Past

...when people look at you like a fucking mosquito.

How long had he been walking? The sunset was nice, and thankfully it wasn't that hot, but the walk to the city was still quite a long one. There was no chance he'd take a chance on a hitchhike either. Blitzo had learned by now that not a single thing was going to go his way, aside from the Striker incident.

"Could've had the decency to give me a ride..." Blitzo rolled his eyes, remembering the other imp's words.

Each step was starting to drag the longer he went. He would've called someone by now, but unfortunately, that last call from Moxxie was the last bit of juice he had. Next thing he knew, he was staring at a black screen with an electrical plug symbol. Even so, he held it in his hand, trying to turn it on in vain. It'd be a 2 hour walk at best, not counting breaks.

Pausing, looking at a tumbleweed pass by across the road, Blitzo watched it disappear, dragged by wind. "Wait a second..."

Reaching into his coat pocket, he was surprised to see he had brought the thing along: his old harmonica. He was pretty shit at playing, but now would be a good time to pass things by. Trying to play a tune he'd watched in some obscure western, the walk was all the more tolerable, jamming to the sounds of a bird being strangled.

He got some weird looks, but when didn't he? Blitzo just cared too much for his own good. Try as he might, he could never shake it off. He tried to appeal to socity: they made him a clown. He tried to rebel against it: what a clown. He tried to ignore it: clown. There was no winning, and he did know it wasn't about what everyone thought about him. But what use was knowing the right answer when it was just judgement from every direction.

"Ohhhh~! Try saying that shit when people fuckin' look at you like a mosquitoooooo!" Blitzo sang awfully.

He never was a good singer, and if the cars hadn't been so fast, I'm sure they would've agreed with insults, middle fingers, and everything in between. All of them went by without a thought in his head, every single made up verse sang to the rhythm of some 80s radio hit sounding even more awful than the last. Surprise surprise, dehydration and singing didn't go well, but the city was getting closer. Now he was probably... well, it looked like it'd take more than just 2 hours.

"Phew. Last time I walked this far was that desert incident... that was fun. Ain't that right, Millie?" Blitzo asked the memory of his friend, perfectly envisioned. "Man... I sure hope Moxxie gets here soon. If he even is alive, to begin with."

The imp toothily grinned, trying his best southern accent. "He's fiiine. Hun, just because he's a little on the softer side doesn't mean he can't take as many bullets as us!"

"Yeah... you're right, Mills. Moxxie is a tough sunuvabitch... well, us imps. We're just built different. Durr hurrrrr!"

Blitzo had to laugh at himself as he stopped under an overpass, sitting against a barricade. This was a good place as any to take a break. Looking again at his phone, looking into his faint reflection, he exhaled disappointedly. Obviously it wasn't going to turn on now. Laying it onto the loose bits of cement broken off from the road, he let his back slide down, a small puff of dust as his rear hit the ground.

It wasn't so bad. The shade provided some cool, and the cars were getting more and more plentiful, giving extra breezes. Just a half hour would be fine... or some approximation to it. He was tempted to even nap, as it was fairly peaceful. The thought of waking up to a hobo looting him, however, was unpleasant enough to keep his eyes wide.

Red car, red car, black car, red car, green car, purple car. Hell sure had its color pallete. Blue was more and more unpopular, and especially white. The heavenly, brighter colors were more of a statement he guessed. Eyeing one particular car, hot pink with the design of...