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CrazySugarFreakBoy!
Sat Feb 24, 2007 at 05:20:58 am EST
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Eskimo Sisters: “Mary Jane” & “Sarah Jane” Hook Up …
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Eskimo Sisters: “Mary Jane” & “Sarah Jane” Hook Up …

“So, you’re the new head of Hestia House?” April Alice Apple blinked from her side of the window-seat booth in the Bean & Donut Café. “How did that happen?”

“Your Gov. Rashomon can be rather persuasive,” Elisabeth “Bettie” Barrie shrugged, as Sarah Shepherdson silently placed their beverages on the table, to avoid interrupting their conversation. “She prevailed upon her state’s Superintendent of Public Instruction and Department of Social and Health Services to provide me with all the necessary paperwork and certifications to carry out my new role properly, presumably since I’d already raised so many Lost Boys and Girls in Faerie, and as for your Mr. Book, she believes his relatively recent recovery from his brush with death might have made him slightly more … amenable to alternative suggestions.”

“And you’ve got Wendy working for you?” April stifled a snicker, poking her wide straw through the plastic-sealed top of her bubble tea with an audible pop.

“I was sure we’d ordered tea,” Bettie muttered under her breath, peering at the brightly colored slush and black tapioca balls that were visible within the clear containers of their drinks, before shaking her head. “Yes, Gwendolyn continues to prove quite the handful, but Gov. Rashomon insisted upon involving her. She … Roslyn, that is … pointed out to Mr. Book that Hestia House’s previous incarnation did little to distinguish itself from the functions of Pantheon Prodigies, and the idea that two divisions of Odyssey Opportunities were effectively redundant apparently irked him enough to repurpose the one completely.”

April sipped her pastel tea and rolled its tapioca pearls on her tongue. “So, Pantheon is still recruiting kids with potential … ”

“While Hestia is intended instead, now, both to shelter and to bolster those children who are at risk of slipping into the margins of society,” Bettie took a tentative jab at the sealed top of her drink with her own straw. “Gwendolyn was always a remarkably gifted girl, whose education benefited tremendously from being enrolled in Hestia, but she was also terribly troubled, and all their instruction ignored her emotional welfare.”

April leaned in close to whisper conspiratorially, “Yeah, about that … how many people anymore can actually connect Wendy to the activities of … her alias?”

“With a handful of exceptions, far fewer than I’d expect, and fewer still every day,” Bettie reported in a subdued voice, her eyes downcast discreetly. “Whomever’s generosity your husband has imposed upon, they’re certainly doing a thorough job. From what little I’ve been able to gather, every mention of her name is being systematically erased from all the pertinent reports regarding … her ‘secret identity,’ I believe you lot call it. I suspect Gov. Rashomon might be more than a bit cross about it, and I further suspect that I’m meant to be supervising Gwendolyn as a concessionary gesture, both to your husband and to … Roslyn, since without any documented criminal record, our young woman would be left with no oversight whatsoever.”

“Because she’s 18 now,” April scowled sourly. “Punky Brat-Face had better be worth it.”

“She’s a Lost Girl,” Bettie winced sympathetically. “Who better to connect with, and tend to, other Lost Boys and Girls?”

“Is that why Gov. Rashomon pushed so hard, to put you in charge of Hestia House?”

“I could ask you the same thing about your relationship with the electrical light woman.”

“Wait … what?”

“Hallie, isn’t it?” Bettie arched her eyebrows sagely. “Lovely lady … brilliant in every sense. Anyway, she warned me about your wicked wiles, clever girl. When you’ve been a Lost Girl long enough, you start to recognize your sisters in spirit. As much as I still remember my own adolescent impulses, toward willful misbehavior for its own sake, I can relate even more to making friends to make up for the loving family that you’ve lost, or perhaps, that you never had to begin with. I’m also no stranger to forcing myself to behave bravely, to fool both others and myself into believing that I’m not as afraid as I feel. Beneath that bold, brassy, fun façade of yours lurks a shy, sensitive, yet formidable lass, who hides herself by fighting, as hard as she can, not to surrender to shame or anxiety.”

April gaped at Bettie’s insights. “Wow … and here, I thought we were just bonding as, like, an equivalent of Eskimo sisters, albeit at least once removed through reincarnation.”

“Pardon?” Bettie cocked her head inquisitively.

“Heh … ‘Eskimo sisters’ is slang for two or more gals who have done the deed with the same guy,” April ducked her head sheepishly.

“But then, why would it be referred to as … no, never mind,” Bettie shut her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Our respective Lost Boys do share more than their fair share of similarities, but it’s far from fair to your Dream for me to … reduce him, to the mere sum of his resemblances to my Robyn.”

“Under the circumstances, I doubt I’d be able to avoid the temptation to draw those types of comparisons, if our roles were reversed,” April grumbled in grudging acknowledgment, before casting a speculatively sidelong glance at Bettie. “Dare I ask how my boy measures up to yours?”

“He seems … older, somehow,” Bettie squinted in consideration. “His capacities for love and imagination are as boundless as ever, but they’ve been tempered by experience, and turned … I don’t know, harder, maybe … definitely angrier. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say it’s almost like he’s become … half-pirate. Then again, around about half the time, I can’t even understand what he’s saying. Oh, I can usually comprehend the individual words, in spite of his overly Colonial enunciation, but the ways in which he strings them together often make no sort of sense to me at all. It’s all technically English, I suppose, but it’s as though his truest means of communication lies in his elaborate metaphors, most of them alluding to a contemporary culture whose language I’ve only just begun to learn.”

“Dream’s adult-rated fan art commissions created the online market for porn of Aunt May from Ultimate Spider-Man, pioneering both a supply and a demand for a sexual fetish so odd and obscure that not even the most perverted nerds in the history of fandom could conceive of it before he did,” April rolled her eyes. “Hand him a remote control, and he can always tell the time of day, to within five minutes of accuracy, by watching any 10 seconds of what’s showing on the Sci Fi Channel. Since he was a little kid, all of his dreams, even his nightmares, have included preview trailers, opening titles, soundtracks, commercial breaks and closing credits, and to this day, he cries at the death scenes of E.T., Spock and Optimus Prime, every single time. I’m a hardcore dork, but even my geek-speak translator isn’t immune from occasional overloads, once his stream-of-consciousness free associations kick into caffeine-fueled overdrive. Trust me, for a gal who was born before George Lucas, Stan Lee, Gene Roddenberry, Frank Herbert and even J.R.R. Tolkien, you’ve been keeping pace with his rants pretty well. Your fashions have already been updated from the Renaissance fair … ”

“The benefits of gaining Sydney St. Sylvain as one’s personal tailor,” Bettie briefly flashed a giddy grin. “After more than a century-long lifetime of nothing but dresses, I wondered if she could furnish me with the wardrobe of a more modern woman, and as an example, I mentioned the clothing I’d seen modeled by … Yuri, is it? Oh, you know … that tall, muscular, handsome, mechanical Oriental woman. The next thing I know, my closet is filled with black leathers and blue jeans. The fabrics are so light, and so tight, that I feel as though I’m half-dressed every time I walk out my front door, especially when I hear these young men, these cheeky boys, not even old enough to be my grandsons, whistling after my backside and calling me a … what was that term, that your Dream used? A ‘MILF?’”

April couldn’t resist beaming with glee, at how Bettie’s embarrassed blush and indignant tone contrasted so comically with the playful mischievousness of the twinkle in her eyes, and the hints of a smirk curling her lips. “You’re such a slut!” April squealed teasingly, drawing a shocked but amused gasp from Bettie, as well as furtive yet attentive stares from their fellow restaurant patrons who had overheard them. “You’re totally giving all those poor guys boners and blue-balls, and you’re loving every minute of it, because you’re Mrs. Robinson from The Graduate!”

“I think I chanced upon that one the other night, actually,” Bettie wiped tears of laughter from her eyes, even as she and April struggled to suppress infectious fits of giggling, under public scrutiny. “I’ve grown far too fond of motion pictures for my own good. Everything in this world is so new and wondrous to me, all the mundanities of everyday life … driving an automobile, watching a television set, typing on a laptop computer, talking on a cellular telephone … sometimes, I’ll wake up early, just before sunrise, just so I can stand outside, and marvel at how the continuous stream of lights, of a city at night, seem to blend so seamlessly into the busy activity of a dawning day. Before I left for Faerie with my Robyn, I’d barely read anything real about the Americas, much less traveled to them, and now … I feel as small as a child. I’ve turned into a silly-hearted teenage girl all over again, only trapped in the body of an old woman.”

April bit her lower lip pensively, craned her head around both sides of the booth, to make sure no one was still watching them, then lifted Bettie’s chin and kissed her full on the lips. “You’re mature, not old,” April breathed as they broke off their kiss, trying not to tremble as she caressed Bettie’s cheeks and neck for a few seconds. “That makes you beautiful.”

Bettie swallowed. “I’ve never … ”

“Hey, that was my first time Frenching a chick, too,” April snorted.

“What would your Dream have said, if he’d seen us?” Bettie frowned with regret.

“He would have insisted that we do it again, and do way more than just that, but only after he’d set up a ton of cameras to record it,” April reassured her with a sunny smile.

Bettie licked her lips, as she finally tasted the surprisingly subtle sweet slush of her bubble tea, its tiny ice crystals smooth yet still crunchy between her teeth, as she savored its spongy tapioca pearls with cautious chews. “Mmmm … so much the same, all Lost Boys are. Poor puppies, yours and mine alike, so eager to play. How cruel of us to tease yours, by depriving him of such fun … ”


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