writing chapter 2.1

The boy and girl were still dazed from their vision, or dream, or drug trip. It might have been the kink in her neck, or it might have been a drugover, but the girl felt especially horrible.

The boy: Josh Sterling, 27 year old white male, software engineer currently unemployed, resident Alpharetta area, Atlanta, GA.

The girl: Portia Martin, 23 year old black female, graphic artist Big Behemoth Inc, resident Virginia Highlands area, Atlanta, GA.

Josh wanted to jump right in to their morning schedule, but Portia insisted on going up to their room and washing. The room was trashed. There’d been a party, and it had gotten to where they didn’t know any of the other partiers, so they’d escaped from their own hotel room onto the roof. Looking at the mess, they were the least little bit sorry about it. But YOLO.

Josh beat her to the shower, so Portia tidied up as much as she could before the cleaning staff saw how nasty it was. Then she got in the shower and scrubbed all the grime off of her skin. But when she got out and dried off, she noticed that the pixie dust was still there. It was still all over Josh, too.

They got dressed and went downstairs in search of coffee and something to eat on the way to their panels. Josh was gaming this morning, and Portia was conflicted – costuming or the writer’s track, or maybe the silk road. They got something at a kiosk, and found a place to sit on the ballroom level of the Hyatt, right outside the doors to the main rooms where all the stars had their panels. It was their usual meeting spot because it was central and spacious and there was usually live music.

A couple of friends came by while they were unwrapping their food, remarked how shaky they looked, and sat down next to them. Nobody said much.

“Well, it’s sure a slow morning,” Fairy observed, sipping her latte. There were clumps of people at every booth and a small crowd waiting for the next performer, but you could see right across the huge space, and the numbers of superheroes and fantasy figures and hungover partiers passing thru on their way to some other part of Dragoncon was half of what it had been Saturday afternoon.

Fairy: Judy Delany, 34 year old white female, various self-employed, resident Little 5 Points area, Atlanta, GA.

Portia gazed dully out at the crowd. They were sitting with their backs to the wall along the long end of the hall. A river of costumed knees traveled past her. The sound was hushed by the low ceilings and plush carpeting, and the general fatigue level on the morning of the third day of partying. Yesterday they wouldn’t have been able to sit where they were, because it was such a good place for costumers posing for pictures, but the whole world was hungover this morning.

The boy said, This isn’t even as real as our world last night.

I feel kind of sad to be back here, the girl replied.

Do you think we could go there again? he wondered.

Do you think it’s real? she asked.

Portia slowly realized that she wasn’t actually speaking, that her conversation with Josh was inside her head. She looked over at him. He agreed they were really communicating. She turned to Fairy. “Were you following that?” She could tell that Fairy hadn’t heard anything. Then the boy commented that he didn’t think they were talking aloud. She turned to him. “Are you speaking?”

Josh grinned. “Just like in the game, we’re in each other’s displays, or something.”

Fairy nodded. “You’re still fucked up from last night.” They looked at her in surprise. “Anyone could tell,” she said.


About jeanne

artist, grandma, alien

Posted on August 8, 2012, in Dailies, fiction and tagged , . Bookmark the permalink. Leave a comment.

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