Beauties and Beasts

by Lowefantasy and Tyndali

Prologue

Who are these "beguiling" women? Why are they special? What are their hang-ups with men? Tune in below for not-sexy setup, tragic backstory, and face-sized cinnamon rolls!

Lowefantasy starts. Tyndali, who is writing in collaboration with Lowefantasy, shall do the next chapter. From then on, both pathetic writer's shall switch off writing the chapters, snorting and giggling and secretly licking their fingers all along. We apologize ahead of time for our lack of professionalism despite the fact that we both have the know-how to be professionals when it comes to writing (hazah college education). This is our play, not our job.

"For someone who professes to hate men and swears to a life of catlady-hood, you really dated a doozy," said Shay as she fixed the pin on her backpack. The metal dragon slipped from her fingers and tinged as it hit the ground.

Neara picked it up and handed it to her, pushing a rebellious lock of curly hair behind her ear as she did so. "It's because I dated a doozy that I hate men. Or at least one of the reasons. Either or, I've come to the conclusion that all men are either addicted to porn, gay, or abusive morons."

"I'm sure there are some who aren't." Shay finally got the points of the pin through the woven vinyl canvas and hooked it. "Whether or not we can find them in a country with internet…"

"That's it. African men. Smooth, black and sexy, and armed with big 'potential' I hear." Neara wiggled her eyebrows.

Shay wrinkled her nose. "What?"

"I hear black guys have big penises."

"Eww! What? Where do you hear these things?"

"High school, haven't you been there too?"

"Apparently not the same kind you went to." Shay stood from the grass and hooked on her backpack. "Joe's Bakery?"

Neara jumped to her feet. "Pssh, yeah! Face-size cinnamon roll, here I come!" She swung up her leather satchel onto her shoulder.

"I can't believe you can eat an entire one of those monsters without getting sick."

"Oh, I get sick. I just don't care."

The bakery in question had been a favorite haunt of theirs since they'd met a little over a year ago the summer before their senior year of high school. It became more so after Neara's messy break up with her socially messier boyfriend and she needed the outings (and possibly the deliciousness) to keep him out of her head. Shay had been more than happy to accompany her, taking any excuse to stay out of home.

As they came to the crosswalk across the street from the bakery, Neara gave the walking button a comical slap. "Slap that baby!" she cried.

"Make him free!" added Shay.

"Crap, what movie is that from?"

"Labyrinth."

"Oh yeah! Dance magic dance. Speaking of babies," Neara glanced over her shoulder as she adjusted the strap of her book bag. "How's your mom doing?"

Shay instantly sobered. "I…" she sighed and looked up at the passing traffic. "I think I smelled beer on her breath last night."

Neara stared. "While she's pregnant?"

"Maybe I'm wrong."

"Let's hope so."

"If she'd just divorce that jerk…"

Neara nodded sagely. "Divorce is a better coping mechanism than alcohol."

"Well, now that she's pregnant she doesn't think she should get out. He gets all friendly and sappy when she's pregnant, and she always thinks it's going to last."

"You make it sound like she's been pregnant a lot."

Shay said nothing.

The light turned red just then and the crosswalk beeped. The girls crossed with one eye to the stopped traffic. The cars restarting at a green light lifted strands of dark brown hair from Shay's ponytail.

"My dad may be chauvinistic," said Neara. "But at least he ain't that bad."

"You keep saying that, but I have yet to witness it. I don't think chauvinistic means what you think it does."

"It's only because he's all extra polite when people are over."

Bells tinkled as Shay opened the door depicting a cartoon of a steaming loaf of bread.

"I think that'd be most people-" Neara stopped abruptly.

Shay opened her mouth to ask what was wrong, but ended up closing her mouth so quickly her teeth clacked.

Instead of the familiar scent of baked bread, a crisp, pine-scented breeze washed over them. With it, like the shift of colors when one's eyes readjust, a much different scene than that of a small-town bakery came to about them.