eclecticwitch — Roleplayer Guild

Pon de Replay // Stereo Love // I Like the Way you Move // Evacuate the Dance Floor

When you had two gay men for dads, it meant that the moment they found out you were going to a party you were whisked away for some after-school shopping.  Which was tedious and boring for Bea.  Nonetheless, she went along faithfully and allowed them to primp and pamper to their heart’s content.  She ended up in a pinstripe two-piece that showed off her flat stomach.  It had a matching skirt that showed off much more leg than Bea was used to.  They smoothed out her hair and put on just a touch of make-up.  All waterproof of course.  When she looked in the mirror she was nothing like herself but figured it probably looked nice.  She grabbed an ancient sweater and her fanny pack before wishing the dads goodbye.  They went on about their usual flitting and promised to stay up till she got home or to come to get her if there was trouble.  Bea rolled her eyes, kissed them, and went out to her old pick up truck to find her way to a certain young man’s house. 

The ringing of the doorbell woke Jordan from his movie induced doze. Panicking a little, he took a quick glance at his watch as end credits scrolled down the dark screen. The ringer must have been Bea, ready to take him to the party. It had surprised him a little when the short girl had offered to take him along, but he wasn’t going to turn down a good night. Luckily he had remembered to dig his togs out from the back of his closet earlier, so all he had to do was grab them and get to the door. He swung it open to see Bea perched on their tatty welcome rug. 

‘Hey,’ he said, with a welcoming smile. He spotted a dinged-up old ute in the driveway. ‘Love the car. Do you want to come in, or should we get going?’ 

When he opened the door her eyes slid down and then back up.  “You look homeless,” she said blankly.  She then glanced back to the car and shrugged - “Dads’ wanted to get me something newer.  This has more character...  Whatever is fine.  No rush from me.”  Since that first day she had calmed down quite a bit in his presence and perhaps he had even been a victim of some of her accidentally cutting remarks.

‘Homeless?’ He’d come to realize over the last week that Bea didn’t seem to notice the insults she threw around were actually offensive, and so he laughed it off.

‘Thank you, my fashionista. Perhaps you can come inside and give me some suggestions?’ he said, opening the door to let her through and motioning her in. There was no rush to get to the party since it had only officially started about ten minutes ago, and if there was one thing Jords was good at it was being fashionably late.

Bea walked smoothly into the house and took a mere moment to consider the interior before looking back at her host.  “I’m probably the last person you want to ask that.” She sighed, looking him over again.  “It's mostly the hair and wrinkled clothes.  Though, wrinkles seem to be in these days.  The best I got for you is color coordination.” 

She had a fair point about the wrinkles. He looked down at his scrunched grey shirt and discreetly brushed at a small stain on his hip. Fashion had never been his thing, being more of a grab, throw on and out the door kind of guy, and it seemed it showed. His shorts were an electric green and probably were ready for the bin years ago. He brushed his stringy hair back with one hand and looked back at Bea.

‘Alright. Teach me, sensei.’

She rolled her eyes at him and gestured toward the rest of the house.  There was a hint of a smile on her lips though.  She could not begrudge him the old shorts or mussed hair, considering such things were her own style.  But this was the Devil’s party - where one went to sin and look good doing it.  “Well, lead the way.  I’ll see what I can do,” she replied in her usual cool and even tone.

He took her up the stairs to his bedroom, which resembled a bombsite. The closet doors were wide open, revealing piles of more rumpled clothes spilling from draws and shelves. He’d forgotten to turn off the TV from before and the screen showed the Netflix logo. 

‘Well, this is it,’ he said, waving a hand magnanimously while unobtrusively kicking a wayward pair of briefs out of sight under his tangled bedsheets.  She took in the sight of the disheveled mess of the room.  It was obvious it had not been his plan to bring a girl here… unless he didn’t consider Bea a girl.  She hardly minded it though, her own art room becoming quite the tangle of used brushes, paints, and half-finished canvas.  Instead, she picked her way through the piles of laundry to the open closet. 

Her fingers brushed over the few clothes which hung there but did not find anything satisfying.  She moved toward the drawers, plucking up bits of clothes here and there before tossing them aside.  “You should really do a spring clean,” she said blandly.  

‘I think it’s past a spring clean at this point. Maybe an autumn scouring.’ 

“Sit tight.”  As she went through the clothes she accidentally started organizing the room.  A ‘bad’ habit she developed once finished painting.  At long last she came upon a loose, pale button up and what appeared to be some sandy colored swim trunks.  She tossed them at him.  “Get dressed then I’ll do your hair.”

‘Do my hair?’ he said blankly, catching the clothes. ‘What’s wrong with it?’ Probably the wrong thing to say as it left him open to a Bea-style half insult, but he was puzzled at the hair comment. Yeah, maybe it was a little lank, and it had been a while since he’d done anything styly to it... Okay, maybe she was right. 

“I mean, you could just tell girls you went skydiving beforehand,” she said lightly as she continued to sort and put away things.  She liked to keep busy.  It was better than sitting on the bed staring at the ceiling.

He changed quickly in the bathroom and came out to see Bea finishing up organizing his clothes.  When he finally came out she directed him to sit.  Once he had done so, she knelt behind him on the bed and began pulling her fingers softly through his hair.  She slicked it all back first, using the natural oils there to hold it in place.  Once she was satisfied all of those silly tangles had been quite gently taken care of (for a girl with curly hair knew how much it hurt to have someone just tug through knots) she parted the strands.  Her fingers began to give the hair some sort of styled shape around his face.  “There.  Is that alright?”

He caught a look in the wide mirror that sat opposite to them and was taken slightly aback. Her gentle touch had felt nice in his hair, and the end result was remarkably different from his usual ‘just enough to be out of his eyes,’ style. He reached a hand up to touch his new ‘do. 

‘Wow. You’re a miracle maker. I’ve never seen it like this before- maybe I should start doing it this way every morning,’ he laughed. He was looking slightly more presentable now in his button-up and with styled hair and he smiled at her. ‘Thanks for your fashion help. Want to head over now?’

“I dunno how much help I was, but thanks.”  She had merely channeled what the Dads were likely to do.  They had the fashion know how.  Two gay dads in the home was like ten GBF’s in the bush, right?  “Aye, capn’. Lead the way.”  She put the final finishing touches on his bed being to rights before she left the room.

They got into her truck moments later.  It was a single bench seat for the front and a window with a hatch just behind them.  It had a cassette tape deck in which one of those fancy player tapes now lived and attached to it was a very old MP3 player with a mix of surprising music for the girl.   The truck’s cab was clean but showed its years in dents and scuffs. The MP3 was a surprise too for Jordan- with the money flowing around Palm Beach most of the teens he’d met had the latest and greatest of everything.  

Bea sat on two large phone books to help her see over the wheel and once Jordan was properly seated and the door closed she started her way to the party.  “Planning on meeting any of the misfits?” she asked out of curiosity.  They were all likely to be there.

‘Hopefully. Is this party gonna have the whole crowd?’ He hadn’t managed to talk to the Misfits yet since he’d first seen them in English on Monday, thanks to a cold and mainly hanging out with Bea. They still intrigued him, but they looked like a close-knit group and he hoped that beer and the beach would give him an excuse to strike up a conversation.

“At least most.  I know Jun will be there; the dads texted him but I’ll be more likely watching over him than vice-versa.”  She paused at a blinking stop like before turning.  “If there is a chance to make mischief I am sure the others will appear as well.” 

‘Nice,’ he said. ‘So, you been to one of Santiago’s parties before? He looks like a bit of a cock, but apparently, the parties he throws are always wild.’ He hadn’t seen much of the guy, but he’d heard about his footballing prowess and whispers of the whole ‘Candyman’ shit. The only problem was the nickname always made Jordan picture him as a character in that old board game Candyland, rather than the hardman drug dealer persona he extruded.*

“A couple,” she responded. “They can get fairly crazy - depending on if someone has decided to drink in excess and/or take some sort of psychotropic.”  She shrugged and glanced over at him.  “Normally it’s just your average party.”  She tapped out the beat to one of the songs on the steering wheel as the beach became apparent on the horizon. They were getting close.

‘So you’re quite the party animal, then. Can’t wait to see you salsa on down the dance floor,’ he laughed, recalling the impromptu lessons she’d inflicted on him over the last couple of days. 

“I won’t be salsa-ing anywhere,” she mumbled under her breath.

‘So what’s an average party over here? I’ve always wondered if an American party was anything like the movies. Do you really have those red plastic cups?’ He could hear the faint sound of dance music and see the rhythmic flashes of dance lights coming from a white marble mansion down the street ahead of them.

She shrugged, unsure of what her alcohol to dance ratio would be tonight.  Though if the music was right and the liquor tasty she might go on full flamenco.  “I’m not sure about comparisons… but we certainly always have the red solo cup.  Even a classic country song about it.”  She laughed lightly as the pulled into a driveway in which many other cars had parked.  She turned off the engine and strapped the fanny pack about her waist.  “I just gotta grab something from the bed.  You are welcome to head in first.”

‘Sweet, I guess I’ll see you in there,’ he said, giving a small wave. ‘Love the fanny pack, by the way.’ The party seemed to already be pumping, and he stepped over several spilled drinks and drunk bodies on his way through the main house to the pool. Jords made a beeline to the drink table and grabbed a red solo cup (!!!) of punch before stopping to take in the scene. Next to him, a short girl with black hair clutching a half of vodka seemed to be doing the same. She looked a little nervous, so it seemed natural to introduce himself. 

‘Hey, you been here long?’ he said, smiling warmly. ‘I’m Jordan.’

Bea rounded to the back of the truck and unlocked the back hatch.  She easily lifted herself up into it where she unlocked a toolbox.  In the top was an assortment of tools used in auto-repair.  She lifted up the handled top to reveal a few other tools as well as a bottle of liquor.  She shook it up a bit and the green of it made her smile.  It was a bottle of vodka in which she had dissolved quite a number of sour apple skittles.  How she got it was a mystery, for despite the willingness of the dads they would have never bought her alcohol.

She hopped down from the bed and closed the trunk.  Once sure that all of her things were locked up properly, she made her way down into the booming sound of the party.  Bea clutched the bottle to her chest as she meandered until finally, she spotted the person she was looking for.  Santiago was doing his Santiago thing.  Barely minding anyone to which he spoke, Bea walked up to him, barefoot and nearly bare skinned.  She thrust the bottle into his chest and once his hands closed over it said, “Thank you for hosting,” before turning on her heel and beginning to walk away.
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The Effervescent

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