Mosaic made from street litter.
The oldest group in London are barely heard of. They live at Limehouse by the Thames. They have skin so pale its almost blue, bright blue eyes and hair the colour of rust. They are, or rather were, Fishers – fishing creatures from the grimey black water of “the dark one”. Until the dark one was poisonned by sewage and the industrial revolution. At that time they took to carving ship heads and grave stones, and very good at it they were too. The locals called them The Blue Men, because of their blue skin and the fact that they all seem male, or at least androgynous. There were also never any children.
Justin was a good looking boy of sixteen with reddish brown hair and warm cream complexion. Sporty and good with his hands. Bright too, but that he chose to hide. The Fisher Boys club appealed to him because it was a bit different from other clubs. It combined learning a craft – boat building – with the adventure of sailing what the group built out on the Thames estuary and into the channel. The club had a good bonding as well, they had a song they chanted as they banged in the nails, push the boats out or hoisted the sails. Justin would have regarded a group song as childish and embarrassing normally, but not this one, this one seemed appropriate, manly, it helped with the hard work. The Blue Men ran the club, with very few words and a lot of doing.
Justin was a virgin of course, despite his claims to the contrary and all the thumbling behind the bike sheds. He kept it a secret. How did the Blue Men know he was a virgin? Perhaps they could smell it on him.