Be Excellent To Each Other

Please look on Pete's other topic for information-this thread is ONLY for the story.
No posting unless it is part of the story, if you do then I shall visit you in person...that's enough to scare anyone.

Discussion is on the original thread-if you need to ask anything get yourself over there.

Also-BIG thankies to Pete for bringing this new fun to the forum x


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Brandon was painfully emo. His head was slung as if hung from an invisible rope and when he moved on the dancefloor, his twitching limbs made it look as if he were kicking air, the hempen dance. He was the leader of a tribe of emos, claiming mutual support in the face of a hostile society, though the sullenness of their conversation belied a sort of fellow contempt as well. Derided in the town centre, they had moved to the fields on the outskirts, beneath a brooding wood with an equally brooding stone circle. They went there to brood.

Brandon’s entourage consisted of three boys and two girls, the hanger-on chicks digging the tight trousers and stripey scarves. They shunned the outside world, face half-veiled by the universal jet-black haircut - turning their backs with affected contempt on the ones that were brave enough to have streaks in the black locks. The coloured-lock tribe were a lesser emo; they hadn’t given themselves over to the despair and the greyscale life they believed that all emo’s should lead - life was to suffer, as decreed in Chapter 1 of ‘The Book of Emo-To Err is Human, to Suffer is Emo’

Brandon was calling a meeting in the middle of the stone circle, he made sure to bring his iPod and speakers so they could listen to the mandatory Fallout Boy as the meeting took place. Earl Grey tea was in the flasks on a make-shift table, next to the razors, eye makeup, and baby wipes.

Brandon had heard down the grapevine that there was a wood not far away from where they were, a magical wood. He never listened to this kind of thing normally, mostly because he was usually informed by chavs hanging around the local shops, ever waiting for someone to buy them cheap cider. But this intrigued him - apparently there was a magical creature that dwelled within the wood and it had been known to have great powers ... and Brandon wondered, half-dared to hope, that it was one that could transform his mop into hair that never needed to be straightened...

Stephen closed the book. The embossed and pathetically adult cover reading 'Brandon Snape and the Entish Fop.' These spin offs of JK Rowlings were getting more and more ridiculous. He had been waiting in the library for 40 minutes now. She was late. He was worried. He thumbed the fingerprint scanner and checked out his books. 12:1 that was the ratio he figured would avoid detection. Time to get moving.

She must be dead.

He held that thought a moment, then dismissed it as mere mobidity. There was no real reason she should be dead, not really. Of course, there was always the outside chance... He shook his head, wondered at how thoughts of death had been popping into his mind lately. Not bleak, Ingmar Bergman thoughts, more 'crikey, there seems to be a bit of it about lately' musings. He figured it was all part of growing old, a few people you knew were bound to fall by the wayside.

She'd explained that the fun lay in the slim element of risk, without that, one might as well stay at home. Then she followed up with a detailed lecture on how most accidents happen in the home. Stephen looked down at the book, why had he taken it out anyway? His feet carried him onto the pavement. He figured she'd have the gumption to reckon that he was across the road in the cafe, or text him when she didn't find him.

But why didn't she text him that she'd be late? Battery dead? He began to wonder again on what exactly it was that she was doing out there. She'd never given him a straight answer.

Stephen walks by a cafe. And then turns back again. As he opens the door, a dozen students turn their heads to see who it is. Stephen is used to this. A while ago, he would have felt uncomfortable with all the attention. Now, it's to him, as normal as buying a paper from a shop. He strolls over, feigning ignorance of the stares, and asks the barrista for a coffee, Americano, as it's his drink, and retires to a table. Stephen opens a newspaper, and checks for stories of him. None, again, he thinks to himself. The holdall containing the book suddenly feels weightier than it ever did before. At least, he thought, I might get a decent song out of it.

Sipping his beverage of choice he gazed out of the window, the stains of the day already coating the clean glass. Grubby hands smearing the large panes set in dark wood. Looking down he saw bits of cake and biscuit on his table, not having been wiped clean from the surface. People, he though, filthy, ignorant and full of greed. Stephen didn’t even notice the burn on his tongue from the extremely hot coffee. He was lost within his reveries; he liked to take time out from the world and envelope himself within his mind, the only sane place left to him now.

He thumbed his mobile in his coat pocket, slightly sliding it out to view the blank screen, it’s presence reassured him-the fact that there was no message or missed call didn’t...

Where was she?

Mark the pixie moved the gag ever so slightly to let the Emoette drink through the straw. If he took it off completely she could scream, and he'd heard enough of that. He took the two blinks as a sign her thirst was quenched so the restraint was replaced. So much to prepare and so little time, his pacing up and down the telescope didn't really help but it made him feel better as it took his mind off the first atrocity he was about to begin.

Everything in the draw had its place, the razor, leather and soap all neatly aligned. The smell of the freshly laundered towels greeted his nostrils like a summer meadow. Mark whipped up a handful of lather and began wiping the blade against the hide. His work so far pleased him greatly, her once ebony hair was now ginger like the love he once knew. Her forehead would need a shaving here and there to complete her Nicholas Witchel transformation. He wouldn't be able to continue until she looked the part.