Red-Heads On The Battle Front

7. Polaroid Cameras and War Dances

A/N: OHOHOHO WHAT IS THIS? ANOTHER CHAPTER?? DO YOU LOUWE ME NAAAAOW? You better, it took till one in the morning to finish these two chapters -.-'

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"To be honest, it was quite good" Dad said thoughtfully. Mum and I were sitting on the dining table with Celia and Dad, who, having laughed their guts up and onto the table, were now supplying their very useful and thought-provoking comments on the whole affair. Note the sarcasm.

"What I'd like to know is how he got in!" I said furiously. Mum giggled. Horrified, I whispered tremulously, "You didn't"
"His hair was pink, Gwen darling, I couldn't say no..."
"Who's side are you on, woman!"
"Well, to be fair, he said he wanted to get back a lava lamp you supposedly borrowed."
"Oh yes" I said sarcastically "If by borrowed you mean nearly got decapitated with"
"Oh stop being melodramatic, Gwen. I didn't know he was going to get back at you"
"Well obviously, Mum! His hair's pink, for goodness' sake!" Celia burst out. I looked at her with newfound respect "Although, you did deserve it. I knew there was something fishy when you said you wanted pink hair." Forget I said anything.
Mum ignored us "I should've known when he came back downstairs saying that you'd given it to him"
"What's that supposed to mean?" I said in an offended tone.
"Well aren't you extraordinarily stupid this morning" Celia piped in cheerfully
"She didn't even realize that it was food dye. Screaming like a banshee, this one." Mum sniggered
"Our dear, smart, Gwenwyn" Dad said from behind his newspaper.
"I hate you all" I mumbled as he chuckled and ruffled my hair. "I really do" I said reproachfully and they all burst into laughter at my expense. Sigh.

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I positioned my camera and focused it, trying to make it as clear as possible and then realized it was focusing too far down. I groaned. I had extinguished my whole supply of books trying to make this tripod stand and it still wasn't tall enough! I had literally nothing else to use and I was getting hungry-

Light bulb.

I crept downstairs, taking care not to make any noise. If Mum found me she would kill me and then all my efforts would be for naught. No joke.

I tip toed to her spotless kitchen and softly cracked opened the cupboard that held all her precious pots and pans. Trying not to make a sound, I gently drew out her biggest pot-

"What are you doing, Gwen?"
I whipped around and hid the pot behind my too-thin frame. I repeat too-thin frame.
"I can see it you know" Mum said, putting her hand son her hips.
"I need...to borrow this?" I grinned weakly. She gave me, what I call, the 'Mom' look and I sighed and placed it back in the cupboard. Bye Pot. I guess you shall never be a part of my tripod now. Glaring mutinously at her, I slunk out of the kitchen, desperate to find something that would substitute the perfect pot. Perfect pot. I grinned at the thought of telling my family that I now had a pot-fetish, alongside my much-deplored door-fetish. Mum would rap me on the head and tell me to be normal for once and that if she found me consummating with any pots, I'd have to live on the streets. Dad would jokingly say that the pot would be a perfect match for me since I'm potty anyway and Celia would tell me that she didn't want pot-blood running through the veins of her nieces and nephews, thank you very much. Oh well. There goes that.

I walked past Celia's room, thinking about Pot fetishes and Door fetishes and other fetishes when my eyes caught something very big and very Celia: A Thesaurus. Why hadn't I thought of that before? I doubled back and crossed into her room, trying to ignore the innate Celia-ness of it: cream walls as opposed to my deep blue ones, soft mauve sheets, a rosewood bench passed down from our grandmother that she fought to have. I heaved the Thesaurus off the bench and, with much huffing and puffing and many breaks in between, finally carried it into my room. This was too heavy to be allowed, but it was the perfect thing to complete my tripod. With some more pushing and heaving and more than a little energy and sweat expelled, the ginormous Thesaurus, that I've henceforth decided to name Bob, was on the top of my mountain of books. I balanced the Polaroid camera onto Bob and his lesser cousins and tried to get a clear picture of the window in front of me. Perfect. Now for the subject.

"HEY MR. MORON. LOOK WHAT I FOUND." I shouted, training my thumb on the button that would give me all the blackmail material I needed. His pink head strode into the frame and he regarded me angrily "WHAT?" he bellowed back, not noticing the camera. Stupid. I sniggered.
"A PICTURE OF THE TOOTH FAIRY" I yelled jubilantly and pressed down, hard, on the button. A flash, a yelp and I had his picture. I fanned it up and down and grinned as the photo came into focus. No one could doubt that this was him.
"THAT'S FOR THE BLOODY SHOWER BIRDBRAIN" I shouted gleefully and yanked down on my curtains, shutting his face behind them as I did a little war dance in the comfort of my room. This was going to get good.

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A/N: Do you know how some pants or shorts, like track pants and stuff, have those strings to help you keep them up? Yes and then you end up double knotting it because the earlier tie gets lost in the holes that you feed the string through? And then you have to do the poo poo and you rush to the bathroom and then realize that it's been knotted so tightly and you throw a mini tantrum in the bathroom before attempting to undo it. ARGH! -_- Anyway, hope you like this mini-chapter. It's a bit of a filler and I can't wait to write the rest of it =) Hope you enjoy this my cannibalistic rainbow munchkins. Your votes and comments help me loads so please don't forget to do those things, yeah? Happy reading!

xxx
Sage