Obey

Chapter 8: Helpful Harley

Inside Roscoe and Ashley's high-tech duplex...

Snarls transcended exotic honey and pale blue walls, swung the vaulted roof's planters to and fro.

"Cat. Dog. Stop it," Dee interrupted another fight of the Enemies pair from her place on the curved, lemon sofa. "Geez, you guys stay at each other's throats," she plopped back dramatically, her face into some long vine inhabitants, and the sunlight of the bay window.

From his place atop a double-sided chaise lounge, Brandon's all-too-knowing yellow eyes pinned his Protected's bum to the gray floor. His sensitive ears perked up, took in his human's ever-increasing litany.

"Hate him, hate him, hate him. Bad dog!" Tina wailed.

"I'm a wolf," Brandon barked.

"Whelp!"

"Bitch."

"The pair of you are insanity personified," Roscoe commented, peeked up from his cramped nook and the papers he was sifting through.

Sat beneath some vibrant cacti and framed proverbs that would be better plastered on cheap mugs, Tina roared her stress. Pulling her hair and turning to the side, she saw herself in the room's floor to ceiling reflectors. She eased her grip when she overlooked her image for the background, a fringe of shelves lined with trophies, family photos, and memories of a road trip.

Looking back to his documents, Roscoe mumbled to himself, "Suum cuique, to each his own." He cracked his neck, and went on, "However, T, Dee's words have merit." Turning to the rest of his group, the genius glowered. "Now listen, I need to submit these packets today, and with you all having made it clear that you cannot be trusted-"

"Ugh, dude, it's been a week, drop the stupid email already," Hailey grumbled from the furry sack that threatened to swallow her, Monáe, and Denzel whole.

"Here we are," Roscoe continued as if he hadn't been interrupted.

"This's one helluva way to spend our day off," Denzel groaned. "Only you would give us homework when our classes got axed for a G/P faculty meeting."

"I'm wit' the dork," Hailey spoke over Monáe's shoulder, watched her work on an outline. "Our regular classes don't even start 'til Monday."

More repetitive, angry muttering that likened a demon's summoning.

"Knock it off, T." Roscoe checked her as he passed his electric fireplace and reached for the sheer curtain hiding one of his many libraries. Though, none top the well-insulated and soundproof one on the duplex's opposite side, where Roscoe's office and the majority of his academic escapades are located.

Sitting in his ergonomic chair, the man used the light from a nearby bank of windows to search his antique desk for a pen. Uncapping one, he kicked a storage bench holding an overflow of books askew, revealed a heap of wires that aid the home's artificial intelligence system.

"T, you need to reign in your bellicosity. Stop allowing Brandon to take you out of your character," Roscoe admonished in a low voice, not wishing to wake his napping, fleece-covered lover. She hung a few feet away in an egg-shaped swing chair.

"I can't help it." The teen's pout matched her childish tone of voice and arm-cross. She watched Roscoe make a motion to the living space's ovate bookcase ottoman that doubled as a supersized, stainless-steel table.

"T, play ni-"

Brandon smirked. "She just called you a 'fucking goody two shoes know-it-all'."

"How"—Tina gasped, and quickly closed the accidentally opened Guardian/Protected telepathic link—"...Snitch." She snatched a hefty stack of papers off the table.