The Creole King Idiot #2
She paused and looked back at him. The smile she gave was barely there, maybe amused. But it was a declaration of war on his lust. “Call me Hope, please?”
The request/question got logged as an infraction. His lust was already stockpiling. Every oddity, every quirk, every anomaly would be counted as attacks that would then demand a just countermeasure.
Inside her home, the battlefield was scattered with more offenses waiting to be scrutinized. Beginning with the messy tidiness. He scanned the abstract sculpture art everywhere, some part of him offended with the chaotic form of entertainment.
“Sit if you want,” she said, hurrying her quiet bare feet to a desk tucked into a wall.
He would cut the visit shorter.
Call for a ride that could reach him quick.
She returned with a notebook pressed to her chest, her steps less hurried now. He waited to be given the tablet, a necessary prison for his greedy eyes.
“I should read it to you,” she said, index fingers tapping on it. “My handwriting is indecipherable.”
That she’d written it, that she’d written it messily, that she’s written it messily on actual paper. He weighed each one, watching his mind catalog it as a kink he needed to submerge himself in.
Then he realized her proposed alternative. Her mouth reading that kink to him.
His gaze would have no leash. “As you see fit,” he said, nailing his eyes to the floor.
She cleared her throat. “Uh… Would you like a drink first.”
“No, I’m fine,” he said, hearing the hurry in his tone. “I will need to call for transportation so I’m not late for my next order of business.”
His gaze escaped the floor and moved up a wall, then along the ceiling, making its way closer to her.
“I’ll read it as fast as I’m able,” she said, implying her handwriting might be indecipherable to her as well.
“So…Pah-Pah’s procedural memory is right as rain.”
Skul’s gaze flew to her at that first statement. Procedural memory. His lust took a virtuous turn. That she would dare know and understand this term while at the same time being so fucking beautiful felt like a sin.
Fuck, he hated himself.
Her gaze moved off the tablet and moseyed around the room as she explained. “So… his feet remember the dock. His hands remember the boat and his mouth remembers how to fuss Mah-Mah, but his… face-knowing is going bad in a weird way.”
She scorched him with her burning wheat gaze. It was full of worry but one she was determined to defeat. “It’s a very messy agnosia,” she said, smearing her logic-lust all over his cock.
“Pah-Pah’s decline is… too fast and too crooked.” She hugged the notebook tighter, her teeth scraping her lower lip. “They don’t match ordinary aging fades. His body remembers things his thinking mind can’t explain.”
Her unique logical expressions got counted as word sorcery.
“His recent memory is breaking down fast. He forgets meals, conversations, warnings, and instructions within short stretches of time.”
She turned and began to slowly stroll, her bare feet moving in quiet, chaotic patterns.
“His people-knowing is damaged,” she said, revealing how hard that one was hitting her.
“He sometimes fails to place my face. Or my name.” Each came with its own step, its own weight.
“And sometimes my daughter-role all together,” she said, both feet together at a full stop.
“And then sometimes he recognizes one part but not the others.” Strolling again.
“Like, he’ll know I belong to him without knowing my age or know my name without settling my relationship to him. ”
She faced him. “And his time-sense is unstable.” She strolled toward him.
“He slips between past and present, treating old duties as current ones.” She stopped before him.
“The boat compulsion he has may come from an older responsibility his mind keeps reactivating.” Her head lowered and his own tilted, his gaze holding on to her face.
“His judgment is impaired. Which is why he tries to operate the boat despite our efforts to stop him.”
She strolled again after resetting her mental compass.
“Instead of worsening in a straight line, his symptoms are fluctuating. I tested the idea of ordinary sickness or infection, watching for fever, urine changes, breath, stool, cuts, gums, skin, appetite, and sleep.” She’d used her fingers on both hands for counting, maintaining her grip on her beloved data keeper pressed against her breasts.
“I didn’t find a clean infection pattern so, I increased basic stabilizers—water, cellular salts, broth, rest, plain food, and calmer evening routines.
” She strolled back to him. “These helped somewhat but didn’t stop this jagged decline.
” She detoured right. “So, then I tested for a food-source pattern. I removed fish from the south canal, crawfish from black-bottom traps, and anything grown directly in swamp mud.” She paused and her toes raised in a flare then pressed against the floor.
“I moved him toward eggs, rice, broth, and raised-bed greens. More improvement.”
Strolling resumed in his direction. “I aimed my focus on the nervous-system support with safe memory-supporting herbs. Lemon balm for evening sharpness, passionflower for his broken sleep, rosemary scent for memory triggers.” Each of those came with its own step.
“I avoided the risky herbs,” she said at a complete stop.
“Because I don’t have any bloodwork to measure by.
No willow bark because of blood-thinning concerns.
No ginkgo because of possible bleeding interactions.
” Her head shook with each one and her feet mimicked the movement.
“I don’t trust helpful plants when I can’t see what his blood, liver, or kidneys have to say about it. ”
Skul stood there, a black hole devouring every word, every movement, every morsel of data from the gushing star.
She performed another finger list, detailing all that she’d inspected environmentally, demonstrating her fluent knowledge of heat—it’s powers and its limits in regard to living pathogens versus heavy metals and chemical contaminants.
“So,” she suddenly exclaimed, whipping around with a finger up before him. “Here are my conclusions.”
Skul braced for the logical orgasm, knowing it would be his fucking undoing.
“We need environmental testing. The well water, rainwater, basin water—especially from the south canal. We need testing for sediment from black-bottom traps and soil or mud near the docks. Mold scrapings from the houses, fish flesh, and liver.” She stepped closer, bringing her excitement into what he considered a kill zone.
“We need bloodwork, urine testing, liver markers, kidney markers, electrolytes, infection markers and inflammatory markers.” She spoke with all of her being right at him, her eyes drilling into his, erotic energy packing every word listing every manner of testing that might exist in relation to her father’s condition.
She ended with a deep breath then released it, her gaze ruthless. “I’m at the end of what I can do,” she said quietly, fingers tightening around the edges of her tablet.
Her last statement was exactly the cage he desperately needed in that second. A plea for help. An emergency that would affect the entire swamp and possibly already was.
“Remarkable work, Mrs…” He paused then surrendered to “Hope. I will secure every test you’ve outlined immediately.
With the sudden explosion of critical emergencies, I fear the quieter ones have escaped our attention.
But you may have found the pattern before it became visible to all of us.
” He gave a single nod, finally breaking eye contact.
“I’ll scan your father before I leave and send it to the laboratory immediately,” he said, pulling his phone out and called Nidev, quietly informing him of her findings and requesting the south canal be locked down until the samples cleared it.
“You said you’ll scan my father,” she said when he hung up.
Her golden gaze glowed with wonder as she gripped her tablet against her chest still.
“Yes. My phone is equipped with all manner of medical data and equipment to retrieve it,” he explained. “You provided half the battle—the pattern. The proof is all that remains, then we employ the solution.”
A smile hinted at her mouth and his lust demanded he inspect the logic waiting for him there. He denied it, sidestepping that flame of no return. “Where did you come by your vast medical knowledge?” he asked, attempting to add another lock on the cage barely holding him.
She smiled more and just stared at him until the seconds became crucifying. “Doubt,” she finally said.
The answer made his lust hostile. “Doubt,” he echoed, letting his tone carry the question.
She nodded, her gaze potent and plugged hard into his. “The bossy books gave me all the words. My doubt demanded they give a proper account for them.” She twisted her upper body gently side to side. “Testing is where most of my knowledge comes from.”
“Bossy books,” he murmured, forcing her legs open in his mind.
Her smile nearly broke him. “So bossy,” she assured. “All the answers they do not have that would change the ones they think they do have. Oui?”
He stared at her again. “Oui,” he said back, feeling the silk of her pussy encasing his tongue.
Her gaze moved down his body then back up to his eyes. “Can I see this… medical device?”
Her hungry curiosity for more knowledge reached the direct line to the King with the iron-clad will. The one with years of training to protect and nurture the gifted. He pulled his phone back out and found the app, showing her.
She stepped carefully closer, her face transforming with awe as she stared. He was in the process of showing her its’ many functions when her scent hit him.
Holy fuck. His brain began to create a signature for it that would leash him for good.
He held his breath and sped through his demonstration.