Disclaimer: I still don’t own Ab Fab. Not that I haven’t tried to.

A/N: Once again, this is read in a British accent

It’s Fabulously Hideous!

--Chapter Two: Exciting and Illegal--

Saffron paced back and forth across the wood floor of the sitting room, biting her lower lip and generally worrying. Her mother was late, as usual, and again as usual, Saffy was waiting up in her pink night robe, pretending as if she wasn’t worrying when in reality she was one startle away from calling the bobbies(1). She felt her knees go quivery with relief when she saw a taxi roll up to the curb, and her mother stumbled out, blundering up toward the house, Patsy wallowing behind her with shopping bags stuffed to the brim. Pushing open the door, Saffy exclaimed

“Where HAVE you been?” Edina tripped over the step- up into the house and fell hard.

“Bloody hell! Can’t see the damn ledge when the whole world’s gone and turned itself into Technicolor!” So that was it. Apparently, wherever they’d gone had had something exciting and illegal to tempt them.

“I thought you were going to work.” Saffy pulled her mother into the house and slammed the door on Patsy.

“Hey, let me in you little bitch!” Patsy called from outside, “I should never have taken you back here! I should have let you stay in Marrakech with the slave traders, although I doubt they wanted you any more than we do!”

“Sweetie, let Patsy in” Edina scolded, “We did go to work! For a whole HOUR! Then Pats says we should go shopping, but it was hot! We just skipped into the bar for a drink…and after a few, someone showed up, and he had these little pills… that did something…”

Saffy reluctantly opened the door for Patsy and continued ushering her mother upstairs. Now, she was determined to get to the bottom of this story. But her mother was flopping around and completely disoriented, and apparently unable to say anything else coherently. After tucking Edina into bed, and letting Patsy wander about and pass out wherever she pleases, Saffy slipped into bed and reveled in the happiness of not worrying.

--Skipping to the next morning--

The next morning, Saffy woke early, as usual, and padded up the stairs in her pajamas to check on her mother. Unsurprisingly, Edina was out like a light and looked like she had recently died. She looked absolutely… horrible.

“Mum?” Saffy asked quietly, gently nudging her mother. No response. After a quick check of Edina’s vitals that assured that her mother was alive, Saffy turned and was ready to leave when her mother’s god-awful alarm clock started blasting death music at a rate that no one but Edina’s ears could stand. But apparently not when she had a hangover straight from Hell.

“Bloody Hell!” Edina jerked up from her dead-to-the-world slumber to slam her hand down on the offending alarm clock. Groaning, she fumbled around on her bedside table for her trusty bottle of wake up wine.

“No use with that, you finished off all of that quite a bit ago.” Saffy chimed in, rather helpfully, she thought. But Edina had other ideas.

“Then why didn’t you replace the bloody thing?”

“I’m not going to be your enabler. I refuse.” Blowing a rather nasty raspberry at her daughter, Edina slipped out of bed, cracked opened her blinds, and hissed in pain as the sunlight assaulted her dilated eyes. Pulling on a pair of sunglasses (Lacroix, nothing else!) she stumbled around, smacking into several walls and finally tripping into her bathroom. Saffy lingered at the spot where her mum had disappeared for a moment, asking herself silently why her mother put on sunglasses just to walk away. Whatever, it wasn’t her problem.

--Skipping ahead to breakfast—

“Sweetie! Mummy is going out!” A dressed and somewhat coherent looking Edina walked down the stairs into the kitchen, to find Saffy eating toast. “Saffy! WHAT is that on your toast?”

“Jam”

“NOOOO!” After reading the label, Edina howled and started grinding the jar into Saffy’s face. “This isn’t jam! No, no! This is my strawberry and apricot facial scrub! Because it’s all natural it has to be stored in the refrigerator, and here you go and smother your toast with forty pounds (2) worth of my beauty! This was hand squeezed from the finest, most elite fruits that grew in the best fields, where the fertilizer cost more than your whole bloody existence! And you take all this work and rub it over your breakfast! Think of the poor, underpaid people who you claim to care so much about, now you’ve forced them to do three times as much work, because now I have to buy a new jar of scrub!”

“I’m sorry, but you really should have pointed that out to me if you didn’t want me to eat it” Saffy said, (A lot more politely than Eddie deserved). By this time, Edina had noticed the rough sketch Saffy had been working on over her toast and what she thought was jam.

“Looking to be a bloody artist, are you? Well, that looks like a drunken chicken with its toe dipped in ink scratched that out while smoking crack!”

“I didn’t know you could draw…” Saffy chuckled at her little witticism.

“Oh, I see how it is! Well, we’ll just see how you like it when my drawings blow yours out of the water, when everyone looks at ME and says, ‘Wow! She’s a genius artist! However did she give birth to a little loser piece of filth?’”. With this, Edina swept up the stairs and out the door. Once again, Saffy was left with her own mind, to pick apart the flaws in her mother’s argument.

1. She was an Anthropology major, not an Art major

2. She loved art, but in no way, shape, or form did she consider herself an artist

wasn’t drawing something artistic. She was designing a poster board as a visual aid for upcoming presentation she had to do.

Whatever. Her mother’s problems were not Saffy’s concern. And besides, if it motivated her mother to be a little more productive, all the better. Sighing Saffy finished off her toast, wondering what exactly her out-of-her-right-mind mother was drawing at that very moment. Little did she know that her mother and Patsy, (who Edina had roused and taken out with her) were indeed drawing something that would become problematic in the very near future indeed.

--Fin Chapitre Deux--

(1) For those of you who don’t know, the British call their cops bobbies.

(2) I mean this as pounds in money value, not pounds in weight.

A/N: Yay! This is finally moving along with my original idea! Alright, cheerio! And drop me a review if you feel like it!