#the mardi gras conundrum

[indurarinks]

the mardi gras conundrum

( 9. ) “Acheron?” Beyond mere passing curiosity, it was the urgency supporting Bonnie’s need to understand the man sitting behind the wheel of his ridiculously expensive car that scalded her tongue. He was ever evasive, enigmatic and rarely straightforward where his past was concerned. But none of it quelled her demand to search for the truth. She didn’t seek it for personal gain either, she only sought to soothe the battle-weary hearts of her hunters. During the long weeks of bonding with each one of them, Bonnie convinced herself their inner peace was too valuable to be overlooked. Neither was the sharing type yet she was determined to help them heal wounds inflicted centuries ago, in a time innocence still characterised their human lives. And only the deepest betrayal could taint it. Riding in comfortable silence, Bonnie suspected the indecipherable Dark Hunter would resort to the infamous technique called feigned indifference where he pretended not to hear her while she would be forced into accepting his choice for silence. Stoic, and his features impassive, Acheron Parthenopaeus held all the charisma in the universe with full lips pressed against one another into a thin line. His gaze seemed focused on the road but behind that wall of opacity from his shades, Bonnie couldn’t be certain. And if her senses were correct, then he was, most definitely, eyeing her with the stealth of a predator. She felt the burn of his gaze on her. “Back at the comp—“ He sighed. As if the weight of the world had been dropped on his shoulders. “You want to know.” He interrupted her train of thought. “About the... incident from earlier.” The wilderness that rolled naturally from the contained storm of his voice offered her familiar security. A balm to her soul, she would never grow weary of it. It was almost as if he could read her innermost thoughts. And though she knew Dark Hunters possessed different gifts, Acheron seemed to be the rarity to that rule. The odd one out. Kyrian once told her he was the first one to be created. And she figured that was why he shared similar abilities to those of his brethren. Perhaps Kyrian and him were even more alike than her initial evaluation, conducted on the spot, back in Sanctuary when she first met Ash. Their personalities, however, differed significatively. “I—I probably can’t imagine...” she started but her words lost their direction when Acheron steered the Porsche into a new destination. No longer on their way toward the Garden District, it wouldn’t be long until Bonnie recognised St. Louis Cemetery’s aged iron gates. The car came to a stop near its old entrance. And without another word, he vacated the cramped space to welcome the fresh air of February. At first, Bonnie didn’t dare moving. She was paralysed in fear, mostly. The waters in which she swam were dangerous and treacherous, she knew of the promise navigating through the past and what it could potentially entail for the one taking a peek, even if brief, into that old chest of memories. She sensed barely contained pain, and worlds of sorrow and unrestrained grief. Outside, Acheron sat on the hood of his car. Alone. His chin slightly raised, it was obvious his gaze was lost to the skies already painted with the light tones of dawn. The night had come fast but the sun showed signs of similar elation for its return. It was now or never, she thought. As she opened the door on her side, left the car and took a seat next to him, Bonnie registered no movement from the embodiment of enigma himself. His shoulders slumped, his gaze finally sought refuge in wide-open doorway to her soul —those forest green eyes he had gotten lost in on multiple occasions before. But Bonnie wasn’t having any of it by allowing him to hide behind the comfort of his ever present shades. Hesitantly, and watching him from beneath curtains of thick lashes, her fingers took possession of his sunglasses as she slowly stripped his eyes naked. She knew what to expect but the gasp of appreciation still escaped. Liquid mercury swam quietly in his eyes as he watched her disarming him. Bonnie was the first and only one to accomplish that since his rebirth. And while he said nothing, a furious tic thrummed visibly along his jaw. She expected the momentary peak of anxiety after the bold exposure of him. A small grin stretching her lips, Bonnie folded his sunglasses and slid them inside her jeans pocket. For the time being, she was holding them hostage. Despite her calm facade, her heart suddenly became a professional gymnast as it did flips back and forth like there was no tomorrow. “It’s okay, Ash. If you prefer to keep your story to yourself,” she interrupted their silence at last. Besides panic and desperation, she was hit with a fathomless wave of grief the likes of which the young witch had never drowned in before. The raw intensity of these emotions flooring her, she was left breathless for several heartbeats. “I just... I hate seeing the torment of your past shadowing the light in your eyes.” Staggering from the onslaught of emotions, tears prickled her eyes. “You’ve been so hurt. I can sense it. I can.” Her chest rose and fell repeatedly. “You still bleed from your wounds. The past still holds you prisoner. And I don’t even know for how long! I can’t imagine the damage that’s caused on your soul.” Disturbed, Bonnie quickly wiped away the disgraceful tears that managed to escape her defences. The gates were now wide open. Beside her, her companion chose immediate silence. Frozen by the prejudice of his past, he walked trough the wastelands of memories without realising her fingers interlocked with his as she slid her palm on top of his massive hand. An earthquake-like tremor shook the whole of him. “It’s eleven thousand years.” He stated matter-of-factly. Surprise and shock registered on her face. It couldn’t be, her meagre knowledge of history told her it wasn’t possible. Yet, the exhaustion etched on his features spoke a whole different tale. “How is tha—?” She started. “That history lesson is too long and complex for tonight.” His gaze wandered to where their fingers stood united, Bonnie’s index finger stroking his knuckles. “And Bonnie? I’m soulless. All Dark Hunters are.” Promptly rolling her eyes, she smacked him on the arm. Like a masochist, he smiled down at her. “Ow.” Acheron massaged his arm, successfully allowing them both a reprieve from the growing tension. “That ought to teach you not to smart-mouth me! You know what I meant. It may not inhabit your body, Ash, but it’s still yours. Still bleeds. I can see it, you know?” The soft, tangent urgency to secure his understanding clung to the breaths expelled. Since the moment she had been brought into their lives, Bonnie had been silently collecting data, studying and gathering every ounce of information about her warriors. Acheron and Kyrian, in particular, as both had been the ones she had spent the most time with. After careful analysis of her research, she was fairly confident Ash loathed the thought of having someone at his back. He even recoiled with the exaggerated proximity of another. With that thought in mind, and wanting to test her theory, Bonnie leaned closer. Purposely invading his personal space. Even though it was minimal and discreet, he drew back. Inside her chest, the thin walls of her beating heart cracked. The desolation mirrored in those pools of mercury laying waste to the fields of her weeping soul. ───Just how much misery has he been put through? Persisting, she tried again. “Back at the Mikaelson’s, before Klaus showed up, you…” With her insides twisting in oceans of anxiety, she lifted her gaze to his face. The urge to see him impossible to bypass. He was now peering right through her. “I know.” Serene but resigned, the direction of his gaze shifted so that he was staring at the horizon whilst pushing closed fists into the pockets of his worn-out leather coat. Soon, the first timid rays of sunshine broke free. Tearing the darkness apart. Had she been sharing this moment with Kyrian, they’d be on their phrenetic way home. As a norm, Dark Hunters were banished from sunlight, yet their leader stood as exception to that rule. Nothing about Acheron Parthenopaeus was ordinary. After several minutes spent in absolute silence, and with a defeated sigh, she rose from the hood of the car and handed him his shades, certain he had murdered the topic and buried its corpse. Her hands tied, Bonnie decided to respect his deafening silence and privacy. “Come on. Let’s face King Stubborn. I can almost hear his tirade from here.” It was her way of letting him know of her decision. “It was my nephew.” Halfway through her march to her side of the car, Bonnie froze. Her curls bounced back and forth with the abrupt movement of her head as she looked back at him. She almost doubted she heard him when he didn’t elaborate. His tone had been so low as well, as if afraid of the damage the words would deliver. Hesitantly, she approached him again. ─── Was Acheron Parthenopaeus finally allowing her to take a peek into the fortress of solitude of his soul? The sunglasses still caged between his fingers, calloused by countless battles, Bonnie found herself peering deeply into the oceans of mercury of his eyes. Saying nothing, the petite woman simply reached for his hand, securing it between her fingers as she gave him a nod of encouragement. “He was murdered while I lay in a drunken stupor in the room next door. His death and my sister’s, his mother, are on me, Bon. Their blood still stains my hands.” Without pretending she was privy to all the details of that tragic night, Bonnie shook her head vehemently. “It wasn’t your fault, Ash. You would probably be killed too if you had gone into their room… And besides, something tells me you weren’t drunk because you felt like partying. You’re not that type. You were drowning. Weren’t you?” She lowered her chin while her thumb and index finger secured his. Turning his head her way, she then forced him to look back at her. “Weren’t you?” Again, she asked. “That’s no excuse, Bonnie.” Rising from his spot on the car hood, the Dark-Hunter swiftly made his way to his side of the car. “I let them die.” With a sense of finality, he tucked himself behind the wheel of his Porsche. But Bonnie couldn’t disregard the raw vulnerability drenching his words. The agony exuding enough to rob the air inside her lungs. Enough to inject her with a weakness capable of driving her to her knees. Leaning over the passenger’s seat, Acheron opened the door to welcome her inside. And without another word, she took her place beside him. A stirring of magic began tickling her senses then, like a foreshadowing of sorts. In the cramped space, Acheron touched her arm in the midst of shifting gears as he brought the engine to life. Taken by surprise, Bonnie gasped loudly. Not by the touch itself but the sudden flashes of ancient memories taking her brain hostage, without an ounce of mercy. Lying in a pool of his own blood, Acheron Parthenopaeus struggled to rise from the slippery floor of the grand palace. Lost to his anger and bloodlust, his attacker, a male figure of pure perfection with a golden aura, sank his knife into Acheron’s heart before slicing him open up to his navel like a hunted animal being gutted by a barbarous predator. The brutality of the scene alone successfully stealing the remaining air flowing through her lungs. “You died that night, too.” She stated in a whisper, haunted by the violence still burning behind her eyelids. This time around, he didn’t elaborate. But he watched her, from the corner of his eye with a strange light reflected on his gaze. The assertiveness supporting her revelation pushing him to put his every available resource to use, he was soon faced with a growing mystery Acheron couldn’t quite figure out yet. Still petrified by the sudden revelation on both parties, the pair rode in a rather strained silence for the remaining journey. At Kyrian’s antebellum mansion’s gate, the young witch finally dared a peek at the man sitting beside her. “Ash—“, she started only to be interrupted by him. “You don’t have to apologise, Bonnie.” He paused as if weighing the impact of his following words. “I wanted you to know. For some reason.” The air of mild astonishment clung to him furiously before quietly leaving her to her own thoughts as he braved the path toward the main entrance of Kyrian’s exuberant manor with regal superiority that bled from every pore without an ounce of vanity exuded. “One day, Ash. One day, you will tell me every secret you’ve buried deep in your soul. Then, I’ll set you free.” With that whispered vow, Bonnie vacated the car to follow him and, finally, confront her latest source of woe. Their gazes locked instantly as she stepped through the door. The cold morning’s timid breeze blowing, dragged her curls behind her shoulders as her fingers made haste to shield Kyrian from the invading sunlight. Even in darkness, the ancient Prince’s blonde curls glistened like an aura of mortal divinity. Incapable of staying unaffected, her heart quickened at the sight. And though his stance prevailed rigid and unfaltering, Kyrian stood silent. Almost defeated, and at a loss for words. In return, Bonnie’s demeanour evolved through different discharges of emotions as her thoughts raced through her mind. Neither willing to break the silence of discomfort. Drowning in conflict, she entertained their staring contest for a little longer just so she gave herself the time to examine the source of all her current heartache. Convinced her stubborn Dark-Hunter had recovered from most of the damage done to him the previous night, she finally mustered the courage to reveal her intentions of returning to Mystic Falls for a few days. “You look better already. That’s a relief.” Pause. Fidgeting fingers found temporary shelter in her jacket’s pockets. Then she cleared her throat. “Ash is taking me home for a couple of days.” ─── There. It’s done. Best to just blurt it out and take them both out of this misery. Unsure he had heard it right, he sought Acheron for clarification. Or any indication of the meaning behind her words. As the sole witness to their exchange, characterised by tension and uneasiness, Ash chose not to elaborate. Leaving that pleasant task to her. “I’m gonna find Nick. There’s something I need to discuss with him.” And just like that, he vanished toward the kitchen. Betrayal spoiled Kyrian’s patrician features. As a member of the male community, he had hoped his boss would join forces with him in solidarity. To dilute the growing tension building between him and Bonnie. But no, the old bastard slipped through the cracks at the first chance. “Why?” Defeated, he couldn’t even hide his dismay. It took him several heartbeats of aching silence to finally tear it apart. In his head, Kyrian had already demanded her all the answers but none were brought into the light. Only that broken whisper seemed to matter. “You know why.” She murmured back, without wasting a heartbeat. Though Bonnie wouldn’t admit it out loud, her poor bruised heart cracked even further. Pain oozed from it like poison as it continued to pump blood unknowingly of the destruction caused. Suddenly lightheaded, and with weakened knees, she sought swift support from the nearby sofa just to avoid worlds of embarrassment. His rejection had been enough. It stung like a viper’s attack and now she bled. She just wanted to bleed alone for a couple of days before raising her chin and throwing her misfortune over her shoulders as if nothing had transpired.

Guilt-ridden, at least he had the decency of showcasing remorse by fixing his stare anywhere but her eyes. “I’m going upstairs to pack. Can you, please, tell Acheron I’ll be ready in a few minutes?” Sighing in extreme desolation, she left him alone to his thoughts. The whole packing process didn’t take her even twenty minutes, she had been taken to New Orleans against her will after all. A bittersweet smile tugged at the ends of her lips as the memory of the first encounter with Kyrian invaded her thoughts like a Trojan’s horse. She nearly laughed reminiscing on their first exchange of words and how much he had feared her even though he had been the one kidnapping her. Instead, a choked sob escaped. Life had to have a grudge against her, she pondered. All her efforts to turn things around when nothing went right could never hold the walls that sustained any form of happiness. It took her a minute of sitting on the bed that had been hers for several weeks to pull herself together. Her emotions ran haywire and she was having some trouble taking their reigns. Once certain she wouldn’t break as easily in front of him, Bonnie grabbed the bag with her clothes. But as she was leaving her room, she felt the urge to leave a memento that would remind him of her. Aware of his instant appreciation for relics, Bonnie decided to gift him with one of her grandmother’s old necklaces, a witch’s talisman. Her favourite and most powerful. Hoping he would find it after her departure, Bonnie made her way downstairs to find both Kyrian and Acheron waiting for her in a silence that felt strange, thick with tension. “I’m ready to go.” She announced bravely while focusing her attention on the straps of her bag, avoiding Kyrian’s burning gaze. Sensing the unresolved tension between them, Acheron gave Kyrian a meaningful stare with a message only privy to them both before getting up and making his exit. “I’ll wait outside for you, Bonnie. Whenever you’re ready.” Emphasising that last sentence, Ash conveyed his belief the two of them should trade some parting words before her temporary departure. In silence, she nodded and waited until Acheron was outside. “I don’t want you to go, Bonnie.” Kyrian’s delivery almost like a plea took the young witch by surprise. She had expected to be one breaking the silence. “I can’t stay and pretend nothing happen. I’m not like that, Kyrian.” The anguish in her voice becoming more solid with each word. “If I’m coming back here to fight against this enemy alongside you then I need time to put my priorities in order.” Unable to withstand the sound of heartache in her voice, her fallen Prince closed the gap between them and took her face with both hands. Admiring the beauty of her strength, Kyrian closed his eyes for a few heartbeats as he cursed his very existence. For the first time in over two thousand years of solitude and misery, his heart awakened from a long death. But they could never be, regardless of his feelings toward her. That would be a direct insult to his vow and the goddess he served. Resting his forehead on hers, temptation bit him hard as they stood on the verge of goodbye. ─── I love you, Bonnie. The words never came. Instead, he breathed in her perfume. “At least let me be the one to take you home...” With tears prickling her eyes, she attempted her escape but he wouldn’t let her. Kyrian remained frozen as if willing to extend their moment. “I can’t. If I allow it, I’ll just delay the inevitable. Better to just rip it off and hope for the best.” Inside, every wall crumbled to the ground. There was shards of glass everywhere. She was a wreck, bleeding and the ruins of what could be would become unfinished dreams. “I should go now, Kyrian.” Fighting off a sobbing session, she rubbed her eyes to dry unspent tears. After all, nothing would change even if she cried. Opposite from her, an ancient warrior stood deep in thought. Tormented by visions of a future he never meant to have or share with another, Kyrian remembered the tragedy of his human days, mostly marked by the betrayal that had murdered him. An inner voice had once convinced him he was not worthy of love but looking down at her, the infamous “what if” tormented him aggressively. Saying nothing, her Prince pressed his lips to her forehead and closed his eyes to savour the bittersweet moment as he committed into memory every piece of her. “Be safe.” The softness of his whisper practically snuffed out Bonnie’s remaining strength as her knees buckled. With a tenderness that rivalled even her grandmother’s, Kyrian caressed her face one last time as if afraid he might not see her again. He was determined to make her departure the hardest one yet. Only by Bonnie’s perseverance did she manage to break them apart. “I will.” Finally turning around to leave, their fingers crossed paths in intimate touch and his self control flew out the window. Awakening from self-inflicted slumber, Kyrian closed his fingers around hers and pulled her back, drawing her into his body by surprise. He, then, stole her breath with a searing kiss, full of longing and unspoken promises her warrior vowed not to disclose in fear of what might befall her were he to defy the goddess he served. Bewildered, Bonnie gaped at him. Giving her half a smile, he knew he had to let her go but his fingers refused the separation by caressing her face while his midnight eyes dove deep into her soul. “You shouldn’t have done this.” The words came barely above a whisper as she enforced their physical distance by taking his hands hostage. “Goodbye, Kyrian.” Barely holding on, with the grip on her emotions fading with each heartbeat, she made a hasty retreat. The front door slammed, effectively shutting another chapter of her life as the weakened walls guarding her heart crumbled. She couldn’t breathe through the onslaught of heartache and agony. ─── Was this what she was destined for? Her gut-wrenching sobs, though quiet, didn’t go unnoticed by Acheron who waited for her by his Porsche. Rather unsure on how to approach her as Bonnie’s heart bled without restraint, he took calculated steps in her direction in hopes that she would note his presence. And she finally did. “I’m ready.” The strain she put on to have her voice sound remotely even through the remains of her shattered heart reinforced Acheron’s respect for her. Perturbed by her breakdown, the ever observant but quiet Dark Hunter offered her a modicum of solace by drawing her trembling frame into his chest, surrounding her with his strength through an unusual embrace. Massive hands stroked her hair with inimitable softness. “You’re an extraordinary woman, Bonnie Bennett.” The admiration reflected on his lilt administered a sense of temporary serenity. “Just remember it is not an obligation to be strong 24/7. Sometimes we have to drown before we can return to shore.” Struggling for words, she merely nodded. “Alright, then. Shall we go?” As if pulling a rabbit out of a magician’s hat, Ash offered her his hand. “We aren’t taking your car?” She asked, perplexed. Tearing a rift in her skies of grief, Acheron Parthenopaeus conjured a disarming smile she felt particularly victimised by. “No. Not this time. Have you ever traveled through the time-space continuum, also commonly known as teleportation?” Openly gaping at him, she then glanced at his exposed palm, the tears making it a near impossible feat. A stirring of excitement unleashed a few wild butterflies in her stomach as her fingers touched Acheron’s calloused hand. “Should I be afraid? How does it work?” Like any other creature, she grew hesitant just as treaded these unknown waters. “For me, it’s like breathing. Do you trust me?” Assuming an almost defensive posture as if expecting the worst, he stared at her intently from behind his trusted sunglasses. Waves of relief rolled off of him when she nodded. “You know that I do.” His fingers had barely taken possession of hers when he dipped his head to whisper in her ear, “You can open your eyes now, Bonnie. You’re home.” She did. One glance around them confirmed his claim. In fact, he even brought them to her grandmother’s unkept porch, once again proving her his powers far exceeded those of his brethren. Apart from the light discomfort in her stomach, she felt fairly confident on her competence to teleport. “It was easier than I expected…” She mumbled as realisation gutted her. She was back. Back in Mystic Falls, her so-called cursed birthplace.

[multipleservicelisting]

A New Orleans Mardi Gras With a Different Sort of Mask

NEW ORLEANS — Last January, Polly Watts estimated how much alcohol she would need to make it through Mardi Gras at her bar, Avenue Pub — and then ordered considerably more than that. It’s a practice she and other bar owners here use to lock in savings that many liquor companies offer in the early months of the year.

“We had an Armageddon-level liquor stock,” Ms. Watts said. “It usually lasts us a few months.”

New Orleans has again entered Mardi Gras season — the big finale, Fat Tuesday, is Feb. 16 — and Ms. Watts, like many bar owners, has yet to sell much of the alcohol she purchased a year ago, just before the pandemic halted the city’s famous nightlife as the high season for festivals and tourism was set to begin. She doesn’t expect to go through her overstock of vodka, whiskey and beer anytime soon, even though Avenue Pub is on St. Charles Avenue, a main route for most of the large Mardi Gras parades.

That’s because this year’s official parades have been canceled. The balls, parties and other events that make up “the largest free party on earth” violate Covid-19 restrictions, which early this month were raised in New Orleans to levels not seen since the start of the pandemic, when the city struggled with one of the highest coronavirus caseloads anywhere.

Mardi Gras 2020 is remembered locally as the last gasp of pre-Covid normalcy, as well as an accelerant of the virus’s spread. So few people here expect this year’s edition to be anything like normal. It can’t be.

Infection rates in the city are at near-record levels. Current restrictions will be re-examined at the end of the month, said Sarah Babcock, director of public policy and emergency preparedness for the New Orleans Health Department. “What activities are going to be allowed on Mardi Gras is really dependent on what New Orleanians do today,” Ms. Babcock said. “But the Mardi Gras that the nation thinks of, the picture they have, is not going to happen.”

Still, Mardi Gras, a holiday with Christian (and pagan) underpinnings, can’t be canceled. “People are going to find a way to celebrate,” Ms. Babcock said. And in the absence of traditional programming, the focal point is likely to be the bars that showcase the music and drinking cultures so central to the city’s economy, identity and allure.

These businesses, which have been as damaged by the pandemic as any sector of the city’s life, face a holiday that embodies New Orleans’s spirit — the capacity for joy, the sense of community, the embrace of art and excess — in a year when no one knows what form the celebration will take, at a time when summoning that spirit could cause harm.

The bar scene here, which not even Hurricane Katrina fully shut down, has been brought to its knees by the pandemic, but it hasn’t been snuffed out. As current regulations forbid bars without food permits to serve indoors, the activity has largely moved outside, aided by relatively mild winters and laws that allow public consumption of alcohol. (Bars with food permits can serve indoors at 25 percent capacity, but can sell alcohol only with food. Mask-wearing and social distancing have been required in New Orleans since early in the pandemic.)

Serving the tourists who are bound to join costumed locals on the streets may amount to little more than selling to-go drinks and food for customers to carry as they stroll. At a news conference on Monday, Mayor LaToya Cantrell welcomed visitors for Mardi Gras while commanding them to obey pandemic restrictions, “so our residents and our folks at the forefront of hospitality are safe.”

Tom Thayer, the owner of d.b.a., a music club in the Faubourg Marigny neighborhood, is considering recruiting musicians to play outside his club on Frenchmen Street, a live-music corridor. His decision will depend on what happens with infection rates.

“Having done almost no business since last March, it’s very tempting to try and grab the money,” said Mr. Thayer, 54, “but not at the risk of prolonging this virus.”

Ms. Watts, 55, plans to decorate the Avenue Pub to resemble a Mardi Gras float, as many locals have already done to their homes. “I just want something that will make people smile when they drive by, even if they don’t stop,” she said.

The ban on close public contact made necessary by the pandemic has rendered it all but impossible for the city’s famed drinking businesses — from its historic music clubs and neighborhood beer joints to its vintage and modern temples of exacting cocktails — to be their true selves.

The 11 p.m. closing time in place for much of the pandemic has been jarring, not least for veteran bartenders like Chris Hannah, an owner of Jewel of the South, a bar and restaurant in the French Quarter.

Mr. Hannah is one of the most respected cocktail makers in a city where bartenders enjoy outsize reputations. After 20 years of bartending, he found himself home alone for nights on end as the severity of the pandemic came into focus. Increasingly worried about his health, he started eating raw garlic, in an effort to bolster his immune system, and became obsessive about yoga.

He also spent a lot of time at Jewel of the South in the months before its July reopening, tending to the pepper plants, marigolds and herbs he’d planted to create “a victory garden, for when this is over.”

“I was extremely worried about getting this disease, because of my age and race,” said Mr. Hannah, who is 47 and Black. “Usually at the end of the night, I always think I can have one more spirit while I’m reading. Now it’s echinacea tea.”

Stinging losses to New Orleans’s drinking life include the sale of the Saturn Bar and the permanent closings of Lost Love Lounge, Prime Example and the original Johnny White’s Bar, all idiosyncratic neighborhood institutions. Also for sale is the Golden Lantern, a French Quarter bar known as “the home of Southern Decadence,” an annual festival put on by the gay and lesbian community. Storied music venues like Tipitina’s, the Maple Leaf, the Howlin’ Wolf and Snug Harbor have been silenced, though some have turned to streaming live shows online.

Kermit Ruffins, the owner of Kermit’s Treme Mother-in-Law Lounge, said he hopes Mardi Gras will provide bars a much-needed financial lift. At the same time, he’d like revelers to take note of how much better the city was when the bars were at full strength, and what would be lost if the permanent closings turn, as many here fear, from a trickle to a stream.

“I was a kid who grew up in bars in the Lower Ninth Ward,” said Mr. Ruffins, 56, a prominent jazz trumpet player, singer and band leader. He got his start as a musician playing in local bars as a teenager, something he continued doing several times a week, until last spring. The loss of income from performing is one of the reasons he started a GoFundMe page to keep the Mother-in-Law afloat.

“The number of musicians in New Orleans that play in bars for a living is overwhelming,” he said. “It’s really scary right now.”

Mr. Ruffins apologized publicly for violating Covid-19 restrictions, like requiring masks and forbidding dancing — lapses that prompted to the city to temporarily close his bar in September. He said he takes safety seriously, going so far as to close on Fridays and Saturdays, to keep from having to turn away friends from the back patio on those otherwise busy nights.

But Mr. Ruffins and others also contend that bars are being policed more closely for violations than other businesses, and that the authorities are stricter with local patrons than they are with tourists on Bourbon Street. Kelder Summers, an owner of Whiskey & Sticks, a Scotch and cigar bar, worries about the damage that could cause Black neighborhoods.

“Bars are an integral part of wealth-building in our community,” said Ms. Summers, 54, who is also a local radio host. “Historically, to have a little speakeasy was an easy way for Black people to enter into the business realm.”

In an emailed statement, a City Hall spokesman wrote that “Code Enforcement teams have largely achieved compliance by verbal warning, rather than shut-downs and citations,” and that “no area has been unfairly or disproportionately targeted.”

Mark Schettler, general manager at Bar Tonique, a craft-cocktail bar in the French Quarter, says bars are reflexively treated as less-than-respectable businesses because of their association with vice. That perception contributes to customers’ poor treatment of bar employees, he said.

“Bars are 102 years past the repeal of Prohibition,” said Mr. Schettler, an activist for hospitality workers’ rights. “But that sense of criminalization is not gone.”

Enforcement is not the only issue that has put bar owners at odds with Mayor Cantrell. Early in the pandemic, the city allowed businesses licensed as restaurants to stay open in a limited capacity, while bars were shut down entirely. (Ms. Babcock, of the Health Department, said the city was following recommendations from the federal government.)

D.J. Johnson, who opened the New Orleans Art Bar on St. Claude Avenue last February, is still sore over what he sees as a lack of government support for bars in those early months. Still, he knows the real enemy is the virus.

“Nobody wants to be in an empty bar,” Mr. Johnson said. “But during Covid, you don’t want to be in a crowded bar, either. It’s a real conundrum.”

Mr. Johnson, 40, entered into a bar scene that is vastly different from what it was in the early 2000s, when quality cocktails and wine were hard to find outside restaurants. When Mr. Hannah moved to New Orleans in 2004, he saw an opportunity to turn Arnaud’s French 75, the bar inside a historic French-Creole restaurant, into a destination for craft cocktails that had been lost to history.

The city’s bar scene blossomed after Hurricane Katrina struck in 2005. The opening of Cure, in 2007, helped bring the modern craft-cocktail movement to New Orleans, as did the growing popularity of Tales of the Cocktail, an annual festival that draws guests from around the world.

Cure’s founder, Neal Bodenheimer, 44, is a partner in two other local businesses, including Vals, a bar and taqueria opened in July on Freret Street, an Uptown corridor that Cure helped transform. All of his places straddle the line between restaurant and bar — the reverse of the phenomenon in which local chefs and restaurateurs open gastro pubs and wine bars.

Mr. Bodenheimer’s businesses have ample outdoor seating, a blessing during a health crisis that has allowed him to rehire more employees. He has added a mandatory 20 percent tip to each check.

“It’s really important to realize that these people are putting their health and safety on the line,” he said. “They should have their income guaranteed.”

The essence of the city’s bar culture, New Orleanians are apt to argue, is found not among the tourists on Bourbon Street but in the small bars that dot its residential neighborhoods. The Mother-in-Law is a good example, as are the Kingpin, in Uptown, or Markey’s Bar, in Bywater — beer bars that serve as home base for locals during Mardi Gras, and that regulars treat like second homes the rest of the year.

T. Cole Newton joined a new generation of owners trying to preserve New Orleans neighborhood bars in 2010, when he took over an existing bar in Mid-City to open 12 Mile Limit.

“Any reasonable business person who wasn’t a starry-eyed 20-something would have tore it down,” said Mr. Newton, 37, who believes modern zoning laws make it unlikely that bars like his will be replaced if they close. “I feel like I’m carrying on the legacy of a neighborhood bar in a time when that’s increasingly important.”

Snake and Jake’s Christmas Club Lounge is an archetype of the form. It’s partly hidden between two homes on a dark, deeply cracked street a short walk, and a world removed, from the lush Tulane University campus.

Andrew Ledford has been working at Snake and Jake’s, which opened in 1994, for more than 20 years. Covid restrictions have forced him to step from behind the bar to usher guests through the narrow barroom to the rear patio. A bucket filled with oyster shells holds the back door open.

Mr. Ledford, 41, said he expects to serve out-of-towners during Mardi Gras. He’ll encourage them to return after the pandemic wanes, to see what the bar — and New Orleans — is “really like.”

“I’m grateful to be open,” he said. “But we’re a shadow of our self.”

  Multiple Service Listing for Business Owners | Tools to Grow Your Local Business

www.MultipleServiceListing.com 

from Multiple Service Listing https://ift.tt/2LJtV1w

[snowbirdrv]

Our Home-Based Winter "Job" in Paradise

Our Home-Based Winter “Job” in Paradise

Okay, what do an Italian-American Festival, a concert band, community chorus, running in your underwear, Mardi Gras, a State Fair and a Flamingo Festival have in common?

To find the answer to this and other more serious conundrums check out Jack and Niki’s Tampa Bay – Suncoast Snowbirder. Our new February issue of things to do and places to go on Florida’s West Coast – the Suncoast and Tampa Bay…

[indurarinks]

the mardi gras conundrum

( 4. ) “I've wanted to do that all night.” Time stood still. Only the sound of lips reconnecting, hungrily consuming each other echoed in the dead of night. The air surrounding them sizzled with charged chemistry, and bound power that longed to be released. His hands possessed her body with fervent need that she was not accustomed to, her fingers plunged themselves with an air of desperation that defied logic. In the stillness of darkness where Apollo, the god of sun, was banished from, their embrace could easily be considered as public indecency. Something out of a Hollywood film. Bonnie tasted delicious sin, addictive fervor and a dash of regal arrogance in his lips. But for a moment in time, the young witch held onto the quiet suffering she hid from the world. Even her friends knew nothing of it. Similarly, Kyrian savoured untamed passion, a raging sea of power rolling its waves against soothing touch and the telltale bitterness of trepidation. In her, he found a mirror of his own missing soul. Cuts and bruises covered their hearts, the work of art of cruel hands out to maim unmarred flesh. Injecting space that brought the separation of their lips, Kyrian's thumbs brushed the chocolate au lait hued skin on a path from the corner of her eye to her temple. The midnight skies of his eyes probed hers with a tenderness that brought weakness to her knees. “Forgive me if I overstepped my boundaries.” He paused to watch her again. In a methodical study of the subtle changes to her expression. “I just—” In a move rather uncharacteristic for her due to the impulsive nature of it, Bonnie hushed him with a finger against the softness of his lips. The only part of his anatomy that was soft to the touch. The rest of him was made of sinewy steel. “Shut up.” The interjection curving her lips in a rare smile that reached her eyes, combusting the dullness of green into flames of vibrancy that breathed life again. “You talk too much, Kyrian No Last Name.” A practitioner of the oldest language in the book himself, Kyrian tumbled right into her web of charms with a killer grin plastered to his mouth. “I thought I had redeemed myself with the activity we just indulged in.” Noble features contrasted with the irreverence bleeding from his shit-eating grin. “Come on. We should head back before you get yourself in trouble again.” His fingers practically within reach of hers, Bonnie sucked in a sharp breath before denying him the touch of her with a brusque tug of hand. “Excuse me?! I got myself in trouble? Funny. Unless I was deep into a dream-state, I just remember going after your pompous ass because Mr. Badass decided to throw a children's tantrum. Good night, asshole.” Her temper ablaze, her steps echoed down the street as she strutted without delay. Drenched in utmost disbelief, he stood gaping after her. No woman had dared to talk back to the same extent as Bonnie just had. Thoroughly amused by the fire in her veins, Kyrian's gaze trained on her retreating backside. Under the unseen attack of a desire he hadn't tasted in over two thousand years, he stood rooted to the pavement whilst admiring the sensual gait of hers. Her curves, highlighted by tight jeans and revealing top, extinguished the existence of humidity in his throat until a temperature, of the likes of which had been felt in the wasted lands of Sahara's desert, tormented him. Her name tingled his tongue, taunting him. “Bonnie! Wait. I—” Rudely interrupted by his ringing phone, he silently cursed his luck before lifting the index finger in her direction. “Hold that thought.” “Give her all she wants to know. Keep an eye on her while she chooses to stay. And for the love of God, don't piss her off.” Acheron's rumbling voice rang in his ears with its commanding tone the second Kyrian took the call. In all the years he'd known the man, he still found his boss' antics bizarre, even for their kin. Never had he gotten used to Ash's omnipresence and power that made a mockery of his. “Are you certain of this? Is she even capable of dealing with the truth?” The concern for her didn't surprise him but the speed in which it burst free to raise a red flag carved lines of contemplation upon the surface of his forehead. A rare occurrence for him who courted danger on a nightly basis. “Ease your mind, Commander. She'll be fine. You've seen it yourself, she's a fighter and capable of handling a lot more than we may assume. Besides, she's not entirely uninitiated in the supernatural matters. And she needs all the knowledge we can offer if she's going to stand with us.” “Alright. Your wish is ever my command, o Great Lord of the barbarian horde that roams the night.” “Tame your sarcasm, Greek. It won't be of much help to you near the spitfire you pursue.” With taunting laughter, he hung up.

A set of green eyes burned him alive, demanding him to speak but words were lost to him as Acheron's parting words resounded loud and clear in the valleys of his mind. Was he referring to his current predicament as he chased after her or the unsettling emotions she stirred deep within him whenever she stood a little too close to him? “So?” Bonnie's impatience tangible, he advanced toward her after shoving his phone back into the pocket of his dark jeans. Extending an arm, his fingers coiled about hers. This time, she welcomed the touch without protest. The seething beast had been tamed for now. “Come on.” “Where are we going?” The tilt of her head wrung another grin from his lips. Her suspicion and unwillingness to trust another was rather endearing to his eyes. “My place. It won't be long til the sun is up now. Have I mentioned that Ash just gave you the green light? Congratulations, Bonita. You're about to venture into a darker world.” His suggestion ignited an odd sense of excitement that she thought she had long lost. Embarrassed by the ridiculous speed of her heart, a wave of heat warmed the apples of her cheeks. —What is this sorcery? The lack of trepidation in her bones scared her the most. Logic had been a great ally to her in the past, especially where all things supernatural stood. Yet, with him, she kissed it goodbye. Instead, her mind opened its gates to welcome the truth of a world that hid in the thicker shadows of mystified rumours and legends. “You're scaring me, Kyrian. . .” That smirk of his returned with renewed vengeance. It merely existed to provoke her, she swore. “No, you're not.” They had been walking for a few minutes when St. Louis Cathedral came into view. Bonnie took a moment to admire the church's architecture that rose from the ground in all its splendor in the form of an echo that traveled all way back into the great Renaissance era. Like a bucket of cold water being poured over her head, she trained her gaze on him with a hint of censure swirling in it. “What? How do you do that?” She laughed when her mind offered her an explanation that defied even her magic. “Don't tell me you can read minds...” The seriousness reflected upon those midnight depths silenced her. “Seriously?” “Seriously.” He nodded. “That's not creepy or anything...” Bonnie mumbled under her breath, successfully stroking his massive ego. When he halted beside a ridiculously expensive Lamborghini Diablo, her eyes bulged. And her steps grew uncertain. “It won't bite, you know?” “Do you actually own this?” “No, I'm stealing it with the keys in my hand.” The tone of mockery awakening the demon that breathed fire within, he gestured her to get in. Nodding in semi-automatic mode, Bonnie slid into the passenger's seat in disbelief. “You must be loaded! Holy...” “You'd be amazed in how much you can save for two thousand years.” The causality of his words impressed her but the number prompted a more dramatic reaction. She sucked in a breath. “You're joking...” She stated, half expecting him to laugh and admit his intention to fool her. He didn't. “Two thousand one hundred and ninety-seven years old, to be precise. But who's counting?” Involuntarily, she chewed on her lip while letting her gaze to drink in the beauty of his body. “For an old man, you don't look bad. I wouldn't have put you a day over two hundred myself.” His laughter warmed her. “You know what they say about men who drive cars like this fine automobile. That they're merely compensating for. . .” Against her better judgement, her lust-filled gaze fell on the bulge in his jeans. She couldn't help teasing him. The temptation was too great. Without a word, his fingers locked around her wrist before pressing her hand against his swollen groin. The bastard. . . With a dip of his head, his lips brushed the skin of her ear when he whispered. “Let me know if you need further convincing.” Nope. No compensating there. Bonnie felt her breath vacating her lungs as raw desire bit her viciously, her hand still intimately pressed against him. Thankfully, she caught herself right before the escape of a moan. But smugness had already taken over his features. He knew. She lifted her chin defiantly and unashamedly, and a grin mauled by ungodly mischief tugged at her lips. Then, she shifted the direction of her nails, burying them into the fabric of his jeans in hopes to unshackle a degree of chaos and misery as the sharpness of her nails bit into his groin. And the hiss that followed did wonders to her mood. “Next time you invade my thoughts, it will be much worse, buster.” Kindly offering him a reprieve of her attack, she let her gaze wander beyond the window of his car. “And here I thought you might want to keep my package safe from harm.” He said whilst pressing the heel of his hand against his erection. She murmured, playful exasperation still drenching her words. “You thought wrong.” “Mmm.” A heartbeat later, the beast of a car purred back into life. While he drove them to his home, she took the moment of silence to reflect on the little she already knew. She licked her lips, a mountain of unanswered question plaguing her mind. Despite her mercurial behaviour and bite of her tongue, he couldn't resist her. Like an eternal flame, she burned bright even during the coldest nights. It took him a few minutes to reach the Garden District, even less to open the iron gates that welcomed him into his antebellum mansion. Right then, Bonnie felt the sting of a figurative slap from her consciousness. What was she doing? Persuaded by a complete stranger to go to his house. This reeked of danger and recklessness but fear still refused to make an appearance. Again, she found it disturbing. As if under a spell, her gaze found his. The atmosphere thickened with electric chemistry in the same beat of the heart. And her voice faltered when she finally asked the question scalding her tongue since the moment they've met. “What are you?”

[indurarinks]

the mardi gras conundrum

( 2. )

The boisterous city surrounded them, nearly drowning them in constant festive cheer but only silence accompanied Bonnie and her mysterious escort. Only their steps on the pavement signaled their temporary alliance despite its rocky, unorthodox start. But was there anything orthodox about Bonnie Bennett? The earlier mention of Damon brought chaos into her heart. In return, like a vicious slap, her mind forced her to revisit an ancient, long buried memory. In the thick of the forest surrounding Mystic Falls, there was a small, magical place. Forsaken by all. Except them. Together, they named it their meadow. Their secret, hiding place. A place to escape the madness that danced in their world, even for just a little while. The memory on itself was not a particularly pleasant one yet she still found herself to be quite fond of it. She called it their perfect, final farewell. In desperate need for some peace and quiet, a moment in time to let her thoughts wander and, quite frankly, torment her, she had practically raced toward their spot. Drops of sweat formed a line along her hairline, her breath labored from the exertion. Quickly making a mental note to work out more often, her legs gave out beneath her weight. The bruises on her knees were superficial compared to the ones found on her heart. Brutal silence greeted her and she welcomed it for a change. Lying on her side, her fingers played with stems of grass, and her thoughts ran wild. In the midst of her reverie, she failed to notice his arrival. “What are you doing here?” Her tone gentle, charged with emotional turmoil. He said nothing. Instead, he took a seat beside her and stared at her like he had done a million times before. She brought herself into a sitting position, and her head tilted. The strange light she found in his gaze rose the hairs of her arms in alarm. She grew uncomfortable as the silence stretched. And she hated the sensation. With him, silence had always been peaceful, warm. But everything had changed. His fingers twitched as if he was at war with himself. The struggle in him unleashed chaos in her soul, and her heart's wounds reopened. Stitches weakened under the strain of her love. She bled in silence but dared to do what he did not. Trembling fingers reached for his cheek but a moment of hesitation stilled her fingers. He took her by surprise when his own gripped hers in soothing tenderness and brought them to the side of his face. If she lived a thousand lifetimes, she would never forget the longing wreaking havoc across his chiseled features. The memory imprinted itself on her soul with no expiration date. Then, he let her go. His fingers dropped hers, the emptiness left slapping her. Hard. He rose to his height again, ready to bolt. She wasted not a single breath to follow after him. “Damon! Wait.” She pleaded. “What do you want from me, Bon?” His voice thick with emotion. “I— I. . . Forget it.” She shook her head and turned his back to him, ready to leave. Pieces of her heart tumbled to the ground on her departure. Suddenly, a pair of arms caught her. Halting her rushed exit and opening the gates to humiliation. “Bonnie Bennett, you do not walk away like this. You're the brave one between you and I.” His forehead touched hers intimately. And again, she shook her head. “We can't do this, Damon.” “I know. I... I just needed to see you today.” Her breath fondled his lips as hers parted and her head nodded in understanding. “You. . . be happy. Okay?” The sincerity in her broken voice nearly brought him to his knees. “And, I know one of these days, you won't remember me anymore but I always will. I'll carry you in my heart with nothing but tenderness and respect.” He started to contradict her with a shake of his head. “Your stubbornness still drives me mad, woman. I could never forget you, Bonnie Bennett. You're an amazing person, wonderful friend and one hell of a woman.” Her fingers caressed his cheek. “Thank you. For lying to me in merciful fashion.” “I'm not.” “Then I guess this is just another thing we add to the pile of things we could never agree on.” One of his infamous smirks took over his lips for brief heartbeats until the expression grew serious once more. Then, he unknowingly glued some lost pieces of her back to their original place when he dipped her head and brought his lips to her forehead for an innocent kiss of goodbye. He was gone before she had time to reopen her eyes. “Bonnie? Bonnie? You still with me?” The foreign accent in Kyrian's voice catapulted her back to reality, far far away from the fields of memories. For an entire heartbeat, her feet refused to advance as she centered herself, holding onto any and everything she could that belonged to the present. The past was a mere passage, the place we used to be before experience and wisdom. And her journey had never been an easy one yet on the way, she did find moments of blissful peace. The recollection of those dreamy-like memories strengthened her heart, rebuilt her defenses and offered her renewed purpose. She never faltered in her path. Ink dark hair bounced bewitchingly as she shook her head, gathering her thoughts and words. “I'm sorry. I got caught up in a moment back there. Something about this city...” With an odd light to those fathomless midnight eyes, his gaze penetrating, a myriad of emotions danced across his features before he too shook his head as if he had just walked through a similar hell. The echoes of grief remained etched to his face. “Your love is admirable, Bonnie.” Stupid bewilderment stole the light in her features, darkening her expression. How did he. . . “Excuse me?” He never replied. Pressing his hand to the lower of her back, he prompted her forward before whispering, “We're here.” More disturbed than ever, Bonnie glanced between the stranger who called himself Kyrian (no last name) and the dully-lit entrance of a bar/restaurant with a sign that read ' Sanctuary ' and a moonlit hill and a motorcycle in the background. In smaller letters, she read ' Home of the Howlers '. Curious to learn more about this place as her senses reeled with the suffocating presence of different species of preternatural creatures, Bonnie followed Kyrian's lead as he greeted the man standing guard at the main entrance. The blonde, exceptionally gorgeous man dazzled her with a crooked smile she was sure had charmed many women's panties to the floor. “Evenin', Dark Hunter. Acheron's already inside waiting. He asked me to ask you to meet him in the soundproof room.” Then his gaze landed on Bonnie. “And who might you be, beautiful? A goddess from a foreign pantheon stranded in New Orleans?” At first, Bonnie's innocence had her believe it was just an elaborate mean to flirt with her but then, one quick glance into the bar later, reality kicked into gear. His question hadn't been a metaphor. Kyrian, in all his 6'5 glory of absolute strength and charisma, proceeded with the introductions. “Dev, this is Bonnie Bennett. And she's a child of Hecate, a witch. And a powerful one at that. You best remember that.” Then, he turned to Bonnie with a killer grin. “Bonnie, this huge mountain of a bear,” he paused to chuckle at something she couldn't comprehend as she remained in the dark in all things of this side of the supernatural world, “is Dev Peltier. The Peltiers own this place.” The confusion painted on Bonnie's face gave motive to the two males to burst out laughing at her expense. Big mistake. Bonnie Bennett was an easy witch to anger. Soon enough, they were both frantically slapping themselves to extinguish the flames that rose from thin air on their clothes. “I like her already. She's going to fit in just perfectly in our crazy, demented family.” Dev lifted her hand to his lips to offer her a chivalrous kiss to her fingers. “It's a pleasure, ma chère.” “I'm still deciding but I'll get back to you.” The tiniest grin playing at the edges of her lips betrayed the coldness in her words. One step into the bar had Bonnie hesitating for a second. For some ungodly reason, she could not shake the feeling that the next steps would belong to the beginning of a new chapter of her life. Ever fearless in nature, determination painted itself on her face like war paint before following after Kyrian to the upper floor where they were supposed to meet with this feared, highly respected leader. Once at the top of the stairs, Kyrian paused to admire Bonnie walk through the crowd. No. Not walk, he quickly decided. Glide. She glided with unparalleled grace that even the goddesses lacked. And for a single fraction of time, his missing soul screamed out in agony as it remained tucked away in the hands of the goddess who owned him. Two thousand years of blind solitude were taking its toll on him, his mind, his heart. And the soul that no longer inhabited his body. She commanded attention from every patron, even those who refused to be noticed themselves. A whisperer of souls, she bewitched them all. The tragedy of it all translated in her naïveté; she couldn't even imagine the effect of her own presence. There was peaceful hope radiating off of her that just mesmerized those brave enough to come near her. She was sunlight, exotic beauty and warmth. Fierce loyalty, and raw kindness bled from her. In all his years of existence, he swore he had never come across a woman like her. She stood in a category reserved solely for her. Only a few could ever dream of reaching it. He nearly fell on his knees as a supplicant to a goddess, praying for absolution, when she finally approached him with disarming smile on her Cupid bow shaped lips. The flames of Tartarus chanted his name as he lost the inner battle of wills and his fingers reached for hers. The deep longing to feel the softness of her skin against his slayed his proud stubbornness. Gently drawing her into the quiet, more reclusive corner of the Sanctuary, he ventured into a hallway and opened a door on their right before robbing her of breath as those midnight skies bore into her. Her throat parched, she found it impossible to deliver any words. Her treacherous mind wasn't operating properly anyway, she would only embarrass herself when she stumbled in her words. At last, dread coiled in the pit of her stomach. She wasn't sure what to expect on the other side of the door until Kyrian pushed it open to reveal. . . A horde of incredibly handsome men, all dressed in black and sporting a 'don't fuck with me' attitude. What in the Hades? Bonnie looked over her shoulder to see Kyrian there, a smirk dancing at the edges of his lips. He was enjoying this. The bastard! They all grew quiet as she entered the room. Bonnie never felt so out of her element until this moment. Dumbfounded, her eyes glanced between every individual, expecting to wake up at any moment now. When a minute stretched into a few, she decided this was probably real. Kyrian prompted her forward. Her heart raced, uncertain of how to tread in these unknown waters as every pair of eyes studied her as if expecting her to hold the knowledge of some mystery they needed solved. One of them stepped forward with something akin to controlled fury bleeding from him. The opaque sunglasses kept his gaze hidden from her. Waves of shock shook her all the way to her foundation as she took notice of his young age. He couldn't be older than twenty. The poster child for the Goth movement, the man exuded sensuality from every pore, he commanded respect and dared anyone to cross him with the promise of eternal torment. Abnormally tall, with dark purple hair semi-tamed in a ponytail, he had the gait of skilled predator, ready to pounce if necessary. This was one scary creature.

“Bonnie, welcome to New Orleans. Acheron Parthenopaeus.” She nearly gasped when the thunderous voice of his, thick with an ancient accent, slapped her. “That's Talon of the Morrigantes, Julian of Macedonia and Wulf Trygvassen.��� The three men inclined their collective heads at her in formal greeting. She fumbled with her rings, suspicious of her role in this meeting. Why would any of them need a female in the midst of an impenetrable wall of testosterone? An angry growl rumbled, unexpectedly. Followed by a curse so foul, she cringed. This time, a gasp escaped her, and her feet brought her a few steps backwards. A firm but impressively gentle grip forced her to a stop and the green of her eyes collided with her own reflection upon the surface of those damned sunglasses. Lifting her wrists, badly bruised from her earlier attempt to escape her temporary imprisonment, Acheron pointed at them as if offended. “I thought I had told you she was to be brought here on her own terms, Commander.” In return, Kyrian brought his arms upwards in initial surrender until his temper flared and scorched all common sense. “Come on, Ash! You knew better than that. All it took me was two seconds in her mind to know she would never come here willingly. That's why you sent me, damn you! Don't think I don't regret doing... that. Stupid mistake, I fucking know it. You don't have to slap my ass, boss.” With that angry tirade, he vacated the room with furious steps. She almost followed him. “He's right, you know? I'm the first to admit his methods were a bit archaic but I wouldn't have come otherwise. This...” Her gaze fell on the bruises left by the merciless bite of shackles. “This is my fault. I don't do well in cages. And something tells me you understand that better than you let on.” A contrite expression fell on Acheron's features. What happened to this man? She couldn't put her finger on it but something about him pulled the strings of her heart in sympathy for his pain and everything he hid from the world behind those dark sunglasses. A familiar warmth spread from her wrists to her arms and rest of the body while his thumbs rubbed the marred flesh. It didn't take him more than two seconds, this walking enigma of a creature unleashed a mere sliver of raw power to return her skin back to its original shade, healing it completely. Unsure of what it meant, Bonnie decided to pull the plug to this ongoing mysterious meeting. She wanted answers and she was going to get them no matter what. If there was one thing she hated more than lies, it was being thrown into a situation she had no knowledge about. And she absolutely despised feeling so lost and disoriented. “Alright. Time's up. Who are you? And why was I brought here? You have one minute before I leave. I suggest you use your time well.”

[indurarinks]

the mardi gras conundrum

( 1. )

— “I'm the top of the food chain and well...you're the food.” 

AN ANCIENT GREEK LEGEND Born to extreme wealth, Kyrian of Thrace wielded charm and charisma as powerfully as he wielded his sword. Courageous and bold, he ruled the world around him, and knew nothing save the very passionate side of his nature. Ardent, wild, and restless, he lived his life recklessly. He knew no danger, no limitations. The world was his oyster and he vowed to feed fully from it. With the strength of Ares, the body and face of Adonis, and the sensuous gifts of Aphrodite, he was sought by all women who saw him. They wanted him for their own, dreamed of possessing the proud warrior prince whose touch was said to be the closest a woman could ever come to paradise. But he was not a man whose heart was easily tamed. He was a man who lived for the moment, lived for his senses, and for the wild fulfillment of all his desires. He loved pleasure, both the giving and the receiving. The few women who had claimed him for a night of ecstasy lorded it over those who could only dream of touching his exquisite body. For he was passion. Desire. All things sensual and hot. A born warrior, he was respected and feared by all who knew of him. And at a time when the Roman Empire was invincible, he, alone, beat the Romans back with a hero's glee, and brought riches and glory to his name and homeland. For a while, 'twas said he would be ruler of the known world. Until an act of brutal betrayal made him the Ruler of the Night. Now he walks the shadowy realm between Life and the Underworld. Neither man nor beast, he is something else entirely. He is Solitude. He is Darkness. He is a shadow in the night. A restless, lonely spirit whose destiny is to save the very mortals who despise and fear him. He will never know rest or peace until he can find the one woman who will not betray him. The one pure heart who can see past his dark side and bring him back into the light. (Excerpt from “Night Pleasures” by Sherrilyn Kenyon) . . . Bearing through the entire lecture on politics and the affairs related to such a dull topic with squinted eyes, an immense urge to yield to it seeped through the cracks. Bonnie’s attention bounced back and forth from her phone to monitor the time yet again and the large windows that allowed plenty sunlight to invade the quiet classroom. Naturally, her mind wandered to other places. Some mystical, and others more realistic than she cared to analyze while, at the same time, her gaze lost itself in the entrancing beams of weakening light that blinded her momentarily. The sensation alone managed to pull a genuine smile out of Bonnie.          “See you guys next Friday.” The words drew Bonnie back to reality after two tortuous hours of an absolutely horrifying experience. The Professor stuffed the ancient-looking books and notes into his leather satchel, succeeding in exiting the auditorium before any of the students. She, being Bonnie Bennett aka the clumsiest witch roaming the Earth, quickly tucked all her books and loose sheets of paper beneath her arm only to trip on her own feet two steps later and land on the wooden floor unceremoniously, face first.          “Motherfucker!” Cursing her uncoordinated existence to all known deities, Bonnie took a second to contemplate every piece of paper and book scattered all around her as if a tornado had just passed by. As she released an exasperated grunt before pushing her figure off the ground, a few laughs and giggles traveled through the classroom from unhurried students that didn’t seem to have anything better to do than to mock her misfortune and uncoordinated self. Huffing at those bold enough to laugh at a royally pissed off witch, she made a hasty exit after fixing her hair, disheveled from the fall. . . . After several useless hours spent in the library, studying for the dreadful finals, she found herself surrounded by nothing but silence. She left the building, taking a turn in direction of her vintage Mercedes Benz, her Grams’ last car. Already beside her car, Bonnie unzipped her small purse to fish for the car keys when the weirdest sensation electrified every nerve ending with relative efficiency. The oddity of the experience prompted her to lift her chin and scan the surrounding area. In the horizon, the sun was setting. No sign of life. She was greeted with further silence. Even though her senses rang warning bells persistently with the great possibility of another preternatural existence nearby, she recklessly chose to disregard it. One nonchalant shrug of shoulders later, her fingers returned to their previous task by diving into her handbag, in search of those damned keys. As she did so, a piece of cloth was held against her mouth and nose. A very muscular arm snaked about her neck, the muscles rippling with the exertion of the aggressor’s actions. The foul stench of an initially unknown fluid, that had been previously poured onto the piece of fabric, became so intense within mere seconds that it didn’t take her long to put two and two together and recognize the chemical solution chosen to subdue her senses, her magic included– chloroform. Against Bonnie’s will, heavy eyelids began to shut as darkness closed in on her. The last thing her eyes see before shutting down completely was the vision of delectable tawny skin, certainly designed by the Gods for a woman to taste with her teeth and tongue, all night long. . . . The incessant aching of her neck pulled her from a deep, peaceful slumber, one that had been previously forced on her. Bonnie raised her hand to rub the sore region, consequence of the prolonged position of her neck, bent in an odd angle. The clinking of metallic chains drew a troubled gaze to the wrist bound to the wall behind her, ensuring her captivity. A deep feeling of dread coiled in the pit of her stomach the same moment realization robbed her of breath. How did she let herself get caught and kidnapped without much of a fight? Ferocious ire consumed every thought for there was nothing Bonnie despised more than to be captured like a mindless animal. Her head moved frenziedly from side to side in search of her captor but her vision refused to cooperate. It seemed the night had settled for several hours now and her weak, human eyes couldn’t capture enough light to see. A cool chill descended the length of her spine, the cold from the floor seeping into her bones. She trembled lightly. From the outside, ridiculously loud noises accompanied with the pleasant to ears jazz music penetrated through thick walls. She listened, hoping to collect enough intel about her whereabouts. The passing voices faded, no valuable information found in the bits and pieces of casual conversations she managed to understand. Her frustration mounted. Bonnie had yet to meet her incarcerator, but it seemed he was not currently in the premises. A strange, twisted curiosity fed her urge to come face to face with the faceless creature. From her limited angle of vision, when this mysterious man caught her by surprise, Bonnie was able to capture the sight of the most masculine arms she had ever seen. Even though the chance to admire his height was stripped from her, Bonnie could tell he was exceptionally tall. Most likely around 6’5-ish from when he pressed his entire body against hers in a most intimate way while effortlessly succeeding in gaining control over her. . . . His extended absence presented her with the perfect window of opportunity to free herself from the biting shackles. Without giving it much thought, Bonnie quickly blasted the metallic restraints as soon as she managed to gather enough juice to fuel her magic and her skin tingled from it. Yet a surprise had been waiting for her all along. Not only the shackles didn’t break loose, the nasty smell of burnt flesh indicated the discharge of magic had backfired on her. Pain spread through her like a lethal poison, slowly infecting her every cell. Pure iron was the only element on Earth with the ability to overpower my magic, temporarily dulling it into inexistent levels. The chains must have been made from it. Shit. The brute, certainly inhuman, held an apparent extensive knowledge on her species. This couldn’t be good. For her. Desperation won over rational thought for several heartbeats. She fought against the restraints in a feeble attempt to unlock them while logic screamed at her they wouldn’t budge. They didn’t. Cries of despair filled the air.          ‘Please God, get me out of this mess.’ Her captor chose this moment to barge into the room he had her caged in, silently and promptly compelling her to cease her ongoing and frankly useless escape. His presence alone exuded command and demanded respect.          “We both know it’s useless. Even with your impressive powers, you’re powerless with those chains on.” His thick foreign accent instigated a fire within her that had been dormant for months. At that, Bonnie almost laughed when the picture of her, Bonnie Sheila Bennett, becoming something akin to a victim of Stockholm syndrome invaded her mind. A pair of vibrant green eyes studied the masculine body towering over her, drinking even the smallest of details of the piece of perfection standing just mere inches from her. Definitely a body made for sin, she decided. His blonde hair along with the pair of the most eerie midnight eyes she had ever seen made the deadliest of combinations, stirring a lustful thirst. How unusual for her to experience such carnal sensations in the predicament she was in. The conjugation of the man with the nobility dripping from his aura would render any woman awfully quiet.          “My apologies for the earlier crudeness from my part. I’m Kyrian.” With a scoff ready to flee her mouth, Bonnie rose to her full height slowly, sliding over the wall behind me before throwing a glower in his general direction.          “Are you kidding me?! You’re actually apologizing for kidnapping me?” He was quick to elevate both hands in the air like a twelve year old child who just got caught with his hands in the cookie jar. He, then, flaunted a boyish smirk laden with mystery.          “Look, I know my methods weren’t the most conventional ones but I’ve been watching you for days, Bonnie. After a couple of days I knew I would never be able to convince you to come with me to New Orleans... By the way, are you aware of the leech that has been trailing you wherever you go? That dude has some serious issues.” This time, a disturbed scoff escaped her. Then, she shrieked.          “I’m in New Orleans?! No. I can’t be here. You’ve got to be the stupidest male I’ve ever crossed paths with and trust me I got my fair share of idiots in my life. What are you? I need to go back! And… I am aware of him... I’ve grown quite used to it. His intentions come from a good place in that cold heart of his.” Bonnie surprised herself when she quickly defended the bane of her existence. Lifting the shackles binding her wrists until she had his attention, she asked him in a dry tone.          “You mind?” Another derisive snort slipped past her lips while Kyrian slithered his hand inside his pocket to retrieve the key to her freedom. Perhaps it was the knowledge of sharing the same room with an angry witch coerced him to grant her wish immediately.          “I can’t bring you back home just yet. There’s a reason why you’re here, Bonnie. Your family’s name is known around these lands. Every witch in the French Quarter whispers your name with respect and reverence on account of your lineage and natural dexterity to yield magic. And we need you… You’ll learn about my kind soon enough.” Once unbound, Bonnie eased the discomfort around her wrists by rubbing them with circular motions. Naïve curiosity adorned exotic features.          “We? Who’s we? Why would you need my help in particular? Don’t you have enough witches here?” A mask of unyielding gravity settled onto chiseled features a moment prior to dropping words in his heavy Greek accent.          “Come.” He gestured for her to follow his retreating figure as he headed to the door to welcome the barely breathable heat of a typical New Orleans’ night. The combination of colors with the myriad of different, pleasing sounds and musical notes conjured the most overwhelming and breathtaking picture Bonnie had ever set her eyes upon. Momentarily distracted by a group of professional jazz musicians, a grin forced its way upon her lips. Like a child during Christmas morning, Bonnie looked absolutely mesmerized by the talent and vivacity of the city. Kyrian’s taunting voice lured her focus back to him.          “We’ve heard that you have dealt with such creatures before and it seems that the dark forces from your world have decided to affiliate with those from our world. My boss, Acheron, will fill you in. Just be prepared…” A frown darkened her features. “Prepared for what?”

He chuckled despite the initial warning tone in his words. “You’ll see when you meet him.” Ever eager to drink from the fountain of knowledge and highly interested in learning about Kyrian and his kin, Bonnie joined him, at last, strolling down the busy, crowded streets in direction to a destination that was yet unknown to her.