The Name Irks Me! (Camden+Friday)

[FRIDAY AGATHA MONROE]

Thank God It's
FRIDAY

”Brody… should the car be making that noise?”

Friday watched the boring Texas scenery pass by, and listened to the increasingly loud ‘Thunk-Ka-Chonk’ noise that was coming from under the hood of her brother’s Honda Civic. The champagne car wasn’t new when he got it, and by no means in good shape. However; he had needed a car for school, and it was cheap. She didn’t care to think about the odd coloured stains in the upholstery, or the strange lumpy imprint in the back seat.

”No. Probably not. I’ll check it in the next town.” Brody replied, frowning. Friday was about to ask him when he thought that would be when they passed a sign. It read ‘Welcome to Belmill. Pop 6001.’ Belmill? Where the heck was Belmill? She looked over the map that sat on her dashboard. Belmill didn’t exist on paper. She’d never heard it mentioned.

”No. Nononono.”

[/i]Brody cursed as the car began to slow, and then hit a stop. He smacked the steering wheel, the horn letting out a honk that pierced the silence and made Friday pull her head into her shoulders. The town didn’t look busy, from where they’d stopped. In fact, she didn’t see anyone. Was Belmill a ghost town? She folded the map and put it in the glove box, waiting for Brody’s direction. She knew if she made a suggestion, she’d get yelled at. Brody’s car was his baby. ”Grab your bag, Friday, we’re walking to the mechanic’s.”[/i]

Friday sighed and reached into the backseat. As she stepped out of the car, the air stung her face. It was hot and dry, and she realized why Brody had brought all the bottled water he did. She immediately regretted wearing jeans. She tucked the forever disobedient blonde strand of hair that hung over her left eye behind her ear, only to feel it fall forward again.

She slung the backpack over her shoulder, not enjoying the way the sun beat down on her head. She began to sweat immediately, and opened her bottle of water. Why would mom and dad wanna live here? For the life of her she couldn't figure out why anyone would want to live in this godawful place. She slid her hair into an elastic, and nodded to her brother, indicating she was heading towards town. He would catch up to her later. This wasn't the first time the car had broken down.

She trudged along the road until something came into sight. A sign. 'Twain Cemetery'. She frowned and slowed her pace. Twain. It was such a... stark name! So short and blunt. She didn't like it. In fact, it quite irked her. What sort of first name could you put with that to make it sound non-asholeish? Mark, she supposed, was it. And Shania. But that name was assholeish in itself. Why not just take the kid out of school and beat them up yourself?

She walked along the gravelly path, glad for the shelter of a tree along the way. She debated sitting in the shade for a moment, to finish up her bottle of water, but she realized she'd probably be sitting on someone. Friday shuddered at the idea. Instead she stood on the path under the shade, and sipped the last drop of water from her botttle.

She swung her bag off her shoulder and stuck the plastic bottle away, rooting for another. In retrospect she should have grabbed extra. Now she was shit out of luck, and in what she would call a desert. Not a dessert. Though she could go for some ice cream right now. Friday giggled to herself quietly as she remembered a joke about a penguin in Texas and a bowl of ice cream.

A gentle breeze swept through the graveyard, lifting her hair and cooling her skin. She closed her eyes and sighed, enjoying the moment. It wasn't until a sudden noise shocked her out of her reverie that she opened them.[/blockquote][/blockquote][/blockquote]

[CAMDEN CHARLES TWAIN]

Camden dropped down on the ground as he found a particularly horrible patch of weeds. He pulled and he huffed and he pulled and strained but he was sure as all Hell that those plants weren't going to come out anytime soon. Standing back up on his feet lazily he turned to walk away, but not before he gave a swift kick to the earth. Probably wasn't all that effective but it sure made him feel better. He hated weeding, it reminded him of gardening which he thought was the most feminine yard job that you could ever do. Shoving his hands into his pockets he walked back towards the far end of the cemetery to the old wooden shack. It was a scary looking thing, seemed like it was about to fall apart at the seams.

He cracked open the door before he inched inside and picked up the shovel that he had leaning against the inner wall. That weed you see was going down. With much more vulgar he marched back over the spot with the weeds those stupid God forsaken plants of destruction were about to meet their doom. He put the tip of the shovel next to the offenders and pressed down into the ground… sort of. Another surge of frustration, the ground was hard as a rock. Balancing himself Camden stood on the shovel head, and it didn’t go in the dirt more than half an inch. He looked around the cemetery; it was empty, as usual. There wasn’t much business in a cemetery when everyone in town was already dead he swore that people only came to visit to criticize his good work.

Leaning the shovel against a nearby grave marker he eyes up the patch again, there had to be something that he could do to get rid of it right? As his idea came to mind a small, devious, smile crossed his face as everything fell perfectly in place. Theoretically of course. His train of thought was disrupted when the sun kindly decided to remind him that it was there by subtly blinding him. It reminded him that he was wearing black, a most flattering colour on him by the way but what was he saying, he flattered everything he wore. None the less it was hot out. Squinting through his eyelids in order to see five feet ahead of him he decided to turn his back away from the sun to go back to the creepy shack of mysterious items.

This time when he emerged from the building he had a container of gasoline in one hand and a small package of matches that was being tucked into his pocket by the other. He wasn’t going to be made a fool of by something that was so easily flammable, understand? Twisting open the container he poured enough gas to completely soak the patch, then he put the container down and resealed it. He pulled out a match from the package and just lit it when he saw a pretty blonde girl walking into the cemetery. In an attempt to hide his attempt at arson he just hid the match behind his back, and then he realized that she was just standing there, with her eyes closed. ’What a freak’.

Camden’s mind barely paused before he decided to open his mouth, ”Hey lady new in town?” She had to be new, he never forgot a face and if he seen her walking down the street than he would be real sure not to forget that face. Somewhere between inner ranting and checking out the latest merchandise he did forget something, and he remembered it real quick when it burned his fingers. Reactively he dropped it on the ground, on top of the patch of weeds; his next reaction was something along the lines of jumping back beside the blonde girl away from the sudden onslaught of flames.

Taking his shocked expression off the burning grasses he side-glanced over at the girl as he wrapped his hand around her waist. ”You kind of look like one of those walks on the beach and campfire kinds of girls.” He said with a smirk on his face, half because he was a cocky bastard in a black trench coat in the middle of Texas. The other half was because he was rather proud of himself, it was a pretty decent recovery if you asked him, and if you weren’t asking him you should have been. He is the master of these kinds of things. He was so confident that it only took him three whole seconds before he went over to step on the damn fire to put it out. Smothering always kills things he figured.

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[FRIDAY AGATHA MONROE]

Thank God It's
FRIDAY

”Huh?" Friday was startled, and she quickly fixed her gaze on the blonde haired boy in the black coat. He must have been boiling, she reasoned, under that thing. However; she loved it, and would make sure to ask where he got it later. She smiled at him and tucked her hair behind her ear, blushing slightly at her stupid response to his question. "New? Yes. Planning on staying? Not so much."

He was about the same height as her. Maybe a fraction of an inch taller. She wondered if he was the same age, but didn't bother to ask. Her train of though was interrupted by a comment about campfires and beaches. She quirked an eyebrow at the comment. "I like long walks. On short piers. With guys who wear trench coats in hellish weather." The comment was intoned in a way that suggested she was only teasing him in fun.

Back home a cute blonde never would have given her the time of day. Then again, everyone was a cute blonde in Riceville, Iowa. Everyone was a cute blonde, caucasion catholic who liked to hit the 'oddballs' in the jugular with bibles. Friday felt a lump in her throat thinking about how it had escalated. The fire. And the word 'witch' sprayed with paint on the road in front of her house. Back home a cute blonde never would have given her the time of day, but back home a cute blonde never would have worn that amazing coat. Back home he'd be beat with a bible until he cried, which somehow Friday didn't imagine would take long.
"You, however; don't look like the graveyard type. Come here often?" Friday reached up to tighten her ponytail, wondering how she must look after her trek across the badlands. Well, badlands was an exaggeration. It was maybe a mile or two from where the car stopped. THE CAR!

[/color] Her memory snapped back into focus for a moment, before she caught sight of his cocky grin.

What a cocky bastard[/i], she thought, mentally smiling. She sincerely hoped for his sake that his last name was not Twain. That would be a terrible misfortune for him. It would ruin everything. Unless his name was Mark, in which case, it wouldn't be so bad. No other names worked with it. The name 'Twain' irked her to no end.

She kept playing with her ponytail, tightening it, loosening it, tightening it, loosening it... It was so frustrating not to have a mirror. She wondered where the nearest restaurant was. She doubted that if there were a bathroom here she'd want to use it. In the end she just grew so tired she pulled the purple elastic around her wrist. She ran her hands over her black tank top, smoothing the wrinkles that might have worked their way in while she'd been walking, and sliding her hands into the back pockets of her jeans. A common position for her.[/size][/blockquote][/blockquote][/blockquote]

[CAMDEN CHARLES TWAIN]

The fact that he played along with these things just made him grin even wider, if that was even possible, if he kept smiling like this his face would rip in two. That would be misfortunate, very upsetting a calamity even. There was actually no situation that he could think of that could possibly be worse, and he was very good at thinking very improbable things. It was a talent, one of his many actually. Camden had many unmatchable talents if he thought so himself. The whole last two minutes of thought hurt his head and the only thing that he agreed with was this was in fact hellish weather.

He doubted that she could ever appreciate the dramatic effect that he put into this look, despite that it wasn’t really his style. She asked him something and then started to play with her elastic, from what he has gathered from over the years is that when a girl plays with her hair that is a good thing. Why, he didn’t know, only that it was good. “Yeah actually, I spend a bit of time here.” A bit was what someone would call and understatement, he spent the majority of his time here, or back in town doing something else. The beauty of his job though was that people were still around to admire his work, not like they did admire his work but they were still around to do so if they pleased.

There was only a two second pause before he started up again, “You could probably say that I own the place.” That was because he did, he even changed the cemetery name so it did a much better job at land marking his awesomeness. Before it was something like the Mary Immaculate Cemetery, but he kind of figured that he was better than Jesus’ “virgin” mother. Or Jesus himself actually, sure he didn’t “sacrifice himself for mankind” but you know, he could do something cool too. For example, he can turn water into fruit punch if he bought one of those little sugar crystal packet things. That was close to the water into wine trick, just get a sugar packet.

Camden was momentarily distracted by the blonde girl when she was still playing with her hair, the movement was rather memorizing actually. The fact that she didn’t stop was actually starting to annoy him the slightest bit, he didn’t even know why be he found it a bit hard to talk. This was surprising when it was Camden because he never found it difficult to talk, actually he usually found hard to stop talking. It scared him and it made him sad, being scared mad him sad.

Finally she stopped, and for some reason it made him feel better. Touching her hair was actually moving him away from what he was going to say. He was even having problems trying to remember what he was about to sa- oh yeah! “Camden, the name’s Camden Twain.” He looked around the cemetery as he put his hands in his pockets as if he was expecting someone to be around. There weren’t many visitors around here so he didn’t know why he had that kind of feeling; he just… had that kind of feeling. Happened a lot at graveyards he figured, that’s why the old man went nuts, too many dead people all the time. He supposed that would mess with the mind of a regular person.

Then a thought crossed his mind, you were supposed to ask about the other person weren't you? Girls always seemed to like being asked about, but that was probably because they just liked to talk, which wasn't a problem with him, he liked to talk all the time too. Talking was fun, it was healthy, it should be a competitive sport. "So what's up with you, who are you where are you from?" He bent over and picked up a wrapper that was on the ground and stashed it away into his pocket. Litter was a pet peeve. Glancing over at her he smiled again, "Favourite colour, sport, book... Greek myth?" Some people were into the Greeks, what could he say?

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[FRIDAY AGATHA MONROE]

Thank God It's
FRIDAY

Friday couldn't help wondering if she'd said something amusing, watching the smile on his face. It was charming, she thought, for someone who lurked in a cemetery. She supposed she of all people should not think about stereotyping, but she couldn't help it. She wondered if this blonde fellow purposely wore the trench coat. It wouldn't suprise her. She would do it too. She'd done an identical thing before, with her reputation as a witch. Why is it that everyone assumes witches are warty and green with black cats? Well... She did have a black cat. But that was irrelevant.

Her mind clicked, as she registered his name. Camden Twain. Twain Cemetery. She suddenly loved the name Camden at that moment. It was another name to add to the list of first names that matched the surname 'Twain'. She was tempted to ask if he was related to Shania, but figured he'd probably not enjoy that. She'd catalogue it for later. Assuming there would be a later. Who knew how long they'd take to fix the car? Could be days. Maybe a whole week.

A slight flush had worked its way into her cheeks as she caught him pausing, watching her play with her hair. She wondered if he thought she was a freak for it. Did girls here not play with their hair? She wondered to herself how many girls there were around, and how often the got visitors. The town wasn't even on her map, for crying out loud. Friday also doubted it would be found on a GPS. Beyond the graveyard, how much was there to explore?

Friday's cool half-smile widened into a grin to contest Camden's when she saw him bend to pick up the wrapped. Not that she was admiring him bent over (his coat covered anything worth looking at), but because she was a nature lover. She also thought that disrespecting the dead by littering was terrible, and deserved a good kick in the ass. It must have been a lot of work to keep up with all the things that needed to be done. And he couldn't have been much older than herself.

She slid back into her comfortable grin, listening to the rapid fire questions. What's up? Who are you? Where are you from? Favourite colour? Sport? Book? Greek Myth? Friday catalogued them all and answered in a quick babble. "Just enjoying the shade. Friday Monroe. Iowa. Purple. Does talking count? If not then running. Echo and Narcissus and Les Miserables. Wait... Les Miserables. Echo and Narcissus." She finished her breath and held out her hand. "How do you do?" She was proud of herself. Not often did she manage to get a full sentence out around a stranger without tripping over her words.

[CAMDEN CHARLES TWAIN]

There were never enough tourists in Belmill, they usually made things much more interesting. Not like chilling out with the walking dead was mundane; while the matter was that when something like that does become mundane the town’s main problem isn't tourism. Out of town girls however were awesome, they came and left so quickly there wasn't much of an issue with "scenes" being caused. Long distance never worked well with him, though Camden figured that the whole 'Tuck Everlasting' effect probably did bring a lot of ladies to their knees, it just wasn't his tune to sing. She did manage to spit out his answers in order, surprisingly enough, he didn't intend on all of them to be responded to. To be honest he couldn't even remember half the questions that he asked, and that was only a few seconds ago. He reached out and shook her hand as she offered it.

Friday. It was such an odd name, somewhere between Thursday and Saturday. Actually it reminded him of Wednesday; from that television show that came out a few years ago, the creepy girl that nobody likes. She was blonde though, and didn't strike him as creepy. However, there were very few girls that Camden thought were creepy enough to make him go 'ew you're creepy'. Yet he really didn't know if he was a fan of the name, definitely not something he'd name someone. "Friday..." He said as if he was playing around with the name, just testing it over the tongue. "Hm, you don't look like a Friday," To him, she looked more like an Ann or a Hannah, something like that. Camden already had the image of a Friday in his head and it wasn't a cute blonde girl that probably wore braces for five years, something more of a tall dark brooding lady with a hairy mole.

A fleeting thought passed him by that small fleeting part that was the voice of reason. The whisper of reason. Actually that was a little too much credit, probably more like the scared whimper of reason that knows his older brother is going to beat him shitless when he comes back home and finds out what he has done. The 'Should I try this again?', the rational fleeting thought of a brother knew the whole song and dance that Camden did to himself all the time. However, the big douche-bag brother part of him just brushed it off, 'Just a tourist girl, no one will be the wiser'. Weighing his options didn't take long, it wasn't like he was an entirely moral character.

Camden brushed his hair back out of his face before he did a sweeping bow. Glancing up at the only other blonde in the cemetery with a most cocky grin on his face. "Well Miss. Friday, I do believe that working with dead people day and night is a little dull." He just stood right back up to his full height, which he personally thought was rather short for a male, embarrassing really. Almost heart wrenchingly so on his humble opinion. Wrapping his arm around her shoulder he leaned forward and spoke as if he was telling her some sort of inside joke. "So I graciously volunteer to show you around the big ol' town of Belmill, and spend some much needed time with the living" It was really, a little play on words, mostly because he knew full well that she wasn't ever going to get it.

Unless something unfortunate happened, and that would be real unfortunate. There's no bigger cock block than being the person that guillotine’s a chick, it happened once. It made him sad because that lady was a total babe, a babe with a temper that always took things personally too. Dangerous mix.

[FRIDAY AGATHA MONROE]

Thank God It's
FRIDAY

Friday shied away slightly when he made contact, she hadn't expected it. Nobody had ever, not including her parents, put their arm around her shoulder. The closeness was something she was not completely comfortable with. She grinned though, at Camden, and tilted her head. "Oh, I suppose I should feel honoured that you would take time out of your," she glanced around,"Oh so busy day for little ol' me."

Camden seemed like an interesting character, she thought to herself, though a little on the cocky side. Not that it didn't suit him. She watched the way his hand constantly wound it's way back to his hair, and smiled. It was funny to see a male so concerned about his appearance. But it was endearing nonetheless. She stood for a moment, in the shade with Camden and wondered what Belmill was like. She also began to wonder what cologne he wore. It was a strange smell she couldn't quite place.

At this point Friday had all forgotten about her brother, who at the current moment was trudging towards the cemetery, bag in hand, and developing a sunburn on his face. Unlike Friday he had not worn sunscreen. He had worn shorts, however, which was more than she could say. He was muttering to himself and pouting about how Friday hadn't hung back. He muttered about cell phone reception, and bloody heat.

Friday had forgotten about finding a mechanic, or an auto shop, possibly a place to stay. She wasn't really all that concerned. She was being accepted by a cute boy and only that mattered at the moment.

It wasn't as if Friday planned to jump him, that would be rude. She figured that even the horniest guys waited until the fifth date for that... not that she'd ever really been on a date. She just thought it felt nice to be talked to like a living breathing person, as opposed to... you know... a freak.

[CAMDEN CHARLES TWAIN]

He grinned and shoved his hands into his pockets. "Yes well, it's damn noble of me. My customers aren't going to complain much." Camden knew that his customers wouldn't complain much, most of them had more important things to do other than sit around and stare at their own graves. Not including the ones that haven't gotten over their deaths however, but generally those people were too busy moping so they didn't bother him much at all. It was a beautiful relationship he had. They didn't talk to them, and he wouldn't try something stupid... consciously.

Camden leaned the weed digging shovel against a tree and started to walk over to the road. He wondered for a fleeting moment how she got here, especially if she never went to Belmill yet. It wasn't like she could fly, despite how fucking awesome that would have been, and clearly it didn't look like she drove. Sigh. Maybe she was picked up because she was a real bad hitch hiker? If that was the case she was a bit of a dolt to decide to drop off here, it wasn't like any of the locals could actually give her a lift out of town. What a shame.

Never owning a car in his life, town only being a ten minutes away, he was quite used to walking around. Personally, he didn't have a problem with it, even though this was clearly weather that would kill a large moose. Built character his dad said, got him the hell out of the house his mum said. "So Iowa huh? If you're from Iowa why are you all the way down here in Texas?" Not much you could talk about with a complete stranger when you only got... well the answers to every question you ever asked them. He didn't know much about French literature however, so he was just going to steer away from that topic for the time being. At least until he could figure out how he could turn the topic from Les Miserable’s to Scooby Doo anyway.

Scooby Doo was classic, anyone that said otherwise was a bastard.

His notorious ADD made his mind pause, as she glanced back over at the blonde girl. Who really didn't look like a Friday, maybe an Emily or a Elizabeth, or a Amanda. "All the way down in Texas... alone?" Camden was completely ignoring the figure that was trudging up the hill, he didn't really care, something inside him told the blonde that the other person was male. You see, if there was a male and a female in his radar, he's only going to go for one unless it includes running back to give the other a wedgie. As it was stated he didn't care, his attention was directed to the tourist blonde girl. Whom he was going to show around Belmill. It was the gentlemanly thing to do.

Camden's moral reasons for helping people wasn't on topic anyway, and he already knew the reason. People weren't reading his mind so it's not a big deal, and if there was little people in his head it'd be scary because his thoughts are his own. His own scrambled off topic thoug--- he did it again. Sigh. "Oh well, I'm sure you're a big girl now. Let's start heading down to town, it's not too far off." He sort of felt like a puppy, lets go! Lets go to the park! I wanna go now! Get the leash! Get the leash!

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