RE: Vox Mentis
03-18-2015, 08:22 PM
Whimbrel Wrote:On the one hand it's probably to make sure they didn't destroy your motor functions. On the other hand fuck these guys they are awful.
You narrow your eyes. I mean, fuck these guys, right? They shove shit through your eyes and ask you stupid questions and expect you to, what, dance for them now? Fuck no. You do nothing.
"Huh," says the shorter shape. "Maybe it is him."
~
They fill a sink with water and push your face into it. You surface, gasping. "Don't soak his clothes," says the tall man.
You are in a restroom. An airport. You came off the 4:05 PM from Chicago, to see your girlfriend Mel who would be waiting outside with her car to pick you up. The aisle seat between you and a more comfortable flying experience had been occupied by a large man in a loud Hawaiian shirt you couldn't bear to wake. At first, the airport restroom had appeared closed for cleaning, but the janitor removed the sign and you jogged towards it gratefully. You had reached the urinal, unzipped, experienced sweet relief.
Then the door had opened. A tall man in a long beige coat had come in. There were like half a dozen available urinals, you at one end of them, but the man picked the one next to you. Total breach of restroom etiquette. But you were never one to make a fuss. Moments passed and the man did not pee. You, emptying at high velocity, felt a tick of compassion. We've all been there, buddy. Then the door had opened again. A second man entered and locked the door.
You had put yourself back into your pants. You had looked at the tall man next to you, thinking - you almost laugh at this, in retrospect - that whatever was happening here, whatever specific awfulness was implied by a man entering a public restroom and fucking locking it, at least you and the tall man were in it together. At least it was two against one. Then you had realized Shy Bladder Man's eyes were calm and deep and kind of serene, really, but the key point there being calm as in not surprised about this situation whatsoever, and Shy Bladder Man had taken your head and rocketed it into the wall.
The the pain and questions.
"Need to get this blood out of his hair," says the short man. He peppers your face with paper towels. "His eye looks terrible."
"If they get close enough to see his eyes, we've got bigger problems." The tall man wipes his hands with a small white cloth, giving special attention to each individual finger. He's thin and tan-skinned and you're no longer finding his eyes quite so calm and serene. You're getting more of a cold and soulless sort of vibe. Like those eyes could watch horrible things and not look away. "So, Nick, you with us? You can walk and talk?"
"Fuck," you say, "urrrfffff." It doesn't come out how you'd like it to. Your head feels loose.
"Good," says the tall man. "So here's the deal. We need to get out of this airport in minimum time with minimum hassle. I want your cooperation with that. If I fail to receive it, I'm going to make things bad for you. Not because I have anything against you, really, but I'd like to have you motivated. Do you understand?"
"Huh," says the shorter shape. "Maybe it is him."
~
They fill a sink with water and push your face into it. You surface, gasping. "Don't soak his clothes," says the tall man.
You are in a restroom. An airport. You came off the 4:05 PM from Chicago, to see your girlfriend Mel who would be waiting outside with her car to pick you up. The aisle seat between you and a more comfortable flying experience had been occupied by a large man in a loud Hawaiian shirt you couldn't bear to wake. At first, the airport restroom had appeared closed for cleaning, but the janitor removed the sign and you jogged towards it gratefully. You had reached the urinal, unzipped, experienced sweet relief.
Then the door had opened. A tall man in a long beige coat had come in. There were like half a dozen available urinals, you at one end of them, but the man picked the one next to you. Total breach of restroom etiquette. But you were never one to make a fuss. Moments passed and the man did not pee. You, emptying at high velocity, felt a tick of compassion. We've all been there, buddy. Then the door had opened again. A second man entered and locked the door.
You had put yourself back into your pants. You had looked at the tall man next to you, thinking - you almost laugh at this, in retrospect - that whatever was happening here, whatever specific awfulness was implied by a man entering a public restroom and fucking locking it, at least you and the tall man were in it together. At least it was two against one. Then you had realized Shy Bladder Man's eyes were calm and deep and kind of serene, really, but the key point there being calm as in not surprised about this situation whatsoever, and Shy Bladder Man had taken your head and rocketed it into the wall.
The the pain and questions.
"Need to get this blood out of his hair," says the short man. He peppers your face with paper towels. "His eye looks terrible."
"If they get close enough to see his eyes, we've got bigger problems." The tall man wipes his hands with a small white cloth, giving special attention to each individual finger. He's thin and tan-skinned and you're no longer finding his eyes quite so calm and serene. You're getting more of a cold and soulless sort of vibe. Like those eyes could watch horrible things and not look away. "So, Nick, you with us? You can walk and talk?"
"Fuck," you say, "urrrfffff." It doesn't come out how you'd like it to. Your head feels loose.
"Good," says the tall man. "So here's the deal. We need to get out of this airport in minimum time with minimum hassle. I want your cooperation with that. If I fail to receive it, I'm going to make things bad for you. Not because I have anything against you, really, but I'd like to have you motivated. Do you understand?"