Saving Primary Sanders | A Sander Sides Book

XI - Dragrevue

Well. This chapter turned out better than I could have hoped. Probably on the crazier end of things, and that's saying a lot considering the other stuff that happens in this book! 

1145 h

Let me set the scene.

We are at the... actually, I think there is someone who will do a better job than me. Over to you, my dear. Hope I'm not intruding your beauty siesta.

"Who said noon-time was for napping? We can get wild here! How are you doing, little chuckies and big chuckies? It's Madame Trixie La Douche here, your Mistress of Ceremonies. Wilkommen to the Strawberry Pie, where the lights are dim and the drinks are cheap and the music is pant wettingly spine tingling. The food fills you up like yo momma's milk and the serving staff is friendly, but not too friendly. Mind you this establishment is above board, you can take your self down the street if you want that kind of service. But we all know what you are here for, you businessmen and corporate sharks and gold moguls on your lunch break... the disco ball! Look above folks, doesn't it look mesmerising? Oh, lighten up! I'M JOKING. We know why our thirsty clientele is here! The Drag Queens! They're fierce, they're pierced and ready to crank your gears. We have some new performers up on stage today. See you all at half past noon, and keep your cash ready to rain!"

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"What does it feel like to be my driver?" purrs Remy.

"Perfectly pleasant, Goor. At least I treat a car as she should be. I was the only one left notin a insanely lengthy heel, so I'm clearly the designated driver," says Logan with a tight-lipped grimace as he turns the limousine into the red light district. It will be an understatement of the day (as today is a day of overstatement, surely)

"Why am I wearing the most uncomfortable get up?" groans Virgil.

"Because you are the cutest!" says Roman, running his eyes appreciatively over a Virgil's cat suit.

"I'm looking so fish today!" Remy checks himself out in the rear view mirror, touching up his eye liner.

"More like a rotten flounder stinking up the beeech!" Roman tugs at Remy's wig.

"Yo Chief! This two bucks bargain bin barbie is pulling my weave!"

"I did noooot!"

"Oh, then what's that hair doin' in your hands?"

"I didin't poul her wheaf! Why would I poul her wheaf? If I'm gonna pull a wheaf, wouldn't I poul my hown wheaf ? I'm no wheaaf pouller! It's insaaaane!"

"STOP THIS TRASH TALK OR I WILL JUMP OUT THE WINDOW!" yells Virgil.

Logan takes out a squeeze bottle and sprays water over the two of them. "Quiet! We will not do this! You are two friends with nothing in common except an ear-splitting shreik, so zip those lipstick-slathered lips and get alone."

"But he –" begins Roman and Remy at the same time like a bizarre circus twin act in in drag, which probably sounds not out of the ordinary in hindsight. They are both holding onto each other's wigs and ready to go down on a bad girl diva fight.

"CHILDREN! Play nice together!" Logan felt like driving into a dumpster then and there and ending his misery. But Patton's rescue mission and protecting Thomas is way too high on his list of priorities to do that. It is not as if he had wife and kids to live for anyway. Anymore.

Roman and Remy push each other off to the two end of the seat. Virgil has shut himself in the mini-fridge because sometimes sharing space with others of the same species is a bit too much, you know?