Tonight and the Rest of My Life

Technically, this is compliant with Thessaly's 'One Flash of Light'. Well, the bin bit is. The rest is mine (apart from characters, obviously.) It may or may not be apparent that I've never been that 'into' Brit. Still, I'm challenging myself.

They say that when you're about to die, the whole of your life flashes before your eyes.

Britney Spears, with moments left, (had he been given several more seconds to vocalise this) would have disagreed. The whole of your world is the only thing you'll see.

The first thing he'd thought about the matter was that really, it could really wait a few hours. For a fifteen year-old boy with nothing better to think about than what music he could make and girls he could look at every day, getting up at the arse-crack of dawn to do a trainee scouting mission could bloody well wait. With a hoarse voice and much gesticulation, he told Bob as much when the older man came to pry him out of bed. With a shrug Bob left, pulling the door gently back into place behind him, and Brit pulled another pillow over his head and dropped promptly back into sleep.

The second thing he'd thought was that this could wait forever and it wouldn't be long enough. The new kid they found on the scout hunt was plain annoying. She was the friendliest kid they had there – not difficult; there were some right weirdos in the Heartbreak – but he'd even take Bowie for company over this one. That wasn't to say it was bad that she was friendly, but she was a bit clingy. His mates didn't seem to mind much, but that was for obvious reasons. Brit, sorting his thoughts into an old transcribe communicator in his room, groaned and buried his head in a pillow. The door opened roughly (the rust iron sheet really needed replacing, but wood was rare as anything these days, and metal they needed for music), and a blonde head peeked round.
"What'cha doing?" The thick Scottish accent grated in his ears, and he grimaced. Turning to face her with a scowl, he muttered, "Nothing."
"Hmm." She glanced him up and down (in a way that made him feel downright uncomfortable, honestly), and shrugged. "Bye then!"
Brit rolled his eyes, and picked the communicator up once more. So, his mates liked her for obvious reasons: so, yeah, no fifteen your old boy can resist a girl his own age when she's got a figure like that. Especially when she wore that corset and those shorts...

The communicator fell to the floor, unnoticed.

There was, of course, the occasional fight between them – and with no small amount of pride, Brit for his part usually managed not to start them. However, the girl, now having chosen the name 'Meat Loaf' ("I'll shorten it to 'Miss Loaf'," she'd told his mates, and winked. He'd pretended to vomit, and grinned hastily when Macca shot him a look), had a temper that flared more often than Bowie's precious lighter.

One particular fight occurred over the necessity the Bohemians struggled the most with. Due to previous – disagreements - between other clans, separate groups of bohemians tended to keep themselves... well, separate. Unfortunately, when it came to scavenging for food, rules were thrown out of the window, aside from the one general guideline: "anything goes". Because in the virtual world, kids were somewhat nonchalant about the fact that while they could eat when and whatever they wanted, it didn't occur to them to leave their leftovers in a state that others could use; and because the bohemians were generally unable to get their food from any other source, this could prove to be a problem.

This explained, therefore, Brit's absolute glee when he found, on further inspection of a previously unnoticed bin, more than half of a decent-looking sandwich, he'd almost laughed out loud. He'd just glanced around to check no-one else was about to intrude on his find, when there was a yell from somewhere behind him, and something pulled one of his legs out from underneath him. Landing with harder impact than Brit had anticipated, he rolled over, pushed himself up – and came face to face with Miss Loaf, with her fists and jaw clenched, and eyes narrowed.

"What," demanded Brit, spitting dust out of his mouth and glaring at the girl, "the hell, was that for?" She glared right back.

"I saw that bin first, an' so that food's mine."

He raised an eyebrow, and shook some of the dirt from himself. "Look, I don't know what you think you're on about, but I don't want to fight you for it."

"Oh good, s'nice of you to make it easy for me."

He glared again. "I meant, 'cause you're a girl."

"An' what the hell does that matter?" Her voice was low and dangerous, and Brit was tempted to leave it, and avoid a fight. 'After all;' (rung Macca's words in his head) 'fighting doesn't make anyone look big and clever, all it serves to do is make the fighters look like fools.' Brit shook his head. Impressive, the stuff that guy could come up with after a few joints.

... But then again, chicken and bacon sandwich...

He grinned. "Nothing. Just don't want to embarrass you by beating you. S'all."

"What the HELL makes you think you can beat me in a fight?" She was yelling by this point, and he was surprised. The accent that grated on his nerves so drastically when she spoke normally was, it turned out, much clearer and more defined when she raised her voice. Or shouted, like she was doing now. By this point, she'd got into a full on rant at him, and it was only when he noticed the fact that she'd stopped that he realised he should probably be paying attention to what she was saying – "I SAID, are you listening to me or not?"

He looked up into her face, and their eyes met. She appeared slightly surprised by the fact he hadn't replied, and blinked, frowning slightly. "You're, uh," she coughed, "you're not yelling back."

He shrugged. "I'm impressed I guess." Her ears were slightly pink, he noticed.


He smiled, and watched the pink spread slightly, slipping down the side of her neck. "Girl, you've got one hell of a set of pipes, that's all."

She narrowed her eyes. "Whassat meant to mean?"

She cast around for an example. "She's got a ticket to ride... she's got a ticket to ri-i-ide, she's got a ticket to ride, but she don't care."

When they arrived back at the Heartbreak holding hands, and walked into his room without saying a word to anyone, nobody was particularly surprised.

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