the many misadventures of tress and grifter [exp]

01 | it turns me on so much

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                     ONCE UPON A TIME, in faraway lands where fairies lived, a king had a daughter called Tress. Princess Tress met Grifter, who came to be known as The Griff and they lived happily ever after. Tress rode him to death.

Are you satisfied? Can I go sleep now? I have an interview tomorrow. I gassed up my resumes and everything. It's gonna be epic, or disastrous. I dunno.

Last guy said he wouldn't hire me even if the seven worlds were ending. Shut-in is a dealbreaker, apparently.

"I said, no, get this — I said I'm Tower Girl, ninety percent of the tower is mine, and its backyard give or take. But he was having none of it!" I paused, slurping up a forkful of pasta. "As soon as mum dies, I'm getting outta here! Mark my words, I'm gonna sell this thing off and set my sails to Pacific Oceans.."

"Do you have any buyers? I can strike you a good deal."

"That is so sweet of you, baby. But I gotta do this for myself," I lowered my voice to hiss.

"Also, keep away from my future money or else, you'll get annihilated. Clear?"

"Goddammit, Tress."

"Ugh. When you grunt, it turns me on so much!"

The stairs creak.

You see, the aforementioned tower is built in a lighthouse sorta way. Meaning there's a billion stairs, and sometimes, well mostly during rainy season — it creaks, meaning somebody's coming up.

Probably her.

"Anyways, I gotta go. You should drop by sometime."

"I will, once you get elevators or something. It really breaks my spine."

I rolled my eyes.

With each passing day he's getting lazier.

"I'll see what can be done. Bye baby!"

"Bye."

Sulky.

Next time, I'll date someone my age. These older guys regress all the fucking time, what am I to do?

Knock, knock.

"Hi mum. Back so soon?"

When you picture mum, picture a fifty-something lady — wondrous hair, gua sha-inflicted skin, a stunning midnight dress and a belt specifically designed to emphasis a waistline no bigger than twenty five.

That's mum for you. You can call her Morgaine.

"What you got?" I gestured towards the basket she's carrying.

"A little help?"

"Sure, yeah."

It's just one basket. I have seen her lift heavier objects — car, elephant, Oxford paperback dictionary thesaurus and word press guide, life sized doll of me in case I elope... I wouldn't, not empty-handed at least. Once, she manhandled a washing machine.

My bedroom is the topmost room. Filled with memories and happiness in forms of white dresser, a tiny window overhead, a bookshelf against the bedside, then there's another bookshelf and right now, mom utilized the comforts of Recliner 450. Sun rays tore off the glass-slab. It caused her great discomfort. She tried using her arms to block it and cursed at herself for fucking up the architecture. The walls are pink though, so I guess it's not THAT lousy in here.

Lightly I said : "Didn't you enjoy your trip?"

"More or less."

"Suntown. How was it? Tell me everything, mum!"

"It was..."

Mildly nauseating? Spooky? Cheery (same thing as ‘nauseating' in Morgaine's book)? Strange but in the calmest way possible? I bet my eyes went round.

Morgaine yawned, disinterested for somebody who just got back from the most popular place on Earth and most significant texts in historical novels.

"It was sunny I guess."

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