I realized (as I was on my third guy) that arcade Joust was way different than on a home gaming system. On Atari, I could ruin it, but here -- I was just flailing. But, I had a pocket full of quarters and this game hadn't seen the last of me. No ho ho. This game would bow to my fury! Just as soon as I got my Joust groove back. Oh yeah.
A voice manifested out of thin air, hovering somewhere above my shoulder. I jumped and, one second later, my third and final guy bit it. I groaned and jammed my palm against the joystick.
"Damn!" I groaned. Turning, I realized it was Warren. "Oh! Hey! Yeah, um. I was trying out a new technique and... yeah. It didn't work."
I leaned my back against the game and tried to de-stress my shoulders a little bit. They were practically against my earlobes, that game had made me so tense. Still, what a relief to see that someone actually met up with me. Someone who wasn't Jonathan. Or Tucker.
Warren was looking dubiously at the other gamers. I followed his line of sight, realizing that I'd made some kind of social faux pas. I should have just hung out near the bar. I should have ordered a soda and not a fancy drink. And, I shouldn't have even attempted to play Joust in a public forum.
Warren raised his eyebrows at me and gestured toward an open table. It was pretty crowded in the Bronze, so seeing a table that was open was a little like seeing Data doing stand-up.
"Oh, yeah. Sitting is good," I nodded. I glanced sadly at my drink, sitting sadly on the floor near the Joust machine. I couldn't take it with me, could I? It was silly. Too foofy. It wasn't a manly drink like a, uh, Fanta. Or, like a Dr. Pepper. Mr. Pibb, maybe. "I was going to get a soda. Do you want one? And, um, Tucker isn't here -- is he?"
My eyebrows lifted as I watched Andrew throw his little tantrum after his last guy was defeated. Not quite the reaction I'd been expecting, but it was amusing enough to watch him throw a fit over losing a game of Joust. Apparently he hadn't recognized my voice because when he turned to face me, he looked more than a little surprised to see me standing there.
"Oh! Hey! Yeah, um. I was trying out a new technique and... yeah. It didn't work."
"Of course you were," I decided to humor him while he made himself a bit more comfortable up against the machine he'd just been playing. So far it seemed every one of Tucker's stories about his annoying little brother were turning out to be pretty spot-on. Kind of sad, when you think about it. This kid seemed nothing like Tucker, and yet they were both brought up in the same household, with the same parents. Then again, Tucker was a sociopath, so that might have had something to do with the difference in their personalities. Slowly, I took a look around the crowd of gamers. Thankfully there were no familiar faces lurking about -- no one who would pin us as dorks for entering the social leper section of the club. I spotted an open table not too far away, and nodded toward it hoping Andrew would get the idea.
"Oh, yeah. Sitting is good. I was going to get a soda. Do you want one? And, um, Tucker isn't here -- is he?"
"Isn't that your drink right there?" I asked, while once again nodding my head, only this time in the direction of .. what was that, anyway? A fruit salad smoothie sitting there on the out of service pinball machine beside Andrew? Huh. After insisting that it had been there when he arrived, Andrew seemed to forget about his series of questions, and headed away from loser-ville to make his way over toward the table I'd pointed out. I followed after him without a word. The sooner we got out of there the better.
"Tucker's probably out with Amy somewhere," I finally responded once we reached our destination. "Seems like he's always out with her anymore. Not that I mind. It's kind of like having my own room without him always around, trying to get me to hang out with him. I just feel kind of sorry for Amy now, you know?" Suddenly, I stopped my glancing about to look at Andrew directly. He might have had an older brother complex or something.
"Oh, no offense or anything. Tucker's great and all, it just gets kind of old having him follow me around after a while." Apparently the fates were on my side, because at that very moment a woman's voice sounded to our left.
"Oh no he fucking didn't!" Followed by the majority of the crowd lending her their attention, as well as a chorus of 'oooh.' I looked over to see what all the commotion was about, but all I got was the back of some girl's head as she headed out the side exit, while a good portion of those on the dancefloor shuffled out after her. The thought of a chick fight was more than enough to bring a smile to my face. I turned back to Andrew, wondering if he was just as interested as I was.
I sat there, trying to wrap my head around the previously-unconsidered (by me) notions that Tucker ever 1) had to ask someone to hang out with him or 2) actually followed someone around. Warren must be even cooler than I'd imagined. I originally though he was cool because he stood up to Tucker, but here he was, indicating that it wasn't, like, a one-time deal. And yet, he was hanging out with me. I felt a little jolt of shock run through me that anyone would choose to hang out with me instead of my brother... but it was squashed by realizing that Warren was probably just hanging out with me because Tucker was busy with his girlfriend.
I opened and shut my mouth a couple of times and decided to just nod knowingly.
Some lady got all Girls Gone Wild on the dance floor and we both craned our necks to see what was the hubub, uh... bub. Most of the heads in the club (help) also followed along with the girl's path toward the emergency exit.
When she and half the Bronzefolk had left for the alley, Warren turned back to me, smiling broadly.
"There's fighting?" I asked, uneasily. "Girls... fighting?"
"Wanna go look?" Warren nodded.
I squirmed in my seat at the thought. But he looked so excited about it that I couldn't say no.
"Okay. Because, um... she might need help. Or something," I offered. Warren looked at me with a bewildered expression. "Or I could just stay and get sodas."
"Come on," Warren said, grabbing me by the elbow. He dragged me away from the table a few feet before I pulled away and told him I was perfectly capable of walking to the girl fight on my own.
And then for some reason, I apologized. How humiliating.
"Come on," I prompted Andrew before grabbing him by the elbowand tugging him in the direction of the commotion. We hadn't even gone two feet before Andrew pulled away from me, while saying something about how he could do it without my help. I held up my hands, you know, like they do in the movies to show no signs of aggression. I hadn't realized that he was so moody. Or maybe he was just bipolar. That must have been it, judging by the way he'd gone and apologized right after making it into some big deal.
"Don't worry about it .." I assured him, albeit somewhat hesitantly. I couldn't really blame him for being semi-weird. Not only was he related to Tucker, but he'd actually introduced me short stop Jonathan Levinson as his 'best friend.' The poor guy didn't know any better, he was just a result of shitty circumstance -- molded by his environment or whatever. It was a good thing I'd decided to come hang out with him. Andrew needed an intervention like, yesterday. Last week, even. After I was sure he was cool again, the two of us continued outside to where the others had flocked off to.
"Maybe you should take your trashy ass some place else," the jealous girlfriend type said, before grabbing some other chick by the hair and yanking her up off of the ground and back onto her feet. Unfortunately, we'd missed the start of the fight thanks to Andrew's little episode. Oh well. At least we were able to catch the tail-end of the show. Jealous girlfriend shoved the other girl back against the wall, and rushed her before she even had a chance to move.
"Next time you should try for someone who isn't taken you slut!"
I couldn't help myself, I was practically giggling at the scene. I mean, this was better than free porn. I don't think Andrew was all too interested though, for whatever reason. Before long, the jealous chick was standing victorious over the other girl -- the one who had tried picking up on her boyfriend. By then the crowd had already begun to disperse. Seemed like two of the guys were pretty eager to usher everyone back inside. Not like there was much left to see out there, anyway.
I wasn't sure what the fight was about, but man -- those girls were mad. From what I could gather, one girl was maybe dancing with someone else's boyfriend? And then, they got all Van Damme in Kickboxer -- but like, more hair-pully. And then the scorned girl was all "Step off, bitch. That's my man." And then the other girl went down.
Actually, it was sort of cool, I guess. It was like TV. Physical fights still made me feel a little nauseous, but it wasn't so bad when the boxers were two sorority girls. I nodded at Warren, who was obviously into the whole "catfight" scenario. I shouldn't have been surprised -- I guess most guys are into seeing pretty girls, uh, wrestle. But Warren seemed like he wasn't like most guys.
All the same, I smiled a little and said, "Yeah, that was an epic battle. I didn't even see who they were fighting over."
"Let's keep it moving, folks," some big beefy guy said as he pushed me softly toward the door. He didn't push me hard, but I recoiled anyway.
"Hey, don't shove. I'm going!" I snapped, hastily pressing forward before running directly into Warren's back. "Sorry! Sorry, this guy is ...he pushed."
Warren sighed and continued moving into the club. Once we were inside, I apologized again. God! What was wrong with me? It was like, when I didn't know what to say, I just said I was sorry.
"I don't know why I keep saying that," I admitted, when we got back to the table that we'd just left behind. "I mean, that I'm sorry. I guess that I'm just not used to hanging out with people who -- well, people who Tucker probably complains about me to. People who know that he doesn't like me very much. I mean, that's what he said, right? That he doesn't like me? He thinks he's adopted. But he's not. He's totally like my dad. Our dad. Or, he was."
I blinked slowly and held my eyes shut, feeling like my head was too big for my body. Why did I just say all that? Why am I so hopeless about making new friends? I glanced nervously around the table at the other people who were mingling and being friendly. Dancing. Drinking. Playing pool.
"Oh, hey! If I'm irritating you, or like, am boring you with my family trauma, you don't have to hang around with me. I mean, I know I called you and told you to come down, but that's just because I was bored. I didn't think you'd actually show up," I finally finished. Someone's got a bad case of please-shut-up-or-at-least-cut-out-your-own-tongue-itis. I shrugged at Warren and tried to look nonchalant.
A voice manifested out of thin air, hovering somewhere above my shoulder. I jumped and, one second later, my third and final guy bit it. I groaned and jammed my palm against the joystick.
"Damn!" I groaned. Turning, I realized it was Warren. "Oh! Hey! Yeah, um. I was trying out a new technique and... yeah. It didn't work."
I leaned my back against the game and tried to de-stress my shoulders a little bit. They were practically against my earlobes, that game had made me so tense. Still, what a relief to see that someone actually met up with me. Someone who wasn't Jonathan. Or Tucker.
Warren was looking dubiously at the other gamers. I followed his line of sight, realizing that I'd made some kind of social faux pas. I should have just hung out near the bar. I should have ordered a soda and not a fancy drink. And, I shouldn't have even attempted to play Joust in a public forum.
Warren raised his eyebrows at me and gestured toward an open table. It was pretty crowded in the Bronze, so seeing a table that was open was a little like seeing Data doing stand-up.
"Oh, yeah. Sitting is good," I nodded. I glanced sadly at my drink, sitting sadly on the floor near the Joust machine. I couldn't take it with me, could I? It was silly. Too foofy. It wasn't a manly drink like a, uh, Fanta. Or, like a Dr. Pepper. Mr. Pibb, maybe. "I was going to get a soda. Do you want one? And, um, Tucker isn't here -- is he?"
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My eyebrows lifted as I watched Andrew throw his little tantrum after his last guy was defeated. Not quite the reaction I'd been expecting, but it was amusing enough to watch him throw a fit over losing a game of Joust. Apparently he hadn't recognized my voice because when he turned to face me, he looked more than a little surprised to see me standing there.
"Oh! Hey! Yeah, um. I was trying out a new technique and... yeah. It didn't work."
"Of course you were," I decided to humor him while he made himself a bit more comfortable up against the machine he'd just been playing. So far it seemed every one of Tucker's stories about his annoying little brother were turning out to be pretty spot-on. Kind of sad, when you think about it. This kid seemed nothing like Tucker, and yet they were both brought up in the same household, with the same parents. Then again, Tucker was a sociopath, so that might have had something to do with the difference in their personalities. Slowly, I took a look around the crowd of gamers. Thankfully there were no familiar faces lurking about -- no one who would pin us as dorks for entering the social leper section of the club. I spotted an open table not too far away, and nodded toward it hoping Andrew would get the idea.
"Oh, yeah. Sitting is good. I was going to get a soda. Do you want one? And, um, Tucker isn't here -- is he?"
"Isn't that your drink right there?" I asked, while once again nodding my head, only this time in the direction of .. what was that, anyway? A fruit salad smoothie sitting there on the out of service pinball machine beside Andrew? Huh. After insisting that it had been there when he arrived, Andrew seemed to forget about his series of questions, and headed away from loser-ville to make his way over toward the table I'd pointed out. I followed after him without a word. The sooner we got out of there the better.
"Tucker's probably out with Amy somewhere," I finally responded once we reached our destination. "Seems like he's always out with her anymore. Not that I mind. It's kind of like having my own room without him always around, trying to get me to hang out with him. I just feel kind of sorry for Amy now, you know?" Suddenly, I stopped my glancing about to look at Andrew directly. He might have had an older brother complex or something.
"Oh, no offense or anything. Tucker's great and all, it just gets kind of old having him follow me around after a while." Apparently the fates were on my side, because at that very moment a woman's voice sounded to our left.
"Oh no he fucking didn't!" Followed by the majority of the crowd lending her their attention, as well as a chorus of 'oooh.' I looked over to see what all the commotion was about, but all I got was the back of some girl's head as she headed out the side exit, while a good portion of those on the dancefloor shuffled out after her. The thought of a chick fight was more than enough to bring a smile to my face. I turned back to Andrew, wondering if he was just as interested as I was.
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I opened and shut my mouth a couple of times and decided to just nod knowingly.
Some lady got all Girls Gone Wild on the dance floor and we both craned our necks to see what was the hubub, uh... bub. Most of the heads in the club (help) also followed along with the girl's path toward the emergency exit.
When she and half the Bronzefolk had left for the alley, Warren turned back to me, smiling broadly.
"There's fighting?" I asked, uneasily. "Girls... fighting?"
"Wanna go look?" Warren nodded.
I squirmed in my seat at the thought. But he looked so excited about it that I couldn't say no.
"Okay. Because, um... she might need help. Or something," I offered. Warren looked at me with a bewildered expression. "Or I could just stay and get sodas."
"Come on," Warren said, grabbing me by the elbow. He dragged me away from the table a few feet before I pulled away and told him I was perfectly capable of walking to the girl fight on my own.
And then for some reason, I apologized. How humiliating.
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"Don't worry about it .." I assured him, albeit somewhat hesitantly. I couldn't really blame him for being semi-weird. Not only was he related to Tucker, but he'd actually introduced me short stop Jonathan Levinson as his 'best friend.' The poor guy didn't know any better, he was just a result of shitty circumstance -- molded by his environment or whatever. It was a good thing I'd decided to come hang out with him. Andrew needed an intervention like, yesterday. Last week, even. After I was sure he was cool again, the two of us continued outside to where the others had flocked off to.
"Maybe you should take your trashy ass some place else," the jealous girlfriend type said, before grabbing some other chick by the hair and yanking her up off of the ground and back onto her feet. Unfortunately, we'd missed the start of the fight thanks to Andrew's little episode. Oh well. At least we were able to catch the tail-end of the show. Jealous girlfriend shoved the other girl back against the wall, and rushed her before she even had a chance to move.
"Next time you should try for someone who isn't taken you slut!"
I couldn't help myself, I was practically giggling at the scene. I mean, this was better than free porn. I don't think Andrew was all too interested though, for whatever reason. Before long, the jealous chick was standing victorious over the other girl -- the one who had tried picking up on her boyfriend. By then the crowd had already begun to disperse. Seemed like two of the guys were pretty eager to usher everyone back inside. Not like there was much left to see out there, anyway.
"That was awesome."
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Actually, it was sort of cool, I guess. It was like TV. Physical fights still made me feel a little nauseous, but it wasn't so bad when the boxers were two sorority girls. I nodded at Warren, who was obviously into the whole "catfight" scenario. I shouldn't have been surprised -- I guess most guys are into seeing pretty girls, uh, wrestle. But Warren seemed like he wasn't like most guys.
All the same, I smiled a little and said, "Yeah, that was an epic battle. I didn't even see who they were fighting over."
"Let's keep it moving, folks," some big beefy guy said as he pushed me softly toward the door. He didn't push me hard, but I recoiled anyway.
"Hey, don't shove. I'm going!" I snapped, hastily pressing forward before running directly into Warren's back. "Sorry! Sorry, this guy is ...he pushed."
Warren sighed and continued moving into the club. Once we were inside, I apologized again. God! What was wrong with me? It was like, when I didn't know what to say, I just said I was sorry.
"I don't know why I keep saying that," I admitted, when we got back to the table that we'd just left behind. "I mean, that I'm sorry. I guess that I'm just not used to hanging out with people who -- well, people who Tucker probably complains about me to. People who know that he doesn't like me very much. I mean, that's what he said, right? That he doesn't like me? He thinks he's adopted. But he's not. He's totally like my dad. Our dad. Or, he was."
I blinked slowly and held my eyes shut, feeling like my head was too big for my body. Why did I just say all that? Why am I so hopeless about making new friends? I glanced nervously around the table at the other people who were mingling and being friendly. Dancing. Drinking. Playing pool.
"Oh, hey! If I'm irritating you, or like, am boring you with my family trauma, you don't have to hang around with me. I mean, I know I called you and told you to come down, but that's just because I was bored. I didn't think you'd actually show up," I finally finished. Someone's got a bad case of please-shut-up-or-at-least-cut-out-your-own-tongue-itis. I shrugged at Warren and tried to look nonchalant.
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