Tangerine #8; Cranberry #10
Author: Chex
Flavours: Tangerine #8 - first impressions; Cranberry #10 - the hermit
Story: Colours Don't Run ( Story Index | Character Guide)
Title: Multi-Coloured Soap
Rating: G
Word Count: 1745
Summary: Nick has to get over his cushy life alone, and ungraciously welcomes his new house mates. Teresa makes a few unwelcome changes to the running of the household.
Notes: My German is horrible. I'm sorry.
The Irish kid had been bad enough, but when the tubby girl showed up at the doorstep, bags clutched in her arms, Nick began to feel there was a conspiracy to actively make his life that little bit worse each day. Her chirpy attitude did nothing to reassure him.
For just over a year now, Nick had been the sole occupant of the small annex at the side of the Daniels clan-house. Its purpose was accommodation for foreign, non-Clan children (the old caste system was still alive and well, even if no one wanted to admit it). He'd put up with Adrian's yammering for a month, but with a girl in the house, he was sure they'd never get any peace.
And, at least on that count, he was spot on.
Nick responded only with a series of unhelpful grunts, but eventually Teresa managed to get him to at least show her to her room. He sloped through the hall to the bottom of the narrow staircase, passing the doors to his and Adrian's rooms as he went. Teresa dragged the bulky bags behind her, and Adrian popped his head out of his bedroom door. He waved to the girl cheerily.
“Nick,” he started, reprovingly. “The gallant thing to do would be to carry the lady's bags upstairs.”
Nick utterly ignored this request, as Teresa squinted up at the dodgy staircase. “The what?” he asked.
“Gallant,” Adrian repeated. When it became obvious that Nick had no intention of helping the girl with her bags, Adrian sighed and did it instead. The girl murmured her thanks to him. “It's something like tapfer, I think,” he called back down to Nick, when he was halfway up.
Nick clicked his tongue against his teeth, impressed. “You spoke German all this time?”
Adrian reappeared, after dumping the bags into the upstairs bedroom, and letting Teresa slip past him. “Yes.”
“So, why have we been using this barbarous language for a month and a half?”
The red-haired boy skipped down the stairs, ignoring how dangerously wonky they were. “Did I teach you that one?” he asked brightly.
“What one?” Nick felt he was rapidly losing the thread of this.
“'Barbarous'.”
“What? No, that was Isaac. You aren't nearly posh enough to drop that one into conversation.”
Adrian raised an eyebrow. “One would beg to differ.” He glanced back up the stairs, and put on his best upper-crust English accent: “Are you quite all right up there, young lady? We don't bite, I promise.” He paused for a moment, and heard Teresa giggle in her room. “Well, I can't vouch for Nick here - you know how these tall European types can be.”
Nick stared at him with glassy eyes. “Yeah, yeah, I'm a venomous werewolf,” he said flatly.
“You could be.”
“Yes, but I'm not and- Christ, you're impossible,” Nick interrupted himself.
The younger boy brushed a hand through his hair. “Well, I try, you know.” He looked upstairs again. “I say, young thing, are you quite well?”
Nick suppressed a smile at the ridiculously overdone voice, and had to cover his mouth with his hand.
The short, rather plump girl appeared at the top of the stairs, and beamed down to Adrian. Then she eyed the stairs themselves warily. “I think I shall break my neck,” she said ominously.
“If you like,” Nick replied sweetly. Shy as the girl was, she directed a brief glare his way. Nick, unfortunately, missed it, as he was busy nursing his calf muscle which had taken a direct hit from Adrian's well-aimed kick.
“Wonky staircases add character,” Adrian replied, as though he hadn't just slammed a foot into the boy beside him. “If my ears aren't mistaken, you, my dear, hail from sunny Cornwall.” He looked over to the recovering Nick, as though asking for a second opinion.
Nick shrugged. “I don't know what you want - all you principality lot sound the same to me. God knows I speak better English than most of you.”
Teresa carefully stepped off the final stair, and breathed a sigh of relief. “Well,” she started. “That's because German and English are related. In a way that the languages of the principalities, as you so delightfully called them, are not.”
Nick blinked at her. “Who invited Miss Expert to come and stay?” he said weakly, glancing at Adrian for support. The Irish boy nodded in the affirmative. “Nothing on this damned island makes the blindest sense,” Nick grumbled eventually.
The girl did, as predicted, cause a lot of trouble. Or certainly, trouble as Nick saw it. Apart from all the damned talking (in which she almost rivalled Adrian), she insisted on ridiculous things like tablecloths, and keeping the bookshelf dusted, and getting up early, and feeding Nick bacon. Actually, she soon began trying to feed Nick everything, despite his protests that he wasn't 'too damned skinny' and she ought to just stay out of it. Not disheartened in the least, she continued to pile food onto his plate at meal times (she had set meal times, for God's sake), and sneak slices of cake to him when she thought he wasn't looking.
And she bought stupid things as well, like tomatoes. Nick had decided that no one actually ate tomatoes because they liked them - that would be ridiculous. But no, she insisted on them, every morning with breakfast. And mushrooms. People didn't willingly eat mushrooms, for Christ's sake.
She filled the bathroom up with multi-coloured bars of soap, each containing some exotic, unheard-of and unnecessary plant extract; and next to them ranged bottles of shampoos and bubble bath (bubble bath didn't even serve a purpose, it was just there - no one needs bubbles in a bath).
“But,” Nick stuttered, when he tried to confront the placid Teresa. He held the offending bar of soap up as he spoke. “But why would I want a leaf in the middle of my soap? This ambigously-green-coloured, sort-of-transparent, sort-of-translucent, wishy-washy soap thing? Why is there a leaf in it?”
Teresa blinked, confused. “Well, it...it's good for you.”
“No, no. I can assure you, Tessa, my dear - it's not doing me a scrap of good.”
She shrugged, and took the soap block from him. She turned it over in her hands, as if trying to find fault with it. “It smells nice, Nick - and it infuses the-”
“It what?”
“Infuses,” she repeated, louder.
Nick took the soap back from her. “Yes, repeating the word in a different tone of voice does not magically translate or define it,” he snapped. “But thank you for trying.” Retreating back into the bathroom, he gave the block a very cautious sniff.
And then on top of everything, the damned woman cleaned everything, floor to ceiling, in bleach - which Nick was allergic to. And she only found his sneezing fits to be irrepressibly funny. Adrian did too, now he thought of it, but really he didn't expect much else from him.
It was a few weeks later when Isaac's casual comment of: 'you look a little stressed', drove Nick to venting out his frustration.
“Oh, Christ, Isaac - there's this...this madwoman in my house!”
“You certainly seem agitated.”
“Agitated? That's not even the word; I feel like I'm going insane. I put something down, and within five seconds she's only bloody moved it. And then you ask her, and it's just 'oh, I tidied it'. Does she know where she 'tidied' it to? Of course not! And, there's mushrooms, and curtains, and all sorts.”
Isaac nodded helpfully, as though he understood. For a brief moment he considered offering Nick his pack of cigarettes, but then decided that was probably a touch irresponsible.
“And...” Nick's tone was turning decidedly whiny. “And she gets up at six in the morning. Six! What kind of demon does that?”
“She's a demon now, is she?” Isaac asked, not really listening.
“I don't know, or a witch, or...some hell-seeking fury bitch God-only-knows-what,” Nick said helplessly. “Do you like tomatoes?”
“Sorry?”
“Tomatoes. Do you eat them?”
Isaac stared at Nick for a while. “I'm...not a fan,” he said slowly.
“Exactly!” the boy exclaimed, triumphantly.
“I think you ought to go and lie down, or something...”
****
“Cup of tea?”
Nick, slumped in the armchair, added something else to his ever-growing mental list of Pet Hates About That Tessa Girl: she was always force feeding him tea. Unlike the 'you're too skinny' complaint - this had no base in his health or well-being whatsoever. It was purely a form of nagging.
“Yes,” he heard himself say, despite all this. He even remembered, after a few moments, to add “please”.
Teresa was looking distractedly at the television. “Is...this that show...?” she asked vaguely.
Nick spread his hands. “I don't know, it could be. It is a show. Perhaps you'd like to be more specific. Or, we could play charades.”
She didn't even spare him the usual withering glance. “You know, where these people volunteer to run an impossible obstacle course, and then fall into mud or water or both and-”
She paused, as a bright-dressed contestant on the screen got a mouthful of sticky mud, and the camera switched to a slow-motion reply.
“Oh, yep,” she and Nick said at the same time. Quietly, Teresa perched on the edge of the sofa cushion, and the game show moved on to the next round.
“Oh, this is, like, my favourite one.”
Nick snorted. “Are you joking? What about the water pistols?”
“Oh. Yeah. That's pretty good. But look-!” She pointed to the screen. “This stuff is classic.”
“The poor girl nearly brained herself on that rock.”
“Yes. But it was cruelly funny at the same time.”
“Ugh, I know. There's probably a special place in Hell for people who watch this.”
Teresa sighed. “Yeah. Probably.”
Nick glanced over to her. “Where's that tea?”
The girl shuffled further back into the sofa cushions. “Psh, get it yourself.”
“Right, now you decide to be all feminist.”
“I'm not being all- Oh, shut up.”
Flavours: Tangerine #8 - first impressions; Cranberry #10 - the hermit
Story: Colours Don't Run ( Story Index | Character Guide)
Title: Multi-Coloured Soap
Rating: G
Word Count: 1745
Summary: Nick has to get over his cushy life alone, and ungraciously welcomes his new house mates. Teresa makes a few unwelcome changes to the running of the household.
Notes: My German is horrible. I'm sorry.
The Irish kid had been bad enough, but when the tubby girl showed up at the doorstep, bags clutched in her arms, Nick began to feel there was a conspiracy to actively make his life that little bit worse each day. Her chirpy attitude did nothing to reassure him.
For just over a year now, Nick had been the sole occupant of the small annex at the side of the Daniels clan-house. Its purpose was accommodation for foreign, non-Clan children (the old caste system was still alive and well, even if no one wanted to admit it). He'd put up with Adrian's yammering for a month, but with a girl in the house, he was sure they'd never get any peace.
And, at least on that count, he was spot on.
Nick responded only with a series of unhelpful grunts, but eventually Teresa managed to get him to at least show her to her room. He sloped through the hall to the bottom of the narrow staircase, passing the doors to his and Adrian's rooms as he went. Teresa dragged the bulky bags behind her, and Adrian popped his head out of his bedroom door. He waved to the girl cheerily.
“Nick,” he started, reprovingly. “The gallant thing to do would be to carry the lady's bags upstairs.”
Nick utterly ignored this request, as Teresa squinted up at the dodgy staircase. “The what?” he asked.
“Gallant,” Adrian repeated. When it became obvious that Nick had no intention of helping the girl with her bags, Adrian sighed and did it instead. The girl murmured her thanks to him. “It's something like tapfer, I think,” he called back down to Nick, when he was halfway up.
Nick clicked his tongue against his teeth, impressed. “You spoke German all this time?”
Adrian reappeared, after dumping the bags into the upstairs bedroom, and letting Teresa slip past him. “Yes.”
“So, why have we been using this barbarous language for a month and a half?”
The red-haired boy skipped down the stairs, ignoring how dangerously wonky they were. “Did I teach you that one?” he asked brightly.
“What one?” Nick felt he was rapidly losing the thread of this.
“'Barbarous'.”
“What? No, that was Isaac. You aren't nearly posh enough to drop that one into conversation.”
Adrian raised an eyebrow. “One would beg to differ.” He glanced back up the stairs, and put on his best upper-crust English accent: “Are you quite all right up there, young lady? We don't bite, I promise.” He paused for a moment, and heard Teresa giggle in her room. “Well, I can't vouch for Nick here - you know how these tall European types can be.”
Nick stared at him with glassy eyes. “Yeah, yeah, I'm a venomous werewolf,” he said flatly.
“You could be.”
“Yes, but I'm not and- Christ, you're impossible,” Nick interrupted himself.
The younger boy brushed a hand through his hair. “Well, I try, you know.” He looked upstairs again. “I say, young thing, are you quite well?”
Nick suppressed a smile at the ridiculously overdone voice, and had to cover his mouth with his hand.
The short, rather plump girl appeared at the top of the stairs, and beamed down to Adrian. Then she eyed the stairs themselves warily. “I think I shall break my neck,” she said ominously.
“If you like,” Nick replied sweetly. Shy as the girl was, she directed a brief glare his way. Nick, unfortunately, missed it, as he was busy nursing his calf muscle which had taken a direct hit from Adrian's well-aimed kick.
“Wonky staircases add character,” Adrian replied, as though he hadn't just slammed a foot into the boy beside him. “If my ears aren't mistaken, you, my dear, hail from sunny Cornwall.” He looked over to the recovering Nick, as though asking for a second opinion.
Nick shrugged. “I don't know what you want - all you principality lot sound the same to me. God knows I speak better English than most of you.”
Teresa carefully stepped off the final stair, and breathed a sigh of relief. “Well,” she started. “That's because German and English are related. In a way that the languages of the principalities, as you so delightfully called them, are not.”
Nick blinked at her. “Who invited Miss Expert to come and stay?” he said weakly, glancing at Adrian for support. The Irish boy nodded in the affirmative. “Nothing on this damned island makes the blindest sense,” Nick grumbled eventually.
The girl did, as predicted, cause a lot of trouble. Or certainly, trouble as Nick saw it. Apart from all the damned talking (in which she almost rivalled Adrian), she insisted on ridiculous things like tablecloths, and keeping the bookshelf dusted, and getting up early, and feeding Nick bacon. Actually, she soon began trying to feed Nick everything, despite his protests that he wasn't 'too damned skinny' and she ought to just stay out of it. Not disheartened in the least, she continued to pile food onto his plate at meal times (she had set meal times, for God's sake), and sneak slices of cake to him when she thought he wasn't looking.
And she bought stupid things as well, like tomatoes. Nick had decided that no one actually ate tomatoes because they liked them - that would be ridiculous. But no, she insisted on them, every morning with breakfast. And mushrooms. People didn't willingly eat mushrooms, for Christ's sake.
She filled the bathroom up with multi-coloured bars of soap, each containing some exotic, unheard-of and unnecessary plant extract; and next to them ranged bottles of shampoos and bubble bath (bubble bath didn't even serve a purpose, it was just there - no one needs bubbles in a bath).
“But,” Nick stuttered, when he tried to confront the placid Teresa. He held the offending bar of soap up as he spoke. “But why would I want a leaf in the middle of my soap? This ambigously-green-coloured, sort-of-transparent, sort-of-translucent, wishy-washy soap thing? Why is there a leaf in it?”
Teresa blinked, confused. “Well, it...it's good for you.”
“No, no. I can assure you, Tessa, my dear - it's not doing me a scrap of good.”
She shrugged, and took the soap block from him. She turned it over in her hands, as if trying to find fault with it. “It smells nice, Nick - and it infuses the-”
“It what?”
“Infuses,” she repeated, louder.
Nick took the soap back from her. “Yes, repeating the word in a different tone of voice does not magically translate or define it,” he snapped. “But thank you for trying.” Retreating back into the bathroom, he gave the block a very cautious sniff.
And then on top of everything, the damned woman cleaned everything, floor to ceiling, in bleach - which Nick was allergic to. And she only found his sneezing fits to be irrepressibly funny. Adrian did too, now he thought of it, but really he didn't expect much else from him.
It was a few weeks later when Isaac's casual comment of: 'you look a little stressed', drove Nick to venting out his frustration.
“Oh, Christ, Isaac - there's this...this madwoman in my house!”
“You certainly seem agitated.”
“Agitated? That's not even the word; I feel like I'm going insane. I put something down, and within five seconds she's only bloody moved it. And then you ask her, and it's just 'oh, I tidied it'. Does she know where she 'tidied' it to? Of course not! And, there's mushrooms, and curtains, and all sorts.”
Isaac nodded helpfully, as though he understood. For a brief moment he considered offering Nick his pack of cigarettes, but then decided that was probably a touch irresponsible.
“And...” Nick's tone was turning decidedly whiny. “And she gets up at six in the morning. Six! What kind of demon does that?”
“She's a demon now, is she?” Isaac asked, not really listening.
“I don't know, or a witch, or...some hell-seeking fury bitch God-only-knows-what,” Nick said helplessly. “Do you like tomatoes?”
“Sorry?”
“Tomatoes. Do you eat them?”
Isaac stared at Nick for a while. “I'm...not a fan,” he said slowly.
“Exactly!” the boy exclaimed, triumphantly.
“I think you ought to go and lie down, or something...”
****
“Cup of tea?”
Nick, slumped in the armchair, added something else to his ever-growing mental list of Pet Hates About That Tessa Girl: she was always force feeding him tea. Unlike the 'you're too skinny' complaint - this had no base in his health or well-being whatsoever. It was purely a form of nagging.
“Yes,” he heard himself say, despite all this. He even remembered, after a few moments, to add “please”.
Teresa was looking distractedly at the television. “Is...this that show...?” she asked vaguely.
Nick spread his hands. “I don't know, it could be. It is a show. Perhaps you'd like to be more specific. Or, we could play charades.”
She didn't even spare him the usual withering glance. “You know, where these people volunteer to run an impossible obstacle course, and then fall into mud or water or both and-”
She paused, as a bright-dressed contestant on the screen got a mouthful of sticky mud, and the camera switched to a slow-motion reply.
“Oh, yep,” she and Nick said at the same time. Quietly, Teresa perched on the edge of the sofa cushion, and the game show moved on to the next round.
“Oh, this is, like, my favourite one.”
Nick snorted. “Are you joking? What about the water pistols?”
“Oh. Yeah. That's pretty good. But look-!” She pointed to the screen. “This stuff is classic.”
“The poor girl nearly brained herself on that rock.”
“Yes. But it was cruelly funny at the same time.”
“Ugh, I know. There's probably a special place in Hell for people who watch this.”
Teresa sighed. “Yeah. Probably.”
Nick glanced over to her. “Where's that tea?”
The girl shuffled further back into the sofa cushions. “Psh, get it yourself.”
“Right, now you decide to be all feminist.”
“I'm not being all- Oh, shut up.”