Star Fleet.”

“You’re at work. No one looks glamorous at work.”

“Says the stripper model.”

“Okay, so that’s part of my job. Selling the fantasy. But seriously. I mean, no one in a regular job. And also you downplay your massive rack. I see your bras hanging up in the shower.”

“My tits aren’t massive.”

“Uh, yeah, they are.” Kate leaned across the counter, and cupped Cassandra’s breasts in her hands. Jiggled them for good measure. “Even this bulky ass apron can’t hide these things. Fuckin’ just wear something cut low as fuck and just lean over real low the next time you give him a stack of papers. And if you spot me for utilities this month, I’ll teach you how to lap dance so good he’ll jizz without you touching him.”

“Half the utilities, and we'll settle on your cooking for a month,” grumbled Cassandra, leaning back to get her breasts out of reach of Kate’s hands, “Did you forget the last time you tried to teach me anything?”

“We totally made that paramedic’s night and you can’t tell me otherwise.”

Cassandra looked over at her, with an expression that bordered between disgust and embarrassment, and for not the first time since Kate had come in, she was glad it was slow. It was the late afternoon - past the lunch / brunch rush, and a few hours before the late night study session rush. Reet Petite was one of the few places that kept late hours and had free wi-fi.

“You whore. You said we weren’t ever going to talk about that.”

“Me? Fuckkkk no I didn’t promise that shit. That was the best Christmas ever.”

Cassandra just shook her head. “Weren’t you supposed to be talking to me about how to seduce my professor on this exotic trip abroad that he will be here any minute to discuss with me?”

“Yes. And I told you. Wear something tight, low cut, shove those magnificent tits into his hands and tell him, ‘Fuck me. Beat my pussy up. I mean fuck her shit UP beat it up.”

“I’m going to murder you.”

“You love my cooking too much.”

Before Cassandra could give her friend a sharp retort, the bells above the door rang, and she looked up. "Okay, so, like, you need to stop because he'll be here any minute," and Cassandra downed the last of her latte. One of the good things about working here? The owners let the employees basically eat and drink to their heart's content, and they got to comp friend's food within reason. Even though Kate was mockingly giving Cassandra a hard time, the bosses loved her and often treated her to free food themselves. And, well, once you fed a stray cat...But, to her credit, Kate baked something delicious, fat-laden, and chocolately for the store to sell at least once a week, so it evened out.

“More like, ‘My pubes are astro turf for you to play in my dug out” sniffed Katie softly, before picking up her drink and moving to a window table. Sitting and crossing her thin legs, she settled in to watch Cassandra. "Wait, did that even make sense? Okay, how about this one, 'There's grass on this field so lemme play with your balls!'"

Cassandra put her hands on her hips, and looked at Kate, "Okay, so why are you even using baseball metaphors?"

"It was the first thing that came to mind that had balls and grass."

 

[StylusMaximus]

.....

 

[Rajura]

Doctor Kian Winchester walked briskly up the alleyway that separated two buildings, one occupying his current destination. He hadn’t ever been here before, though the name “Reet Petite” had been mentioned enough by a one Cassandra Barton that that he felt like he knew the place. It looked quaint enough from the outside, nestled between a book store and a record shop. He didn’t even know places like these existed anymore, it was only a little bit amusing. Rarely did Kian stop to ponder about the present, things like book stores, coffee shops, they didn’t interest him. His primary concern was the past, perhaps more importantly the truth. He had made his profession on finding out the truth, unburying things lost and forgotten, though more often they were just warped and misrepresented. His insatiable appetite for the truth served him well in his profession as a college Professor and archeologist. It brought with it grant visions of Indiana Jones, at least those from comfortable with pop culture than real history. While he did get to travel the world on exciting adventures, rediscovering the past and finding something new and unique, never once did he run into any Nazis, no one tried to rip his heart out nor did he dig up any crystal skulls. He never even touched a fedora.

Still, Kian Winchester was something out of a big budget movie set. He looked nothing like what one would associate with a college professor; he wasn’t old and gray, in fact he was only thirty seven. He stood tall and proud, topping out at six foot one inch tall, his features were sharp and handsome, though the often serious expressions he wore made him look a little imposing and severe. His hair was short and dark brown, more often than not well groomed and slicked down to the left in a fashionable way. His eyes were a soft brown, though they appeared much darker thanks to his thick brows and general narrow nature of his gaze. He had a strong jaw, upon which a slight growth had taken root. Beards were all the rage again, but sporting a glorious full beard something he was ever going to do. He kept things short and easy to manage, less fuss and absolutely no muss. It was easier out in the field, where more often than not, Kian liked to be. If he could he would stay out there, if only life was a novel and you didn’t have things like rent, or the need for food or sleep. Of course, those were things he often forgot, keeping up on his diet wasn’t something he cared much about. It was the work he was interested in, be it ancient cultures long forgotten or brand new theories about those already long established, Kian was always onto something new, something big. That spark of personality made him bigger than life sometimes, he was sure in another life he would have made a great cult leader. Still, he wasn’t the best with people, especially those who were ignorant of his work or history in general. Even then, he was prone to loud arguments, openly criticizing those who couldn’t think outside the box.

Besides his well published findings on various subjects in his field, Kian had another claim to fame under his belt. It wasn’t grand or glorious, but in the day and age of the internet, anyone could become a celebrity for a few minutes. His happened to come late last year when he was a guest on a podcast dedicated to archeology. He got into a heated argument with another one of the guests and accusations and insults soon followed. Unfortunately, the whole affair was also being streamed live. One unfortunate gesture lead him to become an internet meme. Someone had to explain it to him, since he really had no idea what they were talking about. It had evolved naturally on the internet, a screenshot of him pointing an accusing finger at his contemporary as he berated him. Someone else turned it into an animated gif while another put the word OBJECCTION!!! in bold, red letters above his head in a word bubble. It was from some video game, or so he was told. It wasn’t as interesting as Neil Degrasse Tyson’s meme or anything, but Kian enjoyed it all the same.

Kian carried himself with an air of authority and confidence, even as his scowl kept all but the most determined away. His attire was decidedly business causal, a long sleeved black dress shirt and gray tie with matching vest, all over jeans and black dress shoes. It was his work attire, as close as he got to looking like a professor. He made it look good, his tall, sleek frame cut an imposing figure as he walked down the side walk, one arm curled up to his shoulder, clinging to the strap of his old leather backpack. It was the one thing that stood out from the rest of his kit, the backpack was surely decades old, cut, ripped, and scuffed, the surface was rubbed raw in places and the straps had been replaced. No doubt he could have replaced it with something more fitting, but for Kian it was a memento of his past, the first gift he had ever received on his very first official field study. If anything it was his lucky charm, something he took with him no matter where he went. The well worn brass clasps clinked lightly as Kian approached the front of Reet Petite. The scent of coffee brewing had hit him a few steps back, which instantly reminded him of just how empty his stomach was. The thought of filling it with whatever made that smell was enough to distract him and send him barreling right into a trio of young students who were standing outside the establishment. Kian faltered, giving a stout nod and silently apology for jostling one of the three when the very same boy’s eyes widened in recognition.

He flailed for just a second before thrusting out an accusing finger and at the top of his lungs belted the word: “OBJECTION!”

His mates laughed and joined in, which caused Kian to roll his shoulders and let out a groaning laugh all his own. He was caught, again, by his infamy. Even people who had no idea of his work knew about the meme, somedays it was nice to just get through it without someone doing just this. It was annoying as it was flustering, still, Kian was a professional and took the offered hand the boy extended after his outburst.

“I told you it was the dude from the internet,” He told his buddies, one of which started to pull out his phone.

“No,” Kian said simply, yet firmly. He hated pictures, especially random ones taken by random strangers. This was how it all started after all. “You take that picture and I will snap that phone in half."

His tone became all too serious and that glower was nothing short of a death stare. It was enough to send the boys running for the hills, of course not before profusely apologizing. The outburst had been quick, but sometimes that’s what it took to get things done. With a sigh Kian adjusted his tie and reshouldered his backpack before he grabbed the handle of the door.

The bell twinkled above him as he emerged in the homey atmosphere. He came to a halt after passing over the threshold, his gaze narrowing in the dimmer light as they slowly adjusted. He took in his surroundings, noticing the furniture and detail of the place. It was nice, for a coffee shop, but the one thing that really drew his attention was the amber haired woman behind the counter. The hard lines of his serious expression softened for a moment as the recognition set in. Kian could be a hard ass, a loud and angry man, but he was also a pretty nice guy to those that got to know him. Few and far between were those people, but one that managed to wiggle their way in was Cassandra Barton. She was a bright young girl, but that wasn’t really enough to have drawn in his interest. Her passion for history was amazing, few had the dedicated that she displayed. Kian took a natural liking to her, even if he didn’t outwardly show it. No need to show favoritism, he always thought. Besides, she was a young, attractive woman, the thought that someone might see them as something more than teacher and student was a troubling one. Much of the female student body saw him as something of a sexual figure, much to his chagrin. All the young girls wanted in his classes, just to stare at his handsome face. That was until the book came slamming down in front of them, Kian suffered no fools in his classroom. Cassandra had never been one of those girls, she was much and more.

“Afternoon, Ms. Barton,” He greeted her formally, as he always did. Slowly he drifted towards the counter, his gaze flickering about the place before it finally settled upon her once again.

“You look….awfully busy.” He said with no small hint of sarcasm. “Nothing good to read during your downtime?”

 

[Apollo Wilde]

When he’d entered, he’d find the only two patrons in the “Reet Petite” in a dick drawing contest on the menu board.

The menu board was a battered repurposed chalk board that had once been large enough to cover a classroom wall. It’d been cut down to size, refitted with a “new” frame. It featured the specials in multi-colored chalk, and various humorous doodles – an alien in a saucer, a cow jumping over the moon. Situated behind the low cashier’s counter, it could only be reached by standing on a chair – which was where one of the girls was standing. Her waif-like form was nearly drowned under the purple baggy sweatshirt she wore, and she was standing on her tiptoes, adding a bulging vein to the shaft. Cassandra stood a foot or so behind her, looking up at the board, her hands on her waist. In the dark tangle of her dreadlocks, the occasional copper charm shone through.

“I’m telling you, Cass-Cass with the Finest Ass, it’s going to be thick and veiny. HUGE balls. Guys like that don’t have the time to beat it,” and she began to beat-box, “Badump, tsst, ba dum dum tst, chicka chicka wow wow, beat it!”

“That’s an old wives tale. Academics have time to get laid,” Cassandra sniffed, pointing to a thinner, leaner cock drawn beside the first one. “I bet it looks more like that. I’ve looked enough at it.”

The thinner girl let out a bark of a laugh, looked down at Cassandra. “You totally just admitted to looking at your professor’s junk.”

“Once or twice.”

“Cass-Cass.”

“Okay, like every time I can, fuck off and die,” Cassandra grabbed the top of the chair, gently shook it. “Seriously, ya gotta clean that shit off before someone comes in and se-”

The two froze at the sound of Kian’s voice, the girl on top of the chair whirling around, sending her pink hair flying. “Oh, hai there,” she said, looking smug as all get out. She put her hands on her hips, kicked at Cassandra lightly from her perch, before turning back around to wipe the drawings off of the board. “Don’t mind us,” she said, sugar sweet, looking at him over her shoulder. She was unabashedly checking him out, raking her eyes across him as if he didn’t have any clothes on. “We’re just-”

“OhmyfuckinggodIwanttodierightnow,” murmured Cassandra, unable to turn around. She was standing shock still, keeping her attention on Kate. Looking up at the pink-haired girl with pleading eyes, Kate offered her a shrug. “Go with it,” she hissed down at her in a whisper. “You don’t know how much he heard anyway. And it’s not like he knew we were talking about him. All I said was ‘professor.’”

All Cassandra could do was give Kate a mortified glare. And, taking in a deep breath, remembering what the yoga instructor said, she turned around, creakily, to face the front of the register. To her credit, her face wasn’t nearly as red as she thought it was going to be. She couldn’t look him in the eye. Kate, looking down at her, hopped down from the chair, and dragged it – loud, long, screeching-back to the table that she was sitting at, to the side and slightly behind where Kian was standing. Once she was behind him, she stuck her tongue in the corner of her cheek, miming giving head. Cassandra slammed her hand down on the counter, causing the small display of vegan granola bars to rattle. Kate stopped – only to wave her arms like a traffic controller down to her crotch, mouthing, “She wants to read your DICK.”

Cassandra’s face darkened. She was losing her Namaste vibe. “I’m sorry, Dr. Winchester. My roommate, Kate Morse. Pretty sure someone dropped her on her head as a baby.”

A startled faux gasp. “ You bitch! You pinky-swore never to tell,” and Kate sashayed over, offering him her hand. “As the Cass-Cass with the Finest Ass said, I’m Kate Morse, roommate extraordinaire. I pay rent mostly on time, clean up after myself, and I never bring guys home. Did you know that she doesn’t, either? Most nights it’s her and the low hum of a-”

“KATE I SWEAR TO CHRIST.” Cassandra’s face, dark-skinned as she was, was absolutely crimson.

“All right, all right; I’ll leave you two fartknockers at it,” Kate said, with an exaggerated eyeroll. Retrieving the nearly empty cup from her table, she did a shuffling sort of moonwalk out of the restaurant. “Catch ya on the flip side. Massive Tits McGee; use them thangs!” And she was gone, in the slight jingle of body jewelry and a faint whiff of patchouli perfume.

Cassandra buried her face in her hands, waiting for long moments before she could feel her breathing regulate to something close to normal. She was going to kill her. She was going to string her up by her striped thigh high stockings and just beat her to death. Oh god. What all had he heard? Since the ground showed no sign of swallowing her whole, she let out a meager, broken chuckle, as she uncovered her face, willing it not to burn as much.

She cleared her throat, attempted to run a hand through her hair, remembered it was tied up in a bun and secured with a bandana, got her hand stuck in the bandana, wiggled it free, all the while, laughing like a broken toy. “I, um, yeah, that’s Kate. Realistically, though, you couldn’t ask for a better roommate. She’s a photographer – I think she said she’s looking into being a photo journalist. She’s got a gallery show up now with portraits of the girls she works with down at the club,” she spoke as she moved from behind the counter, walked to the tank, fed the fish (even though they didn’t need it), pushed some chairs in. Anything to keep her busy. The harmonious voices of the Supremes caught, skipped, and she dashed over to the CD player (yes, the shop was so low tech they still used a boom box to pump music through the store), stopped it, took the CD out. Squinting at it, she ran some water over it, using her apron to polish it up a bit.

“So, uh,” and she looked up at him, only briefly, “Can I get you something? It’s on me; we get stuff comped here all the time. And since I’m always in here, I sorta can do what I want,” and she gave him a sheepish smile, before replacing the CD back in the player. Moments later, “Baby Love” hummed to life, Diana Ross’s cotton candy voice floating around the two of them. “Well, not really ALL that I want, but you know, seniority and all. The special this week’s pretty good,” she gestured to the board, then remembered the recently erased cock drawings, coughed, and folded her hands in her apron. “ The ‘Alligator Crawl.’ It’s a really hearty gumbo – I, uh, I had a hand in making it. Old family recipe. So you could say I’m a little biased,” and she gave him that endearing, sheepish shy smile again. Like Kate, Cassandra prided herself on her culinary skills, though her forte ran largely to the savory as opposed to the sweet. “It’s got chicken, spicy sausage, shrimp – I made it a little milder than usual so folks here could actually, you know, eat it. Me, it’s not spicy until it makes my nose run. So, how about it?”

 

[Rajura]

Dr. Kian Winchester strode slowly towards the counter, the brass claps of his bag clinking lightly against his back with each step. His hardened gaze narrowed as he looked up at the chalkboard and for a moment couldn't make out what they were drawing. Thus, their words had little meaning, at least until his sight adjusted from the outside glare and he took in the sight of two vastly different cocks. To say it wasn't surprising would be a lie, but Kian was far from a prude. He lived a full, honest life that was filled with many adventurous tales not all of which could be neatly tucked into a historical book. The fact it was two young women doodling them, let alone his own assistance, wasn't much of a stretch either. Women weren't much different from men when they were stripped down to the basics. After all, they were young and fresh faced, at least compared to the grizzled veteran Kian thought he was. With age came wisdom, that's what old people said at least. Completely fucking up and starting from scratch, knowing what you fucked up and knowing not to do it again, that brought about wisdom. Many very well aged people still couldn't grasp that.

“The one on the top looks a little angry,” Kian pointed out as he stood before the counter, his gaze lingering all too intently upon the chalked cocks, as if he were studying a piece of art and deciding its worth.

“I wasn't aware of your artistic flair, Cassandra.” His tone was even, perhaps a little too even. It was hard to tell if he was genuinely offended and just playing it cool, or was going along with poking fun at Cass. The other girl, all bright pink hair, piercings and attitude, spun about rather gracefully on the chair before leaping down and dragging it off. She was enjoying herself a bit too much, much to Cass's chagrin. She was upon him soon enough, from any angle it wasn't hard to see just how openly she raked her eyes over him. That in itself was amusing, more so that she was friends with, no, room mates with Cassandra. Kian turned and took her hand, shaking it firmly, solidly as he listened to her prattle on her achievements.

“And I bet you manage to feed and bath yourself too. Very impressive. I might have some chewing gum so we can see if you can add a few more things to your list,” Kian responded with an unwaveringly calm tone. His own take on humor was, well, a little odd. He enjoyed the sarcastic come backs and witty quips, though his deliverance was always as dry as possible. If anything, it made it hard to tell if he was joking or serious, which to Kian, was where most of the humor came from.

Kate was gone as quickly as she came, leaving Cassandra a quivering pile of shame and regret. Kian turned to face her as Kate left, his hands sliding into his jean pockets as he offered a slow shrug of his broad shoulders.

“She smelled nice,” He commented idly. His gaze lingered intently upon the flustered young girl, who, when she finally managed to speak began to talk near non-stop. Kian listened intently, it was fun to tease, but he knew when enough was enough. Besides, it wasn't really pleasure that brought him, it was business. Sure, it was personal business, but he saw the golden opportunity that was it was Cassandra and he wasn't going to let it slip away.

“I think I can pay my own way,” Kian commented lightly as Cassandra offered to comp whatever he wanted. It was cute, endearing even, but unnecessary. Indeed, he would feel horribly awkward if he didn't pay for something. But that was all left unsaid, Kian knew when to argue and when not to, the latter was especially useful when dealing with the opposite sex. At the mention of gumbo though his thick brows did arch and for a brief moment he gave a look of contemplation. Slowly a brief, broad smile drifted out across his lips as he met that shy, sheepish smile.

“Only if you got some ice tea to wash it down. None of that weird, flavored stuff.” He muttered the last part and shook his head. With that done he retreated from the counter and found himself a seat at one of the empty tables. He set his backpack beside him and hastily opened it, withdrawing his leather bound notebook and a copy of his latest book. It was all about Phoenicians and evidence of their early discovery of the Americas long before Christopher Columbus. The revelation had been a shocker, even if people still disputed his findings. He set it down on the counter top, shielding it from view as he set his notebook down with his hands over both. There he waited patiently for Cassandra to return from the kitchen, his light brown gaze drifting about the shop idly, focusing on bits of furniture and accouterments as they passed them by.

 

[Apollo Wilde]

Her face still burning, she’d opted to act like she hadn’t heard Dr. Winchester’s assessment of the chalk dicks, rapidly erasing them before he could scrutinize them any further. After all this time, she still wasn’t quite sure when he was joking and when he wasn’t – and usually decided to opt on the side of caution. The fact that he’d used a first time had caused a slight shiver through her, although she wasn’t sure if it was one of pleasure or one of fear.

Kate, on the other hand, had risen to the challenge of his light ribbing, and stopped in her patter long enough to give him another, deeper look. Huh. Not bad at all. She could see why Cassandra would have a thing for him – though he wasn’t her type. She admitted that she liked her guys like the Julie Brown song – big and stupid.

Cassandra couldn’t keep surprise from her face as he commented on Kate’s perfume. “Oh, yeah, she runs a perfume oil business on Etsy. I help her out sometimes. It’s crazy how much it’s grown since she first started.” She continued to talk as she ducked into the kitchen area of the shop, hidden behind a beaded curtain that sported a large yin-yang. Even over the din of rattling pots and plates, he could hear her. “Once she heard I was going to Japan with you, she gave me a laundry list of fragrance oils to bring back. I think she’s going to do a limited edition run. Those always bring in a pretty decent chunk of change.” Stepping out, she precariously balanced two steaming bowls on a tray, nimbly making her way to his table. Careful not to set the bowls anywhere near his notebooks, she gave him a small smile. “I’ve got to go back and get your not-weird-tea and some hot sauce.”

Well, and something else, but he didn’t need to know that.

As she walked back to the kitchen, she discreetly leaned over and turned down the music. As she ladled his tea into a tall glass, she skipped forward a few tracks, then fast-forwarded through a good portion of another song before she turned it back up. She’d timed it perfectly; by the time she got back to his table with silverware and their drinks –she’d decided on an iced hibiscus mint tea-, the bold brass of Jackie Wilson’s “Reet Petite” filled the café. “Oop, that means food’s half off! Guess you have all of the good luck, Dr. Winchester.” She was doing her best to keep the smile subtle on her face. “It’s a thing that the manager’s son came up with. Once a day, we play the title song of the café, and if you’re here when it happens, you get food half off. It was a pain in the ass at first, but it’s gotten a lot easier to keep tabs on the checks now. It’s also an unspoken rule that if you get the half off, you tip extra well. It definitely keeps people coming back. And to answer your earlier question, I already finished the reading for this week and started on those undergrad papers. I can’t believe I still have to give them notes about how Wikipedia isn’t a valid source for an academic paper. If the article can be edited by “Cockmaster 9000”, I don’t think you want to use that. Just sayin’.”

Reaching into the pocket of her apron, she produced a small bottle of hot sauce, and liberally garnished the bowl in front of her with it. Stirring the gumbo, she looked over at him. “I have to thank you again for giving me the opportunity to come with you on this trip. I always wanted to go abroad, but nothing ever seemed to line up just right.” Gratitude choked her voice, made it a little heavy. Clearing her throat and looking away before the tears could start, she gave a small laugh, and cleared her throat again. “Anyway, I don’t wanna start bawling in front of you like a lunatic, so thanks again, and I’ll leave it at that. So,” and she took a small bite of the gumbo. Breathing around it before she rapidly chewed and swallowed, she continued, “Fill me in on the details – when, how long, where? I was thinking it might be nice to do some research on the lives of high ranking courtesans, you know, Oiran, while we were there. I never find any first-hand accounts, and I thought I might could do a little exploring. I’m not expecting to find out much, though. Pet project, and definitely not my specialty.” He’d know as well as she that her specialty was Classics, with a variety of “pet projects”, as she called them, on the side. Really, truth was, if it was historical, she knew a little something about everything, but her expertise was largely with the Ancient world, with surprising knowledge stores about various other areas – American history pre WWII, the Vietnam War, the French and Russian Revolutions.

“Figured it might also help Kate with this new line. We’ve been working together here lately on recreating historical perfumes. It’s been such a blast, let me tell you. I wish you could smell the blend I have on now; it’s one that was inspired by your research into Akhenaten and the sun cult. Smell of coffee covers everything up, though,” and she laughed a little.

“Anyway, she had the great idea to make complimentary male and female blends, and, oh,” and she fumbled in her pockets, patting them down before producing a small vile of dark, heavy liquid. “This is ‘Aten Rises.’ I thought you might want to try it…I’m not really sure how big you are into cologne and all of that, but considering that your work inspired it, I figured, I might as well offer, right? And we totally gave you credit for the whole run – at least, linked to your school website. Anyway…” She realized she was rambling, and set the vial down on the table. “It’s an updated version of this recipe I found called ‘Cyprinum’ – it’s got notes of cinnamon, cardamom, black pepper, but the main notes are wood smoke and frankincense. Not that means anything, I guess, but I thought it’s nice.”

Stirring her gumbo, she looked down into the murky fluid for a little, trying to even out her heartrate. She’d never just flat out given him anything before. There’d always been a reason prior – Kate made too much food, she'd gotten first dibs of the leftover food from the Reet Petite, Third Roommate was on a diet so now she had extra, late night sessions needed coffee; the list went on. Usually food-related. Actually, always food-related, now that she thought about it.

And now, of all things, perfume.

She felt that she should go back to the night before and slap herself for even bothering to make the trial sized vial for him. But at the time, her head had been so full of him, it just felt like the right thing to do. Desperate to play off the gesture, she took another bite, chewing much more slowly, taking solace in the muted burn of spice. It was after a long swig of her tea that she spoke again. “Better get used to it – we’re already trying to figure out what this Japan run should be called – and you’re going to get another one. Let me know what you like and don’t like about this one, and I’ll make notes. It’ll be interesting what your body chemistry does to this one, though. Me, everything that touches me turns sweet.”

Now, if that wasn’t a loaded statement.

She coughed, sputtered, after she realized what her words could have been taken as. “What I meant was that my skin brings out the sweeter notes in perfume-” Realization dawned on her face that she was, once again, rambling. “I’m sorry; I’m excited and nervous at the same time. And you don’t care about the finer points of making perfume,” she said lightly, meant to pass over the whole ordeal. Well, with any luck, it at least got his mind off of the very real fact that she had imagined what he looked like naked. Several times. And was doing it a little now.

 

[Rajura]

As the old saying went: 'Who'da thunk it?' Kian couldn't have guessed that making scents for fun and profit was a thing that both Cassandra and her roommate were into. Though perhaps she had let it slip a time or two, now that Kian tried to think back on it he continued to draw a complete blank. He had stepped into a conversation that he rarely enjoyed, the kind where he had no clue about the topic. Sure, everyone could smell, everyone had a favorite scent and the like, but it was one of those things that many people just took for granted. Kian had never stopped to give such a thing thought, at least until now as Cassandra went on about the business on Etsy.

“Huh.” He commented lightly, that little mutter with an upwards inflection at the end. It was a display of polite interest, even as Kian had absolutely no clue what she was talking about. Sure, he understood business, but the finer details that she was hinting at trespassed on awkward territory. Kian felt the unease of having to sit through a conversation he could do little more than nod and say things like “Oh yeah?” “Mmm.” “That's interesting, I never knew that...”. Yet for all the tension he felt bunching into his neck and shoulders, Kian played it as cool as the proverbial cucumber. He rarely let his emotions drift past the hard exterior of his public mask. Life was easier that way when everyone thought you uninterested or at least angry. Looking angry worked almost every time. It wasn't something he could do with Cassandra, even as he tried to keep himself in the professional role of the College Professor and she the Teacher's Assistant, every time she flashed that nervous smile and prattled on Kian felt a bit of him melt just a little more.

He reached out to adjust his bowl as she set it upon the table, both careful not to get it anywhere his notebook. He almost went for it right there, even took a breath to go right into his own little hidden present. Yet before he could she gave him that small little smile that made his stomach do flips and disappeared back to the kitchen. With Cassandra gone Kian took a deep breath, closed his eyes and wished himself into his happy place. If he were a funnier person he might have even muttered “Serenity now.”. It was all he could do to keep his cool, but the book sitting under his notebook was burning a hole right through the table. He wanted to fling it at her and yell surprise, even though it sounded just as stupid in his head as he thought it would. At least he had something to focus on now, his attention drifted towards the steaming bowl in front of him. Now talk about smell, the scent wafting up from the bowl make him forget his nerves and sent his stomach grumbling and his mouths salivating.

Kian was thankful Cass returned when she did, both with utensils and drinks. He offered his thanks as he took them both, unfolding his napkin and setting it in his lap while he arranged his utensils as he saw fit. The spoon came up first, which he dipped into the bowl and gave the gumbo a slow stir, watching the heat rise from it. Kian was suitably distraction, momentarily at least, to forgot about the racing thoughts of his present, at least until his attention was drawn towards the music playing in the background. He quirked a brow at the song, though more so at her insistence in cutting him a deal on his food. Kian started to object, though it ended in an awkward huff of a sigh. But Cassandra went right into his previous comment, thankfully enough. He continued to stir his bowl for a few moments before he brought a spoonful to his lips for a taste. He checked the spiciness of the gumbo, only to find it suitable if a little lacking. Once she was done with the hot sauce he snatched it up and proceeded to pour on a good dose before stirring it up and giving it another go. Once he was satisified with the level of burning on his tongue did he set the bottle aside and finally gave Cassandra his full attention.

“You don't have to thank me. You earned it,” He said nonchalantly and meant every word of it. He didn't go into detail as to how she earned it, since he was presently shoveling another spoonful into his mouth. He couldn't help the hunch of his shoulders as she leaned in a little more and took a few more greedy mouthfuls before he found the need to cool off with a sip of his tea. It was about then she had finished her comments on just what she wanted to do while in Japan. Kian wiped his mouth with his napkin before bringing it to his brow to dab it dramatically.

“It's not good gumbo unless you sweat a little, I always say. That's an amazing recipe. I haven't had something that good since I was down in the Big Easy for a conference a few years ago.” Kian added in with the needless comments on his life that she may or may not have been aware of it. The fact it spilled past his lips as easily as he spooned in the gumbo was a shocker. Still, he found it easier and easier to open up to Cassandra, something that felt both terrifying and exhilarating. He quickly buried any lingering hint of emotion on the idea with another mouthful of gumbo, which he chewed thoughtfully and finally set his spoon down.

“I'm afraid the details aren't as interesting as you might have hoped. The main reason for the trip is to attend a funeral,” Kian threw the curve ball out without blinking an eye. Though he did hesitate once he saw that look drifting over Cassandra's face. “My friend passed away recently. Nothing tragic, he was old and it was just his time. His lawyer said he had left me something in his will. That in itself is intriguing. I can't imagine what it is. Hopefully it's a check for a few million and I can buy myself a tiny island somewhere.”

Kian couldn't help but have a vivid flash of Cassandra in a bikini on a white sandy beach somewhere, wearing that smile that made him feel like a teenager all over again. It was about time for another mouthful of gumbo, something to keep his thoughts focused on the here and now.

“So I suppose be sure to bring something black,” He added in needlessly. Thankfully, the conversation veered back to scents, which for the moment Kian was almost thankful for. It was a lot lighter than dead friends and mysterious will requests. That was at least until she produced a small vial. He eyed the contents, though she explained readily just what it was. The shocker was that he was given credit for this particular batch. He eyed the small container curiously, the hard shell cracking further as he felt himself at a loss on how to handle the situation. His fingers twitched as he debated upon taking the vial or politely refusing it. The gesture seemed intimate yet innocent enough, though still an unexpected gift. He didn't know how to feel about it, part of him was surprised and a little embarrassed, while another part felt the moment meant more than he thought it should. Finally, as Cassandra went on about the scent and their plans for more different blends to come in the future, Kian idly reached for the vial and held it in his grasp. He was about to push his book closer to her, though the sweet statement took him off guard.

It was then that he laughed, that light huff that brought out a smile that lingered just for a few moments. This girl was absurd, she really was. Kian wanted to tell her that, though for the life of him he couldn't find a way of saying it that didn't sound like an insult.

“Uh huh. I'm sure that's what you meant,” Kian went in for the weak spot, though his typical serious tone was ruined by the huffing laugh that accompanied his words. He slid the vial into his pocket unconsciously, only so he had both hands to work with at the moment.

“I can't say that I ever gave perfumes any thought. But I suppose I won't look at the subject the same way again. Just don't go making too many smells dedicated to me, alright? There's only so many smells I can inspire before it starts getting weird.” He had meant it in an amusing way, though it didn't really come out that way, at least in his own head. With a light cough he shook his head and finally pushed aside his notebook.

“Anyway. Since we are passing around gifts, here's yours. You ruined the surprise, I think. I was suppose to be the only one passing presents around today.” Kian said with a muted air of superiority and mild disdain, all faked for Cassandra's benefit of course.

“The copies of my new book finally arrived, so I thought you'd want to be the first to get a head start.” He causally pushed the hardback copy of his latest masterpiece over the tabletop towards her. He eyed the book momentarily before his gaze rose and lingered upon her face.

“I think you might find the dedication page interesting though,” He added, unable to contain it any longer. He had waited long enough to see her reaction, something that he had been going over in his head since he had decided to put it in. The possible outcomes were endless, truly, so Kian could do nothing but sit idly by and await her reaction.

The dedications page had numerous people mentioned, from friends to colleagues, though the last one stood out in particular.

To Cassandra

I couldn't ask for a better Assistant or student. Your help was invaluable.


Under that Kian had gone so far as to write his signature in a black sharpie.

 

[Apollo Wilde]

She suddenly remembered a cartoon she’d seen when she was a kid – Bugs Bunny, or something like that. The main character was trying to get away from something, and so, he’d rapidly dug himself a hole, pulled dirt over it, set it up with a tombstone and then, as an afterthought, added flowers.

If she could’ve done the same in that moment, when he commented on the perfume, she would have. Probably would’ve dug the hole to the center of the earth and would have been more than content to burn alive in the molten core. Her face aflame, she attempted to run a hand through her hair, and ran smack into the bandana she had pulling it up. And realizing that she looked more like a lunatic than what she’d just said, all she could do was give the weakest, saddest little pathetic chuckle that she’d ever uttered in her life. There was literally nothing that she could have thought to say to have eased over the situation. What was she thinking, giving him perfume? God.

A small consolation whispered in the back of her head – at least she hadn’t told him, in some grade school infatuation, that she wore that particular blend’s woman’s counterpart since she’d decided she was going to bring him some.

Oh, wait – he said his friend died?

Her expression instantly crumpled, but, before she could offer her condolences, he’d brushed it off. Something black. Right….So that meant that he wanted her to attend the funeral with him? Why? Couldn’t she be doing research on the side or something that was more helpful to him than attending a funeral oh wait a minute he said “Bring something black” so that meant that he wanted her there to be with him oh my god did that mean that he wanted her to be his date to the funeral? Was this socially awkward academic flirting?

The thing about Cassandra was her amazing inability to keep her thoughts off of her face. And, if he’d been watching, he would have seen it cycle from embarrassment so immense to turn her face absolutely maroon, to curiosity, to realization, then to hopeful, then to something that suggested that her mind had more than likely rounded the bend into something highly inappropriate, then, snap back to the here and now as he began to slide the book towards her.

In Japanese, the onomonopia for a rapidly beating or throbbing heart was either “Doki doki” or “Dokkun.” For the longest time, she thought it was silly; something that didn’t translate into English. However, as he causally pushed his book towards her, the deep thrum in her chest did indeed sound like a heavier version of “dokkun.” And it didn’t stop (she was surprised that her fingers didn’t tremble) or grow more even. Instead, it ramped up as she ran her fingers across the cover.

The fact that she thought about it, right now, at this very moment, made her start in a fit of sputtering giggles, the kind that sounded like it wasn’t sure if it was going to be a full out laugh or a sort of squeak. It wasn’t until she actually opened the cover and scrolled down the dedication list that the sound decided that it was, indeed, going to be a full on, probably not out of place in a movie from the 1940s girly giggle. It wasn’t shrill, or earsplitting, but an honest to God giggle of sheer joy.

“I, um, wow, I can’t-” She closed the cover. Opened it again. Looked at the dedication, snorted another little giggle, and closed the cover. Then opened it again, her other hand going to cover her mouth as more giggles flowed through. “My god, pinch me!” She picked the book up; grasped it to her chest, and for long, blissful moments, held it close to her, her eyes drifting shut, the ecstatic grin stretching from ear to ear, her heart still throbbing. Dokkun, dokkun, dokkun indeed.

Was the man trying to give her a coronary?

It was literally one of her academic dreams. The main reason why she chose the university (though she’d been accepted to all of the other programs she applied for – testament to the obscene amount of work that went into her undergrad) was that he taught there – she’d read all of his books under as an undergrad. Back then, she didn’t have the nerve to approach him on one of her campus visits – and it’d been good luck within bad that he was off campus on an expedition anyway. And now, tangible proof in her hands that he actually…respected her as a fellow academic. That’s how she was taking it anyway, since “assistant” preceded “student.”

Oh, great. He was staring. Well, not “staring,” because he never ‘stared.’ That was an expression that was beneath him. Rather, he was watching her, bemused, and not watching her at the same time. Brought back to the real world, she cleared her throat, and set the book down on the table, resisting the urge to thumb to the dedication page again. She’d rip out the page and frame it if she could. Had to play it cool now. Ice cold. Winter on Hoth cold.

She cleared her throat; rubbed at her burning cheeks again. “Well, uh, thank you, Dr. Winchester. I’m sure your signature will up the selling price on Ebay,” and she gave him what she thought was a wry smirk. What it was closer to was a combination of love-sick adoration, gratitude beyond her expansive vocabulary, and the slightest hint of If I wasn’t so self-conscious, I would jump across this table and kiss you until you turned blue desire. Realizing that she, now, was actually staring at him –and sizing up the delectable dip in his upper lip-, she cleared her throat again; drummed her fingers against the tabletop. “So, yeah,” and her voice was too loud, startling even her. Taking a long sip of her tea, she closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and let it out in a long rush. “I, uh…” and she couldn’t wipe the grin from her face. “Yeah,” she said, with some finality.

As her nerve slowly returned to her, they made small talk in-between eating: the hotel, how to get around, how long they’d be there, what research he planned on doing, making note of whatever downtime that she may have. As they continued to talk, the heaven-rending joy of having her name appear in the dedications was gradually replaced with exultation at the impending trip. This meeting was a sort of last minute check – what to bring, what not to bring, details, really. She’d mentioned wanting to go to a hot spring (because how could you not), and apparently, based on the research he’d done on where they were going, it was less of a hotel and more of a private residence.

His friend – Dr. Hikaru Ichijyo – had come from a fairly well-off family. His home, renovated several times during the years, had been transformed into something of a private museum – housing a vast art collection from all over Asia.

Located in the Kansai region, it was a few hours outside of Osaka – so that meant both the Japanese countryside and one of the major cities would be the core of their trip. All in all, she couldn’t complain. She didn’t know much about Japan, and the last few weeks, she’d been scrambling to memorize a few phrases, and upped her anime consumption (although she knew anime was hardly a fair cultural depiction; but, hey, it helped with some phrasing / pronunciation!) And, from what she’d gathered, his home wasn’t far from one of the most famous hot springs in the region – Ako Hot springs. That alone was enough to get her excited. She could already see her and Dr. Winchester, sipping warm sake, watching the stars, immersed up to their shoulders in the water, not a stitch of clothing between the two of them…

Okay, girl. Focus.

Dr. Ichijyo’s home appeared to be spacious, a staple of Japanese understated beauty, meticulously kept gardens, and, from her understanding, would be largely occupied by Dr. Winchester, herself, and a maid that visited about once a week to keep everything tidy. That, of course, meant that they’d be left to their own devices for extended amounts of time…

She shook her head, imperceptibly.

Stop thinking that way; this is a trip for research...ish?

In discussing the details of the trip, she’d almost missed the chime above the door – it was getting late, and about that time - the evening rush. With a small grin, she pushed her chair out from the table, gave him a small nod. “Thanks for filling me in, Dr. Winchester, and for the thoughtful gift. I’ll see you bright and early tomorrow morning at the airport!”

It was back to business – and if he’d stuck around, lingering for a few moments, he might’ve been amazed at how quick she’d transformed from a giddy, then serious, student, to a consummate barista. However, there’d be no mistaking that extra bounce in her step and light in her eye.

++++++

“And you didn’t jump his Ph.d. right then and there? You’re losing it.”

“It wasn’t like that.”

Cassandra and Kate were on the back porch of their home. It was a tiny thing – a prefab home from the boom of the 1950s, scarcely updated and rented for dirt cheap. The “break” on the rent came from the perpetual repairs that the girls (and occasionally, the mysterious third roommate) constantly made to the house out of their own pockets. As a result, the two of them had become quite the weekend warriors / handywomen. The next project was to re-tile the bathroom floor.

Now, though, was time for “Cunty Conversation,” an informal meeting of the minds that the pair had every night, usually somewhere in the wee hours in the morning.

Kate had just gotten off of work, and still had on her “stage makeup” – heavy fake eyelashes, dark eyeliner, body glitter. She had, however, changed into a baggy and make up stained violet sweatshirt. She was nonchalantly unstrapping her sky high clear heels, beer in her unoccupied hand. Cassandra was in her Star Wars boyshort panties and ratty tank that threatened to slip off of her shoulder. Her suitcase was neatly packed – after she’d packed it, unpacked it, repacked it, walked away, unpacked, and repacked again. And she knew that if she wandered back into her room, she’d start the process all over again.

The book he’d given her was propped up on her bookshelf, held open to the dedications page.

Kate looked up from removing her heel, raised an eyebrow at Cassandra.

“Seriously, it wasn’t.” Cassandra took a small sip of her beer; set it down. “I was just so…I dunno, over the moon that he’d mentioned me in his dedication. It was a dream come true.”

“Yeah, I know. And seriously, Cass, I’m happy for you.” A light swear as she carefully peeled off the false eyelashes. “About the whole academic thing. But if that wasn’t an invitation to something else, my name is not Katherine Claudia Morse,” and she kicked back in the ancient rocking chair she was in, rubbing her now bare feet against the smooth wood. After the two of them had ended up with feet full of splinters, they’d taken two weekends, back to back, to sand the ever loving shit out of the porch. Now, it was as smooth as satin, and both of them relished walking on it barefoot. “You nerds have your weird nerd ways of flirting. I think he’s interested.”

“Nah.” It was abrupt from Cassandra, heavy.

“Don’t start.” A edge crept into Kate’s voice.

“Let’s be real, Katie-Kate. Why would someone like Dr. Winchester be interested in a spaz like me?”

“The FUCK did I just SAY?!” Kate shouted, smacking her hand down against the arm of the chair. “Jesus you and that bullshit downing yourself. Look,” she rocked back in the chair, folding her thin legs under her. “You’re smart, you’re fun, you’re clever when you’re not being all socially anxious, and you’re fucking hawt as balls and you don’t act up your own ass about it. Any dude with two braincells to rub together would go for it.”

“Dr. Winchester’s on a different level,” Cassandra leaned back in her matching rocking chair, folded her hands primly around her beer. “Multiple Ph.d’s. Been all over the world; met all kinds of people. Seen all kinds of things.”

“And outta all the folks he could’ve had as an assistant, all the folks he thanked in that snore fest of a book, he singled you out. That’s gotta mean something.” Kate rocked back and forth, once, twice, before executing a small leap from the chair. “This trip; this is your chance. Not just for your studies, not just for whatever, but for all of it. Do me a favor and at least mention it to him?” Standing over Cassandra (who was normally the taller of the two), she leaned over and gave her a theatrical kiss on the forehead.

“Aw, shit. Got this shit all over your forehead,” and, laughing, rolled a sleeve down to cover her hand as she wiped firmly at the large smudge of lipstick on Cassandra’s forehead.

“Ow, you fucker! You did that on purpose!” Unable to hold back her own laughter, Cassandra swatted Kate’s hands away. “Love you, you dumb bitch.”

“Love you too, whore. I’m calling it. Don’t be up too much later, yeah?” Kate had turned back from the doorway, her dark brown eyes inquisitive.

“Yeah, I gotcha.”

“Good.”

Kate’s footsteps grew fainter. Cassandra kicked back in the chair, planting her bare feet firmly on the deck. The moon was sinking in the sky, and she could only catch small, white slivers behind the trees. Tilting her bottle back to her lips, she sighed, and let her thoughts meander through.

+++++++++++

It went without saying that Cassandra didn’t really sleep that night.

It seemed that the moment her head hit the pillow, it was time to be up and headed out to the airport. Kate’d offered to give her a ride, and the two of them had piled into Kate’s mini cooper, twin zombies. Kate had all but thrown Cassandra out at the airport, and dragging through the mill of the airport, she was thankful, for once, that she was entirely too tired to be flustered by seeing Dr. Winchester outside of an academic setting. In fact, it wasn’t until they’d arrived (the next day; the wonders of international travel) and she’d grabbed a full “night’s” sleep that it fully dawned on her that not only was she in a different country, but in a different country with her professor.

And that there was a funeral to go to.

Blearily, she went through her suitcase, remembering that she had indeed packed a pretty modest black dress. Moving aside a row of t-shirts, she paused. She didn’t remember packing THAT.

Pulling out the offending bit of fabric, she soon had in her hands a gorgeous black lace bra, panty, and garter set, trimmed in cream satin. Tugging on it further revealed silk sheer black stockings, complete with a backseam. Her brows furrowing, she dug further, to find a small note folded in one of the cups of the bra.

“Here’s your ‘something black.’”

Under the simple line was a large heart, and Kate’s signature.

With a laugh, Cassandra shook her head. Because of Kate’s line of work (and notoriety, truth be told. Her name sold tickets to pole contests across the state), she often got tremendous discounts at lingerie shops, if not just given things outright for free. Folding the items over in her hand, she smiled – everything was in her size. Kate must’ve called in a favor – just by the material alone, she figured it was at least a 3-figure cost set.

Well. No sense in letting it go to waste.

++++++

It was in the lawyer’s office, post funeral, that she’d decided that she hated garter belts. And that perhaps she’d worn it a bit prematurely – what were the odds of him seeing her strip down? But as much as she wanted to bitch about Kate’s choice, even she had to admit that she looked absolutely killer under the modest black dress. And that there was something deliciously…naughty about wearing such a clear “I’m here to seduce you” get up under such otherwise tasteful clothing. As the lawyer droned on, her imagination conjured up different scenarios in how to move, pose this way or that, to give him just the slightest peek of what she had on. Besides, she didn’t have much to contribute to the conversation, just the occasional glance over to Dr. Winchester. He’d gone with a simple black suit and tie, and he looked…yeah.

She quickly tore her gaze away from him, allowing her eyes to wander over the various magazines, books, and pieces of art on the walls in the otherwise bare lawyer’s office. The lawyer had to have been in his 70s – his English text book perfect and formal.

“It is of particular interest, Dr. Winchester, that Dr. Ichijyo wanted you to have this particular netsuke. Perhaps he thought that you would have found its rich literary history amusing,” and the lawyer presented Dr. Winchester with a small, fist-sized velvet box. Opening it, among a deep red interior, sat a perfectly carved netsuke, depicting a woman mounted by a man who seemed to be part fox. “It is quite rare for several reasons, namely, kitsune are typically depicted as female,” added the lawyer, the thinnest thread of humor in his voice.

Though Cassandra was no stranger to erotic art, she couldn’t help but to gape at the small item. It was meticulously carved, right down to the intricate curled lines suggesting pubic hair and fur.

“It’s beautiful,” she breathed, before she could stop herself. And, with a soft chuckle, the lawyer inclined his head.

“It is a true work of art,” he said, the formality slipping from his voice to reveal grandfatherly warmth. “Dr. Ichijyo cherished it greatly, though he did express regret at his being unable to open it,” and the lawyer gestured to a thin line that neatly bisected the couple. “The story hints that a great demon was sealed within,” and with a conspiratory smile, he set the box down between Dr. Winchester and Cassandra.

“Many, many years ago, when wild beasts and men interacted, there was a fox spirit, who, as a joke, decided to take the form of a man. He met many beautiful women, from high born to low, and had them all, and would laugh about it. He proved to be such a rogue that the women from several villages, discovering that they’d been tricked by this man, set to trap him. But, as kitsune are wily things, he set them to fighting against one another, so badly that the men swore that their women were possessed. As you can imagine, this fighting got to be quite troublesome, and so the men called in a priest. The priest was very holy, and beyond the pleasures of the flesh. But he knew that for such a creature, the ways of humans would always be enough to keep his curiosity. So, over 108 days, he carved this trap, and, curious as to what the priest was doing, the kitsune visited him in 108 forms, one new one for each day. But, it was his curiosity that was his undoing. As 108 is a sacred number, the minute the kitsune took on his 108th form, he was compelled to enter the carving – and so that is where he has stayed, for all these centuries. I would imagine that he is quite frustrated and lonely.” The lawyer laughed softly. “Dr. Ichijyo so loved that story. He said that it was the perfect example of Japanese folklore in a transitional period from indigenous to reflective of the rise of organized faith.”

As if realizing his formality had slipped, the lawyer steeled his smile, though he couldn’t remove traces of it from his face. “It is yours, Dr. Winchester, with a few other sundries, as to be discussed during the week. But it was Dr. Ichijyo’s wish that you were to have this item as soon as possible, to continue his research with it. Although I cannot promise that a demon of lust is trapped within," and his smile was cleverly teasing, his gaze drifting from Cassandra to Dr. Winchester, making no illusions about trying to pair the two of them in his mind.

 

[Rajura]

Kian collapsed into his recliner with a huff. His arms folded behind his head, cradling it as he kicked off his shoes and crossed his legs at the ankles. The day had been long and exhausting but he had managed to get everything in order. His bags were packed, the flight plan memorized (well not really – but he left the tickets underneath his wallet so he made sure to remember where they were) and last but not least Cassandra was well-informed on their journey. He tried not to dwell on that last bit since it brought with it a curious tingle in his gut. What was that? Some kind of nervous anticipation, like when he was a kid on Christmas morning waiting for his parents to wake up. He rarely felt that giddy anymore, it certainly wasn’t the flight or the destination. By now he was use to flying across the globe and spending weeks in hotel rooms. Those were the nice trips, he was just as comfortable in a sleeping bag on the hard ground. No, it wasn’t any of that. He found himself just staring up at the ceiling fan as he contemplated it, easily losing several long moments in deep thought over it. When he finally blinked he found his eyes dry and with several spots in them from watching the ceiling light far too long. With a sigh he rubbed his tired eyes and took a look about his living room.

His domicile wasn’t much to look at, though it was well-furnished and in a nice neighborhood. Kian rarely spent much time there, usually it involved sleeping, eating, showering or working. His bedroom and study were the primary rooms he occupied, though the others were just as livable. His tastes were simple, the colors dark and earthy. The living room was of decent size, Kian had set his recliner smack dab in the middle, in front of the flat screen TV that was too large to be practical. He rarely used it if ever, usually only to watch whatever recorded show he had been on most recently. Those light brown eyes drifted slowly about the room, taking in his surroundings and finding them so very…empty. He didn’t even so much as have a goldfish, when would he have time to take care of pet? Or a significant other? The idea stabbed its way into his current train of thought so swiftly it made him blink. Why did he think of Cassandra as well? The mental image of showing her about his house flickered in his mind’s eye momentarily. He banished it just as quickly with a shake of his head, an annoyed furrow creasing his brow. Why would he invite her hear? Oh, he could just hear the noises she would make too, that weird but oh so adorable giggle squeal thing. It was endearing and embarrassing to witness, the young girl so openly wore her emotions on her face. It was a curse sometimes; he saw the look in her eyes more than a few times, one that he was all too familiar with. It was that adoring puppy dog look, big eyed and so happy to see you. She wasn’t the first girl to fawn so openly over him, nor would she be the last.

If he had known that this phenomenon had existed he might have actually tried a little harder in his youth. The young Kian Winchester would have been all too happy to welcome a beautiful girl into his arms, even if doing so might besmirch his career. The young Kian Winchester was also an idiot. He had learned to not think with little Kian a long time ago, ages really. He was well-past the strapping age of eighteen when those hormones were raging so hard testosterone was dripping out of every pore. Those were the days. Kian let out a nostalgic sigh as he let his mind drift back to those days. He wouldn’t consider them the glory days; he didn’t live in the past pining for what was or what could have been. He had too much on his plate to waste time on that nonsense. Somehow, through the foggy haze of nostalgia Kian found his thoughts drifting back to today, namely his lunch with Cass. It was far from smooth, the performance was comical and he found himself smiling at the thought of her bumbling over her words, hugging his book to her chest and squealing like a pre-teen girl at a Justin Bieber concert. Slowly he unfurled an arm from behind his head and started to pat his thighs. He found what he was looking for shortly and with a wiggle he withdrew the small vial from his left pocket. He didn’t remember putting it in there, odd. Leaning up a bit he twisted off the top and brought it to his nose for a curious sniff. His lips twitched and a small approving frown drifted out over them. He gave a nod and leaned in for another sniff. It wasn’t half bad…pretty good actually. The girl had some talent other than in Academics.


__________________


Kian sat in a comfortable chair in the Lawyer’s office with that serious look on his handsome face. He held it easily throughout the day, making it through the funeral and all the way here without cracking once. While he felt some pain over the loss of a friend and colleague like Ichijyo it wasn’t like he was going to break down in tears over it. No, silent brooding worked well for him; he’d play that angle for as long as it worked. So far it had served him well his entire career. A few people had come up to him and shaken his hand, some he recognized more often than not he had no clue whom they were. That was the life of a globetrotting Professor, he had never been too good putting names to faces anyway. The one nice thing about the day had been his shadow. Cass was at his side through the entire thing. To his surprise she cleaned up very, very nicely. The black dress was simple but elegant; together they made a strikingly good couple. And it wasn’t bad to have a nice piece of arm candy for the day. Yeah, the thought popped into his head more than a few times, though right now he was focused all too intently upon the lawyer. He found it a little odd that Ichijyo had left him anything, though the two had many common interests and had become as good of a friend as Kian could expect.

He wasn’t expecting what he received. His dark, thick brows arched as he opened the fist-sized box and looked upon the intricately carved netsuke. If Ichijyo had spoken of this particular piece Kian couldn’t recall. That stoic mask cracked for a moment as a bemused smile drifted out over his lips briefly. He brought it closer for a better look, letting his gaze drift over it as the lawyer spoke. Kian listened intently to the story, finding it odd and fascinating all the same. He couldn’t help but chuckle as the lawyer finished, his gaze finally lifting towards the elder man.

“Who wouldn’t be a little frustrated?” He said with a short lived guffaw. It was one of those needless laughs people did in public, tacking it on the end of a sentence to indicate humor, just in case someone missed that minor detail. He slowly rose from the chair, holding the box in both hands as he offered it to Cassandra.

“Here. Hold this for a moment. Don’t drop it. It’s worth more than you,” Kian offered the box to Cassandra, a quick and almost flirty smile drifting over his lips as their eyes met for the briefest of moments. It was over as quickly as it started, he rose fully and strode towards the lawyer, shaking his hand and thanking him for his time. They proceeded to discuss a few more items on the list, planning to meet later so he could claim the rest of what Ichijyo had left him.

 

[Apollo Wilde]

Uuuggghhh.

She could totally drown a toddler in her panties right now. In fact, she was surprised that there wasn’t an audible “sploosh” when he gave her that smile. Caught up in the dreamy aftermath of its direct impact, she let out a lame mumble at his comment. Walking towards the door, she waited until she was sure that Dr. Winchester was deeply engrossed in conversation, quickly snuck out the door, looked both ways in the hallway to make sure the coast was clear, and as subtly as she could, adjusted her panties. Less than graceful (sort of like pulling out a wedgie), but hell, it got the job done.

Rubbing her thighs together to make sure that everything was “just so,” she clutched the velvet box in her hands, her fingers running over the smooth fabric. Holding it up to her eyes, she opened it again, and took a long look at the netsuke. “Beautiful” didn’t begin to describe it. And the fact that she was holding such an ancient piece of art sent a thrill through her, starting at her fingertips and ending in her toes. This, this right here, was what it was all about. “Imagine…the things you’ve seen; you’ve been through,” and as delicately as she could, she ran a finger along the ridge of the kitsune’s back. As she suspected, the curved details of the fur were slightly sunken into the smooth ivory of the netsuke.

Was it her imagination, or did it feel a little warm to the touch?

Had to be from her hanging onto it for so long. And besides, she couldn’t touch it too much; the oils from her hands would be damaging to something so old. Dr. Winchester would likely have her ass (she wished!) if he caught her touching it without gloves. Snapping the lid shut quietly, she hung onto it, and sighed.

_______

Mmm.

That was…nice. A lovely wake up call.

He attempted to stretch, then quickly dissolved into curses old, older than speech. He was still trapped. No room to really move. But he felt it, no, he tasted it. He could absorb it just by sitting there. And it was lovely. The tantalizing appetizer to what might very well be a gourmet meal right around the corner. Women. They never changed.

They played the game, acted coy, or were entirely too bold. Either way, the outcome was the same. And this one? Oh, the poor dear, she wanted it; wanted it bad. Even without the benefit of his full senses, he could taste the arousal oozing from her, heavy and sweet and heady. The man had to be a fool to miss out on such a delicious meal.

Heh. That meant that men hadn’t changed, either. No matter how many years, no, centuries, at this point- that he’d slept, it was reassuring to know that some things were as constant as the beat of the waves against the shore. As tempting as it was to make his presence known, he wanted to wait a bit longer. Continue to sup on this delectable feast and gather his strength.

A little nudge, however, wouldn’t hurt.

__________

You should ask him to dinner, you know.

It was a whisper in her ear, a tickle in the corner of her mind. And….it entirely made sense. Dr. Winchester was bound to be hungry (she was getting peckish herself. She gave it an hour before she fell into all out “hangry” bitch mode.) - and she wasn’t too keen on the idea of exploring Japan by herself.

As the conversation died down, she waited until Dr. Winchester came out of the room, and followed him for a few paces. And part of her, internally, was screaming that she was following him like a lovestruck puppy, but, realistically, she had to keep close to him. He was her ride, after all. Now, gotta play it cool…

Playing it “cool” hasn’t gotten you anywhere, has it? Show some spirit. Ask him to dinner.

Wow, that little voice had gotten persistent.

“So, Dr. Winchester, are you getting hungry?”

There’s a good girl.

Huh. Was she imagining it?

Take charge. Men like women who know what they want.

Had to be imagining it. Had to also be imagining that the box in her hand felt warm again.

“I figure, we go back to Dr. Ichijyo’s place, change, and then head out and grab something….”

Ah-ah, no. Don’t leave it open. Tell him. Don’t give him the opportunity to say ‘no.’

“Yeah. That sounds like the best way to do things. We’ll get back, we’ll change, we’ll head out. What do you say?” The lift of her brows and the quirked smile on her lips left the impression that she wasn’t going to be argued with.

There’s a good girl. A question that’s really a command. Now touch him.

Okay, weird voice in head thing that actually seemed to be giving legitimate advice. Had she actually grown that bold in the last few hours because of a funeral and a “I know you want to come play with me” grin?

Heeding the unspoken command, she laid a hand on Dr. Winchester’s shoulder, lightly squeezed. The gesture was comforting - and lingered a tad too long for suggested friendship. It wasn’t an uncomfortable touch; just something that stuck its toe over the line between them briefly before drawing it right back across, no harm, no foul. She did stand a little closer to him - but not so close as to crowd him or to seem like she’d be hanging onto his every word. Despite trailing behind him before, now she stood at his side, positioning herself as an equal. For the moment, the puppyish idolatry of her crush seemed forgotten, replaced by the casual respect that one colleague had for another.