Étiennette Agnès Moreaux
Etiennette, or Ettie as she was more commonly known, let out a small groan as she woke. Her eyes fluttered open and her body slowly uncurled from its sleeping position. The room was dark, heavy curtains stopped any light from seeping inside. Still, there was enough light for Ettie to see the pile of clothes strewn across her floor. A shoe sat atop her set of drawers, her bra had landed on the edge of her mirror and a foreign pair of pants were hanging from her door knob. She gave another sigh before turning on her side to inspect the owner of the pants.
He was mortal, reasonably good looking and currently sleeping with a contented grin on his face. Ettie pushed herself up onto an elbow and tilted her head as she inspected the man. She had enjoyed the night, but she doubted that she would seek him out again. He hadn't excited her. She couldn't even remember his name. It was something with a 'B', Brock? Ben?
'Boone' She thought to herself as she remembered. It had been his name that had originally drawn the french witch to him.
As if he sensed her gaze his own eyes opened. Ettie didn't move, but watched as his eyes focused and took in the naked witch lying beside him. Of course, he didn't know she was a witch, all he saw was the young woman who he'd spent a wonderful night with.
"What time is it?" He mumbled, covering a yawn with his hand as he pushed himself into a sitting position
"I'm not sure." Ettie replied with a shrug. She rolled onto her back and then pushed herself out of her bed. "But I'm going to have a shower." She added, wondering into her en-suite. She gave a flick of her hand and the shower nozzle, on the other side of the room, turned onto hot. Another small movement and the light and fan switched on.
Ettie entered the shower, closing her eyes as the scalding liquid washed over her. There was nothing like a hot shower to wake you up. Ettie began to hum to herself, an old tune from a time long gone. She let her mind wonder, losing track of time.
"That's a nice song" A voice broke through her thoughts. Ettie opened her eyes to see Boone leaning against the door frame, his eyes lazily roaming over her body, "It's to the tune of Frère Jacques, right?"
Ettie cast amused eyes onto the young man, her mouth quirked into a smile.
"Cette chanson? Non." Ettie replied in french. Boone gave her a blank look and Ettie was forced to repeat herself in English, "No." Was all she said. Rather Frere Jacques was to the tune of a much older song.
"I didn't know you could speak french." Boone said, stepping into Ettie's shower and wrapping his hands around her waist. There were a lot of things that he didn't know about Ettie, but all she replied with was,
"Oui"
"I know what that one means" He muttered into her ear, making Ettie smile.
- Later -
Boone was finally gone, a process that had taken far longer than Ettie had anticipated given his... persistence in certain areas. Now, with her small house finally all to herself, Ettie could be found padding around her kitchen as she made herself a well-deserved meal. It was a relatively simple meal that took little time to make, but Ettie enjoyed experimenting. She thrust her arm out to the side, her hand ready for the jar of salt that she telekinetically flew into her hand. A moment later she sat down at her kitchen bench and dug in. She loved that this time had such an availability of food. Anything could be found at the local supermarket.
As she ate her meal her eyes raced across the pages of her most recent read. It was a French cooking book, old and with recipes that made her glad she was already eating. She found one that looked like a good addition to her collection. She placed the book flat on the bench and waved a hand over the recipe, reciting a few specific words at the same time. The illustrations and words on the page disappeared, leaving the page blank. She knew that the recipe would appear in her personal recipe book, looking exactly the same as it had in this one.
That done and her meal finished Ettie quickly cleaned up before returning to her room and dressing. Her outfit was simple, but Ettie was in no mood to spend an hour going over her appearance. So she simply chose comfort. Clothed and with appropriate hair and makeup, Ettie grabbed her handbag, stuffed her keys, wallet and phone inside before making her way towards and then through her front door.
New Orleans was spread out before her, the sights, sounds and smells a reminder of the time she now lived in. She teetered on the edge of her doorstep, glancing left and right up the street. One way led to the group, the other to the heart of the city. She had yet to make up her mind where she would go.