Anthropology 101: Chapter four
Pip's legs swayed lightly back and forth as he waited patiently on the bathroom counter. His azure blue eyes scanned the bathroom contently, tracing the checkered tile floor aimlessly, counting them as he waited. The floor tiles were no bigger than five inches by five inches, patterning between a dulled eggshell white and a soft evergreen. Pip stared at the floor, it reminding him of a chess board, as his mind wandered to his beloved game. Chess was the game of kings, he was told, and learned to play at a young age.
His gaze continued up the wall, the wallpaper torn and stained in many areas, repeating a sickly dated seventies flower print. The backdrop was an odd pale yellow, with the flowers varying from reds, to oranges, to purples. Years of living in the house had desensitized him to the sheer ugliness of the decorative wall cover.
Inhaling solemnly, the blonde released a heavy sigh, looking back to the bathroom door. Damien had slipped out nearly ten minutes ago and had yet to return as he said he would. Pip looked over his shoulder, catching his reflection in the dirtied mirror, tracing it up to the seven light bulbs that ran along above it. The Brit frowned, noticing that there were only three working lights left, the fourth having gone out recently, and he could see one of the remaining three flickering weakly.
The blonde strummed his fingers against the granite counter top where he was seated. He looked down, wondering quietly to himself why the original decorators thought that the navy blue matched the flooring and wallpaper. In the center of the counter was a rustic looking sink, stained over the years from use, with a metallic tap. Next to the counter was the toilet, Pip grimaced at the thought of the foul porcelain contraption. It leaked, it was loud and obnoxious, and worst of all it reeked something awful. No matter how often the blonde scrubbed it clean, bleached it, or kept from using it the stench never stopped. His adoptive parents had told him that he was to use only this bathroom, as it was designated for his use, but whenever they weren't home he'd sneak into the good bathroom to relieve himself.
"This is an ugly bathroom," Damien stated blandly, walking back into the dimly lit bathroom, standing in front of the sink, "you should just burn it down and try again." Pip smiled embarrassedly, rubbing the back of his neck shyly.
"I'm not too fond of it myself," The blonde replied sheepishly, "but over time it seems I've just adjusted to it."
"Tragic," The ebony haired demon frowned, offering up a roll of gauze in one hand and a tube of Polysporin in the other, "let me clean out the bites before I bandage them." Pip bobbed his head understandingly, slipping his sweater up and over his head, diligently unbuttoning his dress shirt. The Satan spawn set down his items onto the counter beside the Brit, turning on the tap, the pips clanking to life being followed by a spurt or water and then a steady flow. "Even these pipes are shitty," He spat bitterly, "this room is falling apart, seriously, just set it aflame."
"Burning things isn't the answer," Pip corrected, tossing his button up shirt and sweater out of the bathroom into his bedroom.
"Burning things is the answer to all of life's problems," Damien retorted with a devilish smirk, "fire is such a useful element. Unlike that snooty water."
"Elements have personality?" The human blinked curiously. Damien shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly in reply.
"Of course they do," He assured knowingly, "water is conceited and arrogant, boastful and emotionally unstable. Earth is normally passive, bit of a pushover, but capable of fighting back when least expected. Wind is solitary, powerful, but is one of the easiest to manipulate. And fire is powerful, but vicious and malicious, it has a one track mind - to consume. Then you have metal-"
"Metal isn't an element," Pip interrupted, his brow knitting confusedly.
"Yes it is," Damien crossed his arm over his chest.
"No it isn't." The blonde human argued.
"Which of us was born in the seventh layer of Hell?" The crimson eyed male quirked a brow boastfully, "I think if it was between the son of Satan and a human, I'd know more about this subject." The blonde rolled his blue eyes expressive, shaking his head.
"Alright, but I've never read anywhere that metal is an accepted element."
"Well it is," Damien assured with a wave of his hand, "metal is one of the more common elements, and pretty commonly used in alchemy; that's one way you can actually know it's an element. If you use it in alchemy, it's an element."
"Oh," Pip replied dumbly, swaying his legs once more, "I'll have to take your word on this topic it seems." Damien hummed in response, washing his hands now that the water had finally heated to a boiling point, enjoying the heat. Pip looked over bewilderedly, seeing the steam crawling up from the sink, fogging up the mirror in front of it. "Does it not hurt to put your hand under water as hot as that?"
"Obviously not if I'm doing it," Damien scoffed teasingly, "cold water bothers me, Hell even room temperature water does, but nice boiling hot water reminds me of home." Pip stared, watching the demon sterilize his hands under the heated water, as Damien raised his hands up and shook them dry. He patted them off against his skinny jeans, raising one hand up to switch the tap off, grabbing hold of the tube of Polysporin. "Okay, lean your head over so I can access all the marks."
"Alright," Pip squeaked, lulling his head to the side, exposing all the reddened marks decorating his flawless ivory skin. Damien squeezed the tube, smearing a large dollop of the cream against the blonde's neck, rubbing it gently into the wounds. Pip hissed uncomfortably through gritted teeth, trying to ignore the subtle sting, not to mention the inhuman warmth emanating from the demon's hands.
"Hold still," Damien grumbled, "you're only making it harder by squirming." Pip bit down on his lower lip, stifling a tiny whimper, trying to do his best to keep from upsetting the ebony haired male. "Good boy." The demon praised with a grin. He continued to rub the cream into the open gashes, pulling his hands away, leaning in to inspect his handiwork. Nodding acceptingly, Damien reached for and uncurled the bundle of gauze, gingerly lifting Pip's right arm to wrap the bandage over the bites on his shoulder. Continuing, Damien bandaged the blonde's collar bone, and then finished with the bites on the smaller male's neck. "And we're done." He smiled, ghosting his fingers over the bandages, making the blonde shiver.
"Th-thank-you." Pip blushed, looking away. Damien nodded, gathering up the remaining gauze and tube of Polysporin, exiting the bathroom without a word. Pip stayed still for a brief moment, unsure whether or not to follow the demon, finally opting to leave the bathroom before the stench of the horrid toilet caused him to pass out.
-xx
"I'm not sure how you always manage to weasel your way into weekday sleepovers," Kyle shook his head, dropping his text books onto his bedroom desk, looking back over his shoulder at his ebony haired friend. Stan returned the statement with a boastful grin.
"Must be because people just love to give me what I want," The blue eyed boy replied, "besides, you know your mom adores me."
"Probably more than I do." Kyle bit back insultingly.
"That's not very nice," Stan scolded, walking over to the auburn Jew's bed, dropping down tiredly, "we're supposed to be super best friends."
"We are," Kyle shrugged, sliding into his computer chair, opening one of the text books he had dropped down onto the table, "get out your notes; you're the only one who has them left to write." Stan groaned aloud, causing Kyle to cover a tiny smile that played on his lips, before dejectedly sitting up.
"Where's my bag?" Stan looked around curiously.
"By the door," Kyle answered without taking his eyes of his work.
"Excellent," Stan smiled, pushing off the mattress and walking over to the door, grabbing his bag he quickly moved back and dropped back down onto Kyle's bed. Opening his bag, Stan slipped his books out, popping them open in his lap. He clicked his pen, knocking open his textbook at his side, scribbling down on his pad of paper. Kyle's green eyes drifted over to his friend, watching Stan's serious expression as he snapped his own eyes between his textbook and notes, rolling his shoulders and sighing contently.
-xx
Nearly an hour had passed when Kyle tiredly blinked his eyes open. Groggily he looked over to his digital clock at his bedside, the red numbers blinking nine forty-seven. The curly haired teen stared at the numbers for a moment, the time finally registering, as he stifled a sleepy yawn and stretched out to relieve soreness. He wasn't sure when he'd fallen asleep, but was grateful he hadn't drooled onto his paperwork. Kyle pushed out of his computer chair, stepping around it, walking over to his bed. He looked down at Stan, who must have fallen asleep shortly after he did, smiling fondly at his lightly snoring friend. Stan had sprawled out across the bed, his pad of paper and pen having fallen onto Kyle's carpeted bedroom floor, while his text book remained at his left side. Kyle shook his head, leaning over the ebony haired teen, gingerly grabbing the text book in his hands. He closed it gently, placing it on his bedside table, moving to scoop up Stan's discarded notes and writing utensils next.
"Did you actually write notes?" Kyle questioned aloud, reading over Stan's notes as he raised them to eye level, quirking a brow. "Socio-cultural Anthropology is one of the four branches of Anthropological study. A holistic study of humanity that examines culture as a meaningful scientific concept." The auburn teen paused reading over his friend's notes briefly, looking down at Stan, who stirred lightly. Kyle snickered, amused that Stan had fallen asleep on his bed while doing his homework, his shirt riding up to reveal his trim stomach. Kyle rolled his green eyes expressive, skimming Stan's notes, smiling appraisingly. Reading through things such as Sir Edward Tyler, learning process, arm chair anthropologists, cultural evolution and so on. "Impressive." Kyle hummed to himself. "Good job Stan."
The older teen turned on his heel, dropping Stan's notes onto his textbook, moving to slip off his clothes and switch into his pajamas. After changing, Kyle clicked off his bedroom lights, shuffling over to his bedside and readying his bed for the night. With great difficultly, and somewhat awkwardly, Kyle managed to get Stan under the covers and off to one side so there was room for himself. "G'night Stan." Kyle yawned, crawling into his bed and snuggling under the covers, resting his head down on his pillow.
"G'night Kyle," Stan murmured quietly, cuddling up closer to Kyle.