Challenge #84 - Travel
Title: We thought we had forever
Word count: 200
Characters/pairings: Asher/Jean-Claude
Challenge: #84 Travel
Disclaimer: The Anitaverse is copyright to Laurell K. Hamilton
Cross-posted to: sabriel_0405
Asher sat with his back against the stone wall, a thin plume of smoke rising from the cigarette in his hand. If he noticed the cold dampness emanating from the stones he didn’t mention it. He stared at the flames from the fireplace, watching them flicker but not feelings their heat.
“Do you remember when we were traveling across Italy? The glass maker?”
“In Murano, of course. He looked at Julianna only once, but he was smitten. I remember.” It was at times like these that Jean-Claude missed wine, the feel of the glass in his hand, the heady scent of the aged, fermented grapes a fine perfume to his senses. “Don’t forget Florence.”
Asher would never forget Florence. Artists seemed to have exceptionally tasty blood. “Who wanted to paint her? Now I’m sorry I refused to stay longer.”
Jean-Claude poked at the fire and the logs released a shower of fiery ash. “Spain held its own challenges,” Jean-Claude reminded him.
He was rewarded by a small smile and a near chuckle. “I didn’t think that farmer was going to let her go. Of course, I didn’t begrudge one more day. We thought we had forever to see the world.”
Word count: 200
Characters/pairings: Asher/Jean-Claude
Challenge: #84 Travel
Disclaimer: The Anitaverse is copyright to Laurell K. Hamilton
Cross-posted to: sabriel_0405
Asher sat with his back against the stone wall, a thin plume of smoke rising from the cigarette in his hand. If he noticed the cold dampness emanating from the stones he didn’t mention it. He stared at the flames from the fireplace, watching them flicker but not feelings their heat.
“Do you remember when we were traveling across Italy? The glass maker?”
“In Murano, of course. He looked at Julianna only once, but he was smitten. I remember.” It was at times like these that Jean-Claude missed wine, the feel of the glass in his hand, the heady scent of the aged, fermented grapes a fine perfume to his senses. “Don’t forget Florence.”
Asher would never forget Florence. Artists seemed to have exceptionally tasty blood. “Who wanted to paint her? Now I’m sorry I refused to stay longer.”
Jean-Claude poked at the fire and the logs released a shower of fiery ash. “Spain held its own challenges,” Jean-Claude reminded him.
He was rewarded by a small smile and a near chuckle. “I didn’t think that farmer was going to let her go. Of course, I didn’t begrudge one more day. We thought we had forever to see the world.”