Chapter One
The bus from Manchester arrived in London at dusk. Arthur Stuart was the last passenger to climb off. He knew he looked terrible, knew that the people around him were staring at him, guessing that his rumpled clothes were due to being ejected from his home and having to make the four hour bus trip due to some horrible sin. He also knew that they would be right and he had no reason to condemn them for staring.
Arthur ducked his head and pushed through the doors, emerging in the small café. His stomach rumbled as he breathed in the hearty smell of… Well, any food would smell good after a tasteless breakfast and four hours on that bus. He strode to the counter, hurriedly placing an order. He couldn't just stand around all night; he had another bus to catch. Aunt Phyllis was expecting him.
He shivered. It had been nearly a decade since he'd seen her, but the memory of her frizzy steel-colored hair and nails-on-a-chalkboard voice was enough to terrify him. He'd seen then what she did to her children; made them into miniature versions of herself and his father. And now, with his father's blessing, she'd do it to him.
What's so bad about that? Arthur argued with himself. After all, do you want to be this disgusting, shameful… thing… your whole life?
No. He wanted to go home; he wanted to crawl under the covers of his bed, finish The Picture of Dorian Gray and then go to school. He wanted to be normal and he wasn't. He'd known it when Patty Hilborn had kissed him on his fourteenth birthday and he'd known it when his father had called Aunt Phyllis the night before.
A waitress slapped his plate in front of him on the counter. He quietly thanked her and began eating. The meat had no taste; Arthur didn't know if it was the cooking skills of the staff or yet another abnormal thing about himself. Then he took a bite of the potato and decided that, if nothing else, his taste buds were normal. Slowly he pushed the half-eaten meal away.
"Last call for the 7:55 to Stratford. Last call to Stratford!"
At the gravelly announcer's voice, Arthur's head snapped up. That was his bus. "Oh, no…" he murmured and stood. Hurriedly, he dug around in his pocket and tossed a note onto the table, not stopping to see how much it was. He grabbed his bag from where it had been carelessly tossed beside him and took off running for the stop.
He got there just in time to see the bus disappear down the street. He closed his eyes and sighed, then turned back toward the ticket booth. "Excuse me?" he asked the man.
He looked down at Arthur with bleary eyes from behind his glass cage. "Yes?"
"When's the next bus to Stratford?"
"Nine twenty," the man replied blandly.
Arthur smiled. "Can I purchase a ticket for that now?"
"That's a good idea. Morning trips are always sold out; its bleeding tourist season."
Arthur blinked. "Morning? You mean there isn't one tonight?"
"You just missed the last one. Hope there wasn't somewhere you had to be."
"Bloody hell…" Arthur murmured, trying to hide the relief creeping into his bones. "Are you sure?"
"Yes. Would you like to buy that ticket now?"
Arthur nodded and dug in his pocket. He pulled out two bills and stared down at his funds. A grand total of twenty pounds. He looked back up at the man, waiting impatiently to take his money and go home. And Arthur saw his future as clearly as he saw the man in front of him.
Aunt Phyllis, his father- they would make him that man, pale and sullen, dark circles under darker eyes. He would go to work, day in and day out, trapped in a loveless marriage, the father to kids who would grow up to mock each other like his brother mocked him. Slowly he shook his head and turned away, only to hear the man grumbling behind him.
Arthur ran- out of the station and down the road, desperate to get away. He clutched his bag tightly, the heavy squares inside a reminder of why he could not become that man. His father had forbidden him to take the records, but he would not leave them for his brother to sell or destroy. He knew Ryan's opinion of his "pansy rockers". He nearly filled his bag with his favorites, leaving him with room for one change of clothes and an extra pair of socks.
Arthur didn't know where he could get a room for twenty pounds and he really didn't want to sleep on the street. Of course any room he could find for twenty pounds would most likely be just as bad… Arthur shook his head. He'd cross that bridge when he came to it.
He wasn't a mile away from the bus depot when he saw a club. Its sign marked it "The Last Resort" and Arthur suppressed a chuckle. It was apt, if not original. He entered quickly, paying the small cover fee and headed inside.
Music blasted out any talking and he walked toward the stage. He recognized the song- it was Brian Slade's latest hit. The group onstage covering it did it justice, Arthur noted, watching them, fascinated. The entire band was glammed up, feather boas and sequins. The lead singer was tiny, pixie-like. His black hair was hidden beneath a large hat and his dark eye makeup made his eyes look wild and unfocused. The guitarist on the left blew him a kiss suddenly and Arthur grinned, blown away the action.
He headed back through the small crowd to the bar and decided to wait out at least part of his night in the club. He asked for a Coke, not knowing what else to order. The bartender gave him a strange look, but complied, sliding the soda to him a moment later. Arthur sipped it slowly, enjoying the show.
The band was finished soon after and they disappeared back stage, only to reappear a few moments later, the singer without his hat and their instruments in cases that stayed by their sides as they took over a booth in the middle of the room. He watched them subtly for a few moments, until the guitarist stood and ambled over to the bar. He stood next to him and flashed him a grin. "You wanna buy us a round of drinks and tell us why you're staring?" the guitarist asked cheerfully.
Arthur blinked as his face flushed. "Uh…"
"Oh, its ok. People stare at us all the time. We were just wondering why you in particular were."
Arthur nodded. "Drink?"
The young man bobbed his head eagerly. "Sounds good."
*
Ray's little plaything was going to prove interesting. Malcolm could tell as soon as the blushing teen approached that he was going to be fun, but he strained not to let it show on his painted, apathetic face.
Ray introduced them all as he flopped bonelessly back into the booth. "I'm Ray. That's Malcolm, Billy and Pearl. We're the Flaming Creatures."
"I'm Arthur Stuart," he said shyly. "I thought you were really good up there. Talented, you know."
The kid was adorable. Absolutely, completely adorable- and so utterly clueless, Malcolm couldn't resist toying with him, just a bit. "So, Arthur Stuart, what's a boy like you doing in a place like this?" Malcolm questioned, cocking his head.
"I was looking for a place to stay… Just temporarily…" Arthur paused and bit on his lip, waiting for a reply.
Malcolm blinked and smiled. "Temporary is good." He shrugged and continued delicately, "See, I don't believe there's much of a future to speak of."
Pearl backed him up. "We're in a bit of a decadent spiral."
Billy pitched in with characteristic cynicism. "Sinking fast."
Ray laughed. "Big brother, baby, all the way."
Malcolm waved his hand. "Which is why we prefer impressions to ideas."
"Situations to subjects."
"Brief lights to sustained ones," Pearl said.
Ray nodded. "Exceptions, to types."
Pearl smiled. "And yourself?"
Arthur looked like a deer caught in headlights. "Well… I'm just looking for a room at the moment."
Malcolm nodded. "Excuse us." He stood and strode to the bar, knowing Billy, Ray and Pearl would follow.
None of them spoke until they were out of earshot. Ray leaned against the bar with an impish grin. "Gee, Mum, can we keep him?"
Malcolm slapped his arm. "Be serious!"
"I am! Look at him- he's like a lost puppy!"
They all glanced over to Arthur. He was waiting patiently, hands clasped in his lap. Chris, one of the club's more colorful patrons, approached the booth, obviously hitting on him. Malcolm watched Arthur blush and stammer while the other three burst into laughter.
"Please, Malcolm?" Pearl asked, resting his chin on the smaller man's shoulder. "Can we adopt him?"
Malcolm rolled his eyes and pushed off the counter. He sauntered across the room and took his seat with a flourish. "Well, go on, then," he said to Chris. "Get lost."
When he moved away, Arthur relaxed visibly. "That guy was hitting on me!" he exclaimed in a whisper, eyes huge.
"Why not?" Malcolm asked, waving his hand dismissively. Then he leaned forward conspiratorially. "When can you move your stuff in?"
Arthur blinked and lowered his head. "Uh… This is all I have," he murmured, motioning to the bag at his feet.
Malcolm shrugged. "Okay." He grinned dazzlingly. "Welcome to the band."
The bus from Manchester arrived in London at dusk. Arthur Stuart was the last passenger to climb off. He knew he looked terrible, knew that the people around him were staring at him, guessing that his rumpled clothes were due to being ejected from his home and having to make the four hour bus trip due to some horrible sin. He also knew that they would be right and he had no reason to condemn them for staring.
Arthur ducked his head and pushed through the doors, emerging in the small café. His stomach rumbled as he breathed in the hearty smell of… Well, any food would smell good after a tasteless breakfast and four hours on that bus. He strode to the counter, hurriedly placing an order. He couldn't just stand around all night; he had another bus to catch. Aunt Phyllis was expecting him.
He shivered. It had been nearly a decade since he'd seen her, but the memory of her frizzy steel-colored hair and nails-on-a-chalkboard voice was enough to terrify him. He'd seen then what she did to her children; made them into miniature versions of herself and his father. And now, with his father's blessing, she'd do it to him.
What's so bad about that? Arthur argued with himself. After all, do you want to be this disgusting, shameful… thing… your whole life?
No. He wanted to go home; he wanted to crawl under the covers of his bed, finish The Picture of Dorian Gray and then go to school. He wanted to be normal and he wasn't. He'd known it when Patty Hilborn had kissed him on his fourteenth birthday and he'd known it when his father had called Aunt Phyllis the night before.
A waitress slapped his plate in front of him on the counter. He quietly thanked her and began eating. The meat had no taste; Arthur didn't know if it was the cooking skills of the staff or yet another abnormal thing about himself. Then he took a bite of the potato and decided that, if nothing else, his taste buds were normal. Slowly he pushed the half-eaten meal away.
"Last call for the 7:55 to Stratford. Last call to Stratford!"
At the gravelly announcer's voice, Arthur's head snapped up. That was his bus. "Oh, no…" he murmured and stood. Hurriedly, he dug around in his pocket and tossed a note onto the table, not stopping to see how much it was. He grabbed his bag from where it had been carelessly tossed beside him and took off running for the stop.
He got there just in time to see the bus disappear down the street. He closed his eyes and sighed, then turned back toward the ticket booth. "Excuse me?" he asked the man.
He looked down at Arthur with bleary eyes from behind his glass cage. "Yes?"
"When's the next bus to Stratford?"
"Nine twenty," the man replied blandly.
Arthur smiled. "Can I purchase a ticket for that now?"
"That's a good idea. Morning trips are always sold out; its bleeding tourist season."
Arthur blinked. "Morning? You mean there isn't one tonight?"
"You just missed the last one. Hope there wasn't somewhere you had to be."
"Bloody hell…" Arthur murmured, trying to hide the relief creeping into his bones. "Are you sure?"
"Yes. Would you like to buy that ticket now?"
Arthur nodded and dug in his pocket. He pulled out two bills and stared down at his funds. A grand total of twenty pounds. He looked back up at the man, waiting impatiently to take his money and go home. And Arthur saw his future as clearly as he saw the man in front of him.
Aunt Phyllis, his father- they would make him that man, pale and sullen, dark circles under darker eyes. He would go to work, day in and day out, trapped in a loveless marriage, the father to kids who would grow up to mock each other like his brother mocked him. Slowly he shook his head and turned away, only to hear the man grumbling behind him.
Arthur ran- out of the station and down the road, desperate to get away. He clutched his bag tightly, the heavy squares inside a reminder of why he could not become that man. His father had forbidden him to take the records, but he would not leave them for his brother to sell or destroy. He knew Ryan's opinion of his "pansy rockers". He nearly filled his bag with his favorites, leaving him with room for one change of clothes and an extra pair of socks.
Arthur didn't know where he could get a room for twenty pounds and he really didn't want to sleep on the street. Of course any room he could find for twenty pounds would most likely be just as bad… Arthur shook his head. He'd cross that bridge when he came to it.
He wasn't a mile away from the bus depot when he saw a club. Its sign marked it "The Last Resort" and Arthur suppressed a chuckle. It was apt, if not original. He entered quickly, paying the small cover fee and headed inside.
Music blasted out any talking and he walked toward the stage. He recognized the song- it was Brian Slade's latest hit. The group onstage covering it did it justice, Arthur noted, watching them, fascinated. The entire band was glammed up, feather boas and sequins. The lead singer was tiny, pixie-like. His black hair was hidden beneath a large hat and his dark eye makeup made his eyes look wild and unfocused. The guitarist on the left blew him a kiss suddenly and Arthur grinned, blown away the action.
He headed back through the small crowd to the bar and decided to wait out at least part of his night in the club. He asked for a Coke, not knowing what else to order. The bartender gave him a strange look, but complied, sliding the soda to him a moment later. Arthur sipped it slowly, enjoying the show.
The band was finished soon after and they disappeared back stage, only to reappear a few moments later, the singer without his hat and their instruments in cases that stayed by their sides as they took over a booth in the middle of the room. He watched them subtly for a few moments, until the guitarist stood and ambled over to the bar. He stood next to him and flashed him a grin. "You wanna buy us a round of drinks and tell us why you're staring?" the guitarist asked cheerfully.
Arthur blinked as his face flushed. "Uh…"
"Oh, its ok. People stare at us all the time. We were just wondering why you in particular were."
Arthur nodded. "Drink?"
The young man bobbed his head eagerly. "Sounds good."
*
Ray's little plaything was going to prove interesting. Malcolm could tell as soon as the blushing teen approached that he was going to be fun, but he strained not to let it show on his painted, apathetic face.
Ray introduced them all as he flopped bonelessly back into the booth. "I'm Ray. That's Malcolm, Billy and Pearl. We're the Flaming Creatures."
"I'm Arthur Stuart," he said shyly. "I thought you were really good up there. Talented, you know."
The kid was adorable. Absolutely, completely adorable- and so utterly clueless, Malcolm couldn't resist toying with him, just a bit. "So, Arthur Stuart, what's a boy like you doing in a place like this?" Malcolm questioned, cocking his head.
"I was looking for a place to stay… Just temporarily…" Arthur paused and bit on his lip, waiting for a reply.
Malcolm blinked and smiled. "Temporary is good." He shrugged and continued delicately, "See, I don't believe there's much of a future to speak of."
Pearl backed him up. "We're in a bit of a decadent spiral."
Billy pitched in with characteristic cynicism. "Sinking fast."
Ray laughed. "Big brother, baby, all the way."
Malcolm waved his hand. "Which is why we prefer impressions to ideas."
"Situations to subjects."
"Brief lights to sustained ones," Pearl said.
Ray nodded. "Exceptions, to types."
Pearl smiled. "And yourself?"
Arthur looked like a deer caught in headlights. "Well… I'm just looking for a room at the moment."
Malcolm nodded. "Excuse us." He stood and strode to the bar, knowing Billy, Ray and Pearl would follow.
None of them spoke until they were out of earshot. Ray leaned against the bar with an impish grin. "Gee, Mum, can we keep him?"
Malcolm slapped his arm. "Be serious!"
"I am! Look at him- he's like a lost puppy!"
They all glanced over to Arthur. He was waiting patiently, hands clasped in his lap. Chris, one of the club's more colorful patrons, approached the booth, obviously hitting on him. Malcolm watched Arthur blush and stammer while the other three burst into laughter.
"Please, Malcolm?" Pearl asked, resting his chin on the smaller man's shoulder. "Can we adopt him?"
Malcolm rolled his eyes and pushed off the counter. He sauntered across the room and took his seat with a flourish. "Well, go on, then," he said to Chris. "Get lost."
When he moved away, Arthur relaxed visibly. "That guy was hitting on me!" he exclaimed in a whisper, eyes huge.
"Why not?" Malcolm asked, waving his hand dismissively. Then he leaned forward conspiratorially. "When can you move your stuff in?"
Arthur blinked and lowered his head. "Uh… This is all I have," he murmured, motioning to the bag at his feet.
Malcolm shrugged. "Okay." He grinned dazzlingly. "Welcome to the band."