Maurice & Patricia LeBeaux, Part 1

"Don't talk to me like that!" she screamed at the greasy little sales manager.

Maurice LeBeaux smoothed his hair back and smirked at the fiesty new sales woman. Straightening his baby-blue polyester tie, he replied, "I'm just being honest. You're only here because Dad wants you out of the way. You're just a pain in his big corporate behind."

Patricia LeBeaux's eyes widened in rage as she pursed her lips and spun around in a huff. How dare he say such things! She marched out to her Miata, swinging her arms with such vigor that one would expect them to fly off at any moment. She had perfected the art of tantrums at an early age and became increasingly convincing as the years went by. Everyone in her family knew when she was trying to manipulate them, but they gave in every time anyway. They figured it was simpler than putting up with her persistent whining. If Patricia was anything, she was persistent. Only Maurice had enough resolve to stand up to her. It wasn't because he was particularly brave or anything. It was mostly because he was her twin brother, and annoying her was one of the few joys in his life. Life as a pampered milquetoast is harder than one would think. His parents, finally fed up with his week-long X-Box parties, forced him out of the house to work. Dreadfully unskilled, he was sent to the LeBeaux Vacuum Emporium in Anchorage, Alaska. He didn't really care about living in the middle of nowhere. "As long as they have X-Box and Halo 2," he said. California was beginning to bore him anyway.

Patricia sped up the curvy mountain road that lead to the chalet she shared with Maurice. Lowering her designer shades, she threw a condescending look at the Alaskan lanscape, which was just beginning to feel the first nip of fall. The first snow wouldn't be far behind. Then the terrible winter, when the entire wretched nightmare of a state turns into ice.

"Exile. That's the word."

From the day 6 months ago that her parents announced her relocation, she had been trying to think of the word that so aptly described her situation. The only thing that came to mind was "a fate worse than death," but that was five words. As soon as she got to the chalet, she would celebrate the occasion with a bubble bath.

"I wonder what it's like to die in snow," she quipped to herself. "Couldn't be any more miserable than living with Maurice."

Digging through her brother's cabinet-full of hair products, she finally found her Barbara Buckingham Signature� Bubble Delight� bubble bath mix. Now that she was on a small pittance of an allowance, Maurice said she had to cut her "excessive expenses". She decided that he didn't know what he was talking about. He probably heard it in one of his management training videos. He even tried to get her to use dish detergent as a substitute. Insensitive little brute.

Halfway through her bath, covered up to her neck in mango-kiwi-sunrise-scented bubbles, Patricia heard Maurice enter the chalet. He was singing something horrendous at the top of his lungs.

Patricia had never appreaciated Maurice's taste in music, which was all-too-convenient for him, since it made it that much easier to drive her up the wall. He personally found screamo to be the best genre since, like, everything. Not that he'd ever really given anything else a chance. Before he found screamo, he listened to video game soundtracks exclusively, mostly because he was always playing video games.

"Patti! Patti! Paaaaatti!!" he wailed in a screamo sing-song way, while rocking out on his air guitar.

"SHUT UP!!" was the exasperated reply muffled by the bathroom door.

Continue on to Part 2...