In this land, are we the heroes?

Well! Christian was appalled.
"I must say," he said in his broad English accent, "I do not care for this at all."
"Oh, don't you?" Roger asked as he put a candy-cane to his lips and pretended to take a puff.
"Fuck, no cigs?"
Christian turned and saw Brenda striding into the living room.
"Brenda!" said Roger, "You're hair is rather blue."
Brenda nodded, her short electric-blue hair swinging in her face, "I'm afraid it is," and she said this so solemnly that Christian had to ask, "Whatever is making you so down?"
There was a crunching sound as Roger gave up and took a bite of his cigarette.
"I was at the store, you know, to buy the things we agreed on."
All three heads bobbed up and down in a creepily-performed nod, and Christian remembered the discussion they had around fluffy slippers and 'Blood Orange' tea that didn't taste like blood or oranges at all, but rather some hybrid cross of cough syrup and roast pumpkin.
"And I was in the hair isle- that hair isle devoted entirely to hair?- but my glasses were on and I couldn't see, and some child dropped jello on my shoe."
All three of them looked down in sync once again, as if they were puppets on string, and stared at the light green stain spread over Brenda's white high-tops.
"It's a catastrophe!" Roger declared around another candy-cane.
"It's rotten!" Christian agreed, aghast.
"So you see," Brenda went on in a weary way, with slumped shoulders and her mouth turned down at the corners, "I couldn't buy red."
"You couldn't buy red," Roger remarked with a note of confusion in his voice, "because some child dropped jello on your shoe?"
"The point is," Christian started as he walked past Brenda and opened the top kitchen drawer, "Is that bloody Molly."
"Oh! Don't start me!" Roger rolled his eyes.
Brenda sat herself down on the little round shag-rug and Christian said, "She couldn't buy red because of her glasses! I'm right? I'm right." Then he took out a little purple notebook and pen and wrote down Brenda's name, the date and what item she had missed in his small, jerky handwriting. He had to write this on the seventeenth line because there was a whole host of items Brenda mistakenly purchased all due to her enormously red-rimmed glasses.
"The pineapples do nothing for your scope of vision."
Brenda shouted: "They're decoration and they're delicious!" and Roger snapped a photo of her on his phone.
Roger asked, "Have you ever scratched yourself in the eye?"
Brenda sniffed. "Do you spell cranberry with two Ys?" and she stood up in a huff and stalked off in the direction of the bathroom.
"I bet she showers with a towel on," Roger said, looking rather amused and Christian had just finished dotting every I with a love-heart, so he joined in with the amusement too, opened the fridge and announced they would be having fried legumes and string cheese for dinner.
"What? What's this?" Roger asked, repulsed, and he slid gracefully out of the armchair to investigate.
"Oh have some faith in loud announcements, will you?"
"What volume was that in?"
Christian paused at the stove, confusion etched onto his forehead in the form of a wrinkled brow. "Which one?"
"The first one, the announcement."
"Eh?"
"Under ten or over one hundred?"
There was a moment of silence as they both suddenly stopped conversing to listen to Brenda sing gaily as she scrubbed herself.
"I don't think this is the time," said Roger and swiftly turned.
Christian waved an arm, "I concur," and he was pretty sure Roger would have said, "Hear ye, hear ye!" while shaking a bell if he had not just walked off outside to smoke a chocolate wafer stick in the shape of a cigarette.

>Where your wild things are