Button mash : high school life

season 2 part 7 : choose your party

The sand dusted over the tar black road sending tiny shimmering diamonds flying into the warm air and settling on the road-side, the sky was a pitch black type of night, tiny stars twinkled above the cragged mountain dunes. The highway road was almost dead, cept for the few ghost coaches that zoomed past in a red neon blur and barreling into the distant nowhere. The landscape has a harsh barren nothingness, eaten by the grain of white sand and chalky dust, cactus trees spurt from tiny outcrops with arms raised high and tin spines that prodded out with sharp ends. A nothing car could be heard, zooming down the highway, its wheels making a crunching sound as it ran across stray sand gusts, its rickety frame shaky and coughing plumes of grey exhaust.

*BRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGGGG* motored the coach, zooming past a 110 speed side with little awareness, in the distance was the faint lights of a caravan park, illuminated by thick wooden stalk with rusty field lights at the top, tiny metal coffin boxes ran through its plots.

The coach pulled into the turn off, its wheels spitting tiny eroded rocks behind it. The zone was both alive and decollate, caravans sat in rows along the entrance with small electrical signs of life showing, a large grey brick shower-block and bathroom stood half eaten in the far corner, two skinny Colts whispering to each-other as a tiny white bag exchanged hooves, their eyes staring to the maroon coach in paranoia.

*ERRRRRRRR* screeched the vehicle, parking up beside the only structure that resembled a home, a red brickwork house with a tiny dim yellow light shining from the window, a few cacti shrubs for a front garden.

In the light of the curtain a silhouette moved, hearing the wheels come to a screeching stop, the coach's door cracked open and a red haired colt stepped out of the vehicle, his neck wrapped round with a white bandage and his body hidden in a brown leather trench coat.

Rudey looked around the yard and adjacent caravan park, the whole place had a placid deadness to it, even as every lot was packed with a silver camper or green tent the entire establishment seemed to smell of crippling loneliness, a Colt would come here to forget his sorrows...or dull them with what-ever drug he could find.

The ginger pony walked through the half-standing chain-link fence and past the chipped lawn gnomes, approaching the rosewood door and ringing he was greeted by a disembodied voice from a speaker box just above the doorbell.

"Are ya lookin' ta stay the night or are ya hopin' ta stay a while".

Rudey guessed by the half-thick accent that this was his guy.

"I'm lookin' to stay for a while, I was told by Saul Whipinlash to come to you for...assistance" Rudey replied, hearing a muffled sigh over the intercom.

"...bollocks, all right come in" the voice agreed, the wooden door rattling as tiny locks were dismantled. Rudey was greeted by a 40+ Colt with a brown coat and half-maintained beard scruff, his breath smelt of bitter whiskey, his cutie mark a soccerball.

"Names Kickin" he announced casually, ushering the Red colt into the house and re-locking the door, his body was a thin frame but had somewhat muscly legs, a tattoo was visible on his right arm that spelt out in imitation hand-written underlined font "Care And Nurture" with two names below reading "Pitt" and "Button".

"Names Rudey Hill" The gangster replied, finding a lounge chair to sit on.

"I take it you're the chap who survived that Crimson heart thing" Kickin asked, heading into the kitchen and pulling two long-necks from the fridge.

"Aye that I am, ended up with my neck slit" Rudey replied, carefully rubbing his bandages at an itch he couldn't reach.

"Shite, by what I heard some drugged out kid busted in and shot up the place, shame too, I used to run product for Guy" KIckin said half-heartly, acting somewhat drunk.