So here you are OP, Part One of the fruits of my labor. I hope you enjoy this so far, and yes, there will be more. :) Just give me a few days to write it.
“Finally,” Desmond muttered to himself, practically collapsing onto the bench at the bus stop. Bartending at a shitty, hole-in-the-wall bar in an equally shitty urban area just outside of Manhattan meant keeping terrible hours, if nothing else. Desmond was lucky if he got out of work at five AM on weekends. Today was a Wednesday, though, and surprisingly enough, things at work hadn’t been as bad as they usually were. There had been relatively few patrons at the bar. None of the working men who usually stopped by during the week had tried to chew Desmond’s ear off with a sob story about three ex-wives and a horde of children to pay child support for. No one had spewed vomit all over the floor tonight either, and the one man Desmond had needed to call a cab for had gone without swearing profusely at him.
The bar had emptied out earlier than usual tonight, so Desmond had gotten to leave early for the first time in what felt like forever. He didn’t mind that his bus wasn’t going to show up for another hour, either. In fact, Desmond looked forward to waiting at the bus stop in the wee hours of the morning, when the city buses were few and far between. It meant that he would be able to indulge in his favorite guilty pleasure.
The bartender reached into the front pocket of his hoodie and pulled out a slightly battered Nintendo DS, one of the clunky silver ones that had been among the first made. He switched it on and grinned as the Pokemon logo lit up on the screen. Pokemon had always been Desmond’s favorite video game. He’d been hooked ever since his parents had bought him a Pokemon Red cartridge for Christmas when he was ten. Desmond had, in fact, harbored a secret dream of becoming a Pokemon master for quite a few years now. He’d dreamed of journeying around a fantastic, pseudo-Japanese world winning Gym battles and defeating evil organizations with his dream Pokemon team at his side. It would have been the grandest adventure of all time.
For Desmond, the real world sucked. After graduating from college, it seemed that his friends had all gotten their dream jobs, while he was stuck working as a bartender so that he could pay the rent on his dinky one-room apartment, at least until a better opportunity came along. It was much more fun to hang out in the world of Pokemon, where Desmond was the hero, adored by people and Pokemon alike…
“Well, well, looky here boys.” A male voice, rough and nasty and uncomfortably close by, forced Desmond to look up from his DS. Dark eyes widened in fear as he saw a group of four men standing not two feet away from the bench he was currently sitting on. They were dressed in dark clothing, cigarette smoke ghosting up from their lips. Desmond saw the metallic glint of a switchblade in one man’s hand. All of them appeared to be taller and broader than Desmond was, and they were all looking in his direction with menacing smiles.
The man who’d spoken earlier dropped his cigarette, crushing the faint orange ember beneath his boot. “You lost, kid? Shouldn’t be out here this late at night. There’s bad people on the streets.” There was a round of snickers from the group.
WriterAnon here! Animal Magnetism Part 1/?
“Finally,” Desmond muttered to himself, practically collapsing onto the bench at the bus stop. Bartending at a shitty, hole-in-the-wall bar in an equally shitty urban area just outside of Manhattan meant keeping terrible hours, if nothing else. Desmond was lucky if he got out of work at five AM on weekends. Today was a Wednesday, though, and surprisingly enough, things at work hadn’t been as bad as they usually were. There had been relatively few patrons at the bar. None of the working men who usually stopped by during the week had tried to chew Desmond’s ear off with a sob story about three ex-wives and a horde of children to pay child support for. No one had spewed vomit all over the floor tonight either, and the one man Desmond had needed to call a cab for had gone without swearing profusely at him.
The bar had emptied out earlier than usual tonight, so Desmond had gotten to leave early for the first time in what felt like forever. He didn’t mind that his bus wasn’t going to show up for another hour, either. In fact, Desmond looked forward to waiting at the bus stop in the wee hours of the morning, when the city buses were few and far between. It meant that he would be able to indulge in his favorite guilty pleasure.
The bartender reached into the front pocket of his hoodie and pulled out a slightly battered Nintendo DS, one of the clunky silver ones that had been among the first made. He switched it on and grinned as the Pokemon logo lit up on the screen. Pokemon had always been Desmond’s favorite video game. He’d been hooked ever since his parents had bought him a Pokemon Red cartridge for Christmas when he was ten. Desmond had, in fact, harbored a secret dream of becoming a Pokemon master for quite a few years now. He’d dreamed of journeying around a fantastic, pseudo-Japanese world winning Gym battles and defeating evil organizations with his dream Pokemon team at his side. It would have been the grandest adventure of all time.
For Desmond, the real world sucked. After graduating from college, it seemed that his friends had all gotten their dream jobs, while he was stuck working as a bartender so that he could pay the rent on his dinky one-room apartment, at least until a better opportunity came along. It was much more fun to hang out in the world of Pokemon, where Desmond was the hero, adored by people and Pokemon alike…
“Well, well, looky here boys.” A male voice, rough and nasty and uncomfortably close by, forced Desmond to look up from his DS. Dark eyes widened in fear as he saw a group of four men standing not two feet away from the bench he was currently sitting on. They were dressed in dark clothing, cigarette smoke ghosting up from their lips. Desmond saw the metallic glint of a switchblade in one man’s hand. All of them appeared to be taller and broader than Desmond was, and they were all looking in his direction with menacing smiles.
The man who’d spoken earlier dropped his cigarette, crushing the faint orange ember beneath his boot. “You lost, kid? Shouldn’t be out here this late at night. There’s bad people on the streets.” There was a round of snickers from the group.