Fic: Baby Girl, I'm a Blur - Chapter 5
Title: Baby Girl, I'm a Blur
Author: interpol_ice
Fandom: Skins - Second Generation
Pairing: Naomi Campbell/Emily Fitch
Rating: T (naughty naught-T! not exactly T)
Summary: Naomi Campbell and the complications of having a twin for a
girlfriend. Distracting flashbacks and a lovesick mind keep her from telling
the night's story straight.
In this comedy of errors, the first thing that got right was letting Naomi
narrate. [Pre-Season 4]
Author's Notes: Hey, hi, hello, jello (hugs). I’m back with another
chapter! It seemed like it was about to drag on for forever because I had so
much fun writing it. So I had to cut it up to here again. It’s long enough,
though (the longest one yet). That means you’re in for a lot of reading!
Hope it compensates for your wait! :)
Thanks to all the sweet people who read my stuff. And more thanks to those
who give me feedback. This one’s for you guys! And it’s going to be cool
since I’m really happy with this chapter. Writing it was just so organic and
spontaneous. It was actually a bit magical (and I think I’m being too
f*cking flowery and gay)... Or something. But anyway...
Twoot-Twoot! All aboard the Funkytrain now! We’re off to Chapter 5!
Expect: Naomi and the touchy subject of her MAD DANCING SKILLZ!
KEFFY, up-close and closer! A LADDER that screams doom and debauchery! In
for a Soda Pop? Then PANDA’s has got the right fizz for you! This is all a
kick-off for the our OTP’s trip home...
You know how some nights never end? Well, this is one of those nights.
CHAPTER 1 - How We'd Be (You and Me)
CHAPTER 2 - Swim or Die Without
CHAPTER 3 - Try Me On To See If I Fit
CHAPTER 4 - Lover Undercover
Baby Girl, I'm a Blur
by interpol_ice
Chapter 5: Pretty ODDyssey (X, Y & Z Units Away From Home)
= = = *** = = =
And it takes me a couple more seconds to fully grasp it. A bomb goes off in
my head. Nagasaki and Hiroshima, blowing up at the same time.
Fucking moron, that is Emily.
= = = = = = = =
And this song is about going to a party with your girlfriend. She goes off
to go to the toilet or to get a drink. And you’re standing there on your
own. And you look across the room and you see this girl that you utterly
fancy. You just. It’s not mental. It’s physical. You’re just like… wow.
Snap!
And you realize it’s your girlfriend and it’s like... Cha-Ching!
- Glen Hansard on his song, “Falling Slowly”
= = = = = = = =
A tsunami of relief washes over me. Just like that, the wind blows and
angels sing. Thank God! I did not just cheat on my girlfriend! I did not
just cheat on my girlfriend with her twin sister! I didn’t just enjoy
kissing Katie because it was actually Emily I was enjoying kissing all
along. All along!
This is another type of Fitch Switch entirely.
I’m so fucking delirious that I want to try out the happy dance that I just
choreographed in my head about ten seconds ago. It involves pretending to be
underwater, jazzercizing, twirlies, and... the Robot. Oh, oh! And Emily!
Because it’s not a happy dance if it’s not with Emily.
So I offer her my hand. “Let’s get to it, then. You owe me a dance, lover,”
I say, trying very hard to keep a straight face.
I probably look like a wanking nutter right about now. But you know, it’s
love. Going mad is just one of the inevitable after-effects.
She bites her lip, looking back at me with an ‘Really? I’ve adored you since
middle school as well!’ stare. And her hand slides into mine. Every familiar
line of her palm, concrete evidence that she is exactly who I want her to be.
Not some evil twin.
I’m guiding (more like dragging, really) Ems deeper and deeper into the
crowd. And a few meters away, I spot Effy. Because it’s not hard zoning in
on her. She’s ever the enigmatic magnet. Drawing in eyes like shit does to
flies. That’s Effy for you.
Then, right there thrashing about beside her, is Katie. Katie of all people.
I flush, instantly remembering the fact that I thought I snogged her. But
what outweighs that, what’s even more shocking than that... is the sight of
Katie and Effy in close proximity.
They’re... dancing. Together. To be more precise, grinding. Together.
For two people who are supposed to hate each other, they seem to be enjoying
this. This being getting friendly with the enemy. So can somebody tell me
what the hell is going on? Please, anyone?
Upon closer inspection, I see that Katie is wearing Emily’s sweater. Oh. So
that’s where it went. From where I’m standing, I can see that the sweater is
nice on Katie. She carries it differently. In a way that makes her appear
softer. I mean, less likely to beat your face in with her itty bitty fists.
Right, back to freaking out... Why, why, why? Why is this night so full of
surprises? Because it’s getting a little too much for me to take. Geeze, I’m
really starting to consider the possibility of this entire night to be a
dream. The bizarreness of which can be easily explained by a Freudian-based
psychoanalysis.
Though I’m a good distance away, it slaps me across the face. The twins are
without question... different. Even though she’s looking pleasant and pretty
at the moment (because of Effy?) and even though she’s in Emily’s sweater...
Katie actually looks nothing like Emily.
I can’t even believe that I ever thought Emily was her. Yeah, sure, Katie’s
got her neat quirks (her lisp is funny, for one). She’s cute in her own
psycho-bitch way. But the point is... Katie will never be as heart-stopping
as Emily is. Never in a million centuries.
So, let me run that by you one more time. Can I stress how fucked up it is
that I ever mixed them up in the first place?
Then, quite suddenly, Effy gives me a spectacular showcase of talent as she
twirls Katie like she means it, sending Katie into an unlikely fit of
hysteric giggles.
My jaw drops in disbelief. Why thanks, Eff. You beat me to the punch again.
First, you steal my girlfriend from me. Now you’re stealing my twirlie-
thunder.
No, Effy, that’s not cool.
I turn my attention back to Emily. Because she’s pulling off her scrunchy
and letting her lush locks fall in a magnificent trail-blaze of red, red,
red. And she’s there, grabbing fistfuls of her hair while the music sways
her in a constant wind and grind motion. And Jesus... it’s sexy as shit.
Dear God, I know you did a stellar job of creating the universe and
everything... But I’ve got to say, making someone this adorable and so
equally filthy at the same time? Well, I’d give you a life-time award for
that if I could. But if I did, I think you’d smite me right up the ass for
being so full of myself... But really, God, I just have to say...
Every other girl, every other Eve has got nothing on Emily Fitch.
Katie squeals in delight again. Effy’s just gotten her to do another twirl.
In that instant, I remember what I came here to do.
I grab Em’s hand, and I just sort of raise our arms up high. It’s funny and
lame. Sort of mechanical. But Emily, she gets it. You know, since she’s my
soul mate and all. She gets it. And she executes.
She twirls. My precious little princess. She twirls for me. And it’s
perfect. And I can’t help but think to myself, ‘Yeah, it definitely isn’t a
happy dance without Emily Fitch.’
= = = = = = = =
Newsflash.
I’m wrecked beyond standard wreckcreation. Pissing pissy! Steaming drunk!
I can’t even think of a proper hyperbole to use to further strengthen my
point. All I know is that I’m never taking drugs from Cook again. Not ever.
Who knows what kind of trouble I’d be getting myself into the next time?
Exactly. I don’t want to find out either.
So, you have probably worked it out by now. I’ve become useless. I’m fucking
useless. And if you’re counting on me to make a sense of sorts any time
soon, you’re in no luck... Just saying.
I might have made the mistake of overdoing the popping and the locking.
Seriously, I can’t even feel my neck. Like, if I got my head chopped off via
guillotine at this very moment, I wouldn’t be able to feel it.
I’m telling you, I’m so fucking gone. Besides that, I must have done a dozen
more things that could’ve contributed to the degradation of my independence.
Actually, the only reason why I’m still standing is because poor Emily’s
acting as my human crutch. She’s got my arm slung around her shoulders. And
my upper body is sort of slumped over her tiny frame. But she’s holding me
up, reasonably nice and steady. Emily, my lovely little trooper.
Have to hand it to her, you know, she’s deceptively strong. She must have
been doing a lot of time on the naughty bar. The fact that she’s capable of
lugging me around speaks volumes. That there’s true love, my friend.
To be really totally honest, I believe I’ve scored the best girlfriend in
the entire Milky Way. I’m fucking sorry, but you can only wish you were me.
I nuzzle against her neck. Digging my nose into her soft, sweaty flesh. I
kiss her, taste her. She’s deliciously salty. Emily groans back in appreciation.
I feel her vocal chords humming through her neck, tickling my lips.
I move up to her ear, I want to tell her how much I want to take her home
and shag her silly.
“Emss-zeee?” I say loudly. So loud that I manage to drive her head a good
distance away.
“Babe, mind not breaking my fucking ear drums?”
Not taking what she just said into consideration, I declare my intentions
like they’re the only things that mattered. “I’m taking you home.”
“Awww, Naoms. Sweet and all, but you’re like... well trashed,” she reminds
me, a hint of amusement in her voice. “Sure not in the right state of mind
to take me home, really.”
“Please, Emily?” I persist, irrationally desperate. The substances sure do a
great job of talking for me. Seems that the drugs and the alcohol have
conspired and turned themselves into this disembodied ventriloquist. Guess
who the fucking dummy is?
“Well, you do look like you could use some fresh air. C’mon, hon. Use your
feet would you,” she says, shaking me into a more active state. You know, so
that I could get my legs to work like they should be.
“That’s it. Nice and easy. Baby steps, baby steps,” she encourages, already
maneuvering us to the club’s exit. She’s probably learned this corny,
motivational technique from none other than Daddy Fitch.
I’ve never really had a real conversation with the man. But I’ve heard
stories from Keiran. See, Keiran’s gotten bigger around the belly (he’s
discovered Mexican Food). So mum teases him about it every time they shag (I
can hear them through the walls, they’re a loud bunch).
Not wanting to be called ‘Tummy Wobbles’ during their vintage fuckathons
anymore, Keiran has forced it upon himself to exercise. And Rob Fitch
Fitness just happens to be the closest gym in the vicinity... of Keiran’s
favourite pub.
See, these exercise stints of his don’t work because immediately after every
workout, he heads straight over to the pub and drinks back the calories he’s
just burned.
Anyway, he’s picked up a lot of shit from Rob. If I do say so myself, Keiran
has fashioned himself a fairly impressive Rob Fitch impersonation. It cracks
me the fuck up every time he brings it out during supper.
Once I even sprayed orange juice all over mum because Keiran, in his Rob
voice, went, “Oy, Keiran, there ain’t no magic involved in making yer sissy
man-boobs disappear. What have I told you about reps, reps, reps?! You shame
the Irish, Mac Foeinaiugh! Christ’s sake, you’re pathetic! You’ve got to
yearn for the burn, Kieran! Yearn for the burn!”
And if you’re wondering, my walking lessons with Emily are going absolutely
swell. Still a little shaky (I’ve tripped three times already) but
nevertheless, acceptable under the following influences.
Johnny White and his henchmen ease into my periphery as Emily and I are
moving. They’re stationary on the dance floor a couple of people away. And
doing a tad shit at being menacing.
They’re too busy arguing with each other that I don’t worry about them
catching Cook. Who I’m supposed to warn... but it seems like the lucky twat
doesn’t need it.
Hell, even me and Emily slip by unnoticed. And honestly, most of the times
we pass by anywhere, it’s standard procedure for people to do double
(sometimes even triple) takes. I mean, we’re like... two very attractive
lesbians. So... if you’ve got a functional set of eyes, why the fuck not?
And for White and his goons to not have seen us, they must have been
seriously preoccupied.
Soon after, we meet up with Panda and Thomas in the tunnel that leads to the
exits. They look like they’ve had enough of this party as well.
“Heya, Panda Poo, Tommo Too!” I greet with overwhelming levels of stupid.
“Golly Golightly! What’s gotten in to you?” Panda says, in an honest to God
kind of curiosity while Thomas is trying to hold back an amused grin.
Yeah, what’s gotten into me? For fuck’s sake, I’m supposed to be cool.
Sarcastic bitch cool. I worked hard to get to where I am. So what exactly am
I doing to my reputation?
“I think someone slipped something into her drink while I was away. Good
thing I got to her in time. I mean, look at her. Who wouldn’t want to date-
rape my girlfriend?” Emily says humorously, coming to rescue the last shards
of my self-esteem... I think.
“Right. Naomi is quite a catch. Actually, I have considered surfin’ and
turfin’ with her back then... I may have been gay before Thomas came around.
Bonkers honkers, right?”
Oh, Christ. Panda, I would have never known.
Emily is unmoved by this. Because that’s just how Panda hands out her
compliments. Emily and I just take what we can get.
Thomas, on the other hand, has this worried expression on his face. “Why
don’t I get us out of here?” he says animatedly, breaking the more-than-
awkward silence.
“Naoms?” Emily says gently, prodding me in the ribs with her elbow.
I slur back in acknowledgement. “Mmmm?”
“Think you can handle getting up that ladder?”
I stare back at her dumbly for a while. What is she on about? What ladder?
Then she points to our right.
An uneasy feeling in my stomach grows. I watch as Thomas scales the said
ladder. He reaches the top and lifts off the manhole cover. I gulp in
reflex.
Oh, that ladder.
He climbs to the outside. From the parking lot above, he motions for Panda
to follow. Panda scrambles up quite easily. Probably because she’s into
performing and interpretative dancing. So it makes her all limber and better
at this ladder thing than I can ever aspire to be.
Fucking underground clubs. Why can’t they use stairs like regular people?
How the fuck am I going to make it out of this stunt alive?
I almost die of anxiety when I notice it’s Emily’s turn. Oh God, did I just
wet myself? If I did, well... that’s just perfect now, isn’t it? I check,
patting my private areas through my jeans.
Thankfully, no I did not wet myself.
Emily’s gone high enough so that I have an ample amount of space to start
mounting myself on. From a long way up, I spot Thomas’ patient face just
waiting for me to get on with it. It’s crazy but I find myself incredibly
pressured from that look alone.
My hands are shaking when they grip around a bar. Then I get one... two feet
on the thing and I brace myself for the task ahead. I climb up, fearing for
my fucking life in a way that’s just sodding sad. My hands are being so
damned useless, getting all wet and clammy.
Christ, I’m more frightened than I thought I could possibly be. One slip
could be the end of me... or like... the end of my dignity. Which, when you
think about it, is pretty much same thing.
My world starts spinning and I feel like I’m caught in the centre of a
small-scale tornado. The green lights, the clay-coloured walls, the people
in their horrid track suits. They all clash into a whirling ambiguity and...
Bam!
I’m all shook up. Elvis-style.
Emily has gone a good way up already, creating a kind of obvious distance
that means that I’m pathetically lagging behind. I glance up, prepared to go
full fucking steam ahead. Which is a bad idea, I discover a second after.
I look up and by doing that, I also happen to look up... into her skirt.
And Jesus. Her knickers are right there.
It’s not like I’ve never seen them before. But there’s something special
about this pair. I don’t recall to have ever taken these off of her. Pink
and orange stripes. Hmmm, those must be new. They look so delicious that I
plan on taking them off using my teeth. Just... bite into them or
something... Wait. Why am I suddenly reminded of those doughnuts from
Thomas? Why?
Seeing up her skirt is getting harder because she’s climbing at this
infuriatingly steady pace. I find myself enthusiastically grabbing bar after
bar just to catch up with Emily. And her doughnut knickers.
It’s hilarious. That what’s driving me on, what’s making me climb higher and
higher, is my perversion. You know what? With the proper inspiration, you
can reach whatever goal you set your mind on.
Sometimes I’m so sneaky it scares me.
Pretty soon my head pokes out into the fresh air. Thomas is there at the
top, waiting for me to take his hand. Instead, I grab at his arm desperately
and he pulls me up. I picture Alice squeezing herself out of Wonderland, out
of that rabbit-hole, back into the real world.
You have no idea how delirious I am. Hell yes, I’m still alive and kicking!
I’m so damn proud of myself that I’m absolutely sure I can now tell Mt Everest
to go fuck itself. After that bloody ladder, the world’s tallest mountain is
a munchkin monument to me.
After Thomas closes the manhole cover, the music dies and we’re all left in
the quaint atmosphere of the parking lot. Thomas straightens out, catches my
eye.
“I can tell you looked up her skirt,” he tells me in an undertone. In that
boyish secret way of theirs. You know, when they’re talking about naughty
things concerning girls.
“That obvious, eh?” I say guiltily, wiping the sweat from my palms on the
fronts of my jeans.
He raises his eyebrows twice. A yes, from the looks of it. Then he says,
with a low, mischief-laced voice, “Boys will be boys.”
I let out a quick laugh. “Tosser,” I say before giving him a punching him
softly in the shoulder. His little smile grows even wider. The sheepish
smile, sheepish no more.
Great, when did I grow myself a cock? Can somebody please tell me that?
= = = = = = = =
Emily nudges me softly into consciousness.
“Hey, sleepyhead.”
I open my eyes and find out that we’re seated on a park bench just outside
an empty playground. We’re somewhere up north, near Thomas’ place.
Resting against her warm body, I feel at peace. I don’t make any move of
getting off her shoulder. And my eyes shut again, of their own accord. I
want to stay like this for as long as possible.
“So, your head cleared up yet?”
“Huh?”
“Okay. That’s a ‘no’, then.”
A bit more, Ems. Let’s just stay like this a bit more.
= = = = = = = =
I warm up to the idea because I think I’ve gained back the majority of my
composure. So, after Emily’s countless proposals, we finally explore the
playground, giving it a quick sweep. The fruits of my labour appear beside
the jungle gym. It’s there where I manage to find a bright green water
pistol.
I’m all-out gung ho about this and I proceed to have a blast chasing Emily
around with it. We get so caught up in playing cops and robbers that I run
after her all the way to a couple of cars parked just outside the area.
I finally catch her and she feels like a struggling fire in my arms.
(Freeze!)
She does what I say. And with little difficulty, I pin her against a tiny,
yellow Volkswagen.
(You have the right to remain silent.)
Emily plays along, keeping her hands clasped together behind her head,
sniggering all the while. Behind her, I drop the toy gun and I kick apart
her legs.
(Miss, I’m usually a gentleman... But it’s absolutely necessary for me to conduct a strip search this very second. You’ve been a very, very bad girl.)
And I squat down to hike her skirt up, running my hands on the sides of her
hips. Then they travel teasingly, to the inside of her thighs. It’s rather a
filthy way of checking her for dangerous weapons and hidden water pistols...
But it’s all in the name of Pretend Law Enforcement.
And besides, Emily seems to like it.
As I go up, I think about how I’ve already touched every inch of her. Go
ahead and shine a UV light over Emily’s body and you’ll find a shit-load of
Naomi Campbell fingerprints.
My hands dip into the curve of her waist and then they climb up to the
little bumps of her rib-cage. Her restless squirming is telling me that I’m
nearing my destination.
Patience, Emily. Patience.
(Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law.)
I place my palms against her tits, through her/my/our... our pig shirt. And
right on cue, she gives off this shaky breath that just sends the blood
rushing down to my groin.
I squeeze her breasts with an indecisive pressure. Not too hard, not too
soft. And when Emily can’t take my lazy hold anymore, she lets her arms fall
over mine. She covers her hands over my bigger ones, urging me to clutch her
chest harder. And when I do, she throws her head back wildly, getting her
hair on my face, making her neck accessible to my hungry mouth.
I’m all over her in a flash. Kissing, tasting, smelling, biting. Greedy,
selfish. Marking my territory. Marking what’s mine. She’s mine. And I can
feel Emily melting under me.
(You’re under arrest, Emily Fitch.)
Talking in cop has never been this criminal. Because that’s how it works.
This is how you put the person who stole your heart behind bars.
= = = = = = = =
It’s not long after when we trudge back and join Panda and Thomas at the
swings.
I plop myself down on the free seat next to Panda. Imagine my joy when I
find out that Emily takes a place standing behind me so that she can push.
Now, won’t you take a look at that?
What did I tell you? Best. Girlfriend. Ever.
So we’re there. And we’re falling into a routine of sorts. Swinging,
pushing, and half-listening to Panda’s words of whizz-dom. Over the next few
minutes, we hear her babbling over stuff accompanied with inordinate amounts
of enthusiasm.
And according to her, everything is fucking whizzer. Her and JJ sharing a
penchant for Reese Witherspoon, WHAM!, petting zoos and Captain Sexy Lumps
(Thomas, Emily whispers to me on that one or two seconds when I sway back to
her for another push). All that and more, whizzer.
Gets extra interesting though, when she mentions her ‘career aptitude test’.
“I took this bitchin’ hard career aptitude test the other day. Mum forced it
on me. Says it’d help me get somewhere, help me get to Harvard--which is
funny because I don’t even know what Harvard is...”
Yes, sometimes Panda can be so ignorant sometimes. Like, don’t be surprised
if she ever happens to forget the other half of the alphabet. Because with
Panda, it’s totally possible. Well, whatever. She’s quite a ball to have
around. So no complaints from me.
So... Pandora and Harvard huh? Fat, obese chance, that. Really, Mrs Moon? I
mean you sure like to dream big...
“But the lady who tested me told me I’m well on my way to be a whacker
Careers Advisor! Doesn’t that sound great?”
Emily, being the decent half of our couple, politely agrees. “It’s
wonderful, Panda.”
“I thought about it over breakfast and everything, since mum made me brain
flapjacks this morning. She says it’ll help me smart up. Why, thanks mum,
but I’m not getting a Nobel Prize overnight. Right flippin’ raa-raa she is.
Good thing I don’t take after her.”
Oh God, Panda. Don’t ever change.
“But really, I love her for trying. Anyhoo, I was there, not having anything
better to do because we ran out of maple syrup. Flapjacks don’t taste the
same without them... So I stopped eating. But I think their brain powers
worked on me because after that, I thought up of all the brilliant things
the lot of us could be. You know, imaginin’ our rears in these careers.
Have I told you that?”
“No, Panda,” I answer absently, finding listening to her easy. You could
just sit back and rely on her to talk for hours on end. It’s completely
effortless. Her long monologues have effects similar to that of instrumental
music ridiculous mums-to-be make their unborn babies listen to.
“I haven’t? Oh well...”
If you think she’s done with the rambling, she’s not. Panda doesn’t know how
to quit it, really. So, expect more from her, all right?
“Thomas, he’s going to be a musician. Aren’t you, Captain Sexy Lumps?”
Panda lands against his waiting palms. His arms rock back, receiving the
impact, keeping her momentum. And then he pushes her off again, high into
the dark air.
I picture Emily behind me, doing the same thing. I picture us being a
couple. Young and in love and playing on swings or whatever. A real, normal
couple.
Well, not exactly normal. But this is as real as it will ever get for me.
“Panda knows me well, very well,” he says to me and Emily, keeping a
watchful eye on Panda who is swooping back in again.
“Of course I do, silly. We’re in love, remember?”
“Yes, yes. How can I ever forget?”
Pandora tucks her legs in and as soon as she nears Thomas, she plants her
heels firmly into the sand. She twists her head to give him a semi-cross
glare. “You better not, Tommo.”
Thomas isn’t fazed at all. He just nods at her, calmly, reassuringly. And
when Panda turns her head back forward, Thomas gives her a soft push, to get
her started again. And Panda’s face glows. There’s a content smile on her
lips before she starts speaking again.
“And Naomi, you always say you want to be the change you see in the world.
But Michael Jackson is already dead and you don’t have any acceptable dance
moves whatsoever-”
“Hey!” I cut in, deeply, deeply offended.
“And then, I remembered you running for President last year and it hit me!
You could be the next Obama! You could be rockin’ it like Barack!”
This, I like. Now that’s what I’m talking about, Panda.
“But you don’t have the kind and sincere heart that black people have. Take
Thomas for example. He’s the most decent, dreamiest boy I know. Because he’s
got a golden personality, really. And his being black contributes to that...
I think.”
Panda pauses a second to think about it. And then she tells me, “So, no,
Naomi. No being Prime Minister for you.”
She’s just going on non-stop, sounding more like a raving lunatic with every
second that passes by. All the while, Emily pushes me harder and harder and
I go up higher and higher.
“Instead, you get to be an assassin!” she yells, right fucking ecstatic
about that. So loud that I could almost feel the entire playground quaking a
bit.
As I’m rolling back I hear Emily snort behind me. An instant later she lets
out a surprised ‘fuck’. My back collides into her unsuspecting form by
accident (totally an accident). Because really, that was all physics’ and
momentum’s fault. And hers.
It’s primarily because she wasn’t paying attention. Doesn’t she know that
you’re supposed to be extra alert when you’re facing girlfriends that have
the potential to be dangerous flying projectiles?
I dig my heels into the sand to stop my swinging. And to take a moment to
absorb her words. “Sorry, what?”
“An assassin.”
“An assassin?” I repeat, looking for some excellent explanation as to why
that is, my eyes following Panda’s whoosh-whoosh movements religiously.
“Yeah, those crazy peeps who are paid a shit-load of money to shank people.
They wear black leather, what more could you ask for?”
So I’ve discovered something. Something scientific. Apparently, the Doppler
Effect does not work on Pandora Moon. She’s on max volume forever. Near or
far, Panda’s as constantly loud as a wailing walrus in heat.
She swoops down close, her voice booming. Another push from Thomas sends
Panda rocketing away. And I can still hear every fucking word she’s saying.
“No, I know what an assassin is. But... why?”
Why the fuckity why, Pandora?
“It’s like in Wanted. Since you don’t know who your dad is, he might as well
be the president of that super-duper assassin fraternity. And any day now,
some hot chick-”
“Ehem, excuse me?” Emily interrupts purposefully.
“-some fugly skank-hoe,” Panda continues accordingly, “is gonna come and
take you to their hit-man leader and then he’s gonna tell you you’re
supposed to start offing people because that’s what you’re born to do.”
Right. Duly noted. I don’t even know what to do with this new piece of
information. Do I laugh at it? Do I take it seriously? Should I have ignored
it completely in the first place?
“Oh, it’s going to be marvelous! I went as far as imagining your training
montage in my head. Upbeat metal music, pig cadavers and everything. Then
you live the rest of your life killin’ and chillin’, keeping the peace and
all that.”
“I don’t think I want to be one,” I tell her, honestly. It’s too
preposterous, I’m just saying.
Panda has none of my reluctance. None of it at all. “Sure you do, stupid.”
It’s like she sets it in stone, you know. Really believes that her fantasies
are going to come true some day. Once upon a time, Panda had an idea.
Whizzer, whizzer, whizzer. And then, the end. Then it all just makes perfect
made-up sense.
So...
That’s how I became an assassin. What the fuck have you done lately?
Emily, not wanting be left out of all the career advice fun, suddenly has to
ask, “Okay then, what do I get to be when I grow up?”
Do you really want to know?, I want to ask Emily. This is some dangerous
territory she’s treading on.
“Easy,” Panda says pointedly. “You’re going to be Naomi’s wife.”
I love how Panda says it like it’s the most obvious thing in the whole
entire world. I love it. I love it. I love it.
This is too fucking A. I tip my head back, wanting to see Emily’s reaction.
Just like I pictured it, I find Emily’s eyebrows raised in bewilderment.
Christ, she’s just so adorable when she’s surprised like that.
And she thinks me being an assassin is funny. How much more if you’re that
assassin’s wife? Oh, Emily.
She tilts her head down to meet my very, very smug face.
“That’s right, Mrs Campbell. You heard what Pandora Moon, Careers Advisor
extraordinaire, just said. You have to be my wife,” I say, being the
cheekiest prat on this side of Bristol.
Emily just laughs her cheery laugh (the one that makes my stomach feel all
kinds of funny) and she says a hearty ‘fuck you’. Just before leaning in to
give me an upside-down peck.
So even if we’re doing another rip-off of that silly Spider Man kiss, Emily
still doesn’t fail to make my mind race with it.
Like, I swear, if I had spider senses, they’d be well tingling right now.
= = = *** = = =
A/N: For this chapter, I have shamelessly borrowed some words form Glen
Hansard. I have to credit him for this story being born. He is practically
the father of this plot bunny.
I’ve got a Thought Box that needs some fillin’. Mind helping me with that? ;)
Reviews would be really sweet to eat right now. So yeah, feed(back) me!!
I’ll take anything! XD
NEXT: The next one is just the other half of this chapter. It’s just more of
this, really. (I know right? What a lazy way to build up the suspense) ;)
NEXT (the überserious version): This story gets a little uncharacteristic as
our characters dive into a sea of serious. Because when you really think
about it... They’re just kids lost in a cloud, grabbing at any silver lining
that comes their way.
So they’ve been going around and around all night. But we all know these
kids are homeward bound... But home needs a new meaning. Stay tuned to see
how they redefine it.
Chapter 6 found here:
(next)
Author: interpol_ice
Fandom: Skins - Second Generation
Pairing: Naomi Campbell/Emily Fitch
Rating: T (naughty naught-T! not exactly T)
Summary: Naomi Campbell and the complications of having a twin for a
girlfriend. Distracting flashbacks and a lovesick mind keep her from telling
the night's story straight.
In this comedy of errors, the first thing that got right was letting Naomi
narrate. [Pre-Season 4]
Author's Notes: Hey, hi, hello, jello (hugs). I’m back with another
chapter! It seemed like it was about to drag on for forever because I had so
much fun writing it. So I had to cut it up to here again. It’s long enough,
though (the longest one yet). That means you’re in for a lot of reading!
Hope it compensates for your wait! :)
Thanks to all the sweet people who read my stuff. And more thanks to those
who give me feedback. This one’s for you guys! And it’s going to be cool
since I’m really happy with this chapter. Writing it was just so organic and
spontaneous. It was actually a bit magical (and I think I’m being too
f*cking flowery and gay)... Or something. But anyway...
Twoot-Twoot! All aboard the Funkytrain now! We’re off to Chapter 5!
Expect: Naomi and the touchy subject of her MAD DANCING SKILLZ!
KEFFY, up-close and closer! A LADDER that screams doom and debauchery! In
for a Soda Pop? Then PANDA’s has got the right fizz for you! This is all a
kick-off for the our OTP’s trip home...
You know how some nights never end? Well, this is one of those nights.
CHAPTER 1 - How We'd Be (You and Me)
CHAPTER 2 - Swim or Die Without
CHAPTER 3 - Try Me On To See If I Fit
CHAPTER 4 - Lover Undercover
Baby Girl, I'm a Blur
by interpol_ice
Chapter 5: Pretty ODDyssey (X, Y & Z Units Away From Home)
= = = *** = = =
And it takes me a couple more seconds to fully grasp it. A bomb goes off in
my head. Nagasaki and Hiroshima, blowing up at the same time.
Fucking moron, that is Emily.
= = = = = = = =
And this song is about going to a party with your girlfriend. She goes off
to go to the toilet or to get a drink. And you’re standing there on your
own. And you look across the room and you see this girl that you utterly
fancy. You just. It’s not mental. It’s physical. You’re just like… wow.
Snap!
And you realize it’s your girlfriend and it’s like... Cha-Ching!
- Glen Hansard on his song, “Falling Slowly”
= = = = = = = =
A tsunami of relief washes over me. Just like that, the wind blows and
angels sing. Thank God! I did not just cheat on my girlfriend! I did not
just cheat on my girlfriend with her twin sister! I didn’t just enjoy
kissing Katie because it was actually Emily I was enjoying kissing all
along. All along!
This is another type of Fitch Switch entirely.
I’m so fucking delirious that I want to try out the happy dance that I just
choreographed in my head about ten seconds ago. It involves pretending to be
underwater, jazzercizing, twirlies, and... the Robot. Oh, oh! And Emily!
Because it’s not a happy dance if it’s not with Emily.
So I offer her my hand. “Let’s get to it, then. You owe me a dance, lover,”
I say, trying very hard to keep a straight face.
I probably look like a wanking nutter right about now. But you know, it’s
love. Going mad is just one of the inevitable after-effects.
She bites her lip, looking back at me with an ‘Really? I’ve adored you since
middle school as well!’ stare. And her hand slides into mine. Every familiar
line of her palm, concrete evidence that she is exactly who I want her to be.
Not some evil twin.
I’m guiding (more like dragging, really) Ems deeper and deeper into the
crowd. And a few meters away, I spot Effy. Because it’s not hard zoning in
on her. She’s ever the enigmatic magnet. Drawing in eyes like shit does to
flies. That’s Effy for you.
Then, right there thrashing about beside her, is Katie. Katie of all people.
I flush, instantly remembering the fact that I thought I snogged her. But
what outweighs that, what’s even more shocking than that... is the sight of
Katie and Effy in close proximity.
They’re... dancing. Together. To be more precise, grinding. Together.
For two people who are supposed to hate each other, they seem to be enjoying
this. This being getting friendly with the enemy. So can somebody tell me
what the hell is going on? Please, anyone?
Upon closer inspection, I see that Katie is wearing Emily’s sweater. Oh. So
that’s where it went. From where I’m standing, I can see that the sweater is
nice on Katie. She carries it differently. In a way that makes her appear
softer. I mean, less likely to beat your face in with her itty bitty fists.
Right, back to freaking out... Why, why, why? Why is this night so full of
surprises? Because it’s getting a little too much for me to take. Geeze, I’m
really starting to consider the possibility of this entire night to be a
dream. The bizarreness of which can be easily explained by a Freudian-based
psychoanalysis.
Though I’m a good distance away, it slaps me across the face. The twins are
without question... different. Even though she’s looking pleasant and pretty
at the moment (because of Effy?) and even though she’s in Emily’s sweater...
Katie actually looks nothing like Emily.
I can’t even believe that I ever thought Emily was her. Yeah, sure, Katie’s
got her neat quirks (her lisp is funny, for one). She’s cute in her own
psycho-bitch way. But the point is... Katie will never be as heart-stopping
as Emily is. Never in a million centuries.
So, let me run that by you one more time. Can I stress how fucked up it is
that I ever mixed them up in the first place?
Then, quite suddenly, Effy gives me a spectacular showcase of talent as she
twirls Katie like she means it, sending Katie into an unlikely fit of
hysteric giggles.
My jaw drops in disbelief. Why thanks, Eff. You beat me to the punch again.
First, you steal my girlfriend from me. Now you’re stealing my twirlie-
thunder.
No, Effy, that’s not cool.
I turn my attention back to Emily. Because she’s pulling off her scrunchy
and letting her lush locks fall in a magnificent trail-blaze of red, red,
red. And she’s there, grabbing fistfuls of her hair while the music sways
her in a constant wind and grind motion. And Jesus... it’s sexy as shit.
Dear God, I know you did a stellar job of creating the universe and
everything... But I’ve got to say, making someone this adorable and so
equally filthy at the same time? Well, I’d give you a life-time award for
that if I could. But if I did, I think you’d smite me right up the ass for
being so full of myself... But really, God, I just have to say...
Every other girl, every other Eve has got nothing on Emily Fitch.
Katie squeals in delight again. Effy’s just gotten her to do another twirl.
In that instant, I remember what I came here to do.
I grab Em’s hand, and I just sort of raise our arms up high. It’s funny and
lame. Sort of mechanical. But Emily, she gets it. You know, since she’s my
soul mate and all. She gets it. And she executes.
She twirls. My precious little princess. She twirls for me. And it’s
perfect. And I can’t help but think to myself, ‘Yeah, it definitely isn’t a
happy dance without Emily Fitch.’
= = = = = = = =
Newsflash.
I’m wrecked beyond standard wreckcreation. Pissing pissy! Steaming drunk!
I can’t even think of a proper hyperbole to use to further strengthen my
point. All I know is that I’m never taking drugs from Cook again. Not ever.
Who knows what kind of trouble I’d be getting myself into the next time?
Exactly. I don’t want to find out either.
So, you have probably worked it out by now. I’ve become useless. I’m fucking
useless. And if you’re counting on me to make a sense of sorts any time
soon, you’re in no luck... Just saying.
I might have made the mistake of overdoing the popping and the locking.
Seriously, I can’t even feel my neck. Like, if I got my head chopped off via
guillotine at this very moment, I wouldn’t be able to feel it.
I’m telling you, I’m so fucking gone. Besides that, I must have done a dozen
more things that could’ve contributed to the degradation of my independence.
Actually, the only reason why I’m still standing is because poor Emily’s
acting as my human crutch. She’s got my arm slung around her shoulders. And
my upper body is sort of slumped over her tiny frame. But she’s holding me
up, reasonably nice and steady. Emily, my lovely little trooper.
Have to hand it to her, you know, she’s deceptively strong. She must have
been doing a lot of time on the naughty bar. The fact that she’s capable of
lugging me around speaks volumes. That there’s true love, my friend.
To be really totally honest, I believe I’ve scored the best girlfriend in
the entire Milky Way. I’m fucking sorry, but you can only wish you were me.
I nuzzle against her neck. Digging my nose into her soft, sweaty flesh. I
kiss her, taste her. She’s deliciously salty. Emily groans back in appreciation.
I feel her vocal chords humming through her neck, tickling my lips.
I move up to her ear, I want to tell her how much I want to take her home
and shag her silly.
“Emss-zeee?” I say loudly. So loud that I manage to drive her head a good
distance away.
“Babe, mind not breaking my fucking ear drums?”
Not taking what she just said into consideration, I declare my intentions
like they’re the only things that mattered. “I’m taking you home.”
“Awww, Naoms. Sweet and all, but you’re like... well trashed,” she reminds
me, a hint of amusement in her voice. “Sure not in the right state of mind
to take me home, really.”
“Please, Emily?” I persist, irrationally desperate. The substances sure do a
great job of talking for me. Seems that the drugs and the alcohol have
conspired and turned themselves into this disembodied ventriloquist. Guess
who the fucking dummy is?
“Well, you do look like you could use some fresh air. C’mon, hon. Use your
feet would you,” she says, shaking me into a more active state. You know, so
that I could get my legs to work like they should be.
“That’s it. Nice and easy. Baby steps, baby steps,” she encourages, already
maneuvering us to the club’s exit. She’s probably learned this corny,
motivational technique from none other than Daddy Fitch.
I’ve never really had a real conversation with the man. But I’ve heard
stories from Keiran. See, Keiran’s gotten bigger around the belly (he’s
discovered Mexican Food). So mum teases him about it every time they shag (I
can hear them through the walls, they’re a loud bunch).
Not wanting to be called ‘Tummy Wobbles’ during their vintage fuckathons
anymore, Keiran has forced it upon himself to exercise. And Rob Fitch
Fitness just happens to be the closest gym in the vicinity... of Keiran’s
favourite pub.
See, these exercise stints of his don’t work because immediately after every
workout, he heads straight over to the pub and drinks back the calories he’s
just burned.
Anyway, he’s picked up a lot of shit from Rob. If I do say so myself, Keiran
has fashioned himself a fairly impressive Rob Fitch impersonation. It cracks
me the fuck up every time he brings it out during supper.
Once I even sprayed orange juice all over mum because Keiran, in his Rob
voice, went, “Oy, Keiran, there ain’t no magic involved in making yer sissy
man-boobs disappear. What have I told you about reps, reps, reps?! You shame
the Irish, Mac Foeinaiugh! Christ’s sake, you’re pathetic! You’ve got to
yearn for the burn, Kieran! Yearn for the burn!”
And if you’re wondering, my walking lessons with Emily are going absolutely
swell. Still a little shaky (I’ve tripped three times already) but
nevertheless, acceptable under the following influences.
Johnny White and his henchmen ease into my periphery as Emily and I are
moving. They’re stationary on the dance floor a couple of people away. And
doing a tad shit at being menacing.
They’re too busy arguing with each other that I don’t worry about them
catching Cook. Who I’m supposed to warn... but it seems like the lucky twat
doesn’t need it.
Hell, even me and Emily slip by unnoticed. And honestly, most of the times
we pass by anywhere, it’s standard procedure for people to do double
(sometimes even triple) takes. I mean, we’re like... two very attractive
lesbians. So... if you’ve got a functional set of eyes, why the fuck not?
And for White and his goons to not have seen us, they must have been
seriously preoccupied.
Soon after, we meet up with Panda and Thomas in the tunnel that leads to the
exits. They look like they’ve had enough of this party as well.
“Heya, Panda Poo, Tommo Too!” I greet with overwhelming levels of stupid.
“Golly Golightly! What’s gotten in to you?” Panda says, in an honest to God
kind of curiosity while Thomas is trying to hold back an amused grin.
Yeah, what’s gotten into me? For fuck’s sake, I’m supposed to be cool.
Sarcastic bitch cool. I worked hard to get to where I am. So what exactly am
I doing to my reputation?
“I think someone slipped something into her drink while I was away. Good
thing I got to her in time. I mean, look at her. Who wouldn’t want to date-
rape my girlfriend?” Emily says humorously, coming to rescue the last shards
of my self-esteem... I think.
“Right. Naomi is quite a catch. Actually, I have considered surfin’ and
turfin’ with her back then... I may have been gay before Thomas came around.
Bonkers honkers, right?”
Oh, Christ. Panda, I would have never known.
Emily is unmoved by this. Because that’s just how Panda hands out her
compliments. Emily and I just take what we can get.
Thomas, on the other hand, has this worried expression on his face. “Why
don’t I get us out of here?” he says animatedly, breaking the more-than-
awkward silence.
“Naoms?” Emily says gently, prodding me in the ribs with her elbow.
I slur back in acknowledgement. “Mmmm?”
“Think you can handle getting up that ladder?”
I stare back at her dumbly for a while. What is she on about? What ladder?
Then she points to our right.
An uneasy feeling in my stomach grows. I watch as Thomas scales the said
ladder. He reaches the top and lifts off the manhole cover. I gulp in
reflex.
Oh, that ladder.
He climbs to the outside. From the parking lot above, he motions for Panda
to follow. Panda scrambles up quite easily. Probably because she’s into
performing and interpretative dancing. So it makes her all limber and better
at this ladder thing than I can ever aspire to be.
Fucking underground clubs. Why can’t they use stairs like regular people?
How the fuck am I going to make it out of this stunt alive?
I almost die of anxiety when I notice it’s Emily’s turn. Oh God, did I just
wet myself? If I did, well... that’s just perfect now, isn’t it? I check,
patting my private areas through my jeans.
Thankfully, no I did not wet myself.
Emily’s gone high enough so that I have an ample amount of space to start
mounting myself on. From a long way up, I spot Thomas’ patient face just
waiting for me to get on with it. It’s crazy but I find myself incredibly
pressured from that look alone.
My hands are shaking when they grip around a bar. Then I get one... two feet
on the thing and I brace myself for the task ahead. I climb up, fearing for
my fucking life in a way that’s just sodding sad. My hands are being so
damned useless, getting all wet and clammy.
Christ, I’m more frightened than I thought I could possibly be. One slip
could be the end of me... or like... the end of my dignity. Which, when you
think about it, is pretty much same thing.
My world starts spinning and I feel like I’m caught in the centre of a
small-scale tornado. The green lights, the clay-coloured walls, the people
in their horrid track suits. They all clash into a whirling ambiguity and...
Bam!
I’m all shook up. Elvis-style.
Emily has gone a good way up already, creating a kind of obvious distance
that means that I’m pathetically lagging behind. I glance up, prepared to go
full fucking steam ahead. Which is a bad idea, I discover a second after.
I look up and by doing that, I also happen to look up... into her skirt.
And Jesus. Her knickers are right there.
It’s not like I’ve never seen them before. But there’s something special
about this pair. I don’t recall to have ever taken these off of her. Pink
and orange stripes. Hmmm, those must be new. They look so delicious that I
plan on taking them off using my teeth. Just... bite into them or
something... Wait. Why am I suddenly reminded of those doughnuts from
Thomas? Why?
Seeing up her skirt is getting harder because she’s climbing at this
infuriatingly steady pace. I find myself enthusiastically grabbing bar after
bar just to catch up with Emily. And her doughnut knickers.
It’s hilarious. That what’s driving me on, what’s making me climb higher and
higher, is my perversion. You know what? With the proper inspiration, you
can reach whatever goal you set your mind on.
Sometimes I’m so sneaky it scares me.
Pretty soon my head pokes out into the fresh air. Thomas is there at the
top, waiting for me to take his hand. Instead, I grab at his arm desperately
and he pulls me up. I picture Alice squeezing herself out of Wonderland, out
of that rabbit-hole, back into the real world.
You have no idea how delirious I am. Hell yes, I’m still alive and kicking!
I’m so damn proud of myself that I’m absolutely sure I can now tell Mt Everest
to go fuck itself. After that bloody ladder, the world’s tallest mountain is
a munchkin monument to me.
After Thomas closes the manhole cover, the music dies and we’re all left in
the quaint atmosphere of the parking lot. Thomas straightens out, catches my
eye.
“I can tell you looked up her skirt,” he tells me in an undertone. In that
boyish secret way of theirs. You know, when they’re talking about naughty
things concerning girls.
“That obvious, eh?” I say guiltily, wiping the sweat from my palms on the
fronts of my jeans.
He raises his eyebrows twice. A yes, from the looks of it. Then he says,
with a low, mischief-laced voice, “Boys will be boys.”
I let out a quick laugh. “Tosser,” I say before giving him a punching him
softly in the shoulder. His little smile grows even wider. The sheepish
smile, sheepish no more.
Great, when did I grow myself a cock? Can somebody please tell me that?
= = = = = = = =
Emily nudges me softly into consciousness.
“Hey, sleepyhead.”
I open my eyes and find out that we’re seated on a park bench just outside
an empty playground. We’re somewhere up north, near Thomas’ place.
Resting against her warm body, I feel at peace. I don’t make any move of
getting off her shoulder. And my eyes shut again, of their own accord. I
want to stay like this for as long as possible.
“So, your head cleared up yet?”
“Huh?”
“Okay. That’s a ‘no’, then.”
A bit more, Ems. Let’s just stay like this a bit more.
= = = = = = = =
I warm up to the idea because I think I’ve gained back the majority of my
composure. So, after Emily’s countless proposals, we finally explore the
playground, giving it a quick sweep. The fruits of my labour appear beside
the jungle gym. It’s there where I manage to find a bright green water
pistol.
I’m all-out gung ho about this and I proceed to have a blast chasing Emily
around with it. We get so caught up in playing cops and robbers that I run
after her all the way to a couple of cars parked just outside the area.
I finally catch her and she feels like a struggling fire in my arms.
(Freeze!)
She does what I say. And with little difficulty, I pin her against a tiny,
yellow Volkswagen.
(You have the right to remain silent.)
Emily plays along, keeping her hands clasped together behind her head,
sniggering all the while. Behind her, I drop the toy gun and I kick apart
her legs.
(Miss, I’m usually a gentleman... But it’s absolutely necessary for me to conduct a strip search this very second. You’ve been a very, very bad girl.)
And I squat down to hike her skirt up, running my hands on the sides of her
hips. Then they travel teasingly, to the inside of her thighs. It’s rather a
filthy way of checking her for dangerous weapons and hidden water pistols...
But it’s all in the name of Pretend Law Enforcement.
And besides, Emily seems to like it.
As I go up, I think about how I’ve already touched every inch of her. Go
ahead and shine a UV light over Emily’s body and you’ll find a shit-load of
Naomi Campbell fingerprints.
My hands dip into the curve of her waist and then they climb up to the
little bumps of her rib-cage. Her restless squirming is telling me that I’m
nearing my destination.
Patience, Emily. Patience.
(Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law.)
I place my palms against her tits, through her/my/our... our pig shirt. And
right on cue, she gives off this shaky breath that just sends the blood
rushing down to my groin.
I squeeze her breasts with an indecisive pressure. Not too hard, not too
soft. And when Emily can’t take my lazy hold anymore, she lets her arms fall
over mine. She covers her hands over my bigger ones, urging me to clutch her
chest harder. And when I do, she throws her head back wildly, getting her
hair on my face, making her neck accessible to my hungry mouth.
I’m all over her in a flash. Kissing, tasting, smelling, biting. Greedy,
selfish. Marking my territory. Marking what’s mine. She’s mine. And I can
feel Emily melting under me.
(You’re under arrest, Emily Fitch.)
Talking in cop has never been this criminal. Because that’s how it works.
This is how you put the person who stole your heart behind bars.
= = = = = = = =
It’s not long after when we trudge back and join Panda and Thomas at the
swings.
I plop myself down on the free seat next to Panda. Imagine my joy when I
find out that Emily takes a place standing behind me so that she can push.
Now, won’t you take a look at that?
What did I tell you? Best. Girlfriend. Ever.
So we’re there. And we’re falling into a routine of sorts. Swinging,
pushing, and half-listening to Panda’s words of whizz-dom. Over the next few
minutes, we hear her babbling over stuff accompanied with inordinate amounts
of enthusiasm.
And according to her, everything is fucking whizzer. Her and JJ sharing a
penchant for Reese Witherspoon, WHAM!, petting zoos and Captain Sexy Lumps
(Thomas, Emily whispers to me on that one or two seconds when I sway back to
her for another push). All that and more, whizzer.
Gets extra interesting though, when she mentions her ‘career aptitude test’.
“I took this bitchin’ hard career aptitude test the other day. Mum forced it
on me. Says it’d help me get somewhere, help me get to Harvard--which is
funny because I don’t even know what Harvard is...”
Yes, sometimes Panda can be so ignorant sometimes. Like, don’t be surprised
if she ever happens to forget the other half of the alphabet. Because with
Panda, it’s totally possible. Well, whatever. She’s quite a ball to have
around. So no complaints from me.
So... Pandora and Harvard huh? Fat, obese chance, that. Really, Mrs Moon? I
mean you sure like to dream big...
“But the lady who tested me told me I’m well on my way to be a whacker
Careers Advisor! Doesn’t that sound great?”
Emily, being the decent half of our couple, politely agrees. “It’s
wonderful, Panda.”
“I thought about it over breakfast and everything, since mum made me brain
flapjacks this morning. She says it’ll help me smart up. Why, thanks mum,
but I’m not getting a Nobel Prize overnight. Right flippin’ raa-raa she is.
Good thing I don’t take after her.”
Oh God, Panda. Don’t ever change.
“But really, I love her for trying. Anyhoo, I was there, not having anything
better to do because we ran out of maple syrup. Flapjacks don’t taste the
same without them... So I stopped eating. But I think their brain powers
worked on me because after that, I thought up of all the brilliant things
the lot of us could be. You know, imaginin’ our rears in these careers.
Have I told you that?”
“No, Panda,” I answer absently, finding listening to her easy. You could
just sit back and rely on her to talk for hours on end. It’s completely
effortless. Her long monologues have effects similar to that of instrumental
music ridiculous mums-to-be make their unborn babies listen to.
“I haven’t? Oh well...”
If you think she’s done with the rambling, she’s not. Panda doesn’t know how
to quit it, really. So, expect more from her, all right?
“Thomas, he’s going to be a musician. Aren’t you, Captain Sexy Lumps?”
Panda lands against his waiting palms. His arms rock back, receiving the
impact, keeping her momentum. And then he pushes her off again, high into
the dark air.
I picture Emily behind me, doing the same thing. I picture us being a
couple. Young and in love and playing on swings or whatever. A real, normal
couple.
Well, not exactly normal. But this is as real as it will ever get for me.
“Panda knows me well, very well,” he says to me and Emily, keeping a
watchful eye on Panda who is swooping back in again.
“Of course I do, silly. We’re in love, remember?”
“Yes, yes. How can I ever forget?”
Pandora tucks her legs in and as soon as she nears Thomas, she plants her
heels firmly into the sand. She twists her head to give him a semi-cross
glare. “You better not, Tommo.”
Thomas isn’t fazed at all. He just nods at her, calmly, reassuringly. And
when Panda turns her head back forward, Thomas gives her a soft push, to get
her started again. And Panda’s face glows. There’s a content smile on her
lips before she starts speaking again.
“And Naomi, you always say you want to be the change you see in the world.
But Michael Jackson is already dead and you don’t have any acceptable dance
moves whatsoever-”
“Hey!” I cut in, deeply, deeply offended.
“And then, I remembered you running for President last year and it hit me!
You could be the next Obama! You could be rockin’ it like Barack!”
This, I like. Now that’s what I’m talking about, Panda.
“But you don’t have the kind and sincere heart that black people have. Take
Thomas for example. He’s the most decent, dreamiest boy I know. Because he’s
got a golden personality, really. And his being black contributes to that...
I think.”
Panda pauses a second to think about it. And then she tells me, “So, no,
Naomi. No being Prime Minister for you.”
She’s just going on non-stop, sounding more like a raving lunatic with every
second that passes by. All the while, Emily pushes me harder and harder and
I go up higher and higher.
“Instead, you get to be an assassin!” she yells, right fucking ecstatic
about that. So loud that I could almost feel the entire playground quaking a
bit.
As I’m rolling back I hear Emily snort behind me. An instant later she lets
out a surprised ‘fuck’. My back collides into her unsuspecting form by
accident (totally an accident). Because really, that was all physics’ and
momentum’s fault. And hers.
It’s primarily because she wasn’t paying attention. Doesn’t she know that
you’re supposed to be extra alert when you’re facing girlfriends that have
the potential to be dangerous flying projectiles?
I dig my heels into the sand to stop my swinging. And to take a moment to
absorb her words. “Sorry, what?”
“An assassin.”
“An assassin?” I repeat, looking for some excellent explanation as to why
that is, my eyes following Panda’s whoosh-whoosh movements religiously.
“Yeah, those crazy peeps who are paid a shit-load of money to shank people.
They wear black leather, what more could you ask for?”
So I’ve discovered something. Something scientific. Apparently, the Doppler
Effect does not work on Pandora Moon. She’s on max volume forever. Near or
far, Panda’s as constantly loud as a wailing walrus in heat.
She swoops down close, her voice booming. Another push from Thomas sends
Panda rocketing away. And I can still hear every fucking word she’s saying.
“No, I know what an assassin is. But... why?”
Why the fuckity why, Pandora?
“It’s like in Wanted. Since you don’t know who your dad is, he might as well
be the president of that super-duper assassin fraternity. And any day now,
some hot chick-”
“Ehem, excuse me?” Emily interrupts purposefully.
“-some fugly skank-hoe,” Panda continues accordingly, “is gonna come and
take you to their hit-man leader and then he’s gonna tell you you’re
supposed to start offing people because that’s what you’re born to do.”
Right. Duly noted. I don’t even know what to do with this new piece of
information. Do I laugh at it? Do I take it seriously? Should I have ignored
it completely in the first place?
“Oh, it’s going to be marvelous! I went as far as imagining your training
montage in my head. Upbeat metal music, pig cadavers and everything. Then
you live the rest of your life killin’ and chillin’, keeping the peace and
all that.”
“I don’t think I want to be one,” I tell her, honestly. It’s too
preposterous, I’m just saying.
Panda has none of my reluctance. None of it at all. “Sure you do, stupid.”
It’s like she sets it in stone, you know. Really believes that her fantasies
are going to come true some day. Once upon a time, Panda had an idea.
Whizzer, whizzer, whizzer. And then, the end. Then it all just makes perfect
made-up sense.
So...
That’s how I became an assassin. What the fuck have you done lately?
Emily, not wanting be left out of all the career advice fun, suddenly has to
ask, “Okay then, what do I get to be when I grow up?”
Do you really want to know?, I want to ask Emily. This is some dangerous
territory she’s treading on.
“Easy,” Panda says pointedly. “You’re going to be Naomi’s wife.”
I love how Panda says it like it’s the most obvious thing in the whole
entire world. I love it. I love it. I love it.
This is too fucking A. I tip my head back, wanting to see Emily’s reaction.
Just like I pictured it, I find Emily’s eyebrows raised in bewilderment.
Christ, she’s just so adorable when she’s surprised like that.
And she thinks me being an assassin is funny. How much more if you’re that
assassin’s wife? Oh, Emily.
She tilts her head down to meet my very, very smug face.
“That’s right, Mrs Campbell. You heard what Pandora Moon, Careers Advisor
extraordinaire, just said. You have to be my wife,” I say, being the
cheekiest prat on this side of Bristol.
Emily just laughs her cheery laugh (the one that makes my stomach feel all
kinds of funny) and she says a hearty ‘fuck you’. Just before leaning in to
give me an upside-down peck.
So even if we’re doing another rip-off of that silly Spider Man kiss, Emily
still doesn’t fail to make my mind race with it.
Like, I swear, if I had spider senses, they’d be well tingling right now.
= = = *** = = =
A/N: For this chapter, I have shamelessly borrowed some words form Glen
Hansard. I have to credit him for this story being born. He is practically
the father of this plot bunny.
I’ve got a Thought Box that needs some fillin’. Mind helping me with that? ;)
Reviews would be really sweet to eat right now. So yeah, feed(back) me!!
I’ll take anything! XD
NEXT: The next one is just the other half of this chapter. It’s just more of
this, really. (I know right? What a lazy way to build up the suspense) ;)
NEXT (the überserious version): This story gets a little uncharacteristic as
our characters dive into a sea of serious. Because when you really think
about it... They’re just kids lost in a cloud, grabbing at any silver lining
that comes their way.
So they’ve been going around and around all night. But we all know these
kids are homeward bound... But home needs a new meaning. Stay tuned to see
how they redefine it.
Chapter 6 found here:
(next)