2019-10-03 - Outback Adventures

Marion looks around as they enter the trailer. "We're going to clean this up," they announce. "But not today."

There was perhaps a witty retort there, somewhere, for Marion's edict, but a sudden gunshot that fired loudly in the distance rattled telegraphically every bone in Nasir's body from bottom up. He kept the door open then, momentarily, after politely seeing it aside for Marion to enter. "Yeah.. Yee-fucking-haw, welcome to the Den," he'd announce in faux mirth, finally taking that one upwards step in before closing the door behind him. An electric heater hugging the wall installed no more recently than the day before saw one of its buttons pressed, and a soothing wave of calefaction began to ebb into the room to sustain its atmosphere easily, with how small it was.

Patchworked unintelligently on a shelf was the nintendo sixty four, with a plastic foundation nailed violently into the base while the rest was all obscenely taped together so that no gale or tornado could steal the console away, without taking the whole trailer along the way of course. A Legend of Zelda: Ocarina of Time cassette was slapped in, and the controller looked recently used with how the cable spooled it down to the floor. "I'm going to remodelate it, just waiting for some money to kick in. At least a thousand or so, buy a new unit, put it all together nice."

Marion 's face falls. "Are you serious--you know there have been like /eight/ Mario Karts released since then. I was practicing on the Wii! And now--oh, whatever." They look around. "Well, your actual living areas are nice. If you want someone to help build the thing, I've got enough skill to be trusted with hammers and screws. Remember that time I repaired the old radio? I was so proud, and you were so unimpressed." They smile. "Ass."

Marion looks around, and nods approvingly at the clean sleeping area. "Well, now what?"

Nasir did his best to have his head go up and down, up and down, in receptiveness to Marion's words, but the truth was, his focus was more-so on the fridge. He was starving, and when the gates of that heaven opened he revealed it to be as empty as he thought the scriptures were. Shelf after shelf of nothing but one carton of milk he - had he been a betting man - would've put some chips on it being spoiled. A frown ensued, and he finally looked back with a brief smile of amusement at the memory, yet mostly loss at his question; "Now what? Sit down, what else?" he'd motion for that legless couch slapped on the floor. It wasn't a real couch, no; it was the backseat of some wagoneer's truck pulled off the chassis and brought into the trailer in hardcore style. It was, however, the most comfortable piece of furniture in that whole side of the hemisphere.

"Anything after the Gamecube was a mistake, and I haven't been able to find anyone selling a second hand version in town, so we've got the second best right here," he'd re-assure, taking two glasses in order to fill them with cold water from the sink. With them, he returned to Marion and offered it out on an outstretched hand while setting his own on a shelf. "Let me find the other controller and we'll play. More importantly, you'll tell me more about that boat tourist thing you've got going-- where are you working at, anyway?"

"At the Boat Tours. Remember that dingy old shack on the docks, where all the tourists go? It's based out of there. I'm trying to get some citizen science stuff set up there. Partially to draw in more of a crowd, partially so I don't go out of my mind with boredom." Marion sits down lazily on the 'couch.' "There are a couple of computers there. I can set up something, hopefully. Maybe publish a paper. I don't know. I hate academia, but I love the work. Would be nice to contribute somehow. At the very least, maybe I'll get some kid interested in science."

Nasir listened on with no small amount of interest, and actually relayed most of his attention to Marion hunched awkwardly as he was with half a torso deep into one of the shelves' compartments while digging through all manner of trash and already messy stacks. "Wait," his voice said muffled from within the void he was buried in, followed by the rattling of electronic plastics as they shuddered down and collapsed atop one another through his hurling. "So you're basically a lazy shit who hates commute and hopes they can lazy out on a PC while they're at their supposed work," Nasir reasoned, finally pushing his head out soon after his shoulders did, holding in hand a see-through, green controller with a thematic set of images printed on it about Donkey Kong.

"That's the Marion that I know, good shit-- lazy it out, homie. No one should be working full shifts, not even half time. World's made to be enjoyed, not to work yourself to hell into a meaningless ending." A smile, and soon a controller set on their lap. Nasir reached for his phone next, and called a number where he engaged in unsavory slurs with some presumedly "donkey of a man" that culminated in a brief agreement of bringing "beer and pizza, soon enough. With lots of fucking anchovies," by Nasir's direction. Hanging up, he threw the phone on the couch carelessly and turned on the Nintendo, sitting down after.

Nostalgia and all loading screens ensued.

"Pretty much," Marion says agreeably. "Science on the downtime, boats when it's busy. Good job. Might be able to make something out of it. Ah, shit. How do I hold this thing again..."

There's some fumbling. "I'm gonna be Mario. Best of all worlds."

Marion has never been good at Mario Kart.

Laughter was already in the making from the moment he saw Marion's reticle go from character to character, at a loss, until it landed on Mario. The first choice- the obvious choice. He bit his lower lip, stifling an even louder guffaw that made his chest heave and stomach tense in amusement. "A middleweight?!" he'd question aloud, shaking his head repeatedly, palm slapping down on his knee. He inhaled, yes- he inhaled that sweet air, air he'd need to absolutely destroy this fool he shared couch with.

"Alright, alright.. I'm going Luigi," confidently put, his own reticle snaps playfully across all characters before landing on Luigi. Upon selecting it, the little icon cheered loudly its name; LUIGI!!! something that Nasir didn't fail to mimick himself; "Luigi!" before throwing out an arm, to shove Marion on the shoulder playfully- and in a way, challenging, as the race was about to start, all clear scare tactics.

A black screen, and a notoriously long one at that, their Arab friend took a moment to look their way, and formulate a question outside the point of the house visit - kicking someone's ass at Mario Kart - with a more or less serious expression. "Well, you know the offer was up already, but if you need me to show up and put an engine together, PC, work the pipelines, lights, you name it, just give me a call, alright? Free of charge."

"Like hell. If you do work for me at the job, you're getting paid." Marion laughs. "Work at the old house, though... watch out for what you offer there. I need to rip out wiring /and/ plumbing in the bathroom. They peer intently at the controller. "How do I do that turn thing? Where the colored letters come out of the wheels? You always do that on every turn."

"Mario is the hero of these games," Marion declares with confidence. "Luigi is always number two."

He shook his head briefly, waving out a dismissive hand; "You know this is my hobby, dude. I'm not going to ask you to pay me some miserable bucks out of your already miserable paycheck just so I can make your living more comfortable in that shitty little shack," after the response, the black screen turned white and the outline of the cars appeared. Unluckily, Nasir had been placed last, whereas Marion's Mario was at the forefront. This turn of events crunched away Nasir's nose, competitively wrinkled in disdain.

"You press the break, there, on the 'ARR', when turning left or right. Gots to do it right as you turn, though, on sharp turns, so the grinding happens. And if you hold it enough, the blue fire turns red then you just RELEASE that shit, and it fires you out even faster!" he explained, raising his voice even higher as the countdown begun on the background, clearly excited at the prospect. Nasir had the engine prepping completely on lockdown, and when the game started his Luigi fired up through the ranks like one powergaming bullet.

Because you know he's powergaming the shit out of Mario Kart.

Marion concentrates with utter seriousness. 3... 2... 1... and Mario flails in place, wheels squealing from side to side, as Luigi rockets to the front of the game. "/What/," says Marion, disbelievingly. They sigh. Mario begins to toot along at a decent clip--and Marion even begins to drift successfully. Then a shell rockets backwards and slams into the hapless kart-driving plumber.

Who promptly falls off a cliff.

Marion just sighs.

There could be no mercy in Mario Kart, and that Luigi soon came to an unfair distance on the little minimap drawn on the side. Laughter abounded in the little trailer, all made at the expense of Marion's woes, and even with his eyes closed; even with that wobbly back and forth Luigi now had on the rattling Donkey Kong-themed bridge as was their map, he managed to keep the lead solely on the advantage gained at the start, while twisting in amused pain in the couch.

"Oh shit, oh shit," he'd gasp breathlessly out, his left palm seeking out Marion's hoodie to grip it from the side and shake them back and forth while his own head tilted down, staring into their knees; "Mario just fucked up, he just fell there-- dead, he's dead, Marion. What's going on? What's going on, what's going to happen; what's Peach going to think?"

Marion is rattled back and forth. "Ack!" they cry out. "My controller--noooooo!" For Mario has now taken yet another tumble off the cliff. "That goddamned cloud-turtle! He set me up!" Marion rails at Lakitu impotently, all the while being shaken by their old friend.

Marion's Zen calm, it seems, does not extend to old video game grudges. "I swear I'm going to win--aha! Ahahahaahaha!" A blue shell. Laughing maniacally, Marion sends it hurtling down the track. "None attack me with impunity," they say, very smugly.

And all mirth, all joy, and all pride rushed out of him like blood out a throat's cut, seeing that soaring; that winged blue menace soar forward through the field. His laughing had put him dangerously close to the second, and one could only hear that long, drawn-out "Noooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!" before the thing came crashing down on his Kart, slammed poor Luigi up in the air - who still managed to sound cheerful, even when facing absolute destruction - before throwing him, too;

Off a cliff.

Cheeky little Yoshi came rushing past, and being their last turn of the race, Yoshi came first place, Bowser second, Peach third, and fourth; fourth came one sad, dejected Luigi that still had to fight off fucking Toad of all people from putting him on fifth, but not today.

"God damn it," he whined, throwing his torso back on the couch and setting his controller aside, bemoaning his fate.

Marion cackles maniacally as vengeance is made manifest in an angry, spiky shell. "Sixth!" they announce victoriously, placing the controller carefully to the side before throwing their arms up in a victorious pose. "Mutually assured destruction! The leader is dethroned!"

They shove Nasir playfully with their shoulder, though given the size difference, the effect is a bit more like a tennis ball being thrown against a wall. Still, even after bouncing off the man, Marion is exuberant. "Decades of humiliation, repaid tenfold!" they announce. "The arc of the moral universe bends inexorably towards justice, my friend."

Nasir was nothing more than one dead fish sprawled out on the couch, entirely disarmed into its loose, car-intended backing. He continuously groaned and bitched in hiss at the affairs in hand, his pains exacerbated by the moralistic monologuing delivered from the Asian menace beside him. He reached up with his right palm, slapping it in defeat against his face; his now-greased, sweating face. The adrenaline kick slowly worked off of him, and he did his best to wipe away at the budding beads with an up and down cleansing of fingers before drying them on his gabardine.

"I fucking hate you," spite finally reigned, and it paused only for a beat before continuing; "You didn't care, you didn't care. YOU DIDN'T CARE THAT YOU LOST! You-- you squalid little shit, I was FIRST! You gave it to BOWSER! You, you.. Desiccated, half-witted BOAT GUIDE!" he'd accuse, swinging his controller at him threateningly with each and every new revelation of guilt, and before any more epithets could fly an incredibly Texan, tired and heavy-handed man cracked the trailer door thrice and announced; "Come get y'fuckin' pizza b'fore I done throw it on the fuckin' roof!"

Marion laughs hysterically, falling onto their back and literally rolling in hysterics. "You had to fight off /TOAD/!" they shriek in childish glee, kicking their feet in delight. "You almost lost to Toad! Blue shell--you were first--bwahahahahahaha--OOF!" For Marion, in their untrammelled joy, has forgotten that the couch is finite, and has rolled off of it. There's a big of silence as they look up at Nasir's absolutely outraged face.

Then they start snickering. The arrival of the pizza just sends them back into uncontrolled peals of laughter.

Leisurely, Nasir anchored a palm on the upper frame of the couch and pushed himself up, his entire body facing Marion still. He looked on the verge of jumping them there, and make them pay- but how the fuck? That was something that'd require thinking, and before any of said thinking could happen the door was knocked harshly under a fist once again. He reached into his back pocket then, fishing through his wallet while opening the door, revealing a whiskered, balding Caucasian man of flagrantly ginger hair and tired, green eyes. His face was marked copiously with red dots of acne, most likely product of the grease that made sheen of his features.

Counting through a stack of bills, he manifested twenty four, passing it to the man. Essentially the whole stack; "I'm missing one buck, Marion. Can you hand it there to Buck so he fucks off? I'll got put these on a plate," he'd instruct, coming back inside with a large Domino's pizza in one hand and a six-pack of Corona in the other. He slipped the pack into the fridge and set the box on the kitchenette's counter, freeing his palms to assort two tin plates out with few tissues. Using his hands, he ripped slices apart and begun stacking them equitably on each plate, irregardless of Marion's much smaller frame. It was half and half.

Marion manages to heft themselves to their feet and move over to where Buck is. A murmured interaction ensues, with some trading of cash...

Buck ends up getting more than he'd asked for, and Marion quietly shoves Nasir's money into a spot where it hopefully won't be found for at least some time. Then, the Texan gone, they go back to where the pizza is. "Oh, thank God for anchovies," Marion says, as they chomp happily into a slice of the pizza. "We make a call, we exchange funds, we receive pizza with fish. This is a golden age, Nasir."

The pizza itself had four toppings; extra cheese, ham, anchovies, and bacon, it was greasy, it was huge and each slice was bigger than Nasir's palm spread outwardly as far as his fingers could go. Each plate managed six slices each, and the trailer's owner left Marion with the plates and their need to indulge in order to make way for the fridge, pulling it open to fetch two bottles, frosty cold. They were clasped shut tight, but they were no match for Nasir's bloated thumb that grasped the top and popped the caps open with one deft turn. He did it with the confidence of someone who must've sequestered at least a hundred few layers of his thumb in the past with doing just that;

"You know what? You're right. Maybe the shit's not so bad after all. So long as there's anchovies, beer, and good times," he'd pass one of the beers to Marion - quite literally slapping them into their hand - before knocking it with his own; "To good times," he'd cheer, cracking a brief smile before taking a mouthful of Corona.

"To good times," Marion echoes. They take a swig of beer, swallow, and sigh. "Seattle is such a shithole at times," they say. "I can't count the number of people who would go out of their way to shit on us for eating Dominos and drinking Corona." They go to a grimy window and look out at the trailer park. "Fuck them," Marion says, with some feeling. "People are so desparate to feel special and elite that they go out of their way to shit on everybody else. Like being different is some great thing."

This from the person wearing skinny jeans, thick square-rimmed glasses, and Converse shoes.

"It's good to be back in Gray Harbor. No, I mean it. It really is. Yeah, things are weird here, but at least the people know who they are."

The irony wasn't lost on Nasir, who gave one judgemental look of Marion's back as it was turned, right as they faced the outside through one of the thin windows closer to the roof than the ground that made the trailer, their blinders open. "Well," he'd murmur in return, the hesitation in his voice heralding a devil's advocate of an opinion; "Yeah, Seattle sucks, but," with a pause, he made use of his beer's thin tip to point out towards that said trailer, his brows frowning lightly in retrospection.

"It sucks balls here too, hipster." Affirmation, that's right; that's what they needed right there, and Nasir gave it to them without an inch of hesitation, and plenty of beer to drink after yet another swig and a hard, pained swallow. All fault of the absurd quantity he indulged, after all- the beer was already half-way finished.

"But I'm glad to be back as well- back somewhere around your return. Maybe it was meant to be, you know? Yeah, yeah-- I know it sounds gay as hell, but think about it. With everything that's going down, all this talk of murders and the sort, you've got to think--- fate, right?"

"Well, yeah, Gray Harbor has always sucked, but at least I don't have to worry about what brand of coffee I drink," Marion responds. "It's a different kind of terrible. And I'm not--yeah, I totally am a hipster." They shrug. "Fuck it." Marion turns around from the window and makes the dubious decision of leaning against the trailer wall. "Being deeply learned and skilled. Being well-trained and using well-spoken words; this is the best good luck," they intone, obviously quoting some Buddhist scripture. "Fate is a crock of shit," they elaborate. "Everything has a cause and a reason. But I do think there's a reason we're both back here... even if I have no idea what it is."

"Yet." They take another swig of Corona. "Ah, I'm a terrible Buddhist. Here's to another round on samsara."

Each of Nasir's feet rose once the intonations begun, and he'd sit cross-legged on the couch in preparation for this supposedly enlightening lesson. He expected a to-the-point quotation of Buddha's greatest scriptures of wisdom, but none of that. Nasir's face crunched at first, confused, before breaking into a teary-eyed release of mocking laughter yet again at Marion's expense. "God, you're an awful fucking Buddhist," Nasir reflected in turn, taking a much more mild sip of his beer.

"Samsara, that's like; that's the useless, sloppy cycle - or recycle - of someone's life, right? Like, when they don't achieve enlightenment or whatever the fuck, so they have to do it all again, each time more squalid; every time shittier, and more decadent. Something like that, right?" His reasoning came with a tilted head and a rise of a brow, but it was clear he was patchworking through the whole affair- for a supposed Muslim, there was the attempt. "I mean, Allah is great and all that," he'd press each of his palms piously together, staring at the sky - or the trailer's wrecked roof - and beseeching the mouldy satin roof for forgiveness.

Marion says, "Samsara is the cycle of death and rebirth, yeah. I know I'm a terrible Buddhist because I don't see how everything is awful. I guess I'm too unenlightened. Getting to go around on life multiple times sounds great to me. Maybe one day I'll figure it all out and become brilliant."

"Or maybe I'll just die and rot in the ground," they add.

Nasir took to squinting at the reiteration, and he slowly leaned away as if an invisible hand was pushing him ever-so-slightly away from Marion with every word that came out, finalizing it all with the promise that he'd indeed end up sometime six feet underground, falling thusly on the couch's arm-rest. He made a brief tilt of his head and took one last, beer-draining chug before setting the empty glass by his feet.

"Okay, it's too late to get sentimental and shit about existential dread. Eat your pizza and go to sleep-- I'll drive you to work tomorrow before I head off to Joey's gym," he'd instruct, bringing a whole slice into his mouth to chomp away while cradling the plate with his other hand, bringing it all along towards his bed.

Indeed, Marion was getting the couch- in Nasir's defense, it was hell of a lot more comfortable than the bed, but what gives?