#i am so flamboyant i love my long hair and my drama and being loud but also sometimes i want to be a brooding cowboy

[abyss55199794]

im masc for a girl but femme for a guy. Extremely flamboyant for both

[shalegas34]

ROAD TRIP - Part 1

Macquarie ascended the spotted oak staircase in his fully owned northern suburbs home, smearing trust fund kid privilege all over the rail along which he dragged his left hand. His right hand was grasping a wad of paper which was barely being held together by two overstretched staples in the corner.

“This Chinese woman has been caught with 10,000 undeclared US dollars,” a voice intoned from somewhere upstairs. Macquarie raised his head, but it wasn’t anything interesting. His partner Sydney was watching Border Security in their bedroom.

…Or not. Macquarie shrieked as he crashed into Sydney and almost fell back down the stairs. They had been lurking on the landing.

“Macquarie,” said Sydney. “Let’s go on a road trip.”

“No,” Macquarie whined. “Just because you don’t have anything to do doesn’t mean everybody has to give up on themselves. I have a debt contract to write for Westpac’s bond issue.”

Sydney folded their arms. “You’ll have to write me a debt contract if you spend any less time with me.” They waited until their stern glance finally made Macquarie’s lip tremble. The edge of their mouth twitched.

“Does that count as insider info? What you just told me?”

“What, the bond issue?” Macquarie laughed obnoxiously. “Trying to make money from bonds is like trying to currency-hedge a position in foreign equity.”

Sydney stared at him blankly, which was just the outcome he had been aiming for. Feeling masculine after the display of obscure knowledge, Macquarie sauntered into his own bedroom and set the contract down on his expensive warped oak desk.

Sydney sighed and returned to Border Security. They were supposed to be practising on a simulation as part of their air traffic controller training, but Border Security was always too mesmerising, like the weak and unexciting, but still addictive, soft drug of sub-prime-time TV. They already knew the Chinese woman would be fined for her undeclared currency, and the carpet from Afghanistan would contain heroin, and the old Vietnamese couple’s fried chicken wings would be seized and destroyed. Still they remained on the bed, eyes fixed to the screen.

“Yo.” Oops, three episodes had passed. Macquarie was at the door.

“Yeah, what’s up?” Sydney replied.

“Can you Ubereats some Chinese?”

“Fucks sake,” said Sydney. “You do it. You’re not the one living in someone else’s house because you couldn’t afford your mortgage.”

“I can’t decide what to get.”

“Get two serves of the plum sauce beef, seasonal veg, and fried rice.”

“Oh, yeah, I knew that. I love the plum sauce beef.” Macquarie whipped out his phone and went to leave. He shrieked and almost threw it into the air when All Star by Smash Mouth started blasting from its speakers.

“-BODY once told me, the world was going to roll me,” Sydney joined in. “Since when was that your ringtone?”

“It’s only for John,” Macquarie grumbled. “It gets everyone around me to shut up so I can leave whatever conversation I’m having.”

Macquarie answered the call and rearranged his face into a smiling professional’s customer service visage. Sydney rolled their eyes. John was Macquarie’s division director, and whatever words he uttered always took precedence in Macquarie’s ass-licking life. Sydney had no doubt he would have John’s job one day, but until then he had to avoid being demoted.

“What?” Macquarie yelled. Oh dear, it was bad news. Maybe the contracts had to be re-negotiated.

“What do you mean Westpac’s pulling out?!” Sydney raised an eyebrow: even worse.

“How else are they going to roll over their fucking debt? They’ve already left it stupidly late,” Macquarie snapped down the line.

“They’re not.” John’s voice was way too calm.

Macquarie began to laugh hysterically. “You mean a bank is actually going to pay its debt back? Woo hoo hoo. That’s a good one, John.”

“Something’s going on. They’re trying to deleverage.”

“You’re shitting me, right?”

“No, Macquarie, I am not ‘shitting’ you,” the old man replied. “I’m meeting with the board next week. You take the next few days off.”

“Hey,” said Macquarie. “I’ve got truckloads of friends at Westpac. Let me do a bit of digging.”

“I said, take the next few days off.”

“I’ll have the contract ready and signed before you even get in the doors of that boardroom.”

“If I see you at the office before next Monday, I’ll fax your real conveyance documents directly to the head of the ATO.”

Macquarie sighed and glanced at Sydney, the one he had moved house for, in order to be closer to the airport. He gave a sour farewell and hung up on John, at which point he realised he had hit the speakerphone button with his treacherous cheek.

Sydney cocked their head. “Road trip?”

---

“Now that was insider information, wasn’t it,” Sydney said, hunched over the steering wheel of their shitty car, flooring the accelerator. The ancient Holden Barina continued to wince up the ramp to the Hume Highway at 40kph.

“What?” Macquarie asked, his feet up on the dashboard, expensive sunglasses glinting in the sunlight, as some jackass in a 4WD overtook them in the left lane, horn blaring.

Sydney slammed the car into second gear and wound down the window. “Fuck you too,” they yelled. “That deleveraging thing about Westpac,” they then said to Macquarie without missing a beat.

“Yeah,” Macquarie said, combing his thick auburn hair and examining it in the sunshade mirror. The car had reached the highway and was now picking up speed on the flat. Their luggage slammed against the back of the boot as the Barina accelerated as hard as its tiny engine was capable of.

“Still think we should’ve put the stuff in the back seat,” Macquarie said.

“Yeah, and move it all again when we pick Aristocrat up in Melbourne. Are you going to short some Westpac shares?”

“Wow,” Macquarie said. “How do you know what shorting is?”

“I read your diary.”

A flash of fear creased Macquarie’s perfectly groomed face. Sydney snickered. “What kind of shit do you write in there? I don’t even know where you keep it. Come on, I’m not a total idiot.”

They were on their way to South Australia. This was chosen as it was one of the only states which Sydney had never visited. Both Aristocrat and Libby had jumped at the chance to tour the famous wine regions around Adelaide, an activity suggested by Macquarie.

“Please,” Sydney had said when he brought it up. “We live together. Don’t pretend you don’t just drink straight vodka and cry.”

After an uneventful journey to Melbourne (not counting the many renditions of Toto’s Africa by Macquarie, which had contributed to Sydney acquiring a migraine), they pulled up in the underground car park of Aristocrat’s fancy hotel. Sydney took in the soothing shade of cream painted on the walls, and the marble panelling around the lifts.

“This is nice,” they said, yawning.

“You should see the car park at the office,” Macquarie said pretentiously.

“How would you know what it looks like?” Sydney snapped, referencing his lack of a driver’s licence. Macquarie pretended this attack on his fragile masculinity hadn’t just taken place, and marched ahead to stab the call button for the lift.

“Oh my god!” Aristocrat yelled with a flamboyant wave from the front counter as they emerged on the restaurant floor.

“Stop sulking,” Sydney said, poking Macquarie in the ribs. “There’s only space for one drama queen on this trip.” They straightened up as Aristocrat came to a screeching halt before them, grabbing Macquarie and lifting him off his feet. Macquarie tried to protest, but Aristocrat’s whack on the back had left him winded.

Sydney shook Aristocrat’s hand next. “Please tell me you drive,” they said.

“Drive? Like, a car?” Aristocrat giggled. “I live in Brunswick, right off the tram line. Why pollute the earth unnecessarily?”

Sydney fell to their knees. “REEEEEEE,” they screamed.

Aristocrat’s brow furrowed in concern. “Did you just say ‘ree’ out loud?”

Sydney stood back up and smiled. “I’m good. Just needed to let it out.”

Aristocrat laughed nervously and looked to Macquarie for help. Macquarie was bent over his knees, regaining his breath.

“So, it’s been a long trip,” Sydney continued.

Aristocrat’s face lit up in a genuine smile. “I know just what you need to relax.”

“A room,” Sydney said, but unfortunately Aristocrat spoke at the same time and his voice was louder.

“Pokies.”

Macquarie looked up from his recovery position. Sydney rolled their eyes. “Please, he’s already addicted to his work and alcohol.”

“Hey, speaking of gambling,” Aristocrat said, winking to Macquarie. “Remember those credit default swaps I bought off you on Sydney’s mortgage?”

Macquarie groaned so hard the marble counter was almost crushed under the pressure wave. “How much do I owe you?”

Sydney stared at the two men in disbelief. “Hello? I am right here?”

They had lost interest in Sydney and were busy organising an electronic funds transfer. Sydney threw their arms up into the air and stormed off towards the gaming room. “Hey, come on, I went short on those CDS,” Macquarie yelled as a last-ditch attempt to salvage the situation.

Sydney sat themselves down at the pokies and inserted the obligatory one dollar. Even though they were basically de facto with Macquarie now, and consequently had millions of dollars at their disposal, Sydney was still a scrimping bogan-slash-student at heart.

Macquarie entered with two glasses of apology cider right as Sydney managed to win five bucks with a five cent bet.

“Wrong choice of reconciliation gift,” Sydney said, accepting the drink and downing about half the glass in one go. “You noobs are making me drive another eight hours tomorrow.”

“Five dollars?” Macquarie whined, looking at the screen. “That’s not fun.” He threw a fifty at the girl behind the counter, who proceeded to count out a stack of change.

“What are you doing?” Sydney hissed.

Macquarie drained his glass and giggled hysterically, shoving the whole fifty dollars into the machine. “Fuck off,” Sydney yelled, but it was no use. Macquarie proceeded to bet the entire balance, plus Sydney’s hard-earned five dollars.

“Oops,” he said, when he won nothing. Sydney mimed glassing him.

“Oh, there you are, good,” Aristocrat said jovially, waving a set of keys as he trotted over. “I got your room ready. Hey Jackie,” he greeted the girl behind the counter.

“Hey boss,” Jackie replied.

Macquarie was staring up at Sydney with puppy eyes. Sydney always found it ironic how the colour of his eyes exactly matched that of a hundred dollar note. They grabbed the keys off Aristocrat.

“Don’t want to finish your drink?” Aristocrat said, pointing. “I mean, enjoy it while you can. They have tiny glasses in South Australia.”

Sydney glared and walked off. Macquarie shrugged and finished the drink for them. “Should’ve got your driver’s licence, mate. We wouldn’t be in this situation if you had.”

---

“Ooh, it’s a manual,” Aristocrat said from the back seat, nodding in appreciation as Sydney threw the gears, swearing as yet another coffee-carrying hipster ran into the narrow city street in front of the car.

“Aye,” said Sydney. “And don’t talk to me again until we get out of the city, unless you have meth.”

“Hey, you were the one who wanted to do this road trip,” Macquarie whined. “Why are you complaining?”

Sydney turned to face Macquarie, dark bags under their eyes accentuated by the diminished light which snaked its way past the forest of buildings and through the grimy windscreen. “Don’t tell me you’ve never done shit which you regret.”

Macquarie pursed his lips in thought. “Well…”

“How about that ten million dollars you lost on the CDS?” Aristocrat piped up in the back, grinning.

“TEN MILLION?!” Sydney shrieked, slamming their foot on the accelerator and almost totalling a group of office workers.

“Don’t worry, we decided to divide by a thousand,” Macquarie grumbled. “Token of goodwill. We’re not animals, Sydney.”

The rest of the journey to Adelaide went quietly in comparison, with one minor incident during the lunch stop in Horsham. Macquarie and Aristocrat were drawing on the café placemats when Macquarie noticed a scribbled message by the edge of the table: “Call me! xx 042-517-350”.

“Sexy,” Macquarie said. “Imma do it.”

“You really are an asshole around your friends,” Sydney snapped irritably.

“No, he’s just an asshole in general,” Aristocrat corrected good-naturedly.

Sydney almost left them to fester there, but then Macquarie had very seriously offered to drive for a couple of hours down the highway, if Sydney quickly taught him how to change the gears in the backstreets of Horsham. Such a self-sacrificing proposition, unusual for Macquarie, had touched Sydney’s heart.

They crossed into SA around 1.30pm, which immediately became 1 o’clock. Aristocrat gasped loudly as they passed a lit-up petrol station outside Bordertown.

“What?” Sydney scowled. “It’s a petrol station, and it’s the same price as Melbourne.”

“They have electricity,” Aristocrat whispered, and he and Macquarie erupted into raucous laughter.

“You guys better tone that down once we pick Libby up,” Sydney warned. “You think I’ve been tough? Libby will punt you into orbit.”

“Who is Libby again?” Aristocrat asked.

Macquarie sighed. “She’s a steelworker from Whyalla. You know, that place with the Arrium plant, or Onesteel, or Liberty, whatever you want to call it.”

“Into orbit,” Sydney said again, and Macquarie shut his mouth.

“How do you guys know all these people?” Aristocrat filled the silence, raising a manicured eyebrow.

“He’s a banker, he knows everybody,” Sydney said with a roll of the eyes.

“Especially the bankrupt ones,” Macquarie couldn’t restrain himself from saying.

“I hope you have funeral insurance,” Sydney snapped.

Thankfully, they arrived at the long steep descent into Adelaide just before Sydney reached the edge of the long steep descent into madness.

“Aristocrat, you’re flying back, and we’re taking the Sturt Highway,” Sydney decided as they slammed on the brakes behind a bus.

“I think this lane is just for buses,” Aristocrat replied gently.

“Thank you,” Sydney screamed, making a dangerous lane change.

Less than thirty minutes later, Sydney had collapsed into a comatose state in their room at the Hilton. This left Macquarie and Aristocrat to brave the CBD and go meet Libby at the Malls Balls.

“Wow, there’s literally nothing here,” Macquarie said, as they passed at least four ‘For Lease’ signs on King William St.

“At least they don’t have lockout,” Aristocrat snickered.

“Is that the tallest building, the Westpac one? Lame,” Macquarie said, changing the subject. Even as he mentioned the name, Macquarie was stroking his chin in contemplation.

“What’s on your mind?” Aristocrat asked.

“Nothing.”

“Oh, so it involves insider information. Cool, I’ll back off. I know you’d get murdered in jail.”

Eventually, after consulting several passers by, they managed to locate the Malls Balls. Libby was leaning against said Balls, arms crossed in front of her chest.

“Damn,” Aristocrat hissed. “She could murder you.”

“Don’t worry, I deal with all kinds of people in my job,” Macquarie said confidently. He strode up to Libby, his hand outstretched.

“Hey Libby!” he said cheerfully. “How’s it going?”

“Where’s Sydney?” Libby replied.

“Sleeping,” Macquarie said.

Libby looked between the two men. “Did you boys make them drive the whole way here?”

“Um…” Macquarie looked shiftily at Aristocrat.

“Assholes,” said Libby, hoisting up her massive bag and forcing her way past, back towards King William St, leaving them to bitch in solitude as they hurried to keep up with her.

Sydney had awoken for a snack by the time the group got back to the hotel. “Rest up,” Libby said, throwing her bag into the adjacent room. “I’ll drive tomorrow.”

“Oh hey,” Sydney acknowledged. “Thanks.”

Libby had driven down from Whyalla earlier that day. Being somewhat familiar with Adelaide, she had intended to shout the group dinner somewhere on North Terrace. However, she couldn’t stand Macquarie and his pretentious behaviour, and was not about to fork out money just for him and his rich buddy.

That night, Macquarie tiptoed around the room so as not to wake Sydney, and they both woke up fresh the next morning, ready for a full itinerary of day drinking.