silkroadcowboy

The way she carried on about it, you would be excused for thinking that steampunk was really a thing.

Victoria Bryce, Queen Vickie, as she referred to herself, was all into it. Black Victorian corset showing plenty of thigh, top hat, goggles and a meerschaum pipe, Queen Vickie was ready for Ambrose to take her out. She closed the front door behind her as much to shut out her parents’ objections as to exit the Barking house.

Once on the street, she lit the pipe and waited under the streetlamp for Ambrose. She wanted a reefer, but he had that. Queen Vic hated waiting.

Her father just had to make a scene, opening the door and shouting, “Just what the fuck do you think you’re doing with your life?” She didn’t even bother to give him the fig. She learned it from her Russian boyfriend, the one before Ambrose.

Ambrose arrives on his scooter and they’re off to the club. He hands her a blunt and she’s happily toking away, her left arm around his waist, head tilted back taking a long drag.

Inside the club, Ambrose wanders off while the Queen is cradling a beer and rolling another joint. She’s just getting ready to light it when she looks across the club and her heart stops. A magnificent vision in white lace with a cascade of blonde curls halfway down her back is staring at her. Queen Vickie stares back, joint hanging from her lips.

The Vision crosses the floor to QV and takes the joint from her lips, lights it, and places it back between Vickie’s now glistening lips.

“Elizabeth”, says The Vision.

“Vickie”, says QV.

“I think we have to create something new and beautiful”, says E.

“Old but boldly new”, says QV.

Ambrose forgotten, E and QV walk, hand in hand, out into the London night.