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tbonechase Trystn Waller

Come meet the marvelous people of Literville! To start, we have Sussex being tortured underground. He's come to meet Riette for the first time in person, but this odd couple has a weird first date that will take them to "a more peaceful place."


Cuento No para niños menores de 13.

#train #subway #metro #first-impression #weird-couple #first-date #couples #silly #fictional-world #dialogue #mob #underground #romantic #humor #dating
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One Metro Heaven

You should know -- but I'll tell you anyways -- that Literville is more than just a city. Just look at how big it is! Hold on, don't just float around up there in the clouds like you're looking at a map; come on down! Go to street level. Don't be afraid to get dirty. Get in these streets, walk through some alleys, buy a Coke at a liquor store if you want (or whatever you like, it's on me). But please, don't act like that! Like what? Like a tourist! Don't you know what they do to newbies? Anyway, she's got lots of little blocks I can drop you off in. Hmm, today let's take a walk in a nice borough called Bridge.

Up in Bridge, there’s a place where people go to get flipped over on their heads. For a man like Sussex, so bold and timid all at once, the chill of his first encounter with an angel teases him in his future like a dancing monkey inside a gypsy’s crystal ball. Sussex is waking up this morning in a sewer. It’s dark and cold, and he can hear the drops of water sweating off the thick pipes all around his head. He is chained to one of these pipes, swinging from his feet like a topsy-turvy hangman. This leaves his arms dangling and his nerves thinking there's an army of invisible ants marching up his hands.

Up in Bridge, you’ll see, there are millions of people. Sussex is one of those “off the boat” suckers looking for a new life, but he has ended up … where are we exactly? You could be in a lawn chair on your lawn, I don’t know, but Sussex is busy getting snapped at by rats and amphibious insects cheering on for his sweet sweat to fall into their happy mouths. Most of it freezes before it drips off of his astroturf chin. This side of town, well on the surface side, of course, has a lot of esteem these days. But people here think the Natives, or any far-off foreigners for that matter, should keep out (luck to one day understanding human logic). Sussex is a dark man, tall and from another borough. He’s come to Bridge to find love, or at least someone he found on an app for finding love.

Soon after he awakes he’s sleeping again, dreaming he's high or with a girl -- likely both -- somewhere magical with drugged honey and pixies buzzing around their heads. The only heat comes from the wet concrete and bustling city surrounding him. When he awakes again, now in deep darkness, he notices a gangster guy winding up to hit him across his middle with a baseball bat. Inspiration sparks the man, and a change of heart directs his aim at Sussex’s knee. WUDDAH, WUDDAH, and the hits keep coming. Remember I told you not to look like a tourist? This is what they do to new faces ... and knees. Eventually, the knee dislocates and, upon seeing this, the man seems to suddenly realize he’s not at a home run derby.

Up in Bridge — and this is the reason I brought you here today — lives a strange young lady named Riette, though that’s just my opinion. Right now she looks like one of those young actresses gone wild; a light chick with short, tied-back, lava-orange hair. She has a single piercing below the left of her lip, and she walks always quickly, possibly because she doesn’t have much weight to carry.

She once (not asked) told her professor she wasn’t going to take an exam, and that he’d be better off balling the paper up so he could attach it to his ugly tie and gag himself on it. Interestingly enough, she said something similar to a census surveyor or maybe a door-to-door evangelist; I don’t quite remember. I bring this up so you see what Sussex is working with. He hasn’t screamed for help at all in the sewer, not even uttered an ouch, and he’s the one being beaten! Riette gets away with her rowdiness, and he just is who he is.

Sussex finally watches a new hench-guy appear now without a bat. The fuzzy silhouette cuts him down from his chains and lets his teeth kiss the reeking floor; a few roaches scamper up to welcome him with loving smells. He notices that the ice around his mouth tastes familiarly like pee. His leg is numb having given up on signaling its pain to him, but he lifts himself aglow with a new passion.

“Hey man, looket. You pass the test,” the now sharp silhouette man says to him.

“Izat all? I-- Can I jus go?”

“Of course you can, I mean, fine for me. Welcome to Bridge.”

He does the broke-leg shuffle past a netherworld market through heaps of cattle and mules, sick beggars and rich merchants, getting his first glimpse of the sick sewers bustling under this massive city. He goes all the way to a storm drain where he catches a face-full of tasteless slush. A piece of frozen urine slides off his mustache, and he decides to toss it down to treat a lucky rat friend. Reaching out of the drain like a hungry clown, he pulls himself sloppily onto a major commercial street in middle Bridge. Sussex erects his dark figure and looks around. All the shoppers, vendors and news callers are watching, certain they are dreaming, though they get back to routine after realizing it’s not the weirdest thing they've ever seen. Sussex thinks he’s an optimist, and so he smiles with piss still frozen on his thick lips. He attempts a sprint across the street, but his knee dissuades him against that bright idea. So, he just sits in the middle of the street like a pile of stones as he’s engulfed by whirls of ice. I should’ve stayed in Empress, he imagines himself on a palmy beach in his sunny home-borough, We don’t know what snow is down there. But this … by now you know. This is up in Bridge.

The wind sounds like a factory testing new jet engines or an army of startled teenage witches. A whole world runs by him, and he thinks how misfortunate he is to have wound up in this wasteland without even reaching Riette. Sussex has come all this way to have a good first date with one crappy stinking broadband girl and now sits in frozen pain and not even his own, but someone else’s waste.

“Why did you do this to me, dawg?” he curses the universe or whatever he thinks he believes in. An unexpected radiance by a sleek ferret-like creature hits from the south of him, tracking perfumes and lotions bartered for on Bridge’s famous upscale back markets. “What is the purpose of this horrible day? This really hurts my heart. I’m goin’ back home.”

“You should know that in my city everyone is broken-hearted … all them but you and me,” with a smile. It is Riette coming to grab the man out of his misery. Now's my chance! he thinks. She sniffs over his face like a redheaded greyhound and her face crinkles into itself with utter disgust. “Have you been giving blowjobs? But the bad kind where the guy cums and then pisses intermittently in your face? Is that what you been doing?” Ha.

Sussex laughs from embarrassment, “My buddy from the far-far-away land of Bridge … what’s happenin’?”

“What the hell’s happening, lovey? I’ve been looking for you--”

“Y- I mean, you talk,” Sussex says, “in a weird accent. You been travelin’ lately?”

“We- I’m not from here, darling. Hello is only my second language, so you’d assume I’d have an accent. We both speak Bonjour anyway--” Yeah, Literville is kinda isolated so they don't call languages by the same names that we would.

“I’m sorry, you’re right, aren’t you? {You tell me, she says} Salut, petite folle!” [Hi, crazy girl!]

Oui, okay, mon con, salut. I get it. Can you listen now?” she starts with an irritated look.

“I have this really {he plays with his ear} painful pimple right on my earlobe. Not the right one, the left,” Sussex confesses to her. Not the best way to start off.

“Oh, pimples are all nasty. I mean, I get ‘em too, but they only make a mess of your skin and tissue and all--”

He asks her, “Where’d you learn how to talk Bonjour? I swear your accent is really good. You must-- have to be from somewhere else.”

“Well,” she admits, “I’ve been lying for these two whole years; I’m really from Tribes Isle …”

“Okay, that makes sense, see, I knew you were--”

“You gullible, you, you … UHH! Of course I’m from Bridge. I told you I was, didn’t I? Where’n the hell else would I come from?” Stupid!

“Mary knows whachu coulda been makin’ up about yourself,” starts Sussex, but he sees on her face that he might be (most definitely is) in trouble. My damn mouth always gets in the way.

“I showed you my pictures, no? Don’t I look like the same girl in the photos?” she says, concerned.

“No, your teeth are yellower,” he replies succinctly, and his ears prop up in surprise after he hears;

“Ha! That’s the Sussex I know. Come here, baby!” Oh, thank goodness.

“For what?” he innocently asks.

“Well, what the devil d’you think? For a kiss.” By this time Sussex has reclined to crouching formation on the glacial curb. He can hear the water and toxic waste mixture flowing in a current below them. I mean, anyone nearby would be able to hear it, but he happens to be the closest, so he hears it.

“Are you going to make me get up?”

“Yes,” she bothers him, “get the hell up.” She nods like a thug at some lady walking by that can see — as you can imagine it -- a completely odd couple bickering (loving?) in the unbearable cold, just talking as wild as nuts to one another. She kisses his stalagmitic ammonia mouth without regret, leaving Sussex completely embarrassed, and then suggests, “What do you think of this, umm, situation? I’d say we’re having tons of fun.”

The sarcasm in her voice stung him in the middle of his head somewhere. “I’m acshully-- no, no comment.”

“What? What were you going to say, you bum? Don’t be shy.”

“I was intending to say — so I guess I am saying now, but I don’t really wanna say, but now mus say given the situation — I’m not from around here. So--”

“All the way from Empress! Are you serious? I had no clue.” That sarcasm again.

He raises his head, “See?! I knew you’d think this whole thing was shit. I came out all this--”

“Goddamnit, Sussex, I came out in the cold and snow to find you, didn’t I?” she asks leading him into the right answer.

“Yeah, you did.”

“And what city are we in? It’s a pretty big one now.” Bridge isn’t a city, but she doesn’t know that.

“Bridge.”

“Therefore, it’s me who is from out here. So {she rapid-flickers her eyelashes} don’t worry about it, bro. I’ll show you around on the metro.”

“Makes fair sense.” he says as she reaches for more kisses on his cheek, but he stops her mid-action; “Let me take you somewhere warm so I can have
you all to myself.” Nice thinking!

“Oh,” this surprises her a little since she doesn’t fully know the true Sussex, and she chuckles at his attempted bravery. “What’re you goin’ to do da me there … wherever the hell ‘there’ is?”

“Maybe I'll get you to kiss me for real. You owe me a real--”

“Ha!” she roars out, lioness-like, “I owe you a kiss? I might owe you a good discharge in the face with a sloppy piss aftershock!” They now decide to rise up and walk towards a metro station.

“That red hair suits you perfect ... you are a fuckin’ hothead,” and they walk, consoling one another with their hot bodies pumping full of some kind of love, even if it is abnormal love to the onlookers. Once they've ended up down in the metro station, Sussex’s icy mask melts off and returns again to his original cactus-hide skin.

“So, that’s your face. I thought those were ice crystals.”

“Well you’re face is--” he ponders, “pale!”

“I am light, not pale, there is an apparent différence. I’ve been pale before. I’m not pale now.” She then reclines herself onto a bench right below an industrial heater. It hums a steady monotonous rhythm under their wild chirping. “So, you like Bridge, blackie-boy?”

“I’m palpitated by that statement, but you’re--”

“I’m not pale!

“--Pale, so you better kiss me now before you fall into some snow an’ I can’t find’ju, pale ass.”

Riette has warmed herself under the heater and sneaks a crystalline look over at Sussex. “My insides are all hot for you,” she says recognizing his beauty, having not known a man's touch for far too long because of their "internet situation."

“You just think I’m a huge joke. You must, I mean, I’m that same lousy clutz you met a few years ago online.”

Oui, this is true. I should walk right off this platform and ski-daddle to my rabbit hole.”

“Ouch! {she gaps her mouth thinking his injury was from her insult, Aw, don’t be--} Nah, no, it’s my knee. Ey, is that the train we sposed to catch?”

Continued in the next part ...

9 de Diciembre de 2019 a las 08:20 0 Reporte Insertar 1
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