Edited some weird crap I had in the beginning when I pasted it over.
If anyone could come up with a better fictional city name, tell me. I am still trying to fix the last sentence in the second section. Any suggestions? It sounds really awkward right now.
Heartbeats
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _1
Offal City, Old District
Berkley Pub
10:46 P.M. Saturday, October 17.
The double doors swung open and a dark-haired boy walked in, wiping his glasses off on his fleece. Those with eyes to see and ears to hear(and those who were sober enough) turned their heads toward this newcomer. The boy brushed his sopping wet hair from his eyes and turned to the nearest man at the counter.
“Excuse me, sir. Do you know where a ‘Mr. Battle Man’ is…” His voice trailed off as the man turned to face him, revealing a shriveled face streaked with slash marks. The man gave the boy the finger and turned back toward the TV, which was showing a century old version of Celebrity Deathmatch featuring Michael Jackson and Carrot Top.
“Don’t mind What’s-His-Face there. He’s mute, deaf, and diabetic,” said a bald barman, looking up from his tap. “You’re not from around here, are you?”
“No, sir. I’m interviewing for a job with Mister Battle Man.”
“With Mister Battle Man?”
“Yessir.”
“And you don’t know who he is?”
“Well, I know he’s looking for an assistant.”
The barman shook his head, pursing his lips together. “Here’s a tip for you, boy. Always do your research. Battle Man’s the big guy down in the back, by the cigarette machine.” The boy leaned forward over the counter, straining to see through the thick smoke wafting from a massive cigar being held by an equally massive hand.
“You mean the big dude with his shirt off?”
“No, that’s the Hippo. B is the jacked guy in the pink muscle shirt.”
“Ah… I see. Thanks,” the boy replied, as he walked toward Battle Man.
The boy tentatively tapped Battle Man on the shoulder. “Excuse me. Hi. Uhh… I’m Gabe. I’m here for the interview…”
“Ahhh! Finally!” Battle Man clapped Gabe on the back, slamming him into the counter. “I’ve downed eleven pints of Heineken waiting for you, boy!”
“Don’t mind him,” the platinum blonde sitting next to him said, smiling at Gabe. “B doesn’t know his own strength. My name is Cassie.” She looked Gabe up and down appraisingly and held out her hand. As she brushed her hair back from her face, Gabe realized how old she was.
Am I supposed to kiss it? Gabe thought. She looks old enough to be my grandma. Before he could act, Battle Man put Gabe in a headlock.
“C’mon, boy. Battle Boy XII’s suit’s got some blood stains my dry cleaner Hung can’t seem to get off, so we’ve got to go to the tailor and have her make a new one.”
Say what?
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _2
The pouring rain had stopped. The two stepped out of the pub and into the brisk night air. Gabe glanced around and shivered; the blocks of towering gray edifices that made up the city served as a wind tunnel, so the city was never really warm, not even in the summer.
Walking down the street together, Gabe got his first good glimpse of Battle Man, who towered over the pre-pubescent Gabe. With a 5 o’clock shadow, seemingly steroidal arms and a Solid Snake mullet, there was no doubt in Gabe’s mind how Battle Man got his name.
“So, Gabe,” boomed Battle Man. “Got any superpowers? Where did you come from? Got a girl? How’s your mom’s cooking?”
“Um… No superpowers, but my mom’s a regular Julia Child. I’m actually from Prospector Hill, a few days south of there by train. My parents really need money to pay for my dad’s lung operation, and being your assistant is the highest paying job by far. He’s got cancer, you see.”
“Oh really? Bummer. Sucks to you. What’s he do?”
“He’s a prospector.”*
“…Oh, yeah… Shoulda figured.”
…
“So, Battle Man, asked Gabe, trying to break the awkward silence. What happened to Battle Boy XII?”
“OK. Sure.”
“Anyway, if you want to know what happened to BB XII, he got stabbed by The Shiv.”
“Ah… what?”
Ignoring Gabe, Battle Man contunued. “Actually, now that I think back, quite a few Battle Boys were killed by either The Shiv or his brother Ooloo. Let’s see…” Battle Man stroked his chin, pumping his pea-brain for all it was worth. “Battle Boy I got trampled by The Tramp, Battle Boy II got sniped by Lemony Snippet, Battle Boy VII got pushed off a roof by Angela Pitt, and the rest I’m fuzzy. It’s hard to keep track ‘o them all, ‘specially cos some didn’t even last a week.”
Gabe stopped in his tracks. “You mean the past twelve Battle Boys are all dead?”
Battle Man turned toward Gabe, an incredulous look on his face. “Well, they certainly didn’t retire! Don’t you know anything about me?” He struck a muscleman pose. “I am the protector of the working class, the homeless, the American dream and females.” Battle Man struck another pose. “I. Am. Battle Man."
Gabe took two steps back from Battle Man, not sure if he should clap or burst out laughing.
“You like? That’s my intro.”
“Yeah,” Gabe grinned, unable to suppress his laughter any longer. “That was great. It’d definitely be distracting to any bad guys.” Not to mention distracting from the fact that I, Battle Boy XIII, have got a 0% chance of living long enough to lose my virginity, Gabe thought.
*Prospector: a person who explores the land for natural resources.
If anyone could come up with a better fictional city name, tell me. I am still trying to fix the last sentence in the second section. Any suggestions? It sounds really awkward right now.
Heartbeats
Gabe’s Interview
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _1
Offal City, Old District
Berkley Pub
10:46 P.M. Saturday, October 17.
The double doors swung open and a dark-haired boy walked in, wiping his glasses off on his fleece. Those with eyes to see and ears to hear(and those who were sober enough) turned their heads toward this newcomer. The boy brushed his sopping wet hair from his eyes and turned to the nearest man at the counter.
“Excuse me, sir. Do you know where a ‘Mr. Battle Man’ is…” His voice trailed off as the man turned to face him, revealing a shriveled face streaked with slash marks. The man gave the boy the finger and turned back toward the TV, which was showing a century old version of Celebrity Deathmatch featuring Michael Jackson and Carrot Top.
“Don’t mind What’s-His-Face there. He’s mute, deaf, and diabetic,” said a bald barman, looking up from his tap. “You’re not from around here, are you?”
“No, sir. I’m interviewing for a job with Mister Battle Man.”
“With Mister Battle Man?”
“Yessir.”
“And you don’t know who he is?”
“Well, I know he’s looking for an assistant.”
The barman shook his head, pursing his lips together. “Here’s a tip for you, boy. Always do your research. Battle Man’s the big guy down in the back, by the cigarette machine.” The boy leaned forward over the counter, straining to see through the thick smoke wafting from a massive cigar being held by an equally massive hand.
“You mean the big dude with his shirt off?”
“No, that’s the Hippo. B is the jacked guy in the pink muscle shirt.”
“Ah… I see. Thanks,” the boy replied, as he walked toward Battle Man.
The boy tentatively tapped Battle Man on the shoulder. “Excuse me. Hi. Uhh… I’m Gabe. I’m here for the interview…”
“Ahhh! Finally!” Battle Man clapped Gabe on the back, slamming him into the counter. “I’ve downed eleven pints of Heineken waiting for you, boy!”
“Don’t mind him,” the platinum blonde sitting next to him said, smiling at Gabe. “B doesn’t know his own strength. My name is Cassie.” She looked Gabe up and down appraisingly and held out her hand. As she brushed her hair back from her face, Gabe realized how old she was.
Am I supposed to kiss it? Gabe thought. She looks old enough to be my grandma. Before he could act, Battle Man put Gabe in a headlock.
“C’mon, boy. Battle Boy XII’s suit’s got some blood stains my dry cleaner Hung can’t seem to get off, so we’ve got to go to the tailor and have her make a new one.”
Say what?
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _2
The pouring rain had stopped. The two stepped out of the pub and into the brisk night air. Gabe glanced around and shivered; the blocks of towering gray edifices that made up the city served as a wind tunnel, so the city was never really warm, not even in the summer.
Walking down the street together, Gabe got his first good glimpse of Battle Man, who towered over the pre-pubescent Gabe. With a 5 o’clock shadow, seemingly steroidal arms and a Solid Snake mullet, there was no doubt in Gabe’s mind how Battle Man got his name.
“So, Gabe,” boomed Battle Man. “Got any superpowers? Where did you come from? Got a girl? How’s your mom’s cooking?”
“Um… No superpowers, but my mom’s a regular Julia Child. I’m actually from Prospector Hill, a few days south of there by train. My parents really need money to pay for my dad’s lung operation, and being your assistant is the highest paying job by far. He’s got cancer, you see.”
“Oh really? Bummer. Sucks to you. What’s he do?”
“He’s a prospector.”*
“…Oh, yeah… Shoulda figured.”
…
“So, Battle Man, asked Gabe, trying to break the awkward silence. What happened to Battle Boy XII?”
“OK. Sure.”
“Anyway, if you want to know what happened to BB XII, he got stabbed by The Shiv.”
“Ah… what?”
Ignoring Gabe, Battle Man contunued. “Actually, now that I think back, quite a few Battle Boys were killed by either The Shiv or his brother Ooloo. Let’s see…” Battle Man stroked his chin, pumping his pea-brain for all it was worth. “Battle Boy I got trampled by The Tramp, Battle Boy II got sniped by Lemony Snippet, Battle Boy VII got pushed off a roof by Angela Pitt, and the rest I’m fuzzy. It’s hard to keep track ‘o them all, ‘specially cos some didn’t even last a week.”
Gabe stopped in his tracks. “You mean the past twelve Battle Boys are all dead?”
Battle Man turned toward Gabe, an incredulous look on his face. “Well, they certainly didn’t retire! Don’t you know anything about me?” He struck a muscleman pose. “I am the protector of the working class, the homeless, the American dream and females.” Battle Man struck another pose. “I. Am. Battle Man."
Gabe took two steps back from Battle Man, not sure if he should clap or burst out laughing.
“You like? That’s my intro.”
“Yeah,” Gabe grinned, unable to suppress his laughter any longer. “That was great. It’d definitely be distracting to any bad guys.” Not to mention distracting from the fact that I, Battle Boy XIII, have got a 0% chance of living long enough to lose my virginity, Gabe thought.
*Prospector: a person who explores the land for natural resources.
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