Our Dark Prince (The Scottish Play)

XV. Blaze Oʼ Glory, Baby Girl

6
Robin
Alexandria, Louisiana
Allureʼs Bed & Breakfast
October 31st, 2014
Time: 7:00 AM
_________________________

    Robin tried to cover up the h*ckey.

    On the swells of her b*easts, they gleamed: a bright maroon for all-the-world to see underneath a flimsy cotton tank and her Cross necklace. Sitting at the bar of Allureʼs, she watched the fae bartender fill the pot of black, authentic Cuban coffee with scorching hot milk, and she took in the retro furniture of the restaurant. It was a groovy bar for the elves and fae of the area, a golden hub with hot pinks and vibrant neon oranges kissing the walls, and as she sat, nursing her headache and applying cheap drug store makeup onto the swells of her breasts, the scent of Mojitos and marijuana grew increasingly inviting. The waves of the Pacific that writhed in snake-like rivers around the bends of Alexandria grew more prominent in the background, hissing and rustling with the leaves, Robin closed her eyes and sighed with content.

    Safe. Quiet. It was safe and quiet–

   And then Lafayette begun screaming at the top of his lungs, laughing hysterically.

     "Well, I donʼt be trusting these h*es and I don't be smashing these h*es. Go-o-d*mnn–"

    Lafayette, in all his g*y glory, ran into the bar, naked up from the waist up. Black and beautiful, he sang and twerked. Groaning, Robin hit her head on the desk – peeping at him through the crease in her arms – and listened to Lafayetteʼs tone-deaf singing with an aggressive headache.

   He was drunk.

    Lafayette, drunk drunk from the trap music – as a finale – twirled around, jerking the scathing hot coffee out of his employeeʼs hand and effortlessly leaned his chest across the aisle from where she was sitting, sipping on her coffee like it was sweet, homemade ice tea, and stared at her with his large electric green eyes.

    "I didnʼt pay two-forty-nine to listen to some hillbilly rapper spit trash and for you to drink my g*ddamn coffee, Lafayette," Robin told him, frowning.

    Lafayette smirked into the cup, pouring her a glass of ice cold water.

    "First oʼ all, based on all the drinkinʼ youʼbe been doinʼ, the only thing you gone buy for two-forty-nine is a little somethinʼ called sobriety, and second oʼ all, that man is my gonna be my baby daddy and I donʼt tolerate you slanderinʼ his black, beautiful, sexy motherf*ckinʼ *ss, baby girl."

    Robin snorted.

     "Last time I checked, that positioned was filled," Robin teased.

    Lafayette flipped his dreads.

    "Well, if she leaves *ss, she leaves his *ss. If she donʼt, more fish in the sea for me. Now; in the mean-time, who d*cked you down? Was it that Eboni Gray chic, the one that gave me that job in Boston that pays three-k a night?"

    "No."

    "Sh*t, was he big, then?"

    Robin choked on her water.

    "Lafayette," she spluttered. "Filter. We talked about this. Fil-ter."

"You the one coming to me for spiked coffee, Robin. If the coffeeʼs goinʼ to be hot, the tea better be ho-t."

    Lafayette stared her pointedly, coffee in hand and b*tch-face locked-and-loaded. He waited for her, and sighing, Robin leaned in.

    "Damon Maverick," she told him, cupping her face.