A/N: Okay, my brain has officially been zapped; I think I've turned into a real Gaga the amount of useless Christmas TV that I've been watching. So hopefully you'll take that as a legit excuse as to a) why I haven't written in a very long time and b) why what I've managed to produce this evening isn't of any quality. Believe me, it was 2,000 words before I realised that I was literally just jotting down the most random, obscure and most un-connectable events possible and decided to edit it down to just this, you've gotten off lightly ^_^

Happy New Year!

Xx

"Atchoo!" a loud sneeze erupted from one of the small rooms of the Heartbreak Hotel, followed by a low grumble of a man in ill health. "Scaramouche?" the pathetic cry was barely audible from a metre away, let alone from where Scaramouche was currently residing. "Scar-atchoo!" Galileo Figaro swiped his sleeve underneath his red nose and sniffed loudly.

"Gazunti," Cliff lifted the torn curtain that hung across the doorway and poked his head through to see where the noise had come from.

"E'scuse me?" Galileo blinked up at Cliff from the nest he'd made in the array of blankets on the mattress.

"Gaz-un-ti," Cliff sounded it out and retracted his head from the room slowly, wary that he might be the colds next target.

"Untie wha'd?" the blocked nose seemed to be having an effect on Galileo's speech.

Cliff shrugged, "Don' know Gaz," he smiled dreamily as if he'd forgotten the question. "S'just something you say, I s'pose."

Galileo took his pillow and held it tightly over his throbbing head, "Cliff?" his muffled voice oozed self pity. "Can you get Scaramouche for me please?" he finished his sentence with an almighty cough, the force of it making Cliff leap backwards.

"Ye'Sir!" Cliff gave a half hearted salute and tottered off in the direction of where he'd last seen the bad arsed babe; the kitchen.

Jovi sat on the chipped worktop, her head resting against the wonky cupboards that had been fixed to the wall behind her. Between her legs stood Meat, her arms folded across her chest and a determined look upon her face as the young girl behind her tugged at her hair. Jovi's hands worked quickly as she held a section of hair between her fingers, twisting it and backcombing it between her index finger and thumb and every so often working what seemed to be wax into it from a small pot that sat next to her.

Scaramouche stood with her spine arched as she leant backwards onto the worktop, her elbows propping her up so that she could survey the scene in front of her. She watched Jovi working with fascination, craning her neck every now and then to get a better view.

"It's silly now I think about it, but I never actually realised you had to make dreads." She shrugged, "I think I just thought that to get them you just stopped brushing your hair for a while."

Meat chuckled, "Nah hen, that's how yeh get yeh hair to look as mess like Jovi's."

Jovi scowled and gave a meaningful tug on the piece of hair that she was currently working on. "Screw you, you're not supposed to brush curls, they frizz."

Meat snorted, "Yeh not supposed ta' brush curls when they're dry Jovi. Yeh don't just give up brushing yeh hair in general, 'spect there's all sorts caught up in your mop."

Scaramouche pointed a finger towards a ribbon that Jovi had plaited into a section of hair to the right of Meat's ear. "You're a fine one to talk!"

Cliff sidled round the doorway and grinned widely at Scaramouche, holding onto the doorframe protectively.

"I know that expression." Scaramouche raised an eyebrow at him. "What do you want?"

Cliff swung round the door frame and into the kitchen, holding his hands up defensively. "I don't want anything. It's the Dreamer, think he's been snorting something, there's an awful noise coming from his room and he asked me to come and fetch you."

Scaramouche groaned. "Bloody men, they can't just be like the rest of us and suffer with a cold quietly can they?" She rolled her eyes into the back of her head and pushed herself up from the work surface. "Cheers Cliff." As she left the kitchen Cliff made to follow her, turning round at the last second to point out concernedly;

"Meat, you've got something stuck in your hair."