Trip

Warning: This story contains harsh language, alcohol (ab)use and at least refers to other drug abuse. Will also refer sex and at least  refer sexual minorities, varying through the chapters.

Also, opinions of my characters does not equal my opinions.





                                                           1.



Rotting joint next to a subway station in an urban slum witnessed how Marcelius, a pale, kind of skinny humanoid dripped and banged his pelvis on a corner of a plastic table. Pain flashed through his nerves, but drunken numbness muffled it somewhere on the way to the brains. Tomorrow â or whenever he'd be sober next time, his pelvis would scream bloody hell but right now he had more important things to concern. "As I was--" his legs wobbled under him, so he tried to keep them as straight as possible, causing him fall forward. Desperately he squeezed a bottle in his long clawed hand, the spilling beer made hard to hold. He managed to reach out his tentacles on the back of the seat and the shoulder of a sitting human woman. Finally, somehow he managed to slump down next to her. He stared his bottle with blank look. "Where the hell all my beer is...?" Then he turned his focus on the woman. "As I was tellin' ya...my host won't get meh that car now..." his voice slurred, spiced with a hint of spoiled whining.



The woman blew out cigarette smoke from her mouth, pale pink lipstick had worn out of it hours ago. Her massive breasts pressed against her tank top, almost showing her nipples. She hadn't bothered to lift her brace from her red spotted shoulder. Her long, overly bleached hair jugged hither and thither over it. She turned her bloated face at Marcelius and stared him for a while with half closed eyes and an empty look.



Marcelius tried to focus his black eyes on the woman. She definitely wasn't anything like the models and actresses in those trendy clubs downtown, the kind of girls Marcelius had accustomed himself to... he'd probably do the excuse of a human being anyway, though. He swiped away his white hair that hung all over his face. "Wha...?"



The woman pointed, or tried to point at the table. "Da beer's all ovah... all ovah..." Then she either gave up the desperate attempt or forgot what she was doing. She rolled her hand, gesturing him to go on. "Ya can't get da car because...?"



Marcelius grunted his brows, closing his eyes. He wasn't that drunk, really. Really. Partying two days in a row had just really took it out of him. Two days, two weeks. Who could even keep the count? "Rite... the fuckin' brain damage..."



The woman absently rocked back and forth on her seat and stared Marcelius, mouth forgotten to hung half open. Suddenly an unintended chuckle escaped out of her mouth. "Brain damage?"



Marcelius lowered his brows and glanced her by the corner of his eye. Who the hell she thought she was, snickering at him? "Whadda heck do ya even care? Ya a ho." His tone dropped low.



She raised her brows and scratched inflamed red spots on the bend of her arm. Her artificial nails left marks over them, some of the spots started to bleed. Then she slightly touched Marcelius' shoulder, looking at him as apologizing as she could in her condition. Apparently her survival instinct wasn't completely turned off. "Ya bought meh a drink. Gonna get cha money's worth."



Marcelius lounged back. 'Money's worth...' His hands trembled, his face was burning. He took a sip from his bottle. What did she even meant by that? He took another sip, a longer one. Dirty ho... fuckin connivin', worthless lil' nobody... I should just... I could call the host... he sure would... or Vasya. Yeaah, Vasya would show her... His thoughts blurred in his head, finally making impossible to make heads and tails of it.  What they originally were even talking about? "...Our tech works like that... ya connect your mind into the... ya know... whatever thing ya usin' and..." He sighed. It was so hard to explain. "...and ya use it... don't need to touch it and shit... but I got brain damage... it won't work..."



She pouted out her lower lip and stroke his arm. "Poor baby..."



Marcelius saw a film before his mental eyes. Him raising a toy in the mid air with his will -- or ability to manipulate electro-magnetic fields. Him winning Vasya in a fight as kids, with his powers... his mothers had said, he's even more powerful than fallen overlord Veles. Not everyone could move items around since a child, and without being connected into the collective mind of their own colony. He had been a very, very promising... but then... Marc's mind blurred. His head started to ache, his stomach tried to empty itself in his pants. He took a long, deserved sip from his bottle. The flashback haunted in his head. It was all his own fault... No! No! No...! Shaddaaap! Go away!!!! GO!!!! AWAY!!!! He poured more beer down his throat. Finally he lowered the bottle from  his lips. He grinned to the woman, or at least attempted to do so. He pointed her with his long clawed index finger, one eye closed. "Ya know Vasya?"



For a moment she stared him blankly for the sudden change of the subject. "I know a couple o' 'em, why?"



Marcelius' grin widened. "Ya know a host called Vasya?"



The woman turned her look away. She scratched the inflamed red dots on the bend of her arm. "Nevah heard."



Marcelius leaned back, fed up look on his face. She wasn't going to ruin his fun, no way. "Don't gimme bullshit, woman. Everyone like ya knows of 'im and he knows of everyone..."



Her expression was even blanker than it had been so far. "Nevah heard." Her tone was monotone.



Marc swung his hand, he sniffed and pouted his jaw a little forward. "Yeah, well, I know 'im. I knooow him. Were friends. Homies. I know what he's doin', even though he won't talk about it... he runs dis fuckin' city... All I need is one call... 'cause he's my dog..."



She glanced around, as if she hoped no one would hear Marcelius bragging.



Suddenly the doors of the joint slammed open. "Marc!!!!" At the entrance was standing another host, surrounded by his soldiers.



The woman jumped up from her seat, leaning her hand onto the table. She wobbled for a second on her thin legs that didn't seem to fit on her bloated midriff. "Shit! Did he hear ya spineless bullshit, o' somethin'!?"



The host let his look travel over the joint.



The woman lost her nerves and wincing, run at the door, until she realized it was still blocked by Vasya and his soldiers. She disappeared somewhere in the back of the joint.



Marcelius smirked by himself and then waved âHey, Vasya!â



He started to strode towards him across the joint.



Marcelius stared him. Why he still has to dress up like some homeless kid...? After all, these days Vasya was one of the most wealthiest hosts in Katal-Riik City. Yet he was wearing those worn out, baggy human clothes: jeans, a hoodie and some kind of an excuse of a knee high jacket... thing. Marcelius never could've put that kind of pieces over himself. Of course his host â who was his father, was wealthier than Vasya and it was old money, too. If someone could've afford wearing bum's rags, it was Marcelius himself. He didn't. He liked slumming, who didn't, but clothes were where he drew the line. He wore a long, hand made and embroidered robe with half gloves, all made of organic fabric, they gave the garment a old-modern touch. A few weeks ago, he had offered Vasya advises on choosing clothes.



Vasya had almost laughed his lungs out -- and it was a serious risk with his smoking habits. "Ya know, ya sound just like mah Amalasuntha!"



Comparing Marcelius on Vasya's hot secondary reproductive and the head of the workers had put an end to the fashion counsel by Marcelius.



Almost as if Vasya had done it on purpose... Suddenly he was standing in front of Marcelius' table. He grabbed Marcelius' by the collar with his tentacles and threw against the bar desk. Then Vasya brought his face only few inches from Marcelius'. "Where is he!?!?"



Marcelius tried carefully swipe away the drops that showered from Vasya's mouth over his face. His heart raced. His mind blurred. He gasped for the breath and tried to turn his head away. The stink of smoke, sweat and odd scent of strawberry chewing gum brought tears on Macelius' eyes and vomit up his throat.  He had no idea who Vasya was talking about and why he was angry at him, Marcelius. He had nothing to do with Vasya's 'acquaintances'. Knowing him, that wasn't going to be an excuse, though. Suddenly Marcelius lost it. He was sure the colors turned brighter, everything seemed more clear.  He could practically count Vasya's skin pores and analyze the tissue of his scars. He should consider a face scrub one in a while... and a laser scar removal. The though was completely random and even Marcelius realized it. He heard himself squealing. "Who!? For the fuck sake V, who?!"



"Niemój! No one has seen 'im fo' years, nat even his sistah! Bu' last time he was seen....â Vasya let go Marcelius, spreading his hands. âIt wuz with cha!! Scrappin' outside some fuckin' joint!!! Wha did cha do ta 'im!? Wha!? Did!? Cha!? Do!? Ta!? 'Im!?" He served his words with a series of talented, painfully well placed kicks.



Marc tried to cover himself from the violence. Niemój? He hadn't seen the guy for years more than anyone else and he definitely hadn't done anything to that insane, rooking... "Wha makes ya think I did somethin' to 'im, V?! V!?"



Vasya's needle sharp teeth flashed in his opened mouth. He pulled back his long, dreaded black hair. Then he pointed at Marcelius. "'Cuz of da two o' ya, ya da one with tentacles 'n' human diet!!"



Adrenaline had cleared Marcelius' head enough. "Wha!? I don't eat anything from the streets... I would never even chase humans around like some blood lusting critter, it's soldiers' job!"



Vasya's kick froze in mid air. He stared Marcelius disbelieving. Suddenly he burst out hee-hawing. Tears squeezed out by the corners of his eyes. He gaged and hinged, leaning his lower arm and forehead on the shoulder of one of his soldiers. Finally he turned to look at Marcelius, gaging and grinning. "W-wha...?! Whadda hell do ya eat, den?"



Marc turned his head a bit on side. He lowered his brows and his lower lip pouted a little forward. It was always like this. Vasya always, always did that and Marcelius never knew what was supposed to be so funny. Always, always. "Of course I eat the same stuff that everyone else! I just don't needa go trouble of catching it myself!"



Vasya started laughing again. Suddenly he stopped and stared Marcelius. âYa were the one who's seen Niemój da last time. Ya sure ya know no nathan 'bout 'im?"



Marcelius rubbed the side of his upper body and glared Vasya from under his brows. Right onto rib cage... that fuckin' nutcase... "...We were in Hath-Il, me and Niemój. It was the last time I saw that crazy tweaker and if he ended up in trouble, it was his own fault and I got nothing to with it."



Vasya narrowed his black eyes and studied Marcelius carefully. "He in some kinda trouble?"



Marcelius spread his arms and shrugged. "I don't know! I've seen him, like, six years ago or so. When isn't he in trouble? Hell, he is the trouble. We should change the word 'trouble' to 'Niemój'. 'He's in Niemoj', yeah! Ya should know, ya the same kind."



Vasya leaned on his right leg. He was holding a cigarette pack in his hand. He gave it snap on the bottom and pulled an outed cigarette with his teeth.



One of his soldiers offered him light.



Vasya blew smoke out of his mouth. He chewed his gum. His lips curved up to a smirk. "'He's in Niemoj'?"



"Well, yea--" Marcelius' brows lowered down. It hadn't sounded like that in his head.



Vasya squinted his eyes, his smirk widened into a grin revealing his golden tooth. "Who's 'he'?" his voice purred.



Marcelius crossed his arms over his chest and refused to talk. It was better to shut up before he'd say something even more idiotic that Vasya wouldn't let go.



Vasya took a hale from his cigarette. He blew up a ball out of the gum. It popped releasing a cloud of cigarette smoke. "Hath-Il ya said? Whadda heck did cha two did in there?"



Marcelius glanced Vasya by the corner of his eye, still looking insulted. "We were onna trip. Ya know Hath-Il." his voice had dropped into a mutter. "Further information costs ya a beer."



Vasya guffawed. He looked around. "Dis place is empty."



Marcelius made his way standing from the floor. He rolled his eyes. It wasn't empty before Vasya had stepped in and gotten a little... vexed. "Wonder why. Crazy fuck..."



Vasya hee-hawed and slapped Marcelius on the back few times. "Sit down. Mah soldier's gonna get cha a beer. Let's talk." His voice dropped down to the end, leaving a warning sign.



Marcelius sat down at the nearest table. It was better not to argue with Vasya, especially at this point. "All I can tell ya is what happened when we last time hung."



Vasya lounged himself on a bench and crossed his legs over a near chair. He moved his cigarette from hand to one of his tentacles and crossed his arms behind his neck. "I'm all ears, man."



Marcelius opened his mouth. Then he spread his arms. "Dunno where to start."



Vasya took a hale of his cigarette. He let it hung between his teeth. "How did cha ended up in Hath-Il? What did cha do in there? Where's Niemoj?"



Vasya's soldier put one bottle of beer in front Vasya and another one in front of Marcelius.



He cupped his palms around the bottle. "Well... me and Niemoj were waistin' a good time in a joint, few subway stops to the East from here." Marcelius sure hoped he'd remember everything correctly... or at least more or less. If only he hadn't been so damn drunk all the time. He took a sip, to recall memories, of course. "...yeah, he asked if I wanted to play a lil' poker..."