The Eight-Point Arc
"Am I the only one that thinks that when you look at a brain in certain cuts and angles it looks like a vagina?" Chief points out, standing behind Ace, looking over his shoulder at the medicine book in front of him.
She rolls her eyes "With you everything looks like a vagina."
Chief smiles widely. "Touché. No I mean seriously, go ahead, touchez-moi," he asks, hips leaning forward towards me. "Allez gente dame, apaisez-moi de mes passions et touchez à mon fruit interdit, ma corne d'abondances, ma banane exotique. "
She sighs in annoyance, shaking her head. "Seriously? That was wrong on so many levels."
"And your banana is anything but exotic," Ace adds, nose still in his book, turning a page.
Abrielle is an artist. Shanahan is a philosopher. Donavan is a scientist. And they all live together.
Their story is a recipe for disaster. No, seriously, disaaaaster.