Charles Lavalle (dressedtothrill) wrote in light_of_may, @ 2012-10-05 05:20:00 |
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Entry tags: | 2009-09-18, harper |
all your funny little ways
Who: Charles & Harper
Where: Streets of SO
When: Afternoon
“Hooker, I work nights. I ain’t going out for shit.”
Charles remained blissfully ignorant of the fact his restless squirming had positioned him so his face was directly under the corner of the shelf his familiar was currently using as a perch. That was until the Macaw shifted just enough to tickle his nose with the very end of his tail-feathers. It wasn’t the full assault the bird wanted to rain down on him for being such a--‘Bitch,’ Sugar muttered, making damn sure his voice was in the forefront of his witch’s mind. That was the third pillow that had been thrown. His ward’s aim was getting better... Which meant he was more awake. ‘One more time, motherfucker, and I’m coming down there. You’d like that, huh?’
“I swear, Sugar, I’mma put you in a cage and give you my Momma for Chris’mas if you don’t shut the hell up right now.”
‘Yeahhh, gayboy like-a the bird sandwich, huh?’ To be fair -- and Sugar usually was, in his own rather warped way -- the were could have said just about anything and he still would have answered with that. The sole reason being that it was funny. He had also learned very quickly that certain things said in a certain way were guaranteed to get a very specific response. Like this one.
“The fuck?” Sleep deprivation or no sleep deprivation, that was too much for Charles’ semi-coherent mind to deal with. More threats; he could dish out more threats and insults and keep giving those ‘til kingdom-fucking-come, but he was not equipped for Sugar when he obviously wanted something. Why he had gotten the motherfucking bitch of all birds as a familiar, he really didn’t understand -- and no, it was not ‘cause he qualified as one himself, made no matter what anybody said. Pushing back the zebra-print mask that blinded him to sunlight during the day, the were stared up at the red, blue and yellow blur on his shelf. Then he damn well glared at it until his eyes managed to actually focus. “You gon’ wish you ain’t did that.” So help him, he’d even go to one of them churches and pray like his Momma taught him if it meant Sugar would quit screwing around.
‘Ran outta papaya-bits and I want mango this time or whatever that hot slice was trying to sell you.’
Hot slice? In the middle of rolling out of bed to get dressed, Charles only just prevented himself from stopping to raise his eyebrows at Sugar. “Which hot slice? Mister Personal Trainer or that fierce little red-headed thing down by the doors?” Even though Sugar could seem like he belonged in a row of pink tents -- perhaps with sequins and some glitter -- when it came to the discussion of other people? That ‘hot slice’ could have been just about anyone. It probably didn’t even mean what Charles thought it meant.
‘Oh, you know.’
Turning his gaze away from his reflection, Charles levelled a look at his familiar before putting the finishing touches to his make-up, stuffing his wallet into his pocket and grabbing his jacket on the way out. If Sugar wanted out he could damn well argue his way through the door.
With all of his intentions to get the vain-assed bird (fucking took one to know one) whatever it was he wanted, the were found himself side-tracked. Shop windows were more interesting than what was in them half the time, and if he went in the pet store right about now he would be morally, legally, ethically and, hell, maybe even grammatically obliged to set fire to the old bitch standing in line, going on about the price of cat food going up. Who cared? He could safely say that this peacock did not, and that was usually what mattered. Fuck it, he couldn’t believe he’d let Sugar bully him out of the apartment without any of his jewellery. He felt naked... But courtesy of that there shop window he could tell he looked fiiiine.