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19 June 2006 - 00:30

in the steam of the night

Brother and sister sat at the gray computer chair, side by side, admiring their accomplishment of the night. It was late, yes, but they were satisfied. They were more satisfied in that they knew that they had completed their task just in time, for there was no telling if tomorrow they would have the chance to work. In fact, they were almost positive that they wouldn't. Their other brother, sullenly leaning on the chair back, maintained their wakefulness with his insomnia. Together, the two in the chair kept the mind keen despite lack of sleep. Hot and stuffy, and slightly fussy, the alien, now sporting his skin in a brilliant shade of red, yearned for the Cheetoes on the computer desk. He licked his already orange lips and whimpered uncomfortably. His bespectled sister in the chair kindly blew cool breath on his tentacles. One of this brothers fanned at his sticky skin with their white t-shirt. The alien sighed. He wanted a bath. Now.

The bald thug, still leaning against the chair also sighed exasperatedly, running his tongue over plaque-encrusted teeth. Not only did he want a shower, he also demanded a good brushing of the teeth. His breath was steaming, his saliva a thick, hot tar. "Chapopote," one of his brothers, the dark-skinned one, corrected from the deep recesses of their mind, but no one paid him heed. The alien reached back at the clasp of the silver spiked choker that one of his brothers insisted on wearing. The metal was hot against his red skin, but he couldn't pry it off, because he had no fingers, and he was too lazy and fussy to use more than two tentacles at a time. So on it stayed. From the computer speakers, the song Nymphetamine played softly, and the one who liked the spikes smiled quietly and swayed to the beat and riffs. "Sick and weak is my condition, this lust, this vampiric addiction..." he murmured. His breath emerged steamy on his tongue. It made his smile grow broader, but more quiet still.

"Christening stars, I remember the day we were needle and spoon, mislaid in the burning hay..."

Having completed their task at hand though, the two on the chair decided that was enough for the night. It was hot, they agreed, and a shower was well in order before bed.

No Cheetoes, though, sorry Jack, and the alien pouted. They'll just make us thirsty, you see, and we just ran out of root beer.

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