Elle Jay
One Knight awaiting us.
As soon as I said it, I realised that it was the worst possible thing I could have said. The look on her face turned from a sort of compassionate pity to a sort of disgusted sneer. Which seemed almost kind compared to his; snapping from happy and smiling to righteous anger, teeth bared wide enough that the scars on his lips stretched, the not quite right flesh glistening in the light, as he launched himself at me, grabbed my shirt at the neck and dragged me up so that our eyes were mere inches apart...
Runaway
Saturday, 28 November ‘15
I should have brought a coat, heck I should have brought more than one set of clothes, you don't realise just how cold nights are until you're stuck outside without anywhere to go. Or even inside, coming to this Bus Station was probably a mistake too, the wind blows through whenever any of the doors open and suck out all the heat. All the snow doesn't make things any better, making all my clothes cold and wet and numbing my fingers as my rosary runs through them.
As much as I love my si...mother, her 'escape plan' really hasn't worked out, no preparation for if things go wrong and she didn't even think to check if the people she was sending me too were even still there. At least I got away from those weird looking people that were running the place, I just don't understand why they got so angry when I asked for Cousin Vinnie. I have no idea what to do now, I've never been in the city before, never left fa...grandfather's farm except to go to church and...
"Oi, newblood, y'allreet?"
I look up at the Australian(?) voice to quite possibly the most peculiar looking person that I could have ever have imagined before leaving home, who is leering at me with a grin that leaves me worried about my continued sanity. His hair (tied in lots of shoulder length braids) and his eyebrows are a patchwork of orange and green so bold it hurts to look at. And he's staring at me, from blackened eyesockets rimmed with gemstones, like I'm the weird one, leaning forward and talking slowly at me, bringing my focus right to the horrific scars that look like someone sewed his lips shut with wire.
"I said: art thou in an adequate condition newblood?... You do understand English right?"
"Leave them alone Mor, they’re probably stunned and dazzled by your hair's... radiance"
The new speaker skates up from behind me and joins 'Mor' leaning on the railing across from me, and she also has unnatural hair, a waterfall of shimmering silver hanging down past her ribs. All I can do is hug gra..great grandpa's old army duffle (and his..my swords hidden inside) closer and grip my rosary tight in fear of these heatha...people. She notices me trying to edge away and smacks 'Mor' across the shoulder, "I take it the prick didn't even introduce himself did he? I'm Chell, Constance Michelle MacLoud-Blacklock, and this idiotic overgrown man-child is Morcar Smith."
Morcar interrupts with; "Sir Morcar Smith, and that’s 'Smith' spelt ~pee-ess-em-why-tee-aitch-eeeee~," singing out the spelling, with a childish look of joy on his face. "And you, are Newblood, leastways til we work out your new name, gots’ta find someting that fit's you proper like if you’re ganna chill at wor gaff."
At that I finally find my voice, "w-what makes you think I'm g-going anywhere with you? And I already have a name thank you, I'm Ish..."
He holds his hand up to stop me and gets a more serious expression come over his face. "Nope, that's who ya were, but you are either on the run or got yor’sel hoyed out to be sat here on a day like this, dressed like that. If you was tossed out then the name they gave you is worth shite, and tied to emotional chains you’re ganna need to break free from to stay sane. If you're a runaway, doesn't matter if it’s from family or social services, then your old name is a way for them to find you and catch you, and the harder you make it for them, the better your chances of staying lost till you want to be found. Oh and seriously; a thin blouse, sacred jeans and deck shoes are stupidly inappropriate for 2 feet of snow days, and them strap-on skates are ganna get ruined in all the salty slush."
"B-but these are all the clothes I have.”
“That doesn’t sound like very good planning for winter, you need to dress warm when the snows this thick for this long.” I look at her and she’s dressed like a figure skater and can’t be any warmer than me.
“S..mother's plan was for me to go straight to one of her friends, but he wasn't there."
"So then sweetie, what’s your plan? Have you even got one?"
"I don't know, I've got no money for food and nowhere to stay. It would probably be easiest to just go to sleep and let the cold kill me, not like there’s anything for worthless filth like me to live for."
As soon as I said it, I realised that it was the worst possible thing I could have said. The look on her face turned from a sort of compassionate pity to a sort of disgusted sneer. Which seemed almost kind compared to his; snapping from happy and smiling to righteous anger, teeth bared wide enough that the scars on his lips stretched, the not quite right flesh glistening in the light, as he launched himself at me, grabbed my shirt at the neck and dragged me up so that our eyes were mere inches apart.
“Do not even think about joking about that, not ever. Your life and your freedom are too precious to give up so willingly, when your time is truly done, when you reach the end of your path, you must scream your defiance to the world and the stars, and you make the ghosts of death earn their prize.” His eyes, such a beautiful deep blue they seem nearly purple, feel like they’re boring into my soul, as his free hand drags mine holding my rosary up to our eyes. “Besides, isn't toppin yoursel one of your god's irredeemable sins, one of them ‘doom you to an eternity of ceaseless torment’ deals? Whomever’s fault it is you’re out ‘ere, divn’t dee their work for them, live, defy them, live and beat the gods’es challenges.” As he says the last bit his face brightens back up and sets me back down, keeping a hold of my hand for a moment. “Do we understand one another hinny?”
As I look at his scared lips, I realise that he isn't just posturing, that he truly believes what he says. More than that, I understand it, and it makes perfect sense. “D-defiance of a-adversity, face the Tester's trials, keep living and fighting to live, even if just to spite fa...grandfather.” His growing smile as I say it is infectious makes my face ache from using muscles that had gone unused for so long.
“Whey aye pet, divn't let the bluetards haad ya down. So then hinny, what’s your plan now? Ganna take wor offer of a place to crash?”
I nod and start to reply, only to be interrupted by my stomach growling loud and long enough that the various people scattered throughout the station all turn to stare at me. Chell moves over to sit next to me on the bench, “Are you allergic to anything sweetie?” I give a little shake of my head, “alright then, I’ll be right back, play nice Mor.” She skates of down the strip, swaying and shimmying past everyone.
“B-but...”
Morcar turns back to me after watching her leave, “Listen sproglet, there is nothing wrong with accepting charity when you’re in trouble, that’s kinda the whole smegging point innit.” He starts taking off his coat and unhitching his sword from clips on the back of it. “Like this, you're ganna borrow my coat till we can get you some actual winter clobber... Just divn't gan in the pockets like, safer for everyone that way.”
Like everything else about him, his coat(s?) is so far outside my life experience it takes me time to understand it. It's a hooded camouflage sweatshirt, inside of a sleeveless denim jacket that's been extended to go down past his knees, the hood and the jacket trimmed with this bright red fur with black spots. And all of the outside of it is covered in decorative patches, buttons, extra pockets in an array of different camo patterns and colours, and random smatterings of metal spikes, studs, stars, skulls and safety pins. It dwarfs me, reaching to my ankles, but it is so warm, from him and from the fur, that it burns the chill right out of me.
“T-thank you, that’s much better, but you don’t need to spend money on me, there’s got to be better things to use it for, like yourself, at least I’ve got a shirt.” And he is just sat there without a shirt on, just a pair of camo-dungarees cut off at the knees (that are decorated just like his coat), some sort of skin tight plaid pants underneath and a pair of heavy skates/boots, that look the same shape, but in very different patterns.
“Nah, I’m good newblood. One; it needs to drop at least 4 degrees for it to be short sleeves weather for my kind, B; we're not ganna be sat here long, three; I’ve got plenty of shirts back at mine, four; we know a very nice boutique, run by a pair that loves giving total makeovers... and not just cause they makes a proper killing on them, V, I need to gan see them t’night anyhow, and F; you need new clothes like ya need a new name, cause it's blatantly obvious that you’re on the run from someone, your ‘fa...grandfather’ at a guess from what you’ve said.”
It’s impossible to avoid starring at him, watching how his scared and tattooed skin flexes and moves as he gestures randomly as he speaks. “And once you’re all kitted out and we get back to the Garridge, thee and me are ganna hafta have a conversation bout that ‘filth like me’ smeg, cause it kinda sounds like you got sommat properly fucked up in that headcase of yours. I ain't ganna pry into your story, that’s yours to tell on your terms, but that lack of self-respect of yours needs dealing with ‘fore you do sommat proper stupid.”
“But why? What do you get out of helping me? What makes me so special?”
“Because we can, a friend, and nowt respectively. Inherited a couple of old industrial buildings off of daddy dearest, me and Michelle run them as safe havens for streetkids and homeless vets, an' got a deal with Social Services to look after foster kids who'd get right smegged up in the system. Get us somewhere safe so we can fix whatever got us out on the streets, and get back to living instead of just surviving.” It sounds almost too good to be true, but there’s an earnestness and confidence on his face, not the boastful, compensating over-confidence of most guys, but a self-assured confidence coming from apparent competence and a belief in his ability.
“O-okay I guess, I mean, not like I’ve got anywhere else to go.”
“Not quite the reaction I was after but I guess that’s cause your proper new to the whole tramp lifestyle.”
“So what actually happens now?”
“You eat, then thee an me gan down see the Andrewses, while Chell does the run round grabbin all t'other essential smeg you'll need, bedding and toiletries and the ilk.”
“Why that way around? Isn’t it heretic girls that are supposed to be more interested in clothes?”
At that moment, Chell swings round the post at the end of the bench and launches herself onto the bench between Morcar and me. “Because I’m in my van and he just has his Hog, we can grab all the clothes and stuff at the end, but the rest is in a bunch of different shops.” She passes me a wrapped up burger, “eat up before it gets cold and nasty.”
While I eat it as quickly as I can without disgracing myself, Mor holds her away and with, what I am assuming is joking, mock, offense on his face berates her, “Really? Macky Ds? Are you trying to poison the bairn? I can barely stand to look at you Macky B.” Standing up and, making a show of not looking at her, he clips his sword to a set of clips on his back on his dungarees’ straps, “Haway then newblood, let’s be about it.” Effortlessly lifting my duffle with one hand and dragging me along with the other he skates us off down the row between the shops and busstops.
I find myself filled with questions. Why do I find myself trusting such an obvious heathen? What does he get out of this? Why do her parents let her cavort about without a chaperone, and in such sinful clothing? What do they think I am? How will they react when they find out? Why does it feel so good holding his hand? Will I have to run again? Who else lives with them? Is he really a knight? Where is sis...mother, and why wasn't cousin Vinnie there?... What in all the seven hells is that multi-colour...thing he fawning over?
“What in all the seven hells is that?”
“This is Lævateinn, me bike, and you'll ‘urt his feelings talking bout him like that. He's not a that, he’s a new build Vincent Black Shadow, tuned like a smegging harp, fitted with a twin-charger, 3 different noisemaker cans, NOS, a stupid powerful floodlight an a bitching stereo. Now climb on, unless you want to stand here in the cold till our nips fall off.”
What was I thinking agreeing to this! He went through that whole ‘don’t kill yourself thing’ and now he’s trying to kill us both. The weaving in and out of was terrifying on its own, but then he stood up and started dancing and singing along to the music, “~...spread the word all over town and yell that Geordie roar.~ Come on Newblood, you should have gotten the chorus by now! ~The fog on the Tyne is all mine, all mine...~”
“How much further is it?” I have to scream to be heard over the music and the wind and the screaming and roaring engine. He doesn’t respond, he just slams the brakes and clutch on and slides us through the slush to a stop right next to a shuttered garage.
“About 4 feet sproglet, think you can manage to walk that or do you wanna ride the bike the rest of the way?” He still has that stupid grin on his face, there is definitely something seriously wrong with him... guess I’m in good company then.
Before I can answer there’s a bang as the shutters open and he wheels Lævateinn (and me) inside... straight into the barrel of an 8-gauge shotgun. “Who the fuck is this? You know the rules Mor, no-one without an appointment and no surprise accompaniments.”
“Laura chill, he probably has a wonderfully good explanation for it, just take a look at the kid for a second.” For a moment it feels like I’m seeing double until my eyes adjust to the glare and the differences between ‘Laura’ and the ridiculously well dressed guy that looks so similar to her standing behind her clear up. I lose track of their argument, it is far too fast, and they use so many words(languages?) I just don’t know that I can’t really understand it, so I just watch them as Mor pushes me inside while throwing his own barbs into the fight.
Just before we get through the door out of the loading area we were in, ‘Laura’ shouts at us, “get those grotty shoes and skates off before you go inside,” then goes back to her argument, while me and Morcar obey. We don’t get more than three steps inside before the problem of wet socks like mine on linoleum flooring makes itself apparent, and I wind up on the ground, with my legs spread wide and a sore backside.
“Have a nice trip there Bambi? Why didn't you send me a postcard?”
“What?”
“What do you mean, ‘what’? It's just what you say when someone falls ower innit.”
“I mean; what did you just call me?”
“Your new name, it seems appropriate doesn it?”
“What is it supposed to mean, what is a ‘Bambi’?”
“You’re having a laugh ain't ya? You dunno what Bambi means? You’ve never seen the flick?”
“No, no and no respectively. Is it mean?”
“Nah it’s all cute woodland critters, Bambi's a deer, gans arse ower tit on ice, bit like you jus did. Now get up and let’s get thee sorted out.” I start to stand and he grabs and drags me to my feet. “Theres a shower ower there, you gann get all that moist smeg off and get washed, then Laura and Danielle will make you all pretty like... Oh and ditch the hosiery before you start hin, a bruised coccyx is nee way to start a friendship.”
“What about my bag? Why should I trust you heathens not to steal my things?”
“Ooooh, bit harsh there aint cha. Would you accept a knight's oath of honour?”
“I guess so...”
He straightes up, draws his sword from his back and, in one fluid motion, drops to one knee and lays it across his held out arms, “I, Sir Morcar Lazar Psmythe, son of Bertram Tiberius, son of Zebulon Alexander, 13th Baronet Falhurst of Crewe, do hereby swear, on my blood and on my honour, that my and my squires’es intentions are pure and meant to help, and that you and your property are safe in our hands.”
There’s no hesitation or nervousness in it, and the look in his eyes has no malice or deceit. And, thinking about it, if he wanted to rob me, it would have been easier to just drop me off outside the city somewhere.
“And if I really wanted to swipe your junk, would have be easier to just take you out to t’motorway and push you off of the bike ower the barrier” His smirk that is getting to be irritating sneaks back onto his face, “Can I get up then? Things ‘ill gann way faster if we get to ‘em.”
I give him a little nod as the other two come in, “...and why do you always take his side? He’s not perfect.”
“I don’t always take his side, and you’re being paranoid, do you really think anyone could make him do something he doesn’t want to?”
“That’s not the point! This is our space and he just ignores our rules!”
“Oi! He is in the room, and he doesn’t appreciate being referred to in the third person whilst present, and he owns just as much of this place as you do Laura, so maybe chill out a little, yeah?”
As Laura and Morcar start arguing with each other, Danielle(?) comes over to me and leads me off towards the shower Mor pointed out. “So, kiddo, has Morcar decided what he’s going to call you yet?”
“Y-yes, ‘Bambi’, whatever it’s supposed to mean.”
“Well then, Bambi, allow me to introduce myself.” He grabs a hat off one of the racks, that clashes wildly with his very nice suit, and does one of those overly fancy bows people do on stage, “I am Master Danielle Andrews Esquire, Tailor and Haberdasher extraordinaire, at your service.”
“So, you’re sort of a Dandy then?” the room gets very quiet and I feel like I’ve made another mistake. “Y-you know Dan, Andy, Dandy... d-did I say something wrong?”
Morcar is staring at me, his mouth looking angry and his eyes looking amused, “you have no idea how much I hate you right now. I’ve known him 5 years and that’s never occurred to me, even with how he dresses... you’re making me look bad sproglet, ganna hafta stay on me toes round you.. an best leave me coat on that table there, too much ‘lecy shite in it to take it in t’shower.”
I rush towards the shower to get away before something else happens, Dandy handing me a towel and what looks like clean underwear and offering a whispered, “He’s okay with it really,” as I pass him.
One Knight awaiting us
...These are girls underwear... why did he give me girls underwear... they fit very well though, so comfortable... Do they think I’m a girl? What are they going to do to me when they find out I’m not?
“And someone should shoot you for that pun.”
Saturday, 28 November ‘15
As the shower starts, Laura turns on Morcar. “So then Mor, are you going to explain, or do I have to shoot you?”
“Hey hey! Haad on! Who pissed in your coffee? Look, the sprog was sat on a bench in the bus station ower the east end, shivering loud enough you could hear it outside, the smeg was I supposed to do like?”
“Call ahead next time! Five minutes warning would be enough, it’s you bringing these surprises with you every time that gets me annoyed.”
“Okay, okay... sozz dude.”
“Right then you two, hug it out and make up, then we can talk about what’s up with this kid.” Laura and Morcar's hug is spectacularly awkward, but it is also draining all the tension out of them, to Dandy's relief. “Better?”
“Better.” The other two reply together.
“And I’m not sure ‘bout them, clothes is fairly neutral, build an’ how they was movin suggest girl maybe, but they talked ‘bout Chell as if they weren’t one, defensive postures was all masc though, maybe somekinda intersex, if they know it or not. Deffo got family hangups, correcting themsel’ bout relationships, I’m not ganna assume the specificities. ”
“I was more thinking why you brought them here, but I guess you'll say it’s obvious from the condition of their clothes.”
“Aye, give ‘em a quick run through the racks, and get ‘em something warm, too cald out there for what they was in.”
“So, any style in mind to start? Or just anything and everything until we find something that works for them?” Now that she'd calmed down, Laura was much more accommodating.
“Probs easiest to jus’ try random shizz till they react innit.”
“Did they give any hints as to a starting point?” Dandy started flicking through the clothes on the racks, now wearing the lurid cap he grabbed to complement his bow.
“Nowt ower revealing t' begin with, I think they might be from an ‘ardliner sect, and deffo proper sheltered like...”
And their conversation was cut short by the shower turning off.
Saturday, 28 November ’15
I didn’t understand why they thought I needed to wash until I took off my jeans and saw all the stains and dirt that had passed right through to my skin. And I would have loved to stand there and soak for a while, but I could only stand... it... being out and on display in the large wetroom for long enough to get the grime off me.
...These are girls underwear... why did he give me girls underwear... they fit very well though, so comfortable... and they do hide the filth. Do they think I’m a girl? What are they going to do to me when they find out I’m not? “Oi Bambi, y’allreet in there?” the door is open slightly and I’m guessing he's just outside.
“Just give me a minute, and why have I just got underwear?”
“Soes they can get you shizz in the right size innit. Nee point geting ya shite that’s not ganna fit like.”
“You won't laugh at me, will you?”
“Course not hin. Now let’s be about it, sooner we’re done ‘ere, t'sooner we can gan get some scran.”
I walk out, covering myself with the towel, to see all of them looking through the racks of clothes, muttering to each other. Without looking at me, Laura asks, “are you ready to be measured sweetie?”
“I guess so..”
~~~~~~~
The whole process is embarrassing, feeling her hands on me as she measures my body, ignoring my objections that she shouldn’t have to touch my filthy body. I’m sure she notices the filth, as she flinches back when she brushed against it, but she doesn’t react at all and just gets back to it. As Laura shouts out sizes, I can see Dandy and Morcar pulling things from the racks, holding them up and building a pile of clothes on the table near us.
“Oi Bambi, owt of this grab your attention?”
“N-no, it’s all so new.”
“Right, let’s start with this,” Dandy holds out some dark blue athletic wear with white stripes like the harvest workers from the next town over back ‘home’ wear.
As I start pulling the weird feeling clothes on, Morcar pops his head out from the rack he is digging in, “Really? Slav-Chav chic? That’s proper not ganna suit ‘em like. Bet ya thirty quid.”
“I’m not betting with you, and can you please speak English for once, not Geordie, it’s too much effort trying to decipher you when you’re like this.”
“Okay, okay, I’ll talk like some beleaguered southern and or yankee prick.”
“Laura, do you have any idea where he gets that bit of attitude from? It's not like he’s ever lived anywhere near Newcastle, or in England at all?”
“Probably better than him identifying as Russian like he used to though.”
“Oh fuck, that accent, how can someone who grew up there have such a parody of an accent.”
“Oi! The fuck did I do to youes? Is it ‘pick on Morcar day' t’day or something?” Finished “, I stand up and make an attempt at a pose to get their attention, “see, I telt you, like I keep telling you, trackies divn't suit anyone.”
“Um, so what’s next then?” As I strip out of the ‘trackies’, I feel a totally new anticipation at the exploration ahead, and see gleeful expressions on their faces.
“Tell you what though, ganna need some choons if we’re ganna have a big dressup sesh like.” he fiddles with a jukebox off to the side till it lights up and starts playing.
... as far as I can tell, 'choons' seems to mean excessive amounts of noise.
~~~~~
It's a lot of fun, joking about and trying all sorts of different clothes on, and they don’t berate me for not knowing how to do some of the weirder clothes. Some of them look and feel nice on me, like the pretty, frilly dresses they call things like Lorry-cough and Sweet-lorry, or the baggy stuff they called 90’s Skater-boy, while others, like the smart suits, emo-boy, and valley-girl, everyone quickly agrees do not work for me.
After about an hour of this I end up wearing a heavy, spotty shirt they called flectarn over a purple t-shirt with a cartoon deer on it, white sweatpants patterned to look paint-splattered and a pair of brown Snow-boots with lots of fur inside. Once we start packing up the stuff that I am getting, I’m a little shocked that we have filled two meter-long racks and the tray/box/hopper things on the bottoms of them. As we move the racks out to the entrance, a few questions occur to me;
“How am I supposed to pay you for all of this?”
“Divn’t worry about it for now sproglet, we’ll sort it out once we know what you’re good at.”
“But you’re spending all this money on me...”
“And I can afford it easy, hell I’ve wasted more buying stupid shite online when I’m proper shitfaced.”
“Oh, okay... um, back at the bus station you said you were already coming here for something, but you’ve just been sorting me out, is what you wanted all sorted?”
“...Smeg... Oi Dandy, have you got that bodyline skirt I ordered?” He darts back inside, taking off his dungarees and dropping them on the floor on his way.
“Yes, wondering when you were going to remember it.” He pulls a box from under the counter with a Lorry like skirt and petticoats in it. “And someone should shoot you for this pun.”
“Oh please, you’re just mad about me thinking of it first.” Mor turns towards me as he starts putting the skirts on, and I can’t help noticing his crotch and how smooth it looks in his tight leggings... is he like me...? “Well what do you all think?” The skirt is patterned to look like a wool sweater with blue and yellow stripes around the waist and bottom edge, with red balls and very badly done baseball bats scattered around the bottom half, and both it and the petticoats have a blood splatter effect to them.
“It’s... interesting... doesn’t go with your plaid leggings or rainbow socks though. And what’s wrong with the baseball bats?”
“Baseball?! Philistine, Heathen, Defiler! They’re Cricket bats!” He has that same mock angry look he had over me calling Dandy ‘Dandy’, so... he’s playing up being angry for effect? “And do I reeeally look like the sort of person to give a flying fart in space about things matching?”
Before I get a chance to respond, there is a noise from the entrance and Laura, and Chell... who’s now in full overalls and a woollen hat, walk in.
“What have we all told you Morcar, if you’re in a skirt you need to cover your chest, spare top still in the middle bottom pocket?” After a little nod from Mor, Laura pulls a tightly wrapped cloth bundle from his coat and throws it to him.
“And someone should shoot you for that pun. We all set to load and go?” Chell seems a little unnerved at something.
“Think so, ‘less the Andrewses have owt else that’s come up?” He’s pulled the top on, and it’s a skimpy cami a bit like they gave me as underwear, purple with white hearts all over and ‘Rent Boi’ in big pink glitter letters on the front... and he really looks like a girl dressed like that. “And what’s with the onesie? Isn’t that just for when ya gannin hyem?”
“Saw Carl buzzing around,” she says the name with a lot of venom, “don’t really want to come out that way.”
“So that’s us tucked down in the backseat then? You got all your smeg Bambi?” I give a little nod, “Go get in the van then, we’ll load up and be off.” There’s an odd mood thats come over them, something they aren’t saying... or aren’t saying in front of me... family drama? And what does ‘come out’ mean? Have to ask them later.
When I get into the (bigger than I expected) van, the ‘backseat’ turns out to be a couch, as in a two-and-a-half seater couch like you’d see in a house, not a car. Pretty comfortable though, deep cushions that I sink into and before they even start loading, I’m already drifting off to sleep...
~~~~~
I’m jarred awake by a bump to find myself still in the (now moving) van, pulled up against Morcar, both of us covered with a thick and really warm blanket (and he’s pretty warm as well). They don’t notice me waking up and keep quietly talking between themselves.
“..enough about my love life, not like it’s ever that different, Artie is fairly consistent, what about you, how’d date number two go last night?”
“T’was bitchin, watched a couple of flicks, discussed the logistics of sex given our hang-ups and... arrangements, fell asleep curled up together in a heap of blankets and cuddly toys.”
“Which films? I know you, you don’t seem to get romance properly.”
“Condorman and The 13th Warrior.”
“Well, I guess 50 percent romantic to violent is an improvement over your last.”
“What, so Condorman isn't a romance?”
“You know what I mean Mor.”
“How is 13th Warrior not romantic? And Steph said she liked horror, not my fault she couldn’t appreciate I Bought a Vampire Motorcycle... an’ that’s pretty romantic an’all.”
“See, this is what I mean, just... don’t push things too far, he’s in Kari’s band, he’ll still be around if it doesn’t work... or Kari will really stab you this time for driving off her drummer... again.”
“I get it Chell, just drop it okay.”
Okay, it feels really wrong listening in like this... I should probably wake up wake up...
“Fine, what about the new kid, got an idea what’s up with them?”
“I don’t think they know what’s up with them, at least not properly.”
“Seriously?”
I really should ‘wake up’ “-YAAAWWNN-”
“Mornin’ sleepyhead.”
“Morning? How long have I been asleep?”
“About an hour, slept through all the loading and everything.”
“Umm... sorry.”
“Nah, it’s alright, it was two racks and a bike, you’d have just been in the way, Chell’s particular about how peeps load her van.” He turns and smiles at me, but the streetlights and dark cab make his lip scars and darkly decorated eyesockets turn his face into a leering skull. “What's up Bambi, you look like you’ve seen a ghost?”
“You look a little scary in this light.”
“Just a little?” He smiles even wider, with teeth...
“Okay, a lot, it’s like looking at a skeleton that’s got a hold of me. And I’m a little confused by your clothes, are you two supposed to be boys or girls, because I’ve seen both of you dressed as both in the last few hours. Also, why do you look almost identical?”
“The second is cause we’re half first cousins innit. Chell, you wanna handle the first one, or can I have some fun?”
“You can Mor... but please try and have some taste with it.”
“Chell’s a girl that has to dress an’ act like a boy at home and school or her sperm donor will probs kill ‘er when he finds out, and I’m a boy the universe is conspiring to force into turning into a lass. Still a dude I jus’ like skirts an’ dresses and being pretty some of the time.”
“Well, that was nicer than what you usually go with. You understand that Bambi?”
“Yeah...okay, I get it... I think...” I have no idea how to take that...
“Hey, it’s alreet to not get this shite at first, ‘pecially when I’m doin’ the explaining. Oh, and you best stick to calling Chell by Con, Macky B or Mick-Mac when she’s in guy mode, cannae be too careful which cockwombles can overhear like.”
“Nearly to the Garage, you two best be quick about unloading, Kari and co need me to give them a lift.”
“What did the Chad do to his van this time? Wait, I don’t care, probs sommak proper stupid again... Hey sproglet, you’re ganna wanna watch this.”
Out of the windshield all I can see is unsettling large metal warehouses, then we turn a corner, we come out into... a skate park? We are still between the warehouses, but there is a skate park here, and not a little one. There’s loads of people skating and biking about, a web of ropes of glittering multi-coloured lights strung between the buildings around it, big stacks of speakers in the corners and a massive bonfire in one of the pools.
“Wow...”
“Wicked innit?”
“You live here?”
“Sorta...” he pauses until the van swings round to drive into one of the buildings, “I live in here. Welcome to the Garridge newblood.”
It is incredible, it’s like Peter Pan’s lost boys set up camp in a trailer park... there’s random stacks of different sized trailers, storage containers and portable offices in two wide curves to the sides, with walkways and ramps between them and platforms around supports looking a bit like a metal tree village. Everything is decorated in all sorts of different styles and there are lights and banners and pennants strung everywhere and happy children and teens all over. “Whoa...”
“And guess what else Bambs? You live here now too, leastwise tills you decide to move on.”
“Why are you being so generous?”
He looks confused, “Why not? Ain’t like I’m short of scratch.”
“Scratch?” My turn to be confused.
“Cash, dough, ready, wonga... ~moniiieees~. Dad left me enough just from his slush funds I can get into to conquer a couple of small countries, let alone the actually legit shite, plus the rest of the fam is proper minted like. You divn’t need to worry bout me bank balance.”
While we were talking Chell had pulled up, and Morcar pushes himself out from under me and climbs out the door backwards, “Come on Bambi, let’s get your gear out an away so we can gan eat, I could murder a kebab right about now.”
“I want to say ‘I cannot believe you could say something like that’.” Behind him are a girl in a toga, who (other than her eyes and razor straight shiny black hair) looks just like Chell and Mor, and a stocky, swarthy boy in a torn up shirt and jean shorts, both with hands on their hips and an amused(?) expression on their faces.
Morcar winces and replies, still hanging backwards out the door, “Haway man Arron, what’s the problem like? It’s a perfectly legitimate English grammatical construction.”
‘Arron’ grabs Mor’s waist from behind and pulls him out off the van, “Well it sounds like you’re plotting a hate crime, you tactless son of a whore.”
“Oi! Me mam was a Madame, not a whore...Kari’s mams was the whores.” I’m not sure how Mor just turned around in his arms like that.
“Oi!... Okay, I’ll give you that one, this time.” Toga-girl (Kari?) looks over them, right at me... “And who’s this hiding behind you?”
“Right guys, this is Bambi, runaway of... confusing familial relations,” he then turns in ‘Arron’s grip to talk to me, pointing first at the girl (‘Kari’?) in the toga, “Newblood, this is Hikari Elagabalus Psmythe, my only full first cousin, and Arron Newman, my potential sort of boyfriend, still working all that out like.”
“How are you finding being my psychopath cousin’s newest pet project? He's not put you too far out your comfort zone has he?” Kari pushed the boys out the way and starts helping me out the van. “You can say ‘no’ to him, we’ve trained him to listen to ‘no’s, it did take a while though.”
“I’m just so confused, everything is outside my comfort zone. And he’s more than a little intense.”
She leans in and whispers loudly, “He’s always been like that, he’s got issues.” It looks like Mor is about to fire back when Arron pulls him into a kiss... why does seeing that make me feel extra screwy inside...
“Would you moronic goons stop acting like a soap opera and unload the fucking van!”
We have not met
Anyone Cis-Het
In this story yet