humour of the LAME sort.
Squid pulled up to the party, jeans low and spirits lower. He'd just returned from Camp Greenlake, finally clean and almost happy, and had been plunged right back into the gang, where his friends had saved his position for him. Now he had to act all tough and that when he really wanted to just go to sleep for days. Right now he was at some random party he had been told he had to go to, to keep up the good name of the Fire Hawks wide spread and known. People tended to relax about rules when a gang didn't keep up its rep.
There was some stupid pop song - Eminem or something - blasting as they walked through the gate and positioned themselves on one side of the yard, close to the refreshments table. People always came over to the refreshments table - and then they'd see them, Squid with his two close buddies protecting him. Like bouncers, but they hit harder.
Soon a few girls were dancing around their proximity, and there were at least a few drunken boys trying on high heels, and the like. One such boy, taller then most people, was walking perfectly in the heels, stumbling only over his words. Someone pushed him from behind, and before he knew it, Squid's arms were enveloping him and the rest of the room was crushing in, keeping them pressed together and making them bounce in time, or be squashed.
"Squid man, what're you doing all the way here...? I would 'ave thought you'dve moved or something..." the voice was slurring into his ear, and he looked down in surprise. No one outside of Camp Greenlake called him Squid. Here everyone called him "False" or "Starch", for reasons he didn't go into.
"Zig-Zag? What the fuck are you doing in my hood? Where'd you come from? Aren't you like, hella fucking rich? What're you doing out here? It's the slums, boy." His accent sounded funny, jarring with the New York ones around them. It was weird how he had retained his accent, over all the years.
"I was invited. I came. We had a little drinking contest, must have been before you came. I won, you know?"
"Only just, obviously," Squid muttered, pulling Zig upright against himself as he swayed slightly. Zig made to say something back, a witty reply, but instead he just leaned his head forward and moaned quietly, hands raising to the small of Squid's back, fingers massaging his own forehead.
"I've got the worst headache, Squid. Worster then...anything. Oh god. Pain." Squid was tempted to leave it for a moment, just to feel Zig's hands on his back, but he decided Zig's health was more important and untangled himself, waving a hand above the crowd. Soon his 'friends' had cleared a path and the two struggled out behind them, into a less crowded area.
"You want some water, Starch?" One of the guys asked, cocking his head at the table in front of them. Squid shrugged, palms up, and they both immedietly went to look for bottled water. You could never be to certain, he knew.
"You okay, Zig?" He muttered, helping Zig sit down on an abandoned stool. He did a double take as he watched Zig rub his nose, and then he moved closer to rest his head against his friend's shoulder. Time was against him, he knew, soon his 'friends' would be back and he'd have to be tough, so he would have to be weak for just one moment now, while no one was watching.
"Sorry about this," He muttered, pressing his lips hard against Zig's and closing his eyes tight, fingers curling around Zig's jean material, tasting the bitter tang of alcohol still left on Zig's lips, feeling the little crevices on each lip of Zig-Zag's against his, and then he broke away, turning away quickly and letting his head settle. At least that was done now.
Squid pulled up to the party, jeans low and spirits lower. He'd just returned from Camp Greenlake, finally clean and almost happy, and had been plunged right back into the gang, where his friends had saved his position for him. Now he had to act all tough and that when he really wanted to just go to sleep for days. Right now he was at some random party he had been told he had to go to, to keep up the good name of the Fire Hawks wide spread and known. People tended to relax about rules when a gang didn't keep up its rep.
There was some stupid pop song - Eminem or something - blasting as they walked through the gate and positioned themselves on one side of the yard, close to the refreshments table. People always came over to the refreshments table - and then they'd see them, Squid with his two close buddies protecting him. Like bouncers, but they hit harder.
Soon a few girls were dancing around their proximity, and there were at least a few drunken boys trying on high heels, and the like. One such boy, taller then most people, was walking perfectly in the heels, stumbling only over his words. Someone pushed him from behind, and before he knew it, Squid's arms were enveloping him and the rest of the room was crushing in, keeping them pressed together and making them bounce in time, or be squashed.
"Squid man, what're you doing all the way here...? I would 'ave thought you'dve moved or something..." the voice was slurring into his ear, and he looked down in surprise. No one outside of Camp Greenlake called him Squid. Here everyone called him "False" or "Starch", for reasons he didn't go into.
"Zig-Zag? What the fuck are you doing in my hood? Where'd you come from? Aren't you like, hella fucking rich? What're you doing out here? It's the slums, boy." His accent sounded funny, jarring with the New York ones around them. It was weird how he had retained his accent, over all the years.
"I was invited. I came. We had a little drinking contest, must have been before you came. I won, you know?"
"Only just, obviously," Squid muttered, pulling Zig upright against himself as he swayed slightly. Zig made to say something back, a witty reply, but instead he just leaned his head forward and moaned quietly, hands raising to the small of Squid's back, fingers massaging his own forehead.
"I've got the worst headache, Squid. Worster then...anything. Oh god. Pain." Squid was tempted to leave it for a moment, just to feel Zig's hands on his back, but he decided Zig's health was more important and untangled himself, waving a hand above the crowd. Soon his 'friends' had cleared a path and the two struggled out behind them, into a less crowded area.
"You want some water, Starch?" One of the guys asked, cocking his head at the table in front of them. Squid shrugged, palms up, and they both immedietly went to look for bottled water. You could never be to certain, he knew.
"You okay, Zig?" He muttered, helping Zig sit down on an abandoned stool. He did a double take as he watched Zig rub his nose, and then he moved closer to rest his head against his friend's shoulder. Time was against him, he knew, soon his 'friends' would be back and he'd have to be tough, so he would have to be weak for just one moment now, while no one was watching.
"Sorry about this," He muttered, pressing his lips hard against Zig's and closing his eyes tight, fingers curling around Zig's jean material, tasting the bitter tang of alcohol still left on Zig's lips, feeling the little crevices on each lip of Zig-Zag's against his, and then he broke away, turning away quickly and letting his head settle. At least that was done now.