All But the Best Of Friendships Have Secrets
This is the story of the feelings that blossom when two new girls start at Bloors for a holiday initiation. But are they going to be the best of Friendships or will there be too many secrets for friendships to manage? Will have Tancred and Lysander pairings; not slash unfortunately.
Lysander stared vacantly at the large oak table in front of him while Tancred paced up and down behind him, ranting and raving. It had been amusing when he'd first arrived –early as always- but having endured an hour and a half, only stopped when Tancred had put food in his mouth and being carried on in gobbledegook while he chewed; it was getting a little hard on the ears.
Although, admittedly Tancred hadn't repeated himself once yet. Pretty odd how his imagination only ever came out when he spoke. If only he could harness it and somehow put it into the homework he always ended up copying off Lysander then he could be a top student. Or at least have better English levels. Or just let Lysander have his homework as his own for just one damn week.
The joys of friendship.
Tancred's parents grinned at Lysander and their eyes twinkled. They had retreated to the kitchen as soon as the tirade had started and left Lysander to suffer at Tancred's hands. Well, Tancred's voice and imagination really if they were going to be literal.
It was a little cruel to make him suffer like that but they had had to listen to their son since he'd found out that he had to attend a "Holiday Camp for Gifted and Talented pupils of Bloors" whereas Lysander had only had to endure an hour and a half. It was kind really, preparing him for the future. Well, that was how they'd reassured themselves.
With a quick wink at Lysander, Tancred's father- Tom- acted on another train of thought that had just entered his head and leant over and kissed his wife very deliberately and passionately on the lips. Her eyebrows raised but she didn't say a word. Lysander blushed and looked at his plate –unused to this closeness, the embarrassment due to his father often being away- but Tancred didn't pause from his lecture only glancing over at his parents and raising a fair eyebrow, looking disturbingly like his mother.
"Damn." Tom frowned and muttered softly as he followed his wife into the kitchen. "I was so sure that would work. It always worked when my Dad did it to me."
"Dad. I saw Far-far (Norwegian for Father's Father, Grandfather) do that and trust me; that was much more disturbing. I'll never be able to look him in the face again but it has meant that seeing you do that isn't all that creepy. Plus you do that way to much for it to mess me up! Mwahahahahahaha!" Tancred's dry reply was followed by his superb evil laugh. Lysander banged his head on the table. "Now, where was I?"
Tancred's mum's (Audra) eyes- the same plain stormy grey-blue as Tancred's - crinkled in the same way that Tancred's did, well, when he wasn't ranting. Lysander hid his smile as he pretended to yawn as Tancred growled death threats that generally involved the Bloors and a great deal of blood. And some instruments of torture that due to the innocence of some of readers (well some of them might be!) I should probably leave unsaid. However, for the truly bloodthirsty, let me only say that a paperclip and a hard boiled egg had never looked so dangerous.
Audra smiled slightly at Lysander as he started to lay his head on his arms as if about to fall asleep. The poor boy would have to put up with her son until they met them at Bloors. It wasn't that Tancred was really a bad kid, just…passionate. Or bloodthirsty, either one.
Shaking her head with a smile, she lifted herself out of her chair. Why her husband had insisted on chairs that refused to let you stand up she would never know. Softly, she disappeared into her little library.
Really, it wasn't her library; it was all of theirs but she was the one who had contributed the most to it and spent most time in it. It had been her who had designed it and created it. The Tancred shelves, filled with murder mysteries and the occasional Austen (hidden in a murder mystery cover) had been ordered by her and a lot of the books had been found by her. Tom had done his shelves, saving her from herself.
Her shelves were entirely her own too, she had planned them so all of her books would fit, she had made them, she had ordered all her books on there. She even kept cards of all the books she had. With another sad smile, she brushed through her cards, neatly organised into alphabetical order, until she came across the one she wanted. Checking the author's name, she carefully put the card back and turned to face the bookshelves.
A tall woman, another trait she had passed onto her son, she usually had no trouble reaching for books, even in the house that had been deliberately built with high ceilings. But for some reason, that day it was almost as if something was holding her back. Frowning, she grabbed the book but paused before she opened it.
Her instincts had never failed her yet. She would need this book but not yet. Unable to understand herself, she put the book down on one of the small tables next to the comfy armchairs, unsure whether to trust herself or her instincts.
It was her husband who saved her, coming up and putting his arms around her waist as she stared at the book that mocked her. Gently he pulled a strand of scarlet curly hair (something Tancred hadn't received) and pulled her towards the door.
"Tancred and Lysander are leaving now love. The bus has arrived." He murmured, unsure how to approach her.
With a shake of her head, she pulled herself out of memories and smiled at her husband of almost a decade, silently berating herself for her fall into other times. It wasn't like her to act like this.
As Lysander and Tancred ran onto the bus, she waved and contemplated her son. With her sturdy bone structure, eyes, height and lack of patience; he was very much her son. Yet there was no mistaking him for Tom's son either. He had his skin tone, nose, hair and, of course, his temper.
With that, the boys clambered onto the bus and made to sit in their usual place at the very back. Rather pleased that Tancred had given up on his seething, Lysander pushed back his dreadlocks from an aristocratic face and lightly shoved his friend up the steps and into the bus.
With a grand flourish, Tancred gasped and thrust his arm out.
"How dare thee?! And to think I considered thee my truest friend!" He cursed, a wind blowing his cape in a superhero-esque way.
Lysander laughed, used to his friend's mood swings, pleased the rant had finished.
"Me? A friend of thine? How dare thee?" They grinned at each other in unison and burst out laughing.
Tancred and Lysander stopped laughing quickly though when they heard angry voices increasing in volume. It had been Lysander who'd noticed it first- growing up in a house of deafening storms didn't really help Tancred's hearing. They'd been arguing in English softly and Lysander throwing himself to the back of the bus had noticed idly the difference in the voices.
The first was sweet as honey, high and soft with patience in it he'd never really heard in a teenager. It was measured and calm with a sunny lilt to the words. The other, though, was lower and pointed in a way. The words were almost spat out unwillingly as if each word hurt to let go of .There was the same clarity to it as the other voice but it was harsher.
Cutting over a comment for the honey voice, the sharper one cut straight over her –he already thought of them as women, though he wasn't sure why- in a language that he'd never heard before. It was beautiful in an off-limits sort of way. It was…like…fire. Like a fire burning everything he could dream of up and turning the evil to ash and somehow cleaning everything else. He itched to somehow capture it in a painting or a model or something!
Tancred had noticed them by then and pushed his friends towards the voices, sensing that knowing these women would somehow change his life. So, Tancred has possibly read a few too many books, he's still right.
As the bus made a sharp turn, the driver yelled backwards at them.
"SIT DOWN YOU GOD-DAMNED FREAKS!!"
"WE ARE!" The harsher voice yelled straight back.
There was no answer but another sharp turn that nearly catapulted the boys into the window. They quickly threw themselves into the chairs across from the pair and surveyed them – the girls, that is, not the chairs (although the chairs were very nice).
They looked almost identical but, somehow, completely different. It was like seeing your room with different furniture. You could see where one of your things would have gone and you could recognise the walls, the windows, the door and the wallpaper. It was slightly disturbing on humans though.
The taller of the two was the more regal looking of them. She wasn't beautiful by any means but there was something about her that both scared and fascinated the boys. She had dark eyes that neither boy could quite bring himself to look into to work out what colour they were. She wasn't "willowy" or "curvy" but tall and muscular, the sort of look models called "boyish".
She had quite a long nose that had a definite bump where it had obviously been broken a couple of times. It had a sharp end, making her look angry and superior. Lysander squinted slightly, planning a painting in his mind and took in the few last details. Ivory pale skin with a few freckles splattered over her ears. Thin dark lips, long, pale, rough hands and cropped red-brown hair spiked up around her face with a few strands falling across her forehead. Scars scattered hear and there.
All in all she looked scary really. There was a sense of elegance about her but it was shown more in the way she sat and her expressions than her looks. She looked like a passionate, fiery fighter.
Her friend looked very different. She looked a bit like a flower, something that would blow over but was still deeply rooted and bubbly. She had brighter red hair that had been cut into a stylish bob at about chin-length. She had a small, turned up nose and her eyes were a bright emerald green and she was covered in freckles. She was short and pleasantly plump.
You couldn't see any resemblance, when you looked at each of their features but if you glanced at them, you could see that they were obviously related. It was odd to say the least.
Hit with a sudden desire to know more about the girls, sisters he reckoned, Lysander leant forward with a grin.
"Hey. I'm Lysander. I'm in Art at Bloors. You new?"
"Hmm?" was the only answer he received, however.
"Your name." Tancred prompted with a raise of his eyebrows.
"Oops. I'm Miffy. Yeah, we were invited to come to Bloors and they suggested this as an initiation." Lysander nodded, recognising her voice as the quieter one before realising what she had.
"Wow. Poor you, not only do you have to come to Bloors, you have to have an initiation too but I guess we're here a well. Do you think that counts as a late initiation? Anyway, what I want to know is: Who decided to have it over the Christmas holidays?" He smiled at her winningly and she nodded with a frown before poking her sister.
The taller girl extracted an earphone from her ear and tilted her head to hear something Miffy whispered.
She smirked evilly as she said it and glanced over at them before muttering something back. Miffy frowned at her before turning back to the boys.
"My sister." She jerked her head at the other girl, who glanced at them without a sound but didn't replace the earphone back in her ear (the other one was still in her ear though).
The boys remained silent, waiting for more information but she only smiled at them gently and stared out of the window, across her sister. Realising they were being abandoned; the boys exchanged rueful grins and continued to eye Miffy and her sister.