The Carnival- Intro Draft

The crowds were packed in the streets, thriving as one mass as they made their way down the elegantly lit colored stripwalk. Music rose above their heads, faint and fading like sounds in a dream, high airy notes merging with the heavier thump of cheering and machinery. The vendor attendants flitted about in their makeshift kiosks, collecting currency, delivering confections powdered and polished to fluorescent colors. Flames roared and arched high in the air if propelled from fountains, and tucked into the crevices of bodies were the costumed heroes and villains, acting out their fantasized battles to claps and laughter. [ZOMG, are we done with the metaphors and the lush, deep writing yet? Jeez] Ohen’Dendon City was a massive, beating heart of living bodies, where dreams rode the wake of revelment [is that even a word?] and crashed upon the planet surface in a medley of flavors and colors. If one were meticulous, they could single individual ones out, pluck them away and taste and feel till they were comatose. The vibe was infectious, unanimous. No one left Ohen without the deepest of pleasurable experiences forever imprinted upon their psyche. [That sounds particularly painful] Past the retro dance club, where the primitive beats of the last cyclic decade snuck through its scissoring doors whenever someone entered or left [can’t this be said without a mouthful of words?], and the Flesh Hotels where a plethora of species could be rented out for personal use at hourly rates, laid the fringes of the city’s offerings. [about time we got to the end of that sentence] Here, where poured streamways and turf broke down into dirt and stone, was where the predators clustered and slunk and fell upon their prey. Tourists, wary and drunk and ignorant of planetary boundaries, stumbled unexpectedly into the nest, neither robbed nor mugged but enticed into establishments where rigged games of Kreeb and Bolsaar were played at high stakes. Many left with their pockets empty and their hedonistic glow dimmed. One young man, who sat hunkered down on a wooden platform whose boards where nailed in uneven rows, a row of equally uneven chairs set before it, had made a habit of tourist-baiting. The art was simple: pick the ignorant folk out from the approaching clusters, lure them part them from the contents of their pockets [I think this sentence be broke, like a business man on his lunch break trying to score a fix and a hooker]. A short stack of credit sticks lay cradled in the young man’s palm already, the fingers of his other hand gingerly counting. It had been a lousy night, the tourists seeming to have avoided his choice spots. He was getting up to leave for the night when an older woman appeared from the edge of the crowd, saw him, and scowled. Dressed in a black shawl and with red silk sashes adorning her tunic, her head covered by an elegant wide-brimmed cap, she grabbed him by the upper arm and yanked him so hard he yelped. The credit sticks went scattering “Were you planning to share this?” she demanded of him, hunching to pick several up. “You were going to stash it away and let your family starve, weren’t you, you selfish little shit?” “It’s mine!” The young man broke her grip and scrambled to collect the rest of the currency before she could. “I ain’t gotta give it to no one, especially not an old [grank- swear word or planetary slang here?] like you.” The woman rounded on him so fast he didn’t have time to duck. Her strike left him sprawled in the dirt. “Don’t talk like that to me, Zachary, or I’ll cut out your tongue and eat it for supper and leave you bleeding to death.” “Sick bitch.” [but tongue is delicious, especially with mustard! Clouds of dust kicked up as the young man pedaled backwards to avoid the kick aimed at him. He found his footing and turned to run, but the woman caught him by the ear and hissed at him. “The only reason I keep you around is because Deeke insists you have what it takes for this lifestyle. He claims you got a brain in that head, though I’ve yet to see any of its potential.” Tapping his forehead with long, ragged nails, the woman gripped his arm once again and shook him. “But you know what I think, Zachary? I think you’re a disrespectful wurm of a child. And one of the dogs back home has been looking rather lean lately. You come with me now, or I’ll see to it he has more use for you then I.” [aw, Spike just wansta play with Zach’s big, fat head.]

Jaw set, Zach’s green eyes met the woman’s, smoldering as if he could burn holes through her. Then he seemed to give up the fight and slumped in her grip. “Ya absolutely right, ma. I should be sharin’ my pickin’s , ma. Won’t happen again, ma.” Forced between clenched teeth, the words came out distorted. The woman looked him up and down, and then shoved a hand into the cargo pocket of his pants. [that’s just plain perverted] Though his muscles tightened as if he were going to strike out, he held still as she removed its contents. “Ah, do you know what this is, child?” The appraisal in her voice sounded on the side of satisfaction. The fladger she’d found was designed lightweight and palm-sized, its brilliant blade made of [charged heat] igniting as she activated it. Zach didn’t answer her, so she said, “A fine high class weapon. Worth at least a couple week’s of food and liquor if we bring it to the right fence.” “Henry Milton gave that to me to keep.” Zach was careful not to sound defiant. “He’ll wonder about it if I don’t have it no more.” “You’d rather keep it then have a steady supply of food? Tell that soldier scum you lost it.” “What does it matter, since I only get scraps anyway?” “Me and your brother need to eat more then your scrawny ass does.” Zach muttered something and his mother eyeballed him before letting it slide. Jerking him forward, she forced him into a quick walk, eventually releasing him. They walked in silence to the beginning of where the flesh hotels started, slowing in front of one with a sign half shattered so it read like nonsense. On the front porch several of the hotel’s wares sat at a table playing a game of kreeb against a dark-haired man, who, from the jibes and calls of the other players, was apparently losing. “Potential my ass, Deeke,” Zach’s mother said as she approached them, Zach in tow. “You and him have to have a talk. He had a stash on him, and I’m sure he wasn’t going to share.” In his seat the dark-haired man turned, fixed eyes a faded yellow on the woman, and then shifted them to Zach. They were the feral eyes a wayward hound might’ve had, cold and bloodthirsty. Excusing himself from the game, he rose to his full height, towering over most of his company, and motioned for Zach to follow him inside the hotel. The young man didn’t hesitate in obeying, scuffing his boot against the ornate carpeting as he sat down at a table with Deeke and waited for bar service. Zach and his brother, who was a full ten cyclic years older then him, looked nothing alike, and it was only by the fact that they hadn’t shared the same fatherly unit that either could believe they were brothers. Both were pale and lean, but where Deeke’s hair was straight and black, Zach’s was a red faded to the color of rust, and had a tendency to stick up in unruly clumps. Zach’s eyes were a different color too; green. But he admitted the same coldness adhered to them as if it were a genetic trait. Perhaps it was, for as far as he knew, his mother’s family, the Von Dyetrich’s, had always been a brutal lot. [why this be? they are such nice people!] Zach and Deeke’s faces were where the most similarities could be seen. Narrow nose, thin lips, slightly accented cheekbones. Deeke’s cheeks and chin were shaved smooth, but Von had developed a patch of hair under his lip that he was letting grow out into a goatee. Zach was also fairly shorter then his brother, and though he was still growing, he doubted he’d reach Deeke’s height. Deeke offered Zach a hand-rolled cigarette and proffered a lighter. “How much did you make?” the older man asked. Taking a drag off his cigarette, Zach shrugged. “Not a whole lot before the bitch dropped in. And she took most of it. Got about three tabs left.” [of LSD? Well that explains the shitasticness of this story] “I hope you mean three thousand.” Zach shook his head and held up three fingers. [“Really,” he said, “It took this many before she could feel a goddam thing.” Deeke answered, “Well clearly you’re doing it wrong.”]

“Shit, Von, what the fuck are you trying to do to me?” [I hope the answer doesn’t involve incestuous advances] Deeke exclaimed, using the name Zach preferred to be called. “Haven’t you let that harpy ride you long enough? You could send her off for good with one blow.” “Why don’t ya deal with her, then? You’re the one in charge.” “She’s my mother.” “Well how the hell ya expect me to off her, if that’s the case? I’m blood just as well.” “And she hates you more. I think she might’ve actually liked your father before he up and left.” Zach threw up his hands. “I ain’t murdering nobody.” “That’s because you’re a pussy. You’re starting to make me look like a fool, you know.” “It’s been a bad couple of cyclics. Couldn’t find deep enough pockets. I took what I could.” “It ain’t enough. Besides, that ain’t what I meant. We’re gonna get exposed, eventually. You need to toughen up. I’ve seen you fight. You’ve got a decent pair of jawbreakers when you actually put some effort in it.” [yeah, mm, I could go for one of those giant jawbreaker candies right now] Zach shrugged again. Sighing, Deeke sat back. “I’d rather not have to hurt you, you being my brother. So I’m gonna give you another shot tonuight. You make sure you bring back the goods this time.” [why does it suddenly seem like Zach’s Johnny Boy from Mean Streets?] Deeke’s sentence ended on a note that seemed as if were going to say more, and when he didn’t, Zach prompted him. “If I don’t?” “You will.” Smoke billowed across the table as Deeke exhaled from his own cigarette. “Because you probably don’t wanna hear the alternative.” The bar maid came over, ending the conversation. She was topless, curvy, and had an extra set of arms that seemed restless, as the hands wrung each other while she ferried their drinks and flirted with them. Eventually Deeke had drunk enough to hire her for the rest of the night and followed her drunkenly up the staircase in the main lobby. Zach lingered in the bar long enough to finish his cheap beer and watch some of the other patrons. Most were tourists, wasted on drink and the other legal mind altering substances Ohen offered. Swiping from them probably would’ve been simple. But this was not one of the high end hotels, these patrons of the lower ilk of classes. And robbing the clientele of a Pleasure Hotel was akin to openly declaring war. It was an unspoken rule that the thieves, the confidence tricksters, and the flesh workers never hunted in each other’s territories. One could be immediately executed by the offended faction if they were to perpetuate such a violation. For a brief moment, Zach debated using the stolen cred tabs to hire one of the girls that had been making eyes at him since Deeke had left. He doubted the hotel was one that did full ID checks and age verifications. He’d be turning fifteen in a few weeks, anyway, which was usually enough for most folk to overlook the age restriction. But Deeke would likely find out, and Zach was in enough shit already. His mother had left already when Zach emerged from the hotel. Glad to apparently be rid of her for the evening, he spared no other thought of her and took one of the trolleys that lead to Ohen’s quieter districts, where he headed for the night club he knew was tucked away there, free of tourist awareness to its location. [THAT IS EPICALLY RUN-ON] The bouncer waved him past and pointed to a door at the back of the establishment. The young man nodded his thanks and headed for it. As far as crime went in Ohen’Dendon [kinda sounds like a denture cream], little of it was disorganized, and most of it was kept corralled to the external parts of the city. Deeke Von Dyetrich was bringing that to a close, or attempting to. Operating without the factions knowledge, he had been building up his manpower, extending his reach to the inner city, where he’d embedded his claws into several establishments that had allied to him in hopes of increasing their profit. And there had been an increase, as long as Deeke’s gaggle

of miscreants had a supply of tourists to feed on. [this is WEAK. Weak, weak, weak. Deeke’s got to at least seem more formidable and ruthless, if not borderline sociopathic.] Criminal politics did nothing to provoke Zach’s interest, but he’d been taken onboard by default of his relationship to Deeke. And he admitted that Deeke’s influence over the city had grown considerably since his brother had executed his plans over a cyclic year ago. Soon he wouldn’t be able to operate under the noses of the competition any longer, but the elder Von Dyetrich had intended that from the beginning. By the time word got around that the Von Dyetrich’s had carved out an adequate share of Ohen’s bounty, they’d be too large of a faction to oppose. Zach had to admit he admired what his brother had accomplishment, and how clever he’d been in erecting the foundations. [still weak. Seriously, this ain’t even intimidating. Grr, argh, I’mma Von Dyetrich. Come ON. Stupid non meat-eating Von is scarier then this guy] The club [that apparently has no name at the moment] was not one of Deeke’s acquisitions, but it was Henry’s frequent hangout. Zach’s mother had been wrong to call the man soldier scum. He was anything but. Several years older then Zach, Henry had been forced by his politically influential parents into attending flight academy, kicked out and almost court-martialed after he graduated and violated safety protocol several times, and had gotten sent over to Ohen by his father’s sway to work as city security. He had once told Zach that he loved flying, there was nothing better. But doing it under military regulations was about as much fun as masturbation was for an amputee. Zach idolized the man’s approach to life, his entire philosophy, and he suspected the ex-soldier was aware of his infatuation. Still, they remained good friends, and hanging around Henry was rarely dull. [Does…this even make sense? WTF is going on in this paragraph? Call the thought police, cos this one’s a doozy] As per usual, Zach was introduced to chaos [oh, hai, chaos, ya lookin’ sexeh tonight] when he entered the room, and he heard the whine of pulse guns rev to life just as he witnessed several of them being trained on him at once. Breath filled his lungs again when someone shouted and they were withdrawn. “Hey, Von, come on in,” said the most jovial of voices. Henry held his gun pointed towards the ceiling, gesturing with it. “We’re just cleaning up here.”