This story is in response @mariannewest 's prompt for day 134 of her 5-minute freewrite challenge. Today's prompt was plaid
The walls were plaid. The pattern almost matched Mr. Buckleshorts' shirt, but not quite.
"Damnit Gaston," squelched Mr. Buckleshorts, "I wanted a perfect match. Does this look like a perfect match to you? Does it? Do I truly blend into the wall or do merely smear into it like banana shmush? Smear is the right answer Gaston, I smear where I ought blend!"
Gaston didn't say anything. Gaston never said anything. Until that precise moment, when he mumbled something. In an unintelligible manner. Might as well have said nothing.
"Get out of here Gaston, get out! I never want to see you again. Wait. I would like you back here tonight. I am hosting a most exclusive apperatoire and your souffles are like none other. I shall keep you on for that reason and that reason alone."
The towering Gaston regarded the stout petulant figure looking up at him all nose-in-the-air bathrobe-open flauntshalant. Gaston bent down to envelop said figure in a hug of a sort of genuinity that the other had never known possible.
"Gaston! I... I... Thank you Gaston. You are too beautiful for this life. I should fire you, for your own good, but... those souffles."