RP Snippet

 

"Pleasure's all mine, Madmoiselle St. Armand, or may ah call y'Charlotta?" Ayren politely repled, offering her his hand in an old fashioned, yet charming way that remembered seeing his Papa and Mama do, back when she still was alive. Collecting Charlotta's terracotta hued hand in his, he brought it close to his mouth, to lightly brush his lips across the back of her slender hand before releasing it. To Charlotta, Ayren's lips would feel pleasurably warm, after all--he was as human as they come. As far as Ayren was concerned, he just thought Charlotta was sitting right under the vent for the air conditioning, and might have gotten a chill.

 

Her Nawlins drawl was like a bone to a starving dog. He missed the sound of another kindred spirit from his hometown just as much as Charlotta did. "Been f'evah since ah' heard anybody call me coonass. An' y'some sweet lookin' redbone gal, ain't no lie dere an don't be gettin' all haunte now, y'know ah'm rite." Ayren chuckled softly, taking a sip of the drink he ordered, and one that Charlotta had covered for him. "Merci f'da drink, s'much 'preciated. Miss Charlotta. If anyone's gonna be blushin' it be me." There was no doubt that he could turn red quicker than a signal light at a busy intersection.

 

Must be his spicy Cajun blood.

 

"Shame 'bout y'family. Ah lost mine as well. Life kicks ya in de ass sometimes, don't know why but it goes dat way sad t'say. We some very special folk den. Survivors, yeah? Made it troo de worst nat'ral disaster evah. Ah do miss a good beignet t'melt in mah mouth an' a Cafe au Lait, hot, hot. Ain't nuttin like dat round here. Dis area nice though, plenty of fishin' fer dis Cajun t'do, an' Gator Piss 'bout de only cocodrie round here." he laughed, and it sounded merry like he had developed a little buzz. Ayren never drank himself sick before, he just socially drank and only when he wanted to have some fun.

 

"Ev'ryone fixin' t'leave dun left, cher. Tings dif'ent in Nawlins now. Whole Lower Ninth gone. Nuttin' but foundations whare dey ain't buildin' shit. Buncha new folks come in an' bumped up da cost of livin' so high, po' folks can't afford t'move back ta de neighborhood dey grew up in. Sad place t'be. So ah caught de Greyhound at de station in Nawlins, an' headed West. Wound up in Los Angeles. Dey say its de city of angels, but ah ain't seen nuttin but a hateful bunch'a heathens down dere. So ah come dis way, an' be livin' wid some friends in de Seattle, tryna make a new start all ovah again." Ayren smiled, most of what he told Charlotta was the truth, he just didn't really elaborate on why he actually left the bayou.

 

Now this was getting to be more interesting, Ayren thought. "Y'got ya self a business? Aw'rite den cher, Ah'm all ears, so do tell me all 'bout y'success?" the blond smiled, wanting to know more about her livelihood, while he sipped his cocktail. "Ah can't see y'stayin down Nawlins way t'be a waitress, so dat mean y'done better den dat. Prolly own a business burstin at de seams yeah? Me on de otha hand, ah'm a Jack of all trades, masta of none." he grinned, and waited for the lady he sat with to continue discussing what it was she did for a living, while Ayren listened attentively.

 

 

 

MORE EXAMPLES AVAILABLE UPON REQUEST!