(I'd like to thank all of you who have reviewed chapter one, it means the world to me! And if you're wondering where this connotation came from…I can unfortunately relate to it!)

Erik's Requiem

The Perils Of Vanity

"There are many questions in life one can ask. Some questions have simple and easy to understand answers. Some questions have difficult and complicated answers. Some questions are answered with riddle and rhyme, others with a quick witted limerick and a flick of the tongue. Some questions are answered by reading a book or browsing the various television channels.

Of course, there are grand questions that have echoed throughout the ages, ones that Egyptians, Romans, Edwardians and knights alike have all asked. Quintessential questions that remain stead fast whatever the era; that will never have a true definitive explanation; ones such as…

What is the meaning of life?

Why are we here?

Does God really exist?

How do you stop metal rusting?

Then there are questions that are not so grand, ones that plague individuals on a daily basis, one that are usually answered swiftly and without too much thought. They hit at most people who answer them as they see fit. They vary depending upon the individual and their situation. Questions like;

What do I have for tea?

When do I get paid?

What shall I wear today?

How do I cook fois gras?

Now, what you must understand is that questions only present a real problem for those of a fleshy disposition, or if you prefer by the colloquial term 'humans.' Because of their large brains and thirst for knowledge, questions arise for them every single day; some knowingly, some unbeknowingly. Questions are what keep humans going; it's what drives evolution and keeps them at the pinnacle of life I suppose!

But you see, we suits of armour are not troubled by questions, especially in my old age. Once, long long ago in the folly of youth, I sought answers just as you do now; but then I learnt that as a metal figure you need no real information or education, just tricks of the trade you pick up along the way. So I stopped asking questions and became content with my lot in life. Questions were replaced with something else however. Being suits of armour, do not ask questions, we merely make decisions;

Sleep or no sleep?

Creak or no creak?

Arm fall of or arm stay on?

I was content with this arrangement. I shall leave the questions to the humans and the decisions to myself. A nice status quo where all is good and as it should be.

But then I came to live with the dandy and everything changed. For the first time in my entire life…a question arose in my mind.

Naturally I was confused and actually a little scared at first. I knew not how to answer such a question; I wouldn't know where to begin for heavens sake. It remained peacefully at the back of my mind for the longest while, but the question was to attack with a vengeance. As the days progressed it gnawed at me. As the question began to grow inside me, I shed my fear for curiosity. My question sought an answer, sought an ended to my pondering. The question eventually manifested itself from simple inquisitiveness, to a full blown splinter of desperation in my head. Like an itch, it needed to be scratched. I was going crazy seeking an answer, any form of explanation for the question…

HOW DOES THAT FOP GET HIS HAIR SO GOD DAMN STRAIGHT?

I mean…it's perfect, I've never seen hair like it! There's not a strand out of place, not a fly away hair in sight. It moves beautifully, shines like polished metal and it just looks immaculate. No matter what task he undertakes, no matter how strenuous the operation or how awkward the happening, it is always perfect. How he gets it like that is beyond me.

The question remained a mystery for the longest time; I almost gave it up as a question without an answer. Months passed by and no sign of an explanation. All the while I was taunted with that perfectly straight wig and silky smooth shine wandering about every single day. It tormented me, drove me insane with questioning. I thought I would go to the great scrap yard in the sky never knowing the true answer.

Until one day, after I had all but given up hope, the answer came to me. Like a bolt of lightening from the heavens. Like a glimmer of light in a black room. Like a rope in a never ending abyss the answer arrived. If it were possible I would have cried with joy at finally have an explanation to my quandary. It came in the most unexpected form; but one that not only answered the question I posed, one that made me chuckle also!

Approximately three days ago I heard a loud shriek being emitted from the cad's room. A high pitched cry akin to that of a young child or a girl. It rang out throughout the gallery and reverberated from the walls. A scream that was extravagant in pitch and lengthy in duration. The wail was then followed by many profanities and a slight hue of blue tingeing the surrounding air. Suddenly, the charlatan leapt from his room in his fluffy dressing gown, yelling and creating like a madman! He was shouting and screeching to bring the gallery down. He was clutching at his right ear furiously; I being overly keen deduced that he had indeed procured an injury of some sort.

(Never would I have guessed that after such a mini drama, would come the scratch to my itch!)

Then I saw them, the shining beautiful answer to my question. Glimmering like a shard of hope in an otherwise black quagmire of unknowing. The beacon of explanation after so long. The perfectly formed answer in the shape of stunning technology. I'm glad humans ask questions, as I'm sure without them the answer to my question would not exist. My itch was well and truly scratched.

In his free hand, the fop was clutching none other than a bottle of straightening spray and a pair of straighteners. (They were a good pair too, GHD's none the less! No wonder his hair always looks amazing!) And the hollering and screeching was of course a result of an injury sustained in the pursuit of his vanity. For all that straight hair, the cad had finally paid a price…

He had undoubtedly done what countless women must do on a daily basis…

The dandy had caught his earlobe in the 125 degree hot straighteners."