Adults

In the truck’s bed, they endured the hot Louisiana night. Jules slapped desultorily at mosquitoes.
“Alice, you said blood don't taste like it does for rest of us,” Jules said. “Sooo, what does it taste like?”
Alice shrugged, and simultaneously shook her head. Not a gesture mortals could pull off with her graceful fluidity.
Jules' breath was baited. Alice didn’t breathe at all.
“Tastes like Diet Coke.”
Afterwards, silence stretched like taffy.

Her origins are lost in the mists of time. Shadows of rumors place her far back in ancient Mesopotamia. A Muslim cleric living in the shadow of Turkey's Mount Nemrut claims she was discovered by nomadic Homo Ergaster upon African savannahs.
Physicists speculate on the black substance, resistant to any and all methods of modern forensic inquiry, including the powerful Zetawatt-Equivalent Ultrashort Pulse Laser.
Her very presence induces horrific nightmares.

In her twenties, Ruby’s perfect shade was Revlon’s ‘Raisin Rage’. A vampy red lipstick: it never overpromised. But the name?
“What would make a raisin angry?” Ruby laughed.
In midlife, wearing ‘Raisin Rage’ felt … ‘inappropriate’. (Now the raisin wasn’t the only one angry.) Ruby understood all too well: That “raisin” was once a wrinkle-free “grape”. Now she’s shriveled beyond recognition—so not her former self--she’s been RENAMED!
What’s next? ‘Prune Apocalypse’?
 

Forcing Jesse to have “afternoon tea like The Royals” felt extra passive-aggressive, even by Lisa’s standards. He’d told her before: coffee (with cake) was for happy times; while tea (with honey and lemon) was for misery: divorce, funerals, illness.
Everyone knew this. Everyone except Lisa.
Lisa loved Chamomile--it “soothed her”. Funny, she didn’t seem so “soothed” while tossing his belongings out after he refused ‘afternoon tea’.
Tea: The beverage of ‘break-ups’, too.