This one takes place in my Automated Utopia universe. :D
A crisp, warm breeze swept through the London afternoon air, brushing away the staleness and leaving a breath of the countryside amongst the townhouses on Fairfax Street. The sun had broken through the soot-stained clouds, bathing the area in warmth. The backyard garden at No. 1117 had a recent addition that allowed for the break in gloomy weather the ability to be savored. Lorne had come across a delightful showman’s wagon at a theatre’s fire sale and, after a fresh coat of paint and the acquirement of a piece pieces of furniture, presented it to Miss Winifred Burkle as a birthday gift. It not only afforded her the ability to remain out of doors for longer periods of time, but it also became a holiday home when she wished for some privacy with Spike. Through Fred’s inventiveness, a retractable awning connecting the wagon to the house and specially-development curtains to allow breezes and a small amounts of light over the windows, so Spike could enjoy the new abode without exacerbating his vampiric condition.
Making the most of such a balmy afternoon, Spike and Fred gorged themselves on warm, sun-dappled peaches, almond biscuits, and cool, Mauresque Pastis. They made love and read to each other from the latest publication by Mark Twain, which Fred’s mother had been kind enough to ship from America. Together they could block out the noise of the city, pretending that they were adventurers in the wilds of some tranquil oasis. The bouquet of lavender helped to ignore the smell of the neighbourhood privies was necessary for the illusion as well.
Spike was woken from another catnap by Fred’s soft lips kissing his forehead. Yawning and stretching before wrapping his arms around his beloved, Spike nuzzled his face into her neck...
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Date: 2011-05-24 04:58 am (UTC)A crisp, warm breeze swept through the London afternoon air, brushing away the staleness and leaving a breath of the countryside amongst the townhouses on Fairfax Street. The sun had broken through the soot-stained clouds, bathing the area in warmth. The backyard garden at No. 1117 had a recent addition that allowed for the break in gloomy weather the ability to be savored. Lorne had come across a delightful showman’s wagon at a theatre’s fire sale and, after a fresh coat of paint and the acquirement of a piece pieces of furniture, presented it to Miss Winifred Burkle as a birthday gift. It not only afforded her the ability to remain out of doors for longer periods of time, but it also became a holiday home when she wished for some privacy with Spike. Through Fred’s inventiveness, a retractable awning connecting the wagon to the house and specially-development curtains to allow breezes and a small amounts of light over the windows, so Spike could enjoy the new abode without exacerbating his vampiric condition.
Making the most of such a balmy afternoon, Spike and Fred gorged themselves on warm, sun-dappled peaches, almond biscuits, and cool, Mauresque Pastis. They made love and read to each other from the latest publication by Mark Twain, which Fred’s mother had been kind enough to ship from America. Together they could block out the noise of the city, pretending that they were adventurers in the wilds of some tranquil oasis. The bouquet of lavender helped to ignore the smell of the neighbourhood privies was necessary for the illusion as well.
Spike was woken from another catnap by Fred’s soft lips kissing his forehead. Yawning and stretching before wrapping his arms around his beloved, Spike nuzzled his face into her neck...