Writing Exercise - Character Builder.
This is a deleted scene from my next project, something I did to get my head around the plot. I like it, it just doesn't start off the story. I needed to get this out before I could start the story.
"Check out her." In any other conversation between guys, this would have been a completely different context. "Look who turned eighteen and just discovered fillers." With Moa, it was always something bitchy. He probably cleansed with lemon juice and vinegar for fun.
"Cram it, twitch." Tish rolled her eyes in my direction with a disgusted sigh.
Like this was my fault, some how. It's not like I gave her permission to come along. Moa and Tratty were my friends. Besides, it's not like he was wrong.
Unfortunately, he wasn't done. "Oh, please! Last time I saw something like that, it had just taken ten inches, twice." Holding up two fingers, Moa flipped his hand back and front so that his bangles clacked together.
A snort came from the queen of censorship. "Like you would even know what one looked like. You probably faint at the smell of tuna."
From there, it quickly devolved into catty comments about who was the biggest bitch.
In another life, Moa and Tish would have been the twins in this little scenario. They would have hung out together, holding court for the whole world to realize how a-mah-zing they were. A single cutting remark, some shade thrown, and even the angels themselves would draw a bath with a razor. Unfortunately, fate had been cruel to them and it was not to be.
Tish and Moa were to forever be mortal enemies. So alike, yet, so distant for the sad fact that he was my friend, thus, scum. That was the word she had used, like she was mother and this was nineteen-eighty some odd number.
My sister was like that. She liked to use big words and old slang to make herself look more mature and important. Until we were fifteen, she had the advantage of height as well. It nearly killed her when I finally caught up. That was the day she painted over the chart and started wearing four inch heels.
"You can't tell me that looks natural. And if you try, I'll slap the mocha from your cheeks." Ah, Moa, proving every stereotype has a root in truth. Not that the hot pink hair and neon tights were trying to hide the fact he wasn't a flaming heterosexual. "Speaking of which, good on you for finally dropping the rouge. Your cheekbones thank you."
Hanging back, I glanced to Tratty for support. There was none, as usual.
"Check out her." In any other conversation between guys, this would have been a completely different context. "Look who turned eighteen and just discovered fillers." With Moa, it was always something bitchy. He probably cleansed with lemon juice and vinegar for fun.
"Cram it, twitch." Tish rolled her eyes in my direction with a disgusted sigh.
Like this was my fault, some how. It's not like I gave her permission to come along. Moa and Tratty were my friends. Besides, it's not like he was wrong.
Unfortunately, he wasn't done. "Oh, please! Last time I saw something like that, it had just taken ten inches, twice." Holding up two fingers, Moa flipped his hand back and front so that his bangles clacked together.
A snort came from the queen of censorship. "Like you would even know what one looked like. You probably faint at the smell of tuna."
From there, it quickly devolved into catty comments about who was the biggest bitch.
In another life, Moa and Tish would have been the twins in this little scenario. They would have hung out together, holding court for the whole world to realize how a-mah-zing they were. A single cutting remark, some shade thrown, and even the angels themselves would draw a bath with a razor. Unfortunately, fate had been cruel to them and it was not to be.
Tish and Moa were to forever be mortal enemies. So alike, yet, so distant for the sad fact that he was my friend, thus, scum. That was the word she had used, like she was mother and this was nineteen-eighty some odd number.
My sister was like that. She liked to use big words and old slang to make herself look more mature and important. Until we were fifteen, she had the advantage of height as well. It nearly killed her when I finally caught up. That was the day she painted over the chart and started wearing four inch heels.
"You can't tell me that looks natural. And if you try, I'll slap the mocha from your cheeks." Ah, Moa, proving every stereotype has a root in truth. Not that the hot pink hair and neon tights were trying to hide the fact he wasn't a flaming heterosexual. "Speaking of which, good on you for finally dropping the rouge. Your cheekbones thank you."
Hanging back, I glanced to Tratty for support. There was none, as usual.