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| Daughter of the Year; Ze Sequel to Father of the Year | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: December 14, 2007, 12:15 am (11,144 Views) | |
| Verity | January 31, 2008, 9:17 pm Post #271 |
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The Story Girl
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Vanessa- I'd sure say that he does. Shayi- I like it that you called my story a "fucker." That made me very happy. Chapter Seventy-Eight “Denmark!” Cliff squealed. “Are you out of your fucking mind? In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not from around here. I don’t know how to get to fucking Denmark!” “Well it’s really easy,” the police dude prattled. “And you’d get quite the tour of Europe. You’d drive through France, Belgium, the Netherlands, Germany-” “I’ve already seen all of that shit!” Cliff snapped. “Look,” he went on. “I’ll do anything to find my daughter, even grovel and beg at Claudia’s feet. Just give me proper directions so that I can find the fucking place.” “Whoa,” said Evan, breaking in. “Denmark is at the very least a twelve hour drive from here. It’s not a little jaunt down the street. That’s an awfully long way for someone to travel alone.” “I’m quite capable,” Cliff snarled. “I can find Denmark. I just need to borrow your car.” “You can’t borrow my car!” Evan shrieked. “I just bought that car two months ago! And I need it so that I can look for Cecily around here.” “Well then,” screeched an irritable Cliff. “Just what the fuck am I supposed to do? I couldn’t take my car with me on the airplane from the United States! Shall I hitchhike all the way to fucking Denmark?” “Take Emily’s car,” Evan shrugged. “It gets decent gas mileage.” “Oh no!” Emily yelped. She flew into the room from where she had been hovering by the doorway. “I absolutely refuse to let that man even touch my car!” she shouted. “Why not?” asked Evan. “Have you ever seen Cliff drive?” Emily shot. “Oh shut the fuck up!” Cliff growled at her. “She does have a point,” said the police dude. “You did say that you have a bench warrant out for speeding tickets in at least two U.S. states.” “Cliff can barely drive his own car,” said Emily. “Can you imagine him driving my car, with the steering wheel on the other side from what he’s used to?” “I’ll get used to it,” Cliff shrugged. He scowled at her. “You’re the wonderful driver who couldn’t seem to ever back out of our driveway at home without running into the garbage cans.” “That’s because you should have put them back in the garage after the garbage man came!” Emily snarled. “You used to let them sit by the driveway for days.” “Were you crippled Emily?” shot Cliff. “You couldn’t have put the empty garbage cans back in the fucking garage yourself?” “Guys!” cut in Cheyenne. “Squabbling over garbage cans is not going to help us find Cecily.” “The lady is right,” said the police dude. “Though,” he went on as he turned to Cliff. “You can get ticketed for leaving your empty garbage cans near the street overnight.” “Fuck you!” Cliff quipped as he lit up another cigarette. “That man is not driving my car,” ranted Emily, eyes blazing with hatred at Cliff. “I’ll do it. I’ll drive to Denmark myself. I’m perfectly capable.” “Emily,” said Evan. “You’re not driving twelve hours there and back to Denmark. That much driving is enough to make anyone insane.” “I’ll book a flight,” suggested Emily. “That’s a good idea,” nodded the police dude. “Flying in would be much quicker. But what if Cecily didn’t run away to her mother’s? What if her mother kidnapped Cecily because she wanted her back? She might be holding Cecily at ransom. The legal guardian should come along just in case.” Cliff, Emily, Cheyenne, and Evan all again stared at the police dude. “You’ve been reading too many true crime novels,” Evan declared. “I really don’t think Claudia is holding Cecily for ransom.” “You said that she wrote Cecily looking for money,” pointed out the police dude. “Yeah but Claudia could never give her daughter the time of day,” said Cliff. “Cecily could have needed a kidney or something, and that fucking whore bitch would have let her die. She has no desire in the least to see or be somewhat of a mother to Cecily. She’s not going to kidnap her back.” “Suit your self,” shrugged the police dude. “It was only a suggestion. I still think that the guardian should be the one who goes and sees the mother.” “Fine,” said Cliff. “I’ll go.” “But I don’t think that he should go alone,” the police dude rambled on, giving Cheyenne that “I want to go to bed with you look.” He continued “When dealing with crazy people, it’s always best to have another person there to act as a witness. You never know. Claudia might get crazy and decide to claim that Mr. Burton tried to be fresh with her, in order to get Cecily back.” “I for once agree with Fitz-fuck-face,” said Cliff. “You have been reading too many crime novels.” “I’m just telling it how it is,” replied the police dude. “It’s always best to have a witness. Since Emily was somewhat of a mother figure to the girl she should accompany Mr. Burton to Denmark. That way if Cecily is at her Mum’s you two have a better chance of convincing her to come home with you.” “I’m not traveling all the way to Denmark with that man!” shouted Emily. “I refuse! Evan can go with Cliff.” “I’d like to Dearest,” returned Evan. “But I’m in charge of Cecily’s search party here in London. We have a huge day tomorrow.” “You’re such a petty ass wipe Emily,” Cliff snickered. “You can’t set aside our differences for one fucking day just for our daughter who’s gone missing?” Emily looked down at the rug that was strewn over the floor, her eyes getting lost in the pattern that was of ivy and leaves. Cliff had said our daughter. It was nice to hear him admit that Cecily was a product of both of their efforts, instead of just his daughter all of the time. “Fine,” she nodded. “I’ll go see about getting us the plane tickets for the first flight that leaves tomorrow morning.” With a huffy sigh, she flounced out of the room without giving Cliff another look. The police dude smiled. In all honesty besides Cliff, it didn’t really matter who the fuck accompanied him to Denmark just as long as someone went along. However he was afraid that the hot Cheyenne chick would wind up going with Cliff. Now he had all of tomorrow with her all to himself, and Cliff out of the country. “We better get the fuck out of here,” Cliff said to Cheyenne. “We’re going to have an early day tomorrow. We need to find a hotel room.” Cheyenne nodded. She took one last finger sandwich and then got up from the sofa. “I can drive you two,” Evan offered. Cliff was about to say no. He didn’t want to take any handouts from Evan Fitz-nutcracker but he didn’t have any British pounds yet. It was too late to get any American money exchanged, and his credit card was already maxed out between the two spur of the moment plane tickets, a bunch of crap for Clarisse that was still on there, and he still needed to get the hotel room and his plane ticket to Denmark tomorrow. Having Evan drive them would save money. He followed Evan out to his Audi. To his annoyance, Evan had opened the passenger door for Cheyenne, meaning that Cliff had been banished to the backseat, which was overflowing with various lawyer papers and briefs. Oh well. Cliff was too tired to do anymore bitching. He slumped down amongst all of the papers and lit himself a cigarette. “I prefer that you don’t smoke in my vehicle,” Evan commanded from the driver’s seat. He frowned at Cliff in the rearview mirror. “I like your car Evan,” gushed Cheyenne. “It’s so English.” “It’s German actually,” replied Evan. “I hope that we find Cecily soon,” said Cheyenne as she looked out the window at the nighttime London landscape. “She seems like such a sweet little girl.” “She’s a doll,” said Evan. “You can’t help but love her.” It was weird to Cliff to hear some other dude commenting about his daughter. He didn’t like it either. In Cliff’s fucked up mind, it was Evan and his stupid trip to Switzerland that had got them into this whole mess. Evan pulled up in front of the Four Seasons. “This is where Kirk is staying,” he said. “Wow!” breathed Cheyenne. “I’ve never stayed at a hotel so grand, and it even has Kirk Hammett too! Oh Cliffy isn’t that the most wonderful thing that you’ve ever heard? Kirk Hammett himself is inside that building!” “Remember Cheyenne,” said Cliff flatly as he looked up at the hotel. “I’ve had to clean up the bed sheets after Hamster pissed the bed after one too many beers right before bed. I’m not so enthralled with him.” “Let’s go find his room,” said Cheyenne excitedly. Fuck the fact that they were staying at a five star hotel. She just wanted to see Kirk again. She ran along ahead of them and disappeared through the revolving door, into the lobby. Cliff was about to say that he couldn’t afford the Four Seasons. He had no idea how long he would be in London. He could afford the Four Seasons for maybe a couple of nights, but if he ended up being in London for a week of two he’d go broke, especially since he now had school tuition, and all of these airline bills to pay off from their spur of the moment journey. Cliff had made a very comfortable living, but he wasn’t filthy rich like Kirk Hammett now was. He couldn’t throw money away without batting an eyelash. However, he didn’t want to say that in front of Evan. He supposed they could stay there for one or two nights. He was tired, and didn’t want to have to deal with finding another hotel that night anyway. He began to reach for his and Cheyenne’s luggage, but Evan grabbed his arm. “I just want to tell you,” he said in a very serious tone. “Tomorrow while you’re with Emily don’t you dare make her cry, and if you pull or even try to pull any bullshit with her I swear to God, mark my words, you will pay for it…” |
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| Shayi | February 1, 2008, 5:28 am Post #272 |
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Bring me that horizon
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*G* I'm glad you took it the right way me calling it a fucker - I realised about an hour later that that could have been misconstrued. But then, you know I love it so eh it's cool My lordy, drama drama drama! I laughed like a damn fool when Evan told the policeman that he's been reading too many true crime novels - that was just too funny Mind you, listening to the policeman coming up with all of those somewhat madcap theories for where Cecily had gone was so funny too I do love the dialogue scenes that involve the combo of Evan, Cliff and the policeman. If there was a prize for such things - you would have it hands down. *G* I loved the idea of them discussing driving to Denmark - it reminded me of an episode of Top Gear where one of the guys drove to Norway, and the others took boats Fun stuff. “I’m quite capable,” Cliff snarled. “I can find Denmark. I just need to borrow your car.” That line was absolutely damned hilarious! I wonder if he really could? I know I couldn't - my navigational skills are absolutely zero So - Emily is off on a crazy jaunt with Cliff, and Evan is left with Cheyenne... now if only she could get over her Metallica obsession... then Evan would be in luck I feel. Yet another amazing and superb chapter, the story is zooming along at a fine rate of knots, and is so gripping. Every time I get to the end of a chapter I just want more of it! |
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| Battery | February 1, 2008, 6:49 am Post #273 |
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Some Kind Of Monster
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“Your little friend Kirk Hammett loved them when he was here earlier. He seemed to like the smoked salmon on pumpernickel.” “That’s because he is a pumpernickel,” Cliff quipped sullenly." that made ma laugh, from now on every time I'll eat pumpernickel I'll call it Kirk :horns2 I loved the meeting of Cliff and Emily and I loved how Cliff was observing her and Evan through the window and thinking that she looked absolutely beautiful Too bad they immediately had to argue .... But now when they are going to go to Denmark together... I wonder what will happen! And if it'll happen at all, since they arrived to Four Seasons where Cecily is hiding... I'm extremely curious what will come up from all this! And the horny police dude was hilarious I totally loved those chapters!!!
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| Lucifer's Angel | February 1, 2008, 10:06 am Post #274 |
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Heavy Metal Seanchai
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Now the shit's really going to hit the fan. I hope Cliff doesn't explode at Cecily and Kirk when they find out she's in London And Cliff and Emily together
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| Verity | February 1, 2008, 11:48 am Post #275 |
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The Story Girl
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Maggie- I am thrilled that whenever you eat pumpernickel you will always think of Kirk. Me too. Shayi- Fucker is a fantastic word. My favorite actually. Vanessa- I think the shit will hit the fan soon. I have to figure out how to write that part. Chapter Seventy-Nine Kirk Hammett banged on the door of Cecily’s hotel room suite very early the next morning, around eight o’clock (well for Verity that’s early). “Cecily!” he hissed as he knocked on the door. “Open up! Cthulhu!” he exclaimed, saying their secret codeword. Nothing came from Cecily’s room, not even a stir. “Cthulhu!” Kirk tried again. “Cess, I need to talk to you, and I brought you breakfast.” Nothing. Kirk began to worry. He knew that Cecily had fainting problems. She had fainted once during a Metallica recording session, only a couple of weeks before Cliff had left the band. She had actually been standing there chattering away to him about The Legend of Deirdre of all things when all of a sudden splat! She was passed out on the floor, her mop of hair springing out in many different directions. Her body had been as limp as a rag doll’s and it took a half hour for her to regain consciousness. What if that had happened now? What if Cecily was lying inside the hotel suite passed out? Fortunately, Kirk did have a key to Cecily’s room. He unlocked the door and let himself inside. “Cecily!” he called again. She didn’t seem to be in the sitting room, so he climbed the spiral staircase to look for her in the bedroom. “Cecily!” he squawked as he made his way over to the bed. He could just see a few wisps of Cecily’s curls sticking up from under the covers. He ripped off her blanket and began to smack her with a pillow. “Wake up Cecily!” he demanded. “Oh Mr. Kirk,” Cecily groaned as she rolled over. “It’s early. Let me go back to bed!” “We have to have another little fireside chat,” returned Kirk. “Why so early?’ Cecily quipped as she rubbed her eyes and yawned. “I was in the middle of the most ravishingly marvelous dream.” “Let me guess,” Kirk sighed. “You were the Lady of Shalott.” “No,” answered Cecily. “I was Scarlett O’Hara and I was just about to process down the front steps of Tara when-” “That’s enough Cecily!” Kirk interrupted. “I don’t know where you come up with this shit. I know for a fact that there isn’t any weed in this room. I brought you some breakfast though.” He handed her a paper sack that contained two currant scones with some blackberry jelly, along with a Styrofoam cup of coffee. He watched as Cecily neatly spread jelly on her scone. “I want a Scarlett O’Hara dress,” she chattered. “Do you think that after I’m found Daddy will buy one for me?” “Actually Cecily,” said Kirk. “Your daddy is probably going to warm your ass.” Cecily frowned as she took a long sip of coffee devouring the divine liquid, God’s blood, the nectar of champions. “I don’t know how you can drink that shit straight like that,” Kirk observed as he watched her. “Don’t you want a little bit of cream or sugar in that?” Cecily shook her head. “You are definitely Cliff’s daughter,” Kirk mused, shaking his head. “Speaking of which, things have certainly gotten out of control.” “Is my daddy in London yet?” Cecily asked, brightening at the mention of Cliff. “Oh yes,” Kirk nodded. “And he came in last night with a bang, literally. He banged on my door at one in the morning disrupting me and Akane again. You Burtons do have a habit of that.” “Yeah,” said Cecily as she licked jelly off of her fingers. “I’m sorry.” “He’s staying at the Four Seasons Cess,” Kirk went on. “What!” Cecily shrieked. “My Daddy is staying here? He’s in this very building?” Kirk nodded. “So it’s absolutely vital that you stay put in your room Cecily. I don’t care how bored you get. You must stay here. You can’t go down to the pool, or to the shops. You could run into him in the elevator, and then our plan would be ruined.” “What if there’s a fire?” Cecily asked. “Then can I leave the room?” “Of course Cecily,” Kirk replied, rolling his eyes. “Now we have to be serious. Your dad and Emily are going to go see Claudia today.” Cecily nearly spat out her coffee. “What the fuck are they going to see her for?” she asked, frowning. “The police think that you might have run away to go find her,” Kirk explained. “That’s asinine!” Cecily gasped. “That’s some extreme bullshit! I hate Claudia!” “You wrote a letter saying that you wanted to go see her,” Kirk pointed out. “Emily told me all about it. You even offered to meet her halfway between England and Denmark.” “I did,” Cecily sighed. “I shouldn’t have. It was the stupidest thing that I’ve ever done. I only said that because at the time I was so mad at my dad. I never want to see Claudia again, not ever.” “You shouldn’t have written something that you didn’t mean,” Kirk scolded, though he did feel sorry for her. “Anyway,” he continued. “Your dad and Emily are going alone to see your mom so maybe some romantic sparks will fly between the two of them.” “Going to see Claudia isn’t exactly my idea of a romantic date,” said Cecily. “This whole plan is going worse than I could ever have imagined,” she sighed. “Claudia will think that Cliff hasn’t been very good to me because I’m missing, but he really didn’t have anything to do with it. She already hates him as it is. Now she’ll really think poorly of him.” “Nah,” Kirk reassured her as he glanced in a mirror and fluffed up one of his curls. “Cliff did a better job raising you and she knows it. What she will think is, what loving parents you have to track her down, and go all the way to Denmark just to try and find you.” *** Cliff got off of the bus and made his way through the busy and jumping airport. Emily had booked them on an eight-thirty flight to Copenhagen, and then from there they would rent a car and drive two hours to Odense. It seemed like a lot of fucking bullshit to go through when more than likely, Cecily wasn’t going to be with Claudia. Cliff couldn’t believe that Cecily would run away to that loathed, disgusting, nasty, bitch whore, who had been a very sorry excuse for a mother. However, he would do anything to try and find her. He made his way into the airport and got his ticket. All that Emily had done was tell him what their flight number was, and that was about it. It had been up to Cliff to catch a shuttle and get himself to the airport, and find his gate. At the gate he found Emily sitting by herself clutching a cup of tea. She wore jeans and that damned leather jacket. Her hair was still wet from her shower, but Cliff knew that it was going to dry long and curly, just the way that he liked it. “Good morning Pussy Cat,” he said facetiously as he made his way over to her. He plopped down in the chair that was right next to her. “Shut the fuck up Cliff,” Emily snarled, without even looking at him. “Damn,” Cliff mused. “Someone is sure bitchy today. Either you’re on the rag, or that little rat dog of yours bit the inside of your snatch.” “It’s neither,” retorted Emily, finally turning to look at him. “It’s from having to spend an entire day with you. That’s what my problem is.” “It’s not like it was my fucking idea,” Cliff muttered as he slumped down in his chair. “I don’t even know why the fuck you’re going anyway. You got nothing to do with Cecily.” “Cecily happens to be my very best friend and maid of honor,” Emily retorted. “She’s the most important person in my life.” “Oh yeah?” Cliff snorted. “If she’s so fucking important, how come you lost her?” “I DIDN’T FUCKING LOSE HER!” Emily screeched at the top of her lungs, while jumping out of her chair. Travelers all whirled around to gasp and gawk at the scene. “Sit down,” Cliff hissed at her. “You’re causing a scene Emily!” “No Cliff!” Emily snarled. “You’re causing the scene! You’re causing the scene because you’re being a giant dick!” “I AM NOT!” Cliff bellowed loudly. “But for the record, I do have a giant dick.” “Oh God Cliff you do not!” Emily hissed through clenched teeth. “Don’t be ridiculous!” “I HATE YOU EMILY!” Cliff yelled. “I HATE YOU TOO!” Emily screamed back. “I can’t believe that I spent six years of my life with you! Fuck! I can’t believe that I even slept with you!” “You sure as hell did,” snapped Cliff. “And you sure seemed to like it.” “Hey you two lovebirds!” snapped the flight agent from over by the ticket counter. “Either shut up, or take your dispute outside! You’re bothering the other passengers!” Cliff flipped the flight dude off and rolled his eyes. In a much quieter tone Emily said “For some reason, Cecily snuck out of my house during the night and it could have happened anywhere. Didn’t she sneak out at White Rock to go gallivanting off looking for ghosts on night with Jackson? If she’s so precious to you, why weren’t you keeping a better eye on her?” Cliff had nothing to say to that. He hated it when Emily seemed to make some sort of sense. He mumbled something like “fuck cunt” and then looked away, beginning to play with the hem on his jacket. Finally, they were called to board the plane. Cliff and Emily grabbed the duffel bags that they had packed just in case they got held over overnight in Denmark heaven forbid, and made their way up to the jet way to present their boarding passes. For a brief second, Cliff found it in him to be the consummate gentleman and he let Emily give her boarding pass to the flight dude first. He followed her through the jet way and onto the plane, as they made their way to their seats. He watched as Emily opened up the overhead compartment to stuff her duffel bag inside. She struggled a bit with it, trying to push it in. She still had a bit of work to finish up for her boss before the wedding, so she had several heavy and cumbersome books stashed in there so that she could work while on the plane. “Come on you little fucker,” she snarled at the duffel bag as she pushed. “Here,” said Cliff. He nudged her aside and shoved the duffel bag deep inside of the overhead bin. “What the fuck do you have in that thing?” he asked as he placed his bag in the overhead bin as well. “Bricks?” “Books,” replied Emily. “I do work you know.” “I know Emily,” Cliff retorted. “You were always gone for hours working.” He slammed shut the overhead bin and noticed that Emily was still standing there. “What are you standing there for?’ he snapped. “Ain’t you going to take your seat?” “I’m waiting for you to sit your big, denim, ass down,” Emily replied. “I have the aisle seat.” “But you always sit by the window whenever we travel,” Cliff disputed. “Go on.” “Its fine Cliff,” said Emily. “Just shut up and take your seat.” “You know that you want the window seat Emily,” said Cliff. “And I do not have a big ass.” “You just said that you did earlier,” Emily sassed. “No,” Cliff shot. “I said that I had a big dick. There is a difference between a dick and an ass Emily.” Just then, the flight agent came up from behind them. “Can you two lovebirds even take your seats without squabbling?” he snapped. “No,” Emily answered as she hastily slid into the window seat. Ah well. Cliff had been nothing but an asshole to her regarding Cecily since the day that she had left him. He owed her that window seat, even if it wasn’t technically hers. As Cliff took his seat next to her, he noticed something since he was sitting so close to her. “Hey!” he gasped as he pointed. “You’re wearing the earrings that I bought for you.” “I am?” Emily said as her hands flew up to her ears. Sure enough she was wearing a pair of small silver hoops that had tiny little aquamarine bobbles on them. Cliff had bought them for her a couple of years ago for no reason actually. He had seen them at a store that he had been passing by, and thought that she would like them. They had always been Emily’s favorite pair of earrings because she thought that Cliff had been so sweet giving them to her, and they were quite comfortable believe it or not. Emily wore them almost daily out of force of habit. “I suppose that I am wearing them,” she shrugged. “They’re nice earrings. One of the better things that you’ve done.” “Evan Fitz-I-lick-cow-fetuses couldn’t buy you a new pair of earrings?” Cliff asked. Emily scowled at him. “Cliff,” she spat. “Just shut the fuck up and go thump your dick since it’s so mighty huge.” “Maybe I will,” Cliff retorted, as he slumped down into his seat and stuffed a travel pillow behind him. He had a feeling that it was going to be a very long flight…. |
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| Lucifer's Angel | February 1, 2008, 2:50 pm Post #276 |
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Heavy Metal Seanchai
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Wow, things are really heating up between those two I just hope they don't kill each other first
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| Battery | February 2, 2008, 9:08 am Post #277 |
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Some Kind Of Monster
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“No Cliff!” Emily snarled. “You’re causing the scene! You’re causing the scene because you’re being a giant dick!” “I AM NOT!” Cliff bellowed loudly. “But for the record, I do have a giant dick.” men .... ( )Oh my, there's surely a lot of sparks between Cliff and Emily So far not so romantic haha, I agree with Vanessa and I hope they won't kill each other before arriving to Denmark...Awesome chapter, as always :horns2
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| Verity | February 2, 2008, 10:57 am Post #278 |
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The Story Girl
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I agree with you ladies. I hope that they don't kill each other. I think that Kirk says something later in this about hoping that they won't kill each other. Chapter Eighty Meanwhile, back in the United States, Jason Newsted happily bumbled his way up the front steps of Aunt Josephine’s lovely villa. He carried his bass in one hand, and a huge bouquet of purple orchids for Aunt Josephine in the other. “Aunt Jo!” he called as he came through the door. “Your favorite nephew is home!” “What?” replied Aunt Josephine as she made her way into the parlor. “My Cliff is home already?” “Very funny,” Jason snapped as he ran to give Aunt Josephine a hug. “Well it’s true,” said Aunt Josephine. “Cliff is my favorite nephew.” “Has Cliff ever brought you these?” Jason asked, holding the flowers out towards the old lady. “Jason!” Aunt Josephine cried as she took the flowers and buried her nose in them. “You’re such a dear. Cliff has never brought me flowers.” “It’s all about putting the New in Newsted,” Jason replied. “Hey Barnabas!” he bellowed. “Get my bags and luggage!” “I’ll tell Brunhilda to get out the new bottle of Chianti that just came in from Italy,” said Aunt Josephine. “I believe that she has some freshly made peppermint patties sitting out on the kitchen table too.” “Fucking ay!” laughed Jason as he followed Aunt Josephine to the kitchen. “Now I bet that I’m your favorite nephew.” “No,” replied Josephine truthfully. “Cliff still is.” “But he doesn’t bring you flowers,” Jason whined. “No,” answered Josephine. “But he plays little Bach minuets on his bass. It’s so cute. All the Junior League ladies love it. And for the record, you’re not my nephew Jason.” Jason groaned as he followed Aunt Josephine into the sunny, spacious, kitchen. Brunhilda was bustling about marinating sterling silver steaks in a mixture of wine and old spices from the Orient. The entire kitchen smelled of oaken wood, mesquite char, garlic, and rosemary. Sure enough a plate of freshly baked peppermint patties sat upon the kitchen table. Jason plopped down into a chair and popped one into his mouth. It was still warm inside and out. The mixture of chocolate and crème de menthe melted into an angelic cloud of satin upon his tongue and danced its way down his throat. “Mmmm,” he murmured as he closed his eyes. “I’ll be out on the road with Metallica somewhere, like in the middle of bumfuck Illinois, and I’ll dream of Brunhilda’s world famous peppermint patties.” “Oh please Master Newsted,” said Brunhilda blushing. “My peppermint patties are not world famous. After all, I’m not Mrs. Hammett.” “Just between you and me Miss Brunhilda,” said Jason with a wink. “Your peppermint patties are much better than Mrs. Hammett’s, though she does take the award for best treacle pudding.” “Speaking of pudding,” said Brunhilda. “I must get back to the banana pudding that I’m making for Arnie tonight.” “Arnie’s coming over tonight?” Jason asked. Josephine nodded. “That’s why we’re having the steaks. We’re also planning on opening that bottle of Chablis from Normandy.” Arnie was Aunt Josephine’s longtime beau, and a rather decorated admiral in the navy. The two had been seeing each other for ages, and it was rumored, (or at least according to Cecily who thrived on anything halfway romantic) that every summer on the last day of August, he would ask Aunt Josephine to marry him, but for some reason she always refused. Cliff always thought that it was because Aunt Josephine wasn’t a marrying type, but Cecily always swore that it must have to do with a tragic past romance of some sort. “That’s awesome! Arnie is coming,” Jason mused as he helped himself to another peppermint patty. “Maybe we could do a double date tonight?” “I think that sounds like it would be fun Jason,” replied Aunt Josephine. “I’ll call up that Cheyenne chick and see if she wants to come over and have dinner with us tonight,” said Jason, getting up from the table. “Oh she won’t,” answered Aunt Josephine breezily. “Oh yeah she will,” Jason returned. “That girl is just besotted by anything Metallica. I’m like a fucking Greek god to her. She even calls me Zeus. I’m her Zeus of the bass and she’s my Aphrodite. Well, my Tuesday night Aphrodite, because I have a lot of them,” he laughed, and ran his fingers through his wiry hair. “She’d do anything as long as it was with me. I could invite her to go with me on a date to the proctologist’s office and she’d gladly accept,” he added. “Well,” sighed Aunt Josephine, for she knew what was coming. “I’m sure that she’d like to have dinner with you here tonight, but that’s going to be kind of difficult.” “What do you mean?” asked Jason. “I’ll just call her.” “She’d have to fly in from England,” said Aunt Josephine. “England!” Jason exclaimed. “What the fuck is she doing in England? Did she go over there to see the Ham Man? She had a thing for him too.” “No, it’s not Kirk that she’s having a thing for at the moment,” answered Aunt Josephine. “Is Lars over there?” Jason asked. “He was in Saint Lucia, but it’s quite possible he might be in Denmark seeing his folks.” “Not Lars,” said Aunt Josephine. Jason frowned, and bit his lip. He began to twirl one of his spirally curls around his finger. “I know for a fact that James isn’t in England right now,” he said. “I’m out of Metallica members, and Cheyenne doesn’t shit without someone from Metallica with her.” “You’re missing a member Jason,” replied Aunt Josephine in a sing-song manner. “He’s an ex member, but he’s still a big part of Metallica.” “Cliff?” Jason guessed, frowning. Aunt Josephine nodded. “She went to England with Cliff?” Jason warbled. “You got it,” Aunt Josephine replied. “They’ve actually been seeing quite a lot of each other over the past couple of days. They gave the Improvement Society ladies quite a show.” “Why in the hell would she take him when she could have a strapping, world renowned, heavy metal bassist such as me?” Jason wondered aloud. “She’s obsessed with anything Metallica,” said Aunt Josephine. “You were out of town, and Cliff was floating around my house. Plus, you know what they say about bass player hands.” “The little minx!” chortled Jason. “Oh well. She did everybody else in the band. It was only going to be a matter of time until she got around to Cliff. I’ll just call another groupie.” “That’s the spirit,” said Aunt Josephine as she turned to give him a quick hug. *** Meanwhile, speaking of Cheyenne, she had been put in charge of holding down the fort at Emily’s house while everyone else was away. Evan was in charge of the London based search party, and Cliff and Emily were en route to Denmark. At first she wasn’t too thrilled with being the one who had to stay behind and watch the house. She’d much rather be out and about with the search crews searching for Cecily, especially since she could have gone up in a helicopter. Flying around London in a helicopter was a hell of a lot more exciting than sitting around in Emily’s kitchen trying to keep the London Police Department fed. However, Cliff had told her that Kirk Hammett might be stopping by the house at some point and that thought greatly consoled her. Cheyenne peered into the cupboards trying to look for something that she knew how to make. She found a package of pancake mix, and they did have eggs in the fridge. She was perfectly capable of making pancakes. She worked quietly for a few minutes, until she had made quite the stack of pancakes. She had found some fresh blueberries in the fridge, and ever so carefully she spelled out “Metallica” in blueberries on one of the pancakes. “There,” she murmured as she admired her work. “A Metallica pancake,” she sighed. “It’s a work of art, almost too wonderful to eat. I’d sure love to eat one of the boys right now. I wish Kirk would show up.” At that moment she heard the front door open. Her heart skipped a beat. At long last would she be reunited with the great Kirk Lee Hammett? No. Instead, it was Mrs. Fitzgerald. She was holding a huge stack of folders, books, and magazines. “Would you like a Metallica pancake?” Cheyenne asked. “A what pancake?” said Mrs. Fitzgerald as she dumped the books and magazines onto the kitchen table. “Metallica,” Cheyenne repeated. She held up the pancake. “See. It says Metallica on it.” “Not right now!” snapped Mrs. Fitzgerald, without even looking at the pancake. “I have work to do. With all of this Cecily nonsense everyone has forgotten that we have a big wedding taking place in a week. Someone has to tend to the wedding plans.” “Evan said that if Cecily isn’t found before the wedding, that it will be postponed,” said Cheyenne. “I think finding Cecily is more important.” Mrs. Fitzgerald snorted. “You would,” she huffed. “Evan is spewing out nonsense. I have paid way too much, and have made way too many plans for this wedding to be postponed. It will take place on the seventeenth as planned.” She helped herself to a pancake, the smell of golden buttermilk tempting her to the point of giving in. “We don’t need that silly girl to have the wedding anyway,” she went on. “She’s not Emily’s daughter.” Cheyenne looked over Mrs. Fitzgerald’s shoulder. The book that she had opened seemed to contain all sorts of fantastic and elaborate flower arrangements. “Are you working on the flowers?” she asked as she picked up the book and leafed through it. Mrs. Fitzgerald nodded. “The little brat was supposed to be doing the flowers,” she said. “A downright absurd idea if you ask me. A little twelve-year-old doesn’t know anything about doing flowers for a high profile wedding. She had it looking like a nursery romper room. In a way, it’s a blessing that she’s missing because I can at least make sure that the flowers are done by professionals.” “Oooh,” Cheyenne gasped. “These are gorgeous.” She pointed to a bouquet of orange calla lilies, apricot colored roses, and a bird of paradise, that was trimmed with the tiniest berries. They were wrapped with peach organza and pearls. Mrs. Fitzgerald raised her eyebrows in surprise. “Those are quite lovely,” she stammered, floored that this American blonde bimbo of Cliff’s who was sporting an And Justice for All T-shirt and a pair of huge hoop earrings that went all the way down to her shoulders, was even capable of picking out such a fine, and elegant, bouquet. “If I ever get married these would be my flowers,” said Cheyenne. “They’re going to be Emily’s too,” replied Mrs. Fitzgerald as she marked their number down. “Well shouldn’t she at least see them first before you order them?” Cheyenne asked. “We could find Cecily in plenty of time for her to still do the flowers.” “I like what you picked out a lot better,” replied Mrs. Fitzgerald. “Emily has been too busy running around everyday with that infernal fashion internship job of hers to care much about her wedding anyway.” “I’ve dreamt about my wedding ever since I was a little girl,” sighed Cheyenne as she went back to making more Metallica pancakes. “I want a long dress all in white without sleeves, and a short veil. I don’t like the thought of a veil covering my face at all. It makes me feel like I’m at a funeral or something. I would have a deep scarlet runner for me to walk down on, and best of all, I’d have Nothing Else Matters played as I came down the aisle. It would be a dream if I had James there singing it. No, I take that back. It would be a dream for me to have James waiting up at the altar for me.” She sighed dreamily, nearly burning a pancake. Mrs. Fitzgerald watched as Cheyenne milled about the kitchen. For someone who was supposed to be one of Cliff’s rock and roll groupies, she did have a wholesome look to her. It was clear that she wasn’t very bright, but you really didn’t need to be all that bright in order to plan a wedding, you just had to be organized, and you had to have an interest in it. Mrs. Fitzgerald felt that Emily was way more interested in cavorting off to Denmark with her ex to go find some white trash broad that had abandoned her daughter years ago, than in planning her upcoming wedding ceremony to her son. At least this Cheyenne girl seemed to somewhat care about planning a beautiful wedding someday. Perhaps she’d like to plan Emily’s. She watched as Cheyenne carried a huge stack of pancakes out to the mob of policemen that were hanging out in the living room, not really accomplishing a damn thing. “When you get a chance,” barked Mrs. Fitzgerald. “I’d like a cup of tea.” “Yes Ma’am,” replied Cheyenne. When she returned, she went straight to fixing Mrs. Fitzgerald her tea. Mrs. Fitzgerald cleared her throat. “How would you like to be of help to me?” she asked. “I can try,” replied Cheyenne as she took out a tea cup and saucer from the cabinet. “I want you to help me finish planning Emily’s wedding,” Mrs. Fitzgerald stated. “Oh I don’t know,” gasped Cheyenne. “I wouldn’t want to step on Emily’s toes. It’s her wedding.” “Emily doesn’t have the time to put into planning a wedding that’s halfway decent,” retorted Mrs. Fitzgerald. “I’m taking charge of all the planning, and I want you to help me.” “Okay,” Cheyenne shrugged. “It sounds like fun. I’ve never planned a wedding before.” “We have lots to do,” said Mrs. Fitzgerald as she motioned for the girl to come and sit down next to her at the kitchen table. “But I’m going to tell you right off the bat: there will be absolutely no Metallica at this wedding…” |
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| Lucifer's Angel | February 2, 2008, 11:12 am Post #279 |
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Heavy Metal Seanchai
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Cheyenne is an interesting character. On the one had, she's a ditz and kind of slutty, but on the other, she has a good heart, and is a lady. I like that she gets along with Mrs. Fitzgerald, hmm, are her and Evan going to hook up?
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| Battery | February 2, 2008, 1:08 pm Post #280 |
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Some Kind Of Monster
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Wow! That's quite a surprise, Cheyenne in team with Mrs. Fitzgerald ! , I wonder what will come up from this collaboration Too bad they put Cecily out from doing the flowers... And I'm little worried how will Emily react to this... And I loved Metallica pancakes
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| Simone | February 2, 2008, 1:33 pm Post #281 |
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Mistress of Puppets
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Cheyenne is quite the character! HA! I'm glad Jason is jealous of Cliff Poor Cheyenne dreamed about marrying him and he only fucks her on Tuesday!!! Can't wait to see what Cliff will do when he finds Claudia By now she must've had 10 more babies I'm so glad this story is long...as long as it could be!!! 1000 Chapters :horns2
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| Verity | February 2, 2008, 10:00 pm Post #282 |
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The Story Girl
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Vanessa- Cheyenne is a slut with a heart of gold. Maggie- I like Metallica pancakes too. Maybe the next time that I make pancakes I'll make them Metallica pancakes. Simone- 1000 chapters would be one hell of a long-ass story. But who knows? At the rate that this one is going...Chapter Eighty-One Kirk Hammett let himself inside Cecily’s room without even knocking this time. He was much too excited. Because Cheyenne could now baby sit Emily’s house, he no longer had to spend his entire day over there which meant that he could spend more time keeping poor, lonely, Cecily some company. In all honesty he felt very bad. He knew that he was practically damning Cliff and Emily to an early grave. Cliff had looked absolutely frantic last night when he had banged on Kirk’s door. Kirk had seen Cliff at his worst many a time. He had even seen Cliff drunk, stoned, and wasted on heroine. He had seen Cliff vomit his innards into a broken, rusted, toilet at a cheap motel, with his boxer shorts pulled down around his ankles. He had found Cliff lying face down in his own puke on the floor of their tour bus, but never, ever, ever, had he seen Cliff in as sorry a shape as he had been last night. He was haggard, drained, emotionally devastated, and exhausted. He also felt bad for Cecily. It sucked that she had to waste her first trip to London being cooped up in a hotel room. So in order to try and make it up to her, Kirk had stopped at one of the boutiques downstairs to find Cecily a pretty new outfit to wear for when her parents finally found her. He was getting quite sick of her in that girly skull shirt, even if it was a cute shirt. Kirk took his time as he browsed through the racks of clothes. He was certain that he would start many rumors within the metal community. Kirk Hammett from Metallica shopping at a young girl’s store? Either he must have a secret daughter, or he’s really robbing the cradle now. But Kirk didn’t really care. In fact he was trying to avoid Cheyenne. He knew that she was at Emily’s house, and he really didn’t want to have to see her. He knew that she was a rather harmless groupie, and that she gave exemplarily blowjobs, but he couldn’t help but think that she was a tad bit wacko, she weirded him out a bit, and he was just as happy to not have to see her. Finally a dark sunglasses clad Kirk burst through the door of Cecily’s room. Several aqua blue and tangerine colored shopping bags were in his arms. The bags had bits of orange sherbet colored tissue paper poking up from the tops of them, and they were tied shut with magenta, fuchsia, jungle green, and electric blue curly ribbons. “Bonjour Mademoiselle Cecily,” he greeted as he gave her a bow and kissed her hand. “Comment vas-tu?” he asked in perfect French. “I’m doing fantastique!” replied Cecily from where she was sitting at the desk working on sketching the London skyline. “I drew you a picture Mr. Kirk.” She held up her drawing. “Sorry it’s just in ink pen,” she apologized. “That’s all that I have here to draw with.” “I’m sorry that you don’t have much to do,” replied Kirk. He held up the shopping bags. “I did bring you a present though.” Cecily’s eyes danced as she eyed the bags. “All of these bags are for me?” she asked. “I don’t see any other little girls in here,” replied Kirk as he strolled over to the wet bar. He knew that he was spoiling her. He had bought Cecily a new pair of light blue jeans, along with a cute purple long sleeve T-shirt that had a flower on it, and a snazzy white denim jacket, along with a pair of fabulous lavender sandals. He now knew why Cliff always spoiled Cecily so much. Spoiling a kid was fun, especially when you had tons of money like Kirk now did. The ladies at the boutiques had become his best friends. “Oh Mr. Kirk!” Cecily gasped as she went through the bags. “You shouldn’t have.” “Don’t you like them?” Kirk asked. “I love it!” exclaimed Cecily. “Thank you so much! You do as good as Miss Emily choosing my clothes. My I go run and try it on?” she asked. “Of course,” Kirk nodded as Cecily got up to go change in her luxurious bathroom. As Cecily was changing, he decided to order them up some tea. Within minutes, Cecily emerged from the bathroom. “You look magnifique!” Kirk cried as she came down the spiral stairs. “Tres sporty indeed.” “Sporty?” Cecily asked as she looked at herself in the mirror. “I want to look pretty.” Kirk sighed. The girl was rather vain. “You’re very pretty Cecily,” he reassured her for the ten millionth time. “Now you have an outfit from England.” “And I adore it!” said Cecily as she admired the snazzy, white, jacket. “I know that Miss Emily will love it. I can’t wait for her to see me in it.” “That is,” said Kirk as he went to answer the door for their tea had arrived. “If your father doesn’t kill her during their little field trip to Denmark.” *** Meanwhile, Cliff and Emily were up in the air flying above the clouds. Emily had fallen asleep. One of her fashion books sat open in her lap. She had been very careful to lean towards the window of the plane when she dozed off, instead of near Cliff. She wanted to keep as much distance from that man has possible, which was quite difficult to do since they were sitting right next to each other on an airplane. Cliff amused himself by trying to flip through one of those crappy airline magazines, but it was no use. All he could think about was Cecily. Was she tired? Was she cold? Was she hungry? He had no idea that she was really living in the lap of luxury wearing new clothes, and having tea with Kirk Hammett (lucky little fucker). He glanced briefly at Emily as she slept. He liked it when she slept because for once, she was quiet. A flight attendant came around to take their drink order. “I’ll take a bloody Mary,” Cliff ordered. He could really use some booze right now, especially if he was going to see Claudia again. At the sound of Cliff ordering a drink, Emily stirred and awakened. “What’s going on?” she muttered. “You want anything?” Cliff asked. “You always liked vodka and grapefruit juice while flying.” “We really shouldn’t be drinking Cliff,” said Emily frowning. “It’s not even noon yet.” Hey,” Cliff shrugged as he lifted his bloody Mary to his lips. “It’s five o’clock somewhere.” “I guess I could use a drink,” Emily mumbled. “I’ll take a vodka and grapefruit juice please,” she ordered. She fumbled in her purse for her money. “I got it,” Cliff muttered as he handed the flight attendant some money. “Give her the Grey Goose Vodka,” he ordered. “It costs a bit more Sir,” replied the flight attendant. “It’s the lady’s favorite,” said Cliff. “Oh Cliff don’t be silly,” cut in Emily. “I could care less about what kind of vodka I’m drinking. All that I care about is finding Cecily.” “You always like Grey Goose,” Cliff argued as he took his change from the flight attendant, who handed Emily her drink. Emily drank it as if she had been in the Sahara Desert for three months, devouring the sour liquid. The vodka went down as smooth as crystal, warming her entire body. “Here,” she said as she handed Cliff some money. “I took care of it,” Cliff replied. “I’m paying my own way,” said Emily firmly. “That means buying my own drinks.” “I have plenty of money Emily,” Cliff retorted, getting a little huffy. “I know that Cliff,” Emily snapped. “After all, I did share a checking account with you for six years. Now I’m paying for my drink. I insist!” “Emily, just shut the fuck up and put your fucking money away before you get us robbed,” Cliff retorted. With a dramatic and huffy sigh he flipped his hair over his shoulder (just for Maggie again). “Women,” he groaned. “Don’t tell me to shut up!” Emily yapped. “How dare you tell me to shut up!” “Easy,” Cliff answered with a shrug. “Can you two lovebirds even order a mere drink without fighting?” asked the flight attendant, who was rather annoyed. “No,” replied Emily. She thrust her money at him. “Since gutter dick here is being an ignoramus, and won’t let me pay for my own drink, my only other option is to buy him another round.” “Very well,” said the flight attendant as he started to fix Cliff another bloody Mary. “Oh no,” said Cliff. “I ain’t drinking another drink if you’re not. Fix another drink for the lady as well.” “I can’t drink that much Cliff,” said Emily. “I’m not a raging alcoholic like you are.” “Sure you are!” Cliff replied. “You fucking drank a whole bottle of some of my Aunt’s fine wine all by your lonesome last Christmas.” “You drive me to drink Cliff,” Emily snarled. “That’s my job,” Cliff snapped coolly. “I love it when you’re drunk. You’re not such a cold, frigid, bitch then. You’re fun.” Emily took her second drink and clutched it as if she were Gollum from Lord of the Rings. “I hate you,” she quipped. “You sure like those drinks though,” said Cliff as he watched her down it. “Let’s have a third round. Actually, let’s have a drinking contest and see who can drink the most.” “Clifford, grow up!” snapped Emily. For an answer, Cliff spat out his tomato juice coated tongue at her. “You’re a turd Cliff Burton!” Emily cried. “A despicable turd!” She got up from her seat. “Hey!” said Cliff. “Just where the fuck do you think you’re going?” “To go ask for a different seat,” Emily returned as she grabbed her books. “I’ll see you when we land in Copenhagen.” And with that, she took off down the aisle to go find the flight attendant. |
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| Battery | February 3, 2008, 10:36 am Post #283 |
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Some Kind Of Monster
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Haha, Cecily and Kirk talking French rocked It was so sweet of Kirk to buy Cecily a present And the remark about the ladies in the boutiques becoming his best friends made me laugh Too bad Cliff and Emily are still fighting ... But now they have a chance to not kill each other as they'll sit on different seats And thank you again :horns2!! I don't know why I love when long-haired guys do that with their hair so much Maybe Freud could say something about it
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| Lucifer's Angel | February 3, 2008, 10:59 am Post #284 |
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Heavy Metal Seanchai
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Oooh la la, Kirk speaking French And oh dear, I hope Cliff and Emily don't kill each other. Ordering the Grey Goose was nice, though. And I liked the hair flipping part
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| Verity | February 3, 2008, 12:06 pm Post #285 |
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The Story Girl
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Maggie- I'm glad that you enjoy the hair flipping. You don't need Freud to explain it. I can do that: It's just plain sexy. Vanessa- I'm glad you like French Kirk. My French is very rusty though. I have a friend who reads these and she's studying French so she gets a kick out of it. This chapter is long. I wrore it over a period of different times so I didn't realize just how long that it had gotten. Chapter Eighty-Two The flight attendant had seated Emily in an aisle seat just a couple of rows in front of Cliff, but across the aisle. From where he was sitting, Cliff could see the back of Emily’s curly dark red head. Fucking bitch. How dare she call him a turd? She had been the one who had lost track of Cecily in the first place. He pushed the little flight attendant “call” button that was right over him. The flight attendant dude sighed and rolled his eyes when he saw that it was Cliff yet again. “Yes?” he asked. Cliff pointed at Emily. “Get her another drink,” he commanded. “Actually, make it a glass of champagne. It’s on me.” He handed the flight attendant a wad of money. At first, the flight attendant wasn’t going to comply, but money talks, and he quickly opened a small bottle of champagne, poured it in a plastic glass, and brought it over to her. “For you Miss,” he said as he placed the champagne on her tray table. “I didn’t order another drink,” replied Emily, looking up from her book. “The gentleman back in row twenty-one ordered it for you,” replied the flight attendant. He turned and gestured towards Cliff. Emily whirled around in her seat and frowned at Cliff, who eloquently flipped her off. “Take it back to him,” she answered. “I can’t,” shrugged the flight attendant. “Then get him the cheapest and nastiest beer that you guys serve,” said Emily. “It’s on me.” “Yes Miss,” replied the flight attendant. Within a few minutes, Cliff had managed to chug his cheap and nasty beer. He pulled the label off of the bottle, rolled it up into a little ball, and then chucked it at Emily. It wound up getting stuck in her hair. She didn’t even seem to notice it. So Cliff tore a bit off of his napkin, and rolled it into a ball is well. He spat on it, and then hurled it over at Emily. It hit her in the back of the head. She whirled around. “Stop it!” she mouthed, and then went back to her book. A few minutes later Cliff again flicked a rolled up bit of napkin at her. Emily turned around. “Knock it off!” she hissed at him. This caused several other passengers to turn around and stare at them. The flight attendant sighed and made his way over to Cliff. “Stop bothering the lady,” he ordered. “Why?” Cliff retorted. “It’s not like you can throw me off of the plane.” “No,” agreed the flight attendant. “But we can detain you after the flight, and we will if you keep disrupting our passengers.” Cliff scowled as he slumped down in his seat. He certainly didn’t want to get detained. Then he’d never find Cecily. With a heavy sigh, he reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet where he had Cecily’s latest school picture. He missed her smiling face with her big green eyes, and her sprinkling of freckles. If someone had kidnapped her, or in any way hurt her, he’d kill them with his own two hands. Maybe it was the alcohol, or all of the emotional bullshit he had just been through, but a single tear fell down his cheek. If something horrid had happened to Cecily, he’d never forgive himself for letting her go off to England alone. About forty-five minutes later, the plane finally landed in Copenhagen. Emily didn’t even bother to wait for Cliff as the passengers began to leave the plane. She grabbed her bag, and made her way through the jet way and through the terminal. “Hey wait up!” she heard Cliff yell. She could tell by the sound of his speech that he was drunk. They both were. They both had had way too much fucking alcohol on that flight. Here they were, supposedly on a mission to see if Cecily was with her mother, and instead they had gotten shit faced. Just what kind of lousy parents were they? A wave of dizziness came over Emily as she made her way towards the rent-a-car booths. Neither of them would be in any shape to drive to Odense. Instead of renting a car, they would have to get a taxi to take them. The mix of vodka and the champagne was brutal. She’d be sick tomorrow for sure. She hated Cliff all the more for it. He had done it on purpose, to make her more miserable than she already was. “Wait for me Pussy Cat!” a bubbly and wasted Cliff yelped as he went running through the airport, his long hair flying out from behind him. The combination of being drunk, and an untied shoelace caused Cliff to trip, and he spilled onto the floor in a ball of long hair and denim, right at Emily’s feet. “Ah fuck!” he mumbled. “You’re such an ass Cliff,” Emily groaned. “Help me up Pussy Cat!” Cliff barked. “No!” retorted Emily. “And don’t call me Pussy Cat.” She sighed as Cliff staggered up to his feet. “We’re going to have to get a taxi,” she said. “We can’t drive like this.” “Good,” Cliff spat. “I didn’t really want to drive all the way to fucking Odense anyway.” “You can pay for the taxi then,” said Emily. “Why do I have to pay for it?” Cliff snapped. “You’re little Miss I’m-Going-to-Pay-my –Own-Way.” “Because you had all this money to spend on drinks during the flight,” replied Emily as she went off to hail them down a taxi. *** Meanwhile, back in England, a cold, wet, hungry, and miserable Evan trudged his way back to his house. He had just spent the entire day riding around in a squad car with that annoying, sex crazed, police dude and still no Cecily. “You know,” said the police dude as he dropped Evan off at his house. “They say that if you don’t find a missing person within forty-eight hours that means that more than likely, they are dead.” “We’re going to find Cecily!” shouted Evan. “Go fuck your self!” “You and Mr. Burton certainly do have a rough vocabulary,” the police dude mumbled. “Cheerio Mate,” he tipped his hat and happily sped off to go pretend that he was a big time cop taking down mass invasions of thugs and bandits out in the Ozarks. “Ass sucker,” Evan mumbled as he made his way into the house. However, he couldn’t help but think about what the police dude had said. What if Cecily was dead. Raped, stabbed, murdered, gutted, and left to fester in the rat covered canals of London’s sewers. He couldn’t bear the thought of something so horrid happening to anyone, let alone Emily’s sweet, dreamy, and one-of-a-kind, little girl. He found his mother and Cliff’s bimbo chick sitting at the kitchen table. Books, silken ribbon, dried flowers, and colorful magazines surrounded them. “You’re finally home Evan dear,” his mother greeted. “Cheyenne and I were just getting around to choosing limo to pick you guys up from the church. How does an ivory Rolls Royce sound?” “How can you think about the wedding at a time like this?” Evan demanded. “My God! Cecily could be killed!” “Well,” said Mrs. Fitzgerald. “That would certainly be one less unwanted kid in the world.” “I think Cecily is very wanted,” replied Cheyenne. “Cliff really seems to love her a lot, and I’m sure that she’s a sweet girl.” “She is,” said Evan. “Look Mum. Until Cecily is found, there isn’t going to be a wedding. You would be of much more use in our search party than in planning the wedding.” “Evan Patrick!” his mother croaked. “Your father has colleagues flying in from as far as Japan and Australia just for this wedding. We can’t change the date on them. It’s not proper etiquette.” “Emily’s daughter is missing!” Evan screeched. “That’s plenty good reason.” “Cecily is not Emily’s daughter!” Mrs. Fitzgerald snapped. “And I’ve heard that she isn’t really Cliff’s daughter either, she’s his ward. Since she’s his ward he can be stuck trying to find her, but really it isn’t any bit of Emily’s business. Now Emily just has this sick fetish to be a mother, so she’s making Cecily out to be her pretend daughter, and it has to stop Evan!” “I have a sick fetish too,” volunteered Cheyenne. “I really, really, want to suck the very tips of James Hetfield’s toes, and lick my tongue in between them like a kitten. Even if it were just for a millisecond, I’d be in heaven.” Evan and Mrs. Fitzgerald just looked at her for a moment. Cheyenne blushed, and grew quiet. “Doesn’t it bother you that your future wife is too busy mooning over some ex boyfriend’s ward to even care about your wedding?” Mrs. Fitzgerald demanded. “No,” Evan answered evenly. “It doesn’t. In fact, it tells me just what a caring person Emily is.” “Oh you’re hopeless!” his mother shouted in exasperation as she threw her hands up, and got up from the table. She huffed off out of the room. “Argh!” Evan groaned as he flopped down at the kitchen table and put his head in his hands. “Would you like a Metallica pancake?” Cheyenne asked, reaching for the plate of pancakes. “I hate Metallica!” Evan sneered. “I can arrange the blueberries to say something else,” said Cheyenne. “Do you like puppies? I can arrange them to say puppies, but it might be spelled wrong.” “Don’t go through the trouble,” sighed Evan. “I can eat a Metallica pancake.” He took the plate of pancakes, and began to shovel them down. Cheyenne sat down in the chair across from him, and just watched him as he ate. “I can’t believe my Mum,” Evan bitched in between bites of pancake. “Planning a wedding at a time like this.” He frowned at the brochure on the Rolls Royce limo. “Emily didn’t want a limo either,” he went on. “She wanted a horse and carriage to pick us up.” “I suggested that too,” said Cheyenne. “But your mom said that it was too Cinderella for a Fitzgerald wedding.” “That sounds like her,” Evan scoffed. “Well what do I know anyway?” shrugged Cheyenne. “I know all the birthdays, times, and birth weights of all of the Metallica boys, and just about everything there is to know about the band, but I don’t know about much else. I certainly don’t know about glamorous weddings.” “Neither do I,” said Evan. “And apparently, neither does Emily. The only one who seems to know anything about them is my Mum. She’s been making us miserable throughout the entire wedding planning process.” “I kind of figured that,” Cheyenne admitted. “Oh well. My mother died in a car wreck when I was ten. I guess I wouldn’t mind having her back, even if it meant that she was going to drive me crazy with wedding plans.” “I’m sorry to hear that Cheyenne,” said Evan. He watched as Cheyenne bit at one of her long, hot pink, fingernails. On each nail she had painted one of the letters of Metallica on it, and then a little heart on the tenth finger. He felt sorry for her. Losing a mother at such an early age had to be so tough. That was probably the reason that Cheyenne was so obsessed with Metallica. She needed something to cling to, something to love her. It was sad. Evan knew that Cliff was just a rake with an active roving eye. He would never love Cheyenne the way that she was so desperately seeking to be loved. “So,” Evan said, trying to make conversation as he pushed away his empty plate. “What do you like to do? Do you have any hobbies or interests?” “Metallica,” answered Cheyenne as she played with her hair. “My world revolves around Metallica. “Do you know that I’ve seem over fifty times?” “I didn’t know that,” mumbled Evan. “Just a minute,” Cheyenne said as she jumped up from her chair. She went over to her tote bag, and retrieved a black leather photo album that had the Metallica logo painted on the cover in red nail polish. She sat back down and opened the album. “This is my Metallica album,” she said. “Actually, it’s my Metallica bible. I have everything from clip outs of articles and interviews, to pictures, and photos from when I’ve followed them around on tour.” Just about every motherfucking article that had ever been written regarding Metallica, was in Cheyenne’s photo album. It had been neatly clipped out, dated, and pasted into the book. What really amazed Evan were the photos of Cheyenne. She wasn’t kidding when she had said that she had been to a lot of Metallica concerts. There were hundreds of photos of the band on stage, and then photos of Cheyenne hanging with the band backstage. There was even one of Cheyenne with Lars Ulrich’s mother, and one of her passed out naked in their tour bus somewhere in West Virginia. Evan couldn’t help but blush at seeing Cheyenne naked. She was a beautiful woman. Cheyenne went on and on and on “This is me with the boys in Toronto. This is me with them in Detroit, and Kalamazoo, Cheboygan, Chicago, Atlanta, Roanoke, Havana, Miami, Santa Domingo, Veracruz, Houston, Rhode Island, Boston, Memphis, Vancouver, well you get the picture,” she finished as she turned another page. “This is what I’m the most proud of,” she continued. Cheyenne pointed to a picture of a huge quilt. The quilt had been divided into four big squares with a fifth square in the middle. Each square was made to look like a Metallica album cover. There was one for Kill ‘em All, Ride the Lightning, Master of Puppets, And Justice for All, and Metallica, which of course was the middle square. Each of the boys had signed the quilt, and they were all standing around it with Cheyenne. Jason even had his arm around her. “That’s an interesting quilt,” observed Evan. “I like the bloody hammer.” “That represents Kill ‘em All,” replied Cheyenne. “I made that quilt.” “You made that?” Evan asked, raising his eyebrows. “I’m impressed.” Cheyenne blushed. “It was a labor of love,” she replied. “I spent six solid months on it. But it was worth it to present it to them at a meet and greet, and Lars has it hanging up in his house.” Evan watched as she leafed through the rest of the album which even contained all of her Metallica concert ticket stubs. “Surely there must be something else that you’re interested in besides just Metallica,” said Evan. “What did you do before you got into Metallica?” “I was miserable,” answered Cheyenne. “I had nothing to live for.” “You have nothing else that interests you besides Metallica at all?” Evan couldn’t believe that one heavy metal band could be a person’s entire life. “I work at the nursing home,” Cheyenne replied. “Do you like it?” asked Evan. Cheyenne shrugged and frowned at her half chewed fingernail. “It pays the bills and enables me to see more Metallica concerts,” she replied. She closed the Metallica Bible, and got a dreamy and thoughtful look on her face. “Actually,” she sighed. “There is something.” “Oh?” Evan asked. “No one has ever asked me about it in years,” Cheyenne breathed. “Well I’m interested,” Evan returned as he grabbed Queen Victoria, and pulled her onto his lap. She began to lick at his empty pancake plate. “You can tell me,” he pressed. “I’ve always wanted to go to beauty school,” said Cheyenne, whispering the word “beauty school.” “Okay,” Evan nodded, encouraging her to say more. “I love to do hair,” Cheyenne went on. “And nails, and makeup, but mostly hair. I love to do hair color. I even did my own.” She tossed her curls. “Doesn’t it look good?” she asked. “I frosted it.” “It looks very nice,” Evan replied. “I’ve always wanted to have my very own beauty shop,” Cheyenne elaborated, her voice becoming more and more excited and animated as she spoke. “Not a huge, massive, beauty shop, just a little beauty shop. I could even have it inside of a little house, and I’ve already laid it out and decorated it. I’d have a big pink sign out in front and in purple script letters it would say “Cheyenne’s.” That’s what I’d name it.” “That makes sense,” said Evan. “It sounds like a nice place.” “I’d have three hair stations and of course a shampoo bowl or two, and a manicure station in the corner,” Cheyenne finished. “Why don’t you go to beauty school?” asked Evan. “Because,” replied Cheyenne. “I’m worried that I’d fail. I’m not very smart, and I’ve failed at everything that I’ve ever tried. I even failed out of high school. If I can’t even make it through high school, there’d be no way that I’d ever make it through beauty school.” “You don’t know if you never try,” replied Evan. “You did a good job on your own hair.” Cheyenne brightened. “You think so?” she asked. “Yes,” Evan nodded. “I do. And if I need a haircut before the wedding, I know who to call.” “Thanks,” Cheyenne answered, blushing. “I offered to do the boys in Metallica’s hair, but they all refused, even Cliff.” “Well,” Evan sighed as he stood up from the table. “That sure does explain a lot…” |
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Too bad they immediately had to argue
.... But now when they are going to go to Denmark together...
I wonder what will happen! And if it'll happen at all, since they arrived to Four Seasons where Cecily is hiding... I'm extremely curious what will come up from all this! And the horny police dude was hilarious

.... (
haha, I agree with Vanessa and I hope they won't kill each other before arriving to Denmark...
Too bad they put Cecily out from doing the flowers... And I'm little worried how will Emily react to this...
By now she must've had 10 more babies

8:42 PM Jul 10