And among the three windows at the front of the house, the middle one was made of rather simple, but quite lovely, stained glass.
It was tidy. It was immensely attractive. It had personality. It was in no way grand or overwhelming, but instead well-tended and welcoming.
All very Noc.
He opened my door as I unleashed myself from the seat and he took my hand, assisting me to alight his vehicle.
I saw then the pavements leading to his home were made of brick.
A lovely touch.
“Shotgun house,” Noc stated as I continued to take in his home while he guided me there. “Told Valentine I was going to move to NOLA, I wanted to live in something that was NOLA. Only other thing it had to have was me bein’ able to own it and live in it fast as money could change hands. Her agent found this for me and it rocks.”
He’d opened the iron gate, led me through and was taking me up the steps as I asked, “Shotgun?”
He looked down at me. “Right. Forgot. You don’t have guns in your world.” He took me across the small veranda and let me go to stop at the door, explaining, “A gun is a weapon. Fires a bullet, or a small projectile, fast, faster than the eye can see. The bullet travels straight from the barrel to the target. There’s change in its trajectory due to distance and wind, but it’s minimal. Not sure you were in a state to notice it, but it’s what I used when I did my thing against those witch bitches on your world.”
I was not really in that state to notice. However, I did recall, vaguely. Obviously, there’d been other things on my mind.
He opened the door and I saw through to acres of gleaming wood floors, a brick fireplace with a beautifully carved wood mantelpiece that was freestanding in a room that went on the length of the house. Sitting room first, fireplace delineating it from a dining room and then the this-world kitchen was entirely visible at the back.
As was the back door.
“Shotgun,” Noc said, drawing me in, “means you could stand at the front door and shoot a shotgun straight through the house right out the back door.”
I looked up at him as he stopped us to close and latch the door behind him.
“Why would one do that?”
He took my hand and drew me deeper into the space, grinning and answering, “They wouldn’t. That’s just a nickname for these kinds of homes. Places like this were built because it gets hot. When it does, you open the doors, a breeze can get through when you do, cooling the space.”
It could, indeed.
Clever.
“Also,” he went on, “they’re narrow so you can fit a bunch of them on a street. This one was a double-barrel. That means it was two houses once that shared a wall. Someone renovated it, pulling them together. The length that’s now communal space was once all there was to the house, but now I also have three bedrooms and two baths.”
He stopped us in the kitchen, which was long, but narrow, and had a number of quite impressive cupboards, which included a kind of cupboard-esque/counter-esque seating area in the middle.
He let me go and turned to a cabinet door, opening it.
“Will whiskey work for your digestif?” he asked, putting odd emphasis on digestif, like that word amused him.
“Yes, darling,” I murmured, taking in his furnishings and décor.
Not surprisingly, it was all very masculine. Somewhat like a high-born member of a House would decorate a hunting lodge, but with this-world differences, obviously.
I felt Noc touch my waist and turned from my perusal of his abode to him to see him offering me a glass of amber liquid.
I took it and barely did so before he moved into me, maneuvering my position then pinning me with my back against the counter.
I felt my lips curl up.
“Like it?” he asked quietly.
“Very much,” I answered. “It’s very attractive. Very masculine. Very inviting. Thus very you.”
He shook his head slightly, his eyes lighting, his chin dipping, saying, “My Frannie has a way with a compliment.”
“I share this trait with you,” I replied.
He bent closer, his movement taking his nose a whisper away along the side of mine, his lips right there, before he lifted away and took a sip of his drink.
I drew in breath, delighting in his tease and taking a sip from my own glass to calm my reaction.
Marvelous, this world had excellent whiskey and Noc had the taste to procure it.
“Frey,” he said suddenly.
“I beg your pardon?” I asked, confused at this and thinking our next activities would be quite different and have not a thing to do with my cousin in the other world.
Noc focused on me. “Frey and Finnie. They’re together. Having babies. But the Finnie of this world, Valentine says, is a lesbian so she’s not gonna be finding her Frey.”
“A lesbian?” I asked.
“She likes only women.”
“Ah,” I whispered, feeling my lips curl again, for the rumors had been rampant, with most refusing to believe it, but I just knew the deposed Winter Princess was a guenipe. “A guenipe,” I stated.
“Say what?”
I focused on him. “We call them guenipes in my world. Most usual, for women and men to prefer the same sex, or both sexes, as a matter of fact. Most undesirable when the woman happens to be the Winter Princess and responsible for carrying on the royal line.”
He nodded. “I can see that.”
I took another sip of his excellent whiskey and noted, “This does not offer balance of the worlds for she would not be likely to carry on any line here either.”
Noc shook his head. “Nope.”