A/N: Much to my embarrassment I haven't completed a single story since June. Nothing seems to turn out right. All of my most recent ideas have been astoundingly stupid. Still, I feel like I should be working on something. So I've decided to start working on this old story.
Originally it was going to be a marvelous film in which I played Susan Gruoch (the Lady Macbeth character). Of course, that never happened. Even if I'd finished writing the script it still wouldn't have. Whenever I try to put together something with other people it always fails spectacularly.
Anyway, to give myself something to do, I've decided to turn my play into prose. Hopefully people aren't too weirded out. I'd just finished reading Trainspotting and Skagboys when I started writing the script. That should explain some things...
In the shadows behind an old pub, in a less-than-savory district of a dreary city, there sat three aging hippies of indeterminable gender. They had the decayed grace of peace loving Miss Havishams and the mystique of particularly rancid gypsy fortune tellers. Nobody knew their true origin. Few even knew of their existence…
The tallest, most striking of the three was a dark, Jamaican-looking being with waist-length grey dreadlocks and misty blind eyes. It always wore the same moldy, grimy woollen dress with an impressive collection of football scarves draped over it. The scarves' various colors weren't significant. None of the hippies supported any specific team any more than they supported any specific religion or political party. They were neutral in all fights - looking out for themselves and nobody else.
To the right of the dark, blind one was a frail, pale person in an oversized brownish trench coat that only made them seem thinner. Its hairless head resembled a skull leering through the gloom. It wore a rather interesting necklace fashioned from a set of plastic teeth, once displayed in a dentist's office as a sort of twisted decoration. By the time our story begins the fake teeth were yellowed from lack of washing, though in far better condition than the nasty chunks of 'real' teeth protruding from the hippie's grinning mouth.
On the blind hippie's right sat a rather fat hippie. It had three long, shiny, black braids on each side of its round head. The beast's chubby face was a sort of sullen shade of olive, its eyes a boring brown. Its clothes seemed to be made solely of ugly Native American rugs sewn together in the most unbecoming way imaginable. Even its shoes - well, scraps of colorful material tied around sweaty, swollen feet and gnarly toes - looked like they'd been made of Native's rugs, or perhaps faded friendship bracelets.
All in all, the Three Hippies about as surreally disturbing as a David Lynch film.
The one with the disconcerting necklace had lit a pile of crisp packets on fire at some point. The remains of it still sizzled ominously. They lit such a fire at the start of every meeting, and began their little 'ending ceremony' as soon as it died. Too often they ran out of things to seriously discuss long before this happened.
When it finally had fizzled out completely, the blind one (the leader) said to his fellows:
"When shall we meet again, sisters?"
"When the battle's lost and won," replied the one with the freaky teeth.
"When the fight's finished, you mean?" asked the fat one, raising a hair eyebrow.
"Well, yes," said Teeth Hippie.
"Why can't you just say it like that, eh?"
The one with the dreadlocks sighed dramatically. Why did those two always have to fight? Weren't they all supposed to be a team? Unsure what else to do, it said: "So… girls, where shall we next meet?"
"Here, obviously. Where else?" the Fat Hippie replied, with the air of an arrogant teenager.
An awkward silence ensued, as everyone thought about the Fat Hippie's words.
At that point even the Dreadlock Hippie realized how silly some of the traditional ceremony dialogues were. Of course, it wouldn't ever admit such a thing aloud. As the leader of the coven it had to stand up for tradition and make sure things ran as they'd always. Luckily for the Three Hippies, the Dreadlock Hippie sure knew what it was doing. It'd over a century of practice.
Not long ago the previous third member of the Three Hippies had died in a bar fight in the ghetto of the Underworld. Given that it was nearly witching season (aka Autumn) the Dreadlock Hippie had grabbed the first substitute available. This happened to be the rather modern Fat Hippie. Some who needed replacing as soon as-
All that could be contemplated later, decided the Dreadlock Hippie. Right now it needed to end this meeting.
"It's time for me to feed my dog," it said, solemnly.
The Teeth Hippie let out a suitably disconcerting cackle. "Spot calleth me!"
Spot was its beloved pet bunny, which it cared for dearly. The Dreadlock Hippie secretly believed that all the love found in the Teeth Hippie's shriveled heart was directed at Spot. The fluffy wee thing got far too much attention and had never been physically abused, like most things that encountered the Teeth Hippie.
"Time for our ending words," said the Dreadlock Hippie, feeling a bit like a schoolteacher patiently prompting a dim-witted student.
"Fair is foul and foul is fair! Hover through the foggy and filthy air!" the three cried.
"Why do we always say that? I can't hover, can y-
"Stuff it, you brainless twat!" hissed the Teeth Hippie, necklace blowing delicately in the wind.
The Fat hippie lunged at the Teeth Hippie. Luckily, the Teeth Hippie was able to duck in time.
"Girls!" the Dreadlock Hippie said fiercely. "We're supposed to be allies, not enemies. Stop your bickering!"
Still glaring at the Teeth Hippie, the Fat Hippie slowly moved away.
"Well? Doesn't you bunny need you, hon?" said the Dreadlock hippie.
Then, something rather peculiar happened. Starting with its repulsively long toenails, the Teeth Hippie began to... well, fade. Away went its feet and its bony ankles and its trouser-clad legs and its trenchcoat and its wiry shoulders and his turkey-like neck and its square chin and, eventually, the very top of its yellowy head.
Soon enough the Fat Hippie did the very same thing. The Dreadlock Hippie, on the other hand, waited there behind the pub. It had work to do.
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