Challenge, Week 1: Two Brothers

EDIT: So far, I haven’t been inspired to return to this story and I think it’s a bit of a false start.

So my friend Luke (who runs Echoes) and I have got a little challenge going on with one another. Basically, think of it like when two people join a gym together to motivate each other. Our challenge: 1250 words a week, broken into 250 words five times a week – nothing polished, no editing (or, you know, do what you want). Here’s my first 500 or so words. 

No title yet. 

If they had only been friends, he could have told him where to get off as soon as he pulled the first daffy stunt, but they were brothers. Fortunat and Rosaire were close enough in age that they had grown up knowing each other, and that was more than they could say for poor dead Abelard. He had been ten years older than both of them. That made their sorrows very separate, and as the oldest, Abelard had been old enough to discipline them by the time that they were old enough to do wrong.

Rosaire, the younger, had an innocent face and a charm that attracted trouble. There was always some gang that wanted him to be their face, or to stand lookout. He looked harmless, and he could charm the cherries out of the trees. When he said something, most people believed him. Once he got done making trouble with the gangs of kids that ran on their street and grew up a little, he made a fantastic partner for Fortunat. The only trouble was that Fortunat just could not have a falling-out with his brother like he was used to having with his regular partners. To him, it just didn’t feel right – they had teethed on the same crackers, shared bathwater, gotten drunk for the first time together. So, every time Rosaire cocked something up, Fortunat fixed it, and willingly.

Lately, though, lately…Rosaire seemed to have run into a streak of dumb, or maybe it was just the season that made him act so crazy. Spring did that to some fellas – or so Fortunat had heard. Rosaire often protested that, if his behaviour was a little erratic, it was only because he was sick of being poor.

As it was, Fortunat was an inventor who held patents for over thirty small gadgets and useful oddities, but he lacked the capital to really go into production and start a factory. Meanwhile, Fortunat and Rosaire were supposed to be gathering that capital through their repair shop – automotive repair on Rosaire’s end, and just about anything anybody could ask on Fortunat’s end. They had made a good start, had raised a thousand dollars in a time where that meant something, and now Rosaire had lost five hundred of it. It wasn’t the first time that they had had money troubles.

Yes, Rosaire actually lost it, like Uncle Billy in that old Jimmy Stewart flick that Capra had turned into gold. He had been on his way to buy stock in some companies that he and Fortunat had decided on when he saw some old street buddies and decided to stop for a chin-jaw. Fortunat had in mind that those fellas would steal from their own mothers even as they gave them a hug with the other arm, so naturally he felt that they wouldn’t give a care that it was their old friend Rosaire that they were taking from. Rosaire, though he privately agreed, did not want to lose face, and defended his old friends tenaciously to Fortunat. He knew in his heart that the money was now spread all around town in juke joints and at the strippers’.

It was a big setback. And Fortunat didn’t intend on running a repair shop for the rest of his life, no how. So, seeing as he and Rosaire were handymen, and a handyman can make his way just about anywhere, he decided that they should move shop. Go mobile.

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