0 comments/ 20586 views/ 0 favorites Flicker By: endthedream Flicker. Glows of match. Then the thready light goes out again. It is dark and cold. There is a match in an other section of the old house. Flicker. Then gone again. He thinks, E.T. with his warm face and his finger that glooowwwweeeeeddddd. Flicker, snap, twists against the side of the kitchen matchbox. Hiss yellow. Like a snake out there. He hated snakes. He hated who was doing this to him. Come on with the college gags. Come on with the college sneak horrors. They were all fake. All fortitude in the right finger of his left hand could be brave enough for this. This and then some. It was the sound of the match that made the golden shimmer in his brain. The sound of the match hissing, then being twirled and extinguished, for far too short a time. You waste matches doing it this way. It's not economical. It's costly. Do you know how much money it costs to run this house, young man? But this is no house. This is a frat. And he doesn't want to be in a frat house. It's his frickin' mommy's idea and even here, she rules the roost. He is naked and he is 19 and he is not scared or ashamed. They gave him a scary brain, but his body was not scary. It was buffed and tanned even here in deep late Fall. He had to go through these mazes of darkness, and not get scared, but it was they who would be getting scared. He had a good-sized penis and he had good-sized balls, and he was not ashamed. All they wanted him to do was to masturbate in the dark with only the match light and fizzle. And he had to do it on the count of whenever they had the lights on; he had to come at that exact same moment. He had to guess. He had to pretend he was one of them. But what if he took his coat of flesh off? What if he did that opening of the Twilight Zone movie—"wanna see something really scary???" No. He was kneeling. He did not care if he passed this portion of the test. He should tell mommy what The Guys had him do to get accepted by Normal Society. Heddy was out there somewhere, waiting. Heddy that none of the guys would get to first base with. And then the accoutrement. Then the sighs the guys watching somewhere in the dim light of forever. All mouse dropping smells. All vaguely rotten odors, for who would be washing their clothes and their jock straps, these half-wit jock jokes? Whisper. Touch himself. Like with Heddy. Touch himself and feel himself go hard. Feel his balls heavy. Feel his chest smooth and hairless. And they are not getting off on this. Them wearing their infrared viewers. Them thinking he didn't know that. The secret was a few branches short of what old G.W. could figure out in his stoned, coked, drunken brain of sickness. Of course, they were watching their pledge, their feeb, with the funny brain and the dyn-o-mite body. Oh god, it felt good to have them watch—Herbert, and Shelby, and Roach, and the others in this lowest of the fraternities. To show to Mommy. To show to them. To do it for Heddy. To prove that these oh so hetero guys were as gay as he was. To push the distance was to keep him on the straight, so to speak, and narrow. To be nimble enough in craziness to have fooled them. To be Clark Kentish enough to get them to let their guards down, to show them what he and Heddy could do. And they had started out the campaign against him this afternoon, dull and drear in Uplift Hall by showing him the rankest of horror films. They thought. They not knowing that he had seen far worse and he had gobbled them like eye candy. He loved horror films. He loved the goriest. Because it made him feel hot and hard and it made him feel loved somehow that made no sense. No one but Heddy had he ever told this. No one but Heddy had ever known how he would turn to demon flesh at the beginning of chainsaw massacre stuff, not the classic original, but all the cheap shoddy rip offs and he would dance in his crazy head as he watched and touched and was touched and clothes came off and clothes came with pressings of hands and legs and genitals and blood ran hot in their fevered bodies, the films providing the back drops there on the TV screen and seas of torrents of something past passion, of getting back to the primal, of that lunge for the last of the final primal scream that no half-assed psychologist ever understood, and thinking this: He was hard. He had been hard for some time. He was kneeling and playing with his rock on. He was thinking Skinny Lizard and Eddie Rafters and Blue Moon on Blood Bay. He was rocking to the songs in his head. Way past Ozzie and Alice and Last Man Standing. Hard in the fair haired boy, so angelic on the outside, so stupid and, can I hold your ah books ah if you ah don't mind—oh sorry, I didn't mean to offend, please forgive me, really really sor And the real him was crouched on this sticky basement floor with the hollow sound of the Guys trying to breathe as silently as possible. He was at the cum level. Had been there for some time. Could wait to shoot at the moment of the light being turned on, and bubble and spurt from him, and this was the last test. He was in. Only Heddy waited outside the building. Waited right out there by the basement window. And Heddy would see him at his ultimate. For what does the Clarkiest of them all do when he was a boy? He trained. He exercised. He watched horror movies. He dwelled in a world totally and precariously all his own. For the real fest. For the real zest was in hearing The Guys. Hearing them jacking off. Oh so quiet. Oh so silent. Oh so clever. A meat cleaver being hurled in revenge thirty miles away could be more silent to his ears than these dim wits. Or rather, no wits at all. Keep in mind—Ivy League colleges turn out regurgitated jerks too. There had been no match scratches. No momentary flare-ups of tiny sun lights. There were not the goals remembered. That this was meant to be embarrassing to him. But he pictured them almost as though he had on infra-red specs himself, and he could see these guys who put the arms round their main squeezes, total bottom line cheerleader girlies wanna bes, and they were getting off on this crazy brain with the hot body jacking off for them, or at the surcease of the epic of the same act, while they were busily hurtling their hands over, as they would call it, their "meat." He heard a gasp. One had just come. Others turned their heads to look at the comer up and. He knew it. He could feel their excitement. He could feel their own overflows. He could be finally, the first time in his frickin' life, the center of attention. And he knew now. Something from all those horror films he watched all these years, that he and Heddy watched and so soon, made out to, all of the corridors with monsters behind doors, all the saws and knives and the classic monsters and things disgusting that made everybody else almost vomit over, made him and Heddy laugh. Because it was all fake. Didn't they get it? It was all fake and bullshit. Nobody really died in these movies. Save for stupid horrible accidents like the John Landis thing, but there was---imagination at work here—there was the side show mirrors shown up against real life— --that was the thing that excited him and Heddy. All the gore, sure, they could rock with that, but more—like exhilarating. More than a Ferris Wheel. More than a roller coaster. It was like being on the top of a mountain, at the top of the world. No hiding. Naked him and naked Heddy. And naked world. And nothing to scare them. Nothing to surprise them and send them up in horror in their beds late night before they figured most of it out singly. Then figured almost all of it out, together. And Heddy was at the window. And he could hear the stealth of her. He could hear the non-sound of her. He wanted to come now. He wanted to come so badly. But they had practiced this for a long time, he and Heddy. It was remembering all the gross out scenes in badly made movies. It was the absurd dialogue. And the pathetic acting. And the gallons of stage blood. And the mannequins with severed arms, and the goriest gore to make even Tom Savini blanch—and it was at its cheesiest where it counted. Where it said, look at all the numb nuts that believe in this utter garbage, and in this stupid stuff ten year olds could film in their garages given one summer afternoon. And he heard Heddy. And heard what she had stored in a closet being pulled out. He heard-nothing. Because it was all nothing. And he was naked and he pinched his tits and he rubbed his balls. He remembered E.T. phone hooooooommmmmmmeeeeeee...and the Guys had all come by now. He had super acute ears and senses of smell and feel and the basement room which he would be sent exploring, naked of course, once this test was over— --but this was the final test. And he felt Heddy next to him. Also naked. Also hard. Holding the head of his own penis, was Heddy. As he held his penis. Both ready. And when the lights were on—and when the lights came on with a click and a flood of bright white ceiling illumination came on—the Guys who had pulled up their cum stained jeans and had buckled their belts again—saw the secret—and the secret was Heddy, who they had never seen before, and their pledge of the lovely body and the crazy brain, knelt there before them. Heads bowed. Penises coming milk spurts. They held each other's hands. They were still as their penises jumped and jumped. If possible, Heddy was more beautiful than crazy brained Herbert, for that was the crazy brained shy as hell boy's name. And they were there totally naked. Totally exposed. They were not embarrassed. They were not grasping for their clothes. In the huge white light in the cold basement room, they were as penitents. They were ready at any given second to be hailed, to be harmed. To be done gentleness and love, as they gave outward. Or to be treated in the most horrible manner the Guys could think of, and they could think of many horrible things. But they were hypnotized, the Frat guys. They were doe eyed in the head lights. They were before beauty. But more than beauty. Acquiescence. Acceptance. Pure and utter peace. Herbert and Heddy waited. For the next second. In supreme bliss. That was what horror movies, especially the cheapest, more ridiculous, sickest kind, had taught them—that what they saw was a joke. As what they saw in these ridiculous young men was also a joke, these monster want to bes. Only those in on the joke knew where the only true reality could be—in themselves. Thus, peace of mind. What they were to themselves and each other trumped what the stupid, sick, grossness of the world said it was. For they knew it lied. And they turned to each other, Herbert and Heddy. And they kissed. The frat jock jokes might as well not be there. Were not there, not really. They were just a stupid horror film background. And nothing that happened to Herbert and Heddy would really happen, for they had their own bought and paid for private territory. The less dense of the frat boys, the holy Guys, rushed out of the room, for they saw the emptiness that was forever to be theirs. The others just stayed there and quietly, perhaps the quietest thing they had ever done in their lives, observed and paid homage. They really had no other choice. As Heddy and Herbert did not care about them. Flicker. Flickering Between Ginny & Tammi From The Chronicles of Darius Flesher ** "Give me a minute, Darius. My legs are shaky." Ginny adjusts herself on an upholstered bench, gazing blankly into a rose-décor, vanity mirror. She'd been sitting there, attempting her thoughts. "You alright boo?" He blurted out, concerning. "No, I'm not." She reacts to a crisp chill tickling her nakedness. "What's up?" Darius sprung from his fortress of silken sheets. "Just wondering where you are in this relationship." She squinted and then moved her body halfway to face him. "Why on a Sunday morning..." "So when's the right time to bring it up?" "...Groundhog's day!" He snapped. "See, I try to be civil and talk to your ass but you got jokes." "Alright, my bad...now what? What's this about?" "Oh, I don't know Darius," she sputters, mockingly, "maybe it's the fact that you spent nearly twenty minutes talking to Avanyah last night." "And, you talked to her twice as long. You can't be serious." "Stop fronting about the type of person she is. Don't forget, I knew her before you." "Look, I trained the girl for six months. She never presented herself to me that way. All we have is nothing more than a good rapport. That's it!" "Did you fuck her?" "NO! What's wrong with you?" He dropped his hands in show of disgust, having known fully well of their lascivious meetings. Although true, they had never fucked, just the oral interludes shared between them would've spelled a rapid undoing. She turned away from him, plunging her thoughts into the vanity mirror. Darius caught the reflection of her face, having shown traces of shame. They contemplated in silence, the volley of emotions served. She squirmed as a bit of nervousness as it wriggled her flesh. She kept twirling her loose-fitted curls, cursing lightly t o herself. It became obvious that it was in part due to the unmanageability of her hair. The arousal reigned thick. Darius imbibed in the view of her elongated backside. The way her spine curved slightly made him eager to play her body instrument. Soft, smooth muscles captured all of the feminine energy she exuded. Ginny got up, displaying signs of soreness in her body. Her long face became hardened by frustration. Awkwardly, she placed a foot on the seat of the wrought-iron chair, wincing where she stood, bending on one knee forward. She'd been summoning her crotch muscles for the spewing. She then examined the hand towel for pearly globs. "Can't believe this," she whispered before rising, "I'm still dripping!" "I know I just heard a squirt sound, how romantic." He was proud to have shot such a lingering load into her snatch. He became satiated of his orgasmic fill, something that would later require she'd spend several applications of douche in cleansing. For all he bragged about it would've taken her two Summers Eves to have properly unseeded. "Yeah, I'm surprised you're not taping this." "How do you know? I just might have enough to edit a hot clip." "Stop fucking around! I'm serious, Darius!" "What do you want me to do? I can't help it if you lack trust. The woman is getting married for fuck sake. We talked about being prepared, jitters and all." "Please! Avanyah and marriage don't mean shit. She's nasty, Darius!" "You're tripping!" "Well, here's something for you to trip about, did you know that she use to strip?" "What?" "What!" She bulged out her eyes, mocking his facial expression. "Oh, surprised?" "I don't need to hear all that." Darius inched out of bed completely naked. He concealed his cock as it almost gave way to the exciting news. "Yeah, she went by the name of Chocolate Peach. Ask me how I know." "I don't know. This conversation is beginning to piss me off because I just wanted us to enjoy a chill Sunday morning. Figured we'd get some brunch, visit folks around the way. Make some more love." "Avoid questions that sting." She countered. "This is where I say peace and have a blessed day." He maneuvered into a pair of briefs. "I know." She moved her body directly in front of Darius, dropping the hand towel before her pink-polished toes. The short spurt of anger caused her to momentarily forget the soreness or the fact that she'd still been leaking. "I know because like the good neighbor I was I gave Lillian a ride to pick up Avanyah at her old job." "Where she used to strip," he said sarcastically. "...Probably still does now," she pressed her fists on her hips, "I knew her sister Lillian before that. C'mon, she's right next door. Anyways, getting back to the story, I wasn't expecting to wait for them for over an hour. I felt funny about going back in so I just waited in the car." "And..." "And, they got with some guys up in the club. They were proud about making those white guys, you know, go down there on them." "Go down there? C'mon baby, just say it. The white guys ate her pussy." "You're nasty, but, ANYWAYS, I'm saying is that they're trifling. That's why I never wanted you hanging out with them." "You trip me out. You act as though you had never known these people. They invited you to their home and Avanyah even set us up together. So, you have issues with them and you decide to smile in their faces, when, all along you keep referring to them like they're beneath you or something. C'mon now, I mean, what's the real fucking issue?" Darius hobbled vehemently into a pair of blue jeans. "I'm not the kind of woman that you can do all those porno things to! I'm not going to give you my ass or suck your dick. That's nasty. I'm not into all that! And, if that's what it takes to keep you in this relationship, just go." "You wait until after we make some good love to let me know that this is what's been bothering you all this time?" "Just leave! Go for a walk or a drive or whatever it is that you do to circulate some sense into that top head of yours. Maybe then you'll understand that what I'm saying is true." He finished up by throwing on some Timbs and a Tampa Bucs jersey. "Hold on," he doubled back, "funny how you bad mouth her when she considers you a good friend." "Yeah, we hung out, grabbed lunch a few times. We watched movies or whatever, but I knew well enough not to go out with them. And, believe it or not, they didn't go out much. Guess I just trusted at the time that you were the one person neither one of them had fucked. I don't know, maybe I was just too gullible. Hindsight and all that shit!" "We should've had this conversation nine months ago." "I swear, sometimes I talk to you and your mind is floating off somewhere else. I told you that it was a difficult time in my life. At the time gramps was alive and diagnosed with cancer. I was doing all that I could to accommodate him and I ended a five-year relationship with Juan." "I know, I know, you were vulnerable." "I still am." Ginny's eyes watered. She examined the washcloth and wiped some more, vaguely removing the residual seeds he'd immersed deep into her sex. The way she kept balancing herself on one foot stirred a fuming arousal within him. He walked over to where she stood and rubbed his thumb along her cheekbone in an effort to dry her tears. He kissed the coating of saline on her lips, passionately and held back until it felt ripe enough to allow his tongue to work the recess of her mouth. He grew thick by the fractional second. "This is where I want to be." He guided her back onto the bed. Ginny, having been so tentative, splayed her nude body across the feel of silken sheets. The mahogany sleigh bed accentuated her 5'9"ish frame, complimentary to her honey-toned flesh. Boricua mami peered tentatively. Her Puerto Rican eyes translated all of the stress that she held in, evident in the wisps of gray hair growing lightly at the age of 29. She sat up leaning on bent elbows. Her face reddened with the anguish their spat had caused. Her nostrils opened up wide to take in more of the dissipating air that had once merged with the scents of them. The tears began to dry. It felt good letting go of the emotions. The sheets bore evidence of such, as she wetted sex and tear stains in cloudy shapes. A tidal of love and lewdness was about to again. He grew in awe of her body, thinly supple and prime. The dark hues of her areola resembled two small-side servings of caramelized custard. Thick nipples protruded from her A-size breasts, peppered by three beauty marks that resembled tiny coffee beans. "If only..." She looked away from him momentarily, kept her legs tensely crossed to conceal the secretion. "Baby I don't want to be about all this fighting. Just let me make love to you. Let my actions speak about where we are together." He gently pried her legs apart relishing the view of her thick mound. She kept wisps of fine pubes cropped lightly along the sides of her openness, which had mostly matted against the curves of her inner thighs. Deft fingers plucked root notes, quickly ascending. She plopped backwards, falling into a soft sink, peering up at the ceiling. She opened for him unlike she'd ever done so, including her last relationship. She was open for the newness of having her pussy reamed and creamed. Everything prior to their lovemaking had been clinically wrapped at best. She counted on several fingers the amount of lovers entertained. All of them required to don on plastic, save for Darius. How he relished the feel of her bare flesh. "It's so...OHHHHHHHH!!!" She squirmed, twitchingly as he deepened his index inside her. Her smallish folds slid in and out, slowly unearthing the remains of him. He removed his digits, admiring the light-white, pasty coating from her throbbing pussy. Amazed how the translucent jizz had been made to journey this far from her cervical core. Ginny remained in the missionary position, waiting for him to descend from on top. "AYYYYY poppy, go easy! She said bracing for his entry. "Shhh!" The tip of his dome rested partially between her outer folds. She tensed up half-quietly for a moment, just before he pushed through, "AHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" She cried. Darius slid inches forward. "How does it feel?" "Good but it burns at the same time." Ginny hurriedly spoke. "Betcha would love for me to just fill you up again, huh?" "I don't like that kind of talk. Just kiss me. Make it quick though...feels good." She took more of him in, while adjusting to the pleasurable sting, she sucked her teeth. Obligingly, he sucked her tongue, having felt the warm indication of another eventful stream. The kisses grew harder as he pulled her body closer. Her legs lassoed around his waist. He elevated her gingerly so as not to strike too shallow. He'd grown to respect the fact that she could only endure so much of his seven inches plus. "Babe..." He cautions himself from blurting more fuck talk. "Just hold me, please." Her café au lait complexion turned cinnamon red from head to toe. "POPPY, AYYYYYYY!!!" "Move those hips, babe...yeah...just like...OHHHHHH!!! MMMMMmmmmm!!!" The thrusts crept into stillness, having felt her folds sucking seeds from his fruited plains. She coaxed all of his seedlings. She took all of him in, depleting his sacks. Their bodies quivered in synch before the storm had tapered them into slight separation. They lied, side by side, looking up at the ceiling, matching peripherals and compressing the heavy flux of air. Having sensed a burst of humiliation she released, "Please just leave!" She turned her back to him. "Babe, every thing is okay." Darius reached one arm around her, which she knocked off defiantly. Slowly, she sat up and limped out of bed en route to the dresser. Ginny tried to hide her watering eyes. She removed a terry-cloth bathrobe from the middle drawer. Donning it on, she broke, "Please don't be here when I get back. I need my space from you." "Why?" "It'll come to you while I'm in the shower. We'll talk later." She shuffled away from him, closing the bedroom door on her way out. He gazed at the blank space where she sat in front of the vanity mirror, which cast no reflection but his own. ********************* As the weeks progressed, Ginny had tried best to augment homecare for her grandfather. However, he succumbed to complications due to prostate cancer. Soon, she isolated herself from everyone. Days blurred. Like a front-passenger view through an automatic carwash. The present decline in the relationship caused quiet dissension to settle into the apartment. Opposing work schedules and inopportune moments of rest had offered minimal time to reconcile. The closest thing to a home-cooked meal existed five blocks away at Mr. Mufungo's. Pork, rice and yucca fries became a nightly dinner staple. Darius kept concerns about the relationship to himself so as not to add or bombard her with emotional strife. Regardless of when he got in from work, he would find her passed out on the sectional sofa, half-caring and dozing before a Lifetime or AMC movie marathon. After-work outings at The Palm St. Tavern Inn, had been the ripe locale for reprieve. Serenity Cruise Liners enjoyed the after-work drink specials tailored to their patronage. On this Saturday night, Darius hung out with Bernard, a long time co-worker that often matched Darius' appreciation for sex. Bernard, a native of Haiti, carried around a 5'7" frame that made him feel double his numbers in height and weight. He accessorized, wearing his Napoleonic complex to match his shirt and shoes. Strangely, the place was empty for a Saturday night. The usual karaoke crowd had thinned. Co-workers were nowhere to be found, leaving Darius and Bernard to exchange the latest happenings outside the grind. "What's going on Darius?" Bernard holds the front door open. "All night long you sat staring at the monitor. Did you at least get any leads?" "No. Slow day but I'll get more during hurricane season. It's coming up." "I hooked up three tonight, and, they're solid!" "I'll give you your props. I'm just not with it, obviously." "Talk to me. Let me get you...Killian's draft, right? I'll get the first one." Bernard called for his order just as they'd reached the bar. It took but a matter of seconds before the bartender, a gym-aficionado, standing nearly six feet tall, thickly framed with bulbous biceps, satisfied the request. "How's Ginny holding up?" Bernard concerned. "She's doing okay except for the funeral and medical bills. She's waiting for some additional money to kick in. She's also stressed out over her job because it only covers two days for bereavement pay. Her mom just flew in from Philly to stay with us but she just keeps shutting me out. I'm kept on the defensive for shit I haven't even done. It's the whole trust issue!" "Sorry to hear that bro." "Appreciate it. So far in less than a year we've been together I haven't come close to cheating." "Now that's impressive. If everything goes okay, is she the one?" "Let's put it this way, you know I'm a freak from the jump, right?" "Go ahead." "She doesn't do the freaky things I like. I mean we're not even talking about the real freaky shit we both love to do. I'm more than willing to compromise. And we're talking basics like she has trouble with letting me eat her pussy. Figure that one out!" "Does she?" Bernard gestured a blowjob act with his hand. "Bro, don't do that here. But, no, she doesn't do that for me." "I'm gonna cry for you on that one, oh yeah!" "Okay? I'm trying to support her but she's just short and dry. We can't talk or find the time to talk. And, it even happened before her grandfather. Ever since Avanyah..." "How was she?" Bernard interrupted. "How was who...wait...bro, don't even go there. I never fucked Avanyah! Although I should have because I'm just as guilty either way." "Okay? But, it sounds to me like you're getting soft. I would have been fucking her a long time ago if I were you, especially if she does all the freaky things you do." "The fuck I am getting soft. Sexing is all that plus a fleet of Escalades. I'm just saying there comes a time that some deeper substance matters. Man, if you can't understand that..." "I'll be straight with you. I haven't heard you come correct about a woman like this since your ex-wife. She just might be you." "I'm trying to give her time, never mind all that." Darius downed the draft in seconds before placing a double order. "Where's everyone else?" "Bethany's coming through now. I just saw her car pull up." "I've been meaning to ask you how are things with Bethany?" "We're fine. The relationship is getting deep. I'm looking into getting her a ring but I won't say when. I know one thing," Bernard elbowed Darius, "I get mine. I'll get it every night if I want it to happen and she can go. Matter fact I'm already thinking of fucking her because she always look good. I'm a wife her, trust." "Make me proud. You go on and tear that ass up?" "Oh no, she ain't into anal yet..." Bernard adjusted himself for Bethany's greeting. Luckily, she hadn't caught word one of their discussion. "Hey boo." "Hey babe," she walked closer to peck him. There was something about her that had loosely reminded Darius of Ginny. Perhaps it was their sense of underlying sensuality. "Are they still calling you guys the Haitian Sensations?" Darius laughed. Bernard joked about his complexion, calling himself midnight black. He laughed about himself whenever Bethany was around, and, he'd often unroll his sleeves to boast about their sameness in shade and skin tone. Bethany stayed true to an athletic look. Kept her thick hair slicked back and clipped. She wore a soft color sweat suit and sneakers, requisite attire for Saturday wear. Beneath her field and track appearance lurked the heart of a freak that had repeatedly worn Bernard out. "Hello Darius! How long were you guys waiting for?" She smiled. "Twenty minutes. Darius was getting nervous." "You tried me!" He laughed and then became distracted by the presence of a petite, large-buxom, shapely-thick brunette walking towards them. He remembered seeing her at work. Often, she'd appeared too standoffish, offering little eye contact. "I'm sorry, Darius this is Tammi-Lynn." Bethany introduced. "Hi." Tammi-Lynn returned shyly. Darius had already dipped into her crystal-blue pools before she had time to lower them. It was difficult to look away. He followed every inch of her body from head to toe. If only Lisa Lisa & the Cult Jam had been playing, it would've provided an adequate background for the scenario. An enormous pair of, at least, 36DDs maximized the elasticity of her tight-ribbed, black shirt. She had also been wearing a soft-cotton fuchsia skirt. "It's my pleasure!" He smiled back. "Okay, we need some drinks." Bethany sounded off, rubbing her palms together. "No problem," Bernard assuaged, "What can I get you ladies?" "I'll have a Pina Colada." "What are you having, Tammi?" Bernard positioned closer to the bartender. "It's Tammi-Lynn," she smiled. "Ummm, I'll have a Strawberry Daiquiri with a shot of 100% Puerto Rican rum on the side." "I guess you ain't playing around." Darius chuckled. "Nope," she downed the shot once it was placed. Soon, they settled into a sectional booth. Darius had noted how Tammi-Lynn had been quietly observing the interactions between the Haitian Sensations. The conversations were kept at a basic level. Darius learned a few details about Tammi-Lynn who had once been preparing for a nursing degree, having been concerned with the dynamics of hygiene and piercing. She seemed unsettled about working in the accounting department for Serenity Cruise Lines. She complained about the rate of pay and medical coverage before realizing she'd said too much.