Tales From The Master's Scroll | Ninjago One-shots

Stereotypical Nicknames | Next Gen

You've read about Lloyd's moody teen and her sisters. Now, meet Kai's troublesome duo.

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"Flame, sit still!"

"Dad, I don't want that hairstyle!"

"It'll look so good once I'm done. Trust me."

"Just because something looks good on you doesn't mean others have to like it too."

"Flame!"

"Moooooom! Dad's being bossy again!"

"Leave Damien alone, Kai," Mom sighed as she siezed the hairbrush from Dad and worked on my brother's red mass of hair instead.

Dad had been trying to get Damien to make his hair look like his but Flamey didn't like spikes sticking out from his unruly mop. His hair are already redder than a hot iron. They would look like his head was on fire if he ever tried Dad's style.

I, on the other hand, adore my father's cool spikes. I've loved them ever since I can remember. I love them so much that once, when I was seven, I used Dad's entire box of hair-gel and lathered my brown tresses in that stuff. One way or another, I had managed to construct spikes just like my dad.

He was so proud, he proposed we do a little daddy-daughter photoshoot to which I agreed immediately.

The photoshoot only lasted a few minutes when Mom came rushing into the room and screamed maniacally at my hair. She had to wash it several times to get rid of the gel. I wasn't allowed near Dad's stock of hair-gel ever since.

I saw Dad pouting in the corner while Damien had his hair made. I still don't understand what's the point of him preening his hair. All he does is wait for Mom to finish brushing down his bomb of red before he ruffles it all up again.

Mom's fine with it. Dad isn't.

"You look like a tramp, Flame," I heard my father say. I could see Damien roll his eyes as he fidgeted with his watch. Dad turned towards me, silently ordering me to back him up before asking out loud, "Doesn't he look like a tramp, Fire?"

I opened my mouth to say that he had always looked like a tramp but right now he looked like a tramp who got shocked with an electric taser. However, my brother beat me to it.

"Tramp or no tramp," Damien muttered, folding his arms, "at least I don't look like a walking Bunsen burner."

I'll admit, he did have a point.

"And I'm sure Irene will say I look like a sub-standard cactus."

I smirked as I let out a dramatic gasp, placing my hand over my chest. I began twirling a strand of my hair around my finger and tried to appear as an innocent little angel. "You know me so well, bro."

Damien stuck his tongue out at me and I replied him with the same gesture. Not very sophisticated, I know.

"Stop it, you two." Mom bent down to grab the cushions that had fallen from off the couch during Damien's struggle with Dad. She let out a low groan as she straightened up, looking weary and tired. Her red hair were tied up in a messy bun while she sported a loose gray sweater and trousers. And she never wore those unless she was feeling down.

She had been exhausting herself at home and had been working overtime at her restaurant. Sometimes I think the three of us need to give my mother a break and try to act mature. Yes, I'm including Dad in it too.

I'd make her a nice warm bowl of noodles if it weren't for my horrendous cooking. Dad says I can almost beat Uncle Cole in a cook-off for ghastly made food.