"Okay guys! You ready! We're gonna start this journey together! On the count of three!"
"One!"
"Two."
"Uh, three!"
…
"The first time we talk in years, and you're late. Figures," the raven-haired boy muttered under his breath. He had been patiently waiting on the edge of a rather grimy sidewalk on Route 9 for about an hour now, but his patience almost non-existent now. "For once, I wish you would pick a meeting spot where I could actually identify what horrid scents are entering my nostrils," he said cringing. Luckily, a vibration in the boy's pocket broke his concentration on the putrid odors.
"Where are you?" He answered hastily, hoping he could get the slightest hint of where his companion was.
"Three seconds," the other line replied. At least, that's what he thought it said wherever the holder of the other located, there was virtually no reception.
While the rather exasperated boy tried to form coherent words to express his immense dislike of his current situation, a motorcyclist pulled up beside him screeching to a halt, splattering a mixture of mud, some intoxicated fellow's puke, and what could only be classified as "other" all over his new pants.
"First the rider, then his steed," he said with a bitter smirk to the now dismounted motorcyclist.
The motorcyclist completely ignored this pathetic excuse for a threat and began to unpack her gear.
"Hey! Just who do you think you are?" The boy said, now grabbing the biker's arm, "Look what you did to my pants you uncultured scum!" The biker sighed and gently removed her helmet.
"Really, Cherry, you're gonna get yourself killed if you don't control that temper of yours," she said with a mischievous smirk.
"T-Touko?"
The biker-girl smiled. "The one and only! It's been a while, Cheren."