05-20-2015, 11:47 AM
After one final tweet, the tribesman tucked the phone under his kimono belt and returned his attention forward. The line to register into Dante’s Abyss was an abyss all itself, with countless heads swaying in front of him like a row of different colored Trufalla treetops. From his position, the registration tent appeared as a mere spec in an otherwise pure hinterland of whiteness, void of anything other than the countless people that roamed around the line.
But it was worth the wait.
Memories of his last experience in Dante’s Abyss projected in his mind more vividly than bold red letters, taunting him like a negative reputation he just couldn’t shake off. Most viewers of that ‘Abyss’ considered him an underdog, but his display of skill refuted those beliefs, and helped carry him all the way to the finale; it ended with a nail driven into the back of his cranium, courtesy of the same blonde that ended the competition hoisting the title of champion.
Which brought Aero to the line he stood in now: revenge—the opportunity to right a past wrong. He thought it would be sweet irony if he could end the woman’s life in the same fashion she ended his; but any means of death by his hands would suffice . . . as long as her death was by his hands.
Thoughts of revenge overwhelmed the tribesman so much he never even took a moment to gaze at the tight buns, belonging to the brown-haired woman ahead of him in line. A normal acting Aero would have scaled her up and down, from her slender waist and wide hips to her overall lack of height.
The line gradually progressed forward, but the supposedly forthcoming tent remained just as distant. If not against better judgment, Aero would have sworn that some of the roaming people were skipping forward in line, latching onto the loyalty of their comrades and jumping ahead of them.
“Ice cold refreshments!” a voice loudly proclaimed from the tribesman’s right. As Aero’s eyes navigated through the bystanders he determined the words originated from a fifty-something year old vendor man, dressed in a collared shirt/navy-blue slacks uniform, towing a wheeled cooler—PespiCo. was scripted on the side, in thick blue letters across its white surface. “Ice cold refreshments here!”
“Yo!” Aero hollered, throwing a hand up. “Right here.” He remembered the man twittering him—Pepsi-man?—about some Pepsi shit; he figured he would give it a try.
The wheels to the vendor’s cooler squeaked along as man scuttled over to the tribesman “Need a cold beverage?” he inquired, parking next to his potential customer. Sweat trickled down his temples from under the logoed newsboy cap he wore, and glossed his salt n’ pepper muttonchops before dripping off his jaw and onto the pinstripe button-down shirt he wore; thankfully, the vendor remembered his Speed-Stick this morning.
Aero looked down at the man with mildly interested eyes. “What ya got?” he asked as he folded his arms across his chest and cocked his head.
“Only the best—Pepsi products,” the vendor replied in a jubilant tone. He must have been one of those rare individuals that truly enjoyed their jobs, or he was really skilled at displaying the façade.
“Sure. What’re my options?” Why not try something new? If its taste lived up to the ‘Pepsi-man’s’ efforts of promoting it, then the tribesman wagered it worth trying.
A large grin spread below the vendors snout as he bent over, unclamped the cooler, and flipped the top open. “I have Pepsi, Diet Pepsi, Mountain Dew, Diet Mountain Dew, Aquafina, and Lipton lemon ice tea.”
“Gimme the Pepsi,” Aero replied. “I wanna know what all the fuss is about.”
The vendor sank his hand into the cooler’s bath of ice and retrieved a dripping blue can of Pepsi. “Here you go, sir!” he replied, extending the can to Aero. “On the house!”
“Cool. I’ve been in this goddamn line forever.” He took the wet can from the vendor’s hand and located the tab at the top. With a snap!, he forced the tab into the perforated aluminum adjacent to it., and before the first crackle of liquid could jump out of the can, he took a conservative gulp. The taste was sweet, yet controlled. “Damn,” he said, rearing his head away from the can. “This is some pretty good shit.” He brought the can back to his lips and chugged the rest.
The man responded with a fragile smile. His mouth eased open as if to speak, but halted when the tribesman handed the can back to him, crushed into a bent mess of itself.
Perhaps Aero was thirsty, after all—as soon as he finished the beverage an idea sparked in his head. He was embarrassed the thought hadn’t arrived sooner. He could just teleport to the front of the line!
The tribesman raised took the index and middle fingers of his right hand and pulled them up to his forehead. “See ya, vendor dude. Thanks for the drink.” In an instant, Aero’s body disappeared. The vendor’s eyes popped as the gap in the line slowly filled with the person who stood behind Aero.
“Hello, welcome to Dante’s Abyss!” A pizza-faced, young man said as his eyes descended down the honeycomb shelves to his left until he found one of the last available clipboards, and grabbed it, placing it on the desk that separated him from the next person in line. “Please fill out this short form, then you can stare into the camera behind my right shoulder and showcase your sk—“
“Hi,” Aero said, with a growing smile.
Jerry looked up at the tall, slender man opposite of him. Before pulling his attention away to retrieve another clipboard, he remembered the next person in line being a chubby man with thinning hair. “What happened to the guy in front of you?”
“Said something about going to the bathroom. Might as well get me out the way though, while I’m here.”
Jerry doubted the words the tall man spoke, but Syntex’s wages were low and there was no health insurance, so he minded his own damn business. “Ok,” he replied.
Fuck yes, DA here I come.
But it was worth the wait.
Memories of his last experience in Dante’s Abyss projected in his mind more vividly than bold red letters, taunting him like a negative reputation he just couldn’t shake off. Most viewers of that ‘Abyss’ considered him an underdog, but his display of skill refuted those beliefs, and helped carry him all the way to the finale; it ended with a nail driven into the back of his cranium, courtesy of the same blonde that ended the competition hoisting the title of champion.
Which brought Aero to the line he stood in now: revenge—the opportunity to right a past wrong. He thought it would be sweet irony if he could end the woman’s life in the same fashion she ended his; but any means of death by his hands would suffice . . . as long as her death was by his hands.
Thoughts of revenge overwhelmed the tribesman so much he never even took a moment to gaze at the tight buns, belonging to the brown-haired woman ahead of him in line. A normal acting Aero would have scaled her up and down, from her slender waist and wide hips to her overall lack of height.
The line gradually progressed forward, but the supposedly forthcoming tent remained just as distant. If not against better judgment, Aero would have sworn that some of the roaming people were skipping forward in line, latching onto the loyalty of their comrades and jumping ahead of them.
“Ice cold refreshments!” a voice loudly proclaimed from the tribesman’s right. As Aero’s eyes navigated through the bystanders he determined the words originated from a fifty-something year old vendor man, dressed in a collared shirt/navy-blue slacks uniform, towing a wheeled cooler—PespiCo. was scripted on the side, in thick blue letters across its white surface. “Ice cold refreshments here!”
“Yo!” Aero hollered, throwing a hand up. “Right here.” He remembered the man twittering him—Pepsi-man?—about some Pepsi shit; he figured he would give it a try.
The wheels to the vendor’s cooler squeaked along as man scuttled over to the tribesman “Need a cold beverage?” he inquired, parking next to his potential customer. Sweat trickled down his temples from under the logoed newsboy cap he wore, and glossed his salt n’ pepper muttonchops before dripping off his jaw and onto the pinstripe button-down shirt he wore; thankfully, the vendor remembered his Speed-Stick this morning.
Aero looked down at the man with mildly interested eyes. “What ya got?” he asked as he folded his arms across his chest and cocked his head.
“Only the best—Pepsi products,” the vendor replied in a jubilant tone. He must have been one of those rare individuals that truly enjoyed their jobs, or he was really skilled at displaying the façade.
“Sure. What’re my options?” Why not try something new? If its taste lived up to the ‘Pepsi-man’s’ efforts of promoting it, then the tribesman wagered it worth trying.
A large grin spread below the vendors snout as he bent over, unclamped the cooler, and flipped the top open. “I have Pepsi, Diet Pepsi, Mountain Dew, Diet Mountain Dew, Aquafina, and Lipton lemon ice tea.”
“Gimme the Pepsi,” Aero replied. “I wanna know what all the fuss is about.”
The vendor sank his hand into the cooler’s bath of ice and retrieved a dripping blue can of Pepsi. “Here you go, sir!” he replied, extending the can to Aero. “On the house!”
“Cool. I’ve been in this goddamn line forever.” He took the wet can from the vendor’s hand and located the tab at the top. With a snap!, he forced the tab into the perforated aluminum adjacent to it., and before the first crackle of liquid could jump out of the can, he took a conservative gulp. The taste was sweet, yet controlled. “Damn,” he said, rearing his head away from the can. “This is some pretty good shit.” He brought the can back to his lips and chugged the rest.
The man responded with a fragile smile. His mouth eased open as if to speak, but halted when the tribesman handed the can back to him, crushed into a bent mess of itself.
Perhaps Aero was thirsty, after all—as soon as he finished the beverage an idea sparked in his head. He was embarrassed the thought hadn’t arrived sooner. He could just teleport to the front of the line!
The tribesman raised took the index and middle fingers of his right hand and pulled them up to his forehead. “See ya, vendor dude. Thanks for the drink.” In an instant, Aero’s body disappeared. The vendor’s eyes popped as the gap in the line slowly filled with the person who stood behind Aero.
* * * * *
“Hello, welcome to Dante’s Abyss!” A pizza-faced, young man said as his eyes descended down the honeycomb shelves to his left until he found one of the last available clipboards, and grabbed it, placing it on the desk that separated him from the next person in line. “Please fill out this short form, then you can stare into the camera behind my right shoulder and showcase your sk—“
“Hi,” Aero said, with a growing smile.
Jerry looked up at the tall, slender man opposite of him. Before pulling his attention away to retrieve another clipboard, he remembered the next person in line being a chubby man with thinning hair. “What happened to the guy in front of you?”
“Said something about going to the bathroom. Might as well get me out the way though, while I’m here.”
Jerry doubted the words the tall man spoke, but Syntex’s wages were low and there was no health insurance, so he minded his own damn business. “Ok,” he replied.
* * * * *
Fuck yes, DA here I come.
![[Image: KarlSig.jpg]](http://omniverse-rpg.com/images/KarlSig.jpg)