Jackson Five had started to pull back the covers on her bed, when she noticed that the one next to it was occupied. This struck her as slightly strange, as she had just seen Madonna - who the bed belonged to, and she regularly shared with - outside. She shrugged, assuming that she hadn't noticed her coming in, and decided to join her.
Delilah wasn't sure whether or not she'd woken when she felt the blanket pull back over her shoulders, and a hand start to slide over them.
'Hey babe, didn't see you there. Mind if I join you?'
She turned, half opening her eyes to see who it was that was speaking to her. She managed to process an oval face with fairly normal makeup and the wild hair she'd already come to associate with these people, then noticed a look of surprise.
'Oh! I'm sorry.' Jackson Five said mildly. 'I thought you were... never mind. Go back to sleep.' wordlessly, Delilah turned back over and as she did, semi-noticed the blanket being pulled carefully back into place. Before closing her eyes again she caught an impression of five inch stiletto heels and a lot of PVC, silhouetted against the doorway. She wasn't sure whether or not she was dreaming.

'Hey there, 'Donna.' A husky alto breathed over Madonna's shoulder, as she sat on the edge of the upper half of the main gathering area. With her were a handful of other Bohemians, who'd happened to be there when Seal came in still slightly delirious with the good news of her daughter's safe arrival, and a couple of bottles of what was more or less vodka - brewed(in large quantities) in the recesses of the Heartbreak Hotel - being liberally passed around to celebrate the occasion.
'Hey there yourself, Miss Five.' she turned, then kissed her. Jackson Five affectionately slid one arm around her neck.
'So, what's the party for, and who's that in your bed?'
'Delilah.' Lulu grinned from across the circle, answering both questions.
'Seal's kid?' she looked around at everyone's slightly drunk nods in surprise. 'Seriously?' he nodded with a grin.
'The very same.'
'Thought she looked familiar.' She sat down next to Madonna, reaching for the bottle that was readily passed over to her. 'You know, Madonna,' she said conspiritorily 'You're far too generous with who you let into your bed.'
'Yeah, but it's why you love me.'
'True.'
'She's the first of her kind.' A solemn voice from within a sheaf of dreadlocks announced, interrupting what could have become a fairly steamy scene.
'She is, as well.' Cliff chirped, and resettled into Aretha's lap. 'And we found her.'
'Yeah, well done.'
'Where is she now?' A deceptively cute looking girl in ripped jeans and a tutu asked.
'Asleep, Donny.' Madonna answered. 'Big Macca's gonna introduce her to everyone tomorrow.'

Fast forward a few hours, a few bottles, a few drunk kisses and a few drunk rather-more-than-kisses. Well, any excuse.

'SCRRRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRG-G-G-G-ACKACKACH Testing, testing...' Throughout what used to be Tottenham Court Road underground station, disgruntled, hungover, interrupted or rudely awakened Bohemians turned towards their nearest speaker of the recently resurrected station PA in expectation of whatever message Big Macca wished to impart.
'Hhhcould chhheveryone, like, chgo zto the main platzform coszz I've, like, got someone I need zto introzduce you zto sszo you don't, like, think shhhe'sza zstranger or anything likethat cos she'szz new and acztually a very zspecial persson and I wouldn'tz wantz anyone to think she's trying to attzack us or anyzsthing like that zso yeah, all pleasze asszemble in the hall in zten minutesssssszzzzzzzzzzCHCHCHCHCHHHHHHG-G-G-G-G-GGREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEHGGGNNNNNK.'

Big Macca turned proudly to Delilah, hanging up the ancient microphone. 'Got that working last week, me and Geo. All the wires still there, only rusted all the way through in a few places, Geo got that sorted somehow and it works like new now.' he patted the wall beside the microphone where, presumably, the wires ran.
'It's his new toy.' Seal explained.
'It is not! It is a very useful and vital peice of equipment, and it is not to be abused my myself or any other persons trusted with its use!'
'Paul, you sent thirty seven messages over the thing in one day.'
'It had to be tested.' he muttered, pinkening slightly in embarrassement. 'And some of those were really important!'
'One of them was you asking Barbie where your socks were.'
'Yeah, well, you know it's right, really important to, um, not let your feet get, like, cold.'
'Of course.' Seal said mildly, taking pity on him by changing the subject. 'Why don't we go and see who's turned up?' Big Macca's face lit up as this idea entered his brain almost unhindered.
'Yeah! Can't have people, like, not knowing what's going on.'
'Exactly.'

They went into the old platform, now converted into a low-ceilinged, round walled hall, and waited. Big Macca, being the gentleman that he was, dragged an empty metal drum across and gestured Delilah to sit down. First to saunter into the area was Bob, resplendsant in his purple robes and metallic red trousers. He nodded silently to Big Macca, then took up what was apparently his usual position leaning against a doorframe, which would later - when the space was full - prove to have an excellent view of the cleared floor the Bohemian leader made his announcements and speeches from. Gradually, other Bohemians, some wary, some interested, some just rather bleary-eyed, joined them. Almost last to enter were Britney, and a very intense looking young woman in fishnet stockings, frayed hotpants, a red leather corset and multicoloured dreadlocks. Her general appearance suggested that she was the ultimate Bohemian, and a force to be reckoned with. Delilah found herself rather nervous in her presence, especially as she didn't look happy. Of course, there was no way she could know that this was almost purely because she hadn't had any coffee for a few days. It was getting increasingly hard to obtain, like a lot of other foods these days. The hydroponics were providing enough of the staples to live off, and some of those more in touch with nature actually hunted for meat, but caffeine had to be scavenged and there just wasn't enough of it around, dammit!
Delilah relaxed a little when she saw Brit hug her, and she respond. She smiled at something he whispered in her ear, whispered something back and then kissed him. Reassuringly human.

'That's Meatloaf.' Seal bent down and told Delilah. 'And over there, that's Geo - in the hat - he's our resident technician, he can make almost anything work. You know Cliff, and you met Prince last night but I don't think you were properly introduced -'
'Is everybody here?' Big Macca shouted over the crowd. 'I SAID, is every-'
'All here, Big Macca.' Lulu replied.
'Ah. Good.' He caught himself mid-bellow, having got all attention, except from one girl in the corner who looked about fifteen and bearing some sort of grievance.
'Well I dewnt see why he's allowed to boss uz ar-' Donny Osmond elbowed her in the ribs.
'Ow! What was that for? I didn't do anything to yew- oh, right.'
'Y'with us, Robbie? Right. Good. Well, some of you already know that we've got ourselves a new member here. Everyone, please allow me to introduce you to Delilah.' He paused for a few seconds to give them the time he knew he would have needed to catch up. They waited patiently for him to continue. 'Now, some of you might already know that she's, like, Seal's daughter, and so we're very lucky that she's found us, and I suppose she's very lucky too. Right! So, if you want to introduce yourselves, please feel free to do so after the, um, meeting cos we've got to go over the rules of the Heartbreak Hotel and y'know, general guidelines to Bohemia. It won't do anyone any harm to hear them again, cos I've noticed that people have been swapping jobs on the rotas without telling me and it may seem like nothing to you, but it's little things that build up to create, like, confusion...'

Delilah took the speech as an opportunity to study the sea of faces around her. She couldn't help the current situation reminding her uncannily of a school assembly. She noticed that although Paul McCartney - or Big Macca, as everyone called him - had proved himself to be a bit of a bumbling numbskull, they all listened with respect to what he had to say. He seemed to be like a father figure to them, or a priest - and they his congregation. Perhaps he was a mix of the two. They all looked so different, not only to what Delilah knew, but also to each other. It was a big concept, and a hard one to get a grip on, that there was no set way to rebel against the government set fashions and lifestyle. Fishnet did not appear to be obligatory, neither did leather or metal studs, though they were popular. Some of the Bohemians had their hair exquisitely and obviously painstakingly styled, others just let it be the way it wanted to. Aretha had the most 'normal' style, plain bobbed hair. She also had the second most normal style, a long thick plait, and the third, an even longer thin plait. Then she had six almost Mohican spikes, five around the base of one main one. Delilah couldn't work out where all that hair came from. She guessed it must be mostly extensions.
Then there was everybody's makeup. No, face paint. No, it was somewhere in between - obviously applied with great skill, as makeup, but the designs were so bold and huge that they were more like kid's face paint, stars and flowers and huge blocks of colour everywhere.
'...make sure you clear up after yourself, and basically do as you would be done by. Does anyone have any questions, then?'
A few hands went up, amid a general noise of too many people trying to make themselves heard at once.
'People, please!' Big Macca barked. 'One at a time!' he turned at random to the cheeky fairy sitting on Cliff's lap. 'Donny?'
'Um, yeah. What did you do?' she asked, looking straight past Big Macca to Delilah. He was mildly miffed by this. As the authoritive figure in this instance, all communications should be run past him first, especially if they had been allowed specifically by him. Donny hadn't even looked at him. He let it pass though, making a mental note to mention it to her at a later point.
'What do you mean?' Delilah asked cautiously.
'To get down here. Why'd you have to run away?'
'Oh, right. I - oh, bloody hell. I -' created? invented? made? verbs jostled around in her mind, trying to fit into the gap she needed to fill in her sentence. '- programmed, I guess, a song.' a Mexican wave of understanding glances swept across the room, with many muttered 'Ah, me too.' and 'So did I's.
'So were you caught, or did you just run away?' someone said from the back. Delilah's face went blank for a few seconds as she recalled coming home to the police, to running and running and not daring to stop until she dropped from exhaustion. Her father had turned her in. Her own father.
'Betrayed.' she whispered, then cleared her throat. 'I was betrayed.'
'Oh, aye. We all know how that one feels.' for the first time, the young woman cradled in Britney's lap spoke.
An uncomfortable silence settled, as memories, private and shared, evoked in each of the Bohemians. They seemed to be affected to different degrees. Whilst some of them let a shadow of recollection cross their faces before being obviously glad that it was over, others were dwelling. Delilah bit her lip nervously, realising uncomfortably that it was because of her. She looked over to those she knew for reassurance, and was alarmed to see Cliff in Aretha's arms, staring blankly ahead, shaking slightly and seemingly unresponsive. She was whispering to him, gently repeating his name over and over again, trying to draw him back from the past into the present. He was re-living the moment he had wandered into a flying squad of Secret Police and been unable to give a suitable excuse for his presence there, in the forbidden wastelands. The terror, the paralyzing shock and horror of the encounter was with him there, across his face and in his trembling body. Delilah's eyes flickered anxiously from the scene, hoping that someone else had noticed and would do something. To her relief, almost everyone else had their eyes, concerned but not especially worried, on the pair. Paul McCartney's face was composed, said 'hey, don't worry, this happens all the time', but his eyes were close to panic. This did happen all the time. And he had no idea how to deal with it.
A throat cleared behind her. Delilah saw the raw gratitude flicker across the Bohemian leader's face as Bob the Builder spoke.
'Erm, Big Macca, if we're more or less done here, can I go? Only I've got to get back to the-'
'Yes, yes of course.' Big Macca was once again the trouble-free, all-knowing, competant leader that he had to be in front of his people. 'Anyone who wants to go can, of course, we're pretty much wrapped up here, right? I know there's - erm - things - that need doing, so yeah, 'course, if you want to stay around and make your acquaintances a bit better, go for it, sure, but please make sure that if you've got something that needs doing... well, you know, do it...'
The room came alive with people in a rush to get up and out, talking, chattering, complaining about the lack of sensation in their legs and generally bustling. Delilah stayed where she was, unsure of where to go even if she did move. Though the crowd seemed to be giving the impression that all was well, Cliff was still more or less foetal in Aretha's arms, but at least he seemed to be aware of where he was now. She saw Aretha ask him a question, and him slightly nod his head. Another, and it was just about perceptible that he shook it.
'Right!' Madonna stepped into her line of vision. 'Now you're all introduced, let's get you sorted out!'
'Huh?' Delilah asked vaguely, not at all sure what she'd meant.
'Well, for a start you need a new-'
'Is he gonna be ok?' Madonna looked round, then turned back.
'He will be.' she replied quietly. 'He's got Aretha looking after him.'
'I didn't mean to do that.'
'Course not. But Cliff, y'know - well, he's got issues. He needs to get them out of his system sooner or later. Now, you -' she changed subject brightly, taking an authorative tone '- we need to get you kitted out properly if you're gonna be living with us.'
'What, you mean like get a new outfit and stuff?'
'Yep. And I'll do ya hair, if you like.'
'Yeah, thanks. This is heavy.' Delilah indicated the thick, stiffly displayed ponytail on top of her head. It was a little more droopy than it had been before, not being designed to be waterproof. She'd had a shower almost as soon as she had woken up that morning, and had been surprised at how effective, if not sophisticated, the Bohemian washing facilities were. The shower arrangement was obviously bits and peices that had been gleaned from various scavenging trips and stuck together by someone who had a very clear idea of what they wanted to do, but not really how they were going to go about it. It seemed a bit like the assembly of a flat-pack set of shelves with the Swedish instructions and that little triangular Alan key,the one that you can't actually get anywhere else, missing. Still, the device that had emerged made very good use of a bucket of warm-ish water, and it got the person underneath it clean, and that was all that really mattered.
Madonna first steered Delilah over to the communal wardrobe, explaining as she did,
'Now, you can't actually claim anything in here as your own except underwear, cos sharing that's icky, everything else belongs to everyone. You'll probably see Geo wearing one of Meat's belts over the next few days, and I've got my own eyes on that corset. Prince made me promise that he could have this jacket next but I don't think it'll fit him, he's got broader shoulders than me and it only just fits me, really. Anyway, this is it.' She opened a door that led between the the gathering area and Aladdin's cave. There was cloth of every colour and texture everywhere, ranging from some highly impractical looking gauzy things to rubber catsuits, to thick leather jackets. There were garments to cater for every occaision Delilah knew of, and then some she didn't. Despite the initial impression of confusion, it was actually very organised. Tops had one corner, and were then arranged by size and thickness, trousers and shorts sat heaped next to each other a short distance away. Belts hung on poles suspended from the sloping ceiling with handcuffs. Anything bondange was organised similarly but seperately, bustieres looming smugly over their non-cupped brethren, PVC and zip creations lying in piles on the floor.
'Find something your size, and if you find something you fall in love with that isn't your size, Lulu'll probably fix it up for ya. Seen his coat?'
Delilah nodded dumbly. She'd never seen so many different fashions in one place and at one time.
'He sewed all the leopard patches on. He's a genius with a needle.'
'Uh huh... can I really wear any of this?'
'Any and all. Not at the same time, of course, that'd be silly, but yeah. Any of it. It's all clean, by the way. Nothing gets in here without being washed first.'
Delilah stood and stared for a moment at the mountains of possibility in front of her. Where could she even begin to pick out just one outfit?

It took her the better part of an hour, but eventually she settled(from the feet upwards) on a battered pair of blue Dr Martens, dark grey UFO parachute pants(she relished the freedom of movement, and the way they didn't cling to legs or try to show them off), and a belt consisting of metal scales on a length of thick black elastic with a long fringe of tassel - sewn on painstakingly, she was assured, by Lulu - which fastened with a hook. For her upper body she found a pair of luminous green carpnet(she had called them fishnet initially, then discovered that the holes were too large for that name) tights that had been converted by someone before her into a top. These she made decent by covering them with a sports bra-type affair in black, with a large pair of red lips emblazoned on the front, and a pattern of miniatures of the same design on the back. There was a bright blue glitter-coated studded collar that she found simply adorable and had to have hugging her neck. She had been sorely tempted by a similar pink one with lace glued on over the glitter, but the blue had won her over.
'Is there anywhere I can get changed?' she asked with arms overflowing.
'Just in here, no need to be shy. I won't look.'
With a small shrug, Delilah waited for Madonna to turn around and stripped down to underwear. She'd just pulled on the UFOs, and noted that she'd actually need the belt for more than decoration - they were huge - when the door flew open and Geo strode in, pulling a soaked shirt off. He nodded to her. She cringed and did her best to cover herself, ashamed to be caught in a bra despite the many times she'd worn nothing more than a bikini back up on the surface. Madonna rescued her.
'Geo darling, fuck off. Delilah's getting changed.'
'But Cliff just chucked half a bottle over me! Why can't we both... oh yeah, new girl.' he grinned a little sheepishly. 'Sorry.' With relief, Delilah watched him leaving the room, grateful that she'd covered herself in time. The relief was short-lived. 'Nice tits there, though.'
'Geo...' Madonna warned, and the door swung shut after him.
'Oh - my god.'
'What? Geo?'
'He just said I - I - I can't even say it.' Madonna cracked a grin.
'You'll get used to it. Get your top on, and I don't say that often. Gotta get your hair cut yet.'
Back in the gathering area, Delilah sat on the edge of the platform, Madonna kneeling behind her. Just as she was about to make the first cut, though, Prince made his presence known. He could never come into a space without announcing his arrival in some way or another and sometimes didn't even realise he was doing it.
'How ye doing, Delilah?' the stocky Scotsman jumped down onto the boards her feet were resting on, making them jolt under his sudden weight. 'Settlin' in ok? My god, you've got gorgeous legs. Wannae shag?'
'What?' she shrieked, blushing at the unexpected and overt question.
'Leave her alone, Prince.' Madonna laughed. 'Don't mind him, he'll try his luck with anything on two legs.'
'And mighty fine legs they are, too.'
'Well, thanks but-' Delilah muttered, embarrassed.
'Prince, I think the answer's no. Now go away, I'm trying to do her hair.'
'Ach, 'sa shame. Still - I'll be aroond if ye change y'mind.' he jumped up onto the platform, and his voice changed to serious. 'It's guid tae have ye here, Delilah. Ah dinnae think I've ever seen ye mother so happy.' He backed away with his hands up as Madonna shooed him off with the scissors. Delilah stared after him for a while before turning back, asking-
'Is he always like that?'
'Nah, not always. Sometimes he's worse. He's a randy little bugger, but he means well. Now -' she brandished the scissors in one hand, holding up a hank of mostly synthetic hair in the other. '- ready to lose ya plastic?'
Delilah found herself holding her breath as she felt the long blades purr through her ponytail. What remained fell stiffly around her face, long at the front and shortening to the back and still trying to be the shape it had been glued into on the surface. Her eyes widened when she saw Madonna lay the amputated hair down next to her, and she realised that she'd never seen cut hair before.
'We'll keep that, if you don't mind.'
'Keep it? What for?'
'Extensions, of course.'
'Oh.' she replied, a little dumbfounded. 'Of course.' Aretha's coiffe came to mind. Of course they'd have to keep it if they wanted extensions. Where else could they get the hair?
Madonna was making smaller cuts, trimming the long bits back so it was a uniform length before they decided what to do with it.
'Tell you what doll, could you separate that lot into colours? Make life easier.' Madonna handed Delilah the rainbow streaked, blonde based mass that had once been attached to her head. She couldn't quite get over that, yet it was no more unnatural than filing her nails. Even when she'd had that dreadful red bob from waist-length white she'd never actually SEEN the removed hair. Madonna fussed a little more, neatening the overall shape. Delilah started picking out the coloured sections, and laid them out in a rainbow on her left thigh.
'Is the blonde natural, or are you the same colour as your mum?' It took Delilah a second to recall her original hair colour. It had gone through the entire spectrum over the past couple of years.
'Er, same colour, I think. The blonde's a grow-through. The, um, streaks are dyed...'
'Right, you wanna keep it like that?'
'Well I don't have much choice, do I...?' she trailed, looking round at Madonna, who was grinning at her naivety. As well as the grin she saw blue segments in her hair, which pretty much answered her question.
'It's not as efficient as the overland parlors, but yes, we have hair dye. I think you'd look good henna'd, if you just want a couple of days to see what it's like.'
'Is that a colour?'
'Kinda reddy brown.'
Delilah contemplated this for a while. It sounded like something she'd had before, a little. For a few weeks when she was fourteen the messy look had been in(though she'd been blonde), and for a while when she was sixteen the natural look had been in, and she'd had a colour that was labelled 'Burnt Toffee Volcano'(but it had been long), so the mental image was kinda there - she could mix and match it, given time.
'Prrrr-eeeaorwl?' a voice by her right knee offered. She looked down to see a large-boned black and white cat inspecting her, head slightly tilted to one side in curiosity. He gave the overall impression of wearing a dinner jacket that had once fit him snugly, but was now a size to large. He also had the air of an inspector who'd come across something unusual on his rounds.
'Hello, sweetheart! Come to join us?' Madonna replied.
'Hrrr.' she patted the ground firmly by Delilah's thigh, and possibly the most conversational cat Delilah would ever meet jumped up onto it.
'Say hello. This fine old gentleman here is Blackjack, just put out your hand - no, like this -' Madonna showed her, cupping her hand upwards for Blackjack's inspection.
'Make sure you're nice to him, he's her baby.' Seal said. A pink nose bespeckled with water droplets delicately sniffed Delilah's fingers, causing whiskers that would have won the International Facial Hair of the Year competition to vibrate. She looked at his asymmetrical face, with his salt-and-pepper whiskers and eyebrows. She took in his paws, one elbow-length white evening glove and one barely above the wrist. One ear had a white tuft of hair inside it. When he sat with his arms neatly together there was a clear white zig-zag across them where none should have been, trailing on from his bib. One foot stuck out to the side, and had an unevenly topped sock on it, his knees covered with thin white lines.
'My goodness, he's deformed.' she whispered, innate pity mingling with well-trained disgust. 'Wouldn't it have been kinder to put him down early?'
'What are you talking about?' Madonna asked, shocked. 'How's he deformed?'
'Look at him. He's white in all the wrong places.'
'That makes him deformed?'
'Well yes, of course.' The well trained phrase trotted out without her thinking. Of course this cat was deformed, he didn't have the right markings, and deformed creatures shouldn't be made to suffer by being alive. Everyone knew that.
'Not down here it doesn't.' Madonna said firmly. 'It doesn't affect him at all. I don't think he could care less if he was purple.'
'Sorry.'
'I don't suppose it's your fault what you've been told. My god, are they calling irregular markings deformities now? How... Ga Ga.'
Delilah shifted uncomfortably. She didn't like it when those two syllables were said around here, always spat out, the name of the enemy. The name of her lifestyle, her home, her friends, her whole world, until two nights ago. It made her feel guilty for who she'd always been.
Of course come to think of it, having slightly unusual fur could hardly hurt him, it was ridiculous to think so. Like it was ridiculous to think that people who liked to dress unfashionably were automatically dangerous, like she'd been told all her life.
Earnest golden eyes gazed up at her while surprisingly sharp claws kneaded at her thigh. He stopped at her yelp with a worried expression on his face.
'He just wants to know what you're doing.' Seal said, unconcerned. He was, indeed, looking animatedly at her hands, so she showed him one thin lock of purple hair. He sniffed it delicately and decided that it wasn't for eating, so sat down awkwardly and inspected his newest arrival. She hadn't smelt dangerous or, indeed, of any other cats. Just a bit soapy and confused, so he categorised her under 'harmless'. He squeezed his eyes shut slowly and opened them again in a level eye-to-eye stare, dismissed her and settled down by her leg.
'You've made a friend.' Madonna said approvingly. Delilah tentatively scratched at his ears and he leaned back into her hand with closed-eyed bliss.
Blackjack didn't act as was generally expected of him. This was because, as far as he was concerned, he was human. His overall happiness was not much affected by his inferiority complex, though. He had plenty of friends, with whom he conversed loudly and often. It didn't bother him that they didn't know what they were talking about or how to construct a proper sentence, because most of the time he didn't either. He sometimes wondered, though, why it was that they were all so abnormally tall.

The comfortable near-silence of scissors and cat purring was rudely ripped by a distant scream. Delilah jumped, nearly dropping all the hair and causing Blackjack to leap away from her, but the two older women seemed undisturbed. In fact, Madonna rolled her eyes.
'CLIFF!' she yelled. A few seconds later, a weak
'Yeah..?' floated back.
'We do not want to know what you and Geo are doing, so shut the flaming hell up!'
The answer to this bellow took a while, but was eventually a giggling
'Sorry...' which drifted to their ears. Madonna, Seal, Blackjack and Delilah sat in silence for a while, trimming millimetres off hair, sorting coloured strands into groups, sniffing ankles and stunned, respectively. After a while Seal shook her head.
'Men.'
'Boys.' came tutting Madonna's reply.
'Were they... Cliff and Geo... I mean... were they-' Delilah tentatively asked
'Yes.'
'Oh.' the memory of the sexually laden shriek held her. 'But... they're both boys. Aren't they?'
Madonna's hand flew to her mouth to stifle giggles, and Seal turned away from her daughter. She couldn't hide the fact that her shoulders were shaking.
'What?' Delilah asked, confused.
'We shouldn't be laughing.' Seal scolded Madonna. Madonna nodded, still laughing.
'No. No, we shouldn't.' She silenced herself, burst into a fresh bout of giggles but eventually composed herself. 'Delilah babes, Cliff's - oh, you know Cliff.'
'He's... gay?' the mists began to clear. There had been this boy in her class at cyberschool, always had different fashion to the other boys and hung around with Melanie's clique. He announced himself firmly as gay, and was even more up to date with the fashions than Kelly. Although come to think of it, she'd never seen him with another boy. That seemed to be the least important part of being 'gay'.
'As the sixties.'
'But what about Aretha?'
Seal shrugged.
'She's his girlfriend. His steady partner.'
'That doesn't make sense.' Delilah decided. Then she added, a little uncomfortably, 'To me.'
'You're learning.' Madonna said approvingly. 'Most things down here are a little different to how they are up in the cities, relationships included. You don't have to tie yourself to one person, likewise you don't have to swing around everyone.'
'Amen.' Seal smiled. 'I'd never be able to keep Paul away from the other girls. Hey, he wouldn't be able to keep me away from the boys.' Along with the embarrassment of hearing even the slightest mention of her mothers' sex life, Delilah felt a small flush of pride that the leader of the clan had chosen her to be his partner. A few images flittered through her mind of the past day and a half, Seal with Big Macca, Seal being groped by Prince, Seal wrapped around Britney. Britney, of course, with Meat, but the night before he'd been holding Madonna, who Jackson Five had mistaken her for. Prince... she didn't try to catalogue all the partners she'd seen him with.
'I think...' she sought something diplomatic to say. '...I think this is going to take some getting used to.'

The 'grow-through' dye was invented as a way to semi-permanently re-colour the hair so that the re-growth (any person who has ever bleached or dyed their hair will know the dreaded roots) doesn't appear as a sharp line that screams 'I haven't re-dyed my hair yet!'. It works by altering the genetics of the hair follicle, effectively dyeing it, so that it continues to grow the dyed colour. As each hair falls out, though, the replacement root is unaffected by the dye and grows back the original colour. The overall effect 'grows-through', similar to that of a person going grey.
Because of its more or less permanent nature, the grow-through is used mostly by the middle aged to old population, who are more likely to keep one style and colour for longer than a week at a time. It is generally not used by the GaGa kids on its own, but when the predicted fashions favour a particular colour over the next few style periods - for a base, for instance - it is used in conjunction with other, more temporary, dyes. back

(I know it's a dinky little update... please don't hurt me...)