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Your Stories Await Telling

Rebecca, John, Mirtel, George

Guest Rebecca Hale

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Warning: Crackfic! This is what happens when you leave Kane and I alone in the chatroom in the wee hours of the morning!




Rebecca hung back at the side of the ballroom near the terrace, enjoying the spectacle the guests were making of themselves. John was owning the dance floor with every pretty girl that caught his eye - how he did enjoy the intimacy of this new waltz - and George and Mirtel each had a host of admirers. Of course she would too once she emerged, but she was enjoying a few moments of quiet reflection with her glass of red.


She was not left alone for long. Catching sight of her companion's blue and silver gown beside a column, Mirtel extracted herself from her adoring fans and glided over to appear at Rebecca's elbow. "Are you not enjoying yourself?" Mirtel lapsed into English, as was their habit when alone.


"Of course I am, it's a marvelous ball. I just haven't decided who I want yet."


"There's plenty to go around, but best decide quick before our boys take all the best ones."


"Well... we could always make them share." Rebecca chuckled and sipped at her glass while her eyes roamed over the room.


Mirtel laughed merrily and nodded at the drink. "What is that?"


"It's priest. Have a little priest." She waved the glass temptingly.


"Is it good?" Mirtel eyed the glass speculatively.


"Dear, it's too good at least. Then again, they don't commit sins of the flesh, so it's pretty fresh."


"Awful lot of fat." She wrinkled her nose.


"Only where it sat." Rebecca shrugged and took another sip.


"Haven't you got poet or something like that?"


"No, y'see the trouble with poet is how do you know it's deceased? Try the priest." She held out the glass for Mirtel to try. The taller young woman took it and sipped, nodding with a little approving noise.


"Younger then I expected. Fresh out of seminary?"


Rebecca nodded. "I just love them when they're still idealistic with fire in their belly."


"Excellent selection, it has a nice clean aftertaste. However did you get it?" She arched a speculative eyebrow while she drank.


"Well... A girl has to repent of her sins sometime," Rebecca smiled wickedly as she snaked an arm around Mirtel's waist and leaned in with a husky whisper, "In excruciating exquisite detail..." She kissed the hollow below the ear while Mirtel laughed.


"Marvelous! Finish up and let's go find us some dessert."


Rebecca drained the glass and tossed it aside with a laugh. The two beauties emerged from the shadows arm in arm, full of life and hungry for more.

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OOC: It's certainly a provocative idea. And, ah, sorry Heather.






Mirtel Christabel twirled the crystal goblet between long fingers as she watched the city celebrate. La, Venice during the carnival had been exciting for the first few years but the uniqueness was slowly wearing off. The city was full of such easy pickings; there was no thrill attached to the chase anymore. Perhaps that was why Mirtel was content to lean on the balustrade of the balcony and remain a passive observer.


“Enjoying an appetiser?” Rebecca questioned as she stepped up next to her, resplendent in her gown.


“The boy was a bit salty for my taste. He got around a bit I believe,” Mirtel judged thoughtfully as she dipped a finger into her drink to stir it, “This is English. I’m feeling nostalgic.”


Her almost virginally white dress whispered against her legs as she turned to pick up a full goblet from a nearby table and hand it to Rebecca: “Try it. Not too young, but it’s quite well matured.”


“A redhead. I haven’t had one of those in days,” Rebecca claimed after taking a tentative sip. “Something familiar about it though,” Rebecca added as she thoughtfully licked her lips.


“Indeed it is. John might enjoy reminiscing with it,” Mirtel affirmed with a little sly smile. Rebecca took a moment to taste the drink once more before a slow smile spread over her face and Mirtel knew that her friend had finally recalled the tumbling red locks and a spattering of freckles that had always been characteristic of Countess Atherstone.


“Reminiscing of what?” John questioned as he and George stepped onto the balcony as well, their loose collars suggesting that they had already had some fun of their own.


“Of times long gone and dear old friends,” Mirtel Christabel answered with a whimsical grin.


Raising the goblet she dipped it, luxuriating in the feel of its contents sliding down the sensitised skin of her neck. As she felt someone's lips descending on her neck to make sure not a drop was wasted, Mirtel laughed lowly even as she tilted her head back to allow the lips better access to her neck.

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