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wide-eyedscottishlass · 4 years

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Scarlett and the Professor

[continued from]

8pm sharp. Well, at least I’m not tardy.

Without a further moment’s hesitation, Scarlett rang the bell, knowing that now there would be no turning back. Though the sun was nearly set, the evening air was humid, as if portending a storm coming off the Caribbean after full dark. Although Scarlett had taken a long bath before dressing, her exposed skin already felt sticky. As if in answer to that thought, a light breeze suddenly whispered against her bare flesh, stirring the few wispy tendrils of hair that had fallen from her loose chignon. How cooling it felt against her shoulders and arms, her back and her calves, rippling her hemline.

She had chosen a dress meant to please her lover, an Egyptian blue, rayon and silk trapeze silhouette, which loosely draped her form and fell into a high-low hemline that complimented her legs. The color flattered her pale skin tone and dark hair, and matched the pure, bright ocean waters that surrounded this island—waters which she knew Professor Hennessy loved. Silver and rhinestone embellishments adorned the spaghetti straps and low v-neckline, with celestial symbols of the sun and moon stitched in silver thread scattered upon the blue background. As she donned it, Scarlett had been thinking of how she had unwittingly become the moon to his sun, locked in an unwavering orbit around him, pursuing his blazing heat, and seeming to come to fullest light only when she reflected his light.

Hyper aware of the growing night sounds around her, the nervous rasp of her own respiration, and the thundering beat of her heart, Scarlett still didn’t miss the click of the latch inside the door being released. Warm, tawny light spilled out from behind him as Hennessy opened the door, and his classic, masculine beauty, the peerless angles and planes of his face, stole the breath from her lungs as it did each time she saw him anew. His eyes held hers in stasis for several moments, taking her measure, raking across her form, coolly appraising her as though he saw not only right through her clothing, but down to her soul. The first blush of the evening crept into her cheeks.

He had changed his clothes too, into a deep blue silk dress shirt, so snug across his chest that the buttons seemed to be straining not to pop off. He had his sleeves rolled up again, and his waistcoat—in a shade lighter than his shirt—hung open. Scarlett dared look no lower, not wishing him to catch her eyeing what lay below his belt—although she knew without needing a glance, that his bespoke trousers matched his vest, and fit him as snugly as his shirt.

Hennessy’s smile was warm and disarming, his clear blue eyes dancing with mirth. “Well now, aren’t you the tastiest treat to grace my doorstep in about a month of Sundays!” He backed up a little to allow her to pass, “But please do come in, Miss Scarlett--and welcome to my home.” Though she hadn’t even tried to imagine what to expect, the place already felt to her as though it had been raised from it’s foundations to house the life force of this enigmatic, powerful, all too charming, yet dangerous, man.

Scarlett had seen some of Europe’s most opulent mansions and palaces during her gap year travels, and though Hennessy’s home paled by those standards, she was impressed enough to have to remind herself not to gawk. The marble-floored foyer led into a two-story hall that housed a ten-foot wide, cobalt coloured, carpeted staircase, which swept upwards to an eight foot tall, stained glass window above the main landing. A short run of stairs branched off on either side of the landing, presumably to bedrooms and bathrooms, and likely much more. But it was the window that really grabbed her attention.

A large silver moon dominated a star strewn, indigo sky, riding above stylized waves fresh with white seafoam. Several shades of blue-greens and blues marked the descending depths, which towards the bottom became nearly as black as true night. A myriad of bright fish swam in the upper levels, along with several grey seals and tortoises; just beneath them dwelt jellyfish, porpoises, a few species of sharks, and a pod of orcas. In the darker regions below cruised manta rays and bright red octopi and freakishly long eels. Lurking the bottom was an ominous black sea serpent, outlined in the same silver that coloured the moon, so as to be visible. It’s eyes were large and cat-like—and possessed the monster’s only other color besides black and silver. Blue. A bright blue that felt impossible to belong to such a menacing creature. Why, even it’s deadly fangs and claws were silver.

Scarlett shivered at the sight, as though a goose had walked over her grave. For several heartbeats she was overcome with deja vu—for it put her in mind of her nightmares of unseen, but too oft-dreamt, foul beasties populating the Deep, laying in wait to steal her away if she ever tread too far from shore. Those terrors of her youth, which had only fully disappeared when she had tarried on the shores of the Aegean Sea during her Greek holiday. And had just recently returned to plague her briefly throughout those weeks that Hennessy had left her languishing for his attention. Still unaware that it was her ancient Selkie blood raising the alarm, she turned away—vowing that if…or when…she had cause to mount those stairs, she would avert her eyes from the troubling portion of the image, and focus solely on the moon and waves, the fish and sleek grey seals.

Hennessy looked back over his shoulder to make sure she hadn’t fallen behind, casually asking her, “Have you eaten?”

“Um…yes,” she replied quietly, not adding that she’d barely had an appetite in nervous anticipation of their evening together, “I assumed you didn’t invite me here for dinner…”

“That I did not,” he chuckled, stopping just outside a wide, open doorway to the left of the sprawling staircase, “But I think we could both use a bit of refreshment before the evening’s revelries begin.” He sketched a little bow, his handsome face become mischief personified, and motioned for Scarlett to proceed him into the room.

From the preponderance of leather and wood, she guessed this was his study. The room had a decidedly masculine air about it, with dark wood paneling all around and full bookcases lining two walls. With a quick glance, Scarlett noted a book of poetry by Dylan Thomas (which she would later discover was a first edition), well-weathered editions by Samuel Beckett and William Blake, and even a collection of works by her beloved Pablo Neruda. That was a surprise: she never would have imagined Hennessy reading any sort of romantic poetry, let alone the works that she knew populated that title. It certainly didn’t fit the image he presented to the world, let alone in the private moments they had shared thus far.

The wonderful smell of old, cherished books dominated the air and hints of cigar smoke lingered in the room. Scarlett also detected traces of Hennessy’s cologne underlying it all. A scent with notes of bright, clean citrus, mixed with amber and something that reminded her of an old cedarwood cabinet in her cottage back home, all tinged with a salty tang. Taken altogether, scents that evoked sure thoughts of the sea. Fittingly, a painting above the fireplace reinforced the aquatic feel---it depicted a ship with tattered sails wrecked upon a harsh outcropping of rocks, set against a backdrop of rough whitecaps and forked lightening. Several sirens, creatures out of myths and sea dreams, beckoned with outstretched arms to the unlucky sailors, trapping the unfortunate men between the treacherous waters and the beautiful peril of supernatural beings seeking to wreck their immortal souls.

Other smaller paintings hung throughout the room, all celebrating various aspects of the sea, including one that would easily become Scarlett’s favorite: silvery moonlight adorning the ripples and waves that washed up onto a white sand beach—which put her in mind of the warm, lovely waters of the Aegean, when she’d vacationed in Mykonos a few years ago.

A bar cart sat beside a leather divan adjacent to one of the bookcases, topped with cut crystal old fashioned glasses, a gleaming, sterling silver ice bucket, and a sealed bottle of Glenlivet 18 YO. Hennessy dropped several ice cubes into one of the rocks glasses, then cracked open the bottle of fine, Scottish-distilled whiskey, pouring first onto the rocks, and then straight up into a second glass. He turned to Scarlett, holding out the iced drink to her, “Care for a taste of home?

She stepped forward and silently took his offering, giving a small start at the brush of his cool fingertips against her skin at the transfer. A sudden rush of anticipation—and damned desire—bolted through her, betraying her resolve to appear aloof to his wicked charms for as long as she could manage. And of course he noticed, the Man never missed a trick; her quick intake of breath, the dilation of her pupils, enough to give her away.

Hennessy greeted her response with a satisfied half-smile and a knowing lift of his brow, clearly pleased with her quiet but visceral reaction. “It’s meant to take the edge of, darlin’…to help you relax a bit,” he winked, raising his glass, “Slainte mhath.” He took a long swallow, while never taking his eyes off her.

She hesitated in meeting the familiar toast, instead swirling the ice a bit, so that notes of rich cream and caramelized vanilla wafted up from the heady ramber fluid, while she wondered if there might have been something in the bottom of the glass, or even in the ice itself, before he’d poured the whiskey in. Closely considering if Hennessy would actually sink that low.

“Oh, Scarlett…my dear girl,” he t’sked, practically reading her mind, “Do you honestly think I’d want to dose you?” He feigned a look of hurt that soon melted into an indulgent smile, “We both know why you’re here tonight, and I wouldn’t dream of depriving you of fully experiencing the…festivities…” he bit his lower lip, daring her to answer.

“No,” she replied, almost to herself, letting her small overnight bag slip the floor, “No, I suppose you wouldn’t.” And then, wanting to prove herself up to whatever he had planned for them in the hours ahead, Scarlett lifted her glass and thickened her brogue for maximum effect, “Gu gaothan arda agus maighdeannan-mara!” fearlessly throwing back the full portion of whiskey he had given her. Unaccustomed to hard liquor, she had to give a little shake of her head to keep from gagging as the bite hit the back of her throat---but soon enough, she felt the velvet burn go down, and even better, the liquid courage radiating out from the pit of her stomach to even the tips of her fingers and toes.

Her boldness appeared to please him, which left Scarlett pleased as well---until she gave a wee, ladylike burp. He did a double take as she quietly excused herself, before he laughed heartily. “Good god, Scarlett, but you never fail to entertain!” To that, she could only shrug sheepishly, then give him a sweet, honest smile.

Hennessy downed the remainder of his own drink and set his glass down on the bar, before drawing his closest to her yet, so that she had to look up to maintain eye contact. Unconsciously, she parted her lips, readying herself for his kiss, but that was not his intention. Instead, he retrieved her tumbler and reached for her overnight bag, taking it to deposit on the divan, before he moved to refill both their glasses. Scarlett started to decline when he held it out to her, but he shook his head. “Take it, my dear,” he insisted, sounding kindly, but clearly expecting her to come to him at once, “’Twould be a cardinal sin to waste such good whiskey.”

Close up this way, his magnetism took over, reminding Scarlett there was very little chance she could withstand anything he would ask of her this night. She sipped at her whiskey, allowing herself to enjoy its woody-spiced flavor and slight taste of vanilla, it’s mounting warmth spreading relaxation through her veins. Hennessy was watching her keenly, biding his time as he polished off his portion.

When satisfied she had drunk enough, he put both their glasses aside, and turned to her with a soft smile, the request that followed completely unexpected. “Scarlett, would you take down your hair for me?” She blinked several times in surprise, so that he added gently, “Please, my dear. You don’t wear it down nearly enough.”

“As...as you wish...Professor.” His gaze felt like a slow, painless dissection, as though he was reckoning even her most secret details, thoughts, and desires. Scarlett inclined her head a bit, and pulled out the silver comb that secured her updo, along with several bobby pins, then shook her hair loose, fluffing the length out with her free hand.

She looked back up when Hennessy drew a whistling breath, to find he’d closed what little space had been left between them. “There you go, my good little lamb. Pretty as a picture.” He took her hand between his two, relieving her of the comb and pins, softly stroking the back of her hand with the fingertips of his free hand, then sliding them up to her elbow in a slow, deliberate tease. She closed her eyes, knowing that the seduction had truly begun.

Hennessy deposited her ornaments in his pocket, another trophy in his conquest, and with his hand still on her elbow, drew Scarlett to him. She raised her face, waiting for his kiss---though he delayed, threading the fingers of his other hand through her hair, then tracing the shell of her ear. Just kiss me, dammit, her mind cried out, kiss me please! She parted her lips once more, in anticipation.

“Prettier than any picture that I’ve seen in a very...long...time,” he murmured, then finally laid his lips on hers.

Of all the kisses he had yet bestowed upon her, this was the most patient. The most thorough too, for he knew he had all the time in the world. Scarlett’s instinct insisted that this was as much for his own sake as for hers---for though he certainly knew what this evening meant to her, and that what lovers she took for the rest of her life would ever be compared to him, he was actually about the entire experience, and not just the consummation that had been her promise to him from before they had shared a single touch. Hennessy savored her lips patiently, precisely because he knew she was already his---and surely because he had nothing to prove or anything further to gain.

When they broke the first time to catch a gasp of air, he leaned his forehead against hers, breathing just as hard as she was. It felt like forever to her as she waited for him to begin again, yet before he did, he cleared his throat, asking huskily, “Before we truly commence, little lamb, satisfy my curiosity please…”

“Anything,” she whispered. Anything for you, dearest man.

He puffed against her lips, amused, “Just what in God’s good English did you mean by that toast you made?”

Scarlett couldn’t help but smile, marveling that for once she had stumped him. “Man of the world…Master of all you survey…surely you can guess…”

“I haven’t a clue, Scarlett,” he practically growled, “And I’ll have all your secrets this night, one way or another.”

Of course you will, she thought, and brushed her lips to his, delivering the translation. “To high winds…and mermaids! Like a blessing—for an auspicious new endeavor.”

She felt the smile that graced his fulsome lips, as he told her, “My oh my…you are a true wonder, Scarlett.” Then he silenced any reply she might give by searing his mouth to hers. 🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊

Now these were, by far, the most alluring, the most delicious, most prized kisses of her young life, and Scarlett gave way most willingly, moment by moment, feeling as though Hennessy was slowly consuming her. He held her face in his hands when they started, and she had pressed hers to his chest, dependent on his strength to keep her knees from buckling. She panted for air when he withdrew his lips, and then heard the small, hungry sounds she made when he dipped his tongue back into her willing mouth.

When he noticed that one of her straps had slipped off her shoulder, his kissed his way down her throat and onto her bare skin. Scarlett hadn’t bothered to try and conceal the love bruises he’d given her that afternoon—she had only worn a lightweight scarf to cover them while in the taxi that had brought her here—and now Hennessy softly revisited those marks, as though in deference to their tenderness.

That was exactly the sort of thing that always set her off kilter. Scarlett was already well acquainted with how lustfully he pursued fulfillment of his appetites. And she’d discovered that such reckless, heedless behaviors made her want him all the more. Hennessy’s wicked proclivities were legion, ever waiting to surge up from his depths, and though she knew he had only shown her a fraction of those tendencies, what she had experienced thus far made her want to play his wanton. But when he was gentle, solicitous of her needs, mindful of her inexperience, it was her heart that became more deeply entangled in the spell her body had all but fully succumbed to. Scarlett had fallen hard, imperiling her tender heart beyond anything that Hennessy might visit upon her young, oh-so-willing body. Or so she still believed.

There was no resisting his pull upon her, nor the confidence and skill of his elegant hands as they slid across the fabric of her dress, cupping her breasts and later her bottom with the fervor that had her wishing he would just strip her bare already. Pressed tightly to him, Scarlett could feel his erection growing more swollen and was imagining what it would feel like to have him finally buried deep inside her.

Hennessy was kissing her throat, occasionally grazing her skin with his teeth, each time a surprise enough to make her gasp. With the latest, he brought his mouth to her ear, issuing a smooth command, “Come sit with me, little lamb.” Not giving her a moment to consider disobeying, he dragged her along to one of the leather wingback chairs that sat before the unlit hearth. “I’ve fancied sitting you on my lap for some time now, Scarlett,” he told her, and pulled her down onto him with enough force to elicit a breathy, surprised giggle from her. “Does this amuse you, my dear?”

She shrugged, bit her lip, and then averted her eyes coyly, “Oh, Professor...everything you do...is...is like nothing I’ve experienced before.” His silence bade her continue, so that she turned her widened eyes back his way, “You astonish me...again and again. And sometimes...sometimes you frighten me.” Scarlett felt her color rise once more, but would not flinch from her confession. “But most of all, you fascinate me, Sir...and make me want to drown in your desires.” She breathed out slowly, hanging upon his response.

He studied her closely, searching her truth--and finding not a speck of artifice in her admission, nodded, “You understand, sweet lambkin, that there is danger as much in my undertow as in my deep waters?” Scarlett nodded solemnly. “And that your innocence is no protection against this?”

“Oh yes,” she sighed, her skin atingle where he had spread one hand between her shoulder blades. “I’ve spent my life shirking risk and danger at every turn--but I want yours now more than anything I’ve ever wanted in my life.” With that she leaned in to kiss him, sealing her lips to his as fearlessly as she sealed her fate...

(to be continued)

tagging: @strangelock221b @letterstosherlock @ben-c-group-therapy @tsukuyomi011 @ravencatart @emilyinnj4real @humanbornarchangel @aziracraw @aeterna-auroral-avenger @adragonscloset @naughtynecromancer and @cinderella1181 so you can see a sample of what I’ve been working on lately

#my writing #Scarlett and the Professor #an alternate storyline to the RP thing #passion #lust #Scarlett Campbell #OFC #and an OMC #not my OMC and used with permission

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mpare5 · 7 years

Text

Enter darkened room…

Sit, face an eerie grass green iridescent set

Does it hint at where dead bunny will lay beneath?

For tis below the surface he arises

Hence the mayhem begins…

Opinionated Review

A cast so talented (and multi-charactered) they would be met with success from every school in the country – familiar with My Dead Bunny. A production so in-sync, so tight, so well-rehearsed there would be repeat theatre goers. The depth of talent is one well appreciated within the intimacy of such a personal space.

Director Timothy Wynn and Illustrator James Foley

Before the mayhem begins

From book to Play in Ipswich

Archie Horneman-Wren, as the boy, has a voice and a talent which will be noticed as he progresses within this career path. If he’s not noticed, then they be deaf and blind.

Left: Timothy Wynn (director), Archie (the boy) with bunny, and James Foley (Illustrator)

His Mum, Keziah Dos Santos (Zombie Trio/Joan/Fluffy) and his Dad, Will Boyd (Roadkill Bill/Willard the Worm/Samuel), spot on, as the overprotective parents who don’t believe their son’s concerns. They soon do, and hence you are instantly journeying with the trio. His sister, Indigo Macrokanis (Stan/Zombie Trio/Bellboy), fabulous, as one of those annoying, eye-rolling sisters who don’t give their brothers the time of day – until it is too late for her. Then she played Stan, one of the boy’s best friends, who later tangled with her zombie pet cat, Fluffy. I reiterate again, behold the depth of a multi-talented cast.

The infamous Bunny Brad as Gary Farmer-Trickett (Weyland the Worm) was so convincing that a young boy was sent crying – for alas his cute cuddly bunny had been replaced with a 6 foot grubby white, grass stained zombie bunny. I wasn’t far behind, but held onto my seat for it was threatening to leave without me. Jermia Turner (Zombie Trio/Doctor/Connie) as Billy, one of the boy’s best friends had a pet before becoming Roxanne, the zombie dog. And Narrator, Bradley Chapman, was the thread that pulled the front of stage seamlessly together.

The ‘behind the scenes’ creative talenteds have deftly adapted this book as a play. Playwrights Timothy Wynn (Director and Producer) and Cassandra Ramsay (Creative Producer) with music and lyrics by Lizzie Flynn are the stainless nut and bolts who have lifted the words from the page onto the stage. Further adding to their success is Assistant Director and Make-Up artist, Nick Smith, Stage Manager, Courtney Mayhew for without them the performers and stage would be a blank screen. Hence, Production Designer, Raymond Milner and Choreographer, Mara Glass have brought the set and characters to life. And without the Sound Designer, MSG and Instruments arranged and played by Alex Neil – you would hear nought.

It premiered at the Story Arts Festival Ipswich (SAFI) on 9 September, 2017.

This production is based on the book by Sigi Cohen and illustrator by James Foley. Adapted for the stage by playwrights Cassandra Ramsay and Timothy Wynn with music and lyrics by Lizzie Flynn.

It was a pleasure to see the cast and crew with illustrator James Foley as their opportunity for a shared camaraderie.

* I have added the information below for I believe it is not the last you will see of this talented cast, production team and crew.

By That Production Company

MY DEAD BUNNY A brand new hare-raising musical adventure!

Artistic Director Timothy Wynn

After his pet bunny Brad perishes in an electrifying accident, a young Boy struggles to say goodbye, but following a bizarre chain of events, it would seem that Bunny Brad’s journey isn’t quite over.

Odd odours, eerie earthworms, and strange shadows can only mean one thing – there’s an undead bunny going bump in the night. But with a cast of eccentric doctors, bizarre besties, creepy crawlies, peculiar parents, silly sisters, and ghoulish guests… defeating the undead may be a little tricky.

Delight in this new hare-raising musical adventure for the whole family bringing the creepy and hilarious picture book by Sigi Cohen and James Foley to life (in a deliciously zombie kind of way).

Created by THAT Production Company, the team behind the stage adaptations of The Tuckshop Kid and Eric Vale Epic Fail, this new premiere will thrill audiences of all ages.

You’ll be hopping mad if you miss out on this zombie rabbit tale – book now.

EVENT DETAILS Dates & Times: 7.30pm nightly + 11am & 2pm Sat 9 Sep Venue: Studio 188 (188 Brisbane St, Ipswich) Tickets: Adults $30, Concession/Youth (under30) $27, Child $20 Support THAT Pro Co and purchase a TPC Supporter Ticket: $100, includes cast recording & print program

Presented by THAT Production Company Premiering as part of the Story Arts Festival Ipswich (SAFI)Based on the book by Sigi Cohen and illustrated by James Foley published by Walker Books Australia Pty. Ltd Adapted for the stage by Cassandra Ramsay and Timothy Wynn with music and lyrics by Lizzie FlynnTHE CREATIVE TEAM: Follow us on Facebook to meet them all in the coming weeks!

CAST

The Boy – Archie Horneman-Wren Sister/Stan/Zombie Trio/Bellboy – Indigo Macrokanis Dad/Roadkill Bill/Willard the Worm/Samuel – Will Boyd Mum/Zombie Trio/Joan/Fluffy – Keziah Dos Santos Billy/Zombie Trio/Doctor/Connie – Jermia Turner Bunny Brad/Weyland the Worm – Gary Farmer-Trickett The Narrator – Bradley Chapman

CREATIVES

Director / Producer / Playwright: Timothy Wynn Creative Producer / Playwright: Cassandra Ramsay Assistant Director / Make-Up: Nick Smith Stage Manager: Courtney Mayhew Production Designer: Raymond Milner Choreographer: Mara Glass Sound Designer: MSG Songs and Lyrics by: Lizzie Flynn Instruments arranged and played by: Alex Neil

SUPPORTERS

Cast recording supported by the The Regional Arts Development Fund (RADF), a partnership between Queensland Government and Ipswich City Council to support local arts and culture in regional Queensland.

This production has received financial support via a community donation from Cr Andrew Antoniolli.

THAT Production Company would also like to thank the support of Walker Books Australia Pty Ltd.

Illustration by James Foley

Kid Friendly (not sure about this – for one child exited stage left distraught that cute, cuddly Bunny Brad was no longer – thus transformed into a… )

Over My Dead Bunny Enter darkened room... Sit, face an eerie grass green iridescent set Does it hint at where dead bunny will lay beneath?

#Australian Author #Australian illustrator #author #book #ipswich #james foley #music and lyrics by Lizzie Flynn.#my dead bunny #playwrights Cassandra Ramsay and Timothy Wynn #SAFI2017 #Sigi Cohen #that production company

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