“Old heads on young shoulders, that’s what Uncle Faustulus said – didn’t he Remus?” The brother’s minds melded, in the way twin’s minds appear to do.
“Often so, Romulus. It was like he somehow knew we were destined for high achievements.”
The Writer noted the impressive, mountainous back-drop for the conversation and thought it appropriate.
“So, the two of you abandoned to an almost certain watery grave in the river Tiber, instead saved, brought up on the milk of a she-wolf and adopted by a shepherd’s wife. Finally, going on to build the fantastical city of Rome, just as we know it today.” The Writer clasped his hands together in glee, “You crowned each other as dual emperors and built the biggest empire the world had never seen… it’s just amazing!” Wide-eyed and smiling he shook his head about in disbelief like a pony about to sneeze.
“Say wha’?” The brother on the left said.
“What he said?” Said the brother on the right, as two similar expressions of puzzlement flickered several times, across both head fronts.
“Drank the milk of a she-wolf?”
“Ate shepherd’s pie? I’ve never eaten shepherd’s pie in all my life.”
“Who is this person?”
“Guys, guys, calm down.” The third person present nervously scratched at the inside of his ear with a fine felt tip pen. “You’re Romulus and Remus, brother twins, legendary founders of Great Rome!”
“No!” The twins chorused.
“You are the originators of a dynastic line that survived for over two thousand five hundred and fifty years!” The man with the pen opened out his arms, his tightly clenched fists shook with excitement. “You’re more famous than The Beatles!”
“NO!” Remus caught himself and inhaled through his nose, held the breath there for a few seconds, before allowing the gas exchange to rush out through his pursed lips. With his emotional irritation dampened-down, he continued. “Romulus and I are indeed twin brothers.” His voice had steadied. “Together, we founded and now run a fashion boutique called ‘The Emperor’s Old Clothes’, situated in the trendy, Latin Quarter of the city, overlooking the river.”
“That’s right! We’re currently running with our Frankenstein range: new life given to old clothes cut up, mixed and stitched together.” Cried Romulus. “And, another thing you ought to know, you have blue ink scrawled like graffiti all around on the inside walls of your ear.”
“Oh fuck!” Said the writer.
Brinkinfield 