is not actually a Lotus Exige (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
veira) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
marigoldflame2012-03-30 09:25 pm
veira) wrote in marigoldflame2012-03-30 09:25 pm
Entry tags:
gumpert
World: MSPA; Homestuck; GABBERstuck
Characters: Dirk, Roxy, (Jake)
Wordcount: 759
Summary: He comes into town to touch base and runs into a lead from the girl he never though would trust him.
Note: Dawn has good prompts.
Post-Apocalyptic Porn Groove
Roxy's gums are bright red with the paan and the straight vodka she's swirling around her glass. She grins like she knows everything in the world and he hates that about her, because she does. She's got eyes and ears in every single town that still operates, and she knows what he's been doing. She knows where he's been and that he hasn't been spending his time cutting up powder on mirrors with the rusty slice of a razor blade. He hasn't been drunk and dancing to the flashy punk-gabber distortion of a thousand angry EDM tracks, kids mad about the undead infection that's spreading like wildfire through the South-West—some new drug that lights your brain up like dying under an MRI scan and actually does produce zombies afterward. An occult mayjjykk drug. Something that comes in glowing little lavender vials and tastes like a tropical brain hemorrhage, felt in the kidneys more than behind the eyes. He's been killing zombies. He's been staying away from the clubs. Staying away from the drugs. Because the last thing he needs is to make out with some guy who turns undead three hours later and wants to bite out the shiny little bits of his soul that only the zombies can see. That's not on his to-do list.
But maybe that's not what she's smiling about. She's grinning ear to ear and eyeing the kid that came in with him, the kid who's actually the same age as Dirk and taller, tanner, drop-dead handsome and enthusiastic about literally everything in the world. He's got both his pistols out on the grimy bar table, one of them cracked open as he cleans it. Jake English. Comes from Guam or some shit. And Dirk doesn't want to admit it, but he is absolutely crazy about the idiot.
"Tequila?" Roxy asks through her drug-high, grinning that crimson smile. She reads those places in his heart that he keeps black as the void of space. She knows everything. And god, he hates that because she's the one person he can talk to about this shit, but he can never trust her not to spread it around.
"Two," he says, tapping the sticky bar. She doesn't pull out the fancy bar tender's flips and tricks; just pours it straight into filmy warm glass beer mugs.
"Who's the hot tamale with the sweet guns?" The glasses are full but she keeps them just out of his reach, not letting him get away yet. "Damn, I could make out with him. You mind sharing?"
"Yes, I mind." It falls out faster than he meant, more earnest than he meant, and Roxy just laughs at that like it's proof that all her theories are fact. Time to cover it up, if not for her then for the smattering of other drunk or high hangers on that litter the filthy bar. "We're heading back out in ten hours after we get some sleep. This isn't a recreational visit."
"Nah," Roxy says, licking her teeth. Her tongue is red too, and for a second his mind flashes back to months ago, to dancing with her two towns over, her skin painted up blue as she grooved topless in the middle of the crowded dance floor, a belt of severed baby doll heads hanging around her waist and her hands clutching glowsticks like scimitars. Kali, goddess of death. "Recreation's out the door with that damn new drug. People are scared. My fuckin' profits are fallin', Dirk. You gotta fix this. Find the bitch who's churning this drug out. Goes by Tentacle Therapist or some shit."
"I know."
"You know a lot of crap. Did you know the cute gumshoe girl is in town too? Jane somethin' or another. She was looking for you." Roxy sips her vodka and nods to the music for a moment, trying to catch her train of thought through the drug haze. "I don't think she was tryin' to arrest you this time. Had a message for you? She wouldn't give it to me, probably because I was totally hitting on her and I was more drunk than usual." She laughs. Then she reaches under the bar and slides a dirty scrap of paper across to him. The beer mugs follow a second later but Dirk isn't paying attention anymore.
An apartment number is on the paper, and underneath the red Betty Crocker fork letterhead: I need to talk to you about the tentacleTherapist.
Interesting. He pockets the paper and tips Roxy three times what he usually pays.
Characters: Dirk, Roxy, (Jake)
Wordcount: 759
Summary: He comes into town to touch base and runs into a lead from the girl he never though would trust him.
Note: Dawn has good prompts.
Roxy's gums are bright red with the paan and the straight vodka she's swirling around her glass. She grins like she knows everything in the world and he hates that about her, because she does. She's got eyes and ears in every single town that still operates, and she knows what he's been doing. She knows where he's been and that he hasn't been spending his time cutting up powder on mirrors with the rusty slice of a razor blade. He hasn't been drunk and dancing to the flashy punk-gabber distortion of a thousand angry EDM tracks, kids mad about the undead infection that's spreading like wildfire through the South-West—some new drug that lights your brain up like dying under an MRI scan and actually does produce zombies afterward. An occult mayjjykk drug. Something that comes in glowing little lavender vials and tastes like a tropical brain hemorrhage, felt in the kidneys more than behind the eyes. He's been killing zombies. He's been staying away from the clubs. Staying away from the drugs. Because the last thing he needs is to make out with some guy who turns undead three hours later and wants to bite out the shiny little bits of his soul that only the zombies can see. That's not on his to-do list.
But maybe that's not what she's smiling about. She's grinning ear to ear and eyeing the kid that came in with him, the kid who's actually the same age as Dirk and taller, tanner, drop-dead handsome and enthusiastic about literally everything in the world. He's got both his pistols out on the grimy bar table, one of them cracked open as he cleans it. Jake English. Comes from Guam or some shit. And Dirk doesn't want to admit it, but he is absolutely crazy about the idiot.
"Tequila?" Roxy asks through her drug-high, grinning that crimson smile. She reads those places in his heart that he keeps black as the void of space. She knows everything. And god, he hates that because she's the one person he can talk to about this shit, but he can never trust her not to spread it around.
"Two," he says, tapping the sticky bar. She doesn't pull out the fancy bar tender's flips and tricks; just pours it straight into filmy warm glass beer mugs.
"Who's the hot tamale with the sweet guns?" The glasses are full but she keeps them just out of his reach, not letting him get away yet. "Damn, I could make out with him. You mind sharing?"
"Yes, I mind." It falls out faster than he meant, more earnest than he meant, and Roxy just laughs at that like it's proof that all her theories are fact. Time to cover it up, if not for her then for the smattering of other drunk or high hangers on that litter the filthy bar. "We're heading back out in ten hours after we get some sleep. This isn't a recreational visit."
"Nah," Roxy says, licking her teeth. Her tongue is red too, and for a second his mind flashes back to months ago, to dancing with her two towns over, her skin painted up blue as she grooved topless in the middle of the crowded dance floor, a belt of severed baby doll heads hanging around her waist and her hands clutching glowsticks like scimitars. Kali, goddess of death. "Recreation's out the door with that damn new drug. People are scared. My fuckin' profits are fallin', Dirk. You gotta fix this. Find the bitch who's churning this drug out. Goes by Tentacle Therapist or some shit."
"I know."
"You know a lot of crap. Did you know the cute gumshoe girl is in town too? Jane somethin' or another. She was looking for you." Roxy sips her vodka and nods to the music for a moment, trying to catch her train of thought through the drug haze. "I don't think she was tryin' to arrest you this time. Had a message for you? She wouldn't give it to me, probably because I was totally hitting on her and I was more drunk than usual." She laughs. Then she reaches under the bar and slides a dirty scrap of paper across to him. The beer mugs follow a second later but Dirk isn't paying attention anymore.
An apartment number is on the paper, and underneath the red Betty Crocker fork letterhead: I need to talk to you about the tentacleTherapist.
Interesting. He pockets the paper and tips Roxy three times what he usually pays.