Lexanter and Melan

[Piraxella is a name I made up. I borrowed from the Spanish "ch" pronunciation of the letter 'X' while also creating a name that sounded Italian. I have not yet settled on the spelling - Pyraxella, Pirexella, Pyrachella, and a few additional variations are some possibilities. I did search online for possible matches of this newly created name to ensure its origination and found none, as a signature of my original work. Any use of this name from this point forward may be traced back to this first instance of its posting online. I checked again just prior to posting this entry and no occurrence of this name appears online prior to this entry - June 25, 2010]


Her earrings appeared to be made of silver, but they glistened with an unusual radiance in the sun. Some women wore a variety of different baubles on their lobes, but she only ever wore the same silver keys. It was as if they were as permanent as the hair on her head, and so often were they attached to her ears, that one began to think nothing of them, as if they were a permanent fixture. She seemed to always smile, but not a friendly or a cheerful smile. Rather it was a knowing smile, as if a secret were about to escape those ruby lips. She kept them slightly parted when she smiled so that her teeth peeked out like partially hidden pearls behind red curtains. That secret could have slipped away at any moment, but somehow it had come to love her, and so it willingly remained captive behind an open prison door...

...So it was that when the chest was finally found, that nobody could open it. Every attempt to open the chest failed, and while the immense pile of keys in which it was hidden seemed somehow attached to gaining entry to its contents, no keyhole could be found anywhere upon its six surfaces. Each corner was covered with  an impenetrable three petaled plate of steel, and each surface was carefully plated with decorative metal, neither brittle, nor flexible to the visible eye. The contents were thought to be so valuable that no one dared force the chest open, lest some harm should come to the entrails of this impervious and enigmatic portmanteau.

At last it was determined that the case would be placed on display, if for no other reason than to invite the attention of the scientific world to determine an entry point. Beside the box was displayed a portion of the keys that were its companions for many a decade. The security surrounding the case was impeccable,  and nobody expected or could have possibly imagined what would happen next. There in the viewing room stood a large crowd of science students, so taken with the keys that the group surrounded the case to block from the view of the camera a straight shot of the chest, and when they left a security guard noted on the screen a strange protrusion coming from the right side of the chest. Upon closer inspection it was discovered that the protrusion was a door left slightly ajar on the side of the chest, and the contents of the chest were missing.

It was as if the thief who managed to open the chest wanted to make sure that there was no question about how clever he or she was, and without doubt, this was the message inaudibly delivered to the security team, who seemed hypnotized by sheer astonishment. Each and every student was carefully inspected to determine which of them could have been the culprit, but only one clue remained at he scene: a tiny key-shaped earring, still inserted into the imperceptibly small keyhole at the joint of the triple-petaled metal plate on the corner of the chest.

Lexanter stood staring at the tiny key for some time before Melan asked if he would like to have it examined for a partial print along with the chest. Lexanter laughed so subtly that it was barely imperceptible to a bystander, rather it came out as a quick burst of air from his chest. "Hardly so. That would just be a waste of time. This is not a clue, my friend. This is a signature; the signature of an artist."

Melan looked perplexed, but stood staring at the tiny key for a moment. "Well then, shall I make an appointment with the artist?" he asked.

"Indeed you shall," Lexanter said softly without moving a muscle, "Indeed you shall." And without another word, Melan and Lexanter turned and strode silently out of the hall.

Early the next morning Melan and Lexanter stood in the brisk morning air on the stone landing facing an elegant hickory door. The handle was so simply elaborate that at a glance one nearly forgot that it was a bronze sculpture in the shape of a tree branch. Lexanter lifted his eyes to the globe camera, carefully hidden behind a strip of stained glass above the door. Melan followed his eyes, and neither lifted an arm to announce their greeting. Within moments the door swept open in the most dramatic fashion and the brisk morning air was suddenly infiltrated with a warm wave, lightly tipped in rose water. Piraxella stood in the doorway as a most gracious hostess  in an evening gown of trembling grey sueded silk. Her walnut locks fell in long ringlets down the sides of her face, intentionally shielding her ears.

"You are most appropriately garmented for the early hours of the morning, Pirexella. One might think you've been expecting us." Melan wittily wafted.

"Do come in, gentlemen. Breakfast is waiting!" She said with her knowing smile. Lexanter and Melan exchanged glances and obediently followed Piraxella into a bright sun room filled with so many botanicals that it felt more like a jungle than a home.

The table was laid with delicate fruit tarts and a basketof unfamiliar fruits. An egg cup stood valiantly beside each place setting, emitting a soft yarn of steam.  "I do struggle so with the most challenging decisions," she flippantly declared.

Lexanter played along as he pulled her chair out for her, "And what decisions might those be."

"Well yolks, of course! Poached seems so brutal, somehow, as if dissecting and then destroying. Boiling seems so much kinder, because you leave the armor right where it should be until the dirty deed is done. But I do love a baked egg. It reminds me of bathing in the sun until my skin is warm and buttery golden."

"Ah, YOKES. Have yokes been on your mind of late?" Melan questioned, fiddling with a pair of handcuffs at his side.

Piraxella seemed indignant at his comment for a brief moment, and immediately shifted back into her hostess role. "Lychees! I picked them up overseas." She said, gesturing toward the basket of oddly shaped fruit. "And I do hope you enjoy the tarts. I spent so much time on the custard."

"Really, Piraxella, you do live an extraordinary life," Lexander mused. "Such privilege and yet such drive to do it all! When will you ever entertain the idea of hiring a cook or housekeeper?"

"The human spirit is much too free to waste on serving the base needs of another human.  I despise servitude, even if it is masked as employment," Piraxella countered. "There are so many things we are capable of doing ourselves, and yet we use wealth or privilege to excuse ourselves from the normal functions of life, as if our wealth or position has put us above our personal responsibilities. Of course this does not in any way degrade the virtue of true service, when offered with a willing heart."

"Bravo! I applaud your insatiable pursuit of human justice. And where does such an honorable virtue fit among the crowd of less than virtuous…" Melan started to draw the irony of her obvious lack of certain virtues, but was quickly interrupted by Lexanter.

"What Melan means, my dear Piraxella, is that we are simply ASTOUNDED by your diverse treasure trove of skills and attributes,  how is it that you manage to remain so wildly independent whilst conquering the world?"

"We are all a shard of greatness in our own right. It is only fair to make one's abilities stretch as far as one may. And yet here we are, with these yolks growing cold. With that she held gently stabilized the egg between her thumb and finger, and with one swipe of her knife, capped the top of the egg. "Cheers!" she said as she elegantly dipped into her egg with a tiny silver spoon.

Lexanter followed suit, and Melan, unaccustomed to this culinary delicacy, sent a splatter of yellow yolk against the basket of lychees. In an attempt to chase the scattered yolk down with a linen towel, Melan tipped the salt cellar, sending a shower of white flakes to the floor. Piraxella tossed her head back in laughter as Melan blushed with embarrassment, but Lexanter scarcely noticed. His eye was fixed upon the briefly unveiled earlobe of his criminal specimen, and for the first time in fifteen years, he noticed a single lobe with no earring, but more than that, a lobe with a brutal tear through the bottom of the lobe.

"I must tell you, Piraxella," Lexanter said without missing a beat, "I have had fruit tarts the world over, but never have they contained a custard that could truly do justice to the race of tarts." Lexanter said with a grin, for the first time noticing the well hidden pain behind those fox-like eyes. Piraxella opened her mouth as if to say something, but nothing cam out; then her lips relaxed into a genuine smile.

An hour later Lexanter and Melan crossed her threshold and stepped back into the street.

"Excellent distraction, Melan," Lexanter murmured quietly as they strode off together.

"The question is, did you see what you needed to see?" Melan asked eagerly.

"Most efficient efforts come away with rewards, and this excellent performance certainly did likewise. The key was apparently removed by force."

"Hmmm. Should that be considered façade or fact?" Melan questioned with a raised eyebrow.

"That, my friend, should merely be considered Piraxella." Then Lexanter and Melan shared a knowing laugh. 

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