<span class="fixed-color" style="color:#ff8000">"Yano, ye betta be right 'bout dis."</span><br/><br/>Kendell flicked at the underside of his middle fingernail with the nail on his thumb, scrapping away at the fleck of dirt that found itself trapped beneath.  He liked to keep his nails immaculate, as with the entirety of his appearance.  That way, when he gently took the hand of a woman, they would see nothing but his ebony skin and the contrasting, flawless ivory that capped the pink fingernails.  It was a welcoming sight, a warm one, one that had won him the woman's warmth more times than he could count.<br/><br/><i><span class="fixed-color" style="color:#00b3b3">"You know as well as I do that she has this coming.  That she's been dying for this to happen."</span></i><br/><br/>There was something about this man that Kendell found chilling,  He seemed likable enough, with his sharp dress and sharp features and sharp wit.  Maybe it was that sharpness that unnerved Kendell, as if any wrong step near this man would slice him clean open.<span class="fixed-color" style="color:#ff8000">"We gwan scare da daylights out da gurl, yano?  She na gwan know what tae say."</span><br/><br/><i><span class="fixed-color" style="color:#00b3b3">"That's what I'm anticipating."</span><br/>
</i><br/>He raised his hand, gripping the wicker sun hat that topped him daily, the dark brown leather faded to near white from years of sun abuse.  He set it next to him on the dresser he leaned against, licking his lips as he raised his dark-hued gaze to Max.  It was a face he had yet to familiarize himself with, as it was only just yesterday that he had met the man.<br/><br/>Yasmine had been on his arm as he walked her along the docks of St. Lucia.  He had pulled her against his chest in front of her ship, planting delicate kisses upon her cheeks as she whispered her plans for the next morning to him.  He had smiled wide, his golden canine shimmering in the setting sun as he nodded his approval.  He watched her amble onto the ship, anticipating the morning that would mark the end of their four-day tryst.  It was a sensation that was familiar to him, as each cruise seemed to have that one woman that stole his time and affection.  There was something about Yasmine, though.<br/><br/>It was then that Kendell first heard that chilling voice, breaking through his reverie.  He was standing several feet behind him, but his words seeped into his ear as if whispered from millimeters away.<br/><br/><i><span class="fixed-color" style="color:#00ffff">"Yasmine is quite the girl, isn't she?  She certainly carries her self with an air of sexual liberty.  You and I both know that first hand."</span><br/>
</i><br/>It wasn't the perfectly cropped head of blondish brown hair that caught Kendell's eye when he turned.  It wasn't the trimmed stubble that adorned his chin.  It wasn't the carved nature of said chin, as if picked from the finest stone.  It wasn't the imposing frame hidden behind a dapper black suit.  When Kendell turned to gaze upon the man speaking to him, it was his eyes that drew his focus and his comfort from him.  Irises like the tundra, arid and vast, yet cold and focused.  They pierced him, left him off-balance.  Which was an uncommon occurrence, given Kendell's equally imposing stature.<br/><br/>Kendell had followed Max into town, lending his ear to the plan the man had laid out.  Max certainly wasn't lacking in intellect.  He knew Yasmine's nature better than Kendell ever could have hoped to, and in the end he found himself agreeing to this foray.  He felt manipulated.  Outwitted.  Like he had signed a deal with the devil himself, trading his soul away for an hour of fun.  But he was also convinced and excited.  Max's words sank into the man heavily, and as he tossed them around in his mind that night, the truth lightened the load on his shoulders and his heart.<br/><br/>That morning, when he met Yasmine at the docks to take her to breakfast, he made note of her liberal demeanor, and how freely she allowed him inside her that entire morning.  There was passion to the love-making, yet he sensed no attachment.  Max was right.<br/><br/>And this is what brought him to this moment, staring at a closet mirror in a cramped cruise ship bedroom.  He fingered the ivory button of his pineapple-printed polo, his black (and greying) chest hair pricking out of the gap.  He smiled wide at the mirror, lifting his cap back to his head and tipping it toward the handsome man in the reflection.  Three knocks sounded on the door.<span class="fixed-color" style="color:#ff8000">"At least dis gurlie gwan be met wit a parr of hantsum deyvils."</span>He turned toward Max, flashing a golden smile and a wink.<br/><br/>Grasping the doorknob, he swung the door open, gripping Yasmine's arm and dragging her through the precipice.  There was no force behind his actions, just a simple urging to keep her from freezing in place as he gradually led her to the bed.  Max slithered behind him, shutting and locking the door.<br/><br/><span class="fixed-color" style="color:#ff8000">"Gud mawnin, gurlie.  Ye gwan leave an no say gwoodbye tae ol' Kendell?  Ye be renk, gurlie."</span>