“You ready for this?” she murmured, hopping slightly from foot to foot like a child hyped up on sugar, pulling the oversized pink hello kitty blanket around her shoulders like a cape.
“Ready for what?”
She gave him a deadpan stare before rolling her eyes like he was a moron for not understanding the nuances of laser show etiquette. “Do you see where we are in line?” She thrust her arm out behind her, gesturing towards the admittedly substantial number of people ahead of them in the cue to get through the doors. “As soon as they open up the gate and let us through, we rush the doors and run to the front, or we'll be stuck in some really shitty spot.”
He raised his eyebrows at her even as she turned back around to watch the crowd, shaking his head at the ridiculous level of determination on display over something as frivolous as a light show. They were going to lay down on a floor and watch basically the live equivalent of a screensaver set to music; who cared how good of a spot they had?
There; the line had started to move, and as soon as they had passed through the gate, she darted to the front of the crowd. It occurred to him that If Akon were ever to write a song about the redhaired woman, the chorus would be something along the lines of 'Daymn, youse a crazy beyetch.' Somehow, as he found himself running after the pink blanket fluttering like a deranged superhero cape and ignoring the probably-justified stares of less-hyped and law-abiding citizens, he didn't seem to mind particularly much.
They made it to the doors of the dome first, much to the grumbling of the masses behind them. The brunette handed their tickets over to the usher standing at the door, watching in amusement as the, well, crazy bitch he was attending the show with raised a fist at the line she had just cut, but apparently thought better than to use the gesture she was planning and merely stuck her tongue out instead. No use getting thrown out when they had gotten here already, he supposed.
“Come on,” he muttered, grabbing the returned ticket stubs with one hand and her arm with the other, “before you get us banned from another venue.”
“Hey man, it's not my fault people can't handle this,” she grumbled back, the indignant tone not quite reaching her eyes and contrasting with her smirk. Briefly, her gaze flickered to the foreign grip on her arm, dragging her past the hasty setup of the concession stand and into the dome itself, but she didn't bother to comment. It was a little uncanny how nice she was being to him, he contemplated briefly, now that they were inside allowing her in turn to guide him to the preferred laser-viewing spot, wherever the fuck that was.
...Apparently, he soon found out, the preferred viewpoint was the middle of the floor. Never mind the rows and rows of chairs that took up half the dome; clearly these were for pussies and were not even to be considered. Though, really, he should have known better considering the girl involved. He watched, not for the first time that night, in slight bemusement as she glanced around quickly at first the gray walls and then the steady stream of patrons following them before apparently deciding that the mental plot of floor she had chosen was optimal or at least close enough and flopped unceremoniously down onto her back. “Are you just going to stand there?”
He blinked a few times before following suit. “This is really fucking bizarre,” he grumbled, shifting on the hard floor (it was carpeted but clearly the manager had been too cheap to invest in some padding for underneath) before finding a position that might be comfortable to spend god-knows-how-long in, staring at the ceiling. Had he really just spent ten bucks for this? ...At least she had gotten them a discount.
“So,” he began mock-conversationally after a moment, watching the other patrons do, surprisingly enough, almost exactly what Risa had just done with varying degrees of visible obsessiveness. “When's this thing going to start? This isn't exactly the most comfortable floor in the world.”
She groaned. “I knew I forgot something!”
“...I'll bite. What?” What had she forgotten that was so imperative to lying on the floor and staring at the ceiling, drugs aside?
“Pillow, duh.” She looked over at him and rolled her eyes. Right. Definitely the first thing that came to mind when he wanted to go out on the town: bedding. She looked him over for a second, eyes suddenly lighting up. “Hey, gimme your sweatshirt.”
“The fuck for, you already have a blanket!”
“Pillow, duh,” she repeated, shaking her head. “I'll share, if you want,” she added after a second, waving a corner of the neon monstrosity she was currently wrapped up in for emphasis.
“Pff. Yeah fuckin' right.” No way that was happening, nope... except somehow the man found himself sitting up and pulling the hoodie over his head in the gaze of a puppydog-eyed chick he didn't even like that much. With a scowl he threw the piece of clothing at her and laid back down on the floor, muttering to himself about Jedi mindfucks and glancing over at the woman who was giving him so many problems. While it could be argued that he had brought it upon himself for following her here, rather than choosing the sane option and staying at the apartment, Jack was certain that was just another one of Sea Hag's epic mind control tricks: making him think he was doing this of his own will when in reality he was playing directly into her hands.
~~~
A short story written with the characters from Millennials. I didn't write this in order, for some reason, and so there are several parts that are incomplete that need to be pieced together. I'll post them separately, in chronological order and link to all of them at the bottom. If I ever finish it, I'll consolidate it into a single post.
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