Alistair Raven and the Stormtrooper in Stilettos (Book 1)

Part 2 - Chatter 8

Alistair lay looking up at the springs of the top mattress; toasty warm, his pet raven stood guard upon the railing at the foot of his bed. He'd slept well, all things considered and was enjoying his lay in until Delilah burst in with a small pile of his freshly washed and neatly pressed clothes and a toiletries bag.

"Awaiting a golden invitation to join the human race?" Delilah clicked. "Quick now; the shower is down the hall. Take these clean clothes here, and this bar of soap as well as this toothbrush. I want you scrubbed and maybe later we'll cut that hair of yours."

Pushing back the covers and sitting up, Alistair looked like any other teenage boy waking up in the morning. Yawning, he sensed something about Delilah was different.

"Did you do your hair?"

"Yes. You, on the other hand, look like the wreck of the Hesperus," Delilah observed dryly whilst she leant forward and opened a compartment in her leg. Removing the MES-IP Device, she handed it to her charge.

"The Brigadier is back to full power, so if you know what is good for you, I suggest you prepare yourself for further lessons."

Alistair rubbed his face, nonplussed, picking crusty sleep from the corner of his eye, thinking sarcastically that all he needed was more thought-provoking stiffness from the Brigadier V2.0. Delilah clicked her fingers.

"Now Alistair," she hustled. "No lolly-gagging about."

He mock saluted Delilah and scooped up the clothes and toiletries, and poked out his tongue as he brushed past.

"Your insolence is puerile," Delilah snorted. "Don't forget to comb your hair," she called out after him as he padded down the hall to the bathroom, using his hand as a puppet to pretend it was her talking.

"And clean behind your ears!" Alistair mimicked.

**********************

The hot shower had refreshed and the clean clothes felt good against his skin and throwing on the Def Leppard t-shirt over the top, Alistair licked his teeth, savouring the minty fresh taste. Dawdling, Delilah patiently waited on the landing and hurried him to the mess hall where she handed him a tray containing a bowl of porridge, a spoon and a mug of hot black tea. Ushering him to a seat, Alistair spied a girl about his age sitting alone at the long table, with earbuds jammed in and music blasting.

"This sweet lass is Chelsea Rose," Delilah introduced, cutting the ice. "She's boarding with Mr. Essex also. Now eat," Delilah fussed, easing him in to the seat.

Playing with Delilah's lumpy porridge, Alistair shyly waved.

"I'm Alistair," he said, with an uncertain smile; Chelsea didn't reply and Alistair shovelled the porridge in to his mouth.