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It wasn't even the biggest castle he'd ever seen. Certainly wasn't the most impressive. Not by a long shot. But it had a presence. A sly, trickling undertone to it's rocky face that said "I've been here longer than you, longer than anyone on Earth and I will be here long after you're gone, so tread lightly because it won't make a bit of difference to me if you fall and break your neck on my rocky base".
As he gazed around the panorama of bar attendees, Jack noticed one very important and highly relevant thing: Paul and Will were most certainly not present. Ghosts and goblins galore, but when your best friends are William Tell and Paul Bunyan, you don't have to wait forever to know when they're in a room. And Jack realized that, for the first time in many a year, he was the first to arrive for their daily nosh. He smiled proudly around the Headless Horseman Bar and walked with swagger to their usual table in the back of the barroom.
The braid of grass tickles my nose when Shiira brushes it against my face. She's so beautiful and so, so religious. Why, is beyond me. Her father hates me, her mother hates me, her brother has threatened to kill me a couple of times, but still, she clings to her hijab and prays for my soul. Fuck that, I told her, and all she does is smile like she knows Allah has a plan for me.
"AAAAANT," Quin says unendearingly.
"NO, SCREW YOU, IT'S NOT ANT," I say, throwing a dirty pair of skinny jeans at his face. "It's AWWWNT."
"AWWWNT," Quin repeats. "That doesn't sound right at all."
"Oh course, it's right," I say, sniffing a t-shirt to test its wearability, "This is my AWNT Gertrude, who is stepping on an AAAANT."
"Fu-" Quin starts to say, but then my mother opens the door without knocking and, considering it's just Quin and I sitting around in naught but our skivvies sorting through a mountain of laundry yelling words at the tops of our lungs, we smile innocently so as not to give the wrong impression.
The only line of division between Quin and I was the sheer fact that he insisted on watching Bollywood movies after a break-up. A girl dumps him, and he's running for Shakrukh Khan. It's an obsessive, addictive, and useless coping method, but damn, if those songs don't get stuck in my head for weeks. So, I think I can be forgiven for trying to prevent Quin having any relationships that aren't with me. And since I'm not even gay, Quin will be alone forever. Just as he should be.
I leaked like a sponge when I talked to Quin. He just had that sort of appeal. Every single time, if there was something that I did not want to say? Just put Quin around and leave us alone for ten minutes and you'd get your information. He should work for the government. Or the Mafia.
"Poison," said James, picking up my glasses and putting them on himself, "from the french, 'poisson', or fish. Therefore, we're not having seafood tonight."
"That's ridiculous," said Logan, "but I agree."
Vid was not adverse to taking in a few rays; it was just that his skin was so light that sun seemed to avoid him. He could sit out for hours, no sunscreen, no tanning oil, and all there would be by evening would be a soft pinkish-tan glistening on his skin. And even that hard-won color would fade after a few days inside. And so, he simply resigned himself to being horrifically pale and freckly.
Vid wanted to climb the tallest tree on earth. He would go out and find it and Quin would stand at the bottom and shout obscene things to him while Vid himself stood precariously on the very top branch, as far up as he could go.