08: hoodies and wax figures (and cookies)
DAY 3.25
DAKOTA ADLER SPENDS the next hour and a half washing her muddy and soaked clothes, to the point where she approves that they seem like they've been washed with Vanish (Vanish Gold, of course). The hour and a half is also spent with her glaring at Arthur, who has offered to help her, throwing soap on him whenever she can.
The rest of the team have decided to take up an adventure around time, hopefully finding a bathroom to brush their teeth and do other necessary procedures.
"I'm sorry," Arthur says, for the fifth time in the space of twenty minutes. Of course Arthur has equally divided up the time in sections to when he says Arthur. He's Arthur. Dakota drops the underwear she's washing in the sink, turning to face Arthur. Her eyes show no expression - especially, the expression of violence she had a few minutes ago. Arthur blushes, looking down to focus on the bra he is given to wash (Dakota figures that would be the start level of a punishment for him).
The bra mocks Arthur. He's never truly touched a bra with his bare hands. He doesn't know if it's a good thing or not that the first bra he's touching is Dakota's. It does show how shy and inexperienced he is but that shouldn't matter.
"Am I mad at you?" Dakota randomly starts, opening the door. "Yes." She walks outside. She uses the ladder attached to the back of the van to climb up. Dakota places her second last panty next to Arthur's pair of briefs, which are put to dry. She clips it to the railing, using a plastic washing pin she'd found amongst another hundred or so. Walking back in, she takes Arthur's pair of jeans and begins to wash them. "You will not believe how mad I am at you."
"Sorry," Arthur says again. He takes the bra up to the roof, to dry. Once he's back in, he takes the last piece of clothing: Dakota's last panty. He sighs. He sighs again when he realises it matches the bra he had been washing.
"We're back, bitches!" Elijah yells, throwing his hands full of plastic grocery bags up in the air.
"We bought donuts, tooth brushes, napkins, bread, butter, water bottles, disposable glasses, cake, coffee packets, Elijah bought himself a GPS, fruits, vegetables, new underwear for men and women, a stack of T-shirts for all of us, oil, and a three boxes of pizza," Brooke lists the things off on her finger, sitting at the table and looking up thoughtfully. She looks down, giving the Washing Dakota's Clothes pair a tight smile. "What did you do?"
"I almost died!"
"He washed my underwear and enjoyed it."
The statements given by obvious people were said at the same time, confusing Elijah, Brooke, Calvin and Fiona.
"I'm hungry, I want pizza," Dakota mutters.
"I'll drive," Arthur says. He gets into the driver'a seat. Pulling out, he begins their way down to Madame Tussaud's.
Dakota crawls underneath the covers, the cold of the water still biting at her. She's taken Arthur's school hoodie and found a pair of cotton shorts in her backpack. Her feet were cold, so Arthur willingly gave her a pair of his socks. She rolled them so they fit at both her ankles. She feels a bit better. Dakota shivers, pulling the covers tighter against her. Brooke shakes her head. She unzips her bag, taking out a pair of grey sweatpants. "Here you go," Brooke smiles, holding them out. Dakota takes them, thanking her. Slipping them on, she hides under the blanket, trying to do everything to keep the cold air of the air conditioner from making her freeze.
Arthur looks at her from the rearview mirror. He feels bad - he hadn't meant to. Sure, what he said was wrong but what she said about him was rude, too. He is tired of people calling him out for being a bore and a stiff, uptight person. He doesn't want to be like that. That's what he's become. He can't do anything about it. Arthur's childhood wasn't that great. Constantly working, being hit - it isn't that easy. He hears Brooke sigh. She then sits beside him, down on the floor.
"Hi," Brooke says. "You're not coming down with a cold?"
"No."
"You okay?" Brooke asks, brining her knees to her chest. She turns her head to look at him.
Arthur exhales deeply. He nods his head. "I will be."
"You're okay."
Arthur laughs. "I will be. Tough life comes to bite at you, sometimes, you know?"
"I -"
"- You wouldn't. How could you? You have a great life, I expect," Arthur mutters, only for them to hear. Brooke wants to argue. She wants to tell him that her life isn't great. That she hides herself from her parents because she doesn't want to disappoint. Brooke doesn't want to disappoint her parents or Mariam.
"I understand. Just maybe not in the same way. . . . . ." The pause is there for too long. Long enough for all of them, except the ones at the front, to fall asleep.
"Can I smoke in here?" Brooke asks, already fiddling with her handbag.
Arthur looks over at her, sighing, "I don't think you should."
"But can I?"
"If you want to. . "
Brooke covers her cigarette with her hand, as she lights it. She takes a puff, sighing in relief at the taste of it. Arthur isn't in the mood of telling people off. He wants to tell her no but he cannot bring himself to do so. The best he can do is: "I heard that sometimes people die from smoking. . ."
Brooke laughs, her laugh bubbling out the toxic gas from her mouth. She brings it to her lips again, taking another inhale. Blowing it out, she replies, "Yeah, I've heard it as well."
"You know, the packets have it as well," Arthur adds.
"I am aware, I look at it first thing when I buy a pack," Brooke says, an amused smile present.
"It's usually there to stop people," Arthur continues, hoping to send her the message in a very subtle manner.
"I figured that out the first time I bought one," Brooke mumbles, her words as bitter as the poisonous stick in-between her fingers. "Do you want one?"
"What?" Arthur splutters in disbelief. "Here I'm telling you not to smoke, and you're saying the complete opposite!"
"Oh, the complete opposite? You couldn't have," Brooke feigns shock, gasping to put emphasis. "Look, Bradley, do you want it or not?"
Arthur contemplates. He despises the idea of smoking in general. Taking one from a person who smokes seems like a acceptable decision to him, giving everything that's going on. "He leans over, grabbing a new one out of her hand. He rolls down his window, while Brooke leans over to light his cigarette. He turns his head the slightest bit, giving Brooke less than a second to light his. Pulling out the ash tray, Brooke taps her cigarette against the edge. Arthur takes a large breath from his, blowing it out.
"Oh, fuck!" Arthur swears, coughing out the smoke.
Brooke laughs, taking away his cigarette, she crushes his into the ash tray, shaking her head. "It isn't your thing, Arthur."
"Good," Arthur proudly says.
Brooke's silent for the next few moments. "I just need it." Arthur doesn't know what to make from that statement. He debates the mass uses for cigarettes. Brooke's probably the one who smokes because of peer pressure. Arthur can see it from her look. She's always wearing black or nude coloured clothing - not as in that should mean anything. He sees the way she is free. Maybe this is one corner of her get away.
"Brooke," a voice grouses. Brooke looks behind. She sees Calvin tossing and turning. "Stop smoking. . . it's got a disgusting smell." Brooke shakes her head. She doesn't do as he asked, instead, rolls her window down, leaning towards it, hoping that most of the toxic air will go out.
"Do you think I went a bit too far?" Arthur whispers.
Brooke bites her bottom lip. "You both did. . . . I understand where she's coming from . . I, also, understand where you are coming from."
"She forces me to do things I usually wouldn't do. . . and I do them. .but that still upsets her. I thought she's one open, easy to figure-out person but she's not!" Arthur insists. "Why can't all of us just get along? What is so wrong about following instructions?"
Brooke sighs. "I'm going to have a shower." She puts out her lit smoking stick. Before disappearing into the bathroom, Brooke suggests, "After Madame Tussauds, maybe we can all go out for a drink or two. Try and get to know each other." She doesn't wait for his reply.
Arthur sighs, blinking. Focusing on the road, he begins to use Elijah's GPS. He has to admit, Elijah had bought a tacky cheap one, so getting his finger to click at the right buttons is a task. All his struggling makes him come to a halt. Only then does Fiona wake up. She makes a few tired sounds. Stretching a little, she gets up, slumping into Brooke's previous seat.
"Who's in the bathroom?" Fiona asks, her voice soft, her eyes droopy.
"Brooke," Arthur replies, his expression furrowed. He taps at the screen, finally getting correct letters to appear on the screen. Fiona takes it from him, motioning him to keep on driving. Stepping on the accelerator, Arthur diverts his attention to the roads. The sun was fully out now, cars switching off their headlights.
"Well. . . are you fine?" Fiona asks. She's still focused on the device in her hand. Grabbing her her handbag, she rummages through it. Finally, Fiona pulls out her stylus for her mini iPad. The stylus works perfectly with the screen, so, Fiona searches up the address. Punching in the letters, she realizes she is still waiting for Arthur's response. "Arthur?" she calls, putting the GPS on her lap, looking at him.
"Hmm," Arthur says, lifting his chin. He sighs. Once. Twice. "Just the tiniest bit stressed out."
"Tiniest?" Fiona asks, in disbelief. "You reek of cigarettes."
Arthur blushes. "I took a few puffs, that's it. Brooke reeks more than me, then."
Fiona loudly exhales. "If Calvin wakes up and he finds out -"
"- Yeah, yeah, he's going to be pissed, whatever, it isn't new," Arthur finishes off.
Fiona shrugs, scrunching her nose for a second. "Actually, him and Brooke are going to have another row. They aren't really on the best level of. . . . humanity."
"As far as humanity goes. . . " Fiona continues. They sigh, Fiona looking at the dash board.
Brooke exits the room, dressed in summer clothes that just included a white plain dress. Fiona gets up, smiling at her. She, too, then, goes for a shower.
"Maybe, when one or two of us are in there, the rest of us can go shower or something," Brooke suggests, putting her previous clothes into her suitcase. Arthur nods, pulling onto a main road.
She's freshly showered. Her hair is tied up, her make-up off her face. She applies a dream which hides some of her spots, but Arthur doesn't know much about all of that. "Oh, we're almost there." Brooke gets up, going to wake up Elijah and Calvin. She thinks that Dakota may come down with a fever. "Elijah?" she whispers. She's kneeling down beside him, shaking his shoulder. "Elijah?" He tosses himself over. Sighing, she loves on to the next teenage boy. "Hallman? Come on, Calvin!" Brooke yells into his ear. Calvin groans, snuggling close to Brooke. "Come on, Hallman," Brooke said, ruffling his hair.
"Did you smoke?" Calvin mumbles. "Fuck, Hollins! You were smoking!" He sat up, almost banging his head against.
Brooke smirked, turning her head to look at Arthur. "Well, at least it got him to wake up!" Calvin rolls his yes. His fists come to rub at his eyes, trying to get rid off his sleep.
"I don't get you," Calvin's voice shrills.
"Yes, okay, go for a shower once Fiona is out," Brooke instructs. Just as she says so, Fiona emerges out from the bathroom. Fiona nudges Calvin with her foot, laughing at Brooke's tries of getting him up. Elijah is next to be woken up. Fiona shakes his shoulder, three times. Brooke motions for Fiona to get both the boys' clothes out. Taking matter into her own hands, Brooke plugs her phone into the AUX wire. Two seconds later, 'Flashed Junk Mind' is playing loudly. Obviously, the start doesn't make any of the sleeping bodies move their limbs. But Brooke takes Calvin's hands, smiling at how warm they make her cold hands feel. She pulls one of their clasped hands towards her hip, then pulling the other one, and alternating so on. Brooke grins, hoping around the small space they have with Calvin. Dancing with him to the bathroom, Brooke pushes him in, quickly taking his clothes from Fiona's hands and dumping them into his. The last thing she sees, before she closes the door, is him rolling his eyes.
Fiona laughs, going to the counter. She brews coffee for all of them, remembering that Elijah is an exception. Brooke takes over making the coffee. Fiona, instead, warms up Elijah's milk. After a minute, she takes the mug out of the microwave. Dumping half a spoon of chocolate powder (which she bets is imported from the Netherlands), she mixes it, later handing it to the last sleeping boy. Elijah groans, flipping over to face the wall. Fiona sighs, shaking him. "Come on, Eli," Fiona says, hoping that the nick name will bubble out some kind of reaction from him.
"Don't call me that," was the best she received.
"Oh, so, you're not going to get up and you want me to not call you Eli?" Fiona questions, getting up and opening the curtains, nearest to Elijah. "Come on, you complete arse," she laughs, getting him up with his hands. He groans, lolling his head onto the nearest wall. It wasn't as smooth as he expected it to be. A loud thud follows and a cry of pain. "Yeah, that's what you get for not just waking up." Giving him his cup, Fiona goes to sort her things out.
"Out, Calvin!" Brooke yells, pouring the coffee into mugs. When no one replies, she yells loudly, "Hallman, out, right now! Otherwise you're cut back on the next thing you say you like!"
"Probably is being cocky and sex," Arthur mutters, for only him to hear.
Calvin comes out, a few seconds later. He's running a towel through his hair. "Done," he mumbles, sitting by Dakota's feet. He shakes the towel across his wet, brown hair, before dumping the pillow onto the camper chair. Calvin walks to the counter, standing beside Brooke. Ruffling his hair (and sending a few drops onto Brooke's face) Calvin grabs his warm cup. Putting some sugar in, he pours cold milk into it. Stirring it, he settles onto the bed, pulling out his iPhone to text a few people.
Elijah goes next, only to realise that they're running out of water to shower with. Meaning, they all are in for a lot of lifting and carrying. "Fiona!" Elijah groans, taking his t-shirt off. There's a knock on the door followed by a, "What?" Elijah opens the door, letting Fiona peek into the small bathroom. "Bra," Elijah mutters.
Fiona reddens within a millisecond. Her hands start sweating and she looks life a human opening their mouth underwater to take a breath. "I-I- Give me." She is not entirely sure who this piece of garment belongs to, but whose ever it is, she isn't happy with.
"Take it, I'm not touching it. It's your personal stuff."
"It's not mine," Fiona mutters, sliding in sideways, to reach out for the (horrifyingly lace) piece of undergarment. A small gasp leaves her mouth. She realises that Elijah's naked chest is pressed against her back and the fact thats she isn't even doing anything about. Quickly, grabbing the bra, she hurries outside. Once she's out, Fiona lets out the deep breath she had been holding in for ten seconds or so (which, for her, is a record).
"Everything alright?" Brooke asks, noticing Fiona's, now, pale complexion.
"Oh, of course. Just planning a hundred ways in my head on how to kill Dakota Adler," Fiona loudly says, for everyone to here.
"My bra!" Dakota shrieks, lunging out of the bed, straight at it. Calvin snickers and Arthur stifles a laugh. "I knew I was missing one!"
Fiona whispers in her ear, once she's grab hold of her, "Tell Elijah that."
"Did he really think this was yours?" Dakota wrinkles her nose. "You've got a nice set of boobs, I have small boobs. This bra is for small boobies." Fiona wants to object to that, but she finds it awkward. She expects Calvin to object (since Brooke's painted an image of Calvin the Fuckboy in her head) but he doesn't either. Fiona waits for Brooke. Brooke doesn't either. "Oh, really, you guys, I insulted myself and you're not going to make me feel better?"
"That's Arthur's job," Calvin says, grinning brightly. "He had a good time washing your undergarments remember?"
"Fiona, lets make a new plan: a hundred ways to kill Calvin Hallman."
"You're such a sweetheart."
"Make it a hundred and one."