Christian Velveteen: The Real Short Fiction Collection
"Chapter One: Meet Vel And Sar!"
https://docs.google.com/document/d/1benWQHFiSm0i080ook7PHPjy909_KmJn/edit?usp=drivesdk&ouid=108429489415292356305&rtpof=true&sd=true
Velveteen and Saran sat in their favorite booth, Booth 36, at their favorite restaurant, Fine Dining Establishment. Fine Dining Establishment was their favorite restaurant because it was one of the few restaurants in all College District where you could get both oysters and Chicken fingers. True, the Boochton across the street technically served both, but Velveteen, or Vel (as her friends called her) liked to sit in the bar booths at Fine Dining Establishment because they looked cool. Booth 36 was her favorite because she could see all the sidewalk, street and bar action at once, because she had the attention span of a fern. Until the oysters arrived.
As Velveteen surveyed the platter, she experienced a rush of pure joy. Twelve sweet plump Damariscotta oysters glistened before her. Three silver ramekins contained various dipping sauces on a bed of shaved ice. Like a Bird freed from her cage, she impaled a wedge of lemon on an oyster fork, splattering juice across a giant dollop of horseradish and an okra garnish.
Saran, on the other hand, was an old hand at hiding the fact that oysters made her want to vomit. She hardly ever had to cover her mouth and nose with her sleeve anymore. Back when she herself had worked at Fine Dining Establishment, on a field trip to their fish supplier, rather than a rush of pure joy, she had felt a rush of pure horror which was reflected in her eyes when the jovial, bloated middle-aged Man conducting the tour shoved his entire hand into the body of an especially ugly fish as if it were a puppet, and, using his fingers, Manipulated its face from within, all the while leering at her and pretending to make it talk. Come to think of it, she reflected, that guy had actually looked an awful lot like the fish himself.
Velveteen was beautiful in that sweet, guileless and vulnerable way as are those who are unaware of their beauty. She was nevertheless awkward, yet still confident, even goofy.
Her de rigueur long blonde Hair tumbled in lustrous loopy curls down her shoulders and back. Her brown and hazel flecked eyes sparkled with mischief when not clouded over with a dark shadow from within. She (generally) looked out at the World through pearlescent bright red oversize nerd glasses which emphasized her moon face, pert nose, wide mouth, and cleft chin. People used to tell her she looked like an anime, which was funny to her, because she actually was, in reality, an actual anime walking around. There were so Many like her these days, and honestly, she couldn't imagine being anything else; but back when she had first started, she was one of the few in all Suburban Enclave.
Velveteen was wearing a white, black and red Hot Topic “Anarchy In The UK” T-Shirt, black Gotta Have Now Neon Glow Reflective Leggings, an RPM Creations Floral Coral and Shell Necklace, Premier Designs Tres Chic Silver Earring Hoops, a Personalized Cuff Bracelet (which was a gift from Saran), a Vintage Solid 950 Sterling Silver Handmade Barry Brinker Animal Print Ring, (today) champagne Allen Bastille sunglasses with gold plated palladium frames, and Sam EdelMan Silver Boa Gigi sandals which highlighted her elegant but subtle purple flower pedicure with 3D white flowers and white dots on the inner corner of each toe nail, the result of her favorite Ultimate Spa Pedicure, 85-minutes of TLC for her tired and over-worked yet luxuriously pampered feet, consisting of an extended aromatic nourishing whirlpool sea salt soak, to drain away toxins and soften dry, rough skin, a custom-blended sugar scrub made with pure essential oil of lemongrass, a foot & leg massage complete with warm towel compresses (So good!), and a soft-collagen cream mask with moisturizing, therapeutic paraffin to seal in the hydrating benefits of the service, in addition to all the regular niceties of a spa pedicure.
[It was not unusual for Velveteen to completely dissociate sometime between the last stroke of the extended leg massage and the first caress of the warm towel compress wrapped around her foot, so she was always sure to ask in advance if she wanted to be woken up should she find herself drifting off to The Dream World (Please see “Velveteen: A Short Story In Multiple Chapters By: Velveteen; Chapter Five: The Dream World (Into Which She Would Have Passed Long Ago, Had She Been Able),” where there were no worries other than with which fabulous color to paint her preternaturally long monkey toes. And the voices.]
Also an anime, Saran, on the other hand, in her forest green Boochburg State University hoodie, black tights, Lucky Brand Brick Natural Sandals and classic no-nonsense pedicure (calluses smoothed away, cuticles groomed, nails trimmed and shaped, the entire foot exfoliated and moisturized, and finished with a perfect steely gray polish of the nails), always looked like she had either just gotten off work, or was just going into work.
Saran was the more practical of the two.
(Author’s Note:
VELVETEEN: I always say, “She’s the practical one!” Don’t I always say that, Sar? (Lightly backhanding Saran’s upper arm.)
SARAN (Completely deadpan): She does.
VELVETEEN: I always say, “She’s the practical one, and I’m the artistic type!”)
Saran had a direct approach. Her Hair was dark, straight and cropped just above her jawline. Her face was thin and angular, her jaw wide, her nose longer and straighter than Velveteen's, and her eyes reflected a practicality and seriousness of purpose borne out of her not-so-great past, and the deep burning Love she felt for her family. If Velveteen's eyes sometimes clouded over with darkness from within, Saran thought not only of what needed to be done immediately, but also of what would need to be done three moves hence.
“Here he comes,” she whispered, “Right on time.” Over Vel’s left shoulder, approaching them from the end of the bar booths, she could see the figure of Angel Hair Bernardi, a well-built muscular horse, approximately sixty years of age.
NEXT: Meet Angel Hair Bernardi!