"Easily one of the best perks of this gig is all the traveling. Isn't it great to just expand your horizons?"
Brodi looked from the window to the very disinterested Psymon, who grunted in response to the question. Psymon's tattoo - a chain that circled up his arm, around his neck, across his chest, and down the other arm - held a less apathetic view: You know what would be great, Broderick? Taping your mouth shut! How do you like that? In times like these, Psymon was glad that no one could hear his "friend."
Unfazed, Brodi turned back to the view high above the clouds.
While Brodi's opinion may not be shared by other boarders, the fact that they traveled quite a bit still remained. Presently, the crew was flying from Japan's Tokyo Megaplex to the Alaskan course. Psymon, much to the disappointment of Marisol and Elise, got the seat next to the resident Buddhist on the ten hour flight. He had never had a problem with Brodi, but apparently he felt the need to fill whatever silence there was. Psymon never had that sort of urge, considering how his tattoo always had something to say.
After a horrible in-flight movie, a couple push ups in the aisle, and a game of I-Spy with his tattoo, Psymon had had enough of this flight and it wasn't even half over. His eyes wandered aimlessly. Eventually falling to the seat next to him - on Brodi, who had abandoned cloud-watching for reading.
Sensing he was being watched, Brodi turned and smiled, raising his book to show Psymon. "I'm reading Confessions of a Mask by Yukio Michima. It's his first book and I love it, man. He's my favorite author. Dude, did you know..." He continued on and on without any provocation.
Psymon quickly tuned him out though continued to stare. For the first time, he actually saw Brodi: His wonderful smile constantly plastered on his face. His tanned skin. His beautiful eyes. His broad shoulders. His marvelously sculpted torso, highlighted by his skin tight shirt.
The tattoo, not liking where these thoughts were headed, interrupted Psymon's musings. What the hell? Goin' queer on me now? I'm disappointed, Sketchy.
Psymon immediately snapped back, "Shut the fuck up!"
Brodi, thinking the outburst was directed at him, stopped short and looked away. "My bad, man."
The backtracking was in full effect. "No, no, no. I didn't mean you. I just... My tattoo said something and... I didn't mean it. Not to you anyway. I..." He trailed off and sighed. At this point, the tattoo would have grinned with smug satisfaction if it were capable of such an act.
The men lapsed into silence - Brodi finding solace in his meditation where he knew he would never be told to "shut the fuck up" and Psymon retreating into his own warped mind.
The tattoo had called him queer. Sure it could have meant the "weird" definition, but what if it wasn't that.
The "friend" let out an exasperated sigh. Oh, please. Don't start with this again.
Luckily, the tattoo got his wish. Elise made her way down the narrow aisle and stopped next to Psymon. She leaned over placing her hands on her knees, her low cut shirt showing more cleavage than Psymon cared to see.
"Hey Brodi," she chirped happily.
The tattoo groaned. Look at her! She's practically throwing herself at him. It's disgusting really.
Psymon coughed to cover up his laugh. Elise shot him a dirty look and grumbled with obvious distaste, "Hello, Psymon."
Mess with her. The tattoo commanded.
"Y'know, Elise, you should go back to your seat. If we were to experience turbulence, you'd fall over and most likely snap your neck on an arm rest."
And no one would care. The tattoo mused. Except for maybe Eddie...or Luther. Have you seen the way he looks at her? Well, her boobs actually. It's sickening to think of all the things that man would do to Elise's dead body. A gagging sound could be heard in Psymon's head, making him grin. He bit down on his lip in an attempt to not laugh.
Elise's eyes narrowed. "You should remind me of that when I give a shit."
"Don't worry, I will. But at that point, you'll probably be already dead," Psymon pointed out casually.
An audible growl could be heard emitting from deep within Elise's throat.
Oooooo-eeeeee! It's a big ol' bitch! Psymon's tattoo nearly shouted in a southern drawl, sounding exactly like Luther.
Psymon could hold it back no longer. He threw his head back and let loose a howling cackle, drawing the attention of the other passengers amid their various activities - Eddie and Seeiah discussing morning routines, JP and Mac listening to music, Kaori drawing, Luther eating, Moby and Zoe talking politics while having a thumb wrestling match, and Marisol fixing her make up (with the same plan Elise had come up with earlier - though once she saw Elise had beat her to the punch, she huffed and stared out the window, grumbling in Spanish).
Brodi, awoken from his meditative stupor by the violent explosion of laughter, looked up at Elise. "Oh hey, Elise."
She quickly rearranged her face to something more pleasant as she directed her attention on Brodi. "Whatcha readin'?"
And with that, Elise and Brodi launched into a conversation both literally and metaphorically over Psymon's head. He closed his eyes and tried tune out the conversation and the tattoo who had begun ranting about the poor quality of snacks available on the plane (Seriously, it's a disgrace. What they give you wouldn't even be appreciated by some starving kid in Africa. He'd be all like, "Bitch! What do I look like? Some uppity skank on a plane? No! I'm a starving kid in Africa now give me some real food!" For fuck's sake, who does a tattoo have to blow around here for a steak! Even if they did have steak I'd have to pay for the motherfucker. What do I look like? Some rich uppity skank on a plane? I paid for my goddamn ticket, now I want some fucking steak!).
Psymon sincerely hoped that this flight would end soon.