A Pair of Regular Gentlemen

"You can just borrow my spare one, then," he said, before remembering he was being really nice. "If you do something for me afterwards, that is."

He glared at Mimey, hoping to get his point across. He filled the bathtub with water, testing to make sure it was hot enough. It wasn't, and so when he got in he heated it to the proper temperature, which was nearly boiling.

"You probably don't want to get in; you should probably take a shower."

Nodding awkwardly--why on Earth would he want to share bathing water with that man after the days of similar unpleasant necessities were long past--Mimey neatly stripped of his suit, folded it and placed it on a counter. He turned on the shower and was instantly hit with water barely above freezing point; patches of his skin began to turn blue.

Is it supposed to be so freezing?! he signed madly at Cecil. Though he adjusted to the temperature after a minute--he had bathed in the Thames in winter before--it was still highly unpleasant. He could feel his makeup being slowly worn away by the bone-chilling onslaught; it made him feel exposed.

Cecil glanced at him.

"Oh, I guess it is cold, huh? I haven't bothered heating it up, 'cause, fuck work," he shrugged. "One sec."

He stood up, pushing Mimey out of the way so he could grab the pipe. He grinned slightly, as it turned red hot. Then, the water heated up as well.

"Sorry, forgot," he replied, jumping back in his bathwater. It was rather dirty, so he drained it, and used up more water. He lathered up his hair, sighing. It had been a long, long time since he'd bothered taking a real shower.

Mimey closed his eyes and let the warm water wash over his face and hair, relishing the feeling. His shivers subsided as he warmed up; soon his shower became, well, enjoyable.

Soap? he questioned Cecil, glancing around.

Cecil grabbed his soap and handed it to Mimey, before he rinsed his hair. It still had some tangles in it, but he might brush it out. Maybe. He doubted that would happen, actually. Too much work.

"Are you almost done? I'm getting bored," he replied, standing up and draining the water again.

He nodded, placing the soap on the counter and rising off.

Thank you, he signed with a bow, toweling himself off. His body was surprisingly nice; though he was thin he had some muscle tone. His skin was darker than one might've imagined; he didn't look like a creature of Western Europe.

"You're middle eastern?" Cecil asked, as he pulled on his clothes. He didn't need to towel off, he just heated the water from his body. Though that was just because he was lazy. "Not that I care, ya know. Makes no fuckin' difference to me."

He headed back to their caravan, and when they got there, he grabbed his hair brush so he could maybe detangle his matted mess. He gave up within a matter of seconds.

British, he signed evasively, straightening out his suit. You too, I am guessing.

"Yep," he said, brushing his hair for a few more seconds. "Yep, English, full breed. Maybe a bit Welsh, too, but we don't talk about them, aight?"

He laughed obnoxiously.

Mimey opened his mouth to chuckle politely, then remembered his new creed. Instead, he flashed Cecil a closed-mouth smile; unlike most he gave, it actually reached his eyes. He enjoyed being reminded of home, as much as he didn't wish to return at present.

He rearranged his damp dreadlocks; they always grew unruly after a bath. Rebellions frizz poked out of their edges; he produced a tiny pocket mirror from his bags, filched ages ago in another life. When he had finished preening, he glanced at Cecil again, unsure of what to say.

What tea is your favorite? he asked lamely. It was a stupid question, but nothing else came to mind. He certainly didn't want to ask anything too probing; that always created probing questions in return, and he didn't want those.

"Huh. I don't like that Chinese crap, even though it's really popular where I'm from," he wrinkled his nose as he spoke, brushing his hair. "Indian tea though? Oh, it's perfect. I bloody love Indian tea. Ah, I really like a certain brand. It's been a while since I was in Britain. I haven't drank real tea in a while, either..."

He furrowed his eyebrows.

"Been...a few years. Ten...last time I was there, I thought about goin' back, but..."

He blinked.

"Oh, uh, forget that, forget it, I was just thinkin' about nothin'." He frowned. He couldn't believe he let himself talk like that.

Bring me some, and I'll brew it for you he offered, though he execution of "brew" was questionable. He watched Cecil brush his hair, frowning vacantly; did this man's hair tangle so quickly? It seemed like a hassle; he fingered his dreads, glad to have something so low-maintenance.

Cecil did look considerably better now, though. Without the distracting stench making his eyes water, he could see that the man had an admirable silhouette; in fact, it was the silhouette of a real man, he noted with envy. Though his hair was tangled and messy, at least he looked decidedly male, decidedly like someone you wouldn't mess with.

He smiled slightly. Perhaps his new roommate wasn't so horrible; perhaps he was a kindred spirit. A fellow gentleman, a fellow brawler--an Englishman.

"Are you some sort of Nancy boy?" Cecil asked suddenly. "Why the fuck're you staring at me like that?"

Though he didn't actually mind the staring, in fact, it made him feel kind of nice. It had been a long time since people had looked at him like that. It used to happen so often...now, people just looked at him because he was a disgrace.

"Not that I mind, chap," he replied hastily. "If you swing that way, I'm used to it. Went to a rich kid's school, y'know."

I have no idea what you're talking about, he signed, shrugging; on the inside, he could feel his blood boiling. If there was one thing he had never been at any point in his life, it was a nancy. Boys on the streets weren't nancies, not the ones that survived.

Who was this man, with his fancy education and contradictory slovenly stink, with his lowly circus occupation, to call Aleks a nancy? As far as he was concerned, there was only one possible woofter in this tent, and he was looking at him. Shagging men didn't make you queer; gaylords were simply people who acted like gaylords, and that was that.

He may not be the most rugged man, but Aleks was definitely a man. If not more, certainly not less.

"Stop staring at me, then," Cecil replied, running the brush through his hair again. He'd gotten out some of his tangles. It would be nice if his hair wasn't so unruly.

Finally, he got tired of snagging tangles, and he threw the brush across the room.

"Fuck hair!" He snapped angrily, grabbing a book, instead.

-x-

It had been some time since Cecil and Mimey had become roommates, and Cecil was having quite the hard time adjusting. There was something weird happening. He found himself irrevocably attracted to the mime. It was bothering him to no end. He didn't get attracted to people. He didn't even like people. He had never liked people. There must be something wrong with him, or, worse, there was something wrong with Mimey. He was just such a gentleman...and he liked tea, and reading, and he found himself more and more attracted to his intelligence and wit.

He sat on his bed, hands covering his head. He had to do something to stop it. He wasn't supposed to be attracted to anyone...He waited for Mimey to enter the room, and that's when he'd accuse him.

Mimey walked into the caravan, wearing a proper gray suit and matching bowler hat. He placed his hat on his bed and sat down, not once looking up from his book.

I will prepare tea shortly, he signed in Cecil's general direction, otherwise not acknowledging him. Oliver was far too involving.

Cecil grabbed his book, threw it out the door and then incinerated it.

Then, he grabbed Mimey by the collar and shoved him against the wall.

"YOU'RE DOING SOMETHING TO ME!" he shouted suddenly.

Mimey stared at him, unable to say anything; in fact, his arms were pinned to his sides. He just looked at Cecil like he was crazy, which wasn't far from his actual thoughts.

"Y-you...don't lie to me, you DID something to me!" He yelled, shaking Mimey. "Tell me what you did!!"

He freed a hand and signed, I did nothing. I am confused. And it was true; he was thoroughly puzzled as to way Cecil was treating him this way. Maybe Cecil really was a massive wanker.