In which Trixie Holloway only ever wanted to have a good time, and Damon Albarn just couldn't help himself.
The wild nights, of the Party Professor and the Slutty Superstar, led to an academic in the newspaper for all the wrong reasons. Battling the...
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Trixie had been inundated by bouquets of flowers; bunches of lilies, sunflowers and tulips turning up at her door. All having been delivered by the same bloke who was starting to freak her out a bit.
The first time it had happened was on a truly British, spring day, the warm sunlight had gently been baking her laminate flooring and providing Catherine with the perfect spot to bathe in. Birdsong had woken her up and blue skies made her excited to go on her bike which hadn't got much use in the winter months.
Trix had been tucking into a bowl of porridge when the knock came, dancing her way over to the door as ABBA played, spooning mouthfuls in, even as she opened the door.
"Oh hello there." She spoke, stunned that it was an unfamiliar face stood across from her, a bouquet in his hands, perhaps a forgotten admirer?
He was relatively tall, had a mischievous way about him and dressed as if he'd just come from a skate park. He was the artistic type, Trix could tell that much from the way he scanned the parts of her flat he could see, as if searching for his next bit of inspiration. "Trix?" He asked, a cheeky voice too. "Yes?" She answered unsteadily, as if confused by her own name, "Sorry do I know you?" "Nope."
He didn't say anything else as he shoved the bouquet into the girls hands. She nearly dropped her breakfast - which would have been a travesty - as she attempted to juggle the abnormally large selection of sunflowers. The golden petals all but went up her nose as she tried to chase him down the hallway. He ignored her as he scurried off and lit a cigarette, "Who are you?" She shouted after him, but she never got a response.
This had happened multiple times since then. He stopped by, a different type of flower clutched in his hands every time. He never said much, he refused to give up any details and would always ignore her questions whenever she asked him something.
"Did Damon send you?" She'd shouted at him manically when he'd handed her an elaborate wildflower bouquet. That was the first and only thing that had made him pause, he'd turned to her with a straight face, "Who's Damon?"
That fucking dick.
For weeks every day was the same: wake up, eat, commute, work, meetings, commute, food and sleep. Sometimes it got reshuffled a little and Damon would call - the both of them getting on much better since Trix's fiasco - or she'd go for lunch in Camden where she could buy a meal in a box and get a complimentary, free tattoo at the same time. Dames had heard all about her new inner lip tattoo, how she'd not only etched 'BANG' into her skin because of its connotations but because she thought it was one of Blur's best tracks. She'd humbled him before he could get caught up in why she'd done it, "Think of it as promo, it'll fade eventually. Not like it's permanent or anything."
