|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
 Posted: Tue Oct 06, 2009 8:38 am
 Journal Entry #1 - Not-quite-warm Welcome
Jack Comet's used to be a diner. When they tore the vinyl seats out and put in the arcade games, they figured they'd leave most of the space-age chrome-future trim for atmosphere. Gentry didn't mind because he sort of liked polishing the stuff. It was relaxing, and it made him feel like maybe he sort of kinda knew what he was doing, running the place.
This feeling, however, was largely superficial. Gentry didn't know anything about running a business. He was still somewhat in shock about being given this place to begin with, and... he hadn't even started thinking about making money. The machines, of course, fascinated him. He picked through them one by one, polishing the outsides and fixing up their insides. Spent hours on each one just fiddling with the wires and scraping out thick black dust. There were a couple dead rats and such, but that kind of stuff didn't bother Gentry too much. The only things that really made him squirm were... people.
Jack Comet's used to be a pretty cool place back when arcades were pretty cool places, but the place had been locked up and abandoned for the last few years. Now that it was open again, the neon sign flashing and the games making cute little game sounds, it didn't take long for the guys who'd hung out here as kids to hear about it. They were, of course, not kids anymore - in their late twenties and up, guys with cars and good jobs. They came in like they owned the place and seemed surprised to find it staffed by... well, a nearly-invisible, reclusive hacker - practically a teenager!
If they were wary of Gentry, though, he was a heck of a lot more wary of them. A couple of them were crowded around one of the shooters up front, and Gentry had crept towards the back of the store to... polish the chrome. And try to close the space-age window that was letting in a little too much wind. They'd propped it open when they were painting last week, and now it was... jammed, or something. Which hadn't bothered him before, since the weather had been sort of mild. Today, though... today, the wind had a sort of bite to it you didn't usually get until mid-winter, and just fidgeting with the stubborn handles was turning his fingers blue.
He considered asking the guys up front, but... but they were so loud. And the tall blond in the argyle shirt... well, Gentry couldn't even look at him without tripping over something. He sighed, and decided to give the window another try. Grabbing onto the handle, he planted one foot on the side of a fighting game - was going to have to remember to dust that off later - took a deep breath - and pulled. And... pulled.
A howling gust of wind blasted through the gap just before the window slid shut. He lost his grip on the handle and fell backwards onto a half-disassembled tetris game. The blond in the argyle shirt glanced up from his game, and Gentry scrambled to get out of sight, nearly knocking over an... egg. A big, smooth, painted egg. Well, not really painted, but... it had a sort of pattern on it that eggs didn't generally have. Stripes, a white star in the middle... and it was big. And dirty. At first he thought it was dust, like maybe it had been stuck between one of the games for a few years, but... when he picked the thing up, it smelled more like ashes than dirt.
It was cold, too. Almost too cold to touch comfortably. Wincing, he stood up and carried it off to the bar counter that served as a sort of giant cash register. Didn't really know why, but... well, he couldn't just leave the thing lying around on the ground, could he? And it was sort of... pretty. In an almost-giving-you-frostburn way.
|
 |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Fri Oct 23, 2009 8:46 am
Entry #2: Doctor's Orders
"What is it, some sort of leftover easter egghunt thing?" The blond in the argyle had come back - alone. He wasn't dressed in argyle this time, actually, but a tight blue long-sleeved sweater. It looked sort. And expensive. And it made Gentry daydream about using his chest as a pillow, except he wasn't sure if that was the sweater or just... his chest. Either way, he sort of stood there behind the counter, wringing his fingers together and staring a little off to the side as the blond handled the egg Gentry had left out on the counter as a... centerpiece or something.
The egg had stayed much like he'd found it - large, ash-scented, and cold. He'd quietly suggested the tall blond wore gloves before touching it, but apparently the guy was too manly for gloves, or something, and was gingerly holding the thing with bare hands - passing it back and forth a little when it got too cold. "It's like a chunk of ice! If I hadn't seen it here on your counter for the last while I'd think you just pulled it out of a freezer. You say it's been like this all along?"
Gentry nodded shyly. He was starting to think that the blond guy was a doctor... he sounded like a doctor. Smart. Analytical. Good-looking. Way out of his league, even if he somehow managed to rake up the confidence to hit on him, god forbid - not that it would ever happen. Gentry was too shy to flirt with a wall, let alone a nordic superman. Yeah - this wasn't helping him any. He should say something. Stop looking like an idiot, at least.
"I... uh... I found it by he window... there. It was just sort of there. Or maybe it came with the wind - I mean, no. That... doesn't make any sense. It's... too heavy?"
The blond didn't seem to have heard him, even, rolling the egg over in his hands, then looking at the dust left on his fingertips. And Gentry still felt stupid. He chewed on his lip and stared at the floor for a little longer. Maybe he should just give the egg to this guy, who seemed so much smarter and... well, more capable, for sure. He'd figure out what to do. Maybe he'd sell the thing, or... whatever. Maybe after he sold it he would use some of the money to take Gentry out to lunch.
Yeah. No.
To be honest, he didn't really want to part with the egg. Even now, he was getting edgy - when the blond nordic superman-doctor's hold on the egg started to get a little too casual for his liking, he reached out to take the thing away from him. Softly and shyly he nudged the larger hands away, chewing on his lip as his skin brushed against the other's. He thought the blond might leave once the egg was out of his hands... but he stayed there, looking at the egg and rubbing his hands together to get rid of the ash. After a painful silence of hesitation, he spoke again. "Maybe it's alive."
Gentry didn't know what to say. He didn't want to say anything - he'd just look stupid again.
"Put it somewhere warm, or something." The blond shrugged - a smile tugging at his perfect lips. "Back of the Fistful of Bullets shooter or something, you know how that thing heats up. I'll check up on you two in a little." And only now was he headed out the door. Gentry almost said something - almost asked his name. But he swallowed the words and blushed, pressing the cold egg against his chest as he moved towards the western shooter the guy had indicated.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Tue Nov 10, 2009 5:38 pm
[ G.r.o.w.t.h. xxxQ.u.e.s.t. ] It has been just a week or two shy of a month since Gentry put the egg behind the shooter arcade game as per the blond man's idle comment. The egg that was once cold and dust covered is now hot and dust covered, wedged tightly behind a popular game that continually gets knocked around by rowdy arcade goers upon triumphant wins or pride shattering losses. During the day there's too much noise for the hatching to be heard - whether by people or machines - and night might be better for it to hatch given Gentry's timidity, but the egg doesn't care; she's hatching now! How does Gentry manage to free the overheated and hatching egg from between the mobbed game and the wall while the arcade is packed full of people who would see and ask questions? And what does he do after the fact?
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Fri Nov 13, 2009 12:32 pm
 Growth Quest Response
Inside the cheap wooden closet that housed the machine, the tinny, repetitive sound of bullets and screams echoed for hours on end. The egg's little wings fluttered from time to time, almost in laughter every time the noise cut short to be replaced with a mechanical 'game over'. But no one was there to see any of this. Gentry peeked in every night, but today was a busy Saturday afternoon, and he was huddled behind the counter at his computer - sourcing spare parts for a few of he more beat-up games. Knobs and buttons and that kind of thing. One of the pinball machines was missing a ball, too - however that had happened.
And then there was the man in the argyle. He'd visited last week, like he'd promised. Wore a wool jacket and a green scarf - it was starting to get chilly, and Gentry had watched in shy fascination as he pulled off his leather gloves, folding them precisely before tucking them into his pocket. Definitely a doctor - he had almost considered faking a cough or something, just to get his attention. But that was silly. They had looked at the egg instead, warmed by the decade-old machinery. The blond still ended up with ashes all over his fingers, which he wiped off on a rag that Gentry awkwardly offered. He wasn't here today - he didn't come that often, anyway, something that made perfect sense, Gentry had to remind himself. He was a doctor, not a thirteen-year-old boy.
A loud curse broke across the crowded room just as he was about to place an order for some replacement buttons. He ignored it - people got angry here all the time, then calmed down as they friends laughed off their humiliating loss. Finishing off the order, he printed the receipt and put it away into a carefully-sorted drawer. Gentry liked keeping things in order. He liked rifling through his organized receipts - and then the same voice cursed again, followed by a loud thumping sound. Kicking. Gentry didn't like that.
He stood up to look over the counter. A teenage boy stood infront of Fistful of Bullets, his face red with rage, brown forelocks plastered to his forehead with sweat. 'Game Over', the machine told him - and he kicked it again. Usually Gentry would just sit down and wait for him to start feeling stupid about his tantrum, but... that was the game he'd left the egg under. It was a big, sturdy-looking thing, with a shell that felt tough and strong. But still... it was an egg. Eggs broke. And, for whatever reason, the thought of this egg breaking made him particularly nervous. So he started drifting towards the kid, rubbing his hands infront of himself nervously. No one paid much attention to him, and the kid was smashing the buttons on the machine again. At least he wasn't kicking it... yet.
"Um." Gentry tried, clearing his throat. No one looked at him. He wished, sorely, that the blond doctor was here. People listened to him - even his friends, who could get a little boisterous sometimes. He tried to hold himself the way he remembered the man doing - chin up, back straight. His hair, tied up in a messy, spiky rooster tail behind him, trembled nervously. "Uh. Can you... um... stop hitting the game? It's, uh... not gonna help you." A pause - the teenager seemed to have heard him, just barely. He gave Gentry an odd look, eyes still seething in humiliation. "It's rigged!" He finally spat out. Some laugher around him - it didn't make him feel any better, not by the looks of it. "It is! I've been playing for hours and I can't get past the THIRD ******** LEVEL. BULLSHIT!" He gave the game another kick, and -
A crack.
Gentry jumped. It wasn't a wooden sort of splinter, or a plastic snap - it sounded clear and ceramic. Eggshell. "STOP IT!" He shrieked, forgetting himself in a panic. The arcade went silent - he didn't care. Not right now. He pulled the teenager away, all those months moving the arcade games around and replacing heavy monitors giving him a surprising strength. He slipped behind the shooter without a second look at the kid, his lanky figure fitting easily in the space between it and the wall. He knelt to open the panel, and there indeed was the egg - with a long, jagged crack along the surface. His breath caught - not having considered the fact that the egg might be hatching, he assumed the worst. It was broken. What would the doctor say. And - goddamnit, why did he care so much? ******** the doctor. His egg was broken.
Scooping the thing into his arms, he slipped back into the arcade - still nearly silent, a few voices murmuring in the corners. He shot the teenager a sharp glare, and, just before he lost his nerve, barked out a frighteningly authoritative "Get out!" Then he realized everyone was staring at him, and scrambled out of the room - past the bar and through a door, slamming it shut behind him. What had he done? But nevermind that. The egg. He moved to a small-ish couch set up in the corner, sitting down and looking over the egg with a sigh. Stupid kid - now the egg was ruined, and -
And it moved. Beneath his fingers, more pieces of eggshell crumbled, twitched, and fell. And beyond that... something was stirring.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
