#we had a water sommelier come to school once

[featherymalignancy]

CHAPTER TWO—In Vino Veritas: A Nessian Story

“In wine lies the truth”

Summary: Nesta Archeron is convinced she has everything she wants: a law degree from an ivy, a prestigious job, a gorgeous boyfriend, and excellent taste in wine. However, when she wanders into her local wine vendor and meets a handsome stranger unafraid to play her quick-witted games, she begins to wonder if the life she’s built is really the one she wants.

Cash Kahukore worked his entire adolescent life to become a sommelier, ignoring the slurs his mixed heritage have always earned him as he fought his way to the top. However, after five years abroad buying for Michelin star restaurants and dealing with rich white assholes, he’s grown bored with his life. When a gorgeous lawyer comes in to his uncle’s shop one afternoon, he immediately recognizes a worthy opponent in her. Undaunted by her sharp tongue and possessive boyfriend, he’s determined to be her friend, and—as time goes on and their circumstances change—possibly something more.

This a prequel to Navy Suits and Chelsea Boots that takes place three years before. If you love Elriel (and don’t mind finding out how this story ends) check it now.

And if you missed anything, check out the In Vino Veritas masterlist here!

Chapter Two: Ornellaia

A dinner party, Nesta repeated her herself as she drove. She’d had a dinner party. And it was true: she had had a dinner party. It wasn’t her fault that her friends had drank through half a case of the Cheval in a single evening. 

And it wasn’t as if she’d thrown the party just so she could have an excuse see Cassian again. It was just a coincidence. A...consequence of the dinner party. He couldn’t question her being back so soon when she had an explanation as logical as a dinner party.

Yes, this wasn’t about Cassian, she promised herself as she parked her car. This was about the dinner party. 

This in mind, Nesta only stole a quick glance in the mirror to make sure she didn’t look too harried before stepping out of the car. People had dinner parties all the time, she reminded herself as she strode to the door and threw it open. There was nothing strange about friends drinking wine at a dinner party.

She took a deep breath and stepped inside the Merchant of Vino to the tell-tale chime, her face smoothed of any telling emotion. A dinner party, she repeated to herself. A normal, boring dinner party.

Cash grinned when he saw her, and she straightened, adjusting the bag on her arm.

“There she is,” he said, straightening from where he’d been leaning over the bar organizing open bottles in the well. “Back so soon?”

“I had a dinner party,” she said breezily. “And my friends are big drinkers.”

He raised his eyebrows, and she tried to ignore how good he looked with his with his hair half-up and half-down. It was longer than she’d first thought, nearly brushing the collar of his T-shirt, and good lord did it suit him. 

He smirked and made to comment, either on her dinner party or her assessment of him, but she sidestepped any further questions by looking him up and down and offering, “didn’t have you pegged as a guy who wore joggers.”

She gestured to the fitted track pants he wore, and he laughed. 

“A consequence of too much time in England, I’m afraid,” he said, returning to his task. “You either die a hero or live long enough to see yourself become a chav.”

She bit back her assurance that they looked good on him, not wanting to muddy the waters. 

Still, she couldn’t help going a bit slack-jawed as he continued organizing. The way the dark cotton hugged his toned backside was one shade of grey off from being downright indecent, and God forgive her, Nesta was here for it. 

She glanced away as he straightened, pretending to be studying the new banquet table that now adorned the space. 

“This is beautiful,” she said, trailing around it to get a better look. When she noticed the elegant M insignia branded into one corner she turned, incredulous. 

“Is this a Macar?”

Given her love of beautiful and expensive things, Nesta made it her business to stay current on the hottest trends in food, fashion, and design, and right now, there was no one more adored in the design world than Azriel Macar. 

He owned a studio out of LA, and despite being under thirty, he was already the darling of the taste-making elite. He’d been compared to icons like Ray Eames and Mies Van der Rohe, and a Vanity Fair article Nesta’d recently read had hailed him “The Future of Furniture.” 

He was also—like any good icon—seemingly spotlight-adverse, and given how young and handsome he was, his elusiveness only seemed to add to his cache. Still, whether his talent or his brooding charm, his designs were white-hot, and owning an original had grown virtually impossible.

Cash looked up, smiling. 

“You have a good eye.”

“Where did you get this?” Nesta said, still admiring the way the table’s grain flowed in elegant patterns across its surface. “The last I heard, the waitlist for a piece was two years long, and even then it was only celebrities and hedgefund managers.”

Cash turned and smirked. 

“I have my ways.”

Nesta pursed her lips, and he laughed. 

“Az and I—go way back. He made me that special so I can finally start hosting tasting in here. I love Dev, but he wouldn’t know a good business opportunity if it slapped him on the ass and rode him to Hong Kong.”

Nesta was too surprised too laugh.

“You’re friends with Azriel Macar? Curiouser and curiouser.”

Cash laughed. 

“Don’t feed the legend, please. The last thing this world needs is Az with an ego. And I wouldn’t say friends, exactly. More like brothers. We’ve known each other forever.” Cash huffed another laugh. “Hell, I’ve known him since he was still Azriel Machlan.”

As soon as he said it, he winced.

“Fuck, please don’t repeat that. Az would be devastated if it got out.”

Nesta was dying to ask more questions, but hearing the slight desperation in his voice, she decided not to push. Instead she nodded and locked her lips, moving from the table to study a map of the Napa valley on the wall.

She could feel his gaze as he studied her in profile, and she couldn’t decide if she wanted to snap at him or bask a little longer under its warmth. 

After a beat she turned to face him, expecting him to look away. Men, she found, were generally adverse to maintaining direct eye contact with her. It’s their color, a male colleague had once explained. I swear, one look from you is cold enough to freeze my balls off.

Cash, however, didn’t blink. Feeling off-kilter, Nesta pursed her lips, though she refused to break contact.

“What?” She demanded. “Why are you staring at me?”

“Technically you’re also staring at me,” he said, and she could see his grin in the way his eyes crinkled. “Not that I blame you.”

Nesta rolled her eyes, finally breaking the connection.

“You’re insufferable.”

He chuckled.

“I’ve been called worse. I was just about to open a bottle from Tuscany one of my reps dropped off. Can I tempt you?”

His tone was light, but he couldn’t quite disguise the heat in his gaze as he glanced at her again. However, it faded just as quickly, and Nesta found herself wondering if she’d imagined it. 

“I told you I’m not a fan of the Old World stuff,” she said, even as she took a seat.

“I thought we’d gotten past that with the Cheval! You were in love and we both know it.”

He grinned, and she had to savagely fend off a flush. 

“Stopped watch is still right twice a day,” she sniffed. 

He gave a velvety laugh born low in his throat.

“You’re never going to make it easy, are you, Archeron?”

“Not my style.”

He bit his lip and grinned before pulling the band from his hair and re-tying it up and away from his face.

“Fine. Get your pencil out, then. I’m taking you to school.”

She rolled her eyes to keep from smiling. 

“Don’t hold your breath.”

He laughed, leaning over the counter slightly. She could smell the crisp scent of sage from the soap he used, and she tried to ignore how nice it was. 

“That’s rich, coming from the woman practically climaxed from one sip of a French red.”

She should be annoyed—insulted, even—but she found she couldn’t fend off a smile this time. He grinned at seeing her reaction, raising his brows.

“Looks like I know more about women than you thought.”

“Shut up and pour the damn wine.”

“Hang on,” he said, grabbing the bottle that had been sitting on counter and heading towards the back. 

“Where are you going?”

He smirked over his shoulder. 

“To get the big guns. I know what it takes to impress you.”

He reappeared with a different bottle, presenting it to her as if they were in a fine-dining restaurant. 

“2015 Ornellaia Bordeaux from Tuscany. This stuff is always amazing, but 2015 was the perfect harvest year. The fruit and balsamic notes come through with such clarity, and it’s incredibly silky on the tongue.”

He paused to glance up at her, expression slightly wicked. She rolled her eyes. 

“You know your tawdry innuendos are wasted on me.”

He laughed. 

“Sorry, force of habit. You ready?”

He pulled a wine key inlaid with turquoise from his back pocket and removed the cork in four elegant twists. 

“Show off,” she said, and he grinned. 

“Admit it, you’re impressed.”

“Maybe a little.”

“And slightly turned on?”

Something bright and effervescent bubbled in her stomach as he grinned at her. However, when she thought of Tomás would say if he could see her right now, the feeling curdled.

“You know I’m not afraid to slap you,” she said, finding with surprise she didn’t want to ruin the moment even though I knew she should be reestablishing  firm boundaries. 

“Don’t tempt me with a good time. Okay, in a perfect world we’d let this breathe a little more, but I’m going to assume you don’t have two hours to spare.”

He poured her a measure, and she held it up to admire the color before taking a sip. It was tannic and slightly sharp on the front end, but the mineral flavor quickly gave way to rich fruit and—just as he’d said—an incredibly smooth finish.

“That’s—“ she broke off, laughing as she admired her glass. “You really are good at this.”

He raised his eyebrows with a smirk.

“It’s almost like it’s my job.”

He took a sip and let his eyes flutter shut as he held it on his tongue, and it was beautiful in the way only pure enjoyment could be.

“In England, you were a somm?”

He nodded. 

“London.”

“Why did you leave?”

“When you love something, doing it for a living gets...tricky. I liked being able to teach people about wine, but there’s only so much rich douchbaggery a person can endure before the damage to their psyche is irreversible. Basically it was come back or turn into a douchebag myself.”

She gave an obliging nod.

“Seems prudent.”

“What about you?” he said, studying her with scrutiny. “I’m going to guess...lawyer.”

She rolled her eyes. 

“Don’t pretend you just pulled that out of thin air.”

He laughed.

“How else would I have known?”

Her heart thumped in her chest as she debated calling his bluff. If she was wrong, she’d look foolish, which is obviously hated doing. And if she was right...

“Maybe you asked your uncle about me. He knows I’m an attorney.”

Cash considered this before taking another thoughtful sip. 

“Would you be angry if I had?”

“Depends on what you wanted to know.”

He shrugged. 

“Nothing I hope you wouldn’t tell me yourself. Unless being a lawyer is a CIA cover, and you don’t like people looking too closely?”

She laughed. She wasn’t sure what to make of his admission or—more importantly—what she wanted it to mean.

“No intrigue, I’m afraid. I’m just a boring lawyer.”

He shrugged again, but he was smiling now, much of the tension melting from his shoulders.

“That’s exactly what a spy would say. And you did threaten to disembowel me with your shoe...be honest, am I on the right track?”

She leaned forward, dropping her voice. 

“Stop asking questions that could get you killed.”

He laughed. A big, genuine laugh that warmed her from the inside out. She’d often be called smart, or sharp-tongued, or witty, but no one had ever thought to tell her she was funny. No one but her sisters, and even then she worried they were just trying to make her feel better. Cash though—he didn’t know her. He had no reason to pretend. She knew it was girlish and naive to be charmed by that, but she found she couldn’t quite help it.

“Alright,” he said. “Enough messing around. Admit you love this wine so I can start my gloating.”

“I never said I loved it,” she said, taking another prim sip. 

Cash gave a look of theatrical dismay.

“You hate it. Fuck, I knew it. I’m so sorry, let me just—“

He reached for her glass as if to pour it out, and she quickly snatched it out of his reach.

“I never said I didn’t!” She clarified, batting his hand away.

“Such a lawyer’s response. C’mon, Archeron, don’t be stingy!”

“Fine,” she said, giving an imperious sniff. “I...like it.”

Cash grinned, leaning forward again. 

“Now admit you like me.”

She opened her mouth to choke out a retort before her phone began ringing. 

It was Tomás. 

She glanced at the glass Cash was refilling for her and debated letting it go to voicemail. She knew she couldn’t, though; it would just lead to more trouble. 

Flashing Cash an apologetic look, she picked it up.

“Carinho,” she said, flipping into Portuguese to avoid Cash’s overhearing. “How was your day?”

“Where are you, my love?” Tomás said. “I just got home and you’re not here.”

“I had to stay at work,” Nesta said, the lie slipping out before she could stop it. “I’m sorry.”

“You never mentioned that you’d be out late,” Tomas said, and Nesta could hear the annoyance in his voice. “I expected to see you when I got home. How much longer?”

Nesta glanced at her full glass and then at Cash, who’d gone about cleaning the worn bar top.

“An hour,” she said. 

“We agreed you’d stop doing this. Last night you were out with your sister until almost ten.”

She fought down a searing stab of frustration. It wasn’t often that Elain could get away to come see her, and Tomás always threw a fit when she went down to Palo Alto for more than a day. 

“I’ll be home as soon as I can,“ she said, gentling her tone. “I love you.”

“No later than eight, querida. I’m setting a timer.”

“I’ll see you then,” she said, ending the call before he could say anything more.

What was she doing? She knew what kind of mood Tomás would likely be in when she got home, and if he ever found out the truth, he would be livid. It was dangerous game, and one she couldn’t for the life of her figure out why she was still playing. 

Nesta put away her phone before looking up to find Cash watching her, eyes hard. 

“What?” She snapped, voice thinner than she would have liked. 

Cash’s frown softened, though his expression remained uncharacteristically grave.

“You don’t have to lie to him,” he said in a soft voice. “You aren’t doing anything wrong.”

Nesta felt her heart drop into her stomach.

 “You speak Portuguese.”

Cash frowned again as if deciding whether he wanted to press the issue. He eventually settled for shrugging.

“My mom was Brazilian. I was born in Forteleza and lived there until I was twelve.”

Nesta didn’t have to ask what had changed. She felt the familiar ache swelling in her chest, and she nodded, wishing she knew how to comfort him the way he’d comforted her. Instead she forged on. 

“Where did you go after that?”

“To live with my dad’s family in Hawai’i. He died before I was born, but my grandmother was there. I went to stay with her.”

“How long has your family lived there?”

He gave a puzzled frown. 

“What do you mean?”

Nesta felt her tongue fizzing the way it often did before she said something she terrible before she blurted, “Aren’t you Māori? I would have thought you family would have been in New Zealand.”

He gave a humorless laugh and crossed his arms. “Am I supposed to be charmed by the fact you know there’s a difference? Forgive me, I left your ‘Woke White Woman’ trophy at home.”

“I didn’t—“ she broke off, glancing down before looking back at him. “I’m sorry if that was insensitive. I didn’t mean to offend you.”

He considered this, expression still wary. 

“I’m not to give you a pat on the back for every brown-person cultural detail you manage to force into the conversation just so you can feel better about your white guilt.”

“I’m not asking you to,” she said. “But I am sorry. I—won’t do it again.”

“I won’t hold my breath on that,” he said. 

When he looked away, she dared to brush his forearm with the very tips of her fingers. 

“Cash, I’m sorry.”

His skin was warm and surprisingly soft, and she could feel the muscles beneath flex at her touch.

When he seemed to relax, she quickly let her hand drop.

“How did you even know?” He paused, narrowing his brows. “And if you mention either Jason Momoa or The Rock, I’m throwing you out.”

She opened her mouth to point out that neither of them was Māori before quickly shutting it, knowing it would only make things worse. She’d always had a pathological need to prove how much she knew, but after the rebuke she’d very fairly earned, she knew the conversation couldn’t withstand much more strain. 

“Your tattoos,” she said, fighting off the urge to tell him how beautiful they were. She didn’t think he’d be particularly charmed by that comment, either. 

He rolled his eyes at her response, though the tension seemed to have melted from his shoulders. 

“I’ll ignore the fetishistic implications of that, but only because I happen to enjoy the way you ogle me every time you think I’m not looking.” 

She made to object, but he was already forging ahead. 

“And to answer your question, yes, both my grandparents are from Waitomo. But my grandfather was a bad dude, so grandmother took her boys and moved to Hawai’i to get away from him. I know it killed her to leave, but she felt like she didn’t have her choice.”

He heaved a soft sigh.

“She made it work, though. She’s very proud of her culture, and she made sure we never forgot where we’d come from. Still,  she was always very respectful of my mother’s heritage as well. She insisted I keep up speaking Portuguese so I wouldn’t lose the language when I got older. I admit I don’t speak it very often anymore, but thanks to her, I’m still fluent.”

 “She sounds like an incredible woman,” Nesta said.

“She is,” Cash agreed, a grin forming as he paused. “Man, she would like you.”

Nesta flushed and looked away. She already felt guilty for lying to Tomás; she shouldn’t push it anymore than she already had. 

Cash seemed to note her unease because he leaned back, crossing his arms.

“What about you?”

“What about me?”

“You said you had two sisters. What are they like?”

She considered this for a moment, and he laughed, shaking his head. 

“C’mon, Archeron. You owe me something after your little white knight routine.”

Nesta gave a begrudging nod and pulled out her phone to show him a recent picture.

“This is Elain. She’s my academic. Perfect score on her SAT and a full-ride to Stanford. She’s already looking at going to grad school at Yale. I swear, she’s going to change the face of scholarship one day.”

She paused to study the smile on Elain’s face in the photo before pointing to her youngest sister. 

“That’s Feyre. She’s my artist. She starting at Berkeley next month, and she’s definitely going to be famous; her work is incredible. She’s also my workhorse. I’ve never seen anyone put their shoulder to the wheel quite like she does. It’s so great to watch.”

She glanced up to find Cash studying her, all the contempt for her early indiscretion melted from his face. 

“Your folks died when you were young, then.”

Nesta shifted in her seat. “How did you know?”

“Because you talk about your sisters like they’re your kids.”

She glanced down into her glass before extending it for him to refill and beginning to speak. 

“I was sixteen when my parents died, but Ellie and Fey were still little; twelve and ten. My aunt and uncle were technically our legal guardians, but they were Sacramento. I didn’t want to uproot my sisters from their lives on top of everything else, so I convinced them I could handle it.”

She paused, watching the wine as it eddied in her glass. 

“The house was already paid off, and I had enough money from the life insurance payouts, so I just—made it work. I had loads of help from neighbors and family friends, and when it came time to go to college, I went to Stanford so I could still live at home with them. By the time I left for law school, Elain was in college herself, and Feyre was at art school in Boston, so I could still keep an eye on her.”

“Harvard.”

“Excuse me?”

Cash smiled. 

“I assume that was you way of making sure I knew you went to Harvard Law School.”

She curled her lip.

“I’d rather die.”

He laughed. 

“Yale, then.”

She shrugged, making him smile.

“I bet they idolize you.”

Nesta shrugged again.

“Elain, maybe. She was also the easy one. Feyre was a lot more headstrong. We mixed it up pretty hard when she was in high school. I got a call once that she’d been caught with weed in her dorm room, and I drove two hours up to Boston to yell at her in front of all her friends before I took her iPhone away. I think she hated me for a solid year after that.”

“How about now?”

Nesta smiled.

“Now we’re...good. She’s grown up a lot in the past two years, and she’s always been such a sweet, giving person. She’s still a little boy-crazier than I’d like, though.” She paused to give him an assessing look. “She would be all over a guy like you.”

Cash flashed a self-satisfied smirk, and she pursed her lips, pointing a finger in his direction. 

“Don’t even think about it.”

Cash snorted.

“High school seniors aren’t my type,” he said, eyes glittering as they flitted over her again.

She flushed, even as she wrestled the question of what his type actually was off her tongue. It was none of her business, and besides, she wasn’t sure she was ready to hear the answer.

“Still,” Cash said. “I bet we would get along. I was something of a renegade myself in my younger days.”

“I can only imagine. Though I don’t get the sense that your grandmother was one to suffer much bullshit from you.”

“She was not. One time in high school she caught me with a girl in my bed, and she dragged me buck-ass naked into the kitchen and lectured me for twenty minutes about respecting women and teenage parenthood. I had to just stand there with my junk in my hands while she screamed. I’m pretty sure everyone in the neighborhood heard her.”

Nesta couldn’t help it; she laughed. She laughed so hard that she had to set down her glass to keep from spilling on herself, and after a while Cash joined in.

“It wasn’t funny,” he said, still laughing. “I think she gave me a complex. I didn’t have sex again until I was like twenty!”

When she’s finally mastered herself, Nesta made to ask him for more stories before her phone started ringing again and her heart sank into her gut.

It was Tomás. Fuck, had it really been an hour already?

“I have to go,” she said hastily. “Thank you for the wine. It was excellent.”

“Take it with you,” he offered. 

She glanced down at the bottle then up at him, biting her lip.

“I can’t come home with that,” she admitted in a quiet voice, and his face tightened.

“Are you afraid of him?”

“Of course not,” she said automatically. “I just—he gets upset.”

Cash crossed his arms, and she was suddenly aware of how big he actually was. Normally that might have made her nervous, but with Cash... 

“What does he have to be upset about?” Cash demanded. “You’re allowed to have a life.”

“I have to go,” she said, ignoring his searing but plaintive expression. “I’ll—see you.”

“Nesta—“ Cash protested, but she was already hurrying to the door, redialing the phone and praying Tomás would be in an obliging mood when she got home. 

———————————————-

It had been three weeks since Nesta had come by the shop, and Cash was about ready to jump out of his skin. Honestly, it was getting sort of pathetic. He found himself perking up ever time the bell chimed, and getting quietly annoyed when he realized it wasn’t her.

He knew it was ridiculous for him to pine after a woman he barely knew, but he couldn’t help it. She was so damn smart, and her eyes, and that laugh—he’d gone weak-kneed when he’d first heard it, and now it was all he could think about. 

Fuck. Why did she have to a have a boyfriend, and why, on top of everything else, did he have to be a huge prick?

Cash groaned. He needed a drink. He was in the back room deliberating what he was in the mood for when the bell chimed, and he forced himself not to get excited. It was Saturday; so far as he could tell, Nesta only ever stopped by after work. However, his heart sped up when he glanced at the security monitor.

It was Nesta, wearing a trendy sweatshirt and a pair of yoga pants he swore might be the death of him. Goddamn did she have a gorgeous ass.  Hastily checking his reflection in one of the glass panels of the white cellar, he strolled into the front of the shop, smirking.

“Be honest,” he said, trying to sound casual. “Are you stalking me? 

Nesta pulled off her sunglasses and gave him a withering look, but there was no heat behind it.

“You wish,” she said, flicking her long braid over her shoulder. Cash tracked the gesture keenly, fascinated by the fluid grace in the way she moved.  

“Maybe I do,” he admitted. “Alright, what will it be today? I just got a Shiraz in from Brisbane yesterday that I think you’ll love.”

Truth be told, he’d ordered the Shiraz specifically to impress her. She didn’t need to know that, though.

“I’m actually looking for a German Riesling,” she said, setting down her bag and sitting on the new table. 

An image of fucking her on top of it flashed through his mind, and he cursed himself for being a swine before giving her a playful frown.

“Have you been body snatched?”

“Ha-ha,” she said, rolling her eyes.  “It’s not for me. My sister asked me to pick it up for her.”

Cash smirked, crossing his arms.

“A likely story.”

Nesta pulled out her phone and put it on speaker, and a second later a sweet, lilting voice spilled out.

“Hey Nes, it’s Ellie! Will you do me a huge favor? I’m meeting Gray’s parents for the first time tonight and I forgot to get his mom something. Can stop by that wine shop you always go to in North Beach and get me a bottle of nice Riesling? I promise to pay you back! Love youuuuu.”

“Who’s Gray?”

Nesta rolled her eyes.

“Graysen. He’s Elain’s idiotic boyfriend. Don’t even get me started.”

Cash was tempted to point out that Nesta wasn’t in any real position to be judging unworthy boyfriends, but he kept his mouth shut. He was too excited to see her to risk insulting her and having her leave.

“Fair enough. Alright, come to the back. I’ll see what we have.”

Nesta hesitated, glancing at the door marked “Employees Only”. 

“Devlon won’t mind?”

Cash laughed, warmed by her concern for shop protocol.

“Why would he? You’re not planning on robbing the place, are you?”

“I could be,” she said, sliding to her feet. “You don’t know.”

“I think I can take you if it comes to that.”

Nesta pursed her lips.

“Please. I could totally bring you to your knees if I wanted.”

Oh, that he didn’t doubt. In fact, he was in danger of her doing it right now. It had been one thing seeing her all dressed up for work; it was something else entirely to see her so casual. It felt—intimate, somehow, like he was getting a glimpse behind to curtain into who she was when no one else was looking. It was honestly intoxicating.

“I will take that under advisement,” he said, gesturing for her to go ahead of him.

She nodded and did as she was bid, her eyes widening when he took her into the back. 

“This is amazing,” she said. “I had no idea there was so much room back here!” She wandered in between crates and peered into cabinets, eyes alight with curiosity.

“Like you said,” he offered, trailing after her. “I’m full of secrets.”

She turned to flash him a little smirk over her shoulder, and he almost tripped over a crate. If he thought seeing her perched on the table was distracting, this was much, much worse. 

“This way,” he said, leading her to the chilled white cellar and holding open the glass door. 

She stepped inside and he followed behind her. The space was tighter than he’d ever realized, and she a lot shorter. He supposed he was used to seeing her in stilletos, or sitting down. In the Nike trainers she currently wore, she barely reached his shoulder. 

“Right,” he said, inching out from behind her to lean on the nearest case. He didn’t want to feel like he was towering over her. “First things first: let’s talk price point. If she’s a college student I’m going to assume she’s broke, so let’s start around twenty dollars. I wouldn’t say we can go much lower than that.”

Nesta smirked, folding her arms across her chest. 

“I’m thinking more like two hundred. Do you have anything in that range?”

Cash laughed. 

“I do, but maybe you should run that by your sister first. Or is this some sort of usury scheme where you put her on a payment plan and charge her fifteen percent interest?”

Nesta scoffed, studying her nails self-importantly.

“Graysen is completely average in all things but his dad’s money, but he’s still decided that makes him special. Unfortunately, Elain rarely allows me to dress him down on this score, so I take my shots where I can get them.”

She shrugged. 

“He’s expecting her to come with a twenty dollar bottle he can use it to mansplain what makes a real Riesling, so I’ll give her a two hundred dollar bottle instead. She’s a hero, he looks like an uneducated jackass in front of his own parents, and everyone wins.”

“Except Graysen,” Cash said, laughing.

Nesta flashed a tight smile. 

“Exactly. I can hardly think of a better use of my money.”

“Devious, but charming. Alright, I’ll play. Do you know what they’re serving for dinner?”

“No idea. I’ll call her.”

His heart thumped a little harder. She was obviously very protective of her sisters; it felt significant that she’d him in on their private affairs.

Elain answered on the second ring.

“Hi baby,” Nesta said, her voice gentler than Cash had ever heard it. “I’m at Merchant right now picking out a wine. Do you know what Graysen’s mom is serving for dinner?”

“I don’t know,” Elain said. “But Gray said that the usually drink the white before dinner. Does that help?”

Nesta glanced at Cash, and he nodded. 

“Is the younger guy working today?” Elain asked before Nesta could continue. “Claire went in there after the party because she loved that wine you had so much, and she said he’s insanely hot.”

Cash felt something warm pool in his low belly as Nesta grit her teeth, cheeks pinking.

“You’re on speaker, El.”

“Oh fuck!” Elain said, her voice still sing-song. “My bad. Tell him—“

“I have to go,” Nesta interrupted. “Text me when you’re close and I’ll meet you at the house.”

She hung up and made a great show of putting her phone back in her purse as Cash watched her, grinning.

“You told your sister I was hot?”

Her gaze snapped to him, eyes blazing. They were the most gorgeous artic blue, and he wanted to tip into them until her drowned. 

“Our friend Claire Beddor told my sister you were hot,” Nesta corrected archly. 

Her tone was sharp, but somehow he could tell it wasn’t directed at him. He didn’t dare hope it was because she was jealous. 

“Reddish hair?” Cash asked. “Yeah, I remember her. She was sort of making me glad I was behind the counter. She kept giving me a look like she wanted to have her wicked way with me.”

Nesta tried to keep frowning, but he could see the smile she was wrestling off her face. 

“Crazy’s not my type either,” he said. “Just in case you were wondering.”

“I wasn’t,” she snapped, frowning again. “Who you choose to philander with is your own affair.”

He laughed to hide his disappointment. 

“Philander?” He pressed instead. “Is that what you think I do?”

All the playfulness had bled from her expression when she turned to him again. In fact, she looked almost sad. 

“I don’t care what you do, Cash,” she said quietly. “It’s none of my business.”

He felt his heart sink, even though he didn’t know why. He knew she had a boyfriend. They might flirt, but at the end of the day it was clear she wanted nothing more from him than that. He needed to accept it and move on. 

“Can we just pick something?” She said, voice softer now. “I’m getting chilly.”

“Of course,” he said, clearing his throat. “Alright, a riesling worthy of humiliation. Let me see.”

He scanned the case before pulling out a bottle and showing her. 

“This is a great one out of Austria. ‘97 vintage aged in their casks then bottled in 2014, so it’s had time to develop. It is honestly a perfect sipping wine. It has—and this is a technical term—a fuckton of sugar in it, but there’s enough acidity that it’s gorgeous and refreshing instead of saccharine. I’m not really one for riesling, but if I was, this is what I’d choose to drink. I promise this will blow them away. If you like this type of wine, there is literally nothing bad you could say about the Vinothek.”

She gave an approving nod before opening her mouth. He cut her off with a laugh. 

“And yes, Nesta, it’s suitably expensive.”

She gave a begrudging laugh as well. 

“Fine, I’m sold.” 

He nodded, leading her back to the tasting room. 

“You want to try it and see what I’m talking about? I don’t have this exact thing open, but I have something similar.”

She wrinkled her nose. 

“No, thank you. I’ll just take your word for it.”

“Right,” he said, turning to the computer to hide is disappointment. He really didn’t want this be over, but he’d run out of excuses to keep her there. 

“But I will try that Shiraz you mentioned.”

He grinned, turning back to face her. 

“I knew it,” he said. “I’ve won you over.”

“Hardly,” she sniffed. “But I have a theory that you’re only good with Old World wines. I want to see if I’m right.”

“Oh ye of little faith. Aren’t you tired of me proving you wrong?”

“Not yet,” she admitted, and there was something sincere in her tone that tugged at him. 

“Very well. It’s good for my ego, anyway. This,” he said, opening with bottle with ease and pouring her a measure, “honestly flirts with perfection. It’s dark and mysterious without being too heavy, and how they’ve managed to cram so many flavors in there without having them compete still boggles my mind. If you thought you liked the stuff Far Niente makes, you are going to die over this. It’s like Nickel and Nickel’s hotter, smarter, more polished older sister.”

Nesta took a sip, and Cash swore her eyes rolled back in her head. It was so hot he had to look away for a second. Nesta clearly had an educated palette, and watching her enjoy a wine the way it was meant to be enjoyed was so sexy he could hardly stand it. 

“Fuck,” she breathed, eyes still closed. “That might be better than sex.”

Oh sweet Jesus. Of all the things he’d expected her to say, that was not it. He fought not to groan as his jeans got a little tighter. 

“Sorry,” she said immediately, eyes fluttering open. “I didn’t—that was inappropriate. I just—“ she cleared her throat and down into her glass. “Yes, that is incredible.”

He smirked, forcing himself not to say any of the things he was thinking. She was clearly embarrassed, and much as he was dying to push the issue, he didn’t want her to clam up, or worse, leave altogether.

“Pleased you like it, despite knowing that you obviously would.”

He grinned, and she rolled her eyes, some of her characteristic vitriol limning her features. 

“Are you this insufferable with all your customers, or is it just me?”

“Most of my customers don’t make a point of trying to undermine my talent, so I find I rarely have cause to use it except with you.”

She snorted, taking another sip. 

“Please. Men like you need women like me.”

He couldn’t hold back a laugh. 

“Okay, I’ll bite: why do men like me need women like you?”

She arched brow at him, lips curving up in one corner to form an imperious smirk. It made her look both seductive and sinister, like villainess from a Disney movie. He wasn’t sure what it said about his taste in women, but he found it was really sort of turning him on.

“Because an unchecked male ego is like a landslide; it gathers speed quickly and leaves a mess in its wake. The world doesn’t have time to waste clearing your boulder-sized bullshit from the path of progress.”

Cash grinned, leaning his forearms on the counter. 

“Doesn’t that mean women like you also need men like me? You can’t keep a tongue sharp if you don’t have something rough to sharpen it against.”

She considered, eyes glittering. She was so beautiful it was almost hard to look at her.

“Women like me don’t need anything.”

“Everyone needs something, Archeron.”

She considered, eyes skating across his face. 

“I have everything I want,” she said in a soft voice. 

He studied her rigid posture and tight expression before quietly asking, “You sure about that, sweetheart?”

She looked away, huffing. He knew he’d hit a nerve about her shitty boyfriend, and he couldn’t decide if he felt validated or guilty. 

“You’re incorrigible,” she deflected, twirling her glass between elegant fingers. 

“And you,” he said, forcing himself to smile again. “Are a very worthy sparring partner. It’s highly entertaining, if slightly terrifying.”

At this she seemed to relax a little, drumming her long nails on the counter.

“You’re—adequate as well.”

He rolled his eyes. 

“I suppose that’s the best I can expect from you, so I’ll take it. Thank you.”

“Don’t be needy,” she said. “It’s not a flattering shade on you.”

“Ah,” he said. “So you admit that arrogance suits me better! I knew I’d catch you in a contradiction sooner or later.”

“Maybe you should have been a lawyer,” she sniped, but she was smiling now. “You seem to love arguing.”

“I wouldn’t have the colhões to go up against someone like you in court.”

She laughed this time, and his heartrate picked up. If he could, he’d bottle the sound and sell it. It would him a make a fortune, it was so lovely. 

“Alright,” she said, sliding off her stool. “I should go so I can meet Elain. Do you have a case of that Shiraz?”

“I do,” he said. “But only if you promise you won’t serve it at your next dinner party.”

She smirked. 

“Afraid my friend Claire will come after you again?”

“Honestly, yes.”

She laughed again, a little harder this time, and he couldn’t help grinning. However, when he wondered if her boyfriend ever made her laugh like that, he found his joy dimming a little. 

“And no freebies this time,” she called as he trailed into the back. “I’m not above tattling in your to Devlon.”

He laughed as he returned, grudgingly accepting her card and ringing her up. 

It wasn’t that he thought she needed the charity—though he did always feel guilty when a customer had a total with a comma in it—so much as he hated admitting their relationship was transactional. 

When she wasn’t paying, it was easier to pretend they were just friends, and that she’d come for his company as much as the wine. It was a lot harder to do when she was handing him an American Express Black Card. 

She didn’t object as he carried the case out to her car, watching him without comment as he heaved it into her trunk. And sure, maybe he’d been flexing more than was absolutely necessary, but when she was looking at him like that, he couldn’t help it. 

“Thank you,” she said. “For being complicit in my scheme to ruin a nineteen-year-old’s evening.”

He laughed.

“Happy to help...I think.”

“You are,” she said confidently, putting the Riesling in the passenger seat. “You loved it.”

“Yeah,” he admitted quietly. “Of course I did.”

She looked a little alarmed as she swung back to face him. 

“Cassian—“

“Take care of yourself, Nes,” he said, knowing he needed to leave before he said something he couldn’t take back. “I’ll see you soon.”

“Yes,” she said, regaining her composure and giving him a terse smile. “I’ll see you.”

He listened to the sound of the engine as she started the car and drove away, and he prayed it wouldn’t be another three weeks before he saw her again. 

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[thepropertylovers]

Our First Cruise Together

We recently got back from our first ever trip out of the country together and wow. Wow. Wow. Wow. That’s pretty much all we can say about it. Wait, no, that’s not right. We have a lot to say about it! Those are just the first words that come to mind. There’s more, though!

We went on a Caribbean cruise with our good friends Beau & Matt from ProbablyThis and had a blast. Celebrity Cruises was kind enough to host us on board the Equinox for a seven day cruise (be sure to check out the hashtags #sweetheartsatsea for some fun photos!) where we visited San Juan, St. Maarten, and St. Kitts – three of the most beautiful old cities and beaches we’ve ever been to. The old cobblestone streets of San Juan had us feeling nostalgic for a time and place we’d never been to before. The beaches of St. Maarten and St. Kitts were breathtakingly gorgeous. Why did we wait so long to go to the Caribbean?

First, the ship itself is so cool. It’s ginormous and has everything you can think of on board and more. It has a movie theater, a casino, a library, multiple bars and restaurants, a café, a cafeteria, an indoor and outdoor swimming pool, a gym and spa, and even a grass lawn on the top of the ship. The cafeteria is open until midnight, so you know we were snacking all day. One night, at 11:45p, we went up there and ate pizza and dessert just because we could. And it was glorious.

It took us a full 3 days to visit almost every part of the ship, as we discovered new floors and areas almost every day. One of our favorite areas to chill by far was The Lawn Club on the 15th deck on the stern of the ship. Oh, that’s another thing. You’ll have to get familiar with the words used to describe ship directions (stern, bow, starboard, etc). We heard them a ton on this trip and had no idea what they meant at first, but did our best to learn them by the end of it. But back to The Lawn Club! It was this huge yard, basically, of beautiful Bermuda grass where you could lay out and relax and work on your tan. There was a bar serving you ice cold drinks and blue skies/ocean views everywhere you looked. Is this what heaven will look like?

Other than the food and various fun parts of the ship, we had so much fun on the port excursions. The first day we stopped at San Juan, Puerto Rico and went on a food & walking tour of the old city. We drank Puerto Rican coffee, enjoyed some local dishes (and got to make our own mojitos!), and ate some flan, which we haven’t had in forever. The old buildings and charming cobblestone streets of San Juan stole our hearts. It was hot and humid, but the tour guide told us it was their winter. It was 80 or so degrees! As you know, Puerto Rico was hit so badly by the hurricane and it devastated much of the island. Tourism is a billion dollar industry there and helps their economy immensely, so they want everyone to know they are back in business and gladly welcoming tourists to the island. It’s a beautiful place and we plan on going back as soon as we can.

The next port day was in St. Maarten, which is the Dutch side of the island, not to be confused with St. Martin, the French side. This island was also hit badly by Hurricane Irma and we saw a lot of destruction that it caused. It was heartbreaking to see, but also inspiring to learn how the locals are coming together to rebuild and grow again. We went to Kim Sha Beach where the water was a beautiful turquoise and the sand was snow white. We luckily had gorgeous weather most of the time, though there were a few scattered showers here and there. St. Maarten marked the first time Thomas officially stepped off of U.S. soil and into a foreign country! For lunch we had shrimp tempura on a French baguette and it easily became one of our favorite meals on the trip. After we walked around a bit, we all loaded back onto the ship and headed towards the next port.

Our last port day was spent in St. Kitts, another beautiful island in the Caribbean. This was probably our favorite excursion we experienced because we had to travel by a catamaran to get there! Neither of us had ever been on one before so it was such a treat to sail the 45 mins from St. Kitts to a little cove with clear blue waters and lots of fish. We snorkeled with the guys and drank a locally made soda called Ting, a grapefruit drink. Snorkeling is no joke. Have you ever been? It actually takes a lot of lung capacity and we found ourselves short of breath a lot, but it was still a blast. We were wiped out by the end of it, so we hopped back on the catamaran and sailed back to the island. On the way back, we met some folks from Columbus, Ohio that were So. Much. Fun. They told us how they’ve been going on cruises together for more than 10 years (there were about 14 in their group, all friends since high school). They told us about all the places they’ve visited like Europe and Punta Cana, about their kids, and best of all, how they will be at the home & garden show this month (!!) which is where we will be speaking at! Once we were back on the ship, we started settling in the make the 2 and a half-day journey back home, starting with an invitation to watch the sail off on the helipad. How cool is that?!

The next two days were filled with lots of food, sun, shows in the theater, massages (thank you Nikky and Risper!!!!), more food, pool parties, trips to Café el Bacio (our favorite spot for coffees and cappuccinos) and walks around the ship at night.

Every night we went to a new restaurant and experienced different cuisine that was equally as good as the previous one. The first night we went to Tuscan Grille, an Italian restaurant with low lighting, candles, and such a sweet staff. We got the lobster alfredo and lasagna and man was it delicious. The next night we went to Silk Harvest, which served Asian cuisine, and they had the best shrimp tempura we’ve ever tasted. We also visited Murano, a French restaurant and also got the lobster there. They grilled it right in front of you and the whole place smelled like garlic and butter. Does it get any better than that? We decided to try out Sushi on 5, their newest restaurant on deck 5 and it was amazing. It was so amazing, in fact, that we went back 2 more times after that haha. Also worth noting is that we went back to Tuscan Grille again for dinner because it was that good. For lunch and breakfast, we mostly stuck to the OceanView Café, a huge cafeteria with every type of food you can imagine. Have we mentioned how we ate too much on this trip?

It’s crazy how a cruise ship operates. It’s like a little city, with SO many people operating it and working together to make it function. We got to know the staff and looked forward to seeing their familiar faces every day. Rex, the man who always made sure to turn down our room each night before we got in. Alexander, the executive head chef who was kind enough to give us a private tour of the kitchen during peak dinner action. Madalina, the sommelier who knew exactly what kind of wine we should drink with dinner each night. Miguel, one of the ship executives who kindly escorted us onto the ship and shook our hand every time we would pass him onboard. And even our favorite singer on the ship, a girl & guy duo called Devico, who had the most beautiful voice we’ve ever heard. It makes you feel like you’re not in the middle of the ocean, miles and miles away from civilization, when you have such amazing people to look forward to seeing every day.

So all together, this cruise was amazing. Just the idea of visiting different countries, meeting so many different people from all over the world, sharing the sea with strangers (at first) who become friends in 7 days, and being that far out in the ocean with nothing but blue waves all around you, it’s kind of mind boggling. It’s also wonderful when you can go with great friends. This is the third time in 6 months we’ve had the chance to hang out with Beau & Matt and we always have a blast each time we do. They’re absolutely hilarious and so smart when it comes to business. We’re lucky to know them.

If you have never been on a cruise before, we highly recommend it after traveling with Celebrity Cruises. They're actually offering a special offer with their Sail Beyond Event, where you can save up to $300 on select packages plus unlimited WiFi. Click here to find out more about it! We want to give a HUGE THANK YOU to Beau & Matt from ProbablyThis, Elizabeth from Celebrity Cruises, and all of the staff and people behind the scenes who made this trip possible. We wont soon forget it and will cherish these memories forever.

Love, PJ & Thomas 

[johnboothus]

Stop Calling Bordeaux Uncool

It’s hard to count the many ways in which Bordeaux has contributed to the greater world of wine. It’s the birthplace of iconic varieties like Cabernet Sauvignon and Merlot, it has been the training ground for generations of winemakers, and it is consistently at the cutting edge of wine marketing and sales.

Yet these days, Bordeaux is viewed by many wine professionals and consumers as uncool and unapproachable. Is this because of its old-school, establishment image? Have the eye-watering prices commanded by the great first growths of the region caused a misconception among consumers that Bordeaux can’t be affordable? Or is it just that many Americans no longer get a chance to try Bordeaux in all its glory?

Regardless of the rationale, there are myriad reasons for consumers to give Bordeaux another chance. That’s what Adam Teeter, Erica Duecy, and Zach Geballe discuss on this week’s episode of the VinePair Podcast.

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Or check out our conversation here

Adam: From Brooklyn, New York, I’m Adam Teeter.

Erica: From Jersey City. I’m Erica Duecy.

Zach: And in Seattle, Washington, I’m Zach Geballe.

A: And this is the VinePair podcast. Guys, what’s going on? It’s cold in New York. I’m not into this. It is the 17th.

Z: At least your air is breathable. That’s an improvement.

A: Yeah, that’s a pretty low response. Thanks. Way to bring us all down. “At least you could breathe.”

Z: You’re out here bitching about the cold. You just gave us a hard time about how all we talk about is the weather. And that’s right where you led us. I’m sorry that the seasons are changing, Adam. What a bummer.

A: Are you those people who say fall is your favorite season?

E: Oh, yeah. I’m definitely a “fall-is-my-favorite-season” kind of person. I already have pulled out my bourbons and my Cognac, and I am ready for fall already.

A: I’m sorry. The way you said that, it sounds like you’ve got a little drawer and you put them all away for the season, just like your sweaters. And then you bust them all out. Do you really do that?

E: Don’t forget that I’m in the midst of a renovation. So I had to send my husband to his studio to dig through all of our boxes in order to find said bottles.

A: That is hilarious. It is true, though. Bourbon does drink well in the fall.

Z: I had some last night. I can’t argue.

A: What did you have?

Z: Basil Hayden. I lied to you all at the beginning, I’m actually not in Seattle. My wife and son and I decamped for Whidbey Island last night. We got to the rental, and as soon as my son was in bed, I poured myself a rather tall glass of bourbon. It was a stressful day trying to pack with a 2-year-old and toxic clouds of smoke.

A: This is what I think is pretty interesting, and maybe you guys have this, too. On family vacations, when we would get there, after my dad unpacked the car and got us all situated, he always poured himself a glass of bourbon or a gin and tonic or whatever. And I think I picked up that habit as well. There’s nothing like a glass of some sort of libation at the end of a long trip.

E: Oh, yeah.

Z: Oh yeah, sure.

A: There’s just something about it that’s really awesome.

E: It is. It’s so gratifying, so relaxing. And these days I’m just looking forward to the end of the day when I can have that just- cracked-open Russell’s Reserve, and last night it hit the spot.

Z: Yeah, it’s something that I think has become all the more so for me once my wife and I had a kid. Because in life without a kid, I think the transition between evening and nighttime is a little bit like, “Eh, whatever.” But there is a huge difference in the quality of my life when my son is asleep versus when he is still awake. And I love him dearly, but the moment he’s asleep or at least in bed and we can shut the door and think “OK, now I can actually relax a little bit.” Maybe I have a conversation with my wife, watch a TV show, and then the glass or two or whatever after that is a big part of that experience in a way that just wasn’t the same, pre-child.

A: Interesting.

E: I can second that.

A: So today, we’re talking about one of my favorite wine regions, Bordeaux. So you guys may not have known this, but a few years ago I was the U.S. Champion of the Bordeaux Cup, which is a blind tasting Bordeaux competition that I did while I was in business school, which is super fun. But it won me a trip to Bordeaux. Myself and Dan Amatuzzi, who is now the V.P. of beverage at Eataly. All Eatalys nationwide entered together — this was just as VinePair was starting — and it’s run through the Commanderie. So basically, the guys in really fancy old Bordeaux garb from all of the famous 1855 classification chateaus hold this competition every year. And they want people to enter who are not specifically trained professional sommeliers, but are interested in wine. And they actually go to promote it through business schools, med schools, law schools, things like that, and that’s how we heard about it. It was when we were at NYU, and we entered, and we won the U.S. competition. We beat Yale, which was dope, and then we got a trip to Bordeaux, which was sick. And then there was a grand championship or ultimate championship in the cellar of Lafite where we had the final tasting. And we were the U.S. team, obviously there’s a European team with them because they’re French, but there was also a French team. One team can win in Europe and then there’s a team that can win France. There was a team from China, a team from Japan. It was really cool. And I got to meet wine lovers from around the world, which was also really interesting. All people in their late 20s, early 30s. It was awesome. But it gave me this really massive love for Bordeaux. And then after I came out of all that, VinePair was in its infancy, I think maybe we had been publishing for six months at that point, I started to uncover this sort of snobbism in the world of New York against Bordeaux. I said, “Oh, my God, I’ve discovered this region that’s so amazing.” And then I’m talking to all these young wine professionals who say, “No, no no, Bordeaux’s not cool.” And I’m like, “What are you talking about?” I was so confused.

Z: “Look at all these dudes in crazy old garb that are talking to me in French. That’s the coolest.”

A: Also, there was a welcome dinner — and now I’m talking a lot about this experience — they made us all wear really old-school, not berets, but French straw hats, it was absolutely hilarious. And they also made us have a singing competition.

Z: Naomi, I know you don’t listen to the podcast, but please post on Instagram.

A: No, she wasn’t there. It was an awesome experience, though. I don’t know, it was something that I don’t think I would ever get to do again. And just getting to experience the region and those wines was really epic. I don’t know how I didn’t have gout afterwards. But besides that, it was a pretty epic experience. I think there’s something about Bordeaux that has always been really classic and is something that’s very easy, especially for Americans, to fall in love with because it’s grapes that we know. It’s where those grapes were born, but we’re used to Cabernet because we love Napa Cab, and Cabernet is from Bordeaux. We’re used to the flavors of Merlot because a lot of us like Merlot, if we didn’t watch “Sideways” and get swayed by a movie. And so we love Right Bank Bordeaux, and I think there’s so much in Bordeaux and yet no one is really drinking it. So I’d like to first ask you, Zach, when do you think the wine professional community sort of turned on Bordeaux? And I don’t mean turn on it like, “Oh f*** Bordeaux, we’re done.” But decided that it wasn’t cool to drink it anymore. They haven’t turned on Burgundy. They haven’t turned on Barolo, and to some extent Brunello. Maybe a little bit Brunello as well. About two or three years ago, the organization that supports Bordeaux in the U.S., the CIVB (Conseil Interprofessionnel du Vin de Bordeaux), came to us saying Bordeaux has an image problem amongst wine professionals. Is that true? And if it is true, why?

Z: Good question. I think there is definitely an image problem, but it’s kind of two different problems. The first is that there’s this issue where what are generally considered the great wines of Bordeaux, the first-growth Bordeaux, the second growth Bordeaux. And to reference that 1855 classification, if you are an up-and-coming wine professional like I was — or still maybe arguably am — those are not wines that you get a chance to try anymore. Not even can you not afford to buy them – especially the first growths, they go for thousands of dollars a bottle these days for the most part — but also you don’t get a chance to even taste them because, for the most part, those wines have an audience that is sort of already built in. Its collectors, its fine dining restaurants, three-star Michelin restaurants, so the chateaux that are at that level are not really interested in cultivating a reputation with sommeliers like me. I don’t mean that absolutely but in general, I think that’s the case. And even the second growths and third growths, some of the slightly more affordable wines as you move down that tier are still quite expensive. And for a lot of younger people, myself included in the profession, you just find that whether it’s that there’s more access to the producers in lesser-known regions, or more access to the wines, or you can afford yourself to drink them. That’s just a reality I think that is hard to escape at this point, because the wines have become so famous and so sought-after, and such a status symbol that they really kind of escape, in the same way that some of the great grand cru Burgundy have as well, they’re just not a wine that me, even as a professional 15 years in can get access to, with very few exceptions. The other problem for Bordeaux, I think, and it sort of cuts against this, Bordeaux is also a huge region that produces a ton of wine. And where Bordeaux has really struggled, and maybe this is what the CIVB was getting at with you, even if they didn’t say it directly, there’s a lot of great, relatively affordable Bordeaux, but it’s almost hurt by its association with these great wines because the average consumer and even a lot of sommeliers think, “Bordeaux is for old white dudes, and Bordeaux is for my parents or my grandparents,” and, “Bordeaux, I can’t afford it, and my clientele can’t afford it.” And that’s bulls**t. There’s a lot of really good, reasonably priced Bordeaux from all over the region. You can find wine on a wine list that’s 70, 75, 80 bucks often has a decent amount of age on it, because often back vintages are easier to find in Bordeaux than almost anywhere else. And I’ll come back to the topic of ageability and aging as a necessity in a minute. But I think that’s the problem, is that the market for Bordeaux and the reputation of Bordeaux is really bifurcated and the high end gets a lot of attention and is well known but it’s not something that people can buy and afford. And the lesser-known stuff is really lesser known than even s**t in the Jura or Languedoc or these other lesser known regions, because, again, there’s this association with these great wines. And it’s not cool to champion Bordeaux. So congrats to you, Adam, for being uncool.

A: Hey, first of all, I’m the coolest. Second of all, would you say that the 1855 classification was the best and also the worst thing to ever happen to the region of Bordeaux?

E: Yeah, I think that’s definitely part of it. I think that Bordeaux has also developed this reputation as being “the man” of the wine industry, the establishment. And then when you think of Bordeaux as the thing that all the old critics love or all your parents or grandparents used to drink, then by definition anyone who is young and up-and-coming and a disrupter, they’re looking for: What is the “anti” that? I think that’s when we saw a lot of the other up-and-coming regions. We saw more organics and natural wine. We’ve just seen somms, especially, move in a different direction. And to some extent, wine drinkers move in a different direction of wanting to try new and different. And so it’s that it’s that novelty of trying the new and different that I think really has captured a lot of the wine industry and also wine drinkers. But I think that when I think about Bordeaux, and I actually love that it is super uncool right now because my favorite thing to do is — and I just did this this summer in Connecticut — I love going to wine stores. And I just opened one of these wines last night, actually. I had a Chateau Meyney, a Bordeaux wine from Saint Estephe. It’s a beautiful wine. I was online last night and I saw it for $39. Well, I found it on a dusty shelf in a wine store in Connecticut for $28. And I love finding those sorts of wines, because they’re so geeky and no one knows about them, and these are value wines. This was a 2012. A 2012 wine. A wine with age. Wines from Bordeaux at this lower price level provide such insane value, because no one’s looking for them. And I find them all the time in wine shops. And it’s literally one of my favorite activities. I wish I could be spending way more time in wine shops looking for these dusty bottles.

A: I agree with that as well. It’s one of my favorite activities, too. I think that people kind of are sleeping on it. But the one thing I want to bring up challenges what both of you said, which is that because they are so expensive, because no one knows about the smaller chateaux, because the critics have loved these wines, they’ve become uncool. But that hasn’t stopped Burgundy at all. I love Burgundy, I think that Pinot Noir is a gorgeous grape. Check out Keith’s Wine 101 episode [last] week on Burgundy. Burgundy’s great but it had all the same and if not more of the pretension. You literally had communes who renamed themselves to make sure you knew a Grand Crus vineyard was in their commune. This is also a region that is incredibly expensive, that is even more expensive. It has a lot of producers whom you’ve never heard of, but it’s a Villages from Burgundy so I guess I still have to pay $60 for it. And it hasn’t stopped anyone in the wine industry from saying, “No, that’s not cool anymore, either, because it’s too expensive and it’s gotten too inflated and none of us can afford it.” It’s actually made them go after it more so that they look more like ballers. So there’s something else about Bordeaux that people have decided they don’t like. Or because it’s become the one thing that everyone in the wine community has decided is cool to not like. But it’s not just because it’s super expensive, because if that was the case, they wouldn’t drink Champagne, either. So I don’t buy that.

Z: I think there’s a kernel of truth to what you’re saying where I think what makes Burgundy appealing, to sommeliers in particular, is the degree of specificity and the degree of the ability to nerd out on a subject. Part of the challenge with Bordeaux is that the classification of 1855 is attached to producers — not to pieces of land, particularly. And so with Burgundy, you end up with this idea, whether it’s true or not (and I have my doubts, and we can we can get into my Burgundy skepticism now or in another podcast) but there’s a conviction among a large portion of sommeliers and the people that listen to them that the ability to trace a wine to not just a village, not just a vineyard, but in some cases single rows of vines or a few rows of vines. That is not the case in Bordeaux. Bordeaux is large-production, even the first growths make a lot of wine. They don’t always tell you exactly how much they’re making in a given year. And again, the reputation is attached to the winery, to the chateau, not to the piece of land. And so I think to some extent Bordeaux and Burgundy are often illustrated as two different approaches to classifying wine and I think most of the world of wine has moved in the direction of Burgundy. It’s why Barolo is creating their own classified vineyards, and many other regions around the world. No one is really saying, “Oh, we’re going take the Bordeaux model.” We’re going to just say this winery is great and we’re going to call all of their wine first growth. That’s just not what anyone in the wine world outside of Bordeaux really thinks is the right way to approach it anymore. And maybe it made sense 165 years ago, I don’t think it makes a whole lot of sense now. And so I think that your Burgundy point is good. But I think there’s a lot of people who, including myself, are as equally boxed out by Burgundy as they are by Bordeaux. Let alone the grand crus wines. The premier crus wines are, for the most part, out of my price range. When I was running restaurant programs, I was able to put a few on a list, maybe, if I got a good deal or found some things on closeout. But if I want to put a well-known premier cru vineyard Burgundy on my list, it’s $300 or $400 minimum from a producer who is reasonably well known. We’re not talking about people who are considered the absolute pinnacle. And that’s just a price point that in most restaurants, in most parts of the country, is not going to move. You can put it on the list, and part of the reason I have it on there is so that the one time every two months someone comes in and wants it, I have a bottle for them. And I think that’s important to do. But it’s not going to generate a whole lot of volume sales. And neither is the high end of Bordeaux, or any region, to be fair. I just think that what you’ve seen is a move away from Bordeaux that happened when Burgundy was a little more affordable and then a move away from all of those wines because people our age and younger can’t afford any of that s**t. They have to get into wine in other places. And maybe Burgundy is an easier reference point because, like I said, it’s easier to understand why a Burgundy costs $1,000 when you look at, “OK, here’s a tiny part of a vineyard that it comes from and they make 250 bottles a year. So, yeah, this bottle is going to cost $1,500.” It’s a lot harder to make that argument in Bordeaux except for it’s got a lot of history and marketing behind it. And those are valid things, but it’s not necessarily as easy for a sommelier or a wine aficionado or even someone who’s just getting interested in it and has the money to spend to see the connection to the scarcity that comes with Burgundy. That just doesn’t seem to come with Bordeaux.

A: Erica, got some thoughts here?

A: I’ve heard a lot, obviously, that the way people compare the two regions is that Burgundy is the land of farmers and Bordeaux is the land of businessmen. Or Bordeaux is the region that was made famous by London, whereas Burgundy was the region that was embraced by Paris. And these two kinds of styles — Bordeaux much more powerful, bigger wines, and Burgundy is very much about finesse. But again, I think that that’s all well and good. I just think it’s interesting that we want to immediately, quickly just say it’s about the price, because there’s just so many gems in Bordeaux that aren’t that way, that I think it actually does make it more accessible for a lot of people. And I do wonder if Bordeaux will become more popular soon, because I don’t know if you guys follow a lot of basketball stars, but I do, and a lot of these guys in the NBA who are really into wine who have massive followings, most of what they’re drinking is Bordeaux. Sometimes drinking a little bit of Napa Cab, especially the guys that play for West Coast teams. But you see a lot of bottle shots of Bordeaux and then a lot of other guys commenting about how great those wines are. You see C.J. McCollum or JJ Redick, all posting Bordeaux bottles. LeBron loves Bordeaux. He’s posting every time he has one of those bottles or someone from his team has one of those bottles. So I think that’s been interesting, and I wonder if that will help raise awareness, or if it will cause the same problem that Zach’s talking about, which is that you have the bottles they are always posting that are classified growth bottles. Or they’re not posting the Phelan Segur, which I think is a great chateau. It probably should have gotten classified and didn’t, and you can still find it at Warehouse Wine in Astor Place. You can find it in Warehouse Wine five or six years old for $30 and you’re like, “Really? This is a really well-known winery.” But because it doesn’t have that 1855 classification, no one thinks they can sell it for as much as they could if it did, even if it’s not as good of a producer. As long as the chateau has that classification, even if it’s a withering fourth or fifth growth. And I mean withering not in the fact that that’s bad, so don’t come at me, but that maybe they’ve only really traded on that classification for the last few decades, you can still sell it for more because it has it on the bottle. And that I think is really nuts.

E: When I did a tasting group not so long ago for diplomas studies, we all bought Burgundies that were from $20 to $150 and pooled the cost. And those wines, fairly across the board, did terrible. They did not have a lot of value. Everyone agreed that those Burgundies at a lower price point were not as compelling as a similar set of similarly priced wines from Bordeaux. So for my money, I think Bordeaux offers a lot more value at a lower price point, especially $50 and below. I have absolutely no problem saying that because, I mean, I will always look for those Bordeaux values and those older bottles in stores and I can’t even think of one that I found that did not deliver a delicious drinking experience.

A: I completely agree with you.

Z: I think the other thing to be aware of there — and this at this point has been sort of alluded to a couple of times by both of you — is that age is really important when it comes to Bordeaux. And I think it’s one of these things that is maybe part of the reason why Bordeaux has struggled a little bit. Because I think that Bordeaux, across the quality levels, is really not a wine that’s made to be consumed young. And we exist in a world where people don’t age wine. People don’t have wine cellars. Adam, you and I have talked about this on previous podcasts. There are reasons for that that are totally legitimate, but it does mean that if you’re going to go buy a 2017 Bordeaux I don’t think you’re going to get as much enjoyment out of it as you would have with a five- or 10- or 15-year-old bottle. And that’s not just for people who love aged wine. I like older wine, that’s not the way everyone feels, and that’s totally cool. But even if you like younger styles of wine, Bordeaux generally — even at the lower price levels — doesn’t really reveal itself until it’s got at least five or so years of age. And I think Burgundy is probably overrated by people in general. I think Pinot Noir, as a grape, doesn’t age as well. That’s my take, I suppose. And I find that old Burgundy tends to be really uninspiring even when it is really expensive. But at the same time, I think with Bordeaux it suffers a little bit from the accurate perception that you have to have older Bordeaux, and if you don’t have ready access to that or you don’t have necessarily a really good idea of how to go find that wine without paying exorbitant prices, it can be daunting. Because if you buy a 2017 and open it I think if it’s a good Bordeaux it probably shouldn’t be all that enjoyable at that young. It’s really not the idea behind the wine. It’s a style and a conception for wine that doesn’t mesh with our modern lifestyle in many ways. And it’s why it’s part of the Bordeaux approach that hasn’t translated so much to other parts of the world even if the winemaking techniques and the varieties themselves have.

A: I think you’re right. I think that the biggest thing to take away from this, which we should have given more concentration to, but we didn’t, is Erica’s tip. If you want to get into wine, especially aged wine, you should be going out to these wine stores in small towns. We’re not talking about your big box Total Wines. You’re not going to find it there. You’re not going to find them at Astor Place, which is also where Warehouse Wine is, you’re going to find it at these small liquor stores, wine warehouses, etc., where you can find these bottles that may have languished on the shelves for a few years because people weren’t buying them and they have age on them and they’re going to be very well priced.

Z: I think another tip, too, that I’ve had a success with, is if you do have a shop that you go to on occasion, I would ask the owner or someone working there, because what I often find — I found this as a restaurant buyer and as a private consumer as well — is that often, distributors in a lot of places will have multiple vintages of a wine. And Bordeaux is a place where this happens a lot, because oftentimes, they won’t fully sell through everything they have, and some distributors will cut prices to try and move that wine. But others will just hang on to just a few cases. And if you ask and the wine shop is willing to inquire on your behalf, especially if you’re willing to buy a few bottles, you might find that a distributor might have a 2012 or 2011 or 2009 or something or a few knocking around, and they may be willing to work to get you that wine for a reasonable price. It’s not quite as romantic as pulling it off a dusty shelf, but the flipside is you have a better assurance of quality that the wine is actually being stored properly, instead of sitting in a window for 10 years.

A: True. Just don’t buy it if it’s sitting in a window.

E: Yes.

A: Well, guys, I hope other people who’ve listened to this podcast today are convinced that Bordeaux is worth your time. I promise this was not sponsored.

Z: It should have been.

A: I know. CIBV, get at me. But no, seriously, it’s a region that I think, and it sounds like you guys agreed, doesn’t get enough attention — especially when it comes to value. We’re not talking about going out there and looking for the 1855 classifications and filling your shelves with that stuff. If you can, good for you, also always accepting donations of your amazing cellar.

Z: Invite us over.

A: But if you can’t. There’s so much good stuff.

Z: I have one last one thought that I want to add, which just struck me. When you learn about wine, and I’m sure that for all of us this is true, you start with Bordeaux. I mean, for most of us, the first place you learn about is Bordeaux. Whether it’s a formalized education or even a little bit more informal, it’s often Bordeaux. Maybe you start in Burgundy, but Burgundy is so f***ing confusing. I don’t think most people start there. For a lot of people, you start in Bordeaux and then even if you’re a wine professional, you almost never come back to it. And that is, now that I think about it, sort of bizarre.

A: Let us know your thoughts. Hit us up at podcast@vinepair.com. We’d love to hear what you think about this topic and others.

Z: LeBron, tag us in your bottle shots.

A: Yes. Seriously, LeBron, let me get at that wine. And guys, I’ll talk to you next week.

E: Talk to you then.

Z: Sounds great.

A: Thanks so much for listening to the VinePair Podcast. If you enjoy listening to us every week, please leave us a review or rating on iTunes, Stitcher, Spotify, or wherever it is that you get your podcasts. It really helps everyone else discover the show. Now, for the credits. VinePair is produced and hosted by Zach Geballe, Erica Duecy and me: Adam Teeter. Our engineer is Nick Patri and Keith Beavers. I’d also like to give a special shout-out to my VinePair co-founder Josh Malin and the rest of the VinePair team for their support. Thanks so much for listening and we’ll see you again right here next week.

Ed. note: This episode has been edited for length and clarity.

The article Stop Calling Bordeaux Uncool appeared first on VinePair.

Via https://vinepair.com/articles/stop-calling-bordeaux-uncool/

source https://vinology1.weebly.com/blog/stop-calling-bordeaux-uncool

[lena-went]

Chiaro e Scuro Pt 2

F: I had just put the finishing touches on the set up of the dining table, crimson place settings and napkins accented with gold finishes that matched the plates we would be using. I ran my hands through my hair in frustration. When I heard the doorbell ring my heart dropped to my feet. I was petrified, so many firsts were about to happen. She was seeing my house for the first time, she was actually one of the few people I had ever allowed inside my impersonal sanctuary. 

During my recovery from Gideon's attempt on my life I had a male nurse looking after me a few hours each day but that was the last time I had seen anyone else besides myself in this house. The maid and groundskeeper would always come by during the day when I was at the hospital and I left checks for them either on the kitchen counter or in the mailbox. 

How long had she been waiting at the front door? I quickly grabbed my cane from against the bar where it was resting and checked my reflection briefly in the glass of the oven. I opened the door and my jaw dropped.

There she stood back towards me gazing at something in the distance. As she turned to face me everything around me slowed down and took on a blur except for her. She smiled playfully and leaned forward to give me a quick peck on the cheek. 

“Hello Frederick.” Dressed in a long sleeved dark green silk dress that nearly touched the ground she was a holy sight.

 My breath caught in my chest when her hand touched my chest as she walked past me into the house. 

“So…a tour first or dinner?” She inquired as she placed her purse on the glass table in the center of the foyer. 

I remembered myself and quickly shut the door. 

“Which would you prefer?” I asked praying for her to skip the tour. 

She must have sensed my urgency to begin dinner and suggested that we eat first. I smiled though I was filled with anxieties about the quality of my cooking and the quality of the evening. I led her into the kitchen which also doubled as the dining room not for lack of space but rather for a lack of guests. I pulled out one of the modern dark wood chairs for her and she thanked me and sat down. I purposely gave her the chair that caused her to look outside rather than at the wall. The wall was intended to showcase art but I hadn't gotten around to buying something to fill the space and thus it was empty and cold…like the rest of the house. 

She began a light conversation as I prepared and carried our plates to the table. She gasped slightly when I placed the dish in front of her and then praised me on the presentation and setting of the table. I poured us both a glass of wine (2008 Torbreck Shiraz The Laird) and took my seat opposite her. I leaned forward eagerly waiting for her to take her first bite. As she did I watched as she closed her eyes and sighed. 

“Frederick, this is amazing.” She praised. 

My heart did summersaults as she quickly took another bite and repeated her previous compliment. 

“Where did you learn to cook like this?” I smiled as I took a bite of my own food. 

“Some people are just naturally gifted in the culinary arts.” I smugly replied. I noticed her suppress a giggle with a quick sip of wine as I puffed out my chest and leaned back in my chair. 

“And you learned from one of those naturally gifted people?” She teased and I felt a slight blush rise to my cheeks. 

I took a gulp of my wine as I caught her gaze over the candles in the center of the table and saw the playful look in her eyes. She had a way of teasing me that never felt like humiliation, opposite to how I felt with everyone else. Just looking at her I felt so many emotions swelling like balloons inside of me. We fell into conversation about her day at work and in turn my week at the hospital.

 As I attempted to make a boring week at BSHCI seem interesting she nodded and paid attention occasionally offering advice or commentary when appropriate. I told her a story about one of my first patients who had random yet repetitive hallucinations of green cows and she laughed so hard she had to fan her eyes to avoid crying, resulting in me feeling as if I was on top of the world. Eventually we finished our food she insisted on helping me clean up the dishes.

After we had finished and the kitchen was once again spotless she turned to me expectantly. 

“Tour?” I rolled my eyes and sighed dramatically in fake exasperation. 

“Please?” She begged with wide eyes and a puppy dog like pout on her lips. 

“Yes, yes ok.” I replied fully knowing I was incapable of denying her anything. 

I led her first back into the foyer and introduced her to the rooms that radiated off it. Most were sparse with only a few pieces of furniture and a piano but she still complimented what was there. Then back to the kitchen where she marveled at the light fixtures and smiled when I told her the story of the artist who made them. 

She inquired about the pool and I sighed and replied that the previous owner had installed it and that I would have greatly preferred a garden. I had used the pool once in the time that I’ve lived in the house, it had proven to be a nuisance especially in the fall when all the trees above it would drop their leaves conveniently into it’s waiting waters. 

Moving fairly quickly I showed her what I used as a living room but was really just a corner off the kitchen where I had a large leather couch and a flat screen. As we continued downstairs she gasped when she saw my wine collection. To be fair to myself wine was something I knew I could rival Hannibal Lecter in. After dropping from medical school I had briefly considered becoming a sommelier but at the urging of my father I went back to school for psychiatry. 

There were a few other rooms downstairs, another kitchen, two guest rooms and a bathroom. All very unimpressive and sparsely decorated. I apologized numerous times for that but she rolled her eyes in response every time even once groaning dramatically.

I led her up the stairs in the foyer and I felt my heart beating faster. I hoped it didn't seem suggestive or predatory that I was showing her my bedroom. I reminded myself that this was simply a house tour, no different than a realtor leading a possible buyer through a house. A few more guest rooms and then my room. I took a breath as I pushed open the massive double fogged white doors. 

My bedroom didn't match the rest of the house, where the rest of the house was light my bedroom was dark. The emerald green curtains that hung from the large window at the end of the room darkened the space by preventing even the light from the street lamps outside from getting in. I watched as she entered carefully and looked around slowly with a slight smile. The room was accented with dark mahogany and the walls like the curtains were a dark shade of green. 

I observed her movements and realized how much she belonged in this room. The silk of her dress perfectly blended with the colors around her as she gently ran her fingers along the duvet and blanket I had carefully arranged on my bed. My heart nearly stopped watching her do this and I could hardly believe any of this was real. No other woman had ever gotten this far or even tried to. In the silence I cleared my throat and suggested we go back downstairs and open another bottle of wine. She turned back to me and nodded her agreement.

Soon we were both seated on my leather sofa drinking a very expensive bottle of wine and discussing our favorite vintages like two old men in a country club. I laughed as she pointed this out. The conversation then changed to our favorite films and both of us couldn't decide resulting in many laughs and a lively debate on the true meaning of The Shining. 

Once again the conversation rotated to a discussion of soundtracks in film and she sat up quickly and while waving her hands excitedly pulled out her phone so that I could listen to some of her favorite music. I turned on the TV so that she could project the music through the surround sound speakers which were finally being put to good use. First on her list of songs I must hear was Page 47 from the National Treasure soundtrack. I watched as she leaned back into the sofa and closed her eyes. About 30 seconds in I was completely swallowed into the luxurious whine of the violin and the look on her face as she soaked in the sound. Her chest moved heavily up and down as she took deep breaths feeling the vibrations from the orchestra as it began. Simply by observing her I felt every note deeply each one reminding me of just how wonderfully perceptive she was. As the song ended she took a deep breath and then her eyes fluttered open. 

“Couldn’t you feel that?” She whispered reaching for my hand. 

“Y-yes.” I stuttered back trying to regain my composure. 

Next on her playlist was First Kiss by Abel Korzeniowski, she highly praised him and a series he had scored called Penny Dreadful. I raised an eyebrow at the name but smiled and took a sip of my wine as she hit play once more. The soft sounds of the piano began and she leaned close to me so that I could feel her breath on my neck. 

“Close your eyes.” Her voice was barely audible yet still flowed like honey as it mirrored the notes of the song. 

I did so hesitantly as she removed the wine glass from my hands.

I focused on the sounds of the piano and strings until she spoke, “What do you see?” 

In truth I had journeyed back to the day we had met. The glow of the sun in her hair, her rosy lips and oh god her eyes, how they took my breath away. 

“Y-you. I see you.” I felt her move across me settling to straddle my lap at which I normally would have startled but the combination of the music and her hands in my hair kept me frozen. 

“And what do you feel?” Her breathy tone sent a shiver up my spine as her nails gently grazed my scalp. I could no longer form words as the piano and the touches overwhelmed me. Tears began to fall from my closed eyes and I felt her cup my cheek softly. 

“Frederick…” As she breathed my name my eyes opened to meet hers which were now only inches away. 

Holding my face she pulled me to her with a passionate kiss. My tears met her hands as I raised mine to hold her tightly to me. The heat from her body met mine and for a moment I forgot that we were two separate people. I took a shaky breath as she separated from me and stroked my cheek. I pulled her to me again just to feel her body against mine. I choked back a sob as her hands tenderly wrapped around me and cradled my head softly against her chest. I buried myself in her for those moments finally feeling safe. 

She slowly pulled me to lay with her on the couch holding me close all the while. We were facing one another so intimately it was impossible to hide. She traced my jaw with a delicate finger and kissed me ever so softly. Here I was falling apart in her arms and she had no idea why. She had been so impossibly kind. Kissing me again brought me back to her and the present. I treasured it and pulled her even closer tangling my fingers in her hair and caressing her soft cheek. 

The song had long ago ended and yet the music somehow remained. Neither of us speaking yet there was a silent spiritual dialogue between our souls. Soon we both fell asleep, our breath synchronizing as the world around us past and present faded away.

[zecretsanta]

sudden loss of air, impressions in despair

To:  @chainek (galagaleeny)

From: @nursedianaklim  

Tried to fulfill all the prompts… might have gotten a bit too ambitious, but I wanted to fulfill your whole list.

Ao3

“Junpei!”

“How was I supposed to know it was on?  Why would a store have a blender plugged in?  It’s not like people come in here to try them out.”

He took her hand and it sent shivers up her spine, for the umpteenth time.  The other customers were still staring at them, some chuckling with amusement, others frowning in disapproval at the ruckus they had created.  But Junpei was right – it didn’t make sense for Williams Sonoma to have blenders plugged in right on the display so people could turn them on.  He had been so startled by the noise that he fumbled in trying to press the off button and knocked it to the floor.  Luckily it didn’t seem broken, and nobody was demanding they cough up the $899.99 for the Vitamix Professional Series 1020 Blender.

“Do we really need any of this stuff, though?” he asked as they moved into specialty electronics.  Akane ran her fingers over the cool metal of a Zojirushi Rice Cooker – on sale for $449.99 – and it brought up a brief flash of memory.  Aoi said their mother never used rice cookers; always on the stove.  She thought she could recall watching her stir it, wooden spoon in a big red pot.

They had only ever used rice cookers in the institution they had lived in, after.  Good people, but too many abandoned and orphaned and lost children and not enough adults to provide for all their needs.  Even before Aoi had officially become her legal guardian, he had watched over her and kept her safe.  Made sure she got up for school, did her homework, ate healthily, and slept peacefully.

“You okay?”

She met his concerned eyes and nodded.  Junpei didn’t look convinced, but eventually shifted his gaze to the appliances just ahead.  “Four hundred dollars for a toaster?”

“Probably for people with big families or who entertain.”  She could imagine the two of them having friends over.  Their wedding rings clinking against the plates as they brought tempura out for dinner.  Sneaking secret smiles at each other as Light or Aoi or Sigma or Phi chattered on about their new lives, before they moved into the living room.  The house she and Aoi had rented when they were doing research in Washington had a fireplace, and she loved the idea of sitting with Junpei around the hearth.

There were times back in the institution when the space heaters would run out of kerosene, so Aoi would take her and their blankets down to the laundry room.  They would bundle up with the warm sheets until they went cool, then swap them out with hot ones fresh from the industrial-sized dryer, so they could get through the cold nights.

“I could buy four toasters for sixty bucks at the Family Dollar and I bet they work just as well,” he scoffed.  “I can’t ask our friends to buy something like that.  Besides, you and Aoi have a ton of money.”

Akane could feel her face morphing into a mirror of Junpei’s frown.  “We won’t list only expensive items.  But … this is about creating our own home.”

“They have a wine club?”

Although she had seen signs for it before, but couldn’t remember sommeliers ever being present in the store for wine tastings.  He sauntered over to where a smiling blonde was offering him some merlot.

“Should you really be drinking?”

He knocked back the wine and tossed the glass behind him.  “Of course I should be.  I need something to forget everything you’ve done to me.”

“J-J-Junpei?”

More wine, another glass.  This time, he glared at her as he threw it to the ground.  “You ruined my life, Kanny.  Why would I ever want to marry you?”

“This is a dream, isn’t it?”  

The lights dimmed until she could barely see his face.  He took her hand again, but without the gentleness of before.  “We’re both in the field.  I’ll remember this, too.  Another disapp-”

She woke, but kept her eyes closed; as she wasn’t entirely disengaged, she could still feel his phantom touch on her skin.  She could smell him, although his usual comforting scent was tinged with the stench of beer.

Aoi’s frustrated grunts and rapid key-tapping told her he was still awake and something was happening with the market.  The TSE, probably, at this time of night.  Unless she had slept for longer than she thought.

When she had shaken off the last bit of Junpei’s mind, Akane opened her eyes, letting them adjust to the darkness.  The only source of light was his laptop, which he had dimmed and angled away.  

That’s not our future, she assured herself.  That’s not his future.  I’m going to make sure of it.   

* * *

She might have been dislocating Clover’s shoulder, but better that than her being dead.  Alice yanked, roughly, ignoring the other woman’s screaming.  She would break her arm, rip it off, do whatever she had to do to get Clover back on this side of the cliff.  She knew her pants were ruined, that her knees would be bruised and bloody.

“I’m going to kill him,” Clover roared as she finally made it back up onto firm ground.

“Not if I get to him first.”  

Even once they were both safely away from the edge, Alice held on tight to Clover, ignoring the wind and the rain.  When they both started to shiver, she got them to their feet and headed north, keeping a firm grip on Clover’s hand.  They were easily a good mile from their car.  Clover’s gun was somewhere at the bottom of that ravine; Alice was out of bullets and had lost her spare clip.

“Don’t you ever run off like that again.”  Because of the weather, she had to yell back at Clover to make sure she was heard.

“He was getting away.”

“He got away regardless!”

“But you said he might have information on your father.  I couldn’t let him get away!”

That got Alice to stop in her march back to the car.  She thought Clover had gone after Bozeman to get revenge for him kicking her in the face.  A raindrop splashed into her eye and when she wiped it away, she felt the false lashes come off.

“You don’t do something like that again, you understand?!”  There was a volume and an edge to her voice that had nothing to do with being heard over the pounding rain.  Clover didn’t respond, or more accurately, probably grumbled something under her breath that Alice couldn’t make out.  

After what felt like a million years, they made it back to the car.  She had to dry off both the sensor and her thumb twice before the door would unlock.  The leather seats felt horrible against her soaked clothing and skin.  As soon as Alice hit the ignition, Clover pressed the radio presets in the order that would turn off the internal camera – activated automatically by weight in the seats – and surprised her by grabbing her head and kissing her, hard.  Their cold and trembling lips slid against each other for only a moment before Alice pulled away.

“What did I say?  Not in the field.”

“Nobody can see us.”  How Clover could manage to look like she was pouting and glaring at the same time, she’d never know.  She gestured angrily at the rain slanting heavily against the windshield, obscuring the outside world.  “And you saw me shut down the camera.”

“Not at work.  We agreed.”  

Alice’s hands shook as she set the heat as high as it would go.  Clover grabbed the first aid kit from under her seat and then slumped back against the lumbar support.  She treated her scrapes as Alice drove as quickly as she dared.

“We have to be careful,” Alice said finally, when she felt her voice wouldn’t waver.

“I know.”

“They would split us up if they knew.  We could even get fired.  Fraternization is forbidden.”

“I know.”

“I can’t lose … my chance to find who killed my father.”

Although she could feel Clover staring at her, she stayed focused on the road.  The rhythmic swishing of the wipers was the only sound for the longest time.

“I know.”  Softer, this time.  “I understand.”

Not everything had to be spelled out explicitly.

* * *

“It’s just me!” she called out as she stepped inside, swiftly moving to the alarm keypad.  Diana’s car had been in the garage, so Rebecca knew she was here, but when she didn’t get an immediate response, she started to worry.  Diana’s purse and keys were still on the table in the hall – right next to pepper spray and a panic button – and she could smell the chicken fettuccine in the slow cooker.

“Diana?”

No response from upstairs.  Down the hall, the back door was open, but she tried not to jump to conclusions.  And sure enough, Diana was safe and sound, kneeling in the dirt, tending to the poor, neglected flowers there.  Gardening was one of those skills that Rebecca wanted to have, but didn’t seem capable of learning.  Even talking to the plants – as Diana had suggested, as she was doing to them right now – only seemed to encourage them to commit suicide.

“You’re home early,” she said when she glanced up to see Rebecca.

“The meeting didn’t take quite as long as we thought.  Simmons didn’t try to fight it.  Turned in his keys and cleaned out his locker in silence.”

“Oh, good.”  Diana gave her an almost-smile.  She missed seeing the real ones, the bright, beautiful, beaming ones brought on by an adorable puppy or a happy child or a patient making it safely through their trip to the ER.  The ones that started to appear less frequently after their marriage and had mostly disappeared, nowadays.

“Are these new?”  There were bright purple flowers in her garden, leaning over as if they planned to eat her.  The bottom part of it even looked like a tongue on the inside.

“They’re called ‘fairy slippers’.  It’s uncommon that they’d be blooming this early.  Or at least, that’s what the woman at the nursery told me.”  Diana ran a finger over one of the one of the petals.

“You’ll have to stop by more often to make sure I don’t kill it.”

The almost-smile faded completely away and Rebecca felt like someone had injected ice water in her veins.  It was silly, stupid.  She was the one who saw the ad.  She was the one who brought it to Diana’s attention.  She was the one who kept asking her to consider it.  She wanted Diana to do it.

“You’ve decided, then?”

Diana nodded, stood up and dusted the dirt off her pants.  She tossed the gardening gloves in the bucket and headed towards the house, her hand brushing Rebecca’s as she passed by.

It was the best decision for Diana to make.  She knew that.  The money would give her the freedom to go anywhere.  Get away from him.  No more threats left on her voicemail, no more nasty messages keyed into her car.  No more making sure every new security guard they hired could recognize her ex-husband on sight.

But it meant once this Mars simulation was over, there was a chance the last time Rebecca would see Diana was when she came back to pack up her stuff and move far, far away.  And if that happened, all she would want to do is pack up her own life and follow her, even if that ended up being actually to Mars.

“It does something called ‘pollination by deception.’”  Diana was paused in the doorway and Rebecca realized she had been staring at the new flowers.

“Hmm?”

“It pretends it has nectar, to get bees to come in and pick up the pollen.  The bees visit but get nothing in return.  So they learn to stop visiting.  Or at least, the smart bees do.”

“Diana…”

A sad smile, this time.  “I know.  I’m not … I’m not.  I’m going to check on dinner.”

Rebecca tried to swallow the lump in her throat as she wiped away an escaped tear.  As much as she didn’t want to lose her best friend, Diana couldn’t go on living like this.  The money would give her freedom and security.

And no matter how much special fertilizer or garden tools she had to buy, no matter how many YouTube tutorials she had to watch or special classes she had to attend, she would make sure Diana’s fairy slippers thrived.

* * *

“Are you seriously saying you think Matiyasevich was wrong?”

Aureline paused, halfway through removing Phi’s shirt.  “Uh, you want to argue about this now?”

“The theorem has been around for fifty-eight years, and you’re saying there’s a flaw in the logic?”

“Right now, I’m saying fuck Diophantine equations.”  She resumed her task and chucked Phi’s tank top behind her before pushing her back on the couch.

Phi seemed to let herself get lost at first when Aureline kissed a path down from her nose to her collarbone.  This fantasy had played out in her mind more than once since she had noticed the cute girl with the platinum hair in the back row in Mathematical Methods in Nanophotonics.  Now they were here, after dinner and a Nonlinear Optics lecture, on Phi’s couch, half-naked and –

“But all Diophantine sets are effectively enumerable –”

– she couldn’t stop talking about an off-handed comment Aureline had made on the way back to the apartment.

“I’m not saying the conclusion is wrong,” she replied, sliding her hands up Phi’s legs, underneath the turquoise and black skirt.  “I’m saying the way he got there has errors.”

“So you think you’re smarter than … than …”  

Pushing aside her underwear and slipping a finger into Phi seemed to be pretty effective at derailing her train of thought.  Aureline planted sloppy kisses on her knees, her thighs, until the unmistakable sound of a crash outside startled her into raising her head.

“Oh god, that sounds bad,” she said as she hopped up and went to the window.  Not caring about her bare chest or who might see, she pushed aside the blackout curtains.  It looked like an SUV had plowed into three parked cars.

“What happened?” Phi asked.  She had put back on her tank tops before joining her to survey the scene.

“Shit.  I think someone hit my Mazda.”  Aureline bolted for the door, stopping only when she remembered she was naked from the waist up.  The first garment she snatched up was Phi’s sleeveless, pale blue jacket, and she tossed it aside in frustration, accidentally hitting the other woman in the face.

“Hey!”

“I’m sorry, I just … fuck!  I have to get down there before he drives off.”  Finally locating her shirt, she pulled it over her head, realizing that it was inside out and backwards but not having the patience to fix it.

“Even if he does, there are cameras covering the outside of the building and the parking lot,” Phi assured her as straightened her necklace and grabbed her boots.  “But go, I’ll be down as soon as I get these on.”

For some reason, Aureline glanced back into the apartment before she shut the door.  The black flower in Phi’s hair had come loose and she was pinning it back up.

-

It wasn’t until after she had exchanged insurance information with the driver – a Japanese exchange student who wasn’t drunk, but had apparently had a seizure – and surveyed the not-as-bad-as-she-thought damage to her car that Aureline realized Phi had never come down.  She should have been almost right behind her; all she had to do was throw on those ridiculously tall boots of hers.

Confused and a little angry, she skipped the elevator and dashed up three flights of stairs to apartment #306.  The door was cracked, even though she was sure she had pulled it closed.  When she pushed it open, white smoke escaped and she stepped back, expecting to see a fire.  But it didn’t smell like something was burning – more chemical, like a hospital.

She tugged her sleeve over her hand and covered her nose and mouth, but it was too late; she could feel herself start go get woozy.  Time felt like it slowed as she tipped forward and hit the floor.

A black figure moved past her and she tried to reach out and grab its leg before succumbing to darkness.

(fin.)

[dadvans]

top five fantasies victor had about yuri that yuri accidentally shattered

1. yuuri katsuki: international man of mystery

yuuri katsuki is not an international man of mystery.  he is not an assassin, or a spy, which victor had begun to suspect by the time he first arrived in hasetsu.  and that was a shame, because victor thought he could only be seduced that thoroughly by spies, and being an assassin would explain why he never called once, vanished into thin air, never to be seen again, probably not having existed at all.  victor scours his room for clues while yuuri is in the bath, but instead of coming up with a secret weapons cache, all he finds is a hastily stashed collections of posters featuring himself.  yuuri katsuki is definitely not an international man of mystery.

however, he is the most beautiful skater victor’s ever seen in his life.  he lets music possess him, and when he smiles it sets victor’s whole body on fire because he feels like he earned it.  yuuri katsuki is beautifully, wonderfully ordinary.  he likes bad hip-hop, milk-flavored candies and he still reads comic books.  when he speaks, he’s painfully sincere, more than victor’s ever been about anything in his entire life.  he’s completely see-through, once you know where to look.  and victor likes that even more. 

2. yuuri katsuki is not a classy broad

when victor dreams of yuuri katsuki after the grand prix banquet, he anticipates a man more cultured.  which is stupid, because yuuri was a mess the night of the grand prix banquet, but victor had seen him dance, and he thought only a man of refined tastes and pleasures can move so delicately when hammered, and so when he would write dream dates in his dream date diary he would write about taking yuuri to staraya tamozhnya or percoso or EM after a night at the opera, where victor would have blown yuuri thoroughly during an act of carmen in a private box.  they would order ten course meals the size of their palms and yuuri would dissect the the wine menu and demand to see the sommelier.  he would let victor spoon feed him sweetbreads and sea urchin and shark fin soup, close his eyes and moan.

on the way back from cup of china, they stay overnight in nagasaki before heading back to hasetsu.  the restaurant they go to was secretly booked two months in advance, because if victor hadn’t kissed him by now, he was setting himself a deadline.  the menu is a 14-course pre fix that thematically incorporates black walnuts.  

yuuri orders the house red for 600 yen on happy hour.  he wears the same terrible suit with the same awful tie he’s worn everywhere since victor’s known him.  he does not like black walnuts.  victor eats both of their portions.

which is fine, but it’s mildly disappointing.  but on the way back, yuuri’s stomach growls, and victor feels so dumb about the whole thing until they pass by a small supermarket in a mall by the hotel, and yuuri tugs him by the hand inside without saying a word.  he quietly picks out ingredients that amount to 1000 yen altogether, roughly 39,000 less than victor spent on dinner, and takes them back to the hotel.  then he’s almost mad about it.  they get back to the hotel and victor feels a Mood coming on, but then he looks at yuuri who is smiling shy to himself.

“i did this a lot in college,” he says, pouring water from the sink into a cup of noodles.  he’s got the hotel’s iron upside down on the vanity and is cooking an egg on it.  

“what,” victor says.

“you’ll see,” yuuri replies.  

three minutes later, victor has the best meal in his life, second to only yuuri’s mother’s katsudon. 

3. yuuri katsuki doesn’t have a foot thing

“what do you mean you don’t have a foot thing?” victor says confused. “everyone has a feet thing.”

“everyone does not have a foot thing, victor,” yuuri says, rolling his eyes.  he wiggles his toes at victor anyway, feet in the air.  “now c’mere.”

he lets victor fuck his feet anyway.  

4. yuuri katsuki is not afraid of ghosts

“victor, what did you expect?” yuuri asks after the movie. 

victor had expected to have yuuri curl up under his arm.  victor had expected yuuri to hide his face during the scary parts and breathe against his chest, tuck his forehead in the curve of victor’s neck.  instead, victor almost threw his drink at the screen and screamed yelled no less than six times.  

“i thought you would be scared,” victor admits.  the ghost girl made him cry.  

“victor, i’m japanese,” yuuri says.  

5. yuuri katsuki had an awkward phase

yuuri freaks out when he finds a video of an old performance on the internet, and immediately contacts the person who uploaded it to get it removed.  

victor just sees part of the costume over his shoulder and stills.  “yuuri.  is that you?”

yuuri turns around, wide-eyed, trying to hide the screen behind his back. “no!  definitely not me!  just some--some weird kid!”

“when was that taken?” he hadn’t seen it in his first yuuri katsuki youtube fest 2014.  or his second, two months later.  or his third, fourth, or fifth for that matter.  if someone out on the internet had more videos, he needed to know who it was.

“never,” yuuri says.

“yuuri.” victor frowns at him, and when that doesn’t work, tries puppy dog eyes.

“my freshman year of college,” yuuri admits.  “it was--college in america was weird.  i let go for a little bit.”

“like you overate?” victor asks.  he’s heard from other skaters in juniors who left the sport for school in the states--they called it the “freshman fifteen.”

“no, like i,” yuuri says, stops, looks away.  “i may have spent an entire month on ecstacy.”

“what,” victor says.

“i, i, i liked to party?  for awhile, anyway, and it was fun, and i lost control, and anyway, it was just for awhile, but i was still listening to a lot of terrible music by the time i started working on the first free skate for my senior debut, and--”

victor’s snuck around him as he’s been shamefully staring away, and he starts laughing.  “are you kidding?  you skated to darude’s sandstorm? we have to watch this.”

yuuri tackles victor straight into the table, breaking the laptop.  it is three more days before victor can finally watch the video in peace, hiding in the bathroom with his cellphone, before he contacts the guy to ask if there are more.

[robininthelabyrinth]

I wish you would write a fic where ... Dominic Purcell's portrayal of Dracula from Blade Trinity shows up. Like a crossover/fusion or maybe a Mick Rory vampire AU.

Fic: The Righteous Men (AO3 Link)Fandom: The Flash, DC’s Legends of Tomorrow, Blade: TrinityPairing: Mick Rory/Leonard Snart

Summary: The boy who likes to visit the tombs is back again. Doesn’t he know better than to disturb a sleeping vampire?

(After the end of humanity’s reign on earth, Len makes-believe that a vampire he’s called Mick is his friend. It’s not as made up as he might think.)

A/N: Slight fusion with Blade: Trinity, in which I borrow the following: Dominic Purcell (who plays Mick) plays Dracula (called Drake in the movie), an ancient vampire with very specific ideas about honor. The rest is mine.

WARNING: violence, explicit sexual content

——————————————————————————————–

Leo likes to go to the crypts when he has the time, which is to say, when Lisa (baby) is asleep and Lisa (mother) is around to keep an eye on her to make sure the baby doesn’t turn over the wrong way, and maybe is even sober enough to do it, too, and when his father is busy at the local Courts.

Leo likes the crypts because they’re empty.

Very few people ever go there outside of the holidays.

Oh, sure, teenagers looking for a place to screw, or middle schoolers daring each other to go be brave. But they usually scatter, giggling in terror, and run home.

Leo’s home is scarier than the crypts.

Most of the year, though, the gigantic gothic cathedrals, filled with endless stacked rows of box-like marble tombs surrounded by curving pipes, are totally empty.

Obviously, everyone is here during the Letting holiday, when everyone walks in procession through the crypts for the pleasure of the Overlords and prick their palms to drip blood into the drains that feed the crypt-sleepers. That’s a grand event: lots of music, everyone in their best clothing, swathes of rich fabric decorating the place, the Priests of the Blood standing on the platforms and exhorting the Herd to continue in their devotions. It’s mandatory, too, which explains why everyone comes, believer or non-believer.

Leo remembers the first time he was led to the great altar and his father put Leo’s hand under the Fang, the needle-sharp point darting down and splitting his skin so quickly it was over before he had time to cry, the cooling spray of anesthetic that followed making it so he didn’t feel the blood that he could see dripping down from his palm into the grate.

The rest of the year, though, even the Overlords don’t come here. It’s supposed to be haunted: they say the crypt-sleepers, those of the Overlords that choose to sleep through the decades until they next feel inclined to rise to check on the state of the world, will sometimes wake and watch the living.

The Overlords don’t like it. They are the Deathless, they who fear nothing but fire and silver and sunlight, but the crypts are a reminder that for all their immorality, the gaping jaws of oblivion are still a possibility.

Worse: it’s a possibility that they will, one day, willingly embrace, just as the crypt-sleepers have.

Members of the Herd, like Len, should be particularly wary. The crypt-sleepers, when they rise, demand a glut of life-blood, full human deaths which even the Overlords only take rarely. The Overlords generally only take full deaths when they need to thin the Herd; the rest of the time, certain members of the Herd are summoned to the feedings and come back dazed and a little light-headed, but usually no worse for the wear. Leo’s not entirely sure how they are selected - some people say it’s by lot, others claim that the Overlords have digital books with the faces, ages, and blood-type and that there are sommeliers that carefully decide how to stock the Overlord’s feats - but it doesn’t really matter. He’s still got some time before he’s officially eligible, unless someone particularly important decides they want to spend the political capital to obtain a delicacy: babes’ blood, virgin’s blood, first-blood…

Leo doesn’t really care. He’s Herd; his job right now is to attend school and to become educated enough to do whatever work he’s eventually assigned to, and even that he doesn’t do particularly well. His father is associated with one of the ambitious Clans who jockey for position at the Courts, the Darbyinians, playing Overlord politics, and he sometimes take Leo with him to help with jobs he has been assigned, and that means he doesn’t attend school or do his homework as much as he ought. Most people think it’s a worthwhile trade; the Darbyinian Clan is quite powerful, known to be well positioned in the black market and as procurers of rarities.

Thieves and pimps and drug dealers, in other words.

Leo thinks his father may be angling for a position as a full on Familiar, one of the special human servants especially selected by the Overlords to attend to them personally. The Branded ones. The ones who might, if they were particularly worthy, eventually be raised up to become one of the Overlords themselves.

Lewis has already gotten several infusions of Overlord energy as rewards for a job well done; he’s just a little younger and stronger than he ought to be at his age. The infusions of energy make him particularly savage, especially right after he’s received them; it was after one of the early ones that he beat Leo’s mother to death, and married Lisa’s. But no one pays too much attention when it’s one of the Overlord’s servants.

Leo hates it when his father is successful.

But even his father doesn’t think to look for him in the crypts.

Leo crawls through the back entrance, one of the statutes that needs repairs that it never quite got, and takes that extra second to be impressed by the gigantic scale of the gothic cathedral that makes up the crypts, the layers and layer and layers of tombs stretching up and down as far as the eye can see, each one surrounded by the delicate web of pipes that snake through the entire building. The pipes that end right above the crypt-sleepers’ mouths, ready to drip in life-preserving blood; the great engines beneath the floors that pump the blood around the building, the slow-beating heart of a giant mechanical organism.

Dotted throughout there are little wells, which someone once told Len were filled with water for people to wash their hands, but which are now filled with the blood of devotees who wish to give more than merely what the Fang demands. The altar, of course, with the Fang itself, a terrifying beast made of metal and gear, a gigantic organ with each pipe a needle.

And, of course, there’s the marble floor and the steel grating of the great big drain where they pour the vats of blood at the end of the Letting process to be pumped into all of the crypts to feed the sleepers. Put all together, it’s so immense that the human eye has trouble comprehending it. It’s monumental.

It makes him feel small and insignificant.

Perfect.

There’s one crypt in particular that Leo likes to sit next to. He knows they’re not all the same, different classes being a thing even among the immortal Overlords. This one is just the slightest bit ajar from the rest, but not like the super fancy ones with the gold and the glittering diamonds everywhere. The one Leo likes is just a tomb, slick but dull marble and a base of simple stone.

He crawls up to the side and looks down at the sleeper inside. The crypts are all open, of course, so that the blood from the pipes can drip down onto their faces, and the sleepers are all terrifying: bodies so drained of blood that they shrink in on themselves, fingers like sticks of bone, yellow skin wrinkled with disuse, mouths gaping open in silent screams filled with pointed fangs.

This one was a broad-shouldered man in life, Leo thinks, and tall. His eyes are closed, his eyelashes long and dark, his head shaved. His face is not as deteriorated as some of the other sleepers, the really scary ones; Leo doesn’t know if that’s because he’s younger or what, but if he has to have Deathless company in his solitude, he rather it be this man, who looks as though he is sleeping, than one of the real monsters.

He knows it’s childish, but whatever; there’s no one here to judge him, no one but him and the sleeper.

Leo’s named him Mick.

Oh, sure, there’s a name engraved in the side of the crypt, at least there’s supposed to be, but there are so many curly-cues and arcane symbols involved Leo can’t figure out what it is for the life of him.

He doesn’t remember how he thought of the name Mick, but it’s the one that stuck.

Leo reaches out and pricks his palm - already scarred over from the twice-yearly Letting and the occasional visits to the Temples of Blood when his father wanted to beg for favors - on the sharp edge of the pipe, just a bit, so he can drip a few drops into Mick’s open mouth. Leo’s a Jew, just like his mother, so he doesn’t actually believe in what they spout in the Temples of the Blood, and he doesn’t think his father does either other than the Overlords having a preference for members, but he figures it’s only polite not to insult another’s religion in the middle of their holy places. There’s no anesthetic here, since it’s not the right time or place, but Leo doesn’t mind. He can handle a little pain.

“Sorry for bothering you again,” Leo tells Mick. “I just needed to get away from the maddening crowd.”

He’d read that in a newspaper somewhere and he’d liked it. It described his family well.

Leo sprawls out on the big ledge next to the crypt. “So we pulled a job yesterday,” he tells Mick. Leo’s always been a chatterbox, everywhere but at home when his father has taught him the value of silence, and he can’t resist having his own audience, no matter how silent or unresponsive. “My dad, his crew, and me. It wasn’t a good one - Dad never thinks about what to do when things go wrong, so we end up always having to shoot our way out, brute force.” Leo wrinkles his nose in distaste. “There were three different ways we could have exited other than shooting our way out! I told him - but he didn’t listen -”

Leo’s hands are shaking. Anger, perhaps, or left-over fear from the job. He hadn’t noticed that; he wonders how long that’s been going on. He lays them flat on the cool stone, letting it leech away the slight pain left over on his palm. Can’t afford for his best set of tools to get weak.

Leo doesn’t want to think about what’ll happen if he loses even a little dexterity in his hands, what his father would do if he decided Leo wasn’t earning his keep anymore…

Leo sighs and lays his cheek on the marble as well. “Anyway,” he says. “Let me tell you how I would have done it -”

———————————————————————————————————–

The boy is back again.

He can smell him.

He is still asleep, not yet awake, but enough visits - blood freely-given, without even coercion behind it, laced with respect and the fizzy energy of youth, is one of the finest of flavors, second only to blood given by a loyal servant who loves him - has brought him closer to that grey state where he can choose whether or not the world interests him enough to make the effort.

He hasn’t made a decision yet, but that is only because the halls are empty and echoing and his boy the only human around, and it would defeat the whole purpose if he were unable to resist the bloodlust and rent that tender, supple flesh between his fangs before he has a chance to stop himself.

He finds himself intrigued by this boy that comes to him, not every day nor every week, but quite often; this boy who tells him of the world, who is so young to be so cynical; this boy who gives his blood to him and him alone, faithful as a knight to his liege.

He often does not listen to the boy’s words, focusing on the tone, the emotions, the curl of his mind, the beat of his heart. The boy speaks of a cruel master, who he nevertheless wishes he could advise to the man’s benefit; he speaks of a girl, whom he loves with a pure and sparkling innocence; he speaks of dark matters with a tongue yet free from their weight.

He speaks, in a halting uncertain way, of honor. Of rules of combat, which no one has taught him but which his blood cries out for. Of the joy in meeting and matching worthy opponents, the thrill of the chase, the glory in victory. The ways of a warrior long lost to the sheep of what is called cultured civilization.

And so Abraham came before the Lord and said: what if I could find ten righteous men; and the Lord said: for the sake of ten righteous men, I will not destroy the city.

When last he looked upon the world, he could not find even one righteous man: not a single one who knew anything of honor, of the code any true warrior must abide by if they wish to earn respect beyond fear. At first he yearned to burn the world around him, so that it might be remade better, but in time even this disgusted him, and so he cast himself down instead, closed his eyes and so forsook the world.

The world, it seems, has changed again.

Ten righteous men might be pushing it, but fate seems to have decided to send him one.

He will wait until the boy becomes a man, to see if he can survive unspoiled, but for the first time in a long time, he thinks he may have found one who might make it.

He who when he last walked the Earth was called Drake, and Dracula, and King of the Vampires, and before that had many more names besides, sleeps on, but in his sleep, he smiles in anticipation.

The boy continues to talk, unaware of the change in the monster that slumbers beneath him.

———————————————————————————————————–

Leo is by this point way too old for imaginary friends, but really, by this point, he’s just gotten into the habit of going to visit Mick. The crypts are as cool and quiet as they were when he was a kid, and he’s just as unlikely to be found; those appeals remain intact. But the rest…well.

It’s a little embarrassing how he keeps going to talk to Mick about his problems, but in fairness, there are far worse emotional crutches to have.

There’s drink and anger, like his father does. Whores of all sexes, drugs of all types, mindless games to watch at the Arcadia or the Stadium, stupid shows pumped into your house on your viewscreen. Leo’s eighteen; the strict restrictions on the Herd regarding the usage of substances that could taint the blood become significantly looser once you hit sixteen. There’s a whole bevy of options the Herd can choose from in the state-sanctioned bars, and if you’re not satisfied with that, there’s always the Darbyinian Clan, standing by with smirks and pupils shot through with greed, waiting to offer you many more options on the road to oblivion.

Leo prefers whenever possible to avoid them.

Whenever possible is – less than he’d like.

His father is still a rising star with the Darbyinian Clan, brutal and cruel the way they like it, though Leo is ever more convinced that there’s no way they’ll make him a real Familiar. If Leo were to devote himself to it, he could get in deeper with them than Lewis ever got; he’s smarter than his father is, he’s good at planning jobs – he subtly corrects half of Lewis’, even when it earns him a beating – and he could be so good at it, if only he was willing to give up what remained of his soul.

He doesn’t want to.

If he could only be his own man, free and clear and bound by nothing by what his conscience dictated, he could be so much better than anything they offer.

Freedom’s not an option, though, not for Herd.

Len is eighteen years old. He’s been eligible to be a feeder for the last four years, though he’s always managed to palm it off to someone else – there’s no shortage of volunteers, eager to get in good terms with the Clans and the Courts, and the skills he learned pickpocketing serve him well in avoiding anything else that might get him closer to the Darbyinians than he’d like. They say the Overlords can see your thoughts when they drink your blood, and he can’t permit that to happen.

Not with how much he hates them.

He’s eighteen years old. In two years, when he turns twenty, he’ll be assigned to some task based on his grades in school and some aptitude testing; unless he shows some other talent or skill, in that job he’ll remain for the rest of his life, and the punishment for slacking will be far stricter. Drudgery and boredom, that is the life of the Herd; they are slaves of the Overlords and it is only at the Overlords’ mercy and pleasure that they may get a glimpse of something more than the mundanity of life.

It can’t have always been like this.

“I think I’m having an existential crisis,” he tells Mick, crawling up on the crypt. He still fits, though not as comfortably as when he was smaller. He got his growth spurt at long last; with Lisa finally eligible for her own lots of food rather than dependent on their parents’, he’s finally been able to eat his fill, and he got repaid by a full six feet of height.

His father hasn’t quite forgiven Leo for being taller; there’s a reason he’s here, not home. Lisa’s safe in school, and Leo stopped caring about school long ago, when he figured out that there was no point. His father would never let him have one of the finer jobs, reserved for the intellectuals; he thinks Leo is stupid and useless, but he’s also not all that stupid himself. He knows how much he needs Leo, and he’ll find a way to convince his patrons to force Leo to stay under his thumb forever.

Lisa’s gotten really good at ice skating, though. Leo’s been secretly paying her way to private lessons on top of the school’s general exercise classes; if she’s good enough, one day she’ll be able to become an artist on the ice, skating so prettily even the Overlords watch in awe. That’d be a good life for her.

Better than anything Len has to look forward to.

“Yep,” he says, shaking his head. “Definitely an existential crisis.” On instinct, he sticks out his callused palm for the pipe, only to find that it’s not there.

He frowns. That’s a bit weird. The Letting is coming up soon; if they don’t put the pipe back, Mick won’t get any blood from the great ceremonies.

“I guess it’s under repair,” he tells Mick. “Don’t worry, I’ll check in again; if it’s not fixed by Letting-time, I’ll…I don’t know. Tell someone. Do something, I guess.”

He has no idea what he’d do, since he doesn’t like talking to the Priests of the Blood at the best of times, but still. The crypt-sleepers need regular infusions of blood to keep them from decaying further in their sleep, succumbing at last to their bloodlust like rabid animals or – more likely – just withering away; Len’s not sure why they wouldn’t give one of them blood.

Still, it seems like a pity not to feed Mick. It’s the least he could do, given that the corpse has been very nicely serving as Leo’s imaginary friend for something like ten years now. Giving Mick a splash of blood is practically part of the ritual: it opens the bitching session, lets Leo relax and know that he’s got nowhere to go for a while.

Well, it’s easy enough to fix.

Leo pulls out his pocket knife and pricks his fingertips. His palm’s pretty scabbed over from years of Lettings, just like all the Herd – the Overlords like it; it means that the turned-Overlords will always have a reminder that they were once Herd, as opposed to those Overlords who were born that way – but his fingertips bead up as readily as ever.

Without the pipe to guide him as to where to aim, Leo instead reaches into the crypt itself. “Hope you don’t mind,” he tells Mick, and drags his bloody fingertips across the sleeper’s sharp teeth, running up to his gums.

It’s a strangely intimate act – Leo’s not saving himself or anything, but he just plain old doesn’t like anyone, either, so he’s figuring he’ll wait to find one or until he gets assigned a breeding partner at twenty-five, whichever comes first – and it makes Leo’s throat go dry and makes him swallow, just a bit.

It’s dumb as fuck, being attracted to the Overlords – everybody is, of course, they’re mostly goddamn gorgeous until the fangs come out, but you shouldn’t be paying too much attention to it. That way leads to being a regular feeder, a blood-whore, and no matter how much the Priests of the Blood talk about submission to the Overlords being one of the greatest duties and pleasures of Herd life, it’s still a bit looked down upon in polite society. And Leo has the bad taste to be attracted to a crypt-sleeper, which even the Overlords probably think is a bit weird.

Ugh. Whatever.

It’s not like that’s going anywhere.

He needs to think about other things. His little existential crisis, for instance, and what he wants to do with his life –

“I don’t think I want to be a mobster,” he tells Mick, abruptly sure of it. He’d been wavering before, because he knows it’s the smart thing to do, but – no. He doesn’t want it. He doesn’t want it at all. “Not at all, not even a little. Not the way the Darbyinians do it. A drug dealer, a pusher, a thug, even a thief – not if it’s for them. I like thieving, don’t get me wrong; it’s fun to have a job go right. I like all the parts of the actual work: scouting out an opportunity, casing the joint, planning the approach, going in, a plan coming together beautifully or screwing up and making you think on your feet, either way. But the lawless Clans, the mobsters – they don’t got any notion of caring for your crew. If it’s your job, it ought to be your job all the way through – they listen to you, and you see them through till the end, you keep them safe and you get them paid and everyone goes home happy, you know? If they fuck up or double-cross you, that’s one thing; but if they’re good and loyal, then you owe ‘em loyalty in return. And that ain’t how the Darbiniyans and the rest of them do it.”

He sighs, drapes his head on the cool marble. “They like my dad, which ought to tell you everything,” he says glumly. “More than that, though, it’s all of them. They like how he works, the way he’ll ditch crew members at the drop of a hat, the way he’ll make a half-assed plan and just be sure to bring enough firepower to force his way out again.”

Leo bangs his head lightly against the crypt. “It’s just so wasteful. It’s not that I can’t ice a guy for doing me wrong – I can, no sweat; I’m not a baby anymore – but if the reason they’re screwing up is because your plan is wrong, you got no business doing nothing to them. It ain’t them, it’s you, and they shouldn’t have to pay for supporting you when you make mistakes. They want me to join up, you know? The Darbyinians, I mean.”

He snorts. Mick is a silent, sympathetic presence.

“They sometimes pretend it’s a good thing. Promotion and pleasures and all sorts of new entertainment options, all for doing the same sort of work I’ve already been doing, and it’s gotta be better than working the factory line or something, they say. Not as good as being a Familiar, of course, but there’s always that little bit of gold at the end of the rainbow – maybe if you’re good enough, if you do well enough, if you’re promising enough. Hah! It’s never going to happen. They’re going to force me to stick with my dad till I’m dead.” He swallows. “Or till Lisa is.”

Mick’s stillness matches the coldness in Leo’s heart.

“You know he’s been threatening Lisa now? Ever since I got taller than him, and stronger, too, he’s figured out that just kicking my ass doesn’t work anymore, not even if he uses a bottle or a bat to do it with. Oh, it’ll hurt all right, but it’ll just get me angry. He’s gotten me used to it. But Lisa – man, you should see her. She dances on ice like a freaking ballerina, and if he gets his hands on her and breaks something that she needs for the skating, I’ll never forgive myself, and damn him, he knows it, too.”

Leo smiles. “Though he doesn’t know about the skating. Just that I worry about her, s’all. I’ve kept that much secret.”

Mick, unsurprisingly, didn’t respond, though Leo feels as though he would be approving.

“You know what’s sad?” Leo asks. “I think, next to Lisa, you’re my favorite person in the world, and I don’t even know you.”

———————————————————————————————————–

Most vampires, when they sleep, sleep like the dead.

Damn that boy. His fondness for puns has become infectious.

Mick’s lips curl up and he licks the trace of blood from his teeth. Mick. Yes, he likes Mick; he likes being Mick. Mick is the boy’s creation, Mick is the mind which the boy loves – far better than Drake, who had nothing and was nothing and was last resurrected by stinking rats seeking to use him to aid themselves against a warrior who hunted their kind and who they dared not fight back against. Mick is the person who has been responding to the boy’s words, responses in his mind, turning monologue into dialogue, though the boy doesn’t realize it. Human minds are not particularly receptive to telepathy, humanity naturally immune to it, but Mick is strong enough, even in his sleep, to make himself and his thoughts known.

He has not fully awoken, not yet, but it is time. He has given certain signals that he is ready and they should be preparing for his rising.

The boy is growing into a man, and what a fine man he promises to be. He yearns to be free and rejects the tired pleasures of everyday life; he is greater than those around him who would pull him down.

There is no way Mick’s calling him Leo, though. His boy’s no lion, full of bluff and false might, shaking his mane and roaring to frighten off competitors but in truth being weak and lazy, relying on the strength of others to do the work.

Besides, the boy has named Mick; it is to Mick to name the boy in return.

Mick’s been thinking about it: he’s grown rather partial to the shortening ‘Len’. ‘Lenny’, if the boy is being particularly amusing.

He has grown closer and closer to true awakening, when he will need nourishment in truth in order to move muscle, and now he listens to Len’s words instead of merely his tone – and this time, there is a trace of concern there.

The pipe is gone.

Mick’s not entirely certain what this means – he’s just had some of Len’s blood, which means he has some access to Len’s thoughts, the glorious bright mess that is his boy’s brain, and Len seems to think it strange, that he does not have the pipe that would get him fed at the time of eating. Holidays, in Len’s mind; his vampires, now that they have conquered the world, have made it a holiday, that all the humans line up and donate blood, and the giant vats fill with the stuff, which is then pumped through the pipes that twine everywhere through the great cathedrals, the crypts, filled with those vampires who, like him, have chosen to sleep through the years in hope of a better future.

But there is no pipe for him.

No blood.

Mick needs to think about what this might mean.

He has given the signals that he is thinking of awakening – and soon after, they remove that which he needs to awaken. From Len’s mind, it seems that it is traditional when a sleeper awakens, it is during or after the holiday, the majority of the blood pumped to that sleeper so that they regain flesh and muscle, that they have the power to rise up and to feast upon the poor human lives chosen from the prisons to serve as an awakening.

If there is no pipe –

They do not want to risk him waking up.

His children have grown to fear him and what he might mean to their perfect, comfortable, fat, lazy world.

They remember, then, that he longs to burn the world down and restore it – not in his image, no; he has already done that, and see how badly it turned out. But to create something beautiful from the ashes. Something better.

Let there be ten righteous men – and I will not destroy it.

Mick’s fangs lengthen, just a bit, and his eyes flicker under his eyelids.

With ten righteous men by his side, he could destroy it.

He wonders if Len will be able to find him ten.

———————————————————————————————————–

He didn’t run there on purpose.

Nothing was on purpose – nothing but blind, stupid terror, guiding his every step as he stumbles and trips and runs some more, his breath heaving until his chest burns, his heartbeat loud in his ears, the bile thick on his tongue.

Stupid.

Stupid, just like thinking his father was clever enough to know how useful Leo was to him. Stupid, thinking that his father cared; that his father had enough animal cleverness not to throw away his meal ticket. Stupid, not thinking about how his father has watched him grow, grow strong and grow smart and grow tall, and stupid, not to think about how his father is jealous.

Stupid.

Stupid to force the issue.

Stupid to tell his father that he doesn’t want to listen to him anymore. Stupid to think Lisa’s brand new scholarship would keep her away, and safe, and even stupider to think it meant some measure of freedom from his father’s threats. Stupid to think he could have a little bit of his own life now that she is gone to better things.

If he lets them catch him, he’s very soon not going to have a life at all.

That’s what the Darbyinians do, after all; they cater to the black market, to desires only whispered at in polite spaces. They’re the procurers, the mobsters, the pimps. They can get you what you want if you’re willing to pay their prices.

There are stories, whispered tales, that once the Herd were the ones in power, the powerful and the many, and the Overlords were merely animals hiding in the dark, hunting for the weak and the sickly, the ones who would not be missed.

Stories that the Overlords missed those days, sometimes, missed the vicious savagery of chasing a victim and snuffing out his life, the thrills of the hunt.

There are Overlords hunting him now.

Yapping and howling like a pack of wild dogs, whistling and mocking, crying, “Here human, here human!” as they track him down.

The Overlords are said to be faster and stronger than humans, but not by that much. They can perform no feats of great strength nor run so fast that the eye cannot see. No, their strength is where it has always been: in their endurance. In their immortality. In the fact that they can go on and on and on where the Herd – where humans – will grow tired and fall.

No lactic acid boils their muscles. No carbon dioxide chokes their lungs.

They keep going.

And they will hunt Leo until he falls, and when he falls, they will kill him.

That’s what Lewis sold them, the fucking faithless bastard; he sold them a human life, a chase in the dark. They will hunt Leo and they will bring him down and they will put their fangs in him – in his neck in his arms in his thighs in his ankles – and they will tear him apart, they will bleed him dry, and when they’re done, sated and pleased and feeling like brave men for having paid for the privilege of debasing themselves – then his father will come, the dog nosing at the heels for scraps, and he will clean up their mess, and never think twice about the fact that the strips of flesh and bone were once a boy that loved him.

Stupid.

Stupid, too, to run, to give them the chase they want, but he can’t help it. He wants to live. He wants to be free. He doesn’t have much else but hope and potential, but he knows he can do better than this stupid, stupid death.

But life doesn’t care about that.

He runs to where he’s always felt safest, to the crypts, to Mick. It’s his private place, his happiest place, and he runs there, he knows, to die. They will find him. He could be clever and run to the streets, to the temples of the Blood, and seek sanctuary there; this is not a state-sanctioned death, so theoretically he would find protection among the peace-keepers. But Leo knows human nature too well, and Overlord nature as well, and he knows how many of the so-called priests harbor desires of a most un-priest-like nature. He’s seen them often enough in his jobs for the Darbyinians, with his father. Hell, one might be in the pack behind him, even now.

No, there’s no safety there.

He could have run to the factories, to where the Herd congregates most, and tried to lose their scent there – one human among a thousand, among a million. But the pack chasing him are frenzied and panting and wild for death, and he knows if he took them there, to the Herd, then he would only be trading his death for that of another, someone slower and more vulnerable, who never had a father like Leo’s and was not sold to his death by his hands, and for Leo that would be intolerable.

Stupid heart. His father always said it’d be the end of him.

Leo just hadn’t thought it’d be like this.

At this point, he’s lost all hope, even as his breath grows shorter and shorter, his lungs screaming, his muscles beyond sore and into numbness. He just wants – he doesn’t know.

The base instinct in all people is to seek somewhere safe when they are scared.

He’s so scared.

It probably says something about him that when he thinks to go somewhere safe, he runs to Mick.

He goes to say goodbye.

———————————————————————————————————–

He hears Len coming, faster than ever before. He smells his boy’s panic, his sadness, his resignation. He hears the jagged breaths, the beats of his hear; he tastes the salt of the tears that drip down his face. He hears the mocking howls of the ones who are chasing him, hears their intent to kill in the jibes they throw, in the way they goad each other on, children of the night who have never had the spine to do one thing right in their miserable deathless lives.

They are coming to kill his boy.

The sheer gall of it rises up between his eyes and for the first time in centuries his eyes slit open, and they open red as fire.

His fingers are stiff with disuse as he uncurls them; they are more claw than finger, right now. He should have blood, an ocean of it, at his service; he should have loyal servants standing by, the bodies of their enemies cast forth for his pleasure to feed upon; he should have death upon death upon death to glut his hunger and make him strong.

What he has is a boy who is very nearly a man, an upright man, a warrior like him.

In truth, he prefers what he has.

The boy falls a few meters from his resting place as the cowards hunting him grow tired of the chase and spooked by their surroundings, afraid of defiling the places of their ancestors with their insipid games, knowing just a little that they are doing wrong, and they run forward with the strength of men who do not tire and they catch the boy as he runs and they throw him to the ground.

“No!” Len shouts, cries out. “Just a little more!”

His boy was coming to him.

That is right, that is just, that is how it ought to be – the weaker turn to the stronger, they give you love and they give you loyalty, and they are rewarded with loyalty and love and protection in return.

It has been a long time since someone worthy has thrown themselves upon his honor.

Longer still since he felt the call to answer.

His bloodless fingers curl around the edge of his crypt.

He pulls himself up.

He sees six of them, adults in full, each one of them, some pure-born, some turned, all foolish; six grown men hunting one untried boy. He sees the white flash of their fangs. He smells their fetid lust, lust for death, lust for blood, lust for the boy beneath them. He hears them laugh –

“Stupid little piggy,” one is cooing as the others hoot like monkeys, “thinking you could run from us; we’re the kings of the world, we are, and you’re just a big fat little piglet, aren’t you, all pink and terrified, plump and filled with blood, all for us –”

They run their hands over his boy, hideous and stroking and a terrible parody of intimacy, and his boy shudders in disgust, in fear, but he does not beg for mercy. He raises up his head and he spits in their faces.

Oh, Len.

Mick’s face stretches greying skin, tight for lack of moisture, into a terrible smile.

His muscles ripple under his skin as he calls upon his most ancient of abilities, the power to change shape, to become greater than human, the unhinged jaw, the monstrous form. He does not need that now, not for this. Right now he needs something different – he needs to make himself just a little bit smaller.

Just smaller enough that what little blood he has – all Len’s by now, all Len’s, just as he is – pools in his gut and gives him the power to leap.

The movement is enough to awaken him fully.

And then there is nothing but the bloodlust.

He roars in victory as he catches the first, the one who dared touch his boy, dared think his boy the pig rather than himself, and he rips his throat open and gorges himself on the blood the man had stolen from others.

The jeers and hoots and howls of the pack turns to squeals and screeches and whimpers of terror.

They run, but he does not grant them mercy, just as they granted his Len no mercy. He breaks their legs and guzzles their blood, he lets them live, their dead hearts pumping wildly to bring out the reserves of what they have left, and then he lets them watch as he hunts down each and every one of them.

And then, when they are healing their wounds and crawling away from him, intent on escape, as they beg him for mercy, he goes for a second round, filling his belly with the last of the life-blood, cracks open their bones and sucks out the marrow, and laughs as they dissolve into ash in his hands.

One – cleverer than the rest – manages to crawl to a vat of blood, preserved at the right temperature to keep it from congealing, pumped through the system to keep the sleepers content. He rips it open, spraying its contents everywhere as it pumps out of the system like water from a hose and he drinks and he uses that strength to heal himself and he runs without thought to his companions.

It would have worked, too, but Mick is faster, Mick is stronger, Mick is better.

Mick grants him one small mercy for his cleverness: he rips his head off in a single, clean stroke.

The ashes cover his hands and drift away in the breeze.

There is blood painting the floor when he’s done, blood painting the sides of the crypts, the blood of the vampire pack – they were already filled up on blood freely-given before embarking on this chase, as if to cut off any risk of failure, the pathetic worms – and the blood of the vat, the first, angry stream of warm blood having faded now into a drip that pools on the pale marble floor beneath the great gothic arches and endless tombs.

There is Len, legs still splayed out before him and his arms behind him, raised up on his elbows and staring, eyes white all around, his face splattered with blood and his clothing soaked sodden with it.

He’s beautiful.

Mick’s not sure if there’s anything he could do to become even more beautiful.

“Mick,” Len breathes, and oh, he was wrong, he was wrong, for that is joy in his boy’s eyes, not fear: joy to see the monster who Len called his friend, pleasure to see him standing upright, careless of himself and his death, knowing that there are none who need be feared more than a risen sleeper and uncaring because it is Mick, it is his friend, and he will die happy, if it is at his hands. “Oh, Mick –”

Len will not die today.

Six vampires, filled up on blood – Mick’s not saying he couldn’t do with some more, but it’s enough for now.

He strides forward, his face settling into his first shape – dark eyes and shaved head and thick features, broad shoulders and strong arms – and Len looks upon him and admires him, and he falls down before him and catches Len’s head in his hands –

And here it is, the slightest glimmer of fear, even as Len lets Mick tilt his head back –

Mick kisses him.

———————————————————————————————————–

Leo’s never –

Leo never thought –

This is better than he ever imagined it being.

God, it’s Mick, he knows it’s Mick, it’s Mick as he ought to be – strong and sharp and eyes glowing, and he loves Leo just as Leo loves him, and it doesn’t even make any sense, none at all – he has a million questions: why is he here – how is he awake – how does he know him – but none of that matters, because Mick is here, Mick is with him, Mick is kissing him like he can’t stop, and Leo’s kissing him back, too, just the same.

He’s still high on adrenaline from the chase, pain and terror transmuting now to pure need, and he doesn’t know what to do with his hands so he clutches at Mick’s shoulders, Mick’s arms, Mick’s waist. He wraps his legs up around Mick and lets Mick pull him into his lap, lets Mick tilt his head back and kiss his neck – Leo’s pulse jumps a little, he can’t help it, that’s his jugular right there, but Mick doesn’t bite down, doesn’t rip him apart, just runs his tongue along Leo’s collarbone until he shivers.

Mick pulls his clothing apart like it’s nothing, the cotton of Leo’s shirt and sweater falling to pieces before his sharp fingernails, the denim of his jeans barely any more of an obstacle, and then Mick’s pushing him down on the cool marble floor –

Leo yelps.

Mick pulls away from him, just a second, looking him up and down for injuries.

“Sorry,” Leo says apologetically, automatically. “It’s a bit cold.”

Mick stares at him, then he laughs.

Leo can’t keep from smiling. Mick’s got a great laugh, deep and rich and lovely, and yeah, okay, that was possibly the least sexy thing he could say right at that moment, but hey! It’s marble! It’s cold as hell on his bare ass.

Mick solves the problem the best way possible, by peeling off his own shirt – a loose thing of white linen, now stained red with blood – and dropping it to the floor, picking Leo up and putting him on it and kneeling above him, clad in nothing but tight leather pants, eyes intent, and the laughter dries up in Leo’s throat as he stares.

He’s hard and wanting and he doesn’t even care that he’s naked in the crypts, surrounded by all the sleepers, and when he was young he’d thought it was stupid that teenagers would come here to screw, but he knew nothing of how much you wanted it, how desperate you are, how stupid it made you, when you wanted it and it was someone who wanted you too –

Mick kisses him again.

“Gonna be short,” Leo warns him through kisses, with panting breath, Mick’s fingers sliding through his close-clipped hair, dipping down his side, a tantalizing tease –

“Yes,” Mick rumbles, and his voice is low and intent and perfect, just the way Leo knew it would be. “Yes. Come for me, Len.”

“Leo –” Leo tries to correct him.

“Len,” Mick says firmly, his eyes glinting, his hand sliding down to caress Leo, fingers wrapping around his length and giving a single long stroke. “My Len, mine – mine to name, just like you named me –”

And yep, that’s it, Leo’s done – Len’s done, totally done, crying out as his vision blanks out and he shakes and he comes and he feels so good, so incredibly good; he’s never come this hard in his life –

Mick laps at his fingers.

Len whimpers at the sight, his cock twitching with the aftershocks like he still thinks he can get it up. Sure, he’s only twenty, but he still needs a goddamn minute, and Mick is just so hot.

Mick smiles at him, and there are fangs in his smile, pairs of canines long and sharp and pointed, on the top and on the bottom.

That should not be attractive. Len literally just saw what those fangs are capable of, what those hands can do, the violence in them, the violence in Mick, the unrestrained brutality, the real thing next to the pale echoes of the Overlords that hunted him. They’re both stained with blood which is already starting to brown as it dries, filthy and awful and what would probably be incredibly unhygienic except for the fact that Overlords are incapable of carrying disease. It ought to be disgusting. It ought to be terrifying.

Len thinks it’s really fucking hot.

He’s so stupid sometimes.

“My turn,” Mick rumbles, and yep, Len’s done thinking. More kissing, yes please.

Mick lets Len fumble at his pants, popping the buttons open and pull him out, and Mick is thick in Len’s hands, a heavy weight of heated flesh – heat from other people’s blood, since Mick’s dead heart produces none of its own, beating dully in parody of the living.

Len swallows.

He wonders, wildly, what he should do now. There are a million options open to him. He could stroke Mick off with his fingers, watch as Mick shudders and spurts until he’s drenched Len’s hands; he could lean down, take Mick into his mouth – he’d only ever thought of that before, at night – feel the weight of him on his tongue, swallow him as best as he can; or maybe even –

Mick makes the decision for him, pushing Len down and spreading his legs, settling between them.

“I’ve never –” Len says: a caution, not a plea to stop.

“I know,” Mick says, and he seems pleased. “Will you permit me to have you?”

Well, when you put it that way…

Len shakily nods his consent.

———————————————————————————————————–

His boy wants him, his boy trusts him, his boy loves him.

His Len will give him everything.

Mick knows perfectly well he should wait. The boy is yet young and untouched; he spilled within moments and already Mick can see that he stirs once more. It would be the work of moments to bring him off again. Mick could have his body any way he wishes; he could rut against him like a beast, or put him on his knees and teach him how Mick best likes to be serviced.

But he wants.

He wants to take the boy right here, in the halls of the dead, splattered with the blood of the kill, of his rescue, of the promise implicitly made – the liege who offers protection, the knight who offers loyalty, bound together by the greatest of fealties – wants to take him and make a new binding, one on top of the others, love and loyalty mixed together until he has every last piece of Len’s soul in his hands and has given Len a piece of his own in return.

And Mick is accustomed to getting what he wants.

There is oil in the base of the lamps, sweet-smelling and rich and thick and most importantly within arm’s reach, and he suspects he’s not the first one to think of this use for them as he dips his fingers in there, his body outstretched above Len’s as Len murmurs happily and runs curious fingers over Mick’s chest.

His murmurs turn to pleasure soon enough as Mick slides his fingers down and slips one inside.

“You like that, huh?” Mick asks, smile curling on his face.

Len reaches up and kisses him, his tongue daintily curling around Mick’s teeth, tracing his fangs. Dancing with danger already, his reckless boy.

He gives him another finger just for that. It’s too quick, the boy’s tight and untried, but he’s come once already and his body is inclined to be loose and relaxed.

He’ll be more relaxed once he comes again.

“Oh – oh – I can’t –” Len protests as Mick leans down, kisses his chest, licks off the blood that leaked through his clothing, works his way down to Len’s cock even as he fingers Len open. “If you do that, I’ll be done –”

“You won’t be done,” Mick says, quite sure of it. It’s been a very long time since he was an adolescent, but he’s known many in his time. “We won’t be done, not by a long shot.”

He dips his head down and takes Len in his mouth.

Len howls in pleasure, thrashing under him and held still only by Mick’s greater strength, and Mick curls his fingers and sucks and all in all it’s maybe two minutes before Len is coming again, his eyes sliding shut with ecstasy, his body falling down, free of all concern and pain even as Mick opens him up.

Len barely stirs as Mick pulls his fingers out, pressing himself against Len, just opens his eyes and smiles up at Mick, a soft, quiet smile, love in his eyes, gasping just the slightest little bit as Mick pushes inside.

His boy – his good boy, his righteous boy, his warrior –

“You’ll stand at my right hand,” Mick whispers, ducking his head down, hands effortlessly holding Len up as he pushes inside, Len’s legs draped over his arms, pushing in deep until he’s bottomed out into Len’s languid body. “My Len – you and me, we’ll take it down, we’ll make it right – we’ll burn the world alive –”

“Yes,” Len says, and his eyes glow with pleasure. “Yes –”

“The faithless will fall before us,” Mick promises him. “The strong will protect the weak, as they ought, and the best and the cleverest will be rewarded.”

“Yes,” Len says again, and he curls up his body a little more, urging Mick along. He’s hardening yet again, quick enough that it must be causing him pain; Mick’s eager little Len. His Len. “Yes – yes – yes – more –”

Len’s not talking about their new world anymore.

Mick smirks, and turns his attention to what he’s doing.

———————————————————————————————————–

Mick fucks him long and slow and good and it’s amazing, it’s mind-blowing, and fuck, he’s hard again and if Mick doesn’t stop being so stupid hot soon, Len’s going to way too worn out to help Mick burn the world down like he wants.

Not that it’s a bad way to go.

Not if it’s Mick, anyway.

“We’re gonna do it,” he says, only half aware. “We’re gonna do it, ain’t we?”

“We already are, I thought,” Mick says, kissing the corner of Len’s mouth with an insolent smirk on his lips.

A punster.

Oh, be still Len’s living, beating heart.

“We’re gonna burn ‘em,” Len clarifies, and is rewarded by seeing Mick’s eyes glow yellow, growing slitted and alien in their pleasure as Mick speeds up his thrusts. “We’re gonna burn it all to the ground – gonna start again – make it better than it is now – gonna burn down all of their stupid temples, going to make them run, make them afraid –”

“My Len,” Mick says, and he’s pounding into Len now, he’s big and thick and oh, this is going to hurt like hell tomorrow – in an hour, even – but it’s so, so worth it. “My perfect Len, my right hand; how long I have waited for you.”

“They’re going to remember why they hid in the dark,” Len says.

“Yes,” Mick gasps, his hips working.

“They’re going to burn to ash,” Len says, and he can see it in front of his eyes as if it were real – the great gothic cathedral around them, the crypts of the sleepers, every one of them aflame and burning, each and every one of them a Temple of the Blood, a Court, a Clan-house, an Overlord who was once the terror of humanity in the dark and which had grown fat and decadent and worthless – and in the midst of that fire he can see himself, him and Mick, standing there, free of any obligation but that which they want to take on, which they have to take on, honor and freedom and justice all mixed into one unbreakable whole –

“Yes,” Mick says, and he leans down and he buries his fangs into Len’s neck.

————————————————————————————————————–

“There you go,” Len says, back straight and eyes proud, arms outstretched to show Mick the glories he has found in his searches, his work on Mick’s behalf. “Ten righteous men.”

“And women,” Iris says tartly.

Len inclines his head. “And women,” he adds, amused. “I did you one better, actually; I got you twelve.”

Mick leans forward, his eyes bright. “Let me meet them,” he says. “Your righteous dozen.”

He is beautiful, sitting there on his throne; a throne of twisted metal dragged out of some crypt, some dead place, marked with runes long since forgotten. Len’s heart skips a beat just looking at him.

“Lisa,” he says, and sends her forward.

She kneels before the monster on the throne and she looks him in the eyes and she trusts.

He puts his hands on her shoulders and stares into her eyes.

“Your sister,” Mick says, his voice dark and deep and pleased. “You give me your sister.”

“That which is most precious goes to the Lord,” Len says, and he’s only half joking.

Sure, it’s a bit blasphemous, but they’re planning world-wide revolution.

You’ve got to be a bit blasphemous for that.

Mick lifts her wrist. “With your consent,” he says.

“Freely given,” she says, head held high, eyes bright and hard, and when he bites down he does nothing to dull the pain, but she does not make a noise.

Mick pulls back within seconds. “Yes,” he says. “You are one of us. I will give you my protection.”

“I will give you my loyalty,” she replies.

He smiles.

“Next,” he orders, releasing her to stand up, Lisa moving instinctively to stand by his side, on his left.

The right, of course, is Len’s.

The next to come forward is Barry Allen, young and eager and hopeful, a boy who sees nothing but the brightness of the future before his eyes, whose life has been darkness but who is always striding to the light.

“I approve,” Mick says.

Next is Iris West, Barry’s foster-sister and anchor.

Wally West, Iris’ brother.

Cisco Ramon.

Caitlin Snow.

Ronnie Raymond.

Sara Lance.

Jefferson Jackson.

Kendra Saunders.

Martin Stein.

Raymond Palmer.

Each and every one of them bright and upright, heroes in souls stained with darkness. They hate the status quo that grinds down men into slaves and lets the Overlords grow stupid on their blood.

“My baker’s dozen of righteous souls,” Mick says. “Together, we’re going to change the world.”

“But first,” Len says. “We’re going to burn it down.”

They smile, every one of them.

[instantdeerlover]

From the Strategist The Best Food Gifts for Every Type of Dad added to Google Docs

From the Strategist The Best Food Gifts for Every Type of Dad

 Photo: Goldbelly

From cakes to steaks, there’s no way these gifts won’t satisfy, from the Strategist

While you may not be able to take your dad out for dinner at his favorite steakhouse or join him in the backyard as he fires up the grill, that doesn’t mean you can’t still give him the gift of his favorite food this Father’s Day. Thanks to innovations in cold shipping and a few neat delivery services, sending your old man local delicacies has never been easier — even if he lives in Los Angeles and those delicacies are made in Greenwich Village. To help you find the right edible (or drinkable) treat for your pop, we’ve rounded up the best food gifts from a variety of retailers — from heat-and-eat dinners to easy snacks to bar essentials — for every type of dad, whether he’s a meat-and-potatoes guy, clean-eater, or a teetotaler.

A note that most everything below should arrive in time for Father’s Day, but some things may require expedited shipping with a fee due to pandemic-related delays on companies’ shipping and delivery operations. We’ve noted shipping costs and estimated delivery times where applicable, but know that delivery estimates are constantly changing, and Father’s Day is June 21, so the sooner you order, the better.

For the old-school dad with a sweet tooth  Junior’s Original Cheesecake

Junior’s cheesecakes are a New York original, and doesn’t your old man deserve the best?

For the trendier dad with a sweet tooth  Milk Bar Birthday Cake

Anyone who’s had a bite knows that this is like the birthday cakes he grew up eating — but better. Milk Bar perfected its classic birthday cake over two years, and the result is a honking, three-tier confection of rainbow-flecked vanilla cake, frosting, crunchy crumbs, and sprinkles.

For the dad who misses his favorite steakhouse  Peter Luger Steak Pack B - 2 USDA Prime Dry-aged Porterhouse Steaks

Maybe he tried Peter Luger once and can’t stop talking about the porterhouse for two (that he swears he could have polished off on his own). Or maybe it’s at the top of his must-try list for whenever he can dine out again. Either way, this indulgent gift will allow him to savor that very famous steak in the comfort of his own home.

For the dad who misses his favorite steakhouse (for the wine)  Primal Wine Club

If dad misses flipping through the wine list to find a new bottle to pair with his filet, he’ll likely appreciate a subscription to the sommelier-approved Primal Wine Club, which ships a selection of natural wines — made with minimal intervention using organic or biodynamic grapes — right to his door every month. Subscriptions start at $85 for monthly three-bottle deliveries, and he can always take over paying for it if you don’t want to foot the bill for an entire year.

For the dad who prefers his meat cured  Murray’s Cheese Slam Dunk Snacks

While he might not have a game to watch while nibbling on it, that doesn’t mean dad can’t still enjoy his favorite snack of charcuterie. This “Slam Dunk” bundle from Murray’s includes Genoa salami and Prosciutto San Daniele, along with maple-leaf-pepper-jack cheese, Boerenkaas gouda, French double crème brie, chocolate, and crackers, all of which arrive packaged inside “Murray’s signature gift box,” according to the brand.

For the dad who’d prefer to just snack on chocolate  Tony’s Chocolonely Milk and Dark Chocolate Variety Pack

The sweets that we declared were last year’s status Halloween candy are also chef-approved, meaning they’re sophisticated enough for a dad whose sweet tooth is set on chocolate. They’re delicious (trust us) and also quite giftable, what with their fun candy-colored packaging. (They’re also made without slave labor, according to the brand.) This set of six includes both milk and dark varieties, for the dad whose cocoa tastes don’t discriminate.

For the dad who’s trying to eat cleaner  Green Chef

Perhaps dad has decided to give up the red meat, wine, salty snacks, and chocolate for a new low-carb or vegetarian diet. If so, Green Chef makes it easy to try eating healthier before making a complete lifestyle change. The meal-delivery service offers dishes to suit a variety of diets — from keto-friendly to paleo to plant-based — all made from organic ingredients (whenever possible), which it ships to him in precise amounts along with recipes that take no more than about 30 minutes to whip up.

For the low-carb dad who’s also low-maintenance  Pete’s Paleo

If he’d rather not mess with cooking, Pete’s Paleo may be a better option. It ships heat-and-eat dishes that are gluten-, dairy-, and soy-free — all of which are all created by a Le Cordon Bleu–trained chef. Weekly subscriptions start at $70, which will get dad five fully prepared meals that only require heating up. Pete’s Paleo also sells its dishes à la carte for $15–$18 per dish (with a five-meal minimum), if you’d rather let him try it for himself before committing to a subscription. And for Strategist readers, the company is offering $10 off its meals (both onetime purchases and subscriptions) using the code STRATEGIST.

For the dad who enjoys a cold one  Beer Across America Monthly Beer Club Subscription

If dad misses weekends spent visiting new breweries and trying their brews, he’ll surely love this “beer of the month” club that comes recommended by Nikki McCutcheon, the beverage director at Magic Hour Rooftop Bar and Lounge at the Moxy Times Square hotel. For $39 a month, the service will send monthly deliveries of four varieties of award-winning beer from two independent craft breweries (a total of 12 beers per delivery), all of which are curated by a panel of experts.

For the dad who’d rather brew his own beer  Brooklyn Brew Shop Everyday IPA Beer Making Kit

This kit comes with everything he needs to brew his first batch of beer, including hops, IPA grain mix, and reusable equipment (glass fermentation jug, thermometer, racking cane, tubing, tubing clamp, screw-cap stopper, and airlock). If he wants to try making a different brew, all you need to do is get another beer mix.

For the dad who starts cocktail hour at 5 o’clock on the dot  Jack Rudy Cocktail Co. Classic Tonic Syrup

When he’s that rigorous about his nightly ritual, he probably won’t use any old ingredients to make his nightly gin and tonic. According to bartenders, this small-batch tonic syrup made with a hint of lemongrass and orange peel will take his drink of choice to the next level.

For the (minimalist) dad who starts cocktail hour at 5 o’clock on the dot  Herb & Lou Infused Cocktail Ice Cubes

Maybe dad appreciates a good cocktail but not having all the ingredients and gear needed to make one littered around the house. These ice cubes are actually freezable fruit-and herb-infused mixers that take the fuss out of creating a fancy cocktail at home. They arrive unfrozen, so all dad has to do is pop them in the freezer and then, once frozen, pop one in a glass then pour his favorite spirit over it, and voilà! His drink is served. They’re available in five different flavors — the Cooper (blood orange ginger), the Cecile (cucumber and watermelon margarita), the Clyde (peach with benedectine), the Oliver (an “unclassic” negroni), and the Seymour (Meyer lemon daiquiri) — which you can buy individually at $36 for 24 cubes, or in sets for a bit more money.

For the dad who’s a teetotaler  Seedlip Distilled Non-Alcoholic Spirits, Garden 108

Bartenders agree that Seedlip’s non-alcoholic spirits are among the best you can buy, with the Garden 108 flavor being one of their favorites for its “herbaceous, bright, and spring-y” taste. The pros say It’s best used in light, floral cocktails or just with a splash of tonic water.

For the dad whose drug of choice is caffeine  Trade Coffee Monthly Subscription

Help him find some new favorite varieties of mud to sip on with a subscription from barista-approved Trade, which sends coffee hand picked for him based on his preferences. Does he use a drip machine or a Chemex? Prefer light, medium, or dark roast? Plans start at $15 for one bag shipped every one to three weeks. If you up that to two bags at a time, each one drops to $12.50 a piece.

For the dad who always takes his coffee with a pastry  Porto’s Bakery Cheese Rolls

Porto’s, a Los Angeles–based Cuban bakery and cafe chain, normally sees lines out the door no matter the time of day. While most people may not be waiting in lines for anything these days, nobody ever really wants to to begin with — and, thankfully, no longer needs to (at least at Porto’s), because the bakery will ship its treats nationwide. These sweet (cream) cheese rolls are one of the most popular items on the menu, and all dad has to do is heat up the oven to get that fresh-baked experience at home.

For the dad who likes his peppers pickled  Matiz Piparras

Chef and food artist Laila Gohar says that these “spicy and briny” pickled peppers “add a nice bite to a lot of dishes,” which is why they are one of her favorite jarred foods. Of course, they’re just as delicious on their own — Gohar also told us she eats them straight from the jar — and would make for a most satisfying snack.

For the dad who likes his fish pickled  Russ & Daughters Pickled Herring with Cream and Onions

The pickled herring with cream and onions from Russ & Daughters is this writer’s go-to gift for her dad, a pickled-herring connoisseur who thinks this the best there is. If you want to go all out, send him the eatery’s classic New York brunch spread (another favorite).

For the dad who spends every Saturday morning behind a griddle  Trees Knees Maple Gift Set

A pancake obsessive deserves only the best maple syrup. This trio of flavors from Bushwick Kitchen is bottled and blended in Brooklyn, with syrup tapped in the Catskill Mountains. The gift set includes a “spicy” maple syrup, one infused with gingerbread, and another infused with Stumptown coffee. They all come packaged in a gift box with a handwritten note to boot.

For the dad who spends every Saturday evening behind a grill  Pat LaFrieda Meats x Goldbelly Steak + Burger Sampler

Grilling season is upon us, so send your dad the gift of meat via Pat LaFrieda, who supplies the burgers at Shake Shack, Minetta Tavern, and Eleven Madison Park. This sampler includes four gold label burgers and two dry-aged bone-in rib steaks that all together serves six to eight people.

For the dad who could always go for a slice or two  Di Fara Pizza Classic Neapolitan Pizza

In a city with slice joints on every corner, Di Fara is one of those New York City institutions of pizza that lures folks all the way to Midwood, Brooklyn just to have a taste of one of its pies. Since dad probably won’t be making that trek for some time, you can instead surprise him with two of the world’s best pizza pies, wherever he is.

For the dad who could always go for a (square) slice or two  Prince Street Pizza Spicy Spring

Admittedly, $125 for two pies is steep, but Prince Street Pizza’s are also the stuff of legend — especially its spicy pepperoni pizza, which is topped with pepperoni slices that curl into little cups and pool with oil upon baking (that’s a great thing, by the way).

For the dad who’s nuts for nuts  Large Mixed Nut Sampler

This two-pound tray comes with jumbo natural pistachios, milk chocolate peanuts and raisins, butternut peanuts, jumbo roasted and salted cashews, and sugar-toasted peanuts for the dad who loves to nosh. (If he prefers a bucket of pistachios, or a classic tin of mixed nuts, those are available, too.)

For the dad whose closet is full of salmon colored shorts  McLoons Lobster Shack Maine Lobster Roll Kit

He might not be able to get to his favorite spot in Maine anytime soon, but you can recreate a tiny bit of that experience by sending him some of the best lobster rolls in the state. From McLoons Lobster Shack, this kit comes with everything he needs to make four delectable, summery sandwiches: a pound of lobster tail, knuckle, and claw meat, New England–style split top rolls, Casco Bay Artisan Sea Salt Butter, and mayonnaise.

For the dad who’s more of a crab guy  Cameron’s Seafood Maryland Jumbo Lump Crab Cakes

These authentic Maryland crab cakes that come from Cameron’s Seafood are made from Chesapeake Bay crabs that, according to the company, build up extra fat stores during the winter, making them sweeter and more buttery than crabs from other places.

via Eater - All https://www.eater.com/21270418/best-food-gifts-for-fathers-day

Created May 27, 2020 at 04:26AM /huong sen View Google Doc Nhà hàng Hương Sen chuyên buffet hải sản cao cấp✅ Tổ chức tiệc cưới✅ Hội nghị, hội thảo✅ Tiệc lưu động✅ Sự kiện mang tầm cỡ quốc gia 52 Phố Miếu Đầm, Mễ Trì, Nam Từ Liêm, Hà Nội http://huongsen.vn/ 0904988999 http://huongsen.vn/to-chuc-tiec-hoi-nghi/ https://drive.google.com/drive/folders/1xa6sRugRZk4MDSyctcqusGYBv1lXYkrF

[katejmannie]

The 10 Best Wines of 2017

The (PLCB) Fine Wine and Good Spirits Edition

This past year was a fantastic one for those of us living in Pennsylvania, at least for wine.  The first independent wine shops started cropping up all over the state, and a handful of state-run stores finally found their footing (go here for our new list of the region’s top wine stores).

We reviewed over a hundred amazing wines, along with the two thousand bottles tasted during wine classes in 2017.  We distilled those down to our top 10 favorite wines of the year. To be our top picks, wine could not just be fantastic; they had to be offered at an amazing price, as well.

Some of these wines are probably sold out by the time you read this.  If you want to be kept appraised of all the best wine deals in the  Fine Wine and Good Spirits (PLCB) stores, all you have to do is sign up for our free wine newsletter.   We’ll send out our list of the top wine buys once a month. You can also check out our Wine Review page, as well.

#10 Tormaresca 2012 “Trentangeli” Castel del Monte 

I am a big fan of Aglianico, but it isn’t a crowd pleaser. It’s more like the Metallica of the wine world. Even some of our sommelier friends balk at the molten minerality of the grape. I’ve been waiting for a smooth version of this overtly-aggressive wine and this is it.

This bottle is both accessible and elevated, with cassis, espresso, and toasted vanilla barrel notes throughout the fleshy structure. There are also beautiful aromas of wet earth and savory spices that open up on the finish. More.

#9 Glenelly 2011 “The Glass Collection” Syrah, Stellenbosch

When this bottle dropped into the shelves of my local wine shop, I hoarded it like a squirrel sitting on a lifetime supply of black truffles. It wasn’t for personal consumption (that’s what the Yuengling is for): This was the perfect bottle of Syrah for our Wine 101 classes.  For under $15, it had more bang for the buck than a hitman in a speedo contest.

If a Milkyway bar and a bag of teriyaki beef jerky had a love child, it would grow up to be this wine. More.

#8 Shirvington 2010 Shiraz, McLaren Vale 

Kim Jackson is one of my favorite winemakers. She knows how to tame the beast that is Aussie Shiraz.

Burnt incense, toasted allspice, and chocolate-covered cherries bobbing in a gigantic vat of blackberry jam. Oh, and the tannins are as big and round as the face of a velvet dolphin.  Pure hedonism. More. 

#7 Zotovich Estate 2013 Pinot Noir Santa Rita Hills

The wine regions tucked away in Santa Barbara are the best-kept secrets in American wine.  This beauty came into the PLCB Wine and Spirit Stores for a crazy low price. I’ve drunk plenty of $50 bottles of Pinot Noir that didn’t come close to this.

Taut red fruit with layers of wild rose and honeysuckle. It is a lithe expression of Pinot Noir that offers great finesse and clarity.

#6 Wynns 2013 “Black Label” Cabernet Sauvignon, Coonawarra

This is the wine that put Coonawarra on the map as one of the world’s top regions for growing Cabernet Sauvignon.  It made its way into the PLCB Fine Wine and Good Spirit stores at a piddling $25.

Scents of dried roses and cigar ash mix with aromas of fresh, dark fruit.  Fruit flavors veer towards plum and cassis, while spice notes —cardamom, allspice, cinnamon—begin on the attack and follow through to the finish. More. 

#5 Robert Young Winery 2013 Cabernet Sauvignon, Scion Estate

A five-generation family of farmers turned winemakers in Sonoma’s Alexander Valley. How could you go wrong? This is one of those rare Chairmans’ Selections that really pulls its weight.

Aromas of Earl Grey tea and hibiscus are balanced with fresh mint and tobacco. The wine is rich and voluptuous, with flavors of sun-dried plum and fresh red fruit accented by cedar and allspice. The finish moves toward chocolate and allspice but then rises into espresso and raspberry. More. 

#4 Venus La Universal 2013 “Dido” Montsant 

One of the most romantic wines we tasted all year. Our Advanced Sommelier students became so enamored of this bottling that they raided Wine & Spirits stores in three counties to stock their cellars.

Dried lavender on the nose, with blue fruits and a wisp of a forest floor. Flavors of smoke and mineral intermix with orange blossoms and tart cherries. Medium bodied with a sexy lushness that is backed up with structured tannins and an open, appealing freshness. More.

#3 Anzivino 2010 Gattinara

For all the  Barolo I’ve tasted this year, this Nebbiolo from up north charmed the hell out of me. This wasn’t a Chairman’s Selection, but it did come into the state at less than $20, which was a steal. Wish I had a few more bottles.

Aromas of crushed lilac, rose water, and sage. Rum raisin and cherry compote fill in the edges with a bit of wood smoke. On the palate, it is elegant with bright acids and finely-grained tannins. More.

#2 Robert Mondavi Winery 2013 Cabernet Sauvignon, Oakville 

Thank you, Mr. PLCB Chairman. THANK YOU.  This was a gift to every wine lover in the state. A bottle of To-Kalon vineyard cabernet for $30?  I stand by my original review: “This is like listening to Nirvana’s Teen Spirit for the first time. It answers every argument as to why Napa is one of the great wine regions of the world.”  More.

#1 Delille Cellars 2013 “D2” Columbia Valley 

All of a sudden, Philadelphia fell in love with  Washington State wines last year.  We’ve had to run two classes on the subject just to keep up with demand. This wine (along with the 2:2 reviewed in 2016)  may have something to do with it.

Complex aromas of burnt cedar, ocean air, and marjoram fill the nose. Flavors of anise and dried plum move into vanilla and cardamom on the palate. The finish reveals savory herbs and dark berries.   More.

  The post The 10 Best Wines of 2017 appeared first on Wine School of Philadelphia.

Source: https://www.vinology.com/plcb-2017/

from Linda Johnson https://meself84.wordpress.com/2018/01/29/the-10-best-wines-of-2017/ from Sommelier Courses https://sommeliercourses.tumblr.com/post/170251264137

[sommeliercourses]

The 10 Best Wines of 2017

The (PLCB) Fine Wine and Good Spirits Edition

This past year was a fantastic one for those of us living in Pennsylvania, at least for wine.  The first independent wine shops started cropping up all over the state, and a handful of state-run stores finally found their footing (go here for our new list of the region’s top wine stores).

We reviewed over a hundred amazing wines, along with the two thousand bottles tasted during wine classes in 2017.  We distilled those down to our top 10 favorite wines of the year. To be our top picks, wine could not just be fantastic; they had to be offered at an amazing price, as well.

Some of these wines are probably sold out by the time you read this.  If you want to be kept appraised of all the best wine deals in the  Fine Wine and Good Spirits (PLCB) stores, all you have to do is sign up for our free wine newsletter.   We’ll send out our list of the top wine buys once a month. You can also check out our Wine Review page, as well.

#10 Tormaresca 2012 “Trentangeli” Castel del Monte 

I am a big fan of Aglianico, but it isn’t a crowd pleaser. It’s more like the Metallica of the wine world. Even some of our sommelier friends balk at the molten minerality of the grape. I’ve been waiting for a smooth version of this overtly-aggressive wine and this is it.

This bottle is both accessible and elevated, with cassis, espresso, and toasted vanilla barrel notes throughout the fleshy structure. There are also beautiful aromas of wet earth and savory spices that open up on the finish. More.

#9 Glenelly 2011 “The Glass Collection” Syrah, Stellenbosch

When this bottle dropped into the shelves of my local wine shop, I hoarded it like a squirrel sitting on a lifetime supply of black truffles. It wasn’t for personal consumption (that’s what the Yuengling is for): This was the perfect bottle of Syrah for our Wine 101 classes.  For under $15, it had more bang for the buck than a hitman in a speedo contest.

If a Milkyway bar and a bag of teriyaki beef jerky had a love child, it would grow up to be this wine. More.

#8 Shirvington 2010 Shiraz, McLaren Vale 

Kim Jackson is one of my favorite winemakers. She knows how to tame the beast that is Aussie Shiraz.

Burnt incense, toasted allspice, and chocolate-covered cherries bobbing in a gigantic vat of blackberry jam. Oh, and the tannins are as big and round as the face of a velvet dolphin.  Pure hedonism. More. 

#7 Zotovich Estate 2013 Pinot Noir Santa Rita Hills

The wine regions tucked away in Santa Barbara are the best-kept secrets in American wine.  This beauty came into the PLCB Wine and Spirit Stores for a crazy low price. I’ve drunk plenty of $50 bottles of Pinot Noir that didn’t come close to this.

Taut red fruit with layers of wild rose and honeysuckle. It is a lithe expression of Pinot Noir that offers great finesse and clarity.

#6 Wynns 2013 “Black Label” Cabernet Sauvignon, Coonawarra

This is the wine that put Coonawarra on the map as one of the world’s top regions for growing Cabernet Sauvignon.  It made its way into the PLCB Fine Wine and Good Spirit stores at a piddling $25.

Scents of dried roses and cigar ash mix with aromas of fresh, dark fruit.  Fruit flavors veer towards plum and cassis, while spice notes —cardamom, allspice, cinnamon—begin on the attack and follow through to the finish. More. 

#5 Robert Young Winery 2013 Cabernet Sauvignon, Scion Estate

A five-generation family of farmers turned winemakers in Sonoma’s Alexander Valley. How could you go wrong? This is one of those rare Chairmans’ Selections that really pulls its weight.

Aromas of Earl Grey tea and hibiscus are balanced with fresh mint and tobacco. The wine is rich and voluptuous, with flavors of sun-dried plum and fresh red fruit accented by cedar and allspice. The finish moves toward chocolate and allspice but then rises into espresso and raspberry. More. 

#4 Venus La Universal 2013 “Dido” Montsant 

One of the most romantic wines we tasted all year. Our Advanced Sommelier students became so enamored of this bottling that they raided Wine & Spirits stores in three counties to stock their cellars.

Dried lavender on the nose, with blue fruits and a wisp of a forest floor. Flavors of smoke and mineral intermix with orange blossoms and tart cherries. Medium bodied with a sexy lushness that is backed up with structured tannins and an open, appealing freshness. More.

#3 Anzivino 2010 Gattinara

For all the  Barolo I’ve tasted this year, this Nebbiolo from up north charmed the hell out of me. This wasn’t a Chairman’s Selection, but it did come into the state at less than $20, which was a steal. Wish I had a few more bottles.

Aromas of crushed lilac, rose water, and sage. Rum raisin and cherry compote fill in the edges with a bit of wood smoke. On the palate, it is elegant with bright acids and finely-grained tannins. More.

#2 Robert Mondavi Winery 2013 Cabernet Sauvignon, Oakville 

Thank you, Mr. PLCB Chairman. THANK YOU.  This was a gift to every wine lover in the state. A bottle of To-Kalon vineyard cabernet for $30?  I stand by my original review: “This is like listening to Nirvana’s Teen Spirit for the first time. It answers every argument as to why Napa is one of the great wine regions of the world.”  More.

#1 Delille Cellars 2013 “D2” Columbia Valley 

All of a sudden, Philadelphia fell in love with  Washington State wines last year.  We’ve had to run two classes on the subject just to keep up with demand. This wine (along with the 2:2 reviewed in 2016)  may have something to do with it.

Complex aromas of burnt cedar, ocean air, and marjoram fill the nose. Flavors of anise and dried plum move into vanilla and cardamom on the palate. The finish reveals savory herbs and dark berries.   More.

    The post The 10 Best Wines of 2017 appeared first on Wine School of Philadelphia.

Source: https://www.vinology.com/plcb-2017/

from Linda Johnson https://meself84.wordpress.com/2018/01/29/the-10-best-wines-of-2017/

[static-pouring]

The 10 Best Wines of 2017

The (PLCB) Fine Wine and Good Spirits Edition

This past year was a fantastic one for those of us living in Pennsylvania, at least for wine.  The first independent wine shops started cropping up all over the state, and a handful of state-run stores finally found their footing (go here for our new list of the region’s top wine stores).

We reviewed over a hundred amazing wines, along with the two thousand bottles tasted during wine classes in 2017.  We distilled those down to our top 10 favorite wines of the year. To be our top picks, wine could not just be fantastic; they had to be offered at an amazing price, as well.

Some of these wines are probably sold out by the time you read this.  If you want to be kept appraised of all the best wine deals in the  Fine Wine and Good Spirits (PLCB) stores, all you have to do is sign up for our free wine newsletter.   We’ll send out our list of the top wine buys once a month. You can also check out our Wine Review page, as well.

#10 Tormaresca 2012 “Trentangeli” Castel del Monte 

I am a big fan of Aglianico, but it isn’t a crowd pleaser. It’s more like the Metallica of the wine world. Even some of our sommelier friends balk at the molten minerality of the grape. I’ve been waiting for a smooth version of this overtly-aggressive wine and this is it.

This bottle is both accessible and elevated, with cassis, espresso, and toasted vanilla barrel notes throughout the fleshy structure. There are also beautiful aromas of wet earth and savory spices that open up on the finish. More.

#9 Glenelly 2011 “The Glass Collection” Syrah, Stellenbosch

When this bottle dropped into the shelves of my local wine shop, I hoarded it like a squirrel sitting on a lifetime supply of black truffles. It wasn’t for personal consumption (that’s what the Yuengling is for): This was the perfect bottle of Syrah for our Wine 101 classes.  For under $15, it had more bang for the buck than a hitman in a speedo contest.

If a Milkyway bar and a bag of teriyaki beef jerky had a love child, it would grow up to be this wine. More.

#8 Shirvington 2010 Shiraz, McLaren Vale 

Kim Jackson is one of my favorite winemakers. She knows how to tame the beast that is Aussie Shiraz.

Burnt incense, toasted allspice, and chocolate-covered cherries bobbing in a gigantic vat of blackberry jam. Oh, and the tannins are as big and round as the face of a velvet dolphin.  Pure hedonism. More. 

#7 Zotovich Estate 2013 Pinot Noir Santa Rita Hills

The wine regions tucked away in Santa Barbara are the best-kept secrets in American wine.  This beauty came into the PLCB Wine and Spirit Stores for a crazy low price. I’ve drunk plenty of $50 bottles of Pinot Noir that didn’t come close to this.

Taut red fruit with layers of wild rose and honeysuckle. It is a lithe expression of Pinot Noir that offers great finesse and clarity.

#6 Wynns 2013 “Black Label” Cabernet Sauvignon, Coonawarra

This is the wine that put Coonawarra on the map as one of the world’s top regions for growing Cabernet Sauvignon.  It made its way into the PLCB Fine Wine and Good Spirit stores at a piddling $25.

Scents of dried roses and cigar ash mix with aromas of fresh, dark fruit.  Fruit flavors veer towards plum and cassis, while spice notes —cardamom, allspice, cinnamon—begin on the attack and follow through to the finish. More. 

#5 Robert Young Winery 2013 Cabernet Sauvignon, Scion Estate

A five-generation family of farmers turned winemakers in Sonoma’s Alexander Valley. How could you go wrong? This is one of those rare Chairmans’ Selections that really pulls its weight.

Aromas of Earl Grey tea and hibiscus are balanced with fresh mint and tobacco. The wine is rich and voluptuous, with flavors of sun-dried plum and fresh red fruit accented by cedar and allspice. The finish moves toward chocolate and allspice but then rises into espresso and raspberry. More. 

#4 Venus La Universal 2013 “Dido” Montsant 

One of the most romantic wines we tasted all year. Our Advanced Sommelier students became so enamored of this bottling that they raided Wine & Spirits stores in three counties to stock their cellars.

Dried lavender on the nose, with blue fruits and a wisp of a forest floor. Flavors of smoke and mineral intermix with orange blossoms and tart cherries. Medium bodied with a sexy lushness that is backed up with structured tannins and an open, appealing freshness. More.

#3 Anzivino 2010 Gattinara

For all the  Barolo I’ve tasted this year, this Nebbiolo from up north charmed the hell out of me. This wasn’t a Chairman’s Selection, but it did come into the state at less than $20, which was a steal. Wish I had a few more bottles.

Aromas of crushed lilac, rose water, and sage. Rum raisin and cherry compote fill in the edges with a bit of wood smoke. On the palate, it is elegant with bright acids and finely-grained tannins. More.

#2 Robert Mondavi Winery 2013 Cabernet Sauvignon, Oakville 

Thank you, Mr. PLCB Chairman. THANK YOU.  This was a gift to every wine lover in the state. A bottle of To-Kalon vineyard cabernet for $30?  I stand by my original review: “This is like listening to Nirvana’s Teen Spirit for the first time. It answers every argument as to why Napa is one of the great wine regions of the world.”  More.

#1 Delille Cellars 2013 “D2” Columbia Valley 

All of a sudden, Philadelphia fell in love with  Washington State wines last year.  We’ve had to run two classes on the subject just to keep up with demand. This wine (along with the 2:2 reviewed in 2016)  may have something to do with it.

Complex aromas of burnt cedar, ocean air, and marjoram fill the nose. Flavors of anise and dried plum move into vanilla and cardamom on the palate. The finish reveals savory herbs and dark berries.   More.

  The post The 10 Best Wines of 2017 appeared first on Wine School of Philadelphia.

Source: https://www.vinology.com/plcb-2017/

[wineanddinosaur]

Homage or Appropriation? Navigating Cultural Branding and Complicated Spirits

Never mind what your peacekeeping bartender says: Politics do have a place in the bar.

Economics, social mores, and centuries-old traditions all come together in the glass. After all, rum is inextricably tied to the Caribbean, and mezcal and tequila to Mexico. If European trade routes hadn’t existed, fortified wines probably wouldn’t, either.

As people and societies evolve, ownership of a certain style or category sometimes falls into a gray area. Tiki, for example, began as a post-war, white American fantasia of transpacific cultures. Today its themes straddle inspiration, homage, and appropriation, depending on whom you ask.

Things get especially complicated when business owners profit from the history or culture of communities to which they don’t belong. The dynamics change when brands are backed by people of privileged demographics, and their products feature the culture of marginalized people.

Here, we examine a few cases where things got sticky — and others where spirits pros absolutely got it right.

Apache Gin

Four white Belgian guys walk into an Albuquerque bar, have a few drinks with some Native American folks, and then, almost a decade later, back in Belgium, decide to launch a liquor brand inspired by that experience. They name it Apache Gin.

Zero actual Native American people were involved in Apache’s inception, and the gin does not benefit any Native American tribes or organizations. Marketing efforts have included things like a now-deleted Instagram post of themselves dressed in headdresses. (Luckily, we kept the receipt.)

Once the U.S. bar community got wind of Apache Gin and its blatant appropriation of Native American culture, numerous people attempted to call them out via various channels (Instagram comments, emails, and the like). They were met with radio silence at best; others were blocked.

It’s one thing for a brand or business to commit this kind of offense, but it’s another when they refuse to listen to the people who actually feel the effect of their actions. This sort of behavior can be deeply harmful to marginalized communities.

When I reached out to the Apache Gin team for comment on this story, I received this response:

“Our product is not actively promoted, has no sales points and you can even not ask on our webshop to have our bottle shopped [sic] to the USA. So we deem we don’t hurt anyone, as in our homemarket [sic] similar feelings about using such branding don’t exist.

“The only way our brand is going to create damage is if you and your friends continue making a [hurricane] in a glass of water. (=> if you stop speaking about Apache Gin in the USA, no Apache tribe member will get hurt)

Kind regards, Thomas Van Acker”

Does Apache Gin comprehend their wrongdoing? Unclear. Do they care? Definitely not. (Are they really good at gaslighting? Yep.).

“Indigenous culture in not just a name, a piece of jewelry, or a feather,” says Morgan Crisp, president and co-owner of Seven Clans Brewing, a majority-female indigenous-owned company in Cherokee, N.C. “What you see on the outside is just that: an exoskeleton. Beneath lies all the good stuff  — values, spirituality, stewardship, history, community –that shape the exterior symbols that many non-native people today recognize as ‘Native.’

“When used inappropriately, it simply de-values our culture and the people of that culture. Brands that appropriate culture in this fashion today seem to either lack understanding and/or compassion,” she adds.

So, how should the guys behind Apache Gin have handled this sort of situation — aside from just not launching a blatantly insensitive brand in the first place?

“The least they can do is listen,” Crisp says. “A favorable response hinges on their ability to understand why their branding has a negative impact. I don’t think it’s appropriate for a brand to profit off of a marginalized culture without the person(s) represented in that culture having ownership or being compensated.”

Copalli Rum

Rum is not exactly synonymous with Belize, but Copal Tree Lodge, a luxury eco-resort in Punta Gorda, recently partnered with a distillery to make Copalli Rum.

At first glance, someone with a culturally sensitive lens might raise an eyebrow at a five-star, primarily white-owned hospitality business operating in a small, Central American country with staggeringly high unemployment and poverty rates. This, however, is a case of a company doing its best to benefit its local community.

The Copalli Rum distillery is a zero-impact operation. Its two certified-organic, single-estate rums are made from sugarcane, canopy water, and yeast sourced from the Copal Tree’s own rainforest farm in southern Belize. The distillation process is “powered by sustainable, regenerative biomass and supports full-circle conversion of waste from production into agricultural inputs,” according to a brand representative.

Moreover, Copal Tree Lodge has a 22,000-acre rainforest conservancy that has promoted both preservation of the land as well as marine conservation programs over the past 20 years. The company as a whole has become the largest employer in southern Belize.

It doesn’t stop there. Copal Tree Distillery president and master distiller Ed Tiedge notes that, in Belize, free public education ends at 8th grade. Those below the poverty line (approximately 43 percent of the population) are often unable to continue their education beyond that point and, for societal reasons, young girls tend to be especially affected by this.

As of 2019, Copal Tree started to “provide educational grants for these local children [particularly girls] to continue their education into high school,” Tiedge says.

It’s too early to see results from this particular program as it’s currently in its early stages of implementation, but the intention is there at the very least. We’re eager to watch this progress, and hopefully offer an example to other internationally-owned tourism and hospitality companies.

GEM & BOLT

Not all cultural appropriation is as obvious as that of Apache Gin. Others, like GEM & BOLT mezcal, are dangerously vague.

The company website is a mystery wrapped in intentionally enigmatic marketing language. It describes its two white founders, “artist-alchemist duo Adrinadrina and Elliott Coon,” as “daughters of bohemian-bootleggers” from the mountains of Virginia. Abstract tag lines include such chestnuts as “life is an altar,” “it’s all theatre,” and “energy is immortal.”

Imagery is similarly head-scratching. An image on one tab, “The Altar,” features a white woman running naked through an agave field. Various videos and photos across the site show white people in headdresses, candy skull face paint, and whole wolf skins.

What makes this extra uncomfortable is that GEM & BOLT doesn’t seem inclusive of the culture upon which it’s built a brand and revenue stream. It claims to be a “clean spirit,” which means… nothing, actually, but is disturbingly reminiscent of other culturally insensitive brands. Is the implication here that other agave spirits, distilled by people in Mexico for centuries, are dirty? This smacks of white saviorism. It spins the use of “fair-trade, organic and sustainable agave” into a better-for-your-body storyline, denigrating the culture it’s claimed in the process.

The company website also claims to employ a “fourth-generation master distiller in Oaxaca.” He is not named or pictured anywhere on the site. Why is such a key player not given representation, while its two white founders are endlessly promoted on the site and to the press? (Upon further digging elsewhere on the internet, I found his name. It’s Ignacio Martinez.)

While researching this article I emailed GEM & BOLT to request comment. I also asked about a tab I had seen on GEM & BOLT’s website, titled “Warrior Generation.” It alluded to a plan to develop programming designed to give back to the community in some way. That tab has since disappeared, and my request for comment was unanswered. What does this tell us about this company, its two white women founders, and their accountability?

Sombra Mezcal

A perfect comparison to the GEM & BOLT case is Sombra Mezcal, founded in 2006 by winemaker and Master Sommelier Richard Betts with director general John Sean Fagan. The two were determined to create an ecologically sustainable brand that benefits the local indigenous population.

The distillery’s construction was overseen by civil engineer and Oaxaca native Martha Cardoso, and the juice is distilled by José Pablo Raña Zorrilla of Mexico City. (As with GEM & BOLT, neither of these individuals are anywhere to be found on the website, but, in this case, no members of the team are featured online.)

Sombra’s production incorporates a number of sustainability-minded processes, such as collecting and repurposing rainwater, composting spent materials for local farmers, and deriving energy from solar panels. Byproducts are upcycled into adobe bricks used to build houses for families affected by earthquakes in Oaxaca’s Sierra Mixe district, and to rebuild a graveyard wall. Sombra is also a member of 1% for the Planet, through which it donates 1 percent of its sales to local environmental charities and educational initiatives in Oaxaca. According to an article by Munchies’ Dan Q. Dao, 77 percent of the company’s employees are indigenous.

Its recent, limited-edition Ensamble mezcal was made of rare agaves Tepeztate and Tobalá (the latter is particularly precious). To make up for the 673 mature Tobalá plants that Sombra harvested, the company planted 20,000 in their place; they will be replanted in the wild after two years of maturation. Sombra Mezcal is an excellent example of what it means to launch a culturally sensitive brand, and to give back significantly more than what it takes.

When the Community Speaks, The Industry Should Listen

Could companies like GEM & BOLT learn from Sombra? (Certainly, but will they?) And what will it take for the Apache Gins of the world to change?

“A brand called out for this kind of behavior has really only one choice: involve someone from the culture they’ve appropriated on an equity level, or completely rebrand,” says Jackie Summers, entrepreneur, published author, creator of Sorel Liqueur, and liquor-industry advocate. “And if they really want to honor culture, actually provide financial backing to people from a culture to lift their own brands to the forefront.”

The examples we’ve explored in this story represent a mere fraction of the bigger picture. Offenses are offenses, whether they are subtle microaggressions of the “clean spirit” variety, or blatant disregard for those who express discomfort with culturally insensitive branding. And there are myriad blueprints for brands that aim to honor and, in the best cases, actively benefit the cultures they claim.

If we as consumers know what to look out for, and call out offenders when we see them, perhaps we can collectively begin to level the playing field — and, ultimately, make the industry a better place for all.

The article Homage or Appropriation? Navigating Cultural Branding and Complicated Spirits appeared first on VinePair.

source https://vinepair.com/articles/spirits-cultural-appropriation/

[rememberthattime]

Chapter 27. The Honeymoon

The week leading up to your wedding is supposed to be one of the most stressful of your life. …That said, the week following is supposed to be one of the most relaxing.

Hidden away on a secluded island in the Maldives, Chelsay and I found this statement especially true on our honeymoon.

Having the honeymoon immediately following the wedding is a blessing and a curse. On one hand, the honeymoon feels more meaningful when it closely follows the wedding. You’re newlyweds, there’s a buzz, and for about two weeks following the ceremony, anything you do feels like a party.

On the other hand, there are too many good things happening at once. It’s impossible to truly appreciate each experience when things just keep getting better and better. Even two days after the ceremony, at the airport in Paris, I remember telling Chelsay that I wasn’t ready to move from “wedding” to “honeymoon”. I was still replaying September 2 through September 5, and there was A LOT to replay! The reunion, the Welcome Dinner, the Rehearsal, the Chapelle, Le Meurice, the First Dance, Piano Man… There were so many highlights, and without enough time to process, I wasn’t sure I’d be able to fully appreciate what an amazing few days it had been.

Still, the most important factor for our honeymoon was that it needed feel different than our other trips. Our other trips have been incredible, but they just don’t have the same weight as a honeymoon. Unfortunately, waiting would take away some of that meaningfulness… You can’t leave work on a Friday and then head to the airport for your honeymoon… You’re tired or frazzled, and it just doesn’t have the same excitement. Simply put, there’s more romance in doing the honeymoon immediately, so to remember everything, we’d just have to take really good notes.

Picking up right where the last post left off: flight day! I already wrote about Chelsay’s question at the airport: what are our lives going to be like now that we aren’t planning a wedding? Although my sentimental written response was better, in reality, I just said that we’d finally have time to relax… starting with the honeymoon.

The total travel time from Paris was about 15 hours, so we’d get to experience A LOT of relaxation time right from the start. We were taking Turkish Air all the way to the Maldives, with a brief layover in Istanbul. The first leg was great (like, surprising really great from Turkish Air). I shockingly and thankfully slept the entire second leg.

The layover in between was actually really interesting though. Ataturk Airport is one of the busiest in the world, and if Istanbul is the city where Europe meets Asia, Ataturk is the front door. Over 1,000 flights go in and out of Ataturk each day, with passengers coming in from Beijing or Berlin, and heading out to Kenya or Kabul. The international terminal has to be one of the most diverse in the world. It’s a cultural circus… different wardrobes, different appearances, different languages, different paces to life. It was like a layover in “It’s a Small World”.  

We weren’t at the airport for too long though, and soon departed for our honeymoon destination: the Maldives, a collection of nearly 2,000 islands located in the middle of the Indian Ocean.

A few facts: the Maldives is the shortest country in the world (the Chelsay of countries), with its tallest point reaching just 8 feet above sea level. Because it’s located on an oceanic shelf, the lowest depth is similarly shallow, so only a thin, turquoise layer of water surrounds the many islands.

After our flight from Istanbul landed in Male, the country’s capital, we still had a short trip to our resort island, Constance Moofushi. We splurged a bit with honeymoon accommodations (YOHO), so the resort actually arranged a sea plane to speed up the final leg of our journey.

This was a pretty cool perk, and it established four themes for the next few days. First, Chelsay and I had a sea plane to ourselves: luxurious privacy. Second, our pilot was flying barefoot and in shorts: casual. Third, from our altitude, we could see the effect of the Maldives’ shallow depth: tiny green dots surrounded by clear, turquoise waters. Breath-taking beauty. Fourth, as we exited the plane onto the resort’s jetty, a large sign read “No shoes, no news.” This was the most important theme: unplug and relax.

The concierge gave us a brief tour of the island while Chelsay and I tried to keep our cool. This place was exactly what we were looking for: sand, sun, beach, palm trees, privacy, activities, all-inclusive. That last sentence could actually sum up the next seven days on Moofushi, but with the goal of completely capturing our honeymoon memories, I’ll expand a bit more… Plus I need to post our videos somewhere.

After the tour, Chelsay and I settled into our over-water villa. The villa is held above the turquoise waters by stilts, with fish and sharks routinely swimming underneath. To maximize privacy, Chelsay and I strategically asked for a room as far down the jetty as possible.

When considering honeymoon locations, we really thought hard about returning to Santorini or Amalfi. Although beautiful, our only hesitation was that they were slightly busy when we’d visited. Our honeymoon was about absolute relaxation, and a Maldivian over-water villa certainly provided this.   …It also provided a large patio for sun-bathing, an outdoor bathtub for star-gazing, an all-inclusive stock of snacks and drinks, and a staircase leading directly into the Indian Ocean.

The next seven days followed a rhythmic routine: breakfast, activity, relax, lunch, activity, relax, dinner, relax, repeat. Note that there are two activities per day… I keep saying that the theme was relaxation, but I’m too active of a person to just sit around all day (Chelsay knows what she signed up for). Although privacy was the biggest factor for our honeymoon destination, activities were at least a consideration, and Moofushi had plenty to keep us (me) entertained.  

Having arrived in the afternoon, Chelsay and I’s first activity after settling into our villa was a sunset yoga class. It was a perfect way to follow ~15 hours of travel, and I knew we’d gotten off to a peaceful start when Chelsay fell asleep during a breathing exercises.

We somehow built up enough energy for dinner at the resort’s phenomenal restaurant, one of the many highlights of the week. For breakfast, lunch, and dinner, Chelsay and I would make the barefoot walk down the jetty and through the palm jungle to the thatched-roof, open-air restaurant.

This place was like a massive tiki hut, which is how I’ll refer to it for the remainder of the post. Considering its size and the few other guests, Chelsay and I never had to worry about sitting next to (on top of) loud neighbors like in London. Instead, we settled into our secluded table overlooking the water, sinking our toes into the sandy beach below.

At each meal, our well-traveled sommelier, Nash, would introduce us to a new wine: one bottle from Italy, one from South Africa, New Zealand, Argentina, etc. One of the resort managers, Rifkhan, would always stop by our table to ensure everything was perfect: from the meal, to the room, to our day’s activities. Finally, our friendly sous-chef, Sven, would swing by to provide a rundown of the day’s options, tailoring to Chelsay and I’s preferences throughout the week (…Sven thinks we’re fat asses).

For Night #1, the kitchen’s theme was oriental, and Chelsay and I enjoy tasty Peking duck and plum sauce wraps, with vanilla ice cream and a warm apple crumble for dessert. Closing our first day in paradise, we fell asleep on our outdoor patio while star-gazing and listening to the waves below.

Given the afternoon arrival, day one was actually fairly brief. Day two was our real first day, and we adjusted to our new island lifestyle quite easily. We started with breakfast on our patio, sipping coffee while overlooking the pristine turquoise water. We then descended our villa’s steps into the ocean for our first snorkel in Moofushi’s house reef. I’d been snorkelling before, but never in a place like this… Everyone told me the Maldives is one of the best diving spots in the world. The problem is that I didn’t even know what “good” diving was, so I wasn’t sure what to expect…  

After a short swim out from our villa, a few fish started to appear. One or two, then five or ten. Coral clusters popped up every ten feet, then five feet, then more and more often. Pretty soon, we were in an aquarium, with thousands of fish curiously swimming around us in all shapes, sizes, and colors. Coral covered the entire lagoon floor beneath us with bizarre, alien-shaped coral formations, going right up to the oceanic cliff at the edge of deeper water.

Chelsay and I settled at the surface and observed the frenzy beneath us: large basher fish that would ram the reef to loosen a meal, skittish schools of smaller fish panicking at the slightest hint of a danger, creepy coral stretching and swaying with the current. This was just activity in the shallow water too! Sea life gets weirder the further you go, and through diving later in the week, Chelsay and I would go deeper and deeper.

We returned for lunch at the tiki hut (salad appetizers, penne bolognese, and chocolate chip cookies) before relaxing on the beach. We played the week’s first round of bocce (Chelsay took the W in a back and forth 13-12 battle), before she caught crabs in the sand. …That sounded weird. I’ll try again: Chelsay earned the nickname “Critter Catchin’ Chelsay”.  …Ugh, weird again. We chased hermit crabs around the beach. …Maybe this was just a weird thing for us to be doing.

Anyway, we followed our beach time with another snorkel. This time we saw sea turtles (Righteous! Righteous!) and several needlefish, which look like tiny eels swimming around the coral.

That evening was Mediterranean night at the tiki hut, and Chelsay and I agreed the chicken shawarma with garlic sauce was the best dinner of the week. Something funny happened on the way to dinner though. We usually left the villa around 7:30, so the sun had already set. It would be dark out, but the jetty has lighting along the path so you can watch your step. As Chelsay and I were walking along, we heard a woman’s panicked yell from behind us. We turned around, but in the darkness, all we could make out was the jetty’s light and a cell phone light… which was at a much lower height than the jetty…

This lady fell off!

We heard the husband trying to help the woman up and everything looked okay, so not wanting to embarrass them, we scurried off to dinner.  We’re terrible people for doing this, but we laughed as we theorized what happened, and kept our eyes peeled for any guests with a limp.

Afterwards, as we walked back to the villa, we pulled out our cell phone lights near where the woman had fallen. We focused our search at the fork in the jetty: the point where the jetty splits in two. One path going right, one going left.

There we saw it… The evidence was damning, and unimaginably clear. Lying untouched in the sand… a perfect outline of a woman. She must have been looking at her phone and, when she hit the fork, just kept going and belly-flopped hard off the jetty.    

Needless to say, relaxation was working for Chelsay and I. It was only our second day, and we were already losing it over this poor woman falling… This was a just a reflection of how loose we were though. On so many of our trips, Chelsay and I have a thing we want to do or a place we want to see. To be clear: that’s our choice, and how we like to travel. Vacations are more about excitement and adventure for us, and we’ve had amazing experiences because of our approach.

For the honeymoon though, this peaceful pace suited us. We didn’t have a worry in the world… which was a shocking turn from the previous weeks. We’d been so absorbed by wedding planning, and work, and traveling. Over those seven days though, we didn’t think about a single thing happening outside of that remote island in the Indian Ocean. 

We slept very easily that trip, and every day started with the pleasant sounds of waves shifting beneath the villa. By day three, we’d settled into our routine: breakfast, snorkel, relax, lunch, bocce (I took round two to tie the series 1-1).

For our afternoon snorkel, we decided to venture into a new part of the house reef. The water was especially shallow at low tide, so Chelsay and I had to avoid kicking or paddling into the coral. We were essentially just lying flat on the surface, but there were so many fish that we had to stay.

With such shallow water and little room to swim, the tide pushed and pulled us without our control. I started filming the current pushing us along: fish, fish, coral, fish, coral, fish, fish, SHARK!

In the below video, you can tell the moment I first see the shark… It wasn’t a big one, but it surprised the hell out of me. For the record, I wasn’t scared, which you can see by me chasing after it.

One second later, Chelsay grabbed my arm like it was the last bag of sour straws at Tesco! Apparently there were two sharks, and the other one had swam right next to her. We quickly kicked and paddled (coral be damned) and popped out of the water with two very different reactions.

These were 4 or 5 foot reef sharks that wanted nothing to do with us, so I was just really excited to see them. Chelsay, on the other hand, hates open water. This was described in the Azores post when we swam with dolphins (she wouldn’t leave the side of the boat). With her big eyes though, these sharks must have looked huge!

I’d mentioned that the Maldives is one of the best diving spots in the world, but because of her open water fear, I still had to desperately convince Chelsay to sign up for an “Introduction to Scuba” class with me. After this shark encounter, Chelsay was 1000000% out.

All hope wasn’t lost yet though:  our dive wasn’t until the next day, so I still had a few hours to convince her. We spent the rest of the day getting back to the main theme of the week: relaxation. We laid out on our patio, soaking in the sunshine with coconut water from the most organic source you can find: an actual coconut.

When the afternoon showers rolled in, Chelsay and I crept under the covered area of the patio. There’s something really nice about being outdoors but covered and dry when it’s raining. I’ve always liked it, ever since my dad and I would watch storms come in from our garage in Texas. …It was also pretty cool to watch from our villa patio in the Maldives.

We grabbed dinner at the tiki hut later, and I’m not sure if this was caused by our shark scare earlier, but Chelsay and I hit the all-inclusive drinks hard that night.

It’s just so easy. Nash would come by and recommend a particular wine: okay, great, let’s get a bottle. Half way into the bottle, we felt like having a more tropical drink: daiquiris *index finger spin* (Wedding Crashers reference). Later, we wanted to bring some wine back to the room… but our bottle from earlier wasn’t chilled anymore. Whatever, they’ll bring us a new one. It’s all-inclusive.

Also, I said earlier that “Chelsay and I hit the all-inclusive drinks hard that night”, but I need to clarify. “We” hit the drinks hard that night, but Chelsay was taking advantage all week. There’s nothing wrong with a little buzz and she was never drunk, but I’d say we certainly got our money’s worth. We met a British couple while we were at the resort, and I swear Chelsay had a glass with her every time we saw them. They thought she was an alcoholic.  

Anyway, the next morning was our “Introduction to Scuba” course. I don’t even know what day it was… third? Fourth? We were so disconnected from the world that I never really knew what day it was.

Chelsay had a decision to make though: in or out?  …She told me she thought about bailing right up until we dove in, but ultimately decided there was no better place to try than the Maldives. She was probably still buzzed from the night before.  

Our instructor’s name was Paolo Belloni (pronounced like the meat “bologna”) – great instructor, great guy, great name. It sounds like someone panicked when asked to make up an Italian sounding name: “Uhhh… Paolo… Bologna?”   I shouldn’t make fun though – he really is a great guy, but he just reminds me of Luigi: I kept picturing him saying “Wah-ha!”

Paolo taught us the basic hand signals, etc before helping us gear up. Chelsay was still very apprehensive as we jumped into the water…

45 minutes later, when we popped back up again, she immediately pulled her mask off and shouted: “I love it!”

I loved it too, and because this was our first dive, everything was new. Obviously the fish and coral were mesmerizing, but the feeling of weightlessness was the biggest surprise. I felt like an astronaut as we slowly floated around our alien surroundings. We loved it so much that we signed up for a five-dive course: five hours of open water instruction that would make us certified scuba divers.

We couldn’t wait for our next dive either, so we scheduled it for that afternoon. To pass the time in between, we played our third round of bocce (another 13-12 nail-biter that fell my way: 2-1 Mike), sipped refreshing iced teas over lunch, and indulged in an Oreo ice cream snack on the beach. 

The day passed quickly though, and it was soon time for our second dive of the day. Our first dive was just an introduction covering the basics of how to breathe through a regulator, how to equalize, etc. This second dive was more of a skills test though, and the first step to certification.

Our first skill was to hover up and down using only your breath, and you have to criss-ross your legs so you don’t cheat. As you breathe in, your lungs fill with air (which is lighter than water) and you float upwards. As you exhale, you release that air and sink back down. At 6’2”, my lungs are relatively large so I floated up and down fairly easily. At 5’2”, Chelsay’s rise and fell was less obvious. With her legs crossed, it looked like she was just meditating in mid-air. Either way, Paolo thought she’d done enough so she passed the test.

The next skill was clearing your mask after water leaks in. To pass this test, you have to take your mask all the way off your head, put it back on, and then clear it by blowing your nose. Keep in mind you’re doing all of this 30 feet under the surface.

I went first without any issues, so Chelsay was up next. For some reason, even underwater, she can’t resist breathing through her nose! Every time she took her mask off, she’d instinctively try to breathe through her nose and suck in a bunch of salt water. She’d have to quickly ascend to cough it all out, and eventually, we just went to a shallow depth to make it easier to surface.

After a few attempts though, it looked like she’d gotten it. She took her mask off, placed it back on, and then Paolo and I watched as the water level in her mask dropped from her forehead to her eyes to her nose and, finally, it was empty. Bravo! High-fives!

The only weird part was that there weren’t any bubbles… You clear your mask by blowing air our through your nose, which then fills the mask and pushes the water out, which creates bubbles. She technically cleared her mask, so she passed the test, but why weren’t there bubbles? After the dive, she admitted that she just sucked all the salt water in through her nose!

Tough lady, but she did what she needed to pass the skills test. She’d earned the tasty wine that evening… if only just to clear the taste in her mouth.

The next morning was our second skills dive, but not before a delicious breakfast at the tiki hut. We actually had back-to-back dives that morning, so we needed energy. We loaded up on coffee and eggs benedict (with ham, which is rare in a Muslim country).

We suited ourselves up for this third dive, and easily passed a few questionable skills tests: grab the end of your fin? Who can’t do that??

Anyway, the benefit of passing the tests quickly was that we could use the rest of our tank to explore. As I dove around (left, right, up, down, over, below), Chelsay took a more methodical, almost investigative, approach. At one point, she’d been staring at a reef for so long that Paolo thought she’d passed out. …He rushed over but was put at ease when he saw her eyes still open. They looked even bigger behind the bend of the scuba mask.

Each of these first three dives were near the island, staying in Moofushi’s colorful house reef. For our second dive of the back-to-back morning though (fourth overall), we’d be taking the boat our for an open water dive. We’d also be going to a depth of 20 meters (60 feet), which was the deepest we’d gone.

At that depth, there’s a compounding pressure when compared to the surface: 26 pounds per square inch, or three times the pressure your body would feel on land. The volume of air in your body condenses under this pressure, which means that it actually takes more air to fill your lungs.This is why you have to pass a few skills test before you can go deeper and in open water.

It was totally worth it though. I mentioned that sea life gets weirder the deeper you go, and this dive was proof. Experienced divers can certainly go further than 60 feet, but there was some strange shit even at this depth. Watch the first video CLOSELY as this chameleon fish appears, and then disappears when I look away! I only noticed this when I watched the video afterwards! Pause at 5 seconds and then play if you don’t see it.

After our alien exploration (and two straight hours under water), Chelsay and I resurfaced in the rain. It was a really weird feeling. At 60 feet, we had no idea it was raining: it was silent and still. Then the minute you hit the surface, there’s rain and wind and waves. …I already missed the peacefulness of diving.

The stormy weather calmed down as we took the boat back to the island, and Chelsay and I enjoyed a lighter lunch upon our return: lentil wraps and sweet potato hummus. We got our fourth bocce game in (13-4 Mike; 3-1 series), but based on the lopsided score, decided it would be our last.

Exhausted from our dive, I took a nap (ME! A NAP!) on the patio while Chelsay studied up for our certification exam. We must’ve been on some relaxation bender, because we followed relaxing afternoon with a 90 minute massage.

The couple’s massage room was actually a cool set up. It’s a thatched-roof tiki hut hidden behind the island’s thick vegetation, and has doors that open to the ocean breeze. As you’re lying on the bed, you face down at a glass floor with a view of the turquoise water below. Small fish swim by to pick at the coral placed within your sight-line and, while Chelsay and I were in therapeutic bliss, we each watched as sharks slithered by.  

Later that night, we followed our sous-chef friend’s recommendation to see even more sea life. Off of one of the island’s docks, the resort keeps a light on that shines into the water. For some reason, fish are attracted to the light, and the fish attract sharks and stingrays and other bizarre creatures. Chelsay and I brought a bottle of wine from dinner and hunted the island for the dock Sven recommended. Once we found the right one, we hung our bare feet (I don’t think I wore shoes once this week) off the dock as hundreds of fish swam below. Over the course of the next hour, we saw several black tip sharks swim through and a massive stingray crawl across the ocean floor.

The next morning was our last dive of the five-part course. After this (and passing our written exam…which Paolo administered…), Chelsay & I would be certified scuba divers!

That’s pretty shocking considering Chelsay’s fear of the ocean. We certainly didn’t come to the Maldives looking for a new hobby, but we left with plans to visit Malta, Mexico, and the Philippines specifically for diving. Maybe someday I’ll write a post about a whale shark we tailed, or underwater cave we explored, or sunken WWII ship we came across.

Back to present day though. This was our last dive and, because there were no remaining skill tests (we were experts by then), this dive was entirely exploratory. We spent it floating through thousands of fish, around swaying anemone, past frightened Nemos, and alongside righteous turtles.

After resurfacing, we still had a full day left and would have easily signed up for another dive. There’s a law against diving too close to a flight though, so the rest of our sea exploration would have to be done via snorkel.

With our underwater skills now perfected, our snorkelling in those last 24 hours was actually more successful than any time earlier in the week. Our last few adventures were a perfect summary of all the sea life we’d seen throughout the week: tons of fish, creepy eels, chilled out turtles, and even more sharks.

Alas, after seven days in paradise, it was eventually time for Chelsay and I to return to London. We packed up (and threw some extra Twix and chilled Haribos in our bags), thanked our friends at the dive shop (who started calling Chelsay “Khaleesi”), and waved goodbye to the island as our seaplane flew away.

Our drop-off at the Male airport was a jarring return to reality. The resort had provided a concierge to escort us all the way to security, carrying our documents and rolling our bags. But from there, it was all us.  

I know rolling your own bag through the airport isn’t a burden, but it felt weird. For the past week, Chelsay and I hadn’t lifted a finger. We hadn’t carried our bags. We didn’t bring our wallets anywhere. We didn’t have any appointments or places to be. We didn’t even wear shoes!

The sign when you first step onto Moofushi reads, “No news, no shoes.” This was absolutely Chelsay and I’s experience. We were in absolute bliss the whole time, and all of this immediately followed our wedding, the best day of our lives.

For seven days, we didn’t think about work or money… or wedding planning! We had enough time to reflect on the wedding (at least enough for me to write 10,000 words in my last post), but we also rarely thought about anything outside of that island. I can’t remember a time I’ve been that checked out since high school.

We landed back in the UK on a Thursday, so at least we still had a few days off before returning to work. It was fall in London by then, so we saw the leaves changing in Hampstead and visited the stags in Richmond. Back in the buzzing city for the first time in two weeks though, we also had to re-adjust.

Although the harsh reality was that this “ended” our wedding and honeymoon, there was also relief in knowing that we were just “starting” something. In the wedding post, I already wrote about what Chelsay and I’s lives would be like now that we aren’t wedding planning. I wrote about how we’d finally have free time, and more sentimentally how we’d explore together, and start a family together, and have five dogs together, and laugh and cry together…

In our happy, busy, adventurous, wonderful future though, it might be hard for us to find a quiet moment…

If nothing else, the honeymoon gave Chelsay and I one week to relax together.