Blank ERRØR

Ah. Good ol’ New York…

Stanley Pines couldn't help the sigh that broke out through his parted lips as he eyed the city while he parked his car. His skin was still toasted up from the sun, glistening from the sweat that had built up from the long trip all the way from Columbia, barely escaping through the gaps of the pigs.

He had thrown Jorge under the bus, something he was surprised Rico seemed happy to turn a blind eye to but, then again, it was either Jorge or Rico (or himself) so suppose Jorge had been a better sacrifice than Rico in the man's eyes.

Still, there was an air of suspicion as he dropped off Rico in New Mexico. The stink of clear in his eye as Stan practically proved himself to be not just a liar to their enemies but his own compadres as well…

They had held Stan in high regard, loyal and easy to use right until that moment, the moment where he left behind his ‘best friend’ Jorge without batting an eye, all the promises of going out drinking as soon as they left that jungle thrown out in an instant.

Promises never meant much to Stan Pines anyway, no one ever kept them so why should he?

Despite the cut of ties with Jorge, Rico must have seen him as of use still. That, or he realised just how good of a liar Stan was.

Not that anyone knew him as Stan. Perhaps Rico knew that ‘his’ name, too, was a lie.

“Derek” Stan stepped out of his vehicle, wishing for nothing more than a shower to wash away the grime and sin from his hands.

Derek was a man Rico had met in Mexico, Tijuana, a place Stan had not many (if any) fond memories of. The two had struck up a deal and spread white powder all the way from Brazil to Columbia before the bastards stretched their horizons to America like a bunch of little fairy dust fairies.

It was during sometime near the Cuban refugees entering America, everyone had been distracted with the arrival of criminals on boats like a bunch of little surprise gifts from Santa. Derek and Rico had easily gained many employees willing to do their bidding and thus business extended towards America.

Oh, how Stan longed for the sandy beaches once more instead of the smell of stink that spread wherever he went. City lights, naked bodies just throwing themselves at him and liquor to his hearts content but it had all taken a bit of mind manipulation to convince him this is the life he had always wanted and a whole lot of alcohol and drugs to make him realise there was no turning back.

Honestly, the most shocking thing was that Derek had picked New York out of all things, he had expected Sin city is anything. Would've welcomed it even.

Despite being offered a wonderful five-star room by the man himself, Stan rented out a room for himself, any money spent feeling like fire spreading through his fingertips. Any money he used felt like his ticked home despite how ridiculous that was.

Stan was not risking it. He would take part of the offers Derek willingly gave, a tactic to, most likely, bring one of Rico's men into his side like the slimy thief he was (and that's coming from a thief!) but only not to hurt and possibly offend the man.

His room was yellowed on the ceiling, a stuffy smell stuck to the carpet (eugh carpet) and the bathroom had black at every corner. It was much better than feeling like he owed to the man, a better feeling than being trapped if he ever needed to run from him.

Setting his trusty duffle bag just under the bed, beside the bedside table, Stan double checked his pockets for his things and his boots for his pocket knife and extra money before driving off to meet with Derek.

— Derek's Dwelling —

There are many weird things in Stanley Pines’ life. His twin brother, whom he doesn't think much less speak of, would be shocked to find out his six fingers on each hand was the furthest thing from different that Stan had ever encountered.

Before him was a blue alien, saggy skin like a ballsack (is that racist?) And more teeth than any other face feature should have. This alien, Dr. Bluestein, as Stan came to learn, had no lips to cover the large blunt teeth, each nearly the size of his thumb, his nostrils were made of barely visible holes and he had one bright orange eye in his long-blue-ballsack of a face (again, is that racist?).

“So uh… a doctor, eh?” Stan made small talk as he waited for Derek to return, watching the tall alien (it's a real life fucking alien) turned “what kind?”

“Ah uh” Dr. Bluestein cleared his throat, his voice grainy, like he was born smoking worse than Stan “medical… kind. I was in charge of extracting organs”

“Oh hah! No way! I had my kidney stolen this one time” Stan was happy to jump at the idea of any small talk in order to avoid the very awkward silence and the huge fat elephant in the room of the fact that he was TALKING TO A FUCKING REAL LIFE ALIEN.

Also, it didn't hurt to let them know that he will not be giving his kidney anytime soon. It's his only one and he's pretty sure it's not even in great condition.

“Ah er…yes. I know” the doctor replied and Stan laughed, ignoring the implications of it.

It wasn't long until Derek returned, murky white tank top with bright red bandana over his growing hair. Stan wondered if he, too, was ashamed of his long hair, his own having grown into a long mullet.

Derek was younger than Stan had first assumed him to be, Rico being a decade or so older than Stan and Jorge being older than them both, but Derek was just around the same age as Stan, if not a year or two older, the man must have been in his mid twenties. A young man thrown into a like of criminality just like Stan.

Behind Derek was a shorty human boy, pale skin and still rosy cheeked but the young face did nothing to fool the eyebags under the kid's eyes. The kid.

“Ah, I see you've taken an interest in my little bandit!” Derek flashed a grin his way and Stan hated the way the man phrased that.

“This little bandit, here, is Gary. Gary Goodspeed” he put enthesis on the kid's last name, brows lifting high as he widened a toothy grin their way.

“Okay… he yours?” Stan asked, lifting a brow towards the blond scrawny thing. Probably… ten or so years old.

“What? No!” Derek seemed outright offended “and even if this little shit was mine–” with that, he grabbed the kid by the vest and chucked him towards Stan, where the blondie fell onto their hands and knees with a groan.

Stan fought his own instict to reach out, schooling his expression to stay the exact same as before‐ a curious indifference.

“I wouldn't bring it with me, would I? For all I know I could have a thousand of kids here and there, with the amount of women I've left pregnant!” Derek let out a sharp laugh and Stan turned his gaze to the boy who began standing up in order not to accidentally glare at the fucker.

Pale cold blue eyes meet him with an hateful scowl behind those golden bangs, the boy's eyebags a bright purple it almost looked sickly. Stan felt his own brows lift just the tiniest bit at the hatered swimming in those icy eyes but just as quickly as they came, that gaze was gone.

Gary, the kid, lowered his gaze and his face dropped back into this depressed type of teen expression. He carefully came to stand beside Dr Bluestein, so furthest away from Stan. The kid probably had met the alien before so it was a safer bet to go with predictable over the literal guy that made no move to help him up.

“This is Gary Goodspeed! Goodspeed!” Derek went on, approaching the boy and tugging him by the jaw, squishing those too thin cheeks almost painfully to force the boy to look at Stan.

“Son of John Goodspeed!”

Stan blinked, glancing at Gary Goodspeed who stared back at him, nothing in those numb eyes.

“I have literally no idea what you're talking about” Stan opened his arms and shrugged and for a moment, just a moment, he thought he could see a glint of something in the boy's eyes.

“Great. Ask Rico to send someone to help out and he sends an absolute idiot!” Derek shoved the boy away, this time Gary didn't fall and instead just rubbed at his jaw, blue eyes glancing Stan's way every now and then.

If Stan's expression softened just the slightest, well… it was probably just a trick of the light.

— Dirty Dosh —