(Untitled)

[themouthbreathr]

He woke up this morning predictably disoriented in a strange bed, in a strange room. There may have been screaming. It took him thirteen minutes to remember why he was not in his own house, why he was still wearing his uniform, and why he had not taken off his shoes

Comments

[talkback]

And now there is a guy at his table, feet propped up, hat tipped back./

"And what's your problem?"

[themouthbreathr]

Alec brushes his bowl-cut back into place with his fingers.

"What's my problem?" He echoes. "A bar is holding me hostage, I was supposed to be at work at three, and it's really rude to put your feet on a table, you know."

[talkback]

Oh, Chase is gonna enjoy this one. Sometimes, you just gotta be an asshole.

"Holdin' ya hostage? Really? Wheres the gun ta your head? Doncha know, time here doesn't pass like time outside? You're a bit of a whiner, ain't you?"

[themouthbreathr]

Alec's mouth doesn't drop open, because Alec's mouth is always open.

"I have a medical condition," he whines, misunderstanding spectacularly. It's a talent.

[talkback]

"Well, if you need something, ask the bar."

Chase leans forward, a switchblade appearing from somewhere, which he uses to start cleaning the crud out of his boots, onto the table.

[themouthbreathr]

The bar probably doesn't have fully grown cartilage, or an un-deviated septum. Probably. Maybe. Actually it might.

"People eat on that," the Mouthbreather squeaks, indignantly. "And is that a switchblade? Are you in a gang?"

[talkback]

It probably does, actually. In a light chiante sauce.

"What's your point?"

He flips the switchblade into the other hand, to do the other shoe.

"Yup. I'm a Runaway."

[themouthbreathr]

"I bet you're one of those kids who hangs around the Galleria all day, stealing stuff from the food court," the Mouthbreather sniffs. "You know, you should get a real job."

And possibly a haircut. Alec can get you a bowl, if you want?

[talkback]

"I have a real job."

He spits to one side, narrowly missing the other boys shoes. Don't touch the hair. He'll cut you, vato.

"And I enjoy it."

[themouthbreathr]

"If it's not on the books, it doesn't really count," Alec insists.

It's only a real job if The Government takes half your hard earned money. Or you are a Ninja. Ninjas work hard and trump taxes.

[talkback]

Chase snorts.

"Oh, we're on the books. Get a stripend from Captain America, cause he's a bleeding heart liberal."

[themouthbreathr]

Alec wrinkles his nose in confusion, but eventually decides he must mean George W., via sarcasm.

"Yeah, well, then...good," Alec sasses. "For you. Then."

[talkback]

"What're you, some kind of corporate wage slave?"

He eyes the kid.

"A burger flipper?"

[themouthbreathr]

Alec scoffs.

"I'm not a grill jockey," says the Mouthbreather, with vague distaste. "I'm the assistant manager of Wonderfalls Gift Emporium?"

No food allowed. And no shoes, no shirt, no service. And they are not affiliated with the Mold-o-rama.

[talkback]

"Oh, god even worse."

He makes a face. Really, it's all he can do not to drag this kid into the bathroom, give him a swirlie, pull his underwear over his head, and take his lunch money. Seriously.

"You work for a tourist trap. You're liek a fuckin Mickey Mouse, without the prestige."

[themouthbreathr]

The Mouthbreather has no lunch money.

The Mouthbreather gapes.

"The Falls are a national treasure. You can't compare them to some theme park."

Just the one ride, after all.

But it's a big one.

(Bring your own barrel.)