An evil glint sparkled in Topiary's eye as he watched Mazarin hold up a large piece of glass.
"You could sell that," he remarked casually, kicking a piece of yellow lego. It rolled over the carpet and under a thin-legged table made of splintering, soft wood.
"Maybe," Mazarin nodded. She held it up over her eye and peered at him. "Hello."
He said, "Will you keep it in the key drawer, then?"
Mazarin huffed in such extravagance that her arms swung down and Topiary leaned forwards, horrified with his arms outstretched, ready to leap if it should come to that, and she said in a ringing voice, "Not everything has to go into the key drawer, Topiary!"
"Where else would it go?!"
"Oh you're so mortified about every little thing!" her arms swung back and forth. The fingers of her right hand gripped the glass tightly so little patches of yellow formed on the tips. Topiary watched in alarm. "You're cutting off your circulation! Here-"
He lunged forwards.
"Hey! Fuck off!" Mazarin jumped back. His eyes were ginormous. Had they been that way this morning when she'd met him in the kitchen, half-dressed in a pair of tweed trousers and a daisy patterned dressing gown??
"You're going to sleep with it!" he yelled in frustration.
"Hah!" she flung her arms out in triumph. "Maybe I will!" And she jumped back again as he took a swipe.
"I'm over the line now buddy! Surrender and bow!"
Topiary looked down at the connection line that separated the thin, light blue living room carpet from the fluffy cream-coloured sitting room carpet. In all of Topiary's life he had never known why a house should have two rooms for the same purpose. One room to sit and read the paper by a light fire, maybe with a fan in case he grew too hot and a small bookshelf to set up his typewriter on, should be all anyone needed.
Although, now that Topiary thought about it, perhaps two rooms had merit. Why not write in one and read in the other? Keep the two activities entirely separate. All that confusion! So many muddling occurrences jumbling together that should be laid out neatly and smoothed over. How does one achieve anything with all that mess! No, here was an idea that could shake it all up, spill it all over and sort it all out. Separate rooms! Two different arm-chairs, two different types of lamp, two sets of wall painted in different shades of white (is there even such a thing? he thought, gasping). Two types of alcoholic beverage, two frog figurines with only one arm, maybe even two pairs of slippers! He'd match them to the carpet! Why, even two sets of his hair piece. He could change them every day and say goodbye to his current pastime of wringing out the sweat to pacify the itching!
"Mazarin..." he said slowly, as if mulling an idea over in his head or trying to remember something important.
"Surrender, buck face!"
She probably meant 'fuck face' but he couldn't be sure that two pairs of everything wouldn't flame his soul into further creative ambition. Were two rooms enough?
"Topiary, yoohoo! Let's get some pasta from Vincent."
"Mazarin!" he said suddenly, looking up with a stricken expression that usually precedes news of a terrifying nature.
Mazarin shouted something incoherent, lunging back awkwardly and, once again, flinging her arms out in surprise. The piece of glass sailed through the sitting room and smashed through the window as Topiary called out in horror: "I haven't got two hair pieces!"
~
god I'm gonna miss you when you... s m i l e
