There's an interestingly positive note running through your prompts this week, so I'm assuming it's been a good week for you :)
Support The pavement was greasy with spilled food already and it wasn't even ten o'clock. Around the precinct were fast-food carts, each the prescribed 30 metres from each other though and still seemed crowded together. There were people at all of them but no sense of urgency; a relaxed, pre-drinking crowd that was preparing itself for a night to come. Smells of things, mostly fried but the noodles were a boiled note and there was a vegetal undertone of decay if the wind caught you just right, swirled in the air and Pestilence inhaled deeply as he walked through. There was a tingle on his skin which he recognised as the faint presence of Famine, but Fam himself was absent this evening. He walked past the food trucks and through a concrete-pillared entrance where a closed, heavy-looking door led to the left and a wide, subway-entrance-like staircase led down. People were stood around near the top of the steps, and as he descended there were people sitting on them, at the sides, watching as others went past. No-one was coming up, it was too early for people leaving still. Music started up as he got half-way down, and when he reached the bottom it was pulsing and the beat was almost loud enough to feel in his bones. Here was the entrance to the nightclub Absolution and Pestilence smiled and walked past the bouncers as though they couldn't see him. Which for a few seconds, they actually couldn't as he became himself and was just a breath of coronavirus blowing through on the night-air. As he walked inside and resolidified into his usual avatar one of the bouncers rubbed his nose and frowned as his sense of smell faded away. "Pest!" Scuffles was sat at a bar just beyond the cloakroom desk, where a dyed-blonde young man was taking coats and throwing them behind him into a heap on the floor. Scuffles waved. "Scuff," said Pestilence, ignoring the cloakroom attendant and walking through. The noise in the main bar area hit him like a wall and he shuddered for a moment. "Couldn't you find anywhere any quieter?" "What?" Pestilence waved a hand and a tiny bubble of force surrounded them both, cutting the noise down to maybe 10% of what it had been. It felt like a breath of fresh air. "I said, couldn't you find anywhere quieter?" Scuff shrugged. "You get scuffles and minor bar fights here," he said. "It's a nice way to spend the evening. Drink?" "A cocktail," said Pestilence. "Ask the bartender for something with creme de menthe and whiskey in. That should be... vile enough." He looked down at the labrador sat at Scuff's feet. "Who's this?" "Percy," said Scuff. "He's my Emotional Support Animal." "What happened to Hilda?" "She's War's Emotional Support Animal." When Pest stopped laughing the bartender had delivered a green cocktail that looked like it should be condemned by the Health Department and Scuff looked like he was offended. "War doesn't need an Emotional Support Animal," said Pest. "And neither do you. What's really going on? And where is Hilda, truthfully?" Scuff winked. "That's what we're here to talk about," he said.
Greg - yeah, had a little bout of positivity or something I guess :P
Aw man, you got me. Initial disappointment at the lack of continuation of yesterday's tale was almost immediately erased when I realized who you were writing about. And you brought Scuffles back!
2 comments:
There's an interestingly positive note running through your prompts this week, so I'm assuming it's been a good week for you :)
Support
The pavement was greasy with spilled food already and it wasn't even ten o'clock. Around the precinct were fast-food carts, each the prescribed 30 metres from each other though and still seemed crowded together. There were people at all of them but no sense of urgency; a relaxed, pre-drinking crowd that was preparing itself for a night to come. Smells of things, mostly fried but the noodles were a boiled note and there was a vegetal undertone of decay if the wind caught you just right, swirled in the air and Pestilence inhaled deeply as he walked through. There was a tingle on his skin which he recognised as the faint presence of Famine, but Fam himself was absent this evening.
He walked past the food trucks and through a concrete-pillared entrance where a closed, heavy-looking door led to the left and a wide, subway-entrance-like staircase led down. People were stood around near the top of the steps, and as he descended there were people sitting on them, at the sides, watching as others went past. No-one was coming up, it was too early for people leaving still. Music started up as he got half-way down, and when he reached the bottom it was pulsing and the beat was almost loud enough to feel in his bones.
Here was the entrance to the nightclub Absolution and Pestilence smiled and walked past the bouncers as though they couldn't see him. Which for a few seconds, they actually couldn't as he became himself and was just a breath of coronavirus blowing through on the night-air. As he walked inside and resolidified into his usual avatar one of the bouncers rubbed his nose and frowned as his sense of smell faded away.
"Pest!" Scuffles was sat at a bar just beyond the cloakroom desk, where a dyed-blonde young man was taking coats and throwing them behind him into a heap on the floor. Scuffles waved.
"Scuff," said Pestilence, ignoring the cloakroom attendant and walking through. The noise in the main bar area hit him like a wall and he shuddered for a moment. "Couldn't you find anywhere any quieter?"
"What?"
Pestilence waved a hand and a tiny bubble of force surrounded them both, cutting the noise down to maybe 10% of what it had been. It felt like a breath of fresh air. "I said, couldn't you find anywhere quieter?"
Scuff shrugged. "You get scuffles and minor bar fights here," he said. "It's a nice way to spend the evening. Drink?"
"A cocktail," said Pestilence. "Ask the bartender for something with creme de menthe and whiskey in. That should be... vile enough." He looked down at the labrador sat at Scuff's feet. "Who's this?"
"Percy," said Scuff. "He's my Emotional Support Animal."
"What happened to Hilda?"
"She's War's Emotional Support Animal."
When Pest stopped laughing the bartender had delivered a green cocktail that looked like it should be condemned by the Health Department and Scuff looked like he was offended. "War doesn't need an Emotional Support Animal," said Pest. "And neither do you. What's really going on? And where is Hilda, truthfully?"
Scuff winked. "That's what we're here to talk about," he said.
Greg - yeah, had a little bout of positivity or something I guess :P
Aw man, you got me. Initial disappointment at the lack of continuation of yesterday's tale was almost immediately erased when I realized who you were writing about. And you brought Scuffles back!
I feel like I just got a literary treat :)
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