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 Posted: Sun Jul 19, 2009 2:59 pm
The decision to move out of his mother's house had not been a hard one. Akina was up to her elbows in children, and she clearly was getting tired of it. Brim liked her, sure, but he didn't like how involved she insisted on being in his life. When he skipped school, she tried to ground him. When he snuck out, she charmed the windows and doors. When he began melting random objects in the house in protest, she kicked him out for a week. When he didn't come home, she tracked him down. Brimstone probably felt bad for treating his mother like s**t -- somewhere inside, maybe -- but he cared much more about himself, plain and simple. After a month of more arguing, the teenager dropped out of high school and moved into the shittiest, cheapest apartment that Aekea had to offer. It wasn't the normal direction for a teenage boy. But Brimstone was anything but normal.
So he lived on his own now. Like a big boy.
Balancing a bag of groceries (read: beer) in one arm, he made quick work of the series of locks on his chipped front door. It shoved open with a hissing creak, like something was being crushed to death in the hinges. The apartment still smelled strongly of mold and cigarettes, but Brim had done a pretty nice job getting rid of the dead rats and the cat piss smell. Sidestepping a coffee table made of overturned crates, he dropped the bag on the counter, stashing the two cases of beer in his fridge.
It had been a long day. The nuclear Shattered had managed to get a job at a local night club -- apparently, the ominous radioactive look was good for security -- which had him working 70 hours a week at all hours of the night. And he ******** loved it. It was his job to get hit on all night, beat the s**t out of people, and pretty much be an a*****e. If he didn't smoke so much and waste so much money on beer and shoes (gotta stay fly), he would already be moved into the sweet apartment he had scoped out in the good end of Aekea. Oh well. He'd get there soon.
For now, the mattress on the floor in his one-room apartment was more than enough for him. Well, almost.
Brimstone rolled over on to his stomach, eying the bookshelf by his bed -- one of the only pieces of furniture aside from his broken couch. There were a handful of books, some empty beer bottles, a dissembled computer processor, and two photos: the first, of his family at Christmas two years ago; the other, him and Ilistala at the pier on his last birthday. He stared at the latter, eyes glazing over as he thought of her. So insane. His best friend. The only person that really mattered to him.
And hell yes, she was supposed to come see him today. Hence -- the beer and the almost hard-on.
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Posted: Sun Jul 19, 2009 3:25 pm
"Aw, ******** my life..."
Seated at the pitted and mildly-scalded kitchen table, circular and able to seat four at the most, Ilistala looked up from the magazine she was lazily browsing through at the piss-poor excuse of a mother, Ioyla, who had managed to get herself and a pair of binoculars stuck between the window and the blinds. No, not the fancy-pants velvet curtains with golden silk tassels and rich, decorative threading along the bottom, but cheap white blinds. Cheap ******** white blinds.
God, Ioyla was so lame.
Clearing her throat in annoyance, Stala continued to idly peruse the magazine, now intent on ignoring whatever wacky situation Ioyla had gotten herself into.
Ioyla, apparently, was intent on not being ignored. From her awkward position pinned against the windows, the cord for the binoculars looped around her neck while the heavy instrument swayed and bumped against her chest, she cleared her throat even louder and began tapping her foot. "So, uh, it looks like I'm stuck. You mind helpin me? C'mooon," she goaded when Stala's silence was an apparent refusal, "I'll tell you who I saw walkin down the street not five minutes ago."
Her interest only barely piqued, Stala shut her magazine with a sigh (a long, drawn-out sigh), got to her feet, and began the uncomfortable and confusing process of untangling a 5'4'' demon from the cheap blinds. "Who'd you see walking down the street, Mom?" she asked politely enough, not really listening, of course, but scraping by with the bare minimum of etiquette. Ilistala didn't necessarily hate her mother, but after putting up with her bullshit childish behavior and half-baked schemes for nearly three years, all the while learning how to share and being forced to interact with a medley of children, half of which could barely pass as human, well...after a while, it got kind of tiring. She was tired. Tired all the ******** time. She was sick and disillusioned with the so-called family she was associated with, and the itch to spread her wings (literally and figuratively) and settle in her own place was getting too strong to ignore.
But enough of that silent reverie! Ioyla had been chattering away while Stala enjoyed some alone time (probably about another sleepy cat video she saw on ViewTube the other day), but a very-recognizable name was suddenly uttered, and, startled and pleased, Stala folded her arms around her middle and stepped back. "Wait, what? Who did you see?"
"That kid Brimstone you like so much. He was carryin some gro--HEY."
With the confirmation of Brimstone's presence ringing in her head, Ilistala abruptly abandoned her poor, retarded mother to jet out the door, slamming it behind her and leaving Ioyla all alone, to fend for herself. Stuck in the blinds. "I hate my life," she moped to no one in particular, and went back to amusing herself with people-watching.
***
Hardly a minute later, Ilistala came to a sudden stop in front of Brim's front door, breathing somewhat heavily but other than that, a fine vision of beauty. And boy, did she know it. She considered knocking on his door and waiting patiently for him to answer it, but ******** that manners s**t. This was Brimstone, for Chrissakes. Her best friend in the whole world...and, considering her age and killer bod (and his killer bod, o bb), something else? Something more? Bah, it was probably best to just let sleeping dogs lay. After that business on the beach--
No, don't think about that.
So she didn't.
Banishing those thoughts from her mind, Stala simply barged right in--no knock, no howdy-doody, no nothing--and immediately covered her eyes in jest, a silly grin smeared over her face. "God, I hope you're not doing anything private. That would be awkward."
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Posted: Sun Jul 19, 2009 3:50 pm
Still lying on his stomach, Brimstone didn't need to turn to see who had entered his apartment. He could tell Stala's stampeding feet from a mile away. He did like to look at her though. With an audible groan, he rolled over and sat up, propping both elbows on his knees. "Like that would stop you." He laughed, ran a hand through his hair. "Beer's in the fridge."
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Posted: Sat Jul 25, 2009 9:33 am
Ilistala laughed when he did, a high, tinkling female sound that felt good and sounded good. She crossed into the kitchen, opened the fridge, and got herself a beer--still warm from Brim's radioactive touch. And it would only get warmer, if she didn't drink it fast. Grabbing another for the man of the house himself, Stala returned to the living room, opened the pop-tab of her own drink with her teeth (mad skillz), and took a few healthy gulps before collapsing into the couch, under Brim's legs, with a sigh of of pleasure. A comfortable silence stretched between them for a few moments as Ilistala traced a light pattern over his legs with her fingertips. The aluminum can in her hand was starting to heat up already, so she took another sip before belching quietly and snorting at her own crude bodily noises. Ioyla raised a fine, upstanding young woman, she did.
"What are you gonna do today, Brimmy?" she prompted, passing him his drink upon the realization that she was still holding it. Hoped he liked more-than-mildly-warm beer! She'd drink it cold or warm, either way. SHE'D DRINK IT UP. Ilistala affectionately slapped his shin for no reason, then propped her legs up on the crappy crate that served as a coffee table. Jesus, this kid needed new digs. "I feel the need to take you shopping," she suggested with a faint grin, wiggling her eyebrows for added effect, "something involving...oh, I don't know. Maybe frilly skirts. Maybe a new dress for your up-coming quinceanera. Maybe a couch that doesn't look like two deflated bean bag chairs that've been taped together by my mom when she's kind of drunk." She laughed again at her own joke, patting his legs in reassurance. She was only joking, of course...for the most part. "I fear this apartment will collapse any second now." Vote of domestic dwelling confidence ftmfw.
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Posted: Sat Jul 25, 2009 6:31 pm
Brim followed Ilistala with his eyes as she moved to the refrigerator. She bent to get the beer, and he let his eyes linger for a moment before darting them away to the stained carpet at his feet. A roach crawled by, feelers wiggling at the edge of Brim's red Converse sneaker. He sneered and squashed the pest under the toe of his shoe, rubbing it into the carpet as Stala returned. "When will I stop being Brimmy to you? It makes me sound like some retarded kid." He ignored Stala's ever-so-classy belch, even as it exploded in his face. Brim's sweat smelled like sulfur. A burp was nothing to him. Plus, he had been best friends with Stala long enough to expect nothing less from her.
Her fingers tracing over his leg sent spindles of sensations to his chest, but he didn't move or acknowledge it. If he did, she'd probably stop, and Stala tended to be fickle with her displays of affection for him. He grabbed the bottle from her hand, fingertips brushing, and reached over to the makeshift crate-table to grab his bottle opener. It found a permanent home on his table, always in easy reach of the mattress. The cap clicked to the floor, and the beer let out a breath of carbonation. "Thanks for heating it up for me," he said, sipping lightly at the beer and glancing up to Stala.
"Shopping requires money. I'm trying to save up and buy a place in Trevelli Terrace. They have a doorman. Or at least an elevator. I can't remember." He spotted another roach crawling across the floor, sent it to Roach Hell with the other one. "I really don't need all these ******** roommates." He sighed and let himself fall backwards onto the sofa with a soft oof. "You look better in dresses than me. And don't pretend you want me to buy anything. You just want me to buy you things." Granted, Brim didn't much mind that, but he couldn't let her know that -- she'd run through all of his money in a heartbeat. He looked over to the couch and shrugged. It served its purpose. What was the point in changing something that was perfectly well functioning?
He rolled his eyes. "Shut up. You still live with your mom." Brimstone smirked, and the radioactive green of his eyes glowed a little brighter, casting a pale glow on the ceiling above his mattress.
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