A Prologue

I wrote this in a span of a few hours last night and this morning. I used a Univers font, which may or may not transfer -- and if it does, you may not be able to see it anyway, since it isn't a standard font. (Fonts are important to writers. Unless Sassy brings them up, then fonts are just what dorky design folks geek-out to, which is ideal for me making fun of her.)

Without further ado, except for this picture:
So, so right

The light gray coming in through the slit in the blinds was a surly bastard, she knew that much. Right there, at the bottom of the window: the blinds don’t touch the sill. Ugh.
Coriander pulled a pillow over her head and rolled over on her side…
            Shit. This isn’t my bedroom. Gradual confirmation of this rogue thought came by way of the feel of the sheets against her naked skin. They were nice, airy, all that – but they weren’t her sheets. And she usually didn’t sleep naked. Damn.
             She stayed very still. This is the absolutely most important and imperative thing you can do if you wake up in an unfamiliar place with a very sneaking suspicion as to how you got there – and it isn’t anything you want to tell mom and dad about. Moving, you see, complicates the thinking process, which at around this point begins exploring how entirely awkward it is to be laying in someone else’s bed, naked. There may be some guilt in there, but that’s more dependent on how he looks.
            Despite creasing her brow some and trying really, really hard to remember, she couldn’t summon an image of the man she felt sure she came in with. It certainly couldn’t be a woman…wait…no, it couldn’t be. Impossible. (And something very much like relief was flittingly felt.)
            Coriander heard a shower turn off somewhere outside the doorway she was very astutely not looking at from under her pillow. The faucet squealed just so as the water stopped, and it crawled into her head and nudged it some. Just a tickle to tease her: hi, I’m your head, and you drank way too much last night. But it wasn’t quite ready to bug her yet, since the pillow was still guarding her from the stray light trying to attack her eyes. She hadn’t realized she was hearing the sound of running water, but in the absence of it she supposed she was taking it for granted, which brought her mind back to who might be finishing a shower and what exactly he might look like.
             The door creaked open, just a little. The floors were apparently hardwood, she absently noted, as his steps had a thunk to them not possible on carpet. She wondered if her clothes were laying against that wood floor and hoped she’d at least picked out decent undergarments before going out yesterday. She also wondered if he could hear her heart beating, but it quieted down if she held her breath, so she did.
            “Good morning?” he called softly. She let out a breath, and what might have been a squeak of surprise – he didn’t sound too bad. His voice was smooth, deep – it was a good radio voice, she decided.
            “Hey. This is,” she removed the pillow from her head, “awkward.” Then she stared at him.
            He was gorgeous, standing there in his towel, a bemused smile on his face. He was fit, not big but trim, with even-toned skin, dark (wet) hair, with good smile lines and incredibly dynamic brown eyes flecked with green, gray, yellow. She could get lost in them, and probably would later, when his hair wasn’t wet. She liked wet hair on a man. It was a bit silly.
            “Do you mind?” he asked while gesturing toward the blinds.
            “Oh. Sure.”
            The light was bright. And angry. It made her head ache, bad.
            “Ah, hold on.” A quick shuffle, and the light dimmed some. Her headache was still there, but it was manageable again. That’s when she discovered she had put her arm up to cover her eyes. She lowered that; so much for having any kind of grace the morning after. “That better?” he asked.
            He sat on the bed, looking at her with a hint of concern in his eyes. For me? Heh. I like that. She was turning into a child again…well, it had been a while…
            A few minutes later, when she picked her head back up from the toilet, and he was there with a lukewarm washcloth, she had abandoned her shame and was shamelessly in love. She didn’t even know his name, but that seemed like such a small thing.
            “I don’t imagine you’re feeling your best,” he joked. “Let’s say we get you some grease. It helps. I’d cook, but you’d probably end up back here again, and that’s no good.” He chuckled a bit, handed her a dry towel, and took his leave of the bathroom. “Your clothes are behind you, on the hamper. Take as long as you want.”
            And they were: her clothes were folded in an approximate way (a man trying his hand at folding women’s clothes) to denote organization and order on the hamper. How sweet. Looking at her tight jeans and even tighter fitting blouse, however, she didn’t feel quite as classy as she wanted to. Maybe he’ll let me borrow a shirt…anything beats these sheets.
            When she finally came out of the bathroom, showered and changed but wearing one of his shirts – it was a bit roomy but otherwise much better than the strip of fabric called a blouse she was modeling last night – she felt a bit better but still hated light. She’d have to adjust gradually. She wandered back out of the room, which was a fairly nice and quaint room for a man, and out into the hall, where she met him again.
            “Feeling better?” he asked while tossing a book behind her to bounce on the bed.
            “You might say,” she started, playing it somewhat cool. Then she remembered the entire morning. Ah well. Might as well get it done with. “I’m Coriander. Cory.” She stretched her hand out to meet his.
            “Well met, Coriander. Interesting name, though I’m sure you’ve been told that plenty of times.” There was a gleam in his eye for a brief moment. “I rather doubt you want to discuss that right now,” he said more to himself than to her before taking her hand delicately in his and adding, “I’m Mat. You can call me…well, Mat.”
            “Ok Mat,” she laughed. “Have you heard my name before?”
            “Not as a name in English…” he gave her a strange look then, almost as if he was appraising her, before continuing. “It derives from the Greek, koriadnon. But yours is taken from the French.
            “Are you up for some breakfast then, Coriander?” He made a mock-bow and presented her an empty hallway behind him – an invite right this way.
            She giggled. “Thank you, sir.” She took his proffered arm as she passed, and together he led them to his front door. “And thanks for being so generous this morning…I’m embarrassed I was so bad off.”
            “Don’t worry yourself any. To be fair, I wasn’t aware of how bad off you had gotten either,” he eyed her sideways and smiled. She chuckled – oh this one has serious charm, he does. He continued, “I wasn’t aware until we’d returned here last evening. But you fell right off to sleep, so I figured you’d be alright come morning. I don’t envy your headache though.”
            “I fell asleep…?”
            He opened the front door to cursed daylight and assured her, “I have sunglasses in the car.” She squeezed his arm gratefully. “And yes, you went to sleep. I didn’t even get to show off the place.” He almost seemed regretful about that, but his smile confirmed his continuing sarcasm.
            He led her outside as she put a hand to her face, shielding the light. “I’m sure I was quite exciting for you…” She cringed as the words trickled from her lips, and while it was something she’d been wondering about in the shower – everyone wants to know how they were in a situation like this – it was not something generally brought up as such.
            To her relief, Mat only laughed. “Actually, it was nice.” He escorted her to the car in the driveway, dearmed its alarm, and opened the door for her. “You were asleep within minutes of coming over. It gave me a chance to wind down and get some sleep myself.” He closed her door and went around the back to his side.
            She puzzled over unlocking it…but it looked like a spaceship to her. She sat still. It was safer that way, considering her clumsiness.
            He opened the door and slouched himself into the driver seat. “You comfortable?”
            “Oh yes,” she took a cursory look around the car, as if checking it out, “very nice.” In truth, she had no idea what she was sitting in – a car is a car, right? “So…we didn’t…?” This was another one of those regretful lines, which was a theme for her this morning.
            “No, we didn’t.” He smiled and put his hand on hers. Well, he put his hand on his parking brake release, which was where she had put hers. Close enough. “And it was very pleasant.”
            She returned his warm smile and then promptly forgot whatever else she was going to say as 10 cylinders growled to life and the Audi R8 she was sitting in sped off.


  1. This is a Great Story, so I'm rather impatient for more. And I'd like to point out that I totally knew your name before any of the hanky-panky began so let's make sure nobody is confused here. This is not the story of how Kid and Sassy met. Probably.

    He doesn't drive an Audi R8, for starters.

  2. Hey Cory, errr, Andi up there, shaddap.

    I love the differences in our writing, I tend to write as if I'm making up a play or a script while you stick to the Novel format, a clear indication that you read way more books than I do, and I read way more, everything else, (i.e.: Comics, Playboy's, Shampoo bottles, etc) haha.


The space below is where you try to be funnier than us. Ok, go.