It's an Ultra-Violence World Afterall

The Moloko Mesto

So there we were, my tree droogs and I that is, celebrating Gemma's birthday at the local moloko mesto. This was the local hangout for nadsats these days, viddying as it was the one bar that could still legally sell moloko laced with knives; not that Your Humble Narrator took my moloko with the knives. Well Gemma had a greet big zoobie grin on her comely listo. My guess was that the knives were starting to kick in. She let out a gromky smeck at something Juniper had said to her. I stirred my moloko with my fingernail. This was going to be a long nochy, oh my brothers. A new warble played on the worldcast, though the smecking of my droogs drowned it out.

"Sloosh, listen," I said, but they just went on smecking away.

I opened my rot and began to sing. Now, I didn't have a horrorshow goloss or anything, but I did like to sing. That seemed to momentarily shut up my droogs. They swayed, offbeat might I add, their ability sense the rhythm impaired by the knives, to the tune and my goloss. Gemma unexpectedly threw her rooks around me in an unwanted embrace; tufts of her long red glory finding their way into my open rot.

"Oh, Kali, will you lead these tone-deaf ptitsa's in a happy birthday warble for little starry me?"

And so I did. Little did I know that my singing had attracted the attention of a veck sitting at the bar. He threw back the last of his moloko in one skorry swig. Then, he and his droogs picked their way over to where my droogs and I sat. They wore fancy white platties and walked with a mean swagger.

"Good nochy, baboochkas," one of them greeted us, tipping his hat.

"Baboockas?" Juniper snorted, "How starry do we viddy?"

"My appy polly  loggies," the veck put his hat back on his gulliver, "good nochy, devotchkas."

"Better," Juniper smecked, scooting in closer to Veronika so that these vecks would have a place to sit.  

"What are you devotchkas peeting?" one of the vecks asked. 

"Moloko-plus," Gemma replied, "well, tree of us are anyway, Kali is just peeting plain moloko."

"Shut your rot, Gemma, you know pee would murder me if I came home tipsy."

The veck with the hat raised an eyebrow, "so you're a pee's devotchkas, eh?"

I rolled my glazzies, "I'm no veck's devotchka other than my own."

I detached myself from the conversation after that. My moloko had gone room temperature, so there was no way I was going to peet it. I busied myself once again with stirring my fingers around my glass. The veck with the hat kept stealing sideways glances at me. His round glazzies followed my finger around and around as they skimmed the surface of my moloko. Another warble began to play on the worldcast. It was Beethoven's fifth symphony. 

"I love this warble," I said absentmindedly. 

The veck with the hat cocked his head to the side, "you fancy Beethoven? I've got a bunch of his pop-discs back at my mesto if you want to give them a sloosh."

My droogs smecked at the promiscuous pass. 

"The only thing I'd like to give a sloosh is the sound of you leaving," I shot back. 

His droogs seemed to hold their breaths at my response. My guess was that this veck with the hat wasn't used to being refused. Still, I was in no mood to be hit on by some knived up bratchny. Scratch that, I was never in the mood to be hit on by some bratchny, knived up or not.

"Kali, right?" the veck now addressed soley Your Humble Narrator, "Such an uncommon name. Say, Georgie, don't you have a class at skolliwoll with a Kali?"

"As a matter o' fact, I do," the veck Georgie replied. 

The hat veck stood up to leave, "it was real horrowshow meeting you, Kali. I'm sure we'll be viddying a lot more of each other."

My droogs and I watched the four vecks leave. The boy with the hat, Alex is his name which I'll later find out, was right. This was certainly not our last time viddying each other.