George has overcome the riches and the tight kept tendencies of his family finding a rag tag team of street racers. After learning the ins and outs of Las Nevadas, he's come to decide that joyriding is a newfound freedom. But with all the aftermath...
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"He was big and strong, in his eyes, a flaming glow." Rasputin Majestic, Boony M.
George flinched back as two girls threw themselves in his path. And not in the way you would think, they were fighting. A deep toned hand yanking back a red haired girl as they moved around in whatever this place was. George wanted to say a brothel but that sounded like something out of the 1800s. And besides there weren't any prostitutes here... well, at least not at first glance. He will admit it, he isn't the type to need someone as comfort in tense situations but when Dream immediately reached his hand out for the taking, George felt comforted. This kept them close as they descended in this hole the canyon crew calls The Path. Whatever the fuck that was, was the way to get to The Arena.
"Is this like uptown again?" George's words barely reached Dream's ears as they passed a rowdy group by a street bar.
His grip tightened on George's hand, "No. These people are crazier."
"More than Wilbur?"
The look sent his way was enough of an answer. George gave a little squeeze and received one in return as they walked into an open area that looked like something out of the future.
It was still the Grand Canyon, layers of sediment and stone, but the further they entered this clan the more George started to look around like he'd fallen into wonderland. The racing and markets stayed outside of the entrance to the city but once they pushed past the fights and narrow guarded walls, they entered the heart of this place. Down and down on inclined earth they descended further.
Like something out of a novel, it felt entirely futuristic. Pipes for irrigation and plumbing ran up over the sediment, in and out like snakes of metal. George craned his neck to the sky and observed the stacking of housing. Roofs of some were flooring for others. Shacks and stores and houses all hooked together to create a kind of latticework with metal and drywall. Blankets nailed to boards seemed to be doors to these miniature abodes. Some agape to show kitchens and living rooms, others bedrooms. Karl, the cheeky man he was, poked him to look at a shack edged on the top of what looked to be a restaurant. A man three times bigger than himself sharpened a knife and grinned at him like he was dinner. George averted his gaze quickly to what Karl pointed out.
At first he didn't see it, but then as he tilted his head he caught a glimpse of what was happening. A woman had her head back in pure bliss, eyes closed, and right below was someone between her knees on the metallic flooring. George felt himself turn red, gaping at Karl who hackled loudly. The more they walked the more he noticed people going at it in the small confides of their houses. Due to how close they all lived, George wondered if privacy was uncommon here.
"Do they just..." he trailed off and elbowed Karl about to wander off towards a stray dog, "in front of other people? In the open!"
"Looks like it," he replied. A brow raised, "I heard if you have kids you have to live on the inner sectors. Makes sense why there aren't little ones up here."
