(This is just a bit of a story I’m working on, thought I’d throw it up here and see if anyone thinks it’s worth keeping. ;p)
“…what I’m looking for…” The phrase drifts, a scrap on the wind, the ancient melody almost completely obscured by the whine of ‘Dogs antique gennies grumbling to life. “Yo,’Dog! You seen Tea?” Seadog turns his bullet-eyed glare from the grease-covered hulk in front of him, making damn sure I feel the sting before he speaks. “No.” Convo over, he turns the gaze back to the recalcitrant metal, which I swear seems to wriggle with shame before its heat. “Umm..right. Well, uh, if you do..” An impatient grunt is my only answer, which is anyway better than I expected.
‘Dogs moniker comes from his temper, rather than any oceanic experience… he’s Seadog cause he likes to jump salty at any time…so I know better than to expect any further clarification. “Thanks!” Dodging the random machine part that flies in my direction, I take off again through the yard, eyes peeled for my sister-bae. “Tea! Hey, Teabag! Wake up, damnit! We gotta get stripped, it’s fight night!” An irritated grunt from behind a pile of scrap heralds the appearance of a scarecrow-gurl…hay hair sticking out from under a grease mottled cap, shaking black-nailed (grime, not paint) hands shading red rimmed blue eyes in a streaked white face. The voice, when it comes, matches the affect. “Ahh, crom. Seriously? You’re not pulling one?”
I groan. “Tea…man…tell me you didn’t go partying the night before a fight…” The scarecrow shakes her head…although the face she pulls then says she regrets it. “I didn’t go partying the night before a fight…it was two nights ago.” She looks up at the sky as if she might spot a calendar up there somewheres, and grimaces. “…I think.”
Untreated chronic pain causes depression, exhaustion, anxiety, irritability, and general whinging. Just saying. 😦