Vanity Teens

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Five:

They say that patience is a virtue, whoever the fuck they are.

Well here's another virtue: me. Ya. Me. #Ya

I'm the most virtuous bastard since Mary Magdalene (whoever the fuck she was). Then again, I could be mistaking my Marys. I could be Bloody Mary, that sounds more like me, when you remove the whole situation with the murders.

No. She's not even my cup of tea. Maybe Mary Crawley, you know her, the skank from Downton Abbey. I mean, I do have dozens of men swooning over me, so it's a possibility.

Call me Mary, please. Actually no, I prefer "My Lady". It sounds much more... me.

The doorbell rang. It was a pissy sound, it pissed me off. I just assumed some lesser peasant in the house (meaning anyone but myself) would answer it, but when the bell rang a second time, I became curious. So I answered it.

"Uncle Spencer?"

"It's the gay boy! Wonderful!" Panda said delightfully, before I realised she was actually there, hiding behind her least favourite child.

"Mother, play nicely."

Uncle Spencer looked so different when dressed more casually, I found out. He stood there in a tight white vest that forced his muscles to the surface of the fabric, and wore baggy jogging shorts, so I could only presume he had been out running, or whatever it is people who work out do when they work out how to work out.

I was hating that we were related, and that I was in a relationship, because he is one creepy uncle I wouldn't mind sneaking into my bed at night.

"Oh, shove it up your arse!"

She was wrapped in long furs that carpeted most of my front porch, and smoked incessantly on a cigarette, puffing smoke in my face purposely. "

"Go back to screwing filthy old men, Spencer, that's practically how you make a living anyway. Your father's at home, maybe he'll take you. He sure as hell knows I won't have him, and the old sod's running out of options."

"Morning Panda," I said ambivalently, trying my best to seem unperturbed by her.

"Excuse my mother, Ari, she's so old she can hardly fit it up anymore, and that only makes her more determined. Her fanny's so dried up she has no option but the back door." (note to America: fanny means vagina, not arse)

I cringed.

"You dirty messer!" she screamed, slapping her son. Before he could retaliate, which he was obviously about to do, she yanked him by the collars and chucked him to the ground like rubbish. "Never hit your mother."

"Great mother you are," I heard him mumble, as she nudged passed me and eagerly entered the manor, her long fur coat washing the floors as she went. She was so... Cruella.

Her eyes scoured anything and everything in sight, from the scratchings on the staircase to the fluffing of the pillows. She was judging it all.

"Could look better," was her final opinion.

Spencer began, "I think it's rather-"

"I need a drink," she shouted dryly. She stood with her hands outstretched, as if a glass would soon find itself there, filled to the brim with vodka and a small slice of lemon.

"What are you waiting for?" Spencer asked her, strolling in behind her.

"Well, for the servants, of course. My own usually come at my command. DRINK!" she screamed again. She kept clicking her fingers in demand. "You know, Ari, tell your mother to get a set of bells, that way you can just ring them whenever."