Something I have written. I like it but it's so short and so not fitting for anything bigger, so I just post it here, for the entertainment of my flist XD
It is a rather pointless affair and I want to dedicate this ficletti (what's the diminutive of ficlet?) to my* Damon Albarn.

She had grown. She had definitely grown since when Bill first brought her on the bus some time during the first week of the European tour. Tom couldn't even remember where Bill had picked her up in the first place. One day the spot by the window was empty, the next day she was there.

Irina.

Truth be told, Tom wasn't even too sure Irina was a girl, or rather, female. It was just something Bill had decided upon. She was female. Her name was Irina. End of that story.

In the mornings, those rare mornings Bill didn't get up with an absolutely foul mood, he would slide into the window seat and nudge Irina, wish her a good morning in that scratchy morning voice of his. Not that she ever replied.

Tom would only roll his eyes. In the beginning he had contested his brother's assumption that Irina was female and had taken to calling it Bushido just to spite Bill. Even after all this time he found it hilariously funny. A plant...with the name Bushido. It was still an endless well of amusement for Tom, the Bushido plant, but Bill just scowled whenever he brought it up again.

Irina was always there. After days they spent in hotels, when they got back on the bus, Irina was there. In her little white pot by the window and maybe she had sprouted a new set of whittle leaves that Bill would inspect with a seriousness that made Tom slightly uncomfortable at times. The way his brother would so totally zoom in on the plant, the world falling away while he gently poked the delicate little leaves, sometimes cut them back with a pair of tiny manicure scissors.

Irina irritated Tom. Her ability to suck up Bill's attention so completely at times, that his brother would register her growth and make sure the earth in her pot was never too dry, even talk to her at times. Bill actually talked to the plant.

It was two days after their last concert and they both sat piled into the back of a van on their way home to see their parents. Only for a couple of days and then Dave would whisk them off for a final round of interviews and promotion work before the real Christmas holiday started.

Tom sat squashed between his brother's handbags and duffel bags and an enormous backpack, while Bill made himself comfortable in the other seat, with nothing but Irina in his lap. The delicate leaves bounced and jittered every time the car sped over a bump in the road.

Tom sighed deeply and slumped against the overstuffed backpack at his side, his eyelids drifting closed, the sound of the car stereo growing fainter, the purring of the engine thrumming through his ears, his jaw growing slack and soon he dozed off.

After an hour, maybe more or maybe only ten minutes later, the car screeched to a halt and Tom jerked awake, snorting out an offended breath that he was disturbed from his sleep. It had grown considerably dark outside and it took a few moments to adjust to his surroundings. Biting down a massive yawn, his blood drumming through his ears, Tom stole a weary sideways glance at his brother, who still sat the same way he had before, his fingers drumming against Irina's pot.

Tom scowled and was about to say something when his twin suddenly stirred to life, his gaze dropping from the window and the scenery flitting by outside to the palm tree in his lap.

“Next tour we'll get those out, right?” Bill trailed a careful fingertip along the little stem, up to where a new branch had been trying to break through the older parts which had already lignified over time.

“If we make it long enough, we'll even going to get you a bigger pot one day...” Bill brushed stray bits of crumbly earth around the stem and smiled to himself. Possibly to Irina, who knew...and Tom decided not to say anything.

 

 

 

*My Damon Albarn is the real-life Irina...my own little potted plant XD And yes, I am strange enough to readily admit to dedicating ficlettis to plants...