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South London - 3 am - Lancaster’s Estate
“Oi Dawn - made it awight,” Jamie Lancaster says, he’s dripping wet from being in the pool earlier, swim trunks soaked, blonde hair swept back. Slow music is playing from his large estate, tucked away in a pocket of land near Shadelin Forest.
“Course mate,” Dawn says, though his wrist is killing him. His eyes quickly flash to the weird corpse lady who broke his wrist earlier. She shambles out the old hag that is. Jamie raises his brow.
“You in to cougars now?” Jamie ask.
“You know it,” Dawn replies with a nervous smile.
Seymora pays them no mind. She can feel herself being drawn to the female energy around here. She can sense them, a palpable scent. Powerfully alluring. Seymora rubs her body sensually in anticipation. Whether it’s the eighth of vodka Jamie had or to simply watch an old hag rub herself sensually, he bends over and spills his guts. Dawn has the same urge, but it’s repressed by his fear of dying.
Seymora slowly slips off as the men meat tend to each other’s needs. She is lured to a young female, with radiating skin. She’s young, her body is all on display for Seymora. How many years had it been that a female is dripping wet, hair in a tangled mess, her breast covered barely by a piece of cloth and her lower regions.
“Who invited their grandmum?” she ask, she looks disgusted with her, “Could you like fuck off. Cause you ruining my eyesight, ya.”
Seymora looks at the girl.
“If you knew who I was, you wouldn’t speak to me like that insolent girl,” Seymora says extending out her hand.
“Ewww I think I am gonna upchuck, really,” the girl replies.
She moves quicker than the girl can flinch, using her grip to squeeze the girls throat. Her vocal chords break before she can finish choking the life out of her. She will not tolerate being spoken to in such a manner or tone. Ripping the girls vocal chords out, blood began to splatter all over her skin and tattered robes.
“Hahahahahaa, girls who talk back should be silent and not heard,” Seymora tells the young girl, feeling her youth slowly returning to her.
Seymora slinks off blood beginning to create a trail, as another young female is wearing a dramatically revealing outfit in the back. Though the front is fully covered. What is the purpose of an outfit so ridiculous? She’s leaning of some counter, holding a blue drink in her hand.
“Shite!” the man meat behind the counter yells out, a man meat with dark skin and frizzy hair. Seymora pays him no attention.
She turns around, wet hair whips around.
“Haha, this is rich, Jamie who’s grandma is this?” she ask and looks at her too in revulsion. Why cannot the woman of this era see her beauty? How is she not winning them over with her presence?
“Your friends vocal chords were very fragile, are yours as well?” she ask extending out her hand to present the vocal chords to the young girl.
“WHAT THE FUCK!” she yells.
“CALL THE POLICE!” the man meat behind the counter starts shouting.
The young female tries to run off, she grabs her arm quickly. Her skin wet, and nearly slips Seymora’s grip. The man meat runs off though, she doesn’t necessarily care as she drags in the girl. Wrapping her other arm around her neck to hold it still, it takes merely one of her arms to snap it, when her head goes limp, she throws the body onto its knees and rips her head off with both hands. Girls in this era were so careless with their words. Then it seemed they needed an education in etiquette.
West London - 8 am - Shepherd’s Fire Station
Dear SYNBAD,
You have been humbly invited to the New Breed Pride parade being held here in Northern London on the day of your anniversary arrival, March 9th, 2017. All active current SYNBAD members are welcomed. And we would be humbly honored if your leader would say a few words before the floats. You have provided London a great service, allow us to show our thanks.
Yours Truly,
Prime Minister Shirley Lancaster
A note had been hung up about a week ago by no other than Laura. Many were uncertain if it were a suggestion or if it were a request. Knowing Laura it most likely was them being told what to do. So many of them tiredly got out of bed with the expectation of going to the celebration today. Held a little closer to 11. Apparently there were would floats built in their honor, and Viorel was suppose to say a few words. Something like that, though no one was really certain if everyone at the parade was going to be a friendly ally.
These things to invite all kinds of character, but there would be plenty of food, other sorts of vendors, and T-Shirts. A very fetching one in one of the catalogues read: I <3 SYNBAD.
Viorel had a particular time with that, the conversation around the shirt is, “Why do they heart SYNBAD? Is this some kind of message?”
Which Angelica replied, “They aren’t going cut out hearts if that’s what you think.”
Come find me!!
#paradeday #newbreedpride #newbreed #snakeboy #cute #emo #cuteboy
Important things aside he put down his cellphone. To be truthful he felt anxious about the parade day. Parades meant a lot of people and a lot of people meant a lot of stares. He did invite them over didn’t he, he runs his finger through his hair. Is he hungry or too nervous and he’s going to puke? He cannot really tell.
Room is tight, but you get use to it. It has enough space for him to place Nagini on a dresser, it’s longwise, with six drawers. There’s a small closet tucked next to his twin size bed, only reason he can sleep on a twin size is because he’s small enough. There’s a door entrance, with cabinet space for anything else you might need to store, honestly it remind him of those small attic bedrooms in old houses. Enough room to stretch, somewhat, but still narrow compared to an ordinary bedroom.
Getting up and simply throwing the sheets onto the bed, looks done enough he walks to the closet, sliding the door open. Passing an arrangement of clothes, a kilt with too many chains, a couple pants with different types of belts on them he’ll call them belts cause calling them bondage pants makes him feel dirty, a pair of red cheetah prints pants though that might make him stand out, ah yeah these jeans will do. He’s tucked a shoe rack in the closet and took out a pair of boots he thinks might match, they have flames on them so that’s cool. And a black button up shirt.
What’s the term business casual, he guessed. Cause they had to look presentable according to Laura. Hopefully this is presentable enough. Ducking out quickly of his room, perhaps he could take a shower before anyone gets up. He checks in the bathrooms, score, no one is in the showers. Honestly it reminded him of his school locker rooms, except without the lockers. A couple showers, at least they had kind of privacy with walls that separated each shower, each toilet stall had a door. Issue was anyone walking out the stall could see you butt naked.
Angelica ignored his complaint about it, “Boo fuckin hoo. You take pictures of yourself all day. Get over it just cause someone seen your toosh.”
She could be a git sometimes. He huffs. Hanging his clothes over the towel rack. They had one cabinet with folded laundry. They were always clean. It had to be Gemina or Jensen. One day he watched the both of them try to tear a towel out of each other’s hands. He feared there was going to be blood. Luckily it turned out awight. Setting some tunes on his phone then getting the shower nice and hot before stepping in. Hopefully no one came in when he was flaking scales. Yeah he didn’t have dandruff. He had tiny tiny teeny tiny scales. God he felt like not going.
Wonder what excuse he could make to get out of it. Probably non.
He hears someone’s door open. Shite. Rushing to get soap all over his body and drying himself off quickly. He rushed getting his flame skull boxers on, then his jeans, hastily buttoning down his shirt, buttons are all shite right now. Fuck he forgot his hair dryer. At least he was dressed rushing out the bathroom he saw Nilin leaving her room. Mother fucking shitebags. That’s who it was. Probably going to get herself food before Gemina begins to force feed people.
He lazily raises a hand, “Hey.” he says as he runs to his room to get his hair dryer, his socks and shoes.
Gemina opens the white lacy curtains, sunlight beams through the window and then she frowns staring out the window. She wanted to see birds, she wanted to the forest outside her window, like the fantastic movies. Instead she was staring at a street, with tarmac, a row of trees acting like a median and several apartment flats. In the years of their existence time had really changed. She watched Viorel as he began to put the final touches on the hem of her dress. He hadn’t gotten dressed himself yet, just his undershirt and his pants. He looked handsome busy and working. She in just a chemise slip currently, watching his serious expression. Though he seemed to be enjoying himself, she could tell that much. Her dress is beautiful, she couldn’t help, but feel loved by this man staring at the white silk dress, adorned with embroidery at the end of the skirt with sequins. Shoulders with the same silvery design. His hands had the experience and knowledge, they were her favorite part, but she knew they had the softest touch. Not much about Viorel is soft, his hands always soft.
“This is like a date,” she presses the man.
Viorel smiles, well she can see his smiles, others cannot.
“I suppose that is true,” he tells her.
She happily wanders over to him.
“My dress is beautiful,” she tells him.
“I hoped you’d like it,” he responds, again she can tell the warm tones in his voice that others cannot pick up. Only she could. Could she touch him she wondered? How would he react? She places a hand tenderly on his shoulders. He pauses sewing to turn around to look at her. Something inside of her is racing.
“Viorel,” she says nervously.
“I have something else for you as well,” he tells her standing up, her hand slips down his back. He’s strong and warm. She feels pull towards him every time they have these moments. She wishes for a kiss, or for him to throw her onto the bed. She wishes for something reckless at these times. Something that would have made her mother shocked, when she were alive. He grabs her hands that have slid down his shoulder, he kisses her fingers tenderly.
“Despite the poor view outside, this day makes me happy,” she announces to him.
“I am glad,” he tells her, as he let’s go of her hands, and walks behind the mannequin bust that is exactly her size. He begins to undo the strings in the back, “Would you try this on for me?”
“I’d be honored,” Gemina finds herself giggling.
She always liked this part. Getting dressed in the clothes he makes for her. It made her feel beautiful in this world. He gently lays the dress down on the bed and smiles at her. As she grabs the dress maybe a bit too eagerly. He watches as she does so. She gets the first of the skirt on herself, he quickly helps her get her arms into the sleeves, and helps fix her slip so nothing is bunched up. She doesn’t mind when he touches her in places they should otherwise be ashamed of touching each other. He slowly begins to thread the strings in the back of her dress. She waits till he is finished threading her in. She turns around to look at him.
“Not too tight,” he ask her brush past her black hair.
“No,” she tells him, what she wanted to tell him is that he already stole her breath away.
“Ask one of the girls to do your hair,” Viorel tells her, “However, I have something more for you.” He says.
She waits. Viorel turns around to the white antique dresser they had for a while, the chipped white paint is beginning to break apart again. One of the corners is missing do to Blinky’s meddling, he opens the drawer now that can’t quite come open any more, it gets jammed, but with enough wiggling he manages to open it taking out a large velvet box.
“Close your eyes,” he says.
She does. She’s excited. She feels cold metal to her neck. What could it be? She’s scared, but his touch is tender and somehow that eases her.
“You may open them,” Viorel tells her.
She opens her eyes. This necklace. A silver embroidered necklace, with two dark sapphires. Where did he get it?
“I remember this necklace, we lost it in our house in Germany,” she tells him.
“And I found it,” Viorel replies.
She turns around excitedly and hugs him tightly.
“I love you,” she says happily.
“I as well,” he replies kissing her cheek.
“I have to find Nilin, she’ll be thrilled. Gemina says, she finds herself flying out of the bedroom too excited to bother about the cleaning.
Viorel watches her leave. She seems to be in high spirits this morning, that is good. It pleases him when he can actually get her to smile. Her leaving the room brimming, no overflowing with joy made him feel joyful too. Glad in fact that she is still happy with him after all these years. A parade then. He turns to Blinky whom they have had to lock at night in a dog crate. It has all the things Blinky could want and need. He calls it his bedroom, it’s better than nothing. A pink polka dotted throw, warm and fuzzy, some coloring books, Blinky complains about their story all the time, a cookie jar, some crayons scattered across the soft pillow they had given them. Some he had even tried to taste.
“Scary Face gavies away me precious shiny,” Blinky remarks.
“Viorel,” he corrects, “To be fair it was our before it ever belonged to you. Would you like to go to the parade or not?”
“Ooo Blinky luvs festivies,” Blinky replies, looking eager to get out of the crate.
Viorel let’s him out, Blinky stretches.
“Remember the rules,” Viorel tells Blinky.
“No manure, no pranksy, no bad bad,” Blinky replies.
“That’ll about do it, and if you follow all the rules,” Viorel says going back to the drawer, fiddling with it before taking out a pocket watch he found at a thrift store.
“I get new shiny,” Blinky looks at it, a bit of drool begins to form at his mouth.
He still wonders how he’s managed to survive this creatures habits. Most would have given up on him, though he didn’t have the heart to do something so cruel. After all these were all base instincts a Goblin had, he isn’t so sure it would be kind behavior to reprimand him for something Blinky couldn’t truly control. Viorel tried his best to keep his temper with Blinky.
“Wakey the Baby?” Blinky ask.
Why does he keep calling Jensen that? Viorel sighs.
“Jensen,” Viorel corrects, “Go on.”
Blinky scurries off to go wake Jensen, leaving Viorel to the room. Honestly he had no feeling towards or against the parade. He wished others would stop seeing him as the only voice of the New Breeds. Many of those in SYNBAD had done just as much even more. He wished to see Jensen on the stage to speak about his relations with spirits. He wished to see Nilin stand on the stage to stand before the others to show that not all New Breeds were out there eccentrics, they could be a warm bowl of comfort as well. Or Myles in order to get some confidence in the boy. Maybe Jack to crack open that shell he otherwise had. Or perhaps Giovani could speak of his experiences and entertain the crowd with a joke. Foster he’d prefer speaking another face to show the generosity of New Breeds, to put it bluntly he’d worry about Harper on stage.
He is not the source of all there is to wisdom. Wisdom came in spades. It comes from different experiences. It comes from different minds. One mind thinking for so many others is not ideal. It means putting his own thoughts in their mind. It means putting his own words for them. He didn’t like the prospect. All of God's children all had something heavenly to share.
North London - Melody Garden Flats
This didn’t feel right. Not one bit right at all.
Harper: Ay-up. Mornin’ sunshine.
Foster groans as Harper is clapping loudly in their head. Slowly comin’ ‘round it is becoming quite clear what is wrong. Foster’s staring at stunningly fit woman lying next to him, naked, messy black hair.
“Would you like to explain?” Foster mumbles tiredly.
Harper: Aye. If I ‘ave too. You see mes and her went out last night. We got home. I begin to slowly rub her shoulders….
“...I have had enough of that,” Foster replies sharply before he really goes on explaining the whole thing to ‘im.
Harper laughs.
“Fix it,” Foster demands tiredly.
Harper: Ah nah. I like to watch the struggle brotha.
Foster grumbled. Slowly as he’s beginning to come ‘round he’s slowly beginning to feel the pressure in his head. Really, why leave him with the hangover? Slowly he places his hand on the woman’s bare arm. This feels wrong in so many ways. He slowly shakes her.
“Xcuse me miss,” Foster says softly.
Harper stays quiet. The more awake he’s becoming the more sick he’s feeling. He softly shakes her again in hopes to wake her.
“‘Xcuse me miss,” Foster says louder, but still soft.
She finally opens her eyes, they are brown, and they stare at him. She smiles stroking his cheek.
“Hey you were great last night,” she says tiredly, as if she’s still asleep.
Oh this is always awkward.
“I’m not who you think I am,” Foster says, “Harper my twin. You need to leave. And I have to get ready for a parade. Right after I puke in the toilet.”
He hates waking up and feeling nauseous. Sickness when you’re waking up is one of those all or nothing things. Where one minute you feel nothing and then all the sudden you feel everything at once. First it’s the head pressure. Then it’s the spinning room. Then it’s the loopy feeling in your stomach. He doesn’t particular care that he clipped a toe on the doorway as he bends over to dry heave into the toilet.
“Why would you,” he takes a moment, “do this.”
Harper laughs: Because the hangover is the worse part.
“I know,” he says trying to recover, “I’m the one talking to nobody through a toilet bowl.”
Harper makes a sound: Ouch. I am nobody, huh.
“You know perfectly well what I mean,” Foster replies.
Harper: Ye. She must think you insane by now.
Standing up, there were times he wish Harper were in the present. So he could slug his shoulder. Cause he does things like this. Staring at their bathroom counter is like staring at a shared space with one individual present at times in the physical. Harper’s side is always messy, he could learn to clean up, his space always encroaches on his own space, then he has nowhere to place his things. Why does he bother with these things? Men’s cologne with names like; Ocean Breeze, Mountain Fresh. Neither of which smell at all what they say they smell like. Hair styling products, Harper’s comb is in the sink basin again.
“Mountain Fresh, wots’ tat like then?” Foster ask.
Harper: You wuldnnit like it. Talkin’ ‘bout not liking tings. Let’s talk ‘bout your hand soap. Cherry Blossom extract natural soups. You gottah be kidding me.
“It has a short ingredient list, and isn’t animal tested,” Foster replies, “I know what you’re going to say about it. I am already pissed I have to deal with the hangover.”
Harper: Dats is girly. Smells flowery. But it was nice. I stole a drop last night. Woman love it.
Foster shakes their head, opening the medicine cabinet their things are scattered all over the place. Why Harper insisted on having a dinosaur toothbrush was beyond him even then, taking out his toothbrush he began to go through the routine. Brushing, then flossing, mouthwash.
“What did you do use vodka as a mouthwash?” Foster asked making sure the shower temperature hit a balanced medium.
Harper laughs: Don’t be crass. I used rum.
Heading into the shower, it became painfully aware the little things they did share. His brother choosing shampoos with black bottles, which looked lethal to him, they had names like Fresh Apple, Winter Chill. While he had chosen natural shampoos, mint extract in a recycled plastic bottles. Sometimes he wondered if this difference was their divide or if it were merely a joke to Harper.
Harper: Something the matter.
“Do you think we’re too different?” Foster asked.
Harper: Not at all. Imagine if we were exactly the same. Whoddah you look up to wake you up with a hangover then? Huh.
Harper laughs, which gets Foster to smile.
“Should I go for something else?” Foster ask Harper.
Harper: Nah. Go for the mint one. Like the way it smells.
“Then why do you go for the horrible ones?” Foster ask.
Harper: Cause it gets me laid.
He’s just jerking your chain around Foster. I know, but it works.
When that was all said and done he walked into their closet. Harper’s and his taste were abundantly clear to him. Why is it bothering him so much today? Perhaps because he was bothered by the fact his head feels like it’s being put through a juicer.
“Suggestions?” Foster ask looking through his wardrobe, that seems of muted colors. While behind him were Harper’s clothes, not only obtuse, some were overzealous as well in design.
Harper: Just one.
“Lemme guess, don’t dress like a twat,” Foster mumbles.
Harper: Atta boy.
Harper says nothing else as Foster is going through his things. Cardigans and button up shirts. White, beige, blacks, navies.
Harper sighs: Go for the gray one with the nice textured pattern.
Foster puts a hand on the casual cardigan he’s talking about, it’s a bit thinner for March weather, but he takes it off its hangar.
“This one?” Foster ask.
Harper: Yes. Now go for one of the sky blue shirts or the gray one.
Foster follows his instructions, “This one then?”
Harper: Yep. Grab some jeans. And there ya go.
“Thank you,” Foster mumbles.
Harper: Uh huh. Gotta a hat to go with that.
“This” Foster picks up one of his only owned slouchy knits. When he was trying to be brave. And out there. This didn’t really scream brave and out there, did it?
Harper: Works.
“Okay,” Foster mumbles as he starts to prepare getting dressed.
Harper: Take a pair of my sunglasses too. God your goin’ need it.
“Who’s fault is that?” Foster asked.
Harper: Dunno. A poltergeist did it.
Once everything seemed in order and the stranger had vanished as he reentered their living bedroom. Moving through the open floor planned studio, he stared at a shiny waxed red box in it. Beside the hangover he was worried she might not like it.
“You think this is a horrible idea?” Foster asked.
Harper: If I was being an ass, I’d say yes. But it ain’t ‘orrible unless you think it’s ‘orrible.
“Okay,” Foster replies.
Off to SYNBAD HQ. Why was he going to this parade again? He felt like he barely made a contribution to the group usually.
