Why Manchester is One of the Centers of Evil

Five in the morning is not the time to wake Rowen. Not if you want to live to see 5:01, at least. Cye made that mistake today.

"Wake up Rowen! We're going to the beach!" From the mound of pillows, blankets, flesh and bones on Rowen's bed out flew a pillow, smacking the door frame next to Cye's head and flopping to the floor. "Come on sleepyhead!" Cye jumped onto the mound.

"I'm gonna kill ya, pillow biter." Came a monotone voice from the depths of the cloths.

"Oh, come on." Cye giggled, reaching into the mound. He found a piece of flesh, a thigh maybe, and squeezed it tightly. The body underneath jerked away violently.

"Jesus Cye do ya know what ya just grabbed!"

"A thigh?" Innocence was in Cye's voice, but not his mind.

"Yeah, but ya were pretty damn high."

"High on yer thigh?" Rowen poked his head out. His hair looked like a five year old was his stylist and a whore was his makeup artist.

"Yes." Rowen replied flatly.

"Yer no-no spots?" There was a smirk on Cye's lips.

Rowen pouted, sticking his lower lip out. "Seriously. I'm gonna kill ya. Ya might as well start runnin' now."

Giggling at what he thought was mock anger, Cye replied as serious as he could (which wasn't really serious), "Kill me if you wish, but be warned, I might retaliate."

Rowen shook his head slowly. "I would say this is gonna hurt me more than it's gonna hurt ya, but I don't like to lie."

"Aw, mate--" Cye didn't get a chance to move as Rowen bolted out from under the blankets and tackled him in such a violent way that any linebacker who plays rugby on the side would be proud.

(Downstairs)

"Ryo?"

"Kento?"

"Do you hear those noises?"

"The ones that sound like a rapid massacre of chickens?"

"Yeah." Pause. "Or a 300 pound cat in heat."

Sage interjected. "Sounds more like tortoises fucking." Two confused pairs of eyes landed on him. "Well, it does. If you ever go to the Philadelphia Zoo, you will see what I mean. Gives a whole meaning to the term 'Brotherly Love'."

"Speaking of brotherly love, maybe we should stop Rowen from killing Cye?" Kento asked, a raised eyebrow directed to their leader.

"I warned Cye not to go wake Rowen up. The boy doesn't want to see the sunrise, especially if its on a beach."

The only sounds for a few minutes as the guys pondered Cye's fate were the indescribable screams/squeals/scowls that sounded almost British in origin. There was quite a few "bloody!"s, many "prat"s but the majority of the obscenities that drifted downward were words that shouldn't be said in mixed company. They would burn even the dirtiest ear clean of wax.

A few minutes later, Sage wrinkled his nose upward. "Honesty if they were going to go at it for more than a few minutes they could at least try and be respective and not scream so much."

(Upstairs)

Cye managed to squeeze out of Rowen's head lock and before the blue haired boy could gather his wits and make the next pounce the Brit was outta dodge. Rowen smirked to himself, and buried himself back under his mound, wondering how long it would take for the others to come up. Maybe once they saw the bite marks on Cye's back. Or the scratches on his neck. Or the indian burns he gave.

His personal favorite moment had been when Cye squealed something about getting Rowen in trouble for sexual harassment. And, as Rowen had the other boy pinned down with knees on thighs and hands on wrists, he whispered back that the proper term was 'sexual molestation'. It was deliciously sinful biting the hand that feeds.

Rowen tried to close his eyes and drift back into sleep. Unfortunately he was just awake enough that sleep wouldn't come but too tired to be awake (if you've ever been in that situation, is it dreadfully awful). Oh, he would make sure they feel the wrath of Lack of Sleep Rowen Tornado today.

A little known fact is that Rowen would eventually become high enough in the hierarchy of politics to declare war against the Brits for creating Cye and ruining this particular night's sleep. The notion stuck that there was something off kilter with the Britons and that is why people have come to understand over the years that Manchester is the work of the devil.