Read My Shorts

A Shirt of Violent Green

A Shirt of Violent Green

"Good Lord Claude, what the hell colour is that? Diseased Snot?"

As Claude strutted his stuff in front of the mirror, ignoring the well dressed man leaning against the door, Kate plucked at the label on the hanger and sniggered. "Says it's 'violent green'."

"Ah, violent green... that takes me back." The last occupant of the changing room area, a skinny man lying on the sofa, sat up with a wistful smile. "You wore a shirt of violent green to that wedding in Chelsea that time Claude, do you remember?"

Claude turned from admiring his highly visible shirt in the mirror and smiled at his partner in crime. "Aye, I do. That was some wedding eh Eric? Forty-two dead; not including the guide dog."

"Well you did warn the best man not to kick off Claude, but he didn't listen. The food was good; I really enjoyed the buffet but no-one else seemed inclined to join in though."

"They was dead Eric."

"Poor form I'd say," said Eric grinning, one hand delving into a large foil bag.

Claude glanced over as Eric rustled the bag none too quietly. "Wot you got there Eric?"  

"Quote cookies."

Kat raised an eyebrow. "Seriously? Like what? 'Too much junk food can kill you?'"

"Nothing wrong with a bit of junk food: besides I have a cast iron constitution." There was a crack, and Eric snapped a biscuit in half to reveal a slip of paper. "Here we go 'You said that irony was the shackles of youth'." There was a puzzled silence for a few seconds and Eric threw the slip of paper into a corner with a shrug delving back into the bag.

"Well, we can only hope they taste better than they quote." The man leaning against the door straightened himself up and moved across the room to Claude who was looking thoughtfully at a pair of bright red trousers. He plucked dismissively at them. You're kidding me Claude. Red and snot green?"

"Violent green," reminded Kate. "Looks like plague pustules, yum."

"Thank you for the lovely mental picture," he muttered. "Seriously though, red and green Claude, with your face?"

"Says the man dressed in black. Lighten up Oliver, get a little colour in your wan existence." Claude paused, and a thought creased his Neanderthal brow. "What's wrong with my face?"

"Nothing old boy, as long as you like a caricature." 

Eric lifted himself languidly from the sofa, unwrapping a chocolate bar. "Oh, come on Oliver, that's a bit strong isn't it?"

"He looks like Spongebob Squarepants for pity's sake. He has a smile like the cartoon, tooth for a tooth. Even his skin clashes with the shirt. He smells; he likes to beat people up, and he has absolutely no personal skills at all. Honestly, would a modicum of class go amiss?"

Claude's expression darkened and his fists balled.

"Boys, boys, boys. There are bigger things to think about at the moment than the petty rivalries of the past." Kate moved between them, stroking a hand along Claude's spot addled cheek, her lank hair hanging greasily over her sallow skin. "We wouldn't want such a fine piece of flesh marred by bruising now would we?"

She turned to face the man in black and blew a kiss at him. "Why don't you go and get the transport Oliver. You're already dressed for the show, and it'll give your eyes some respite from the abundance of colour. Don't forget the weapons."

"Yes, trot on like a good little boy," sneered Claude.

OIiver smiled thinly. "I'm more than happy to leave you two to dress the chimpanzee; I'll bring him a banana for later."

"Right, that does it." Claude stepped up to within inches of the taller man. "You and me, right now."

"I'm not going to fight you Claude, it's not worth the effort, and besides I'd rather not get too close to the shirt if I can help it."

Oliver turned on his heel and walked to the door, pausing for the retort he knew would come.

"That's it, run away. You haven't got the bottle to fight me."

Oliver creased a smile. "Withdrawal in disgust is not the same as apathy old boy," he noted as he slipped out of the door.

"Huh?"

"It means he thinks your shirt is disgusting and would clash with any blood he spilled," supplied Kate helpfully. "Now then, let's pick you out some nice yellow boots to go with your complexion, shall we?"

~~~

There was a series of muffled sounds from outside, and the three rose expectantly from the sofa where they'd been waiting in various states of gross colour, spot squeezing and consumption of fatty foods. As the door opened, Kate helpfully gave the last of Claude's spots a squeeze, and Eric picked up the last piece of chicken from a family sized KFC bucket he'd produced seemingly from thin air.

Oliver strolled in through the door, a wrapped bundle in his arms and smiled grimly, his pale skin stretched taught over his skull. Eyes glowing with excitement, he laid the package reverently on the floor and spoke, his voice taking on a timbre the others hadn't heard for many years.

"Are we ready to ride?"

"I think so." Kate grinned and pointed to the bundle. "I take it you got everything?"

"We only get once chance at this," noted Eric.

"Let's do it. I've been looking forward to some action for eons." Claude unwrapped the bundle and hefted his sword.

Oliver pulled out the long curved pole and the scythe blade sprang in blue fire from the top. "Time for the four to ride: the portents are set, the end is nigh."

"Ah, I do love a good show," noted Famine fishing a last chicken drumstick with a smack of his lips.

"Ooh, I think I feel a plague coming on," noted Pestilence, her face greying even more, lank hair dropping from her skull, and a rictus smile pasting itself across her wasted features.

"Well at least your armour covers the God awful shirt," said Death. It would've clashed horribly with the blood."

Four horses stamped impatiently outside, and as the fires of the Apocalypse like the sky in violent green, the administration of the Last Judgement began.

~~~

A slightly different set of prompts this time, from the REM song What's the Frequency Kenneth. Had to use the lines below in the story (highlighted in bold so you can find 'em)

Withdrawal in disgust is not the same as apathy

A smile like the cartoon, tooth for a tooth - bonus

You said that irony was the shackles of youth

You wore a shirt of violent green

And the song is on the right for those who fancy a trip down memory lane =]