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Title: Hypotheticals: How I, Azrael Hawthorne, Righted a Wrong and Saved the True Love of Two Ungrateful Assholes Who Didn’t Deserve it
Series: Azrael
Rating: PG13 to Rish
Word Count: 2094
Summary: What the title says.
Notes: Written for a creative writing class in spring 2009.
Rich and Cyril started out with a hypothetical question. A lot of things start out that way, but, because it’s Rich and Cyril, and they can’t do anything without turning into an incident, they managed to turn one stupid little hypothetical into three weeks of operatic whining and bullshit.
It started when we were at the mall food court, kvetching over school work and destroying fast food when I saw something over their shoulders that – uh – averted my attention. Kinda like would happen if, hypothetically, this really cute redhead appeared. One who also happened to be a genius, and have a really amazing laugh and the kind of passion that makes for really great political rants and, I suspect, really great sex. Not that I, you know, know anybody like that, and not like I saw anybody like that, and not like there’s a read-haired girl in a couple of my classes who always comes to the mall around this time, and don’t be thinking anything like that ‘cause this is hypothetical, yeah? And, anyway, we’re talking about Rich and Cyril, not some purely hypothetical redhead who was over by the Chinese place.
I couldn’t have been, you know, distracted, for more than a couple of minutes, but somehow they’d managed to get from Dr. Rose and his hard-on for Octavian – which is what we’d been talking about before – to who would be on top if the two of them, theoretically, boned. Not Rose and Octavian – it was pretty much public knowledge that Rose would bend over for Octavian any day of the week – but Rich and Cyril. I was way more surprised to hear that they hadn’t already had sex than by the fact they were talking about it. I mean – have you met Rich and Cyril? Of course they want to bang each other! It’s, like, nature, or something. We’ve known each other since kindergarten, and the only constant in fifteen years of friendship has been my absolute conviction that they’re going to end up married, or something, and I am not wrong about these things. Ask anybody.
And then, just as I was getting done with that revelation, all of a sudden they were fighting about it. What the hell, right? Like, honest to God, fist-clenching, eye-narrowing, voice-raising fighting. I haven’t seen them fight like since we were in the fifth grade and Rich said something disgusting about Cyril’s sister. (That’s one of many reasons they’re obviously gay for each other. They’re the most contrary bastards who were born, and they – especially Cyril – will fight with anything that moves but never with each other. They’re like one person.) And then, just like déjà-fucking-vu, Cyril punched Rich in the face, except his aim was better than it was back in grade school, and he actually hit his face, rather than his neck. The neck thing was pretty fucking funny, for me, anyway, and also pretty much the end of their fight because Cyril took my hysteria as an insult and started trying to kill me while Rich was trying to sort out his trachea. I was doing all right until Rich stopped, like, dying, and decided to start hitting me, too.
Assholes.
But anyway, this time Cyril got him in the eye, and then somebody said something else, and I missed it because I was still trying to figure out what the fuck was happening and all of a sudden they were storming off in opposite directions, cursing each other’s names, and generally making a huge scene. Over sex they weren’t having. Over sex that, according to them, anyway, they didn’t even want to be having. Who does that?
I was still trying to work that one out when this girl came over who I sort of know and is a redhead, maybe? Not that I notice shit like that. She came over and said, “Hey, Az. What the hell was that all about?”
Like I mentioned – they made a scene.
“No idea, dude,” I said. “They’re nuts.”
“Evidently,” she said. “Has my thesis actually driven me round the bend, or was that a debate about bedroom dominance?”
“Uh, I think it was hypothetical.”
“Hypothetical? They were screaming at each other over sex they aren’t even having? That’s ridiculous.”
She sat down across from me and started stabbing at her noodle thing, which had beef in it, I think, and smelled pretty awesome.
“Yeah, well,” I said. “They’re ridiculous. You wanna share that?”
She looked pointedly at the remnants of my burger, but told me to have at it. And I – look, nobody should be getting the wrong idea here, because she’s, like, she’s okay, you know? And we might’ve been, like, talking or something the next time Rich and Cyril blew up at each other, and I think I might have been telling her about that time when I was fifteen and started crying because my dad dropped my birthday cake on the floor, but don’t read anything into that. She was saying something like, “Now for a real challenge. Tell me a childhood story that doesn’t end with you bursting into tears.” So clearly there’s nothing going on, because why would anything be going on with her mocking my pain like that and, anyway; we’re talking about Rich and Cyril.
Same damned fight, on the quad, a week later. Yelling, screaming, punching, the whole nine yards. They hadn’t said word one to each other since the incident at the food court, far as I could tell, and then all of a sudden they were tearing each other apart. Me and the redhead and a couple of other kids pulled them off each other, but they were spitting bullets, still, and Cyril had a really obvious bite mark on his hand. Rich is tiny, but he fights dirty. And after all that, they were still fucking screaming about fucking each other. Everybody thought they were nuts. I knew they were nuts.
Then they had another week of no talking, far as I could tell, but I wasn’t really talking to them, either. Not that I was doing anything special or anything, but they’re nuts, you know? Who wants to talk to crazy people? Don’t they bite? And then the redhead (whose eyes are this really deep brown, which weirded me out, at first, because I expected them to be green, or something, but it’s not like I think about that sort of thing) said, “Az. You’ve got to do something. Fix them.”
“Why do I have to fix the psychobitches?”
So, she started talking and explained to me that Rich and Cyril being Best Friends Forever has become an integral part of the community and with them on outs there’s no one to face down the jerkasses who go after the dorky blonde kid in their Sumerian History class. I told her that that kid could go walk in front of a car for all I care, but she kept talking and eventually I realized that I probably did have to fix them. Cause it’s like I said earlier – Rich and Cyril are nature. You don’t fuck with nature.
It’s not like she talked me into it, or anything it’s just that I thought about it and decided it made sense, you know?
And then I figured that Cyril’s a bitch and I should probably talk to Rich. See, Rich is a giant wuss and I figured all I’d have to do to there is remind him of their great, gay love for each other and he’d burst into hysterical wussy tears and go beg Cyril to take him back. And Cyril would totally do it, because he knows Rich is the only person in the world stupid enough to put up with him, and then they’d go make ass babies, or whatever. My logic was perfect. So, I headed over to Rich’s dorm. No one was around to let me in, but he lived on the first floor so I headed around to his window – he should really get the latch fixed, some time – and hung around until he got back. He wasn’t pleased to see me.
“Az. What the fuck’re you doing here?”
“Fixing you,” I told him. “What the hell is going on with you and Cyril?”
“Cyril’s a jackass.” He threw his jacket at me. I guess it was supposed to hurt, but it was really more like a cardigan, so it just kind of floated into my lap. I ended up shoving it into my bag when he wasn’t paying attention. It was kind of a girly color, like this skirt I’d seen the redhead wearing, and I figured it would look better on her.
“Well, yeah,” I said. “That hasn’t stopped you from hanging around him twenty-four seven since, like, birth.”
“I do not hang around him. He hangs around me.”
“Whatever, dude. Nobody’s hanging around anybody, now, and that’s a problem. Can’t you just, like, make out with him or something? And then – ”
And then he punched me. Asshole. So I went to talk to Cyril.
That girl might have given me some pain killers and ice pack on the way to Cyril’s, but it’s not like I sought her out or anything. I was just all pissed off and made a wrong turn and I figured, since I was over by the honor’s dorm, anyway, I might as well give her the jacket. And she – you know what? It’s none of your damned business.
Cyril was in his room, and he let me in, probably just to laugh at my black eye, shitbag he is. And when I told him Rich hit me, because I wanted them to stop acting like tools and make up already, he started cussing about how he doesn’t need Rich and all that shit and when I expressed skepticism, he hit my other eye. So I hit him, harder, and left.
Assholes, the both of them.
Next day, I wandered into the quad when the girl was there. I didn’t really notice her, but I ended up sitting down near her, and she promptly accused me of sulking. Which I wasn’t. Then she started petting my hair, which was lame and didn’t feel good at all, but it distracted me so I didn’t storm off like I meant to, but I was getting ready to, all right? And somewhere along the way I got to talking about some movie I’d seen and she called me a sexist shitbag for even going near it. Apparently the producer was a notorious misogynist and anti-Semite but how the fuck was I supposed to know that? She settled a little when I promised my copy was pirated so he didn’t get any of my money.
That’s about Rich and Cyril showed up, of course, and started screaming again, of course. But this time it was all, like, “I’ll show you who’d be on top!” and “Try it! You’ll have your ass in the air before – ” And then I stopped listening because, dude. I don’t need to know that shit.
They stormed off, again, together this time, and the next day they were friends, again, if you call making out on any flat surface friends. They still didn’t talk to me for about a week, and not just because they were too busy trying to swallow each other’s tonsils, but that was all right because me and the redhead had been hanging out, sort of, but don’t read anything into that because it’s not like it was a thing.
The first time we found them dry humping on the quad I said to her, “See? I fixed them.”
And she said, “Yes, you’re a hero. Could you get me some chips? I’m starving.”
I went and got them but only because I’d already been thinking of getting some stuff from the vending machines and if that’s all I brought back it’s just because nothing looked good. And then I held her hand.
You want to make something of it?
Series: Azrael
Rating: PG13 to Rish
Word Count: 2094
Summary: What the title says.
Notes: Written for a creative writing class in spring 2009.
Rich and Cyril started out with a hypothetical question. A lot of things start out that way, but, because it’s Rich and Cyril, and they can’t do anything without turning into an incident, they managed to turn one stupid little hypothetical into three weeks of operatic whining and bullshit.
It started when we were at the mall food court, kvetching over school work and destroying fast food when I saw something over their shoulders that – uh – averted my attention. Kinda like would happen if, hypothetically, this really cute redhead appeared. One who also happened to be a genius, and have a really amazing laugh and the kind of passion that makes for really great political rants and, I suspect, really great sex. Not that I, you know, know anybody like that, and not like I saw anybody like that, and not like there’s a read-haired girl in a couple of my classes who always comes to the mall around this time, and don’t be thinking anything like that ‘cause this is hypothetical, yeah? And, anyway, we’re talking about Rich and Cyril, not some purely hypothetical redhead who was over by the Chinese place.
I couldn’t have been, you know, distracted, for more than a couple of minutes, but somehow they’d managed to get from Dr. Rose and his hard-on for Octavian – which is what we’d been talking about before – to who would be on top if the two of them, theoretically, boned. Not Rose and Octavian – it was pretty much public knowledge that Rose would bend over for Octavian any day of the week – but Rich and Cyril. I was way more surprised to hear that they hadn’t already had sex than by the fact they were talking about it. I mean – have you met Rich and Cyril? Of course they want to bang each other! It’s, like, nature, or something. We’ve known each other since kindergarten, and the only constant in fifteen years of friendship has been my absolute conviction that they’re going to end up married, or something, and I am not wrong about these things. Ask anybody.
And then, just as I was getting done with that revelation, all of a sudden they were fighting about it. What the hell, right? Like, honest to God, fist-clenching, eye-narrowing, voice-raising fighting. I haven’t seen them fight like since we were in the fifth grade and Rich said something disgusting about Cyril’s sister. (That’s one of many reasons they’re obviously gay for each other. They’re the most contrary bastards who were born, and they – especially Cyril – will fight with anything that moves but never with each other. They’re like one person.) And then, just like déjà-fucking-vu, Cyril punched Rich in the face, except his aim was better than it was back in grade school, and he actually hit his face, rather than his neck. The neck thing was pretty fucking funny, for me, anyway, and also pretty much the end of their fight because Cyril took my hysteria as an insult and started trying to kill me while Rich was trying to sort out his trachea. I was doing all right until Rich stopped, like, dying, and decided to start hitting me, too.
Assholes.
But anyway, this time Cyril got him in the eye, and then somebody said something else, and I missed it because I was still trying to figure out what the fuck was happening and all of a sudden they were storming off in opposite directions, cursing each other’s names, and generally making a huge scene. Over sex they weren’t having. Over sex that, according to them, anyway, they didn’t even want to be having. Who does that?
I was still trying to work that one out when this girl came over who I sort of know and is a redhead, maybe? Not that I notice shit like that. She came over and said, “Hey, Az. What the hell was that all about?”
Like I mentioned – they made a scene.
“No idea, dude,” I said. “They’re nuts.”
“Evidently,” she said. “Has my thesis actually driven me round the bend, or was that a debate about bedroom dominance?”
“Uh, I think it was hypothetical.”
“Hypothetical? They were screaming at each other over sex they aren’t even having? That’s ridiculous.”
She sat down across from me and started stabbing at her noodle thing, which had beef in it, I think, and smelled pretty awesome.
“Yeah, well,” I said. “They’re ridiculous. You wanna share that?”
She looked pointedly at the remnants of my burger, but told me to have at it. And I – look, nobody should be getting the wrong idea here, because she’s, like, she’s okay, you know? And we might’ve been, like, talking or something the next time Rich and Cyril blew up at each other, and I think I might have been telling her about that time when I was fifteen and started crying because my dad dropped my birthday cake on the floor, but don’t read anything into that. She was saying something like, “Now for a real challenge. Tell me a childhood story that doesn’t end with you bursting into tears.” So clearly there’s nothing going on, because why would anything be going on with her mocking my pain like that and, anyway; we’re talking about Rich and Cyril.
Same damned fight, on the quad, a week later. Yelling, screaming, punching, the whole nine yards. They hadn’t said word one to each other since the incident at the food court, far as I could tell, and then all of a sudden they were tearing each other apart. Me and the redhead and a couple of other kids pulled them off each other, but they were spitting bullets, still, and Cyril had a really obvious bite mark on his hand. Rich is tiny, but he fights dirty. And after all that, they were still fucking screaming about fucking each other. Everybody thought they were nuts. I knew they were nuts.
Then they had another week of no talking, far as I could tell, but I wasn’t really talking to them, either. Not that I was doing anything special or anything, but they’re nuts, you know? Who wants to talk to crazy people? Don’t they bite? And then the redhead (whose eyes are this really deep brown, which weirded me out, at first, because I expected them to be green, or something, but it’s not like I think about that sort of thing) said, “Az. You’ve got to do something. Fix them.”
“Why do I have to fix the psychobitches?”
So, she started talking and explained to me that Rich and Cyril being Best Friends Forever has become an integral part of the community and with them on outs there’s no one to face down the jerkasses who go after the dorky blonde kid in their Sumerian History class. I told her that that kid could go walk in front of a car for all I care, but she kept talking and eventually I realized that I probably did have to fix them. Cause it’s like I said earlier – Rich and Cyril are nature. You don’t fuck with nature.
It’s not like she talked me into it, or anything it’s just that I thought about it and decided it made sense, you know?
And then I figured that Cyril’s a bitch and I should probably talk to Rich. See, Rich is a giant wuss and I figured all I’d have to do to there is remind him of their great, gay love for each other and he’d burst into hysterical wussy tears and go beg Cyril to take him back. And Cyril would totally do it, because he knows Rich is the only person in the world stupid enough to put up with him, and then they’d go make ass babies, or whatever. My logic was perfect. So, I headed over to Rich’s dorm. No one was around to let me in, but he lived on the first floor so I headed around to his window – he should really get the latch fixed, some time – and hung around until he got back. He wasn’t pleased to see me.
“Az. What the fuck’re you doing here?”
“Fixing you,” I told him. “What the hell is going on with you and Cyril?”
“Cyril’s a jackass.” He threw his jacket at me. I guess it was supposed to hurt, but it was really more like a cardigan, so it just kind of floated into my lap. I ended up shoving it into my bag when he wasn’t paying attention. It was kind of a girly color, like this skirt I’d seen the redhead wearing, and I figured it would look better on her.
“Well, yeah,” I said. “That hasn’t stopped you from hanging around him twenty-four seven since, like, birth.”
“I do not hang around him. He hangs around me.”
“Whatever, dude. Nobody’s hanging around anybody, now, and that’s a problem. Can’t you just, like, make out with him or something? And then – ”
And then he punched me. Asshole. So I went to talk to Cyril.
That girl might have given me some pain killers and ice pack on the way to Cyril’s, but it’s not like I sought her out or anything. I was just all pissed off and made a wrong turn and I figured, since I was over by the honor’s dorm, anyway, I might as well give her the jacket. And she – you know what? It’s none of your damned business.
Cyril was in his room, and he let me in, probably just to laugh at my black eye, shitbag he is. And when I told him Rich hit me, because I wanted them to stop acting like tools and make up already, he started cussing about how he doesn’t need Rich and all that shit and when I expressed skepticism, he hit my other eye. So I hit him, harder, and left.
Assholes, the both of them.
Next day, I wandered into the quad when the girl was there. I didn’t really notice her, but I ended up sitting down near her, and she promptly accused me of sulking. Which I wasn’t. Then she started petting my hair, which was lame and didn’t feel good at all, but it distracted me so I didn’t storm off like I meant to, but I was getting ready to, all right? And somewhere along the way I got to talking about some movie I’d seen and she called me a sexist shitbag for even going near it. Apparently the producer was a notorious misogynist and anti-Semite but how the fuck was I supposed to know that? She settled a little when I promised my copy was pirated so he didn’t get any of my money.
That’s about Rich and Cyril showed up, of course, and started screaming again, of course. But this time it was all, like, “I’ll show you who’d be on top!” and “Try it! You’ll have your ass in the air before – ” And then I stopped listening because, dude. I don’t need to know that shit.
They stormed off, again, together this time, and the next day they were friends, again, if you call making out on any flat surface friends. They still didn’t talk to me for about a week, and not just because they were too busy trying to swallow each other’s tonsils, but that was all right because me and the redhead had been hanging out, sort of, but don’t read anything into that because it’s not like it was a thing.
The first time we found them dry humping on the quad I said to her, “See? I fixed them.”
And she said, “Yes, you’re a hero. Could you get me some chips? I’m starving.”
I went and got them but only because I’d already been thinking of getting some stuff from the vending machines and if that’s all I brought back it’s just because nothing looked good. And then I held her hand.
You want to make something of it?
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