this was created on a bad hair day....and we were both sleep-deprived while writing, so it is pure insanity XD
Jacob yawned widely and opened the door to the fridge, rummaging around the baring shelves until he found what he was looking for. Crunching down into the ham sandwich, he was about to go sit on the couch when he heard Keith muttering from the bathroom. The door was slightly open and he could clearly hear the…conversation.
“No, I need you to stay down! And not puff up like that. And obey me. Hair, do you understand me? OBEY! Fear the great surfer!”
“Keith-o, what’re ya—Oh my Gosh! Your hair!”
Sniggering, the drummer popped open the door and leaned on the jamb, watching with a grin as the blond struggled to comb his hair neatly. The normally-perfect hairstyle was suffering from a severe case of bed-head, matted and tangled in hopeless clumps. Keith snarled at his reflection in the mirror and suddenly spoke in a high, snooty falsetto.
“No, Mr. Harkin, I shall not obey thee! I will make thee suffer for once and do as I please, not thee!” Keith finished this off by blowing a lovely raspberry at himself through the mirror.
Jacob gaped, at a loss for words. What was going on?
“I order you to comply with my demands!” Keith snapped in his normal voice again, then switched to the falsetto again.
“I most certainly shall not! And I will not obey, not with that man in the doorway. Hurry, cover me! Don’t let him see me like this!” With these words, the surfer threw a towel over his head so that only the short stubble on his chin was visible from underneath.
Jacob continued to stare, unable to utter a sound.
“I sense a draft,” Keith said suddenly and lifted a corner of the towel, just enough so that he could see the drummer. “Meep!” As soon as he did, he grabbed the ends of the towel and pulled them taut around his face, hiding him from sight.
These Irish guys are even nuttier than I could have possibly imagined, Jacob mused, blinking.
“Um….do you want some help with the hair? I have a license and experience,” he suggested awkwardly.
“What do you need to call me?” Keith asked from inside the towel.
Jake blinked. “Uh…sir?”
“No, I am not a sir!” shrieked Keith in the falsetto voice. “What I am attached to is a sir. But I, myself, am a madam!”
“May I ask who I am speaking to….madam?” Jacob said warily.
“Why, delighted! I am this imbecile’s hair, thank you very much!”
I’m really making a habit of this blinking, he thought as he did just that. “Lovely….uh, may I….no I can't say that. Um…”
Keith tossed off his towel all of a sudden. “Hi! I see you’ve met my hair! Which is being very naughty and unruly today. What’s up?”
“You know what, um….I think I woke up a little too fast. I’m still dreaming. And eating. I’m probably sleep-walking and sleep-eating,” Jake rushed through these words, backing away while Keith watched him with a confused expression.
“What’s wrong? Am I asleep too? Or is this inception?” Keith asked eagerly.
“Good night!” Jacob yelled and bee-lined for his bunk, flying into it and shutting the curtain. Only when he was curled under the blankets did he begin to relax.
“I’m only dreaming, I’m not awake yet…”
From outside the curtain, he heard in a falsetto, “Oh you stubborn man! Understand this: I will NOT obey thee tonight! It is fine time you took my seat.”
Groaning, Jacob buried his head under his pillow.
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