Two Mean Uncles Jogging to the Beat

Tristan Bishop looked at the tiny magic book in his hands and felt worried.

He walked over to the window and reflected on his grey surroundings. He had always loved picturesque Thorndale with its vacant, vague volcanoes. It was a place that encouraged his tendency to feel worried.

Then he saw something in the distance, or rather someone. It was the figure of Beth Snozcumber. Beth was a violent academic with curvaceous fingernails and handsome eyebrows.

Tristan gulped. He glanced at his own reflection. He was a cute, noble, beer drinker with greasy fingernails and fragile eyebrows. His friends saw him as a massive, manky mage. Once, he had even brought a vain baby back from the brink of death.

But not even a cute person who had once brought a vain baby back from the brink of death, was prepared for what Beth had in store today.

The clouds danced like sitting giraffes, making Tristan irritable.

As Tristan stepped outside and Beth came closer, he could see the unnatural smile on her face.

"Look Tristan," growled Beth, with a delightful glare that reminded Tristan of violent ostriches. "It's not that I don't love you, but I want a fight. You owe me 2317 pounds."

Tristan looked back, even more irritable and still fingering the tiny magic book. "Beth, Is that real leather," he replied.

They looked at each other with jumpy feelings, like two different, difficult donkeys gyrating at a very sinister funeral, which had drum and bass music playing in the background and two mean uncles jogging to the beat.

Tristan regarded Beth's curvaceous fingernails and handsome eyebrows. "I don't have the funds ..." he lied.

Beth glared. "Do you want me to shove that tiny magic book where the sun don't shine?"

Tristan promptly remembered his cute and noble values. "Actually, I do have the funds," he admitted. He reached into his pockets. "Here's what I owe you."

Beth looked anxious, her wallet blushing like a better, bitter banana.

Then Beth came inside for a nice drink of beer.